by John Olson
That was not going to be acceptable. Bob wouldn’t stand for any messing around in space. There were not going to be any relationships—wink, wink—on board the Ares 10.
* * *
They waited at the Vehicle Assembly Building for over two hours before they were allowed to enter the clean room. Security goons hovered everywhere, and they had guns. Bob submitted to a retinal scan twice within fifty yards. They X-rayed his briefcase and walked him through a metal detector.
When the team finally reached the Hab inside the mammoth clean room, they found it surrounded by security geeks. The wrapping was off it, and everyone wore bunny suits. Normally, the KSC techs would be doing the visual check of the exterior. But this was not normal. Only the crew, with Nate and Josh, were allowed near the Hab.
Bob wasn’t about to gripe about that. The fewer people who touched it at this stage, the better he liked it.
The entire crew did a once-around of the exterior of the Hab at ground level. Everything looked spotless. They wheeled in several sections of catwalk and repeated the inspection at the midpoint of the Hab. Perfect.
They walked inside the Hab. Kennedy led, with Bob right behind. Valkerie and Lex were tasked to record the inspection with videocams. Which was absurd, but some NASA mucky-muck had ordered it. The complete visual inspection took over an hour.
“All right y’all, let’s call it a day.” Kennedy clomped down the stairs. “Tomorrow we’ve got the electrical systems checkout. We’ve got a ton of work to do. Everyone needs to get here at 7:00 A.M. sharp.”
“That’s 6:00 A.M. in Houston,” Lex said. “How about cutting us some slack?”
“We’ve got five months to cut ourselves some slack on the way to Mars,” Kennedy said. “Our schedule is right to the wire, people. We need to get that electrical checkout done by close-of-business tomorrow.”
Bob shook his head. “Nate, how are we supposed to get anything done with this security dog-and-pony act every time we turn around?”
“It’s ridiculous,” Lex said. “You’d think we were terrorists.”
“What about it, Nate?” Kennedy said. “We’re not exactly federal prisoners.”
“I requested the tightest possible security,” Nate said. “We have excellent reason to—”
“Nate?” Josh motioned Nate off to one side and talked to him quietly for a few minutes.
When they came back, Nate was sweating. He cleared his throat and looked around the circle. “Okay, team, I see your point. There is a need for tight security, and we’re going to meet that need, but I’ll see to it that it doesn’t impact your ability to do your job.”
For Nate, that was practically a groveling apology. As they headed for the exit, Bob whacked Josh on the shoulders. “Thanks, buddy. What kind of dirt have you got on Nate to make him back down like that?”
Josh gave him a mysterious smile. “You’ll never know.”
* * *
Friday, January 24, Year Three, 8:00 P.M.
Valkerie
Valkerie looked across a concrete drainage channel at the small clusters of friends and family gathered to send off the Ares 10 astronauts. She snuggled down into her coat, shielding her ears beneath her flapping collar. The night was chilly and clear. The launch tower loomed above her like a colossal offering to the gods. Bright spotlights polished the powerful heavy-lift launch vehicle to a gleaming white, filling the night sky with a dull orange glow. The tower of Babel. She swallowed back the disturbing thought. It settled into the pit of her stomach like a bitter pill.
Valkerie turned to watch her fellow crew members laughing and talking with their family and friends across the dividing moat. She had worked with them for over a year now. Practicing, drilling, training. The four of them functioned together like a space-age pit crew, but when it came to real life, they might as well have been speaking different languages. At the end of the day, while the others were lingering over dinner or hanging out at their favorite bars, she was memorizing manuals and practicing on simulators. Trying to cram into a year and a half what they had learned in six.
She had excelled to be sure. Mastered the material in record time. Valkerie was the toast of the trainers. But she felt deep in her heart that she was a failure. Somehow, during all those joint exercises, she had failed to connect. A year and a half of her life was gone, and what did she have to show for it? Memorized flight procedures to back up Kennedy? Wiring diagrams to back up Bob? Zero-g surgery in case somebody got sick? She had spent a year and a half training to be an emergency backup system. A piece of baggage that nobody expected to use until they got to Mars.
