by B. C. CHASE
“Oh, I know,” Shelby says. “I saw the article.”
“How’d you manage that? I forgot to give you the newspaper like I said I would.”
“I looked it up online before we left. The internet is a thing, you know. And it works.”
“That’s the problem with it,” I say. “What will our lives be like when all we live and work for is the internet? It’s a good thing to take joy in your work, no matter how trivial it seems. In the end, what else do you have to pat yourself on the back for? We lost that, you know.”
“Lost what?”
“Lost the pride in a job well done. Any job well done. We all want clean toilets, but we don’t think the person who cleans them is living a full life. We think he needs to do better. Well, dang-it, if everybody’s making six-figure salaries at white collar offices, who’s gonna clean the toilets? Sometimes, it’s the simple jobs that are the most important. Just like the job Betsy had. It wasn’t fancy or glamorous. But it was important.”
“Yes, it was,” Shelby agrees.
Already, Jupiter is behind us, its power and magnificence waning into the nothingness of space. It is hard to resign myself to the fact that it might take its time in exacting the sacrifices it demanded of us. We used its gravity to boost our speed to 382,531.99 kilometers per hour. That is 106.25 kilometers per second (ninety-nine times faster than a speeding bullet). Now it is taking our crewmates.
In eighty days, we will reach Saturn. I hope all of us will be there to see it.
Thirty-four
I’m in the habitation module vacuuming. You wouldn’t believe how much easier that is with two functional arms.
I couldn’t sleep last night. (Yes, I know it’s always night out here, but guess what, I’m still an Earthling at heart, and I see my existence in terms of day and night.) I am worried sick about Katia and Commander Sykes. I’m more than worried sick. I’m in a daze of shock and heartbreak. Before I went to bed, he woke up and was in fairly good shape, all things considered. In fact, he was in good enough shape to have a difficult conversation with Tim about why he didn’t tell us Nari was pregnant. Tim said he had still been trying to come to terms with it himself, and Nari didn’t want anyone to know. Unfortunately, a concealed pregnancy is like every other lie: it grows until it’s too big to hide.
Tim and Nari spent some time talking behind closed hatches. It didn’t take longer than an hour before she emerged with her hygiene kit. She moved into Commander Tomlinson’s quarters. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that some Days of Our Lives drama is playing out. With people confined together for this long, it was probably inevitable. Even so, I had always thought of astronauts as being beyond the fray of normal human foibles. Astronauts are supposed to be superhuman. I suppose no human is superhuman.
If Katia doesn’t make it through this, I don’t know what I’ll do. I have a sudden desire to play my guitar. I float up to my quarters and retrieve the instrument. Gazing out at the starry eternal night, I pluck out “Wild Horses” by the Rolling Stones. Faintly, I sing the words, but I struggle to get them out as I fight the sobs that well up from within me. From where I’m perched at the windows, it’s just me and the universe, and I sing my heart out to it.
Suddenly, I feel the soft touch of a hand on my back. Reflected in the glass is a figure with blonde hair, large, green eyes, and a radiantly smiling mouth. I turn around to see Katia.
“Katia! You’re awake!” I exclaim, casting off the guitar to hug her. “How are you, darlin’? Are you okay?”
“I feel fantastic!” she says. Her declaration is confirmed by her appearance. She looks remarkably healthy.
“Is everything okay, are your vitals good? What does Shelby say?”
“I’m good,” she says, “everything’s good.”
“You did a great job out there,” I say. “I’m so proud of you.”
“I saved your lives and that’s all you have to say?” she smiles.
“Commander Sykes did most of the heavy lifting,” I shrug.
She punches my arm, sending us both flying backwards, she in a fit of giggles.
I shake my head, catching a frog in my throat. Based on what Shelby had said, I had prepared for the worst. I can hardly believe she is before me now as vivacious as ever.
“I’m going to go say ‘hi’ to the rest of the crew,” she says. She hugs me once more. “See ya around, Papochka.”
