Do You Dream of Terra-Two?

by Temi Oh

  He was used to running with no destination in mind. The first few minutes always felt like flying, momentum sending his knees careening up in front of him as he neared the city lights. Then his muscles would begin to clench, heart striking at his sternum, lungs burning, sending hot tendrils of pain through him until he was one galloping vessel of flame.

  By then, though, Jesse knew some things about pain. He knew that if he just kept running his heart would keep beating. He knew that pain was just a symptom of being, and he would endure it all – savour it even – if he could only live a little bit longer.

  His feet striking familiar pavement, Jesse slowed his pace. He knew this quiet street, lined with beech trees, illuminated in the sodium yellow of the streetlamps. He had emerged down the road from Dalton. He took a moment to catch his breath, wiping his wet forehead with the back of his hand.

  He should have expected the traffic outside, the crush of reporters, the flickering shutters of cameras. During his time there, it had not been unusual to spot a stray photographer lingering by the entrance or pushing a lens through the bars. And today of all days, footage of the school’s extensive grounds would flicker across every news channel. Jesse dodged past the swinging heads of microphones, towards the entrance.

  It was surprising how little time it had taken for the tall iron gates of Dalton Academy to become an eerie relic of his past. It was even stranger to see the provost, standing in the centre of the throng, just below the school’s crest and emblazoned motto: It’s better to fly like a falcon for half a year . . . She was more hunched over than he remembered. Two security guards were pushing the crowd of shouting reporters back. She poked her glasses up the damp ridge of her nose and read aloud from a piece of paper.

  ‘All we can confirm at this time is that there has been a tragic accident involving a member of the Beta . . .’ Had she said accident, or incident? Some reporters had believed that it had been a rusted railing, a twisted ankle, a yelp of surprise. Others, a barefoot dive, a shout of exhilaration before the crash of water.

  The only thing that was clear at that point was that one of the Beta was dead. An astronaut had died that afternoon while Jesse had been lying on his back watching the shadows slip down his wall.

  ‘Professor Stenton,’ one of the reporters shouted, ‘can you or can you not confirm that the launch will be going ahead as planned?’

  ‘I cannot confirm anything at this moment in time. Our directors are working very hard to—’

  ‘Will you be looking to replace Ara Shah with a member of the backup team? Will they be mission-ready?’

  The moment was here. Jesse saw it illuminated before him.

  ‘I will be!’ he shouted.

  At first only a couple of people around him heard. Jesse leapt into the light, suddenly, horribly, aware that he was still in his pyjamas. Sweat patches were spreading like stains under his arms and as he strained to catch his breath camera flashes blinded him. Jesse leant into the microphone. ‘I’m in the backup crew. My name is Jesse Solloway and I’m here to replace Ara. I’m ready to go to Terra-Two.’

  ASTRID

  13.05.12

  T-MINUS 6 HOURS

  ON THE MORNING OF the launch, Astrid opened her eyes to an empty dormitory, the beds abandoned, the cool sunlight pouring through the window. She was surprised that Maggie wasn’t there, as she usually was, to wake them. Most mornings Astrid leapt out of bed at first bell, and was brushing her teeth in the sink by the time Maggie poked her blonde head around the door to wake the other girls. Astrid sometimes suspected that Poppy and Ara feigned sleep just long enough to feel the back of Maggie’s hand brush the hair from their brows.

  The night before, the doctors had given Astrid half a dose of valium to stop her from shaking. She had cried so much that, even after the tears dried up, her throat still contracted with rhythmic little hics. The pills had dragged her so deep down into sleep that she missed the first and second bell, but Maggie had not come in to wake her.

  Across the dormitory, Ara’s crumpled duvet was bundled up as if she was hiding under it and if Astrid looked hard enough she could make herself see it rise and fall. She kept remembering that Ara was never coming back. Everything about her was still there: her socks scrunched by the foot of her bed, the air perfused with the smell of jasmine oil and incense, a smudged handprint on the window where she had thrown it open. She couldn’t stay in that room any longer; her eyes kept darting to the door in the vain expectation that Ara might burst through. So Astrid climbed out of bed, pulled on a cardigan and went to sit on the landing outside.

