Space Age
Houston, Prepare for Launch
Sara L Hudson
Contents
1. Slingshot
2. Cockloft
3. Evasive Manuvers
4. Melting Point
5. Palpitations
6. Detonation
7. Fire Break
8. Relapse
9. Second Opinion
10. Reflash Watch
11. Acute Avoidance
12. Overhauling
13. Combustion Company
Epilogue: Lift Off
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About the Author
One
Slingshot
Rebecca
“Tell me about your sex life.”
“Wow, Doc, I’m flattered but I don’t swing that way.”
Fighting the urge to roll my eyes at my patient, I manage to maintain my professional facade.
“I mean, are you currently sexually active?” I make a show of looking down at the chart on my tablet, knowing if I catch Jules’ eye she’ll make me laugh. I know I’m young to be in the position I am, a NASA Flight Surgeon, and I take it seriously, but overseeing the health and medical training of astronaut Julie Starr makes it tough to be professional. The woman is a nut. “I know you have an IUD, but are you using protection on top of that for STD prevention?”
“Yes and yes, Doc.” She gives me double thumbs-up.
My lips twitch. “Okay, I’ll run a urine screening just to be safe. Need to rule out any STDs and pregnancy.”
For once Jules blanches. “Jesus, Doc, don’t scare me with that shit.”
“Don’t be so dramatic. Nothing scares the great Julie Starr, astronaut extraordinaire.”
She runs a hand through her choppy, curly hair, which springs back as out of control as ever. “Anything that keeps me grounded scares me. You know that.”
I nod, understanding that she has her eye on the next commander spot. More time in space and more missions completed will get her there faster. But for me? Being pregnant would be a dream. There’s nothing I want more than to be a wife and a mother. It only took me eight years of undergrad and medical school and another four of residency to figure that out. And now, with such a prestigious level job, I feel guilty about wanting more. Maybe that’s why at thirty-six, it hasn’t happened. Maybe you only get a few good things in your life.
And if the horrible first dates I’ve had this past year are any indication, maybe an awesome career is all I’ll get.
