Chapter Sixteen

All the Proper Courtesies

Tuesday, 23 January 2035

Barbara Richards walked out of the Asteroid Consortium’s unassuming little office building adjacent to the San Diego airport. She didn’t miss the bracing Montana air as much as she thought she would, but she missed the open spaces. She ignored the little garden around her, with its purplish flowers that had the temerity to bloom in January; instead she turned her face to the Sun and closed her eyes, soaking in the comforting warmth. From a distance, muffled by the greenery and the low decorative wall around this break area, a plane’s thrust reversers kicked in and then faded as if to say, “We’ve arrived.”

She’d been in San Diego for a day, waiting for Van to drop out of the sky. Not that she’d be able to see it, except on video: he would splash into the Pacific far offshore. Years ago, NASA gave up on the Space Shuttle in favor of old-style capsules that landed in the desert, the way the Russians landed Soyuz spacecraft on the steppes, on the theory that simple is better. The AC had weighed the possibility of landing in the open desert, but NASA wouldn’t give up range time and too much of the accessible desert was covered over with biogenerated solar arrays. And since the Consortium’s operating principles were “don’t invent what’s already invented” and “simplest is best,” they followed other companies’ leads and went back to splashdown operations—only on a larger scale, since they planned on sending up more people and moving more cargo at a time. When other launch company commitments interfered with AC plans, the European Space Agency had been very accommodating in terms of adapting their newest generation of Ariane heavy lifters to the AC’s vehicles, especially considering the Consortium launched an extra unit along with almost every crewed one. Barbara’s first work with the AC had been doing analyses of the launch vehicle interfaces. Now they had a depot of sorts in medium-earth orbit, with a dozen “dropsules” that they could press into service fairly quickly; enough, given the constraints of orbital mechanics, to rescue a newly-launched crew stranded in low-earth orbit or even to rescue evacuees if the Clarke station had to be abandoned.

Barbara breathed in the sweet-scented air. She didn’t actually have to be in San Diego; she could’ve stayed in Montana until Van was safely down and then flown in for his arrival at the port, but she needed a getaway. She needed time to think.

Her phone buzzed in the pocket of her windbreaker. “Hello?” she said.

“We’re starting to see something, Barbara,” said Datu Nguyen. He was inside, watching the video from the landing zone. His wife Jovelyn was dropping in with Van and the others.

“Thanks,” Barbara said, “I’ll be right there.”

She carded back into the building with her Consortium ID, a little annoyed that they couldn’t just program the system to recognize her datacard, and made her way down the hall to the video center. The big screen on the wall gave it the look of a theater, though the seating was standard conference room furniture. No conference table for this event, though: only rows of chairs and a single table at the back with snacks and drinks.

Barbara took in the status with a glance. The split screen showed a swath of blue sky on the left, and a graphic on the right that combined the planned trajectory with radar returns from the recovery vessel. She poured some Sprite into one of the deep blue glasses, added ice from the bucket, and sat in an empty chair along the wall.

The video feed came from the Motor Vessel Independence, once owned by the Air Force and intended to recover STS boosters when the Shuttle launched from Vandenberg, which it never did. The tribal chieftain—Barbara couldn’t remember what tribe, though she was sure she had known it when she and Van were stationed there—had hexed that launch site pretty well for a few years, and it still wasn’t as active as everyone had hoped it would be. M/V Independence had berthed at Port Hueneme for many years, taking turns as a research vessel and a recovery ship for Navy search and salvage missions, until the Consortium bought her, refitted her, and based her at San Diego. She was an old ship, but a good one.

They also bought a small fleet of unmanned aerial vehicles that they flew as spotters—from little seagull-sized drones that launched off the ship up to a couple of surplus, refurbished Predators they flew from the San Diego airport—and a couple of fast hydrofoils that trailed the Indy and were operated by remote control from the ship’s bridge. It was cheaper, Barbara supposed, than paying crews for each vessel. Simplest is best.