  There was so little left to prove what had happened the day before. The bruises forming where her knees had smacked pavement, the soreness and exhaustion that follows a night spent crying, the ache of despair.

  ‘They’re at breakfast already,’ came a voice. Astrid looked up and was surprised to see Solomon Sheppard, their commander, in civilian clothing, moonfaced from sleep, his afro slightly misshapen.

  ‘Good morning, sir.’

  ‘No, don’t get up.’ He came up the stairs and stood on the landing in a way that cast a long shadow over her. ‘I was just out there.’ He gestured towards the courtyard.

  ‘Really, why?’

  ‘I was . . .’ He hesitated for a moment, ‘praying.’

  ‘Oh . . .’ Astrid looked down, suddenly embarrassed about asking such a private question. ‘I didn’t know you were a—’

  ‘Sometimes I am. Days like today.’ He paused, glanced away too and then said, ‘I hope you’re feeling better.’

  ‘Kind of . . . yesterday was . . . a nightmare . . .’ Astrid exhaled heavily, but then remembered herself. ‘I am feeling better, though. Ready for the mission. Of course.’

  Sheppard was tall and thin, with skin darker than her father’s but not as deeply lined. Astrid had always liked the soft baritone of his voice, and the way he rarely smiled with his straight white teeth, as if he was keeping them a secret. He had been the youngest man – at twenty-six – to land on Mars, and for the first time it occurred to Astrid that perhaps he was still young. She had only been eleven back then, and so when she’d seen his face on the news he’d seemed astronomically old, just another adult, like her parents.

  ‘And today?’ he asked. ‘Underneath it. Don’t you feel just a little bit—’

  ‘Excited?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I always do. Before a launch. Especially the first couple of times. I’d be so excited I couldn’t sit still. As if I was a kid again and it was the night before my birthday.’ He laughed at himself.

  ‘I keep forgetting it’s real, actually. Then I remember and feel glad, but whenever I feel glad, I also feel guilty that I get to go and she . . .’ They fell silent. On her ankle was the friendship bracelet that Ara had woven for her one Christmas when she had no money for a ‘proper gift’. It used to have three tiny silver bells on it, so that ‘you can have music wherever you go’, Ara had laughed, and then rattled the bracelet on her own ankle, ‘and so you’ll always know where I am.’ Over time the bells had come loose and dropped off, each in turn. The pain of it was crushing and fresh every time Astrid thought about it. She’d thought they would all grow old together.

  She only realized she was crying again when Solomon looked at her in alarm.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Astrid said, her face burning with shame. She jumped up and tried to duck back into her room, but he put his hand on her shoulder and for just a moment they both froze in surprise.

  ‘Don’t be sorry,’ he said. A fresh wave of tears from Astrid. He did something she’d never seen him do before. He leant forward and hugged her. And, for half a minute, when Astrid buried her face into his shoulder, she forgot who he was. Her commander. Her once and future teacher. Forgot that she was still in her pyjamas, her feet bare, hair still in the fat cornrows she had tied them in the night before. She liked the way he smelt, distantly, of aftershave. Sandalwood and bergamot.

  ‘I should go,’ she said sud
denly, leaping back.

  ‘Of course.’ He stepped away. Astrid turned and fled down the stairs.

  She rushed down the oak-panelled hall of the residential wing of the space centre, hoping to reach the refectory in time to catch the tail-end of breakfast. She had missed lunch and dinner the previous night, and her head was spinning with hunger. But she was surprised on turning a corner to spot the provost of Dalton Academy through the glass pane in the door of a meeting room. Astrid ducked, instinctively: six years at Dalton had instilled an almost Pavlovian dread of the woman.

  ‘. . . ever recover, quite frankly.’

  Who was she talking to? Astrid peered through a gap in the door, and spotted the slight figure of Dr Friederike Golinsky, one of the medical directors. They spoke in hushed voices and as Astrid leant in to listen she noticed Dr Golinsky’s uneven intakes of breath, the shuddering of her shoulders. She was crying.

  ‘We all have to make sacrifices—’

  ‘I know, I just thought there would be more time. That the mission would be suspended or delayed, at least, for half a year.’