She floats off through the opening into the tunnel and disappears, having left far too soon for my liking. I’m a little too emotionally moved to do anything, so I pause to collect myself. Shelby suddenly drifts in. By the look on her face I can tell something is wrong. “Jim,” she says.
“Shelby. What’s up?”
She gets closer, “I know Katia is very excited. And she looks like she’s healthy.”
“Yeah,” I say. “She’s in perfect shape, by the looks of it.”
Shelby lowers her head, “If anything, this is a bad sign. As counterintuitive as that sounds, it’s true. I tried to explain to her that sometimes, with radiation, the patient improves after a day or two. It can even seem like nothing ever happened. But then,” she shakes her head, “the symptoms return and they’re worse than they were before. This dramatic a recovery this fast is not good. Her exposure was so bad that I can’t believe this is anything but a temporary lapse. She will get worse. I’m trying to help her understand that, but she won’t listen. Jim, she trusts you. Maybe you can talk with her. I want her on the antibiotics and resting until we know how this plays out.”
I am angry. I’m angry with Shelby. “Are you kidding me? That’s not right, Shelby!” I’m being jerked around like a fish on a lure. First Katia’s dying. Then she’s better. Now she’s dying again. It isn’t fair.
“This isn’t my fault, Jim.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I just… Do you still think what you thought before—about her chances?”
Shelby nods. She is doing a poor job of putting on her “disinterested physician face.” Her obvious distress causes dread to rend my heart in two. She says, “What I said before hasn’t changed. You need to prepare yourself for the fact that she won’t survive this. We all do. It might take some time, but there isn’t any reason to think this isn’t the end.”
“But she seems fine!”
“I know, Jim. She’s fine on the outside, but inside her body is on the brink. It’s the breath before the storm.”
I quietly say, “I’ll talk with her.”
“Thank you.”
“And Commander Sykes?” I ask.
“Same chances, if not worse.”
It takes me a few minutes to track Katia down. She is in the U.S. Lab checking on the mice. “Katia, Shelby says—”
She cuts me off, “I know what Shelby says.”
“It’s very—”
“Don’t worry, Papochka.” She pats my cheek.
“Katia, I have to worry. This isn’t a—”
“I don’t want you to worry. I just really don’t want you to worry!” She is getting emotional, “I want to spend one or two days as if everything is okay. Because I know that soon, it will get worse. I saw the numbers. Radiation like this. The statistics don’t lie. I know I won’t survive this.”
We silently struggle to bridle our emotions for a few moments until I ruefully say, “I guess I forgot you’re a math whiz.”
“Can we please pretend that it will be all right?” she sniffles. “Just until I get sick again? Can you do that for me, please?”
“Okay, darlin’” I say. “If that’s what you want, I’ll do my best. But it won’t be easy.”
“Stiff upper lip,” Katia says, her eyes smiling.
Tim suddenly emerges from the Japanese Lab. He has been using the small airlock to dispatch the contaminated EMUs out into space. He is totally naked. He shrugs, “Sorry. I didn’t want to take any chances with that radiation.”
“You sent your clothes out, too?” Katia smirks.
“Yes, and my haz
mat suit.”
“Thank you,” she says. “But you should have let me take care of it. A little more radiation wouldn’t hurt me.”
“I would rather die and go to hell than let something hurt you, Katia.” He looks at her squarely in the eyes. Then he says, “Uh, may I?” He motions for her to move so he can pass through.
“Sorry,” Katia says, awkwardly pushing herself out of his way.
Within a minute, Shiro appears. “We’re having a meeting in Node 3.”
To make space for everyone else, I back into the cupola. Node 3 doesn’t seem like an obvious choice for a meeting with the exercise equipment, the outhouse, and storage. Previously, we have usually met in the American lab or Node 2. Commander Sykes, Katia, Shelby, Shiro, and I are in the room.
“So, what’s the deal?” Commander Sykes asks Shiro. He is pale and looks like he’s about to puke.
“Shelby?” Shiro says. “Is it true?”
