Kate reached out and squeezed Mary’s good hand.
Holding her breath, she toggled the MAIN POWER switch.
Katie
An overweight, middle-aged medical assistant whose breath smelled like sour cheese pulled the last staple from her abdomen, leaned back smiling, and said, “There, good as new.”
Katie grimaced and stared at the concrete wall. All these doctor types poking and prodding her got annoying in a hurry.
“I’ll remove the sutures from your chest now, Katie,” he said, lifting the gown. She heard the snip-snipping and felt the tug of stitches shuddering out. In a moment, he drew her gown back down and stood up. “All done.”
She eased herself up and swung her legs over the examination table.
“Are you okay, Katie?”
She peered around the sterile room, unsure of what she felt.
“Well, go light on the sports and physical training for the next few days until the scars are healed. If you run into any problems, have your trainer bring you in, okay?”
Katie nodded. “Can I go now?”
He opened the door and waved her out.
Later that evening, cocooned under the thin bed sheets in her dorm, Katie examined her wounds with a flashlight and mirror. The scars across her chest had already hardened. The incisions weren’t too deep, she figured. But the one down her abdomen remained sore and scabby. She ran her index finger over it lightly, tracing the incision, bumping over rough bits of dried blood and skin. When her fingertip accidently ripped one off, she flinched, then relaxed. That sensation of sharp pain followed by migrating warmth caught her attention—the same sweetness she remembered, like when she pulled out a loose baby tooth.
The next evening, again under her sheets, she picked at another scab on her tummy. This time, with intention.
Kate
Whorls of fine, grey dust kicked up off the floor and danced around the console as the oxygenator struggled to pressurize the control room, wheezing life into the gloom. The console’s main view panel, one of the few screens left, showed a gentle rise in oxygenated air, ambient temperature, and subsequent pressure. In addition, dim, orphaned emergency lights around the room blinked.
Mary squealed with delight. “I can’t wait to get out of this suit!” She leaned toward a view port opening on the cylindrical trio of life support systems: the oxygenator, scrubber, and hydrogenator, all blinking green lights. “It worked, Kate!”
Kate scrunched up her face inside her helmet. On the main view panel, two red lights appeared next to the power levels. The current draw of the systems was massive and overwhelmed the amp capacity of the scooter battery.
“What’s the matter?”
“The power isn’t sustainable, Mares. This won’t last, and we’ll be back in a vacuum.”
Mary approached and planted her arm on the console. “How much time?”
“Hard to tell. We can kill the lights and the hydrogenator, reduce the filtering . . .” She worked out the math, best-case and worst-case scenarios against the backdrop of needing to hold on for at least a couple more days. “We’ve got whatever’s left on my scooter battery, and then we’ll switch over to the other. There’s a portable solar kit to recharge the one while the other’s in use. That’ll help, but our problem is charge time. It’s about twenty hours with the solar kit, and our current rate of consumption will wipe out the first battery in six hours.”
Green lights blinked over the access hatchways and on the main viewscreen. Kate scrutinized the console, and released the seal on her helmet. She inched it off her head, inhaled and smiled.
“Help me with mine, Kate,” Mary said, her good arm manipulating the helmet latch where she could. Kate reached over and snapped the opposite side. The seal hissed, and she pulled the helmet over Mary’s head.
“Is this safe?”
“Nothing’s a hundred percent safe.”
Kate unbuckled her envirosuit first and shivered. The temperature inside the control room hovered around 8 degrees Celsius despite the sunlight, and combined with her sweat, rudely awakened her. After helping Mary with her suit, they stood in the dust and dim light, not quite believing what they’d accomplished; they hugged each other.
“The room’s holding up well. No leaks I can see or hear, but let’s stay close to our suits.” She blew into her fingers. “The temperature should rise with the full sunlight.”
Mary opened various storage compartments, looking for anything they might use. In one of the larger bins near the external hatchway, she found half a dozen Kevlar full-body skins, a couple more oxygen canisters, and a first aid kit. Another open box held emergency shock blankets and what appeared to be flares on the bottom. They changed out of their wet skins and into fresh clothing, Kate again helping Mary negotiate the undergarment around her slinged arm. Then, she pulled a medi-patch from the kit and tightened it on her elbow to keep the swelling down.
“How’s the pain?” she asked, wrapping up the last turns of the medi-patch and pinching the end in place.
“Comes and goes now. I’m still amazed at how much better it is.”
Kate surmised there was no ugly break along with the dislocation, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t sustained a fracture of some sort. One more item for the to-do list.
“Mares, I’m exhausted. Let’s sleep for a couple hours to take the edge off.”
They hung their envirosuits up and used the remaining body skins as pillows, then wriggled up on the console away from the dust and covered themselves with the shock blankets for warmth.
Kate waited until Mary’s breathing became low and rhythmic before she unzipped the top of her new skin and grabbed the short screwdriver from her pocket. Turning the flat edge around in the shadows in front of her, she sighed, and carved a rough line over a healed scar. Tears welled up and for a second, sheer panic shot through her nervous system as images of the past twenty hours cascaded through her mind. When the smell of iron in the air from the oozing blood hit her nostrils, her muscles relaxed, and she breathed again, eyes closed, choking back her emotions as she lay supine on the console.
“You okay, Kate?”
Mary’s voice drifted over her like a soap bubble, enveloping the grim thoughts and images that pooled in her thoughts. Not for the first time, she was a complete failure: damaged, unlovable, and frightened behind a ridiculous, public mask.
“How do you do it, Mares?” She scraped a new line across her chest, inching it from left to right.
“Do what?”
Kate sniffed and wiped her nose, staring up at the dark control room ceiling. “Stay calm in the face of death. At first, I figured it was the naivete of youth, or maybe because you picked it up from books. But I’m a mess on the inside, and you? You’re . . . happy?”
The only sound in the habitat for the next several minutes was the low-level thrum of the oxygenator performing the way it had been designed: generate and pump pure O2, a small miracle. Then Kate heard soft movement. She leaned up on her elbows, chest exposed, to see Mary in a weak silhouette against one of the emergency lights, sitting on the edge of the console, her legs swinging off it, face turned toward her.
“Sorry,” Kate whispered, and hurried to cover the stains on her chest with the shock blanket.
“Kate, you don’t have to hide from me.” She slipped off the console and walked over. Mary’s hand reached out and touched her warm cheek, holding it there. She leaned into her palm.
“If there’s a secret to fear and courage, I really don’t know it. But I believe life is more than daily struggles. So, for me, it becomes a choice. That’s what Dad taught me.”
Kate fought hard to keep her shit together, but with marginal success. Her voice sounded raspy and came in starts. “How can you . . . not be afraid? Here we are, a million miles from home, and you may never see your dad again or, or . . .”
Mary exhaled. “Oh, like for sure I miss him. I do every day. But worrying about this situation won’t change anything. If
our time is up now then I want to live it through to the end, Kate, the beautiful end.” She pulled her hand away and squeezed Kate’s shoulder, then crept back to her sleeping nest.
After a few more minutes listening to the oxygenator, Kate whispered, “I wish I could see the world the way you do, Mary.”
“You can. My dad says it’s a choice everyone has.” She paused. “But maybe no one told you this before.”
“What?”
“Dad used to say this when I was really young, and I didn’t understand until much later, but he’d tell me this story about an abstract painter, a guy named Karabekian. He painted one of these odd pieces that was all green except for one thin orange line running top to bottom, just off to the side. Profound art, he told the world.”
“Uh-huh. That abstract stuff is too weird for me. I prefer seascapes.”
“Well, the people didn’t like it either, and said oh, my five-year-old could do better than that, and a case of beer and a couple cans of paint is all you need to make that art. Then Karabekian did what few artists do.”
“What’s that?”
“He explained it. He said, like, if you remove all the noise and confusion and garbage from your life, all the masks we wear, all the things we do, all the lies we tell ourselves and others, then what you’re left with is your true essence: an unwavering band of light shining for all to see in a dark and cynical world. The only thing that really matters.” After pausing a moment, she added, “I think that’s what we are, too. Bands of light. Nothing more.”
Kate imagined a canvas of green with a single, vertical orange stripe cutting through it for a moment, trying to envision her genuine self, her authentic being, as a brilliant band of orange light in dark green space, like a solitary star, then dismissed it as completely impractical, and smirked.
Artists.
Atteberry
“Damn it all, Esther, I have to come with you!”
Despite vain efforts to take his mind off Mary’s welfare, Atteberry remained in a morose state of unprecedented worry. The one person he loved more than anything in the world was marooned on Luna, and Esther, the one person with the power and authority to divert ships from their routes, to order corporations like Titanius to throw all their resources into saving her and Kate, now mewled on the other end of the link like a stodgy old bureaucrat.
And there was nothing he could do about it.
“This isn’t a pleasure cruise, Jim. We’re not going on a sightseeing trip. How are you not getting this?” She sounded tired and irritated.
Atteberry set his jaw and counted to five. He hadn’t been able to sit still all morning. One minute he was in the basement reading; the next cleaning the kitchen for the third time. His calls to the TSA after lunch were politely ignored (no one could or would tell him where Esther was) and, until a few moments ago, the v-mails he left with her had also been forgotten.
He forced himself to calm down, to speak slowly, articulating every measured word so as not to alienate the only link to his daughter. “Esther, I’m sorry, you’re right. Understand, I’m going snaky here, and I’m so helpless and . . . and useless. I don’t mean to take it out on you.”
The change in tone from one of frustrated defiance to a more open, softer approach was subtle. “I know, Jim. It’s been a horrible strain and I can only imagine what you’re going through. I don’t take it personally.”
Atteberry bit his bottom lip, pushing the fear and anger deep into his gut.
“Esther, please, you’ve got to let me come along to Luna.”
Silence resounded over the link. He could hear her breathing and guessed her answer even before she said, “I can’t, Jim.”
“Please don’t shut me out like this. I can’t take it. I’ve got to do something, anything, and don’t tell me that staying at home keeping my mouth shut is an enormous help. That’s not going to cut it.”
“Okay, look, this isn’t working. You know how you are, quick to challenge, putting your interests before those of others, and—”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t patronize me. When you first heard the Rossian signal all those years ago, you didn’t want to keep it quiet, couldn’t hand it over to the scientists who actually know how to approach such things. No, you wanted to share it with the world, going against the UN First Contact Protocol, my wishes, and putting the entire Earth at risk. Now those creatures are on the Moon doing God knows what. Then you tell me Kate thinks they had something to do with the Titanius lab blowing up? Jim, understand, you can’t be involved in the rescue mission. You’re way too close to Mary and Kate, and that makes you untrustworthy.”
Atteberry dropped into a kitchen chair. Tears welled up, partly from fear and partly from pure black rage. He lowered the indie-comm device from his ear and stared off into a corner of the room. He couldn’t believe she’d betray him like this.
“Listen, the best available people are on this mission. The crew of the Echo is top-notch, and this ship is . . . well, it’s unlike anything we’ve ever imagined at the TSA. They tell me she’s the fastest ship ever built, jump-jet capability, enhanced heat shielding, next gen artificial gravity, top of the line comms. We’re leaving shortly and if everything goes well, Kate and Mary will be home within 24 hours.”
Her voice sounded distant and small from the end of his arm. Atteberry understood all this: she’d already lectured him, and he didn’t find it helpful to be reminded that strangers (strangers!) would rescue his little girl, leaving him on Earth like some frightened, emasculated weakling. How could I live with myself if I don’t do everything possible to move earth and sun and bring my Mary home. That was something Esther didn’t understand, or at least wouldn’t acknowledge.
In a last-ditch attempt to bring her on-side, to persuade her that he should be on the Echo, he played the one card he could guarantee would get her attention. He brought the device back up to his face.
“Esther, I appreciate all you’re doing and I’m grateful Titanius is sending that ship to rescue Mary. But hear me well. I have to go with you.”
“No.”
“Listen, god dammit! I won’t get in the way, promise, and I won’t touch anything I’m not supposed to touch,” his voice rose, parroting her schoolmarm lilt. “And, if you don’t bring me with you, I’ll go to the media.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“You’re pushing me into a corner, Es, and leaving me with no other options. I’m a desperate man, a desperate father. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for Mary . . . or Kate, truth be told.” He was rolling now, living and breathing the confidence and conviction of taking a decision, of moving toward action, of doing what any father in his position would do. “Make no mistake, it won’t just be the lab blowing up and the alien ship on Luna. I’ll tell them everything about that original signal, too. How Marshall Whitt died at the hands of the NDU because he tried controlling comms with the Rossians, and how you betrayed the TSA with your involvement in destroying the only subspace transmitter we’ve ever built.”
“Jim—”
“Oh, and I’ll make sure all your partners and the CCR and the UN know all about the cover-up you ordered to save your ass from prosecution.” A novel, sickening thought bubbled up from a dark place. It hung there like a poisonous, black fog. His heart fell, and he swallowed the bile that oozed up this throat.
“Esther, wait,” he whispered, “you didn’t . . .” He caught his breath.
“Didn’t what?” Esther’s voice was cold, hard and detached.
“You didn’t purposely throw my Mary on this space program just to . . . I mean, as part of your cover-up, did you?” If she took Mary into the internship and was behind the accident on Luna, he would tear her limbs off with his bare hands.
For what seemed like minutes to Atteberry, no sound appeared on the link except for Esther’s constrained breathing, remote noises of people chattering in the background, and the beep of the routine encryption signal. His mind r
olled over the possibility of Esther’s involvement on Luna and how Titanius must also be a party to it. He shuddered at the thought of her, the first woman he felt comfortable with after Janet’s disappearance, being this callous and ambitious to sentence Mary and Kate to death on the Moon, and for what, a cover up? It was a crazy notion, but he’d seen enough crazy to know anything was possible in these cold war days.
“Jim,” she said, adopting an overwhelming business-like tone, “I’ll speak with Clayton Carter in a few minutes about bringing you on board the Echo. Will that keep your maw shut for a while?”
Atteberry understood the breadth of powers she had as a TSA executive. She’d imprisoned a stalker indefinitely years ago and clearly had no issue with wielding her power when needed. It was a game of chicken, sure. Would he be able to take his story to the media before she had him incarcerated?
“I only want to save my daughter, Esther. That’s all.”
“Fine, keep your goddamn mouth shut and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
EIGHTEEN
Kate
The high-pitched ping stole into her black dreams like a thief and launched her back into the control room at the Aristoteles habitat, where the first thing she noted after the rude alarm was how tight and sore her muscles had become from sleeping on the hard console.
Kate groaned. The air smelled stale, like old laundry, only more acrid. She bolted up and checked the main viewscreen: all green except for the amber light showing the degree of filtration. The scrubber must not be working well.
“Mary, wake up.”
Mary stirred on the other end of the console, then went quiet.
Kate threw off the shock blanket, swung her legs over the edge and stretched. Despite only a napping, she was more clear-headed and awake than she had been for the past twenty hours. Every little bit helps.
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