I won’t go into the math of how they calculated the timing and rate of burn on the engines to slow the Muninn by a fraction so that the Huginn could inch up. They fired fore and aft rockets in computer-controlled microbursts to align the ships. The computations were excruciating and when Zoé tried to explain it to Luther, Nirti, and me, we begged her to stop. All that mattered was that someone on both ships could understand it. And Mars One had to agree, verify the math, and then send commands to each ship to make sure the timing was absolutely precise. It was maybe the only bit of good luck we’d had so far in that the pilot of the Muninn was not too sick to work the controls. Our own pilot oversaw it all.
We all clustered along the wall of the common room, squeezing together to watch through the ports as our sister ship came closer and closer.
At first it all looked like it was happening in super slow motion.
And then it seemed as if we were converging way too fast.
Sophie was right next to me, and I could feel her body trembling with excitement and fear. I’d told her about the conversation I’d had with my folks, about how I backed Mom’s decision to go. And about how scared I was to even open my mouth to say those things.
“Sometimes, cher,” Sophie told me, “courage means breaking your own heart.”
Mine. Sure. And Dad’s.
That was fourteen hours ago. Now the ships were lining up. Both craft had lost some speed during the adjustments, and unless they could do another controlled burn to accelerate after all of this was over, it was going to tack another fourteen days onto our journey.
That was tomorrow’s problem, though.
We watched in ghastly silence. We waited for what seemed like years.
And then the pilot, his voice as dry and casual as ever, spoke to us from the loudspeakers. “Parallel trajectory achieved. Everything is green across the board.”
No one cheered.
We weren’t there yet.
I spun around and began making my way to the main airlock. By the time I got there Mom was already in her white suit. Dad was there too, hanging back, pale and weary from stress. He did not say a word the entire time. Not one. No smiles, no jokes, no nothing. Maybe he’d said his good-byes to Mom before I got there, or maybe his fear was too big and held him too tightly.
Mom and Tony and the command crew checked all the fittings on her suit. Mom caught sight of me there and reached out a hand. I flew to her, took her hand, pulled myself close, kissed her cheek.
Neither of us mentioned the fact that this was probably going to be a one-way trip. Or at least it could be. If the ships drifted apart even a little it would be too dangerous for the EMU to fly her back. She saw in my eyes that I understood this.
“Trust yourself,” she said to me.
Just that.
And then she pushed me back so Tony could place the helmet on her and connect it to the shoulder unit.
She touched fingers with my dad, and then stepped into the airlock.
Tony closed the inner door and I listened without hearing anything as they talked their way through the steps of depressurization, locking and unlocking, hooking onto the tether. All of it. I knew the steps, so I didn’t need to hear the words.
I went to the portal and watched her step out of the Huginn.
My heart was filled with black ice.