Satellite

by Nick Lake

  we’re seeing thru a drone’s camera.

  my mother picks something up, something circular. Comet goes still, ears pricked. she throws the object & it flashes fast over the gray-green of the planted land, spinning—a Frisbee of some kind. Comet follows it as if attached to it by some invisible thread, no interval between his stillness & his streaking across the ground, simply missiling after the Frisbee.

  his mind is an h-infinity model & a better 1 than any computer; it calculates vectors & velocity & the down drag of gravity & friction & his own momentum, a perfect system for making sure that 2 airborne bodies meet in the right place, & it sends him leaping into the air a fraction of a second later & he catches the Frisbee in his mouth, brings it down, he & the toy rolling together, sliding to a stop.

  black—

  & then my mother’s face reappears. “getting good, isn’t he?” she says.

  “yes,” i say. a little choked up. “thank u.”

  she doesn’t smile but she does nod, & even that’s progress. “i thought u’d like it,” she says.

  Grandpa leans in beside me. “show me the drone view again,” he says.

  “ok,” says my mother. her fingers manipulate the screen & it flicks over to the bird’s-eye view—she gives a functional little almost-wave at us, from down there.

  Grandpa peers at the screen. “turn the cam toward the mountains,” he says.

  the image rotates & we’re looking at the rocky range, the clouds above it pink, the peaks whiter than when i was there. i watch Grandpa’s face. the focus of it. the intensity. i’m sure he’s not aware of it but a smile is gently lifting the corners of his mouth.

  he loves it. the ranch.

  “thanks,” he says. “i thought so.”

  click back to my mother’s face. “what?”

  “looks like snow’s coming soon,” says Grandpa. “those clouds…u should get the wire frames. put some hay out in the cattle fields.”

  Mother nods. “sure,” she says. “but snow? i don’t know when it last really snowed here. a dusting, sure, but—”

  “put out the hay all the same,” says Grandpa. “as a favor to ur old man.”

  she rolls her eyes now. “yes, of course.”

  “u brought in the cover crops?” he asks.

  “yes,” says my mother.

  “moved the cows with twins to the lowest pastures so they can fatten up?”

  “yes, everything u told me.”

  “good girl.”

  my mother raises her eyebrows at me. it’s an unexpected confidence. a little moment, a connection, laughing together at my grandpa. i laugh & she smiles too, faintly.

  i c it a little more all the time. how who he is shaped who she is. how things might have been before, when she was younger. i think of Grandpa, the way he pushed me to chase after Comet, when the little dog went for the calf. the way he didn’t even think about it. i think of him 30 years younger, with the hormones of a young man.

  his drive. his desire to be the best. the way he might have channeled that, projected it. onto his daughter.

  maybe he pushed her, i think. he pushed her out into life, into his career, into following him, the way he pushed me after Comet. & she broke something, just like i did.

  but he’s mellowed, with the years. he’s mellowed & i love him.

  which is not to say that i don’t c, a bit more, what my mother came from. what made her.

  i have not forgiven her. maybe i never will, entirely. but i feel like i c her more clearly than i ever have before. her sense of duty. her hard work. her drive.

  i hear barking & she angles the screen so that i c Comet jumping on the spot.

  “he wants me to throw the Frisbee again,” she says. the view lurches as she picks up the Frisbee & flings it—then she turns her screen so that we watch Comet’s tail as he fires himself after the departing projectile, muscles flying him over the grass, neurons fizzing with equations.

  my mother turns the screen back to herself. “i should be going,” she says. “Lorenzo is coming to help me get the barns ready for winter.”

  “good,” says Grandpa. “well, we’ll be here, whenever u want to talk.”

  “i know,” says my mother.

  pause.

  she reaches her hand out.

  “wait,” i say, thinking.

  another pause.

  “if they asked u again…if u could go back in time…” i don’t know how to ask this. she frowns & i c the faint lines she is developing on her face. “i mean…do u regret it, having me?”

  she looks at me for a long moment. “if u’re asking whether i’m sorry…then yes. u know that. i’m sorry. & i’m sorry i didn’t tell u sooner. & i’m sorry for…for how it happened. i was young. i signed up for an experiment that i was told was for the good of humankind. just an experiment. but when u came…i felt…something. i promise u i felt something. & i was…i was ashamed. & proud. &…i don’t know. but i…i was happy. when u were born.”

  “u had a weird way of showing it.”

  “they told me u weren’t really my child, that u belonged to them. that u were not mine. they didn’t let me keep u very long. they had formula, to feed to u…everything…they took care of it all. managed it. that’s what companies do, isn’t it?”

  “doesn’t seem like u fought them very hard,” i say.

  “no.” she closes her eyes. “that’s another thing i’m sorry about.”

  “yeah,” i say. “u’re sorry. u wish it had never happened. u wish i had never been born. i get it.”

  now her eyes open & go wide. “no!” she says. “i never knew how to make it right, & i never knew how to tell u. i closed a door on you, somewhere inside. but do i regret having u? never for a second. i may not be…an affectionate person. but i think u are rather remarkable, Leo.”