The video feed wasn’t great, but Barbara cheered with the rest of the gathered crowd as the cameras picked up the ungainly craft suspended by its giant parachutes, rocking slightly from side to side as it descended. She braced herself in her chair as the dropsule smacked the water, then relaxed back into the pro forma cushion and finished her drink. Someone offered her champagne, but she got up and poured herself another Sprite as the hydrofoils approached the dropsule from opposite sides and stabilized it until the Indy got there.

Barbara stayed at the party until the crew got off safely. They transferred one by one to the Independence, waving at the camera. Van was scruffy but he smiled and waved as he made his way up the temporary gangplank. She watched to see if his knee was still bothering him, but couldn’t really tell: they all wobbled a little, whether from the sea or from getting used to full gravity she wasn’t sure.

She said her goodbyes after the lunar setup crew was safely aboard the recovery vessel. Now they would rig everything for towing and start back, a trip that would take about seventy-two hours—a little less than their trip from the Moon had taken. More time to think before Van was back. She hoped it would be enough.

She walked through the building to the main entrance this time, and stepped outside again into the glorious California afternoon. She got in her rental car, but left the door open to feel the breeze as she looked at the area map. She had just decided to go to Tecolote Canyon and walk around the park when her cell phone rang.

She didn’t recognize the number, and almost ignored the call. But just before the voicemail could grab it, she acquiesced. “Hello?”

“Hey, love of my life, it’s me.”

“Van? How are you calling me so quick? I just watched you land.”

He laughed. “We ‘spoofed’ to see who got to use the sat phone first, and I got out on the initial call. The rest of them are still playing to see where they line up. So, you made it to San Diego okay?”

The connection was a little scratchy, either from the satellite link or her cell phone, but Van’s excitement was clear. They all must be high on adrenaline; she was surprised they didn’t arm-wrestle or something instead of playing a round of “spoof”—standing in a circle guessing how many coins they all were holding—to see what order they could make their personal calls. She always hated that game.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Barbara said. “I was about to take myself on a little hike. You think you’ll get underway soon?”

“Looks like. They’re working hard enough getting everything tied down.” He was interrupted by some commotion in the background. “I’m being mobbed by the rest of the crew—I think they said Grace lost, so she has to go last, and she was offering sexual favors to swap places with someone else.”

Barbara tightened her grip on the phone, but she tried to keep her voice light. “Then I’m glad you’re already on the line. I wouldn’t want you to be too tempted.”

She didn’t like the pause on the other end.

“Babe, I don’t want to be tempted any more, either,” he said, his voice low and slow. “It’s hard to be away from you, and I’m glad to be coming back. You staying in town until I get back?”

For a second, Barbara wished she wasn’t: his choice of words irritated and confused her. Tempted any more? Pressure rose from her gut as if she were getting ready to spew more than just words. A little adrenaline rush of her own hit her. She stopped the retort she was readying and took a deep breath. Now is not the time.

“Look for me on the wharf on Friday,” she said. “I’ll be wearing a red dress.”

“I can’t wait, babe,” Van said, and the truth was clear in his voice. She breathed a little easier as he repeated, “I can’t wait.”

* * *

Friday, 26 January 2035

Van was at the bow when M/V Independence entered the harbor and the little boat came alongside and dropped off the pilot. Van had spent hours at the bow over the past few days, watching the dolphins frolicking in front of the ship; it was a lot more comfortable than walking around, which hurt his knee worse than ever since he was under full gravity again. He was glad of the knee brace he wore, but even standing still hurt, depending on how much weight he put on that leg. Having to develop “sea legs” in a hurry did not help at all.

Despite that pain and the sure knowledge that the first kick would separate his lower leg from the rest of his body, Van fought the urge to jump overboard and swim to the dock. Not that he could’ve found his way, of course. That’s why harbors provide pilots.

The pilot boat pulled away and the sound of gulls took over the cool, crisp afternoon. Land slipped by the ship as it negotiated the passage, and Van stayed in the bow. He scanned the wharf as they approached their berth. About two dozen people were split up into five little groups, and as the ship’s horn announced their arrival they cheered and waved.

