The Fated Sky

by Mary Robinette Kowal

  Across the room, Heidi and Dawn leaned against each other, propped up by the wall. Dawn had her arm around Heidi, who was clapping. “No one likes him.”

  The thing about emergencies is that people don’t waste energy on white lies. After the Meteor, some things the refugees said were … “blunt” would be generous.

  I patted his knee. “DeBeer. You have to let Kamilah give you fluids.”

  “You.”

  “I don’t know how. The best I can do is subcutaneous, and it’s not as effective.”

  He shook his head, ending with it pressed to the mat on the side away from Kamilah. This was stupid. We had him pinned, so I looked up at Kamilah and gave the best shrug I could in the suit.

  She grimaced and came down to me. “I’ll go into a vein in the legs, if you can hold him.”

  Benkoski pushed himself up on an elbow. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, DeBeer. Take the goddamned IV like a man. That is a direct order.”

  “I’m in a Mars suit, so my ‘taint’ won’t touch you.” Kamilah scowled at the puddle on the mat. “You can let me do my job, or you can lie here in your own shit.”

  DeBeer kept his face pressed against the mat, but he didn’t struggle. If anything, he went limp. Kamilah gestured for me to get off his legs, then she slid the weights to the side. Standing, she ripped the blanket off of him. “We’ll get him cleaned up first.”

  “Hopefully there won’t be another outburst.” I stood and headed to the bathroom to grab the Lysol.

  Behind me, Kamilah said, “Eh. He won’t be the first asshole I’ve nursed.”

  NINETEEN

  ANNOUNCER: This is the BBC World News for Wednesday, 28th November 1962.

  Reports from the First Mars Expedition have raised concerns in the international community after the death of Lt. Ruby Donaldson. Some of the vigils following her death have been marred by Earth First protesters who claim that the stated cause of death is part of a government cover-up to hide so-called space germs. These germs, they say, are a threat to life on Earth, and raise questions about what other contaminants will come back from the surface of Mars.

  When we finally finished getting DeBeer cleaned up and put an IV line in him, Benkoski struggled to his feet. He leaned on the chair that held his IV bag.

  “Hey!” Kamilah sprinted to him, which I didn’t know you could do in these suits. “What are you doing?”

  “Ruby.” He shrugged and looked at the floor. “I got her in the bag.”

  The bag. That was one of the scenarios covered in that report on mid-mission contingencies that Nathaniel had been reading back on Earth, “contingency” meaning that an astronaut dies in space. So far, none of the deaths in space have left a body to bury. The rest of them had received the astronaut’s version of a Viking funeral, but without warning, or even the opportunity to die first. Morbid, but sometimes we make these jokes just to survive.

  So what happens when an astronaut dies in the middle of a three-year mission? You can’t send the body into the Earth’s atmosphere to burn up, because you are millions of kilometers away. Do you store it until you reach Mars? Or get back to Earth? What does that do to the crew, knowing that their colleague’s body is along for the ride?

  Or, being the IAC, do you create a new system that allows the remains to be returned home in a compact and sanitary way? “The bag” was a heavy plastic body bag that contained the astronaut’s remains so they could be placed in an airlock and exposed to the vacuum of space until the body within froze solid.

  When an organic form has been exposed to the vacuum of space for about an hour, it fractures easily. Shake a bag containing frozen organic material, and it becomes dust, even the bones and teeth. Dust can easily be compacted into a neat cube for transportation home and interment in the ceremony of choice.

  The bag had not been used on a human yet.

  I took a slow breath, wishing that my air supply had a little more oxygen in the mix. “Is she in an airlock?”

  He nodded. “The number three forward. I just couldn’t … do the rest. I tried, but I’m so goddamned weak right now.”

  Kamilah rested a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll take care of her.”

  “I’ll come with you.” He picked up his IV bag and rested it on his shoulder. “And before you tell me no, I promise not to exert myself, and to come straight back here, after.”

  Putting her hands on her hips, Kamilah glared at him. “There won’t be anything you can do.”

  “I can say goodbye.” Benkoski drew himself erect. Seeing him with something that passed for military bearing made the amount of weight he’d lost during the past week painfully clear.

