I woke up and looked at my bio-band. 05:55. It surprised me to wake so early after yesterday’s assessment. I’d managed one hour and nine minutes, which was a significant improvement.
The whole crew seemed buoyed by their performances, and spirits had been running high last night. I’d spent some time talking to each of them, although Mark still seemed very quiet and remained on the peripheries of the conversation. I honestly felt sorry for him. He’d only done what we all wanted to do at some point, but I suspected he still felt responsible for Leon’s death. He’d lost control in that room, but he hadn’t killed Leon, and I decided to spend a bit more time with him to see if I couldn’t get him to relax again.
I showered up and headed out for a coffee. Harris and Hennessey were on the sofas drinking coffee and chatting. They looked up as I approached.
“Morning, Jax. Come and join us. We were just talking about you anyway.” Harris grinned.
“Sara, Tyrone.” I nodded. “Give me a minute to grab a coffee.” I filled my mug and went back to the sofas, parking myself next to Harris. Hennessey gave me a reproachful look, like I should have sat next to her, but there was already too much drama in my life without her complicating it further.
“Today is an important day for you all. Are you looking forward to it?”
I couldn’t say I’d given it much thought. After the assessment last night, Hennessey called us into Training 1, just before dinner, and announced that we would move to Stage 2 tomorrow.
“We’re advancing you early, given that you are a small crew. We also have two crews arriving tomorrow afternoon, so better that we shift you across rather than have half of you move to a different dorm and walk back to Stage 1. You were due to move over on Monday anyway, and weekend duties are usually light, so you’ll head over to Stage 2 tomorrow and can spend the weekend relaxing before we start the second process.”
We’d been dismissed, and that had set the stage for the conversation that evening.
“To be honest, I just want to get up there now. I’ve been to the Bertram and back four times in the Sim, and I’m eager to just crack on.”
Harris laughed. “Everyone has to do Compression, mate. You’ve done the hard part—the first stage is always the most brutal. Everyone is new, everything is new, and it takes some time to acclimatise.”
Hennessey looked at her bio-band. “Tyrone, we’d better get ourselves to Opps for the meeting. Jaxon, you’ll get up there soon enough. Keep doing what you’re doing and you’ll have a bright future on the Bertram.”
They both got to their feet, bade me a good day and left me to my thoughts. Over the next hour, the crew appeared one by one, looking as knackered and stiff as I was. The conversation was low and lacked energy. There was a definite sense of lethargy clouding us.
Harris returned at 08:00 and assembled us in the rec room on the sofas, which was a first.
“You are moving to Stage 2 now. I want you to grab your gear and meet me back here in five minutes.”
Everyone headed back to the dorm to grab their stuff, filling their mini-holdalls with whatever knick-knacks from home they’d brought with them. I didn’t bother moving. Everything I had was already in my flight holdall, as I’d been planning an hour in the steam room this morning.
The crew formed up inside five minutes, and Harris walked us through to SECO 2, where those of us that hadn’t had access granted beyond the rec room were given the access to Stage 2 areas, excluding SECO 2 and Opps. That only took a minute, and then he walked us back up the corridor to a set of double doors opposite DECON 4. We entered a long, rectangular room, which was a huge upgrade from our first digs. I could see everyone’s eyes widen, and there was a rush for the far corner where we had floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Launch. The chattering intensified as everyone got excited. It was their first view of the Launch Bay, and whilst empty, it still represented the pathway to our departure. Even Mark was showing signs of interest.
Harris called our attention back to the room. It was much larger than the previous rec room and had a lot more in it. There were sofas and chairs assembled in the middle, like before, and a dining area close to the mullioned windows. There were a dozen skylights in the ceiling, and so the room felt twice as bright as our previous accommodation. In one corner was a huge, wooden bookcase, stacked with books, a hollotab station, and a couple of desks to work at. In the south-west corner was a pool table. There were two lots of double doors on the east wall, one set at the north end of the west wall, next to a long hatch—I assumed this was the kitchen—plus another set on the north wall, near the corner.
“Stage 2 is where we train you for your life on board the Bertram Ramsay. You will undertake proper jobs here, and your Crew Leader will announce these on Monday.” He nodded at me. “The kitchens in here are manned by staffers, as are the maintenance teams. You are not to discuss your training with them, and we trained them not to talk to you beyond the platitudes of daily life. The conditioning room is beyond those doors on the north wall. The facilities are virtually identical to the ones you are used to, so you are to continue your daily workouts in there. I expect no less than ninety minutes a day, and I have updated your hollotabs with the schedules for training. Your dorm is through those double doors in the middle of the east wall, and the doors a little way up from that are for the training room. Get yourselves settled and familiarise yourself with the facilities, and I will see you all later.”