  “um,” i say, looking at the sadness in her eyes. “thanks.” it seems like a lame response.

  “are u studying?” she says. “aeronautics, astrophysics?”

  “no,” i say. Grandpa shifts beside me.

  “why not?”

  “i’m stuck in this place,” i say.

  “but u wanted to be an astronaut.”

  i rub my chin. “my bones. i’m not strong enough. not smart enough. not…i’m not like Soto. i’m not from here. i’m not built for—”

  “Leo,” she says. “u performed an EVA with no training & helped me to swap out a malfunctioning gyro. most astronauts haven’t done that. u’re a third-generation space pilot, Leo. i thought u had more ambition.”

  “i do!” i say. “but there’s not much i can do here.”

  she shakes her head ruefully. then the world as seen on the screen pivots around the axis of her hand as she stoops to pick up the Frisbee again & sends it arcing thru the air, Comet bounding after it.

  “oh i don’t know,” she says. she seems to be looking at Grandpa. “i think u’re like Comet there.” he is already a dwindling dark spot. “i think u will go far.”

  “u ever think the experiment might have been a success after all?” says Grandpa.

  i frown at him. “what?”

  it’s dinnertime. we’re eating meatballs in the dining hall, pushing them around on our plates. outside the windows, black sky studded with stars. some kind of glow up high, like they’re working with arc lights, farther up the mountain.

  “the Company,” continues Grandpa. “Boutros. they all act like it’s something to be ashamed of.”

  “it is,” i say.

  “i know, i know, but let me finish. what i am trying to say is…they treat it like something that went wrong. i mean, u’re right, it was wrong, ethically speaking, that’s categorical. but…not necessarily a failure within the objectives & the parameters of the experiment.”

  “u’ve lost me,” i say.

  “they wanted to c if people could reproduce in space, right? with the long-term goal being to colonize another planet, 1 whose climate hasn’t been screwed up yet.”


  “right.”

  “& it turned out people could reproduce in space. that’s success number 1.”

  “but look at me now,” i say. i gesture, a wide gesture that takes in my hunched frame, my crutches leaning on the chair next to me.

  “yes. u came down to earth & ur body couldn’t adapt & u got sick. people can reproduce in space. but the…offspring are not suited to gravity.”

  i tap my crutches. wave my bandaged wrist. “i know.”

  “which is bad,” says Grandpa, “if u want to colonize worlds. big orbiting bodies of rock, with big gravitational pulls. but there’s still the same problems here on earth: global warming, rising sea levels, flooding, drought, hurricanes, a growing population, & shrinking resources. so now they’ve got their new program, & they’re looking for strong kids like Soto to send on long-distance missions. they think those kids are the future. but what if the future is still u?”

  “i don’t understand.”

  “it’s the assumption,” he says. “that that’s the goal—to colonize planets.”

  i start to c. i nod, slightly.

  “adjust the assumption tho,” he says. “the parameters. look at it as an experiment into whether it’s possible to conceive & give birth to children who are perfectly suited to drifting in space in a space ship. then, the experiment becomes a resounding success.”

  “but they don’t want people drifting thru space in a space ship,” i say. “u heard Boutros. they say they don’t even have room for me. why would they want to make a lot of people who could do that?”

  he shrugs. “i don’t know. a station colony orbiting at 1 of the moon Lagrange points maybe? why would we need to know about the jet stream? it turns out it’s very useful for saving on fuel when flying from west to east. unintended consequences.”

  something hangs in the air, silvery. a thread of an idea.

  “unintended consequences,” i say.

  pause.

  i am thinking about something Grandpa told me once, about rockets, rusting away in Kazakhstan.

  “u know ur friend who lives on the Black Sea?” i say.

  Grandpa nods. “Yuri.”

  “u told me he said there were still some shuttles. in a hangar somewhere.”

  the thread turns, an aurora, glowing.

  “yes,” says Grandpa slowly. “the old Burans. in Baikonur.”

  “u think any of them can still fly?”

  pause.

  “please,” i say. “i can’t stay here.”

  Grandpa looks at me for a long time. he pushes a meatball around on his plate.

  “well,” he says finally. “well, i could ask him, couldn’t i?”

  the possibility hangs between us.

  then there’s a voice behind me. “Leo?”

  i turn.

  it’s Virginia.

  “i, um, had better go & make that call we were talking about,” says Grandpa. he stands.

  “uh-huh,” i say.

  he walks away.

  going back to space. it’s a nice idea. but it somehow feels distant now, with Virginia in front of me. she looks smaller than she did on the station, or even back at the base. here in 1 g. as if the gravity has pressed her into a more compact shape.

  “they didn’t want me to come,” she says. her eyes are puffy. i think she has been crying. “but i came anyway. as soon as i heard u were hurt.”

  “hmm,” i say. this is a hmm that contains the words what really hurts is everything u have done & said & most especially not said for the last nearly 16 years.

  she pulls up a chair. “do u mind if i sit?”

  “will it make a difference?”

  she draws in a breath—not loud, but i hear it.

  “listen, Leo,” she says.

  pause.

  “i’ve been thinking about what i could say to u. what might make it better. but i don’t think there is anything.”

