Smoke, Mirrors and Deep Space

by Mary Quijano

  They were in a parking lot outside the Kennedy Space Center’s flight ops command building. In the background was poised the giant white Titan IV that on this occasion would carry the best that mankind had to offer into space for a rendezvous with God. Between this symbol of man’s ultimate conquest and the parking lot where the designated donor had just arrived, was a complex of white buildings housing all the equipment and support staff necessary to this particular undertaking. These were huddled in the shadow of the enormous 50-story vehicle assembly building with its giant NASA symbol on one face and a 20-story American flag painted on the other. And between here and there, a maze of onlookers, well-wishers and news crews, who had probably set up camp three days earlier. These now began to surge toward them like a dangerous tidal bore, the melding of their voices a susurration not unlike the water over stones.

  Alex turned to his wife and son, forcing a grin. “Well, I’m off.”

  He reached out to pull Andy into a hug, but when he felt the boy tense up Alex dropped his grip quickly from his son’s shoulder and instead put out a hand. Andy, seeing no way around it, settled for the manly handshake.

  I’m only thirteen, Dad, he wanted to say. It’s not that, don’t you get it? But even as he thought that thought, considered springing it on his dad and forcing the issue, Alex had already presumed he knew what was wrong, backpedaling from reality by saying,

  “Too big for hugs now, huh, kiddo? Well, take care of your mom for me, okay?”

  Andy gave up. “I always do,” he said diffidently.

  Alex turned now to Gena, putting his hand to her chin and leaning in to give her a kiss. She turned her face at the last moment so that his lips met her cheek instead. While there, he whispered into her ear.

  “C’mon, Gena, at least make it look real. There’s a reporter in every bush.”

  He leaned back a little, turning her face to his with his hand and then gave her a big, long, sexy kiss on the lips. He could feel her resistance and body tension slowly dissolved toward the end of it. He moved his head back, his hand still grasping her chin, and looked deep into her eyes.

  “There now, that wasn’t so bad, was it? Almost like old times.”

  “Alex, I…” Gena faltered, then fell silent.

  “It’s okay. Just say goodbye,” he told her gently.

  “Good…good luck, Alex.”

  Alex nodded, holding her with his gaze a moment longer. Then he turned back to his son.

  “Bye, kiddo. Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck, Dad,” Andy said, looking down at the ground between his feet

  “Andy?”

  Andy raised his head, and father and son looked at each other a minute, neither knowing what to say to make it better.

  “See ya, son,” Alex said finally. Then he turned and walked resolutely toward the big building in the distance. He was about thirty feet away when Andy called after him.

  “Dad!”

  Alex stopped, turned.

  “I…” Andy hesitated, unable to go on.

  Alex nodded. “I love you too, son…Gena.”

  He turned again and walked toward the building without looking back.

  * * *

  Now, back within the strange white hospital room, a tear slipped from beneath Alex’s long dark lashes. He opened his eyes for just a minute, staring upward at the memory just visited, then closed them again. After a moment his lids relaxed back into REM sleep, another moment and his heart began to race, his pupils moving rapidly back and forth beneath the lids in an agitated fashion, while little beads of perspiration popped out on his forehead.

  * * *

  Alex found himself encapsulated in a bright red space suit, a bulky, cumbersome thing beneath which his skin under the NASA jumpsuit was already beginning to itch, and his bladder

  to twinge.

  You just went, asshole, he reminded himself curtly. It’s all in your head.

  He carried his acrylic helmet under one arm, flight bag with personal effects in the other as he walked the long white corridor to destiny. The only sound besides the hollow echo of his footfalls was the syncopation provided by the adrenalin throb in his temples.

  A shift in time, and now he was in an elevator, a metal cage rising so rapidly his stomach was left three flights below. He could see the buildings diminish beneath him, the distant cars in the parking lot appear over their rooftops. Suddenly the elevator lurched to a stop, and the jointed cage door opened. Alex stepped out onto an iron scaffolding, accompanied by three men in NASA coveralls that he’d never noticed were beside him in the elevator before this moment. Silently they helped him enter the space vehicle at the top of the large three-stage rocket. He paused just for a moment outside the ISV’s door, looking down from this exhilarating height to the ground some twenty stories below. Workers scurried about, clearing away last minute details down there, then running for shelter. His heart rate picked up a little, both in speed and decibels.

  Now Alex was being helped into the pilot’s seat by the men in coveralls, who strapped him down and checked the adjustments to be sure there were no problems. No one had said anything so far, which was odd. They always said things, usually the wrong things, and always too much. Corny, ill-advised jokes meant to lighten the tension; good luck messages from their girlfriends, kids and mothers. These guys said not a word. They strapped him in, saluted him, then left, shutting the spacecraft door. Alex heard the clunk as it was locked into place.

  No way out, no turning back now… Committed: The thumping in his chest grew a little stronger.