A burst of laughter rang out from the small crowd gathered across from Kennedy. Overdressed and overloud, they reminded her of a group of politicians at a campaign rally. Kennedy was their candidate. Their hero. He strutted and preened in front of them—the host at his own late-night talk show.
Valkerie searched the group, wondering if he had the gall to invite any of his groupies. The thought left her feeling uneasy. Flight Med had put her on birth-control pills—ostensibly to lessen the severity of her periods during the mission. But she couldn’t escape the fear that she was looking at the real reason.
Valkerie pushed the thought from her mind and turned her attention to the quiet Asian women that clustered in front of Lex. Her sister and mother? Her mother and grandmother? It was hard to tell. Of her three crewmates, Valkerie knew Lex the least. Josh said Lex had been aloof from everybody lately, but she couldn’t help wondering if he was just saying that to spare her feelings. Lex seemed to get along with Bob just fine.
Valkerie sneaked a glance at Bob. Three guys stood across from him—off to the side and away from the rest of the crowd. Hands in their pockets, hunched shoulders, shuffling feet, they seemed almost as uncomfortable as Bob. Were they brothers? She didn’t see any family resemblance. More likely friends. Old friends. He was the kind of guy who made friends for keeps.
Bob nodded back at her, and she looked quickly down at the ground. How did he do it? He always seemed to know when she was looking at him. It wasn’t like she looked at him that often. Ever since her first day on the team, Bob had seemed to grow more and more distant. It wasn’t their misunderstanding at the Outpost—they’d both apologized a dozen times for that. Something else was bothering him. Something deeper. More systemic. Josh had noticed it too, but Bob wouldn’t talk about it with him. Maybe Josh was right, maybe Bob was getting a severe case of cold feet. Maybe that was what was wrong with Lex too, but Valkerie doubted it. She couldn’t help wondering if Bob would have been a lot happier with Josh on the team.
“You’re awfully quiet tonight.”
“Dad!” Valkerie spun in the direction of the moat.
Her father stood across from her, blowing a cloud of steam through his hands.
“What took you so long? I was starting to worry you wouldn’t make it.” Valkerie looked at her watch. They had taken him to the Houston airport over six hours ago.
“My flight was delayed. I had to tip the taxi driver a hundred bucks to get me here this soon. No way was I going to miss the traditional send-off—not after my baby worked so hard to get me VIP tickets.” A swell of emotion rolled across his face like a sheet billowing in a summer breeze.
Suddenly she felt miserable and all alone. Two and a half years was an eternity. She didn’t know if she could do it.
“Nervous?”
Valkerie nodded. “Scared, I guess. I’m going to miss you. I’m going to miss—everything.”
“I’m going to miss you too.” Her dad’s voice quivered.
Valkerie took a step toward the moat but stopped short at its painted edge. Why couldn’t she go to him? Her father needed her. She needed him. Just one more hug. What would it hurt?
“Yes sir, I’m going to miss all those lemon meringue pies you have to make me when Harvard humiliates Yale.” Her father grinned at her from across the moat.
“Harvard humiliates Yale? Dream on. You haven’t eate
n lemon meringue in four years.”
“Oh, I get it now. Just as soon as we finish rebuilding, you decide to run off to Mars. Well, it’s not going to work. I’ll expect two pies the minute you get home.”
Valkerie smiled but didn’t rise to the taunt. Her dad stood straight and tall on the other side of the moat, watching her with a contented, satisfied expression. He would always be there for her. That was enough. No matter what happened in between, things with him would be the same when she got back.
A black car pulled close to the moat and a tall air force officer stepped out.
Valkerie frowned and glanced at her watch. Only ten more minutes. She forced a smile and turned back to her father.
He nodded and smiled but remained silent. It was a comfortable silence. He had visited her all week while she was quarantined at crew quarters in Houston. Reminiscing. Smuggling in pizzas. It was nice. Like their time together after her mother died. But this time they could talk about the past. It was the future that they studiously avoided. And this time it was her father who played the role of nurse—a role he performed with comical ineptitude.