Four of the women on the dock had on red dresses, but he picked out Barbara quick enough. Her dress was a deep, almost fire engine red, and she was wearing a light-colored shawl or cape to keep the wind off her arms.

It took twenty minutes to get the vessel secure and the gangplank in place. He limped from the ship, and smiled to cover the grimace. When he stood in front of her, she looked him up and down and nodded in approval.

“Well,” she said, “who are you trying to impress?”

He smiled bigger, this time not trying to hide any pain. The AC folks had finally gotten something right.

Two days before he’d left the colony site he had ordered a new suit—navy blue pinstripes, classic lines, with dress shirts, ties, and new shoes—and had it delivered to the Independence with his name on it. He’d been afraid Barbara would find out and spoil the surprise, so he made arrangements for the cost to be deducted from his next paycheck instead of putting it on his credit card. Seeing her reaction, it was all worth it.

“Only you, sweetness,” he said. “Only you.”

His arms were built to hold her, had ached to hold her for weeks, and he hugged her a long time before giving her a light but lingering kiss. He had no illusions: she knew what he had on his mind, and probably expected him to rush her away from the welcome party and invite her into the back seat of her rental. He hoped, deep down, that she wanted him as much as he wanted her, but a little romancing was in order first. Not only because things between them had been icy the last few weeks, and not only because taking it slow and easy would put less strain on his knee, but because, deep down, he considered himself a romantic kind of guy.

The welcome party was very informal: heavy hors d’oeuvres and a wide variety of liquor that Van avoided. Barbara greeted all the other crewmembers, mostly warmly; she even gave Grace a little lady’s hug and a kiss on one cheek. Van endured a few moments’ questioning from Dr. Nguyen, and promised to stop in the next day for a full exam. Van was a bit disappointed that the highest Consortium representative was Aliester Whisnant, the Chief of Operations at the San Diego facility. He guessed the brass were staying away because they were upset at how much the setup crew had left undone, and the thought irritated him almost to the point of anger. But he put his arm around Barbara and breathed the salt-and-fish smell of the air and let it pass.

After they’d made their second run by the food table, Barbara caught him looking at his watch. “Are you in that much of a hurry? Do you have somewhere you’re supposed to be?”

He scrunched his head down and raised his shoulders in his best innocent child look. “Actually, I do.”

Barbara’s smile crashed down. “Where?”

He touched her elbow, gingerly, and pointed with his other hand toward the parking lot. “In the back of that limousine, with you, going to dinner.”

It wasn’t a big limo, but it was big enough that she gasped. “You’re kidding, right?”

Van turned and caught Shay Nakamura’s attention. He waved and Shay gave him a little salute and a big smile. Van bowed a little to Barbara and steered her toward the car. “Kidding? Me? Heaven forbid. We have reservations, social commitments. We can’t be spending all our time down here on the docks with the riff-raff. But we can’t appear to be in too much of a hurry to escape, of course, and we must observe all the proper courtesies. So when we get to the car, before we get in, be sure to turn and wave to your adoring fans.”

“My adoring fans?”

“Okay, my adoring fans.”

“God, you’re hopeless.” But she played along, and the look on her face when the welcome party erupted into applause and cheers and waves was worth every penny he’d spent on the suit and the car, and every favor he’d called in from the rest of the crew. Then she ooohed her approval at the plate of chocolate-dipped strawberries on the little table in the limo, and at the bottle of champagne chilling in a silver bucket next to their table when they got to the Oceanaire. “Who are you trying to impress?” she asked again.

“Who, me?”

“Yeah. You look like my husband, but I would’ve expected him to suggest getting down and dirty in the limo. Did cracking your knee crack your brain, too?”

That comment hit a little too close for Van’s comfort. It wasn’t the knee injury that cracked his brain, but relying on the damn codeine and trying to do too much. When he got back from setting up the repeater, he turned in the remainder of Dr. Nguyen’s prescription to Shay and told him not to give him any more—it made him feel too good. Shay let him go back on the Ibuprofen, and he and Henry built the nifty support brace Van had worn until he got on the ship and found a real one waiting for him. He had continued working, though, and even worked overtime like everyone else. In the service they used to say, “Pain is weakness leaving the body,” and now, carrying near constant pain, Van felt very strong.