Harris walked out, and the crew headed straight for the dorm. It was basically the same as the previous one—windowless, but well lit, and the shower block was identical, except this one also had a bath in the corner with a low wall around it. There was a moment where they all looked up to see which bed I’d choose, so I made life easier by choosing the bunk again. They weren’t laid out quite the same because of the position of the entry door, but otherwise very similar. My bunk was in a corner, and I stowed my kit in the locker next to it, coding the door to my bio-band.
I left the crew and wandered back to the mullioned windows in the corner of the rec room. It still fascinated me to look out and see the tall buildings opposite and to the right, the sunlight dancing across the surface of the hexagonal exoskeleton that shrouded them. I was joined shortly by the rest of the crew, who were all equally fascinated by the view.
“I wonder what that hexagonal frame is for?” said Aoife.
“It’s a conduit for static discharge, should one of the aircraft malfunction.” Everyone turned to me. I explained about the shuttle and the spheres, and how the gyro-shields captured the escaping energy and recycled it back into the Quirillium Nucleus.
“So you’ve been out there already, Jax?”
I spent the next half an hour explaining about my training, keeping it vague so as not to give away anything that I might get in trouble for. I told them I hadn’t been out there, but I had seen a couple of shuttles launch. Everyone then drifted to the sofas and drank coffee and talked for a while. I tried to get Mark to open up about his days as a flight engineer in the CAF, but it was hard going. He answered most things with as few words as he could and seemed more intent on sitting quietly and watching the group.
We spent the rest of the weekend milling about, with all of us getting some time in the conditioning room. I spent an hour a day over in Opps in the steam room and sauna, but did my training with the crew. Eloise continued to improve, and I joined her for another hour in the hydrotherapy pool, which left both of us with wobbly legs for a few hours. By the time Monday arrived, everyone was refreshed and eager to get on with something. As nice as it was to relax, the facilities were limited, and the long weekend had seemed much longer by the time Sunday came around.
* * *
On Monday morning, the entire crew got up early. There was a lot of chatter in the dorm, in between people heading in to shower, and a month into the process all inhibitions were gone. Everyone just wandered around in their underwear or a towel and didn’t give it a second thought.
I headed to breakfast where I was greeted by a smiling, round-faced woman who offered me everything from scrambled eggs to a full English. I declined, sticking to toast and coffee. I had no idea what was coming today, so felt that loading myself up with greasy food would likely be a mistake.
Laura and I chatted quietly through breakfast. She was keen to join me in the BRDF, but she’d been through the physical training element already, which I was about to face, and speculated as to what she’d be assigned.
We didn’t have to wait long to find out. Harris entered and asked us all to join him in the training room.
“This is the second stage of your training, and this will be the most intense. You will take on the occupation you will continue to have when you board the Bertram Ramsay; it is essential that you learn as much as you can so when you finally get up there you hit the ground running. There is no room for inefficiency on a space station, and all of us must play our part. Your earnings from your time here will provide you with enough funds to enjoy your first month on the Bertram.”
“Earnings?” Jennifer raised her hand. “You’re going to pay us?”
“Sort of. On the Bertram Ramsay there is no physical currency. Your bio-bands have a digital vault, in which is stored our own crypto-currency called Lunar. It is an insular currency and has zero face value outside of the Bertram Ramsay. Even here, it is worth nothing.”
The bio-bands suddenly made sense. They’d taken away our NexID Cylumes as we’d boarded the bus, to be replaced by something that was strapped to our bodies.
“So, what’s the point of it? If everything is free anyway?” Aoife had a way of making everything sound negative, even unexpected money.
“Once on board the Bertram Ramsay there are plenty of leisure facilities and bars. We have our own brewery and distillery on board, and several places to drink in each of the globes.” There was a sudden increase in murmuring between us, and I could see not only excitement but also a bit of relief that there was an air of normality on board the space station.
“You are credited with a fixed sum of Lunar, monthly, which you can spend on these activities and leisure. You cannot buy anyone else a drink, or food, as the currency also acts as an exchange of information, tracking your diet and updating your nutritional needs constantly. Nobody goes hungry, and there’s nothing to save for, so you may as well use it and enjoy it, but there are limits on certain activities because of the number of occupants in each globe wishing to use them.”