  ‘Come on, Fae. We both knew that had to be avoided at all costs. And consider the costs.’

  ‘But I’m—’

  ‘This is bigger than you!’ the professor shouted. ‘We all have our part to play, and . . .’ Her voice died down suddenly.

  ‘Did you hear something?’ Dr Golinsky asked. They both turned towards the door.

  Astrid leapt back and stood for a moment, holding her breath. When the soft hiss of voices behind the door started up again, she turned in the opposite direction and headed to the refectory, where the whole crew sat together on a table near the glass wall. They had almost finished eating by the time she entered.

  ‘Glad you could join us,’ said Harry. ‘It’s not breakfast until Astrid arrives.’

  ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ asked Astrid.

  ‘We thought that Maggie would wake you,’ Poppy said.

  ‘I don’t think Maggie will be doing anything anytime soon,’ Harry said, gulping down the last of his coffee with a grimace.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ asked Juno.

  Harry looked at her with wary disbelief. ‘Because she’s been suspended.’

  The words hit Astrid like a jab in the solar plexus. ‘What?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Harry said. ‘I guess they had to blame someone. Dr Millburrow was supposed to be our psychiatrist when we’re in space. It was kind of her job to know if one of us was planning to, you know . . .’ He trailed off with a shrug.

  ‘It’s not fair.’ Poppy shook her head, ‘None of us knew.’

  ‘True,’ said Juno. ‘But at least the mission’s still going ahead. There was talk yesterday of delaying the launch. Or decertifying us all.’

  Harry snorted. ‘You didn’t really believe that, did you? Delaying the mission would cost millions. Everything’s already planned. Hundreds of thousands of people have come to London to watch the launch. There was a lottery for the tickets. The prime minister will be there. What did you think they were going to do? Say, Hey sorry about that, the launch can’t go on because we can’t control a bunch of kids?’

  Astrid supposed it was true. And the public had come to love all of them, were captivated by their personal stories of success. It was part of the reason the programme had accrued so much additional sponsorship from private organizations. Swapping the members of the current Beta for other astronaut candidates so soon before the mission would likely tarnish the reputation of the entire programme.

  ‘Okay, maybe not that,’ Poppy said. ‘But launching on a mission like this before she’s even buried . . . it just feels like bad luck or something.’

  They were quiet for a moment. The refectory was unusually empty, with very few of the space centre personnel huddled over their breakfast or queuing near the coffee machines.

  ‘You should get something to eat,’ Poppy said.

  Along the opposite wall were vats of juice, hot water for tea and trays of cereal bars. Astrid took a handful and stuffed them in her pockets.

  ‘It’s a big day, love,’ said the ruddy-faced cook from behind the counter. Astrid flashed her ID and the cook handed over a tray marked with her name. Lots of dried food, toast, chopped bananas – food that was unlikely to turn in her stomach during the launch. The cook winked, and added two oily sausages onto her plate. ‘You’ll need it,’ she said.

  ‘Thanks.’

  The cook smiled, then pointed to the cereal bars, inviting her to take more.

  Astrid returned to the table.

  ‘Think it’s really a good idea to eat all that?’ said Harry, eyeing her plate. Astrid sat down beside her sister, who was nursing only a cup of peppermint tea. Harry’s tall glass was slick with his usual protein shake – raw eggs whipped into a frothy mixture with warm milk, which he used to suck down with a straw before heading out with his rowing team to the river.

  ‘I don’t know how you can eat anything at all,’ Poppy said, dropping her spoon with a sigh of surrender. ‘Doesn’t your tummy feel all . . .’ She made a face and Juno nodded.

  ‘You better hurry up,’ Juno said, glancing at her watch. ‘We’re supposed to stop eating five hours before the launch. Which gives you twenty minutes to get that down.’

  Harry looked across the long table to where Eliot sat with two empty seats either side of him. He was paler than usual in the morning light, his lips were chapped and bleeding and he stared down at his plate of scrambled eggs as if he could not understand how they came to be there. ‘He’s got the right idea,’ Harry said. ‘Don’t want to see that breakfast coming right back up again when we launch, eh?’

  ‘Shut up,’ Eliot hissed without looking up.

