Satellite

by Nick Lake

  “no,” i say. “no. i…i thought i was back in the capsule. i think. i didn’t trip, or anything…i just freaked out.”

  “interesting,” says the Dr. “i had not considered psychological parameters. we should invite Dr. Santat to future tests.” he’s talking to himself again. Dr. Santat is the psych who interviews us every morning. is earth what u expected? what is home to u? that kind of thing.

  “what now, doc?” says Soto.

  Dr. Stearns rubs his chin. “let’s get him up.” they put hands under my armpits & hoist me into a standing position. Dr. Stearns keeps an eye on the graphs coming from his screen. my belt has stopped buzzing on my chest.

  they help me out of the glass room & into a wheelchair. Libra & Orion sit down again too. & it strikes me that they got out of their chairs when i fell, that they stood for me, & it gives me a warm feeling in the pit of my stomach. they’re what feels like home, here on earth, those twins.

  nothing else fits & i don’t fit. like someone who walks on their hands.

  “let’s reduce the time protocol,” says Dr. Stearns to 1 of the technicians at a screen. “1 minute each for the other 2.”

  “u’re doing this again?” says Soto.

  “have to,” says Dr. Stearns. “we need to know what’s going on inside their bodies. their stress points. if they’re ever going to leave this place, we need to know they can take it.”

  Soto shakes his head but doesn’t say anything.

  “just 1 minute,” says Dr. Stearns, as if justifying it to himself. “then we pull them out.” he taps a technician on the shoulder. “i want to c joint operation particularly. keep an eye on the knees & ankles.” then he turns to us. “ok, let’s get this done.”

  Orion puts up his hand. “oh, Dr. Stearns. pick me. pick me. i can’t wait.”

  “ha-ha,” says Libra.

  Soto catches my eye & winks again, not jokingly now, more sympathetically. but my heart doesn’t flicker this time. my heart has had more than it can take already.

  when Libra & Orion are both out of the MRI machine, we are wheeled back to our rooms. Soto comes along too—he doesn’t say anything, it isn’t discussed, he just kind of ambles along. Dr. Stearns doesn’t do anything to stop it but he doesn’t look thrilled either.

  if i was paranoid, i would think he was worried about Soto hanging out with us.

  but i’m not paranoid.

  i don’t think anyway.

  when we arrive at our quarters, Libra says she wants to get ready for their mom. she lives in Florida, their mom, that’s how come it’s taken her a couple of days to get here. she’s not as big in the organization as my mom but she did a few tours: she was on the team who installed Canadarm 2 on the space station, which was the robot arm before the current 1.

  Orion mumbles something about wanting to get ready too, & they both disappear into their rooms. Soto looks at me for a moment.

  “want to get out of here?” he says. he smiles. when he does it’s like he makes his own light.

  i stare at him. “i can’t,” i say.

  “oh i don’t mean off the base,” he says. “i just mean out.”

  “out?”

  “like on the roof.”

  i’m still staring. “we can go out on the roof?”

  “no. not technically. in terms of the rules. but, i mean, actually? yes.”

  i shrug. “yeah. of course. yeah.” i try to sound casual but this is amazing to me, this idea that we can just…go outside, & onto the roof. on the station, that kind of freedom simply doesn’t exist. there are the modules, & outside the modules, there is nothing.

  he nods & takes hold of my wheelchair & wheels me back out into the hallway. he takes me down a couple of long stretches, around a couple of corners, & then stops at a nondescript gray service door. it reads: FIRE EXIT.

  “we have to lose the chair here,” he says.

  “uh-huh.”

  “u want to lean on me?”

  “please.”

  he stands still while i get up, & i put a hand on his shoulder. i feel the strength of his muscles thru his shirt. a little electric current goes thru me. i feel something happen, in the center of me. blood, rushing inward. a tingle. it is something i felt once before, in space, when i hugged Orion.

  “ok?”