It made sense. Harris explained that whilst drinking was okay, getting drunk was not, and so our alcohol intake was limited by our body mass to ensure that nobody got out of hand, or made themselves ill. “Space is dangerous enough, without people getting drunk and operating essential systems with a hangover.”
There was a smattering of chatter following this, and I detected an air of defiance amongst the smaller women who clearly felt like their alcohol intake ought to be the same as everyone else’s. If I had to guess, I’d say Aoife would likely drink us all under the table.
“So, today you are going to go through individual assessments and interviews to determine your occupation on board the Bertram Ramsay. There is an element of choice involved, although your assessments will ultimately take precedent. Jaxon, you’ll be heading over to Opps—your routine remains unchanged. The rest of you, go back to the rec room and start reading the information we’ve uploaded to your hollotabs. You’ll be called in one at a time during the course of the day.”
I took my leave and headed to the dorm to grab my gear, before leaving for Opps. Addison was waiting for me as I entered and took me through to suit up and have my Armadillo installed.
“You’re going to do one-on-one combat training today in the Sim. There’s another crew in a Sim in California, and you’ll be going head-to-head with one of their brightest, or so I’m told. The Sims are linked, so you will fly the same terrain at the same time, and you will navigate to each other, and then try to shoot each other down. You have a specific mission to accomplish, as do they, and their job is to hinder yours and complete theirs. And vice versa. Today’s battleground is New York City, because that provides the most challenging terrain for combat—tight streets and tall buildings with lots and lots of places to hide and turn. It’ll be fun.”
I was sceptical about the ‘fun’ part. I loved flying, and it was good to feel like I had some sort of purpose here, but to pit me against another human seemed like a recipe for disaster. Wing explained my mission objectives.
“You have three primary missions. Your first mission is to park your Sigma on the forward deck of the USS Intrepid. The Intrepid is a floating museum on the Hudson River, but nearly three hundred years ago she was the pinnacle of wartime weaponry. She also assisted in the recovery of Mercury and Gemini spacecraft, which is why she has special significance to this programme.”
“And I just have to land on her?”
“Yes, and no. You need to hold it for twenty seconds before you can release. If you lift off before the twenty seconds is up, the clock resets, so choose your moment wisely, as once you’re in the thick of battle this will be a much harder mission objective to complete.”
The words ‘the thick of battle’ made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Addison was being unusually serious, and I wondered what was at stake for him in this. He explained that my opponent had the same mission objectives, and that their designated LZ (landing zone) was the derelict Ravenswood Power Station in Queens.
“Your second objective is a simple seek-and-destroy mission. Find your opponent and blow them to kingdom come.”
“And the third?”
“Bring your Sigma home. Preferably in one piece.” How to inspire confidence by Addison Nile.
“Jaxon, I’ll be your RIO for this hop, but I can only offer communications that your first officer would in normal circumstances, and not give advice on how to do things, or answer questions to that effect. The flight recorders will get every word I say, regardless of vox, as they use these to check the validity of the win/loss and also as part of training Sims for new pilots.”
“What’s a RIO?”
“Sorry, old jargon. Used to stand for Radar Intercept Officer back when warplanes had a pilot and navigator on board. These days, they are totally redundant, but we use the term RIO to mean ‘First Officer’ I suppose.”
“Okay, so what’s the strategy? Do I attempt to complete my LZ mission first or do I attempt to prevent him or her from completing theirs?”
“I can’t make that decision for you. The whole point of this process is to iron out mistakes, so you’re allowed to make as many as you like as long as you learn from them. There is a right and a wrong way here, but there have also been occasions when the wrong way yields results and vice versa, although we’ve never had a definitive winner.”
“Never?”
“It’s a tough mission. Almost everybody completes at least one of the three objectives, and occasionally two. But not all three. Your number one aim should be to return home safely. I can give you that much. How you prioritise your other two objectives is entirely up to you.”
“So if I feel I’m going to fail my missions, I should try to make it home?”
“Better to retire safely with an intact aircraft than to push a dangerous scenario and risk your own life. Obviously this is a Sim, so there’s no real-world danger here, and so far we’ve never had an enemy in the history of space flight, so this is about preparing for the things we haven’t conceived of, and honing your decision-making process, your skills and your reflexes so that if and when that day comes, you will be ready.”