  ‘I’m just saying,’ Harry continued, ‘won’t be so tough in three hours if you’re puking your guts up, right?’

  Eliot lifted a fork and flicked a few globs of scrambled egg at Harry, who dodged too late and then cried out in fury as the egg splashed his eye. His expression immediately darkened and he swore.

  ‘Please!’ Poppy said. ‘Please don’t turn this into another fight.’

  ‘Tell that to him,’ Harry said, wiping his eye with a paper napkin.

  ‘Don’t tempt me,’ Eliot said, very quietly. ‘Not today.’

  ‘Ohh, is that a threat?’ Harry wriggled his fingers in mock horror.

  ‘I bet you’re happy now.’ Eliot’s eyes narrowed. ‘You never liked her anyway.’

  ‘Eliot,’ Poppy pleaded.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he said, slamming his fork down. ‘I’m done.’ He stood up and left the room, the squeak of his soles echoing off the walls in the silence that followed.

  ‘You can be kind of mean sometimes,’ Astrid said to Harry as the door slammed shut.

  ‘It was only a joke,’ Harry said, glancing down at Eliot’s abandoned plate of food.

  ‘I’m not sure he knows that,’ Poppy said. ‘He gets really sick in the simulated launches. And I think he’s a little embarrassed about it.’

  ‘It’s not true, anyway.’ Harry lowered his eyes. ‘About me never liking Ara.’

  ‘You were always competing,’ Juno said. ‘You were the only two of us who made it to Command School, and then . . . you know, you were picked to be pilot over her. I don’t think she ever got over that.’

  ‘Well, I did.’ Harry shrugged. ‘And Eliot’s just upset because flying is something he’s not the best at. It’s not robotics or computing. The guy needs to be put in his place sometimes. He got it easy, and I know you all think so too. It’s never been fair with him. He just waltzed onto this programme and then he gets into the Beta. He doesn’t have to really work, not like the rest of us.’

  ‘Is that jealousy I hear?’ Juno teased.

  ‘No.’

  ‘He was chosen because he’s talented. Even though he’s younger than us. And when we get to Terra, he’ll design and programme robots that we’ll depend on,’ Astrid said.

  ‘It doesn�
��t really matter anyway,’ Juno added, ‘how anyone got in. Not anymore.’

  ‘Damn right it matters,’ said Harry, ‘and now more than ever.’ He took a long drag from his glass and slammed it down. ‘Am I the only one who thinks it’s weird that Eliot wasn’t suspended yesterday too?’ Juno and Poppy wrinkled their brows in confusion. Harry leant forward. ‘He’s lying about something. He and Ara went everywhere together, did everything together. They’re like conjoined twins for God’s sake, and you’re telling me that he has no idea that she’s planning to jump into a river? And yet, he’s “conveniently” close by and finds her body?’

  ‘You weren’t there,’ Astrid reminded him. Her stomach twisted at the memory of Ara limp as a doll in Eliot’s arms.

  ‘I didn’t need to be,’ Harry continued. ‘They barely questioned him. He’s lying about something and even if it doesn’t matter down here, with everyone else and space to breathe, up there—’ he glanced at the ceiling. ‘I mean, think about it, except for the seniors there will be no one but the six – I mean, the five – of us for the next twenty odd years. We’ve got to rely on each other. Trust each other. I couldn’t trust a loner like Eliot Liston.’

  ‘His parents are dead, you know,’ said Poppy. ‘Both of them.’

  ‘How does that change anything?’ asked Harry. ‘It’s not like any of us can go home for the holidays anymore.’

  ‘It’s not true, that they’re both dead,’ Juno corrected. ‘His mother died, I heard. And his father walked out on him.’

  ‘No I heard it was cancer and a car accident.’ Poppy lowered her voice. ‘He’s lost literally everyone he loves.’

  There was a moment of silence and then Juno took a sharp breath, as if she’d suddenly recalled a dream. ‘Someone new is coming. To replace Ara.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Astrid asked.

  ‘Well, they’ve got to replace her, haven’t they?’

  ‘Do they?’

  ‘I guess . . .’ She sounded less sure. ‘I mean, someone’s got to take her position, you know, do the job she was meant to do . . . hydroponics. We’ll need to grow food still.’