  “ok.” i wonder if my cheeks are red, if my nerves are visible, jangling under my skin.

  he opens the door & then leads me up a flight of steps. every step is torture. the ground is still attacking me, still rearing up at me, & i am still being pressed down into it. every coordination of muscle & joint is conscious & planned. i am sweating from the physical exertion as well as the mental concentration on each component of each movement.

  slowly,

  slowly,

  slowly,

  we stagger up the stairs. there are corners too where we double back on ourselves. i never thought, i never thought up there on Moon 2 about stairs & how they would be my nemesis.

  my undoing.

  i am panting for air now as we climb, sweat dripping from my eyebrows, wondering if i can simply give up. it’s not just that it’s physically exhausting; mentally too, i am focusing so much on each movement, merely to not fall over. i could sit down here. just say “sorry, i can’t make it” & sit down on the stairs & get him to go for help.

  but then i look up & we’re 2 steps from the top.

  “u did it,” he says. he is still by me, still propping me up. the upright easy power of him.

  knees & ankles screeching like poorly oiled parts—it seems like he must hear them too—& muscles on fire, i push myself up those last 2 steps. there’s another gray door in front of us with a picture of a man running from a fire, only this door is framed by a keyline of bright white light.

  “that’s it,” says Soto. “the door to outside.”

  he supports me as i limp over to it, then opens it. sunshine blinds my eyes to begin with. i blink & glowing circles fill my vision, then gradually clear.

  i c an expanse of asphalt, or bitumen, or something: i’m not good with earth substances. i’m still learning.

  the roof is flat & punctuated by covered shapes that i assume are some kind of air outlet, or AC inlet. beyond them, the blue sky unfurls like a bolt of silk. & below, small vehicles & cars move around.

  “wow,” i say. i’d forgotten the feeling, even in the few days since i was in that cornfield. the air on my skin. the smell. complicated: dry grass maybe? & something oily & mechanical, & a sharp tone that might be ozone; a storm coming, perhaps? the wind is up, i can c it smoothing the long grass beyond the perimeter fence into shapes & whorls.

  a bird wheels past, cawing, tumbling in the sky, a black scrap of fabric plucked up by the wind & falling down again. i think of vids i have seen & realize that this is a crow, rising up on a thermal i guess, & then plummeting down over & over.

  as if it’s playing, almost.

  do crows play? i nearly say it out loud but don’t. Soto points to a spot to our left & then helps me over to it. when we arrive he motions for us to sit, & aids me in getting down onto the roof.

  the surface presses up, as i lower myself onto it. pressure on my tailbone. i was never aware i had a tailbone, on Moon 2. now i feel it every time i sit down.

  “look,” he says.

  i look. we’re on the edge of the roof. the eastern edge? i’m not sure. facing away from the center’s busy test facilities, it’s almost the same view as from our rooms, but it’s not filtered anymore, not mediated by glass—it’s a little like when i stepped out of the space station—swam out, more like—& i was suddenly in openness & even tho it looked superficially the same it felt entirely different.

  i’m outside.

  in the air.

  & the view is amazing: grass rolling away over gently undulating earth all the way to the sharp horizon, where the earth gives way to that shining blue-silk sky; & i feel the sharpness of the horizon too, it does something to me, it hinges open something
inside me, like the blade of a knife, it shucks me, like an oyster.

  the world isn’t my oyster, i think.

  the world is a knife.

  i am the oyster.

  “u’re an oyster?” says Soto, & i realize i must have said that out loud.

  “oh. nothing. sorry.”

  “don’t apologize. u’re in a pretty weird situation.” he leans back on the rooftop & puts his hands behind his head. i’m tempted to do the same. but i would not match his casualness, & i might not be able to get up again. but the roof is warm beneath me, & it does look appealing.

  he looks up at the sky. it’s bright daylight, the sun a hot disk behind a few tatters of cloud, but there’s a crescent moon, pale against the blue.

  “i can’t believe u were up there for so long,” he says. “it must have been…amazing.”

  i shrug. “it was just where we lived.” i wave at the general everythingness around us. air, grass, the few thin leafless trees or cacti or something in the distance. “this is amazing.”

  “it’s Nevada, honey.”