“Okay, let’s do this.”
Once my Armadillo was installed, I headed over to Sim with Addison. He was his usual jovial self, but I couldn’t help noticing a slight edge to his tone. I had the distinct impression that this exercise was more important to him than it was to me, but I kept that to myself. The last thing I needed was him giving me some dire warnings that would increase my nervousness. Every time I stepped into the mockpit I could feel every sinew in my body tighten, and my breathing get shallower. It was always fine once I was in the air, but until now I’d just been cruising around and sightseeing. This was my first combat mission, and I was anxious.
Wing loaded up his hollotab and asked me to dock mine to the left side of the console. He explained that it would monitor my biometrics for analysis during debrief. I went through the pre-flight checklist, which, honestly, was short—once I was in an actual aircraft, I would have to do a visual inspection of the exterior, but it was pointless doing that here unless I wanted to inspect the outside of a room.
I spun up the spheres and then powered the reactor, feeling the usual thrill of anticipation as the vessel vibrated underneath me.
“Tower, Sigma 242, request clearance for launch.”
“Sigma 242, you are clear to launch. Go get ‘em, Flight.”
I smiled. It was the first time that Tower had engaged with anything other than the standard protocols, and it made me realise there was a team behind me here.
I throttled up to hover, retracted the gear, told Wing to hold on to his knickers and took off vertically. I continued to rise well beyond the normal level of three hundred metres, and could feel Wing looking sideways at me. Usually I would stop and check the skies during an escort mission, but my scopes were clear, and I’d been told to do it my way. I figured if I had to come down over New York, better to enter from sub-orbit than to take the long route across the Atlantic. It would probably give me an extra two minutes at most, but that would be enough for me to complete my first mission.
As we approached the stratosphere, I took it out of VTOL and pointed us skywards, continuing to check the scopes for any sign of my target before bursting through into space and that wonderful view of the stars. I hoped this feeling would never get old. I cruised over to the US at a steady 15,000 kph just below our normal orbital pathway, and then started my descent as I crossed the southern tip of Greenland, making re-entry somewhere over Massachusetts.
I could see Manhattan Island in my forward view and decided now was the time to hit the deck and stay low. There was no such thing as flying under the radar these days. Satellite technology had changed the game totally. I couldn’t even hide inside a building, as my reactor signature would glow like a beacon on their sights. But getting low would give me cover. It would also stifle my own view, but that wasn’t important until there was any engagement. I brought the Sigma down to twenty metres off the deck, skimming the east shores of New York State, before rounding Staten Island and heading upriver to the Intrepid.
It was eerily quiet. Wing hadn’t said a word since we left, but I could feel his gaze upon me every minute or so, as if he was assessing my mental state.
“Wing, bring the weapons system up, but leave the targeting array for now. I want an unobstructed view ahead.”
“Weapons systems, aye, Flight. Systems online.”
I could see the Intrepid ahead of me and slowed my approach to 500 knots, which was still breakneck speed this low to the ground. The forward deck housed several ancient warplanes, but there was space between the bridge and the bow to make my landing.
“Hold tight, Wing. Have my timer ready.”
I stayed at 500 knots and brought myself up to fifty metres, my fingers extended out to the brakes, and my right thumb hovering over the VTOL button. This was going to be very close. I held on to my cruising speed until the very last second, and then pulled the kill switch, and hit the VTOL button, throttling forward in one seamless movement. The AI kicked in at five metres, dropping the landing gear, and lowered us onto the deck.
I couldn’t believe how easy this had been so far, and I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck prickling. I could only conclude that my American counterpart had chosen to do the same thing and was currently sitting on their pad in Queens. So that’s one mission failed already, I thought, but no point lamenting that. The timer ticked down, agonisingly slowly. As it passed five seconds, I readied the throttle and hovered over the VTOL. My hollotab lights went green, and I shot up to a hundred metres.
As I stopped to switch to forward flight, all hell broke loose. Six Sigmas broke cover from the buildings on my right and started firing upon me. I throttled forward and powered away.
“Wing, what the fuck is going on? Why are there half a dozen Sigmas shooting at me?”
“Flight, take a breath. Deal with it. That’s what you’re training for.”
Fucking fantastic. Thanks for the pep talk.
“Give me my HUD. Left screen only.” I needed my targeting systems, but right now I didn’t need them clotting up my forward view.
“Systems up, left screen only, Flight.”