He covered his thoughts with a smile and said, “Well, I didn’t want your screams of passion to distract the driver.”

“Oh, right.” She examined him as if she was looking for identifying marks. “And you dress nice, and you shaved, and did they give you a haircut on the ship?”

Van leaned back and grabbed the lapels of his suit, and turned his right profile and then his left to her. “Yeah, what do you think? I clean up pretty nice, huh?”

“I don’t know,” Barbara said, and ran her fingers through his hair. “It’s still a little long in back.…” She tugged on the short hairs at the nape of his neck and he leaned in to accept her kiss. They didn’t come up for air until the waiter cleared his throat.

Van barely tasted the meal. He was sure it was fine, probably even excellent, but the meals he’d eaten on the Indy had cleansed his palate from weeks of reconstituted food and his attention was much more on his wife. He lavished attention on her all evening and into the night, and when he winced Barbara helped him relax and attended him, until both of them were exhausted and happy.

At one-thirty in the morning, Van called the front desk and ordered a wake-up call and breakfast room service, to be delivered at ten. Within minutes he was asleep, and slept the sleep of the just—sprawled out on the big bed with Barbara snuggled up to his side.

* * *

Barbara wasn’t expecting Van to ask the question during their breakfast the next morning, but he did, right after he finished his sausage and flapjacks. She was still enjoying her scrambled eggs and had only eaten one slice of bacon.

“So, what are we going to do?” he said.

She knew he wanted to find out if she was still going on the mission, but she pretended otherwise. “Well, today you’re going to the doctor, and I suspect there’s some arthroscopic surgery in your future. If the schedule holds, day after tomorrow we’ve got a flight booked to Birmingham, and from there we’ll drive down to see your folks.”

“No, I mean after that.”

“After that we go back to the ranch.…” As she let her voice drop, she smiled, and coaxed a reluctant grin out of him. The ranch wasn’t his favorite place, especially now—he tolerated it well enough in the summer, but he got frustrated in the winter mud and slush. He would be grateful that he’d only have to put up with a couple of days of ranch chores; if he had to stay much longer, he’d probably run out on her and camp out at the Utah training site until she showed up. There’d be no need for that, though: he would get his wish much sooner than Barbara would’ve liked. They reported to Utah in a week for training in the Cave.

“After that,” Barbara said, “we’re getting ready to go to the Moon.”

The anticipation he’d tried to hide turned to relaxed contentment, and in a low, humble voice he said, “Thanks.” He popped a grape into his mouth and chewed it, working the muscles in his jaw and making sloppy noises. She refrained from scolding him for his poor table manners; she found she had even missed his occasional lack of couth. He caught her looking at him and leaned toward her, still slurping around the grape. “One more thing. What are we going to do right now?”

She leaned in and almost kissed him, but that last bit with the grape was too much. She pulled away as he puckered up, and said, “I … am going to take a bath.”

“Want some company?” he asked, in that pathetic way that he thought was sexy but she just found irritating.

She bent down and kissed his stubbly cheek, and when she was sure his mouth was empty kissed him fully. “No, I want to shave my legs and you’ll just get in the way.”

He pulled her down to sit in his lap; his intentions, perfectly clear before, were even more apparent now. “I like getting in your way,” he said, reaching for the knotted belt on the hotel robe.

Barbara pushed his hand away and fixed him with her gaze. “I know you do, and you have all night tonight to get in my way. For now, though, I need you to relax. I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you, so just take it easy and take it slow. Okay?”

He frowned a little, and a hard edge crept into his eyes, but he nodded. “Okay.”

“Come in and talk to me, and maybe I’ll let you wash my back.”

He sat back and let her get up, and turned to the mini-buffet he’d ordered. “That’s okay, I think I’ll just have another bite to eat.”

“Suit yourself.”

He came through the bathroom door just as she was stepping into the tub. She sat back and closed her eyes as the warmth surrounded and flowed into her.

