The Effort

by Claire Holroyde

  They always toured the university grounds and lingered at the library. Maya’s favorite was the first edition of Charles Darwin’s On the Origin of Species, and his was the collection of old Bibles and illuminated manuscripts. When there was enough daylight, they went to an early dinner. Maya chose a seafood restaurant by Goleta Beach so she could spoil her father with a view of the Pacific at sunset.

  He didn’t turn down the chilled beer she ordered, but he did nurse it with slow sips and long blinks against the wind at dusk. Doctor Gutiérrez, he said, and smiled before biting into a crunchy shrimp tail. He said it again to savor the wonderous pair of words with his meal and added, You are our American Dream come true. Your mother and I never would’ve stayed for ourselves. It was too hard… The hands that held his beer bottle looked twenty years older than the wrists they were attached to. Not that Mr. Gutiérrez wasn’t careful. As a mason, his skilled hands put food on the table and a roof over his head.

  When Maya asked after her sisters, her father pulled out a plastic sandwich bag that was tucked in his pocket. Maya’s mother sent photos of her nieces and nephews from parties, communions, and weddings. Maya sorted through the photographs until she found her niece and godchild Angelina. The girl was still young enough for pigtails but old enough for missing milk teeth. The tip of her tongue poked out of the front gap in her smile.

  Maya couldn’t remember what shirt her father wore, or what dishes she ordered, but she clearly remembered that moment of loving her life and at the same time wondering if it had to come with such a high cost. She had been thirty-five at the time, an age that places you in the high-risk category for pregnancy—if you are still able to get pregnant at all. Maya wondered if wanting it all was asking too much too late. Even then, before the letters UD3 had meaning, she felt time escaping her grasp.

  An hour slipped by before Maya could force herself to stand and walk out of Healy’s science lounge. A group of Morale Committee members were in the stateroom corridors. They no longer planned talent shows in the helicopter hangar or Biggest Loser–style weight loss competitions for the Coasties. They no longer asked about feelings and coping. They didn’t say much at all as they knocked on each door, forcing entry if need be, to check on the occupants. Maya heard that more than a few of the scientists had to be checked into sick bay, but she wasn’t curious about details.

  The committee members finished removing a door handle with a power drill, but Maya’s gaze didn’t follow them into the stateroom’s interior. She was determined to stay focused and functioning in the present. Looking to memories in the past—where Maya was in her parents’ backyard surrounded by the noise of family and Latin pop music, grilled corn stuck uncomfortably between her teeth, the nightly breeze gentle on her bare skin, and the warm-toasted feeling of love, belonging, clear purpose, and an unquestioning understanding of reality—was just too painful. Looking to the future—anarchy, madness, starvation, and, unless UD3 could be stopped, the death of everyone and everything she knew with the planet scorched into one big fossil—was too terrifying.

  Maya headed to the galley, where breakfast was just finishing up. The OSU professor had evacuated back in mid-August, but his postdoc was sitting idle in the mess deck, staring down into the small void of a black cup of coffee. It wasn’t until Maya touched his shoulder that he jolted, blinked, and then nodded. He didn’t ask why, as in Why do we keep working? Why does it still matter? Wordlessly, they sought out Malcolm and two other crane operators at the Coasties’ table. All stood at the ready, needing to be needed.

  * * *

  WHEN THEY FINISHED their water-sampling cast at the stern of the ship, Maya and the postdoc, Carl, packed up their equipment. Carl’s eyes drifted south to open water. Maya wondered if Carl felt the same nail-biting impatience to return to civilization mixed with gut-twisting fear over what they would find.

  “Hey you.”

  Maya turned to see Jack taking her picture.

  “You should really ask for permission,” Maya said, pulling down the brim of her hard hat.

  Jack promised to stop taking her picture, but only if she promised to stop hiding her pretty face. When Maya looked up again, Carl was walking off toward the hatch, leaving them to the magnetic pull and push within their interactions.