“Expecting someone in particular?”
Valkerie nodded. Josh Bennett had promised that he would fly in from Houston to see them off. Bob had talked to him on the phone, but she hadn’t seen him for two weeks. This was their last day. You’d think he would at least stop by to say good-bye.
Her eyes drifted back to the parking lot. The air force officer stood outside his car, clutching his hat in both hands. Who was he there to see? Lex? Someone in Kennedy’s party?
Another car swept into the parking lot and pulled to a stop behind the roped-off visitor section. Josh sprang from the car and headed straight for them. He seemed to be out of breath.
Valkerie’s dad turned expectantly.
“Mr. Jansen.” Josh shook her father’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally get to meet you. Valkerie’s told me all about you.”
“The pleasure is all mine. I’ve heard nothing but good reports about you—for years.”
Josh shrugged. “Well, you know how biased the media can be.” He nodded at Valkerie and flashed her a big smile.
Valkerie looked down at her feet, suddenly uncertain how to respond. She cocked her head to the side. Bob was still talking to his friends.
Bob turned slowly and stared back at her with big, questioning eyes.
Valkerie looked back down at the ground. Somehow he always knew.
Chapter Eleven
Saturday, January 25, Year Three, 7:30 A.M. EST
Bob
BOB POURED HIMSELF ANOTHER BOWL of Cheerios.
“Hey, Bo, you better get you some bacon and grits,” Kennedy said. “That kiddie food won’t last you long.”
Bob wanted to say something about not wanting to heave up a big breakfast, but he didn’t dare. Not with the NBS cameras right in his face.
Today was the day. Launch Day. It had to be today, and everyone knew it. The Saturday before the Super Bowl. The timing was perfect. NBS’s ratings were gonna hit the stratosphere. And NASA would get another billion dollars to pay off some of its bills. Then if they reached Mars exactly on July fourth, there’d be a multibillion dollar payday from NBS, and the mission’s debts would be covered.
What a way to design a mission—with NBS picking the dates.
At the other end of the table, half a dozen cameras clustered around Valkerie. Which was fine with Bob. She was articulate and photogenic. That’s what brought in the network money. Great. Now he was starting to sound like Perez.
“Dr. Jansen, what’s the first thing you plan to do when you get into space?” A reporter wearing a surgeon’s mask shoved a microphone in Valkerie’s face.
“I suppose I’ll have to deal with crew-acclimatization issues first.”
“What exactly are those?”
“Dizziness, hand-eye coordination, possible vomiting. The usual problems. It’s called Space Adaptation Sickness.”
“Are you concerned about your safety?” asked an earnest young man with slick black hair and a bow tie.
Valkerie gave a half shrug. “It’s like any kind of flying—the most dangerous parts are takeoffs and landings, right?”
“Aren’t you afraid?”
“I’m confident that we’ve done everything we can to make this voyage as safe as possible.” Valkerie pointed toward Bob. “Thanks to people like Dr. Kaganovski, the Ares 10 is probably the safest space vehicle ever built.”
Bob set down his spoon in his unfinished bowl of Cheerios and managed some sort of a smile as the cameras zoomed in on him.
Good answer, Valkerie. Right out of The Right Stuff. And I bet you’re scared spitless. Just like I am.
Because when you got right down to it, sitting in a chair with ten million pounds of rocket fuel strapped to your butt could be bad for your health.
Unlike Lex and Kennedy, Bob had never flown a shuttle mission. This would be his first launch. This morning he’d woken up with his heart pounding, knowing that this could be the day. Would be the day, if the weather was anything near okay.
When he’d heard the forecast, he’d almost lost his cool. Winds above 20 mph, with possible slacking in the late morning. Possible.
You couldn’t launch in winds above fifteen miles per hour. The rocket could get blown into the tower. Launch time was set for 1:47 P.M., with an eight-minute launch window. If they missed that, they’d have to launch tomorrow, right during the Super Bowl pregame show, which would cost the networks a bundle.