  The three of us trooped out of the gym—or rather, Kamilah and I clomped out, and Benkoski trailed after us, resting one hand against the wall. I stopped and waited until he caught up. “Lean on me.”

  The corner of his mouth turned up in a wry smile. “Thanks. I feel useless.”

  “You aren’t.” I tucked an arm around his waist. “You got DeBeer to behave.”

  His arm settled across my shoulders, pressing the O-ring of my helmet down into the muscle at the base of my neck. “If you can call it that. I should have reined him in early, but I figured ordering him to behave would just make him dig in on the racism.”

  I looked up at him as best I could in my helmet. With his weight on its O-ring, all I could really see was his chin. “I’m surprised that he was included in the crew.”

  “Parker tried to get him kicked off.” Benkoski sighed and then coughed.

  I stopped to let him catch his breath. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Clemons said no. Budget. South Africa was kicking in a huge amount of money.” Benkoski straightened and kept going. “But my job is to try to keep the ship running, and he’s my copilot. Good times.”

  “Does the IAC know he’s still giving you trouble?”

  “Nah. Nothing they could do, and they’d probably try counseling or some shit like that. With a time delay.” He let go of me when we reached the foot of the ladder up to the spindle. “I should be good from here.”

  “I can always give you a push if you have trouble climbing.”

  Benkoski laughed and patted his own rump. “Yeah. Diaper’s not full yet, so have at it.”

  Kamilah looked down from above us. “I am not washing your ass again.”

  “I can do it myself.” Benkoski started hauling himself up the ladder.

  I followed, just in case he slipped, though what I would have done if that happened, I don’t know—wedged my suit into place in the ladder shaft? As I came out into the spindle, Benkoski had anchored himself to the wall with one hand and Kamilah was at his side, looking at the IV bag.

  “Goddamn it. Sorry. I should have thought of this. I was just distracted…” Kamilah shook her head. “You have to go back down to gravity.”

  “What? Why?”

  “The saline dip is gravity fed. It’s doing no good right now.” She took him by the shoulders and turned him back toward the ladder. “Sorry, but that is fact.”

  “I’ll be fine.” He looked to me for support. “Elma. Tell her I’ll be fine.”

  “No.” I shook my head. There are many things I will argue with, but not a doctor who is making a declaration. “And don’t make me get Parker on the line to give you a direct order.”

  He opened his mouth like he was going to argue, then clapped it shut. “All right. I will be sensible and go back down.”

  Kamilah waited until he started down the ladder before she turned toward the forward airlocks, up near crew quarters. As we floated up the length of the ship side by side, I kept looking for something to say. The weight of what we were heading toward almost provided its own gravity.

  Even if Benkoski hadn’t told us which airlock, it would have been obvious, since the delta-pressure gauge showed a vacuum on the other side. Kamilah pressed the button to close the exterior door and once it was shut, I opened the valve to let atmosphere roar into the airloc
k. I could think of no rhymes or even a sentence to start the game.

  Kamilah cleared her throat beside me. “Ruby Donaldson was a fine medic and a wicked hand at bridge. She could dance the lindy hop and make it look like she was in zero gravity, even on Earth. We were in the same class of astronauts, and I will never forget the first day we met. She had those pigtails that make her look like she’s twelve years old, and when some guy asked if she’d gotten lost from a school tour, she looked up at him and said, ‘Yeah. I’m from the fucking school of hard knocks and I’m here to teach you not to make assumptions.’ I’ll miss her.”

  I hadn’t needed to cry up until right that moment. The tears threatened to form pools in front of my eyes and I blinked hard and fast to clear them. “Ruby Donaldson was a dedicated astronaut and a compassionate doctor. She took every part of her job seriously, even when it wasn’t glamorous. I never heard her complain about long hours, and she even offered to stay later if a teammate needed help. The first time I met Ruby, she was on the moon to learn how to drive a Rover. I will never forget her yelling ‘Yee-haw.’ I wanted to buy her a lasso.”

  The hiss of my breath filled the world around me as I stared through my helmet at the indicator. We waited for another two minutes before the pressure rose high enough to open the hatch. I looked through the window into the dimly lit cube to confirm that the outer hatch really was shut. A translucent plastic bag floated in the middle, with thick handles on both ends. It had settled against Ruby’s neck so you could just make out her shoulder and the side of her head.