I turned at extraordinary speed, under the George Washington Bridge, and right towards uptown Manhattan. The buildings flashed under me like bullets, and my proximity sensors were flashing red on the underside. I turned right onto Broadway and got myself down to five metres. The streets were littered with cars and pedestrians, and I was thankful that this was a simulation. I had no idea what I was doing here, and I’d hate for my incompetence to kill innocent people on the streets. I took a sharp left at 165th Street and headed for the East River. The abandoned Ravenswood Generating Station was just the other side of Roosevelt Island. As I went to turn right onto the river, the building on my left exploded and I had to pull up and right sharply to avoid being taken out with it.
“Wing, where are they? I can’t look for them and fly this thing. Keep talking to me.”
“Yes, Flight. You have three Sigmas directly behind, in close pursuit. The other three are over midtown. They look like they’re heading to cut you off.”
“Marvellous. It’s almost like someone told them where I was heading.” I gave Wing a sarcastic look, and he just grinned at me.
Six against one were impossible odds, especially for a rookie like me. I wondered if my counterpart was having to face similar odds.
The three Sigmas on my tail were staying glued. I couldn’t shake them. I needed to fly into the maze of midtown and see if I couldn’t use the buildings as cover. I pulled over right and then zig-zagged my way through the centre of town. My inertia suit was squeezing me everywhere, simulating the force of taking these corners at stupid speeds. I had to be careful—whilst the Sigma’s manoeuvring capabilities were totally out of this world, flying at this speed through high buildings was going to get me killed quicker than I’d get shot, so I dialled it back to 200 knots, and continued to turn sharply, doubling back on myself, and then turning around again. Nothing was shaking them. I headed towards the Chrysler Building to see if I could throw them off by circling it, but they just stuck to me like glue, firing their plasma cannons indiscriminately. I wondered if they’d been told to destroy as much of the landscape as they could, and whether my drawing them into it would count against me. For the next ten minutes, I battled with the terrain, pushing the Sigma hard around turns and under bridges, trying desperately to shake my pursuers, but they were clinging to me.
I needed a fresh approach. Albert Einstein once said, “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.” I don’t think I’ve ever really understood that expression until now. Time to change things up, and I had an idea.
“Wing, how do the Sigmas cope with water?”
“I’m sorry, Flight, repeat?”
“Wing, can I put this aircraft in the water or not?”
“I have no idea, Flight, sorry.”
Fuck it. Only one way to find out. I turned about and headed down Lexington, keeping my speed to 200 knots, before turning into 59th Street and heading for the Queensboro Bridge. As soon as I made the turn, I powered the throttle forward to 1,000 knots, staying right of the bridge so as not to enter its frame. I broke free of the buildings, and the moment I flew over water I hit the VTOL button and shot downwards into the river. The impact felt like hitting concrete through my suit, but that didn’t matter. The AI kicked in five metres from the riverbed and stalled us. I powered down the system and sat there, taking stock.
I could see all six Sigmas now on my HUD. The three behind me had continued over the river before stopping. They were circling the power station; I assumed, looking for me. Wing was just grinning at me from his seat. I must have done something right, or something idiotic. The other three Sigmas were circling the Intrepid.
I powered up and throttled forward, dead slow. The water was murky, and visibility was almost zero, and I had to be careful not to create a wake that would be visible from the skies, so I switched the screens to radar and navigated slowly through a wire-frame render of the riverbed. I wondered why the image quality was so basic, but then realised they probably hadn’t bothered to render riverbeds for a simulator that was supposed to operate in space. That seemed like a flaw in the thought process to me. I cornered the southern tip of Roosevelt Island and turned northwards to the power station, keeping one eye on the scopes for Sigmas. The three that had been tailing me had broken formation and were running lanes across Manhattan Island searching for me.
The other Sigmas were coming this way at some speed, and it took me a minute to realise there were four of them. The front one was weaving left and right, trying to break free of the relentless chase. This was my US counterpart. I was sure of it.
“Wing, keep my weapons hot and ready. We need to end this thing now.”
“Flight, weapons ready.”
I pulled my controller closer to me and watched as the Sigma chase continued towards me. I would probably only have one chance at this, and I was going to take it. They were flying west up 41st Avenue now, towards Queensbridge Park. I waited until they’d just made it to Vernon Blvd before maxing my throttle and leaping out of the riverbed, all weapons firing. I rotated forward to concentrate my fire ahead of them, and then watched as not one or two, but all four of the Sigmas flew directly into my path of fire before they even knew I was there. They exploded in a fiery mess, littering the landscape with debris, and scorching the park before cascading one by one into the river.