And Nate would blow a brain gasket. Perez too. They could not afford to lose a gigabuck. Which was why Bob was scared out of his gourd. Would they launch, or wouldn’t they?
“What about you, Dr. Kaganovski?” It was the bow-tied reporter. “Aren’t you just a teensy bit worried?”
Like every astronaut who ever lived, Bob lied through his teeth whenever he got that question. He took a swig of orange juice, wiped his mouth, and gave a careless shrug, letting the tension build. “Not at all,” he said. “Compared to driving the Houston freeways at rush hour, a launch into space is like a walk in the park.”
* * *
Saturday, January 25, Year Three, 8:00 A.M. EST
Valkerie
After breakfast, Valkerie retreated to her room in crew quarters, locking the door behind her. The reporters were in a feeding frenzy. She needed time to think. They were leaving the earth in less than six hours, and she had this terrible feeling that she was forgetting something important. But what was there to forget? NASA had done all the packing. Ten thousand people were working full-time to make sure nothing was forgotten.
Valkerie undressed and pulled on her diaper. No, not diaper—MAG. Astronauts were too macho to wear diapers. Maybe that’s what MAG stood for. Macho Astronaut Garment. She climbed into her cooling garment, tugging hard to get the stubborn meshwork of plastic tubing over her shoulders. She zipped it up and cracked open her door. Good. No reporters. The last thing she wanted was to have her picture taken in ridiculous-looking long johns.
Valkerie stepped out into the hall. A sober-faced technician met her. Kennedy and Lex were already dressed and stood waiting outside Bob’s room.
“Need any help in there?” Kennedy called through the door. “The long set of sleeves are for your legs. The short ones are for your arms.”
Bob stepped out of the room with a goofy smile. “I was wondering why the rear was so drafty.”
The technician escorted the four astronauts to the suit-up room. Two female suit technicians greeted Valkerie and led her to a white table.
All of her personal gear was arranged neatly on the table, waiting for her inspection. A lanyard knife, survival radio, vomit bag, signal mirror, whistle, sunglasses ... The suit technicians triple-checked all her gear before stuffing it into the pockets of her orange Partial Pressure Launch and Entry Garment. What a clunky name. Why didn’t they ... Valkerie laughed out loud. She finally realized why NASA didn’t use an acronym fo
r the suits.
The techies pressurized her suit to test for leaks. “Looks good, Dr. Jansen,” one of them said. The other made the sign of the cross, her eyes glistening. “God go with you, Dr. Jansen.”
Valkerie stopped, unsure what to say. The tech watched her with an expression bordering on awe. Valkerie felt suddenly alone, as if she were already a million miles away. She wanted to reach out to the woman, to tell her that she was just like her. To ask her about her family, take her by the hand ... but the others were already leaving.
Valkerie turned away slowly and followed her crewmates down the ramp to the Astrovan. Their faces were somber. Professional. Determined. They seemed so different in their suits, as if they had left their humanity behind with their street clothes. One at a time, a technician helped them into the van, and the doors locked shut behind them. Locked away from a world she would soon be leaving. Trapped in a cell with three familiar strangers. The urge to escape was almost overpowering. She wanted to run back to the suit tech and give her a hug. For all she knew it might be her last chance for a hug for two and a half years.
* * *
Saturday, January 25, Year Three, 9:00 A.M. EST
Bob
By the time they were halfway up the elevator, Bob was regretting that he’d drunk so much orange juice at breakfast. His kidneys had gone into overdrive. When they reached the top, Bob was the first one out of the elevator, looking for the bathroom. He was not going to go in his Maximum Absorbing Garment if he could help it.
The plumbing was primitive, but it worked. When he came out, the others were standing in the White Room, preparing for ingress to the launch vehicle.
“You’re first,” Kennedy said. “Wave to the cameras and take one last look at the good green earth, because the next time you go outside, there isn’t going to be any lawn within a hundred million miles.”