“There’s no doubt about it. Nari is pregnant.”
“Since when?” Commander Sykes asks.
“Two months.”
Commander Sykes questions, “How in the world could this have happened? We all had vasectomies.”
“Yes, but they are not 100% foolproof. I’ve heard of many cases of pregnancies taking place months or even years after the fact.”
“And those pregnancies were quickly followed by divorces.”
“No,” Shelby grins. “DNA tests proved paternity. In this case, we can’t do a DNA test, so I’ll need all of the men to provide a semen sample.”
Commander Sykes looks a little disgusted, “Why?”
“Because I need to be sure this won’t happen again.”
“She said Josh is the father,” says Commander Sykes.
“It could just as easily be Tim.”
Commander Sykes sighs. “Shelby, is this really necessary?”
“I’m trying to do what NASA would have us do if they were still in touch. And Shiro’s right, this should never have happened. We cannot risk it happening again. Who knows, maybe in addition to causing lost eyesight and brittle bones, zero-g reverses vasectomies. We’ve still got a lot of time left in this trip and a lot of opportunity for something bad to happen. If we have a liability here, we need to know about it now. And we need to deal with it. Trust me, this is the last thing on Earth I’d want to be dealing with right now, but it is what it is.”
“The last thing in space, you mean,” I correct.
“Thank you, Jim.”
Commander Sykes says, “As much as I hate to say it, I guess you’re right.”
Shiro says, “And I’m also right.”
“Right about what?”
“We cannot allow that fetus to mature. We have to terminate the pregnancy now.”
Commander Sykes says, “Shiro, is there some reason you didn’t call Nari and Josh to this meeting? Or Tim, for that matter?”
Shiro says, “They are emotionally compromised and therefore not capable of making a rational decision on this.”
Shelby says, “I think we’re all emotionally compromised. If you’re not, there’s something wrong with you.”
“The fact of the matter is,” says Shiro, “there are a dozen reasons why we cannot allow the pregnancy to continue no matter how much Nari wants it to.”
“Name them,” says Shelby.
Shiro frowns, “Commander Sykes, do I really need entertain this? We know what we have to do.”
“Name them,” says Commander Sykes.
Shiro says, “Fine. Let’s say she bears the child. It is due in July, correct?”
“Yes,” says Shelby. “The twenty-first.”
“So the child will be five months old when we arrive at Pluto. We go down to the surface to meet them and we leave the child behind with Nari. We have no means to protect it. While we’re on Pluto, they could easily invade the station and take the child. We wouldn’t know they had taken it until it was too late. When we return, Nari is dead and the baby is gone. Now they have a human juvenile to poke and prod and study—almost from birth. Before long they would know more about us and our development than we know about ourselves. Let’s say we allow Nari to carry the fetus to term. But because a pregnant woman has never been in space before, we have no idea how it will affect fetal development. What if, when it is born, it has serious defects? What if, after birth, it has medical issues due to lack of gravity and we are unable to care for them? What if it has a disability?”
“You mean like Down syndrome?” I question.
“No, not Down syndrome,” Shiro says without skipping a beat. “I’m talking about something worse. Or what if giving birth proves dangerous to Nari for one reason or another?”
Shelby asks, “Are you really suggesting that I perform an abortion on Nari without her consent?”
Shiro replies, “Yes. If it comes to that.”
Everyone is silent as the reality of what Shiro is suggesting sinks in. The Commander Sykes says, “You assume that they definitely have nefarious intentions.”
“That is the logical assumption.”
“That’s not true,” says Katia with her characteristic optimism. “Maybe they want to meet us, but don’t want to scare us or put themselves in too vulnerable a position. Making us come to Pluto puts enough distance between them and Earth to be safe.”
“Making us come to Pluto forced us to build something that shows them exactly what we need to survive in space for extended periods of time. They will have everything they need to know in order to keep humans alive indefinitely—for generations.”
Shelby questions, “You think that they want to kidnap us?”
