by Mary Quijano
“So, what can you tell me about the new covey of wives?” he said by way of pillow talk.
“Now, Ray?” Barbara said, leaning up on her elbow. “You haven’t even caught your breath yet.”
“I’ve caught my breath,” he assured her, reaching out to tickle one of her pink nipples with a fingertip. “I’m now working on my second wind.”
“Well I haven’t,” she sighed, reaching under the covers to give his manhood a little pat. “Anyway, they seem pretty normal: The usual nervousness, the overwrought desire to make a good impression and fit in, to please…. Some to the point of nausea, I’d say, but oh well.”
“What about the little Asian flower?”
“That didn’t take you long.”
“What do you mean?”
“You hardly took your eyes off her all night.” Barbara smiled, trying to appear playful.
“I don’t think you want to go there,” Ray warned.
“I don’t think you do either,” the woman replied archly; then flopped back onto the pillow. “Anyway, Gena McCormick is not a very happy camper, in my estimation.”
“Well, I’d hate to have her blow Alex up before he ever gets to the launch pad. He’s the best prospect we’ve had in years; actually test piloted the X-38 prototype for Dryden. He knows the lifeboat inside and out, and our deep space model isn’t that much different. So, did you find out what’s eating her?”
“Of course, more or less,” Barbara smiled, knowing her reticence was pure torture to the man.
He put his hand down between her legs, finding the G spot.
“Do I have to beat you into telling?” he whispered roughly into her ear.
“Oh, bastard! Please do… Okay, okay, I’ll tell—if you promise not to stop. Mrs. McCormick had to give up her teaching job to come out here, that’s what she says the problem is.”
“You think it’s more?”
“Keep going—there…” Barbara inhaled sharply, then after a minute continued. “She’s a very bright woman. I think she could have done more with her own life. I think she thinks so too.”
“Well, maybe I can get her a job on base, keep her productive at least. What’s she teach?”
“Sex ed,” Barbara groaned, rolling on top of the man.
* * *
The next day Gena found herself summoned to the office of Ray Petersen. She was more than a little apprehensive and more than a little irritated as well. Was this usual, for an astronaut’s wife to be summoned before the big cheese within days of arrival? Had she done something wrong? That woman she’d seen him arrive with at the party last night had drilled her for almost half an hour, and not nearly as subtly as she believed.
What was up with that? If you weren’t all gushy about the whole NASA experience, virtually flagellating yourself to make a good impression, were you immediately called on the carpet, like a kid sent to the principal’s office? Damn it! Well, she’d do her best to put on a good face for Alex’s sake. She could always tell the colonel she’d felt a little under the weather last night if it came up….Which he’d interpret as PMS, no doubt.
The uniformed adjutant ushered her into Ray’s office after only a ten-minute wait. The flight commander stood up as she came through the door, his manners as courtly as his South Texas accent. He took her hand in both of his for a moment, then indicated a chair.
“Mrs. McCormick, my pleasure. Please, sit down. Thank you so much for allowing me to interrupt your busy schedule; I’m sure you still have a great deal of unpacking and settling in. Can I send an aide to help with the heavier items?”
“Oh,” she said, taken aback by his charm, despite herself. “Oh, no thank you, sir. We’ve managed to set things up pretty well already, just a few boxes of personal items left to unpack,”
she lied.
“Well, you’re probably wondering why I called you here, so I won’t keep you waiting any longer. I understand you’re a pretty fine teacher. Science, is it?”
“Why, yes, Commander Petersen. Life science and health, actually, although my specialty in college was environmental science and ethics.”
“Really! I am impressed. And please, call me Ray. Tell me, are you happy about your husband’s assignment here, Mrs. McCormick?”
“I am very happy for him,” Gena said without missing a beat. Her hackles, though, instantly began to raise.
“But you miss your job?”
“I…like to stay busy, to feel I’m accomplishing something. Of my own.”
He looked at her in silence for a moment. She didn’t like him much, he could tell. It seemed almost as if she personally blamed him for whatever unhappiness was eating at her inside.
I’m going to win you over, Mrs. McCormick. I’m going to become like your favorite uncle, he decided then and there. It was a new challenge, and he always rose to a challenge.
Aloud he said, “Well now, it just happens we have an opening at the base school for a high school science teacher, if you’re interested: biology and chemistry, I believe. And I think you’ll find the students here on base quite a bit more amenable to classroom protocols and discipline than those you might have taught in the public schools.”
“A job? Here on base?”
“If you’re interested. It would start in the fall.”
Gena licked her lips. Well, it wasn’t grad school—but it wasn’t public school either. And it was a good excuse to avoid most of the social BS. “Okay!” she said. “Where do I sign up?”
* * *
Ray remembered that meeting now, as he silently watched Gena and Andy sneak away from Mission Control. That was the pivotal point, the beginning of his internal imbroglio. His decision to win her over—purportedly for Alex’s sake—had started the tangle of conflicting emotions until he was caught in his own trap, and found himself falling in love with the wife of his star astronaut.