  Alone in the cockpit, he focused on a digital readout of the official count down, which was displayed on the small screen in front of him. It proceeded backwards in a dead silence bordering on creepy: 5 - 4 - 3 - 2 - 1 - 0…..

  Suddenly the entire structure began to shake violently and a tremendous roar obliterated all other sound, even his heartbeat, even the silence.

  * * *

  7. Uriel

  IN THE HOSPITAL room, Alex sat up in the bed, gasping for air once again. A hidden door on the left side of the room slid open and a male of indeterminate age entered, wearing a look of benevolent concern. His head as well as his face was clean shaven and very pale, giving it the appearance of a lumpy egg. His tall, lanky frame was gowned in a long white Jesus robe.

  “Commander McCormick, you need to relax,” he soothed, coming over to the bedside and placing his cool right hand on the distraught man’s forehead, while pushing him gently but firmly back down to the pillow with a surprising strength.

  Alex panted, jerking away from the older man’s touch, trying to regain some semblance of both internal and external control.

  “Where the hell am I?!” he demanded. “What is this place, and who the fuck are you?”

  “Don’t worry, you’re safe here.”

  Alex took a deep breath, resisting the urge to flash out at the man unnecessarily.

  “Where is ‘here’? That’s what I asked,” he said, raising back up on his elbows to scan the sterile environment. “What is this place? A hospital? How long have I been here, and why are there no bandages, no scars? I know I was some kind of astronaut, I can remember that much. Was there an accident, an explosion on takeoff or something, is that it?”

  The taciturn caregiver just smiled, fluffed the pillow behind Alex’s head and tried to gently push him back down into a reclining position, but the younger man resisted.

  “Try to relax, Alex,” the caregiver urged in a soothing voice. “Breathe—”

  “I am breathing.”

  “Slowly. Deeply. Breathe to relax, to control—”

  “Dammit! I am in control! Shit—okay, okay.” Alex began to comply, purposely taking big slow breaths of air in through his nose, blowing out through his mouth.

  “Good—that’s much better,” the robed man said after a couple of minutes. “Here, take a sip of water.”

  Alex drank the water, gulping it down, then turned to the older man. “I want t
o see my wife and son, where’s my wife and son?”

  The other sighed, taking the empty glass and putting it back on the nightstand.

  “Sip, I say, and you gulp. Always in such a hurry, Alex. You must learn to slow down. Don’t try to push yourself too fast on this. It will all come to you in good time.”

  “What will?” Alex demanded. “And, again, where is this place?!”

  “This is a…recovery facility. You were brought here after the accident.”

  “So there was an accident, then. Are you a doctor?”

  “Not exactly. Think of me more as your mentor, Uriel, I’m here to help you regroup and readjust…once you remember.”

  “So what kind of a place is this, no windows, no phone—not even a goddam TV? A TV would help me ‘regroup’ just fine.”

  “Sorry.” Uriel shook his head. “No outside stimulus, Commander; no interference with the natural recovery process whatsoever.”

  “So, no TV. How about internet? Iphone?”

  “I’m afraid not. Now…” he again placed his hands on Alex’s shoulders and gently pushed him back to a reclining position, “you need to relax, just slip into a light, alpha wave sleep and let it happen.”

  “Let what happen?!”

  “I’ll check back with you later,” Uriel assured him, then exited through a door that wasn’t there a moment before and was gone again the moment the man passed through it.

  “Hey! Let what happen?!”

  Alex fell back onto the bed, angry and despairing. He put the heels of his palms against his eyes for a moment, suppressing a couple of wrenched sobs, then forced himself to calm down, closing his eyes, regulating his breathing. After a few minutes he opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. After a minute or two more, he put his arms carefully back under the covers at his sides, muttering, “Okay, fuck it—‘the recovery process’ it is—whatever it is.”

  In a second his lids grew heavy and relaxed, drifting downward: a second more and his eyes began the REM dance again beneath his closed lids.

  * * *

  8. Space Dream, Stage One

  IT WAS DAWN, predawn actually. The light from the still hidden sun illuminated the horizon, turning the bottoms of fat cumulus clouds a pale pinkish gold as the Earth whirled relentlessly towards its fierce glow.

  Alex was strapped into the pilot’s seat of the one-man spacecraft, facing the approaching dawn, facing as well the heat and flames of the manmade fireball about to explode under his precious ass in a matter of seconds. He licked his lips as the countdown proceeded as relentlessly as the revolving of sun and Earth.

  Four, three, two, one…. There was a tremendous roar and vibration from the firing of the first stage booster rocket. Flames engulfed the central viewing screen above Alex’s head, as the entire craft was momentarily swallowed by the fireball of ignition. The right side monitor, normally showing the rear view from the spacecraft, was presently off, the screen black. A moment later Alex was pressed back against the seat by the surge of gravitational force as the rocket lifted off.