  “no,” i say.

  u lied to me all my life.

  she smiles a sad smile. “i did what i was paid for. i kept the secrets i was paid to keep. but not everything was a job. i think that’s all i can tell u.”

  i frown a question.

  “i mean…looking after u. it was more than…it was…” she closes her eyes. opens them again. “i held u. i fed u from a bottle. i sat with u for hours on end when u were crawling on the treadmill, the 3 of u. straps holding u in place—u would not believe how long those took to fasten. & can u imagine, the time all of it took? on earth, a baby just learns to crawl. up there, i had to set aside hours for it. encourage u. weigh u down. play games with u to get u to move. & that’s not even counting when u were learning to walk.”

  that, i remember, or i remember it from watching vids anyway. the 3 of us strapped, pulleys holding us down, the carpet rolling beneath us.

  “i changed ur diapers, Leo,” she says. she makes a face. “can u picture what it’s like to change a diaper in 0 g?”

  despite myself, i laugh a little.

  “& all the time…” she pauses again. “here’s the thing, Leo. i can’t have children. it’s just…it’s not something i can do. but with u 3. up there. i…”

  pause.

  “there’s something Boutros said to me once,” she continues. “he said that when he & his wife had a baby, he finally got it, that thing people say about dying for someone. he held his daughter in his arms, & he was, like, i would step in front of a bus to protect u.”

  long pause now.

  “& that’s…that’s how i feel about u. & Libra & Orion. i kept something from u, & i shouldn’t have done that. it was weak of me. but i would die for u. to keep u safe. if there’s anything…anything i can do for u, i will do it.”

  silence.

  more silence.

  more more silence.

  “Boutros really said that?” i say eventually.

  she smiles. “yes.”

  “wow. still waters,” i say.

  “get him drunk, he’s a whole different person,” she says.

  another silence, but a more comfortable 1 now. then movement outside catches my eye, & i c that what i thought was artificial light, up there, is moving, is green, is diaphanous across the black, drifting.

  “aurora,” i say.

  “what?”

  i point out the window. she turns & looks. “oh! yeah.”

  i look at her. “there is something u can do,” i say.

  we sit outside the dome.

  well, Libra & i sit, & Virginia too, on a folding chair. Orion lies, propped on pillows on his bed on wheels.

  they didn’t want us to come out here, but Virginia has influence, it seems. authority. we are all bundled up, warm, wrapped in silvery reflective thermal blankets.

  the aurora dances above us, green curtains across the sky. the lights are beautiful, no less so than up in the station, but in a whole different way—we are looking up now, into blackness, & they glow against it. they seem something of space & the sky, where from up there they seemed something mantling the earth, wrapping it.

  they seem, literally, otherworldly, rippling in the dark. ghosts. intimations of some existence beyond this 1, maybe another life where this hasn’t happened to us & we just get to be normal. even tho i know of course the lights are in reality just molecules of the atmosphere, exploding, blasted apart by energy from the sun.

  Virginia talks. she talks & talks & talks, tells Libra & Orion everything she told me, everything she feels, her regrets, her love.

  they talk too.

  there is hugging.

  & the northern lights swirl above us & we’re together again, seeing them, the 4 of us, just like up there, just like nothing has changed, & we talk & talk & there’s more hugging & it’s morning.

  the lights are gone from the sky; the sun, a burning convex on the horizon, above the low hills.

  “oh!” says Virginia. “that’s another reason i came. happy birthday, Leo.”

  1 good thing about earth, it turns out, is c
andles.

  i hadn’t realized.

  i mean, up there, when Virginia would turn out the ersatz, LED versions—a white stick with a flickering light in the end—i thought that was a reasonable facsimile. but it doesn’t capture the whoosh of air, the bend of the flame away from ur breath, before it sputters out, the whole physical aerodynamic flow of the thing, the satisfaction of blowing & the candle bowing to that, allowing itself to go out.

  “again,” i say, when the 16 candles are out.

  Grandpa lights them again. the cake is round & white, like the moon. Virginia & Libra & Orion sing “Happy Birthday.”

  i blow them out—or rather i blow about half of them out.

  then my breath catches in my chest.

  i try to get it moving again. it won’t.

  pinpricks of black appear in my vision. inverse stars.

  i start to pant. to panic. i fall back on my bed, which i have been sitting on, so i’m lying on my back.

  Grandpa hits a red button in my room, & soon medical staff arrive. they extinguish the candles with no ceremony, pull an oxygen tank from the wall, get the mask over my face. i draw it in, the sweetness of it, feel it rush around my blood, tiny bubbles.

  i lie there, looking up at the ceiling.

  eventually, i motion to the medics & they take the mask away.

  “not how i imagined my 16th,” i say.

  Grandpa smiles.

  “i mean, u could at least have gotten a DJ,” i say. “or a band. so we could dance.”

  Virginia laughs. “u don’t want to c me dance.”

  we all laugh. the medics look at us like we’re crazy.

  a couple of days later, i’m in the hot tub. it’s my favorite place to be: floating, pretending gravity is not there. Virginia has gone back down to Nevada, needs to work on some project.