“Kidnap. Abduct. Collect. Whatever you want to call it. It’s highly likely that is their intent. As far from Earth as this, we will be unable to offer any resistance and, as I said before, the ISS provides the perfect model for them to use to keep humans indefinitely. It would also explain why they chose.”
Commander Sykes says, “Chose what?”
“Chose who came to them. They knew who they wanted to use to seed their collection. I don’t think it’s an accident that Josh is apparently not sterile.”
Commander Sykes says, “I’m not going to continue this conversation without the rest of the crew. Bring them here, Shiro.”
“But,” Shiro protests, “they aren’t—”
“Now.”
While we wait for Shiro to bring Tim, Nari, and Commander Tomlinson, I watch Commander Sykes as he closes his eyes and winces. “You okay? Shelby asks.
“I’m nauseous, that’s all.”
He looks like he’s suffering from more than mere nausea, to me.
Tim arrives to the lab looking a bit like a deer caught in headlights. The past two days have been tough for him, and he’s still in shock over Nari’s announcements. Nari looks a little smug and Commander Tomlinson’s face it totally void of any humanity whatsoever.
Shiro immediately says, “Nari, unfortunately we need to terminate the pregnancy.”
Looking frustrated, Commander Sykes warns, “Shiro. We are discussing the risks.”
Nari asserts, “We don’t need to discuss anything. I’m having my baby.” She draws close to Commander Tomlinson, holding his arm. “And Josh agrees.”
Commander Tomlinson nods.
“And when we reach Pluto,” says Shiro, “and they abduct your baby, will you regret that choice?”
Nari is silent.
“We have no idea how pregnancy will progress in a zero-g environment. The risks to you and the future child are too high.”
“I think we have some idea, actually,” says Commander Tomlinson.
“What do you mean?”
“The mice.”
We are in the U.S. Lab where Commander Tomlinson has slid a rack out from its slot in the wall. It is a metal frame about eighteen inches tall, three feet long, and four feet wide. Inside the frame are a series of tubes, aquariums the size of shoe boxes, and electrical apparatus. Inside the aquariums are
probably dozens of dark brown mice. They seem happy and energetic, swimming through the air and kicking off the walls, navigating down the tunnels, scratching themselves, and sniffing everywhere. Commander Tomlinson flips open a laptop that is attached to the rack. The screen flashes to light, displaying a series of dark blue boxes containing numbers, charts, and heatmaps of mice bodies. Commander Tomlinson says, “There are four generations of mice living in this habitat. They have been breeding ever since we left Earth.
I used to do battle with mice at my house in the country, so I know a little bit about how quickly mice can breed and overrun a place. Quickly glancing over the habitat, I don’t think there are nearly enough mice for four generations. I say, “Four generations? That looks like three or four families, to me.”
“The computer euthanizes the ones that the experiment doesn’t require. All I do is put mouse food in this bin and empty the waste.” From the side of the frame, he extracts a small, blue container with a transparent top. It is full of pellets. Commander Tomlinson frowns and shakes the bin. He says, “What the hell?” bringing it close to his face to examine its contents. “There are carrot pieces in here. And potatoes. Beans? Corn! Who’s been feeding the mice?”
Nobody responds.
“We can’t vary from the diet that NASA prescribed. Sykes, you’re the only other person who deals with this experiment.”
“It wasn’t me, Josh,” Commander Sykes says. “All I do is take x-rays and dissect them when the program requires it.”
“Well if it isn’t Commander Sykes, who is it?” he studies the faces around him.
Still, nobody says anything. I can’t help but meet Katia’s eyes because I know she liked to check on the mice a lot. She apparently knows what I’m thinking because she shakes her head in response.
Frustrated, Commander Tomlinson says, “Fine, don’t tell me. But don’t do it again. It will screw with the experiment.”
I interject, “What Josh is trying to say is nobody has to fess up, but you better not mess up. No fess up, no mess up.” To Josh I say, “Sometimes you have to make things rhyme to help your minions remember.”