Jesus! Whatever in the devil’s own hell had he been thinking? Even now he shook his head at how close he had come to ruining it all by jumping the gun. To act on the impulse while Gena and Alex were still together, to allow the emotions he felt ever to manifest, would have been the death knell of his career. And he had plans, he had big plans, lifelong plans.
After the history making manned voyage to Jupiter he would step down as flight director for Mission Control, resign his military commission and make a bid for the Senate: Successful, of course. From there, perhaps, someday he would be appointed to the President’s cabinet as Secretary of Defense, or even Secretary of State. He’d wanted this too long, worked for it too hard. No ill-conceived love affair was going to get in the way of all that, or so he’d told himself night after lonely night.
But try telling it to his hunger, try telling it to his need, to the ache in his balls and his heart every time he looked at Gena, every time he thought of her. He’d even come close, once, to succumbing to his desire, to her seduction. Now, however, Alex was gone. If he gave it a little time, waited a few months for the dust to settle, maybe it would be okay; maybe now it could work out, he could have it all.
* * *
14. Meanwhile Back in Space
ALEX PULLED OUT a checklist from the compartment beneath the control panel and began his life support system check. “Okay, Houston, proceeding with LSS checkout: Wastewater recycling system, go; Reverse Respiration/ Oh-two conversion system, go; Sleep/wake induction system, go…and a three-year supply of these yummy high protein doggy biscuits, go…please.”
“I’ll buy you the biggest steak in Texas when you get back here, son.”
“I’ll hold you to that, Ray.”
Ray moved in a little closer to the Mission Control camera, his face filling the left monitor screen. “Okay. Now, you fully understand the sleep/wake inductor system?”
“I’ve been fully briefed, yes, sir,” Alex replied. He was pumped and ready to go.
“Well, humor an old man; explain it to me one more time,” Ray urged.
“The S-W induction system’s primary
function is to help conserve limited supplies of oxygen, water, and food on long interplanetary flights, sir.”
“Go on. Please.”
Alex felt itchy impatience crawl over his skin: he knew where this was going, but also knew he had to play along.
“Unless specifically overridden by the ship’s commander, by Mission Control, or by automatic response to emergency sensors in the ship’s guidance or life support systems—sir—the S-W system will function on a set schedule, administering a deep sleep inducing inhalant via this oxygen mask which I am about to don…if I ever get out of here.”
Inside the main monitoring room at Mission Control, Flight Director Ray Petersen gave a good-humored grin to the bank of TV news people in the viewing gallery. Alex, inside the cockpit of the space vehicle, was visible in the large monitor screen on the front wall.
“You’re right on schedule, Europa, don’t worry. Now tell me how it works, exactly.”
“Is this for extra credit?” Alex laughed. “Okay, the mask helps restrict the flow of O-two, C-O-two and H-two-O to a closed cycle, reducing waste build up and increasing the efficiency of the recycling system. The first inhalant drug acts as a strong sedative, inducing a state of deep sleep which mimics hibernation. Then, every three days, an antidotal stimulant is automatically administered to counteract the sedative, restoring heartbeat, metabolism and respirations to normal.”
“My star pupil,” Ray said to the TV cameras. “Anything else?”
“This wouldn’t be for the benefit of our TV viewing audience, would it, Ray?” asked Alex.
“As I said, humor me.”
“Every three days the astronaut is awakened so that he may exercise, eat, drink, and eliminate that which needs eliminating. After about 8 hours the stimulant wears off, the sedative is re-administered, and the cycle begins anew. Approximately one week out from Jupiter, the system is turned off completely so that the astronaut—that would be me—can return to full cognitive function before making his final approach and landing on the surface of Europa. Any questions, boys and girls?”
“Thank you, Commander McCormick,” Ray responded. “I’m sure if there are any, we can answer them from here. Just remember, we here at Mission Control—and the whole world—will be with you on this trip twenty-four/seven, even while you’re in hiber-sleep.”
“I know, sir, and I appreciate that,” Alex said sincerely.
“So, it sounds like you’re ready to go.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Not forgetting anything?” The older man grinned wickedly.
“No, sir.”
Petersen stepped back from the camera a few feet, so that the view on the monitor widened. He pulled the two people standing behind him into range.
“Gena and Andy are here on the floor beside me. They wanted to say goodbye.”
Alex licked his lips, a little nervous and troubled. “Uh, sure, of course: I didn’t realize they’d be allowed down there. Hi you two!”
Flight Director Petersen stepped back a pace and motioned Gena and Andy toward the video camera connected to the computer directly in front of him. They saw Alex on both the small monitor of the computer and on the large screen at the front of the room. At a signal from Ray, Andy leaned forward towards the video cam, speaking self-consciously at the blank face of the little microphone attached to it.