  “We’re finished collecting samples,” Maya said, “Just packing up. I’ll test them later in the day—”

  Maya stopped because Jack was trying not to laugh. His mouth twisted into a smile, then a grimace. Giggles slipped out like effervescent bubbles from below the surface.

  “Sorry,” he said. “It’s just that it seemed so important. Didn’t it?”

  His inhale hitched like a sob.

  “Our mission was important,” Maya insisted. “It is.”

  Her hard stare suddenly softened.

  “Remember our whales?” she asked. “Remember those giants doing backflips for us? Weren’t they important?”

  He winced at the shared memory but nodded. Maya stared up at him, soaking in every detail: his pretty eyes and gold-tipped lashes; his delicate nose; his violent scars and the way they left pale, warped tracks through the growth of his new beard. Jack was a delicious temptation that had fallen into her lap right when she needed him.

  Maya leaned in and brushed Jack’s lips with her own. He went rigid and tried to read her expression, but Maya felt she had already made herself clear. Slowly and carefully, Jack leaned in until they were breathing and exhaling the same air. His cracked lips joined hers. It was a gentle kiss, but when he started to pull away, Maya clasped her fingers behind his neck. No more walking away. Jack was hers until she let go.

  Maya took his hand and led him below deck, straight to her stateroom. Stealing suddenly shy glances at one another, they unzipped their anti-exposure suits and unlaced their boots. Jack lay down in her rumpled sheets and reached for her from the bottom rack. The mattress was so narrow that they had to face each other on their sides to fit. Maya kissed him deeply and snaked a hand past his winter layers to feel the muscles of his flat stomach. Soon their hands were all over each other and their clothes came off piece by piece until they were two animal bodies, warm, odorous, and pressed together.

  “Should I…?” Jack whispered.

  She pulled back to look at him, lips shiny with saliva.

  “Get a condom from my room?” he asked with a thick voice, inching forward to close the gap between their faces.

  She snorted a laugh just as he moved to kiss her. She couldn’t help it.

  “I’m flattered,” she said. “Hope I’m worth your emergency condom.”

  “I have more.”

  She looked at him with such intensity that he admitted to having a whole box. Now it was Maya’s turn to giggle uncontrollably.

  “Sorry, sorry,” she kept repeating. “Sorry, but you’ll have to excuse me.”

  When she turned to get up, Jack tensed and held her tight until his senses overcame his lust. Maya felt around for her rumpled jeans and sweatshirt. There was a pair of flip-flop sandals by the door. By the time she stepped into the corridor and headed to the bathroom, she wasn’t giggling anymore.

  A whole goddamn box, she thought. Maya could understand one condom maybe, zipped into the change pouch of his wallet (because what man ever bothered with loose change), but a whole box? Did he sleep around that much?

  Maya dropped her jeans down to her ankles and hit the head. So what? she thought. What did it matter when he was here, with her, looking so beautiful and bright against Healy’s drab interior. Maya told herself to be happy for that whole box of condoms. After all, getting pregnant in this mess would be the sorriest of states. Almost as a reminder, Maya saw a dried streak of reddish fluid smeared on her inner thigh, sticky to the touch. Her period was early. If Jack had noticed, he hadn’t said anything.

  When Maya returned to her room, he was gone. So what? she thought again, ignoring the sharp sting of being left. You laughed at him, and now he’s gone. Guess I’ll be one less
notch in his bedpost. The door opened and closed quickly as Jack ducked inside. He didn’t look her in the eyes or say anything as he kicked off his unlaced boots and sat back on her bed with an expression that was patient but eager. Looking at him and imagining what they would do made her body warm again. Before she could enjoy it fully, there was one more embarrassment to suffer through…

  “I might get the white sheets a little messy—”

  “S’fine,” he said quickly. “We’ll wash them in the sink later.”

  Maya walked into his embrace.

  * * *

  WILL HE STAY? she wondered. (How many women had asked that question over the millennia? How many more until time ran out?) In Maya’s limited experience, it was better to be the one doing the leaving. She sat up and swung her bare feet onto the cold floor.

  “I gotta work,” she said with a shiver.