“You sure look good in there,” he said.

“Uh-huh. Don’t try your sweet-talking flattery on me, mister.” She opened one eye to look at him, and smiled. He tried to keep his face grim, but he failed.

“So,” he asked, “what made up your mind for you?”

Back to that again. “Beverly Needham came to visit.”

“I knew that.”

“She stayed for a week, and got out right before we had another terrific storm. She joined up with Gary in Houston. They’re down in Guiana now, I think they launch tomorrow. I should send her an e-mail.”

“Anyway …,” Van prompted.

Barbara clenched her teeth a little at the “get on with it” tone of his voice, then focused on the water’s warmth and pushed the tension away. She mostly succeeded.

“Anyway, it took me back to when we first met, when we all had big dreams and ambitious plans, and I realized I’d bottled up some of my ambition, and almost all of my exuberance. I figured out I’d started existing instead of really living.

“I thought about that for a long time, and came down here still undecided. The day you splashed down, after you called me, I went up in the park and just sat, going over different possibilities in my head.” Barbara sat up, found the bar of soap, and lathered her leg. The hotel soap was soft and fruity; it smelled like raspberry with an undercurrent of vanilla, and was like rubbing a parfait on her leg. She shaved while she talked. “I went back to my room that evening and made a pro and con list, but I tore it up when I found myself weighting things differently based on what BD or anybody else would think instead of what I wanted.

“So every day while you were coming back on the ship, I found another place to hike and get away from people and think. I thought about you, and how upset I was at you for going up there and getting hurt. I thought about my dad, how he’s always supported me going off to fulfill my dreams but how sad he’s been since mom died.”

“So, what about you?” Van asked.

She jumped slightly at the interruption and almost nicked herself. Irritation found its way into her voice.

“I’m getting to that. Give me a second.” She took a deep breath to calm herself again. “I realized that when we originally signed up for this, I was doing it only for you. You got the bug, probably from Gary, and you’re not going to shake it, and I figured if you felt that confident then I could tag along.

“After a while, though, I got the bug just as bad. I wanted to ride on top of the rocket; I wanted to see the Earth above my head every day. I was even jealous of you, getting to go on the setup mission without me. And at first when you got hurt I was mad at you for possibly messing up our plans.

“But the more I thought about you being hurt, it started scaring me. The whole idea got scary. I felt like a cow standing at a new gate, wondering what had changed and whether I was safer where I was or if I could gather the courage to walk through. And I finally asked myself what I want. I don’t mean like a good family and a couple of kids and stuff like that, but what I really want.

“And what I decided is this: I want to live. I realized it when I hiked up to the top of Iron Mountain and looked around, and how good it felt to be breathing hard and how huge and wonderful the world looked from up there. Remember when the CGOC took that trip to climb Mount Whittier, and we didn’t get to go? I thought about how much better that must’ve been than what I was seeing, and how much we missed out on by not going on that trip. And I decided I don’t want to miss out again.”

Barbara rinsed off leftover lather and looked up to see Van’s reaction. He seemed transfixed, staring at her shiny smooth leg where it rested on the side of the tub. She put her leg back in the water and he blinked and shivered a little. She clenched her fist around the washcloth and waited to see what he would say.

He stood there a long moment without moving, then nodded his head a couple of times. “You gonna miss out on anything down here?”

“What?”

“You don’t want to miss out, and I assume you mean miss out on what’s going to happen up there. What about down here?”

She loosed her grip on the washcloth, and rubbed it a little between her hands. Her mind crowded with people and things she would miss—her dad especially; the ranch, except for the work—but would she really miss out on anything if they stayed? She didn’t think so, but she wasn’t sure. That wouldn’t be what Van wanted to hear.

She could lie to him … she instantly rejected the idea.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know.”

Van nodded, slowly, several times, his mouth puckered in an odd little thinking frown. Then he looked her in the eye and said, “I hope you figure it out soon, sweetie. You need to be sure.”

He limped out of the bathroom and left her to her figuring.