  The flight director’s voice from Houston, amazingly, was heard clearly over all this noise, even his soft Texas accent somehow discernible. “Europa One, we have lift off.”

  Alex inhaled, willing the shake from his voice—his smile as tight as his buns were at the moment—as he responded,

  “Roger that, Houston.”

  He looked up at the central viewing screen overhead, which by this time had cleared, the flames of takeoff receding as the rocket accelerated out ahead of its burning solid fuel cells. The screen now displayed a sky of blue with occasional tufts of clouds wisping by, and one out-of-control stray gull.

  Alex laughed aloud at the ludicrous explosion of feathers in his monitor, then glanced over at the left screen in the spacecraft, where the entire miniature cadre of Mission Control technicians were cheering and giving high fives. He sent them a thumbs up in the onboard camera, knowing they could see his every move, his every expression, and would remember and talk about it for weeks.

  His eyes, glittery bright with excitement, reflected back at him from every one of the brightly polished metal control knobs. His smile, which had grown into a rictus-like grin as the force of G’s increased, was beginning to scare him. He managed to lean forward just far enough against the G’s to click on the right screen, which displayed a shot down the length of the booster rocket and, in the distance, the east coast of North America growing steadily more brilliant as the rising tide of sunlight swept across its face.

  “Shit,” he whisper-sung under his breath. “Shine on you crazy diamond.”

  After jettisoning its two boosters, the craft left behind the lower troposphere, where the light was scattered and reflected by the molecules of air, water and various pollutants into a featureless blue haze, and accelerated into and through the stratosphere and mesosphere. Now the sky in the upper monitor was pitch-black, and filled with an intensity of stars unlike anything he’d ever seen before. He stared at them, transfixed, until the slow rotation of the craft brought him round again to a sudden blinding glare of deadly sunlight.

  “Oops!”

  Alex quickly made adjustments, closing the screen until he could maneuver the vehicle into a safe position so that it no longer was in the direct light of the sun. When he reopened the view screen, he was looking at the opalescent sky and sea of Earth far below; and ahead, the new International Space Station—still under construction.

  “Hi, honey, I’m home.” He grinned.

  * * *

  9. Gena, Preflight

  IT WAS 3 A.M. in the morning, far too early for this fight to be taking place. But it was. Alex had managed to sidestep the issue right down to zero hour, and there was no time left. Gena had waited until they were in the car, on the road. And she’d opted to drive, so Alex’s hands would be free when she handed him the papers to sign.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “You know what it is, Alex. I need you to sign before you leave.”

  “Why, Gena? What’s the rush? You got someone on the side, maybe? Some young Texas stud just waitin’ in the wings for this ol’ fly boy to be gone?”

  “Oh, stuff it, Alex! I don’t have anyone on the side and you know it.”

  “Then what’s the big rush? Maybe we just need some time apart.”

  Gena laughed aloud. “Alex, that’s all we have had, fourteen years of it. Time apart is the problem, not the solution.”

  “Do we have to do this now, Gena? I mean, in two hours I’m going to have my butt strapped to the biggest firecracker in all of creation, heading off into deep space, going where no man has gone before. For three years I’ll be—”

  “Forty months, but who’s counting, and you sound like a movie trailer.”

  “Forty months I’ll be stuck where you can be absolutely certain of my fidelity, while you—on the other hand—will have all that time free and clear to get whatever this is out of your

  system.”

  “Jesus, Alex! Do you ever listen to anything I say?!”

  “Okay, I mean, where you can have plenty of time to think, to reflect, to decide what you really want.”

  “While you sleep.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t need to think, I’m the rocket man, remember? It’s just my job five days a week.” He grins over the seat at Andy, who just looks at him, refusing to smile.

  Gena is less than amused. “I’ve already thought; I’ve thought and thought, and I know

  what I don’t want, I don’t want this anymore.”

  “Well, what then? I mean, why are you in such a rush to get rid of me, if I’m going to be gone anyway? And what about all these years we’ve been together, are you just going to deny

  what we’ve been to each other?”

  “What we’ve been to each other? And what exactly is that? I mean, I know what I’ve been to you, I know what I’ve added to your life, but what do you think you’ve added to mine?”

  They were
pulling into the special reserved parking lot in front of the Kennedy Space Center. Reporters immediately began to converge before she even had time to shut off the engine. She looked at them, then looked at him, shaking her head. He’d done it again. He looked back at her, raising a brow.

  “Fine, okay, I guess I can wait another three and a half years to be something other than Alex-McCormick-the-Astronaut’s wife.”

  He looked at her, genuinely puzzled. “Is that really so bad?” he asked.

  * * *

  10. Rendezvous

  ALEX BEGAN TO adjust the ship’s trajectory with minute bursts from the pair of small rockets attached to the tips of its rear wing-like projections, gradually drawing closer to the docking bay of the ISS until it bumped into the port with a reverberating clang, much louder than he expected.