“Dad? Dad, this is Andy…can you hear me?” the boy said.
“I can hear you just fine, Andy. How are you?” Alex was surprised by the sudden lump of emotion that had formed in his throat.
“Uh, I’m…okay I guess.”
“It’s pretty cool there in Mission Control, huh? Kind of like a big interlinked video game.”
“Yeah, it’s cool, Dad…only they don’t let me touch anything.” Andy grinned.
Alex laughed, “They’re probably afraid you’ll push a couple of buttons and I’ll end up on Pluto instead of Europa.” He paused a moment, not knowing what else to say at this point. “Well, I’d better get this show on the road, son. I’ll see you when I get back, okay?”
“Okay. You wanna talk to mom?”
“Yeah, sure I do,” Alex responded. “Put her on. Bye, Andy. I love you son.”
Andy stepped aside, but Gena hesitated to take his place. Ray put his hand on the small of her back, gently urging her forward. She moved reluctantly in front of the video cam. Alex read it in her face, the discomfort, the distance. He had hoped she might have changed her mind by now about their marriage.
“Hi, Gena,” he said carefully. “I just wanted to say, uh, take care of yourself, okay?”
“Okay. You…you too. Be careful up there. Come back safe.”
“Will do,” Alex said, his throat raw feeling. “I love you, hon.”
Gena swallowed hard and turned away, trying to suppress her tears. She swiped away a stray one that slipped from beneath her thick dark lashes.
In the background a TV news crew captured the exchange.
The reporter spoke urgently into his microphone. “What an emotional moment here in Mission Control, as the world awaits the beginning of the first manned space voyage to the planet Jupiter. What happens now is that, in just a few moments, the Europa space vehicle will disengage from the International Space Station….”
As the reporter continued speaking, what he described happening was seen on the huge central viewing screen at Mission Control, the space vehicle disengaging from the space station and using brief ten- or fifteen-second bursts from its thrusters to pull ahead of it.
“…using its thrusters to pull ahead of the station, it will gradually gain speed and momentum as it begins a final orbit around the Earth….”
In the vehicle itself, Alex busily worked the controls to disengage from and back out of the docking bay on the ISS, then angle up and away, pressing the buttons to fire the rockets in brief spurts that would distance him from the structure. In his central monitor, he saw the ISS moving back and out of screen. He then adjusted his trajectory on the computerized guidance
system, and began to fire up the rockets.
Back in Mission Control, the TV reporter moved in front of the middle screen in the room, where computer graphics now displayed an animated sequence which showed how the spacecraft would orbit the Earth before being flung out into space. The TV reporter described this to the unseen audience.
“The Europa One spacecraft will take advantage of Earth’s gravity to increase its velocity and inertial momentum. This force will sling it out across space toward Jupiter at a speed of more than thirty-five thousand miles per hour. Even at this tremendous speed, however, it will take more than nineteen and a half months for the ship to reach Europa, smallest of Jupiter’s four large moons, and the one holding the most promise in man’s ongoing search for extraterrestrial life.”
* * *
15. Gena and Ray… and Andy Too
GENA AND ANDY began to gather up their belongings from beneath their chairs at the back of Mission Control central after the successful launch of Alex from the International Space Station.
The TV camera crew was packing up as well—show’s over and Godspeed, little Europa One—now that the vessel had gotten safely through its maneuvers to escape Earth’s gravity and been sling-shotted on its way to the planet Jupiter. The rest of this was a job for the technical staff, and unless something went dreadfully wrong there would be little to do or report for more than a year and a half, not until the final approach began as the vessel reached its destination.
Ray noticed Gena and Andy get up, and quickly excused himself from a perfunctory conversation with one of the techies to intercept them.
“Well, he’s safely on his way at last, eh, son?” he said to Andy, but his eyes shifted constantly back to Gena.
“Yeah, I guess,” Andy replied.
As they began to walk together toward the entrance, Ray navigated himself smoothly into position between them so that he could put his big muscular arms around the shoulders of both at the s
ame time, giving them a fatherly squeeze.
“Quite a day, quite a day! I don’t know about you two, but frankly, I’m starved! How about letting old Uncle Ray buy you both the biggest steak in Texas to celebrate.”
“Celebrate what? Being starved?” Andy muttered.
“Andy!” Gena hissed.
“Your dad’s history-making flight, of course—but then, you’re probably used to that by now.” He looked at Gena when he said this, and although his tone was jovial his eyes were not. They looked for her pain, found it, acknowledged it. Caressed it.
Gena took a breath, bit her upper lip. Then said, “Dinner would be great.”
The steakhouse was Houston casual and Texas pricey. Gena had wine, which Ray kept the waiter refilling until she completely lost count, but knew it was more than she should have drunk and, worse, didn’t care.
Ray drank whiskey neat and tried hard not to let his lust show, but he slipped up once or twice in baited innuendoes and off-color jokes that went one step over the line.