I raised my hands to the air and shouted, “Yes!” at the top of my voice, punching the air with my fists. What a total rush. Then, remembering that there were another three Sigmas inbound, I hit the VTOL and the throttle, and shot into space. No sense waiting for them to come and get me. Wing had been clear—priority one is to return home safely. I’d destroyed my target, and half of the ones I wasn’t expecting, and I’d completed my mission on the Intrepid. Time to take us home.
I was elated. For the first time in my life, I actually felt like I was good at something. We pushed through into orbit and came out about six minutes in front of the orbital trajectory of the Bertram Ramsay.
“Tower, Sigma 242. Request permission for Orbital Recon.”
“Sigma 242, this is Tower. Congratulations, Flight. Enjoy your fly-by.”
I laughed, and so did Wing who actually clapped me, and then took a short reconnaissance circuit of Globe 9 before heading back to Echo. My entire body was buzzing as I brought the Sigma to a standstill on the pad and powered down the reactor. Forty-one minutes. That’s all it had been, but it had felt like a week.
Wing grinned at me. “Fucking first-class, Jaxon. Come on, let’s get you out of that suit. I’ve got a surprise for you.” He walked me through to the flight room, removed my Armadillo, then asked me to follow him.
I wondered if I was about to be treated to a new part of the facility, or some sort of secret pilot room, but he walked through Opps without a backward glance, steering me left towards Stage 2. He opened the double doors and gesticulated for me to enter. “After you.”
As I entered the rec room, I was met with a wall of noise. My entire crew was there, clapping me and cheering, along with Harris and Hennessey. I could feel myself blushing, and I must have been grinning my head off. Everyone was congratulating me and patting me on the back, and the girls were hugging me and kissing my face. Even Aoife kissed me on the cheek and said, “Fucking smashed it, Jax. Good for you.”
Harris walked over and shook my hand, and I looked between him and Addison. “How do you all know about this?”
“It’s my fault, Jax. I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d get nervous if you knew they were watching. It’s tradition for a crew to watch a first combat flight of a fellow crew member. Few of them get to experience it, because most crews don’t have a candidate for BRAF. I’m genuinely proud of you, Flight.” Addison clapped me on the shoulder.
Harris looked similarly joyous. “We’ve never had a victor, Jax. Neither have the Americans. Usually the first combat mission ends in everyone being blown apart, and it rarely lasts longer than about twenty minutes. That was absolutely superb.” He did a mock punch to my gut, then patted me on the back and pointed to the training room. I walked across and saw the entire room was wall-to-wall holloscreens. On my left were visuals of the inside of the Sigma. In front was a bird’s-eye view of the combat zone, and on the right was my cockpit view, and all of my screens. They’d seen everything from every angle.
“Better get back to your crew. They look like they have some celebrating in mind.”
I partied with my crew for the whole evening. Harris even chipped in a case of beer and wine for us, which definitely brought me some plaudits. They had really needed to blow off some steam after the intensity of Stage 1. It didn’t take long before some smart arse decided my nickname should be Red October, for hiding my Sigma underwater, but I didn’t complain. It was certainly better than Egg-timer.
The kitchen staff laid on a buffet for us for the evening, which made everything more relaxed as everyone picked at it and ate at the sofas. I was the centre of attention for the whole evening, with questions coming at me from all sides. The crew, whilst delighted with my victory, seemed most in awe of the Bertram Ramsay fly-by, as none of them had seen it before. I couldn’t blame them—I’d felt exactly the same the first time I saw it. At 22:00 I was just about burned out, happy to sit on the peripheries and listen to the conversation, but I decided to get showered. By the time I’d come out of the Sim I felt like I needed an hour in a bath, but I hadn’t had an opportunity since getting back to the rec room, so I decided on a hot shower, and then bed.
I stripped off and grabbed a towel, before climbing under the steaming jets of water, and letting the heat soak through me. About a minute later, Laura appeared at the opening to my cubicle, wearing only a towel. I was completely naked, and not sure whether to cover up as she’d already walked in on me previously, but before I’d had a chance to, she’d dropped her towel, walked straight to me, grabbed my face in her hands and kissed me full on the mouth.
“The crew were rewarded for your performance today,” she said, leaning close to my ear, “so I thought you should be rewarded too…”