  They both knew she didn’t have to work, she only wanted to work—and not as much as she wanted to be held in his warmth.

  “Come back to bed,” Jack said.

  He yawned. Even with his face contorted, he was utterly handsome.

  Just a little bit longer, Maya told herself.

  Crawling back beside his body was divine. She reveled in their stinkiness—musky sweat and thick applications of deodorant—like a French cheese. The bristles of his beard and his smooth lips stretched into a smile against the back of her neck. No doubt he knew his effect on women (and 7 percent of the male population as well, Maya figured).

  “John and Yoko spent all day in bed together,” he said, his voice muffled. “How’s that for romance?”

  His words tickled her skin.

  “Love isn’t romance,” Maya said slowly. “It’s something stronger.”

  She thought of her parents and how much they needed one another. What started as romance had become a necessity for survival. Maya was prepared for an awkward moment, but Jack wrapped his wiry forearms around her. She loved the threat of his genitals glancing her buttocks.

  “That was just the first time,” he finally whispered. “It gets better.”

  Maya believed him.

  They listened to the vibrations of Healy’s engines until they suddenly stopped. An announcement from Captain Weber came over the pipes: the Navy had ordered Healy to stay at sea and await further instruction.

  EIGHTEEN

  Intoxication

  Healy in the Bering Sea

  November 2

  T-minus 91 days to launch

  JACK AND MAYA dressed for warmth and donned anti-exposure suits before heading outside into the night. Floodlights lit Healy’s deck in sharp relief. Jack saw other people gathered, but not as many as he hoped. Those who were holed up in their staterooms continued to fall into an unresponsive state, especially when they were alone. It reminded Jack of the eagles that drowned slowly in Seward Harbor, with no sign of struggle, only automatic blinking and breathing.

  Jack and Maya stood by Healy’s outer railing and looked up. The polar night sky was like nothing Jack had ever seen; the multitude of constellations never looked so bright nor the darkness between them so devoid. Of all the remote places in Jack’s many journeys, none were as remote. The green, glowing wisps of Aurora Borealis, looming dreamily above them, was one more testament to that fact.

  Maya was practically pacing in place with excitement. She said the Northern Lights phenomenon was caused by solar wind interacting with atmospheric gases, but the scientific cause didn’t seem to match the fantastical thing itself. Jack’s imagination raced to find earthly comparisons for such a vivid green. It reminded him of the chartreuse absinthe that he drank in the French Quarter of New Orleans. He could almost taste wormwood and green anise mixed with dissolving sugar on his tongue.

  “You know that saying?” Maya asked, “I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on Earth!”

  Jack laughed until the cold air stung his throat.

  “So, would you?” he asked.

  But she wasn’t smiling.

  “I know I’m convenient,” Maya admitted. “But I decided that I can’t care why you’re with me. I need you too much.”

  Jack took a breath and sighed. He promised Maya that he would say the words, but she had to promise not to say them back. He didn’t know why, but that was when his relationships always went to shit. Maya frowned and said she didn’t know which of them to feel sorrier for. Jack nodded, but he still put an index finger on her shivering lips. He needed to do this one thing right.

  “I love you.”

  Closer to the flat horizon, clear of the Northern Lights, the Man in the Moon returned their gaze. His right eye socket was an impact crater, one of the largest in the solar system, Maya remarked. Getting hit with a cosmic impact was all a matter of probability.

  “We could probably see UD3 with a regular telescope by now,” she said, pressed against him.

  It was such an awful fact that she whispered it.

  “At least, that’s what the news said while we were up by the North Pole. It’s hard to find any coverage that’s current.”

  Maya turned to Jack and asked, “Have you heard from your parents?”

  “I told you, they emailed me while we were close to the pole, but I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “But since then?”

  Jack said nothing, and she let the matter drop. The truth was that Jack stopped visiting the science lounge ever since the subject line “goodbye” appeared in his inbox with his mother’s name beside it. Of course he would read her email eventually, and any others that may have followed, just not now. He couldn’t. Could. Not. And so, when Maya talked about the world viewed through the internet, and all its terrible changes, he listened but said nothing.

