He wrote a long email to his brother explaining the last few days and then sat staring at his computer. He was tired and ready for sleep, but something had been nagging at him all day, and now he Googled it.
Wolff-Parkinson-White. The name of Airin’s heart condition.
He read for a few minutes. Then he turned off the computer and went to bed.
He didn’t see Airin in the morning, and by the afternoon he couldn’t take it anymore. Almost forty-eight hours had gone by since the last time they’d spoken, and that had to have been enough to put a little distance between them.
As he drove home in the early evening, a miracle in the sky gave him the perfect reason to talk to her . . . if she was home.
She was.
He pushed open the screen door and saw Val and Airin on the couch. They were facing each other with Val’s computer between them, having an animated discussion about something technical.
He crossed to the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room and rested his forearms on it.
Val glanced up. “Hey, Bryce.”
“Hey.”
In theory he was speaking to both of them, but the only one he really saw was Airin.
She looked eager and alive, interested in whatever Val was showing her. She was wearing shorts, a white T-shirt with green turtles all over it, and sandals. All were brand-new.
She looked up at him with a smile. “Hunter! It feels like I haven’t seen you in days. How are you?”
Her mahogany eyes were like a gravity well—deep and inescapable.
“Not bad,” he said. “Jones is doing great in the biosphere, so the mission directors aren’t as pissed at me as they were a few days ago. They’re still pissed enough to take it out of my hide in work hours, though. They’ve got me on the hook for more simulations than I ever wanted to do in my life.”
Val shook her head at him. “Welcome to the world of the backup crew. Airin might have some sympathy for you, but Dean and I don’t.”
“Fair enough. How about I buy dinner tonight? Chinese takeout? I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get on your good side.”
“I won’t say no. How’s eight o’clock? Dean won’t be back until then, and I’d like to finish the project I’m working on.”
“Sure. Hey, Airin? What are you doing right now?”
“Val’s getting me up to speed on her research projects. I’m going to be helping her out for the next month.”
Val had mentioned that when he’d run into her at the gym. “I heard. I think that’s great. But aren’t you focused on figuring out your next steps? Where you want to go to grad school, what you want to study?”
“That’s not a full-time job. And whatever I end up pursuing, I’ve decided I want to be part of the space program. I’ll never be an astronaut myself, but I can support the people who are. Helping Val is a good start.”
That reminded him of what he’d read last night and what he’d been thinking about today. But he could get to that later. “Can you guys take a break? There’s something I want to show you.”
“Airin’s a free agent, but I’ve got some more work to do. Will it take long?” Val asked.
“Nope.”
Val closed her laptop, and the two of them came toward him. He held the screen door open, and Airin gasped as they stepped outside.
The setting sun was behind them. In front of them, glowing like the heart of a prism against the rain on the far side of the valley, was a double rainbow.
Hawaii was famous for its rainbows. He’d probably seen a hundred since he’d moved here. But this one . . . this one was something else.
Both rainbows were complete arches, and both were perfect. They seemed close enough to touch, and the colors were so real and so vivid it felt like they were their own element, something you could dive through like water.
After a minute, Val sighed. “Wow, that’s beautiful. I’m going back to work, but I’m glad you brought us out here. Thanks, Bryce.”
“Sure.”
Airin hadn’t said a word yet. They stood in silence for another minute, just looking at the sky, before she spoke.
“Can we walk that way? Toward it, I mean?”
“Yeah,” he said, and they started down the driveway to the road. When they turned left at the cross street, the rainbow was right in front of them.
It was like walking in a dream.
“Why isn’t everyone outside staring?” Airin asked. “There should be a crowd.”
He chuckled. “People who live here get used to it. Although I have to say, this is one of the most gorgeous rainbows I’ve ever seen. There, see?” He pointed at an elderly Japanese man standing in his garden, leaning on a rake as he stared at the Technicolor marvel in the sky. “Even a kama‘aina thinks this one is special.”
“Kama‘aina?”
“Local.”
Five more minutes of walking brought them to the end of the street, with a choice to turn left or right. Instead, he and Airin reached a mutual, unspoken decision to stop and stare.
Eventually, the conditions in the sky changed. Behind them, the sun was sinking behind the mountains; in front of them, the rain was coming to an end. The rainbow began to fade.
Airin took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He did the same, taking in a cool wash of air that seemed to fill every corner of his lungs.
They turned to walk back toward the house. The sun was almost hidden behind the mountains, but the air around them was suffused with gold, so thick and luscious it was like walking through honey.
He bumped Airin’s shoulder gently with his. “Tell me some more about your dad. Was he always interested in space?”
“Always,” she said after a moment. “He was six foot one, and he was glad NASA had changed their height requirements for astronauts. Back in the Mercury and Gemini days, you had to be between five foot five and five foot eleven to fit inside the capsule.” She smiled up at him. “You must be happy NASA makes their seats adjustable now and that they paid Russia to modify the Soyuz for heights up to six two. You’re just barely under that limit.”