  “well, it’s amazing to me.” i breathe in slow thru my nostrils. something tingly & fresh on the air.

  “rain,” says Soto, seeing me do it.

  “yeah?”

  “yeah. on its way. a storm.” he points to dark clouds on the horizon.

  a comfortable silence.

  “u haven’t been up then?” i say eventually. the answer is pretty obvious but it’s not like i’ve had a lot of conversational training.

  “nope. only just got my doctorate.”

  “u’re, what, 18 & u have a doctorate?”

  he half smiles, not boasting, but not embarrassed either. “well, yeah. it’s a young-astronauts program. a PhD & some serious flying qualifications are the basic entry requirements.”

  “so u fly too?”

  “air cadets, then air force, yes.”

  “impressive. i feel almost bad. i got to live up there & i didn’t have to do anything to qualify for it.”

  he nudges my arm. “come on. u’re space born. a native. i heard about that EVA u pulled off. to replace the gyro.”

  i try to mimic his half smile. i don’t think it’s very successful. i think i probably look like i’m passing gas. “there wasn’t really much choice.”

  “spoken like a true astronaut.”

  a pause again. the sun warm on my face. when i close my eyes i still c it, glowing red thru my eyelids.

  “u want to go back up?” he says.

  i cover my eyes with my hand, turn to look at him. “to Moon 2?”

  “yeah.”

  “i don’t know. i don’t really know anything about earth, yet.”

  “i can c that.”

  “i mean,” i say, “they always call it home. but we’ve never been here, u know?”

  “but u wanted to come down?”

  “yeah! of course. i mean, to experience it. to meet people who aren’t astronauts or Libra or Orion. i mean, not that i don’t love them. but…to have friends! play sports! & to know what earth feels like. there are so many things. waterfalls. swimming. the ocean. throwing a baseball. roller coasters! walking in long grass. snow. sand. everything. i want to feel everything.”

  he is nodding. “me too. that’s why i want to go up there. feel what 0 g is like.”

  then we both nod, because i guess we realize in that moment that we are mirror images, we are inverse people.

  “when do u go?” i say.

  “a couple of months, i think,” he says. “there’s a ton of prep but there’s so much pressure to keep the program moving, with the drought, u know, & all the overcrowding & stuff.”

  i stare at him blankly.

  “what?” he says.

  pause.

  “they don’t talk to u about this stuff?” he says.

  i shake my head. “i mean, we hear about the drought, from my grandpa & on the news vids & stuff. but…”

  “but they didn’t, like, share the whole imperative of the mission?”

  “i guess…i mean, i knew the goal was to prep for life in space. but i didn’t think—”

  “—that the time frame was so urgent?” he asks.

  i shake my head.

  he shakes his head too, but with a whole different connotation. “man. so the fresh water is running out, basically. it’s the carbon levels. hundreds of tons of glacial ice have melted over the last couple of decades, so the ocean levels rose too & flooded a lot of land with salt &…long story short, the whole planet is thirsty. at the same time there are way more people than ever. 10 billion. it’s unsustainable in the medium to long term. hence: me & the other candidates.”

  “what are u supposed to do about it?”

  “we’re astronauts, right? pilots & also certified geniuses.” he says this with no trace of arrogance. “math prodigies, eidetic memories, capable of committing endless numbers & coordinates & rules to our brains. but we’re also physically weird, or unusual, or whatever. big lung capacities. strong hearts. low resting-pulse rates. there were the obvious tests to get in but also a lot of medical screening.”

  “so?”

  “so the idea is to send us up there for a long time. 2 years. & monitor us medically & test us when we get back down, like in that MRI machine. c if we can handle it.”

  i look up at the faint sickle of moon in the sky, floating there. always there, even when u can’t c it. orbiting. never leaving the earth’s side. “why?”

  “because they’re also building long-range ships. exploratory vehicles. this is, like, a 50-year plan BTW. but they want to travel to other planets. c if we can colonize them.”

  “seriously?”