  Swallowing, I undogged the hatch and pulled the door open, bracing against one of the guide rails. Kamilah followed me into the airlock. She rested a hand on the body and squeezed. “Solid.”

  I glanced at my oxygen indicator. I think I was hoping that it would be too low to stay here and that we’d have to leave, but the gauge showed that I had plenty of air to do this and still get back to the Niña. Setting my jaw, I grabbed one of the handles and wrapped my other hand around one of the guide rails. In my mind, I began reciting the Mourner’s Kaddish. Yitgadal v’yitkadash sh’mei raba. B’alma di v’ra … “On three?”

  Kamilah nodded, taking the other handle. “One. Two. Three.”

  … chirutei, v’yamlich malchutei, b’chayeichon …

  The bag lofted toward the ceiling, as easily as if we were shaking out a sheet. At the top of the arc, we snapped it back down. For a moment, the plastic outlined Ruby’s face and chest and even her pigtails. Then she began to shatter. At the bottom of the swing, the bag shook with three distinct thumps.

  … uv’yomeichon, uv’chayei d’chol beit Yisrael, baagala …

  Up. The bag trembled as myriad rigid sharp angles struck it.

  … uviz’man kariv. V’im’ru. Amen.

  Down. The bag shuddered in my grip with the fall of dozens of rocks.

  Y’hei sh’mei raba m’varach, l’alam ul’almei almaya.

  Up. Something round pressed against the bag, like a child’s head devoid of features.

  Yitbarach v’yishtabach v’yitpaar, v’yitromam …

  Down. The airlock had full atmosphere, rather than the blessed silence of vacuum. The pebbles in the bag drummed and rattled.

  … v’yitnasei, v’yit’hadar v’yitaleh v’yit’halal …

  Up and down and up and down and goddamn it—

  * * *

  After we finished. After we got back to the BusyBee. After I had to take my helmet off because I couldn’t see to fly. Even after we got back to the Niña, I could still feel Ruby’s body shattering through the lingering vibration in my hands.

  The only thing—the only thing for which I could be grateful—was that Benkoski hadn’t been able to come with us.

  TWENTY

  DISASTER EFFECTS FOUND TO PERSIST

  Report on Meteor Survivors

  Given by Psychiatrists

  By EMMA HARRISON

  Special to The National Times

  TORONTO, Canada, Nov. 29, 1962—Ten years after the Meteor slammed into the Chesapeake Bay, wiping out Washington, D.C., and much of the Eastern Seaboard, the Meteor’s survivors showed marked psychological deterioration, two psychiatrists said yesterday. The survivors also reported a variety of physical complaints that physicians believed were psychologically induced.

  Psychiatrists have tended to believe that a victim’s previous personality is a major factor in the degree of mental disturbance after the accident, but Dr. Robert L. Leopold and Dr. Harold Dillon posited that the similar reactions of a large group of men over a long period open the pre-accident personality theory to question. The two psychiatrists first examined the men right after the disaster and found typical post-accident behavior. Many were bewildered, anxious, could not sleep, and had digestive disturbances. A few seemed overwhelmed.

  Upon reexamination, most of the survivors were found to be more disturbed than they had been ten years earlier. They had developed many new complaints, feelings of isolation, of being watched, and hostility and distrust toward others.

  I needed Nathaniel. Ruby’s … whatever the hell that was … had left me with nightmares. I had not needed to ask Kamilah for a Miltown. She offered it as soon as we got back. Of course she’d read my file. Of course it would be on the ship for when I needed it. But I didn’t want it to be so obvious that I needed one.

  I didn’t want to need one.

  And I don’t know what Kamilah took herself.

  We did not talk about Ruby, although in my incident report I said that “the bag” should never, ever be used for a person.

  But I needed Nathaniel. So I took myself up to the comm module along with a binder covering the various burns we would need to do on the journey. The transmission delay was long enough now that I would need something to keep me occupied while I waited. Plus, it would cover me working out the code from Nathaniel’s response.

  Florence looked up from a novel when I swung into the module. “Need anything?”

  “I was hoping the teletype was free.” It sat idle, bolted to its spot on the side of the comm module. “Got a message from Nathaniel to answer.”