He grinned down at her. “Yeah. If I’d been born a generation earlier, I’d be out of luck. The shorties got all the cool missions back then. Yuri Gagarin, the first man in space, was only five two.”
She nodded. “My dad told me stories about him. But his favorite astronaut was Valentina Tereshkova, the first woman in space. He also admired Sally Ride, the first American woman in space, and Anna Lee Fisher. She was the first mother in space.”
“He was big on firsts, huh?”
She drifted a little closer to him, just a couple of inches, but it was enough to bring her arm into contact with his for a moment. The fleeting touch gave him goose bumps.
“He thought I could be the first woman on Mars. Maybe even the first human.”
“That’s a pretty big expectation to put on a little girl.”
“It wasn’t an expectation. It was more like a wish. A belief in what was possible.”
The last ray of the setting sun broke through a cloud, making them blink. They turned their heads at the same time and found themselves looking at each other.
“I bet you’re big on firsts, too,” Airin said. “Aren’t you? All the astronauts I’ve ever met are, especially the pilots. I bet you want to be the first man on Mars. Don’t deny it.”
She turned her head away, looking at the road ahead of them again, and he did the same.
“Hell yeah, I want to be first. It’s the only thing they can’t take away from you.”
“What do you mean?”
“However fast you go, someone will always go faster. However high, however far . . . someone else will go higher and farther. But if you’re the first person to do something, that’s it. You’ll always be the first person who did that thing.”
There was a short silence. Then Airin glanced up at him again.
“What?” he asked after a moment.
She was looking t
houghtful. “I was just wondering.”
“Wondering what?”
“If what you just said has anything to do with your parents. I mean, being first. You said it’s the only thing they can’t take away from you. So . . . it’s something permanent. A kind of immortality.”
He shook his head. “Damn. You’re going to psychoanalyze me now, aren’t you? I knew I shouldn’t have told you all my sad stories.”
He spoke lightly, but Airin answered seriously.
“I’m glad you told me. You knew all my sad stories, and I didn’t know any of yours. It was an imbalance.”
An imbalance.
There was another imbalance between them, one she didn’t know about. His arrangement with Dira. Information about Airin in exchange for his heart’s desire.
He wished he hadn’t thought the phrase heart’s desire. Because looking down at Airin, the words took on a new, terrifying meaning.
He forced himself to imagine how her expression would change if she knew that in a few hours, he’d send an email to her mother. He’d tell Dira how Airin was spending her time, how her ribs were healing, how happy she seemed.
“But anyway,” Airin went on, “I know the chance to be first isn’t the only reason you want to be part of the Mars mission.”
It took him a moment to refocus on the conversation. “How do you know? Maybe I’m just a glory hound.”
She shook her head. “You told me that night on the beach why you want to travel into space. And people who are in it for the glory get weeded out pretty fast. You know that. There’s too much stress and boredom and pain-in-the-ass stuff to put up with if your motives are that shallow.”
“I hope you’re not accusing me of being deep. No one’s ever done that to me before.”
She was starting to answer when he grabbed her hand. There was a little pile of dog poop on the sidewalk, and he tugged her to the side.
“Watch your feet,” he said.
“Thanks.”
Now they were walking hand in hand, like they had that night in Waikiki. Like kids or sweethearts or an old married couple. Her hand felt small and soft and warm in his, and he should really let it go.
But he didn’t.
“So why did you and your dad talk about going to Mars?” he asked. “If it wasn’t for the glory.”
“For my dad, it was about curiosity. He said the urge to travel is built into our DNA and that the next phase of exploration is into space. It’s humanity’s next call to adventure, he said, and we have to answer it.”
“What about your mother?”
“My mother?”
“Yeah. She wants to go to Mars, too, right? What’s her motivation? The same as your dad’s?”
“No. I mean, she liked to hear my dad talk about it. She always said he was the romantic in the family. But for her, it’s not about exploring for the sake of exploring. She sees going to Mars as a kind of insurance policy for the human race.”
“An insurance policy?”
“Yes. She believes the best way to avoid the possibility of human extinction is for us to become a spacefaring race. She says the sooner we establish a self-sustaining community on Mars, the sooner we increase our odds of surviving a disaster on Earth—something immediate like an asteroid or nuclear war, or something gradual like climate change.”
“That’s kind of an apocalyptic vision, isn’t it? I mean, it’s not exactly the inspirational stuff of her space talks.”
“That’s why she doesn’t emphasize that part of it when she gives speeches. She’s more long-term then, more aspirational. She doesn’t talk about species-ending disasters, whether natural or manmade, as much as the reality is that we can’t stay on Earth forever. I mean, our sun will die eventually.”
“In five billion years? That’s a pretty long time from now.”
“But Earth will be uninhabitable long before that. In a billion years the sun will be hot enough to boil our oceans. My mother’s point is, if we evolve into a spacefaring species, we have a way to make sure humanity can survive anything, including the loss of Earth. Whenever that happens.”