  “oh very seriously. whole teams of astronomers around the world have been spending decades identifying possible host planets.” he turns his head, as if scanning the sky. then he points, behind us. “Kepler-186f, for example,” he says. “it’s over that way. 2.9 quadrillion miles away, so not a good fit from the distance perspective, but it’s around the same size as earth & in the same habitable orbital shell around its sun. could have water & oxygen.”

  “huh,” i say.

  “they find weird stuff too. there’s this planet, 55 Cancri e. about a third of it is made of diamond. liquid & solid diamond.”

  “doesn’t sound very livable.”

  “no but it’s awesome, isn’t it? i mean literally. up there”—he points up at the blue sky—“there’s a planet made of diamond. i think about that sometimes, when i’m going to sleep, or whatever. about all the stars, the sheer number of them. & a planet made of diamond. it makes me feel…i know this is stupid, because there are 100 billion times 100 billion stars, so it should make me feel small, but it makes me feel…less lonely, somehow.”

  i look at him. my pulse has jumped, the blood shushing in my ears.

  “sorry, that makes me sound stupid. i shouldn’t talk like this, i should—”

  “no,” i say. “i do that, but with the moon. like, the way it circles & circles the earth?” i feel stupid now, i’m the stupid 1, but i keep on, like a projectile careering forward. “i mean…it feels to me like a kind of love, u know? always there, no matter what. locked together, co-orbiting.”

  his eyes narrow. but not in a bad way. “yeah,” he says. “i know.”

  silence.

  then i hear Libra’s voice. & Orion’s laughter. something golden & shimmering in the air dissipates.

  “help me up,” i say.

  he hauls me to my feet & i sway for a moment & then he is my crutch as i hobble over to the front side of the building, the north side, i think. i look down. it’s a parking lot, & i guess the entrance lobby of the building because there’s a circular drive where a car can pull up in front. there is a Mexican-American flag, fluttering on a pole.

  1 car is parked in the little half-moon drive, a German sports hatch made for hugging corners & i think that’s a car an astronaut would rent, & sure enough: as i lean forward i c Libra & Orion�
��s mother standing by it, then stooping, to embrace Libra, who is sitting in her wheelchair, an attendant standing behind it.

  she hugs her daughter, for the longest time. Cheryl is their mother’s name. then she breaks away & hugs Orion too, holding him tight; i can almost feel it from up here, almost feel the tears that i can c glistening on her face in the light.

  i wish…

  i wish my mother would do that, sometime.

  then i tell myself not to be stupid. it’s like wishing to land on Kepler-186f to make it ur own little kingdom; it’s like wishing u could harness Cancri e, or whatever the other 1 was called, & bring it into orbit, have ur own spinning diamond mine with most of the diamond in the universe.

  my mother is my mother. & there’s no use wishing otherwise.

  i straighten up, & take in breath, sharply, partly the wish popping like a delicate bubble under the blade of the sun, partly the pain that shoots thru my knees.

  “ur mother’s here, isn’t she?” he says.

  “somewhere,” i say. “i haven’t really seen her.”

  he holds my gaze. “i’ve met her. did some of my training with her. i can…i can imagine.”

  “yeah,” i say.

  “u have any other family?”

  “my grandpa,” i say. “but i’m not allowed to c him yet. quarantine.”

  “but the twins can c their mom?”

  “she doesn’t handle cows. cows have bad germs apparently.”

  “that sucks,” he says.

  pause.

  “u said there are a whole lot of things u want to experience, right?” says Soto.

  “uh-huh.”

  “well, let’s check a small 1 off the list.”

  “like what?”

  he shakes his head. “wait here,” he says. “i won’t be long.” he propels me over to 1 of the duct-intake-outtake things & leans me against it, like a prop to come back to—an umbrella, a stick, but not like that because he does it with care. then he disappears thru the door.

  i stand & just let the sensations course thru me. the gritty texture of the rooftop beneath my feet. the breeze. the light. the scent of a coming storm. i didn’t know there were so many scents to the world, so many textures. in space most everything is smooth, & smells of sweat or disinfectant.