  They heard chanting close by. Jack turned to his right and saw one of the Coasties with her head bent over folded hands, lips moving quickly in prayer. There were many religious Christians making themselves more known. Several had instituted group prayer in the helicopter hangar and daily Bible readings broadcast over the pipes.

  “Do you believe in God?” Jack asked Maya.

  They had talked about so much over the days and nights spent together—but not that. Jack had been inside her body many times, and yet this question seemed to be almost too personal.

  “I was raised Catholic,” Maya said, after a long pause.

  It wasn’t an answer, only the start of an answer, at best. Jack wondered if Maya fell into the sizable population that couldn’t defend the existence of God, but couldn’t give up on it, either. After all, a world without a supreme being made more sense but was the bleaker alternative.

  Jack was brought up Episcopalian and went to Sunday school in a stone church with stained-glass windows. As he grew older, Jack’s faith slipped in unnoticeable degrees all the way down to a turning point. It came while Jack was stationed in Darfur, documenting a refugee camp with four other photographers and a shared interpreter. Stories from survivors were horrific: genocide, child soldiers, gang rape, mutilation, slavery…Jack saw a toddler no more than a few years old with a bloated stomach due to malnutrition and a parasitic Guinea worm sprouting from his bald head like a dangling string of spaghetti.

  Surrounded by the carnage that humans inflict on one another, added to the random and senseless suffering that was life, Jack reached a state of overload. Another photographer, a more seasoned professional with a cockney accent and jaded sense of humor, saw Jack standing and staring. “Whatever God created us sure didn’t stick around, mate,” the man said with a clap on the back. And that was when the God in Jack’s mind finally flatlined. He knew the saying There are no atheists in foxholes, but here he was, an old hat to war zones, shelling, and shooting.

  “Pretend, for a sec, that you don’t believe,” Jack said to Maya.

  He didn’t want to debate something about which he had already reached a conclusion. He wanted to debate the things that God was invented to solve: chaos, meaninglessness, suffering, and death without heaven…r />
  “Where does that leave us?” Jack asked. “Are you and I just walking, talking stardust?”

  Maya squinted for an extended period of rumination. Then she spoke of her time as a graduate student under Dr. Charles Brodie, Healy’s chief scientist. In his office at Berkeley, there was a coffee table book of glossy color photos taken by the Hubble Telescope. Maya picked it up one day as he excused himself to take a phone call.

  “I saw these giant columns of glowing gas and newborn stars,” she said. “The biggest…thing in existence that I’d ever seen, that any human has ever seen. And it was so, so beautiful. Neon yellow, aqua, pink…I found out later that it was digitally colored,” she said with a smirk. “I felt cheated. At first.”

  Maya said she got to thinking about what she was actually seeing: the birth and death of stars seven thousand light-years away digitally captured by an unparalleled feat of imaging technology, then assigned the colors of tropical sea life by a retoucher, printed on an assembly line, exchanged for monetary currency at a Barnes & Noble, and finally given on a wedding anniversary. Was that book and its pictures just reconfigured stardust, or was Maya seeing a wonder nearly beyond imagination?

  She stopped talking abruptly. Her jaw hung slack.

  “I just saw the streak of a satellite,” she said. “It maybe…”

  She tried to look at the sky in her peripheral vision.

  “Maybe it was them?”

  “Who?” Jack asked, craning his head back.

  “The International Space Station,” Maya said sadly. “I read online that there was no way to evacuate the astronauts.”

  Jack asked how that could be the case when something got them up in space in the first place. Maya shook her head.

  “They’re still up there. I guess they’ll always be up there.”

  Jack didn’t like the idea of a haunted space station where the bodies floated like their ghosts. When the cold was too much to bear, he took Maya by the hand and led her back indoors. Sexual relationships were forbidden on Healy, but rules were no longer anyone’s biggest concern. In the red-lit corridors, they saw Ned exiting a bathroom with a stumble. Jack asked if he had gone on deck yet to see the Northern Lights.