He remembered what she’d said about his parents. “So . . . immortality, then.”
“Sort of. The only kind we can ever hope for—the kind that goes beyond our own generation. My dad used to talk about that, too. The idea of starting something you won’t live to see completed. It used to be that way when people built cathedrals. Stonemasons and other craftsmen would begin the work, knowing that their grandchildren or even their great-grandchildren would see it finished, while they never would. My dad identified with that. He loved the idea of me going into space someday, even if he wasn’t there to see it.”
He was quiet for a moment. “So both your parents had the same vision. A future for humanity. But your dad saw it like a romantic, and your mom sees it like a scientist.”
She smiled at that. “Basically.”
“Which one are you?” he asked. “Scientist or romantic?”
The question seemed to take her by surprise.
Although it was pretty straightforward, really. The kind of thing you ought to be able to answer right away. How do you look at the world? What kind of person are you?
“I don’t know,” she said after a long pause. “What about you?”
He shrugged. “I’m not either. I’m a pragmatist.”
“A pragmatist with a soul,” she corrected.
He squeezed her hand. “Yeah? That’s the second time on this walk you’ve called me deep. No one’s ever accused me of having a soul before.” He thought for a moment. “What if I ask the question another way?”
“What do you mean?”
“Which one of your parents are you more like? Your mother or your father?”
“My father.” She paused. “But that doesn’t necessarily make me a romantic. My father was a pilot and a mechanical engineer, too.”
“Why did you want to go into space? Was it because of your dad, or your mom? Or did you have your own reasons?”
“I always wanted to go, and not just because of my parents. I used to lie awake at night wondering about Mars. I thought about the things my dad was interested in—the exploring, the achievement of getting there, all that. And the things my mom cares about, too. The science of it, and the idea of guaranteeing humanity a place in the universe. But the question I was obsessed with was different.”
“What was it?”
“Life. Is there life on Mars today, buried deep where there’s liquid water? Was there ever life there? Did it leave behind evidence that we could study? It wasn’t the idea of humanity spreading through the universe that inspired me. It was the idea of encountering another species. Think of the strangeness of that. The mystery. That’s the kind of unknown I was interested in.”
“Was?”
She looked up at him. “What do you mean?”
“You talk like that interest is in your past. Is it?”
She shrugged. “I’ll never go to Mars. I’ve known that for years. I experienced my first tachycardia when I was nine, and I was diagnosed with Wolff-Parkinson-White not long after. Any dreams I had of going into space ended then. I was in and out of hospitals for years. My mother was terrified I would die, and she kept me home as much as she could, in as antiseptic an environment as she could create. If she could have made me the girl in the plastic bubble, she would have. The idea of going to Mars or being an astronaut or even just having a normal life was out of the question. My dad stopped talking about it, and he and my mom mostly focused on my health. They researched all these diets and exercise programs, and I ended up being the healthiest kid you ever met . . . except for the fact that the electric pathways in my heart were messed up.”
“I read up on Wolff-Parkinson-White,” he said.
She looked up at him. “You did?”
“Yeah. I wanted to know what you’d been up against as a kid. It seems like your mom went way overboard. Lots of people with WPW do just fine. They don’t
all get homeschooled, and some can participate in sports.”
“Sure. Some people with WPW never even show symptoms. But my condition was on the severe end of the spectrum. I had multiple abnormal pathways in my heart, which made it more challenging for the doctors to ablate all of them. I had episodes of tachycardia pretty frequently, and I fainted a lot, which tended to freak people out. Then I’d get freaked out because they were freaked out, and . . . well, you get the idea. Finally my mom said she needed to control my environment more or she’d go crazy. So we switched to homeschooling.”
“Did you mind?”
“It was fine for a few years. I kind of liked it, really. I still saw my friends, and I spent more time with my parents than I ever had before. They were still busy, and I had tutors for most subjects, but my dad coached me in math and science, and he made it fun. My mom pitched in, too. I had kind of an amazing education, to be honest.” She sighed. “But then my dad deployed. After he was killed, my mom got worse. More overprotective, I mean. I was in high school then, and I threw myself into what I was studying—and into my own world, I guess. I met people online and formed communities the way you do, with people you have weird things in common with.”
He shifted his hand, threading their fingers together. “What kinds of things?”
“I joined an online community for people who wrote Buffy the Vampire Slayer fan fiction. Another one about net neutrality. One for fractals, one for people interested in dark matter, one for Greek mythology. That kind of thing.”
“Huh. Okay. But, Airin . . . you said you were training and eating well, right?”
“Yes.”
“And you said your last surgery was a complete success.”
“It was.”
“Well . . . what did the doctor say about your heart afterward?”
She hesitated, obviously unsure about where he was going with this.
“He said I had one of the healthiest hearts he’d ever seen . . . considering. I passed all kinds of exercise and stress tests with flying colors. He said I was fit enough to run a 10K or climb a mountain.”
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