  She waved a hand toward the machine. “Be my guest, but hope you don’t mind if I ignore you—Valentine Michael Smith just laughed.” She buried her nose back in her book.

  That was fine by me, because it would reduce the likelihood that she’d notice me writing garbage. Today’s word for the keyed Caesar was on page 30, line 7, word 4—“rhinoceros.” So the alphabet was RHINOCESABDFGJKLMPQTUVWXYZ.

  30 7 4—Wo srn tk uqo tso hre tsaje tk hpord ul Puhy’q hkny. Lforqo toff go tsrt yku wopo jkt aj tso gootajeq tsrt rllpkvon tsrt skppahfo tsaje. A irj’t eot at kut kc gy sorn. Wsrt tso soff wrq Ifogkjq tsajdaje tk ikggaqqakj tsrt? Rjn wsk toqton at tsrt ikufnj’t aggonartofy qoo tso lpkhfogq? Jk kjo qskufn ovop, ovop srvo tk uqo at. A wkujn ul trdaje r Gaftkwj tk eot tk qfool..

  (Translated: We had to use the bag thing to break up Ruby’s body. Please tell me that you were not in the meetings that approved that horrible thing. I can’t get it out of my head. What the hell was Clemons thinking to commission that? And who tested it that couldn’t immediately see the problems? No one should ever, ever have to use it. I wound up taking a Miltown to get to sleep.)

  Dear Nathaniel,

  I’m not sure what they’re saying on Earth about Ruby’s death, but I’ll tell you that she was working right up until the end. I wish we’d gone over sooner, but I understand why Mission Control made the decision they did. Hindsight is always 20/20, and all that. Still. I can’t help but wonder if we could have saved her.

  Everyone on the Pinta is doing much better. But I guess you know that, since they’re back in communication. Benkoski says they’re all still reeling a little, but everyone feels better to be working.

  Speaking of working, I was glad to hear that Tommy came out for fall break. I think that’s a good way for him to start getting used to life in Kansas City before he starts his internship. Thank you for taking him bow
ling and introducing him to the folks from Adler. He’s been talking about wanting to be an astronomer for ages now. I think this will be a great opportunity for him. Please take pictures so I can see them when I get home.

  All my love,

  Elma

  Wsoj A qran tsrt A ujnopqtkkn wsy Gaqqakj Ikjtpkf grno tso noiaqakj tsoy nan, A faon. A nkj’t. A gorj, A nan rt tso tago, hut rq qkkj rq wo sornon kvop aj tso Grpq quatq at buqt qoogon qk khvakuq tsrt wo ikufn srvo nkjo tsrt qkkjop. Rff ikjvopqrtakj rhkut ekaje kvop wrq qsut nkwj hockpo wo ovoj srn r isrjio tk wkpd tso lpkhfog. Skjoqtfy, A tsajd at’q ipagajrf tsrt Puhy’q norn

  (Translated: When I said that I understood why Mission Control made the decision they did, I lied. I don’t. I mean, I did at the time, but as soon as we headed over in the Mars suits it just seemed so obvious that we could have done that sooner. All conversation about going over was shut down before we even had a chance to work the problem. Honestly, I think it’s criminal that Ruby’s dead.)

  I could have kept going, but I sat back and waited for him to respond. Or, rather, I waited for the signals from the teletype to travel millions of kilometers to Earth. In five minutes, someone would get the message and give it to Nathaniel. He would be at the office now, so unless he was in a meeting, he’d come to the machine right away.

  Especially since I had mentioned Miltown.

  He was going to tell me to be careful and ask if I’d talked to anyone about how upsetting dealing with the bag had been. As if there were anyone I could talk with on the ship. The only person who made sense was Kamilah, and she had gone through the very same thing. I couldn’t exactly complain to her.

  I grabbed my binder and flipped it open to the first page. Launch. That wasn’t a page we needed anymore. I popped the binder open and pulled the launch pages out, tucking them between my legs to keep them from floating away.

  Had anyone asked an actual astronaut about the bag? I would ask Nathaniel when he responded, because if they had, then I wanted to talk to the S.O.B. who said that it would work. And if they hadn’t, that was a whole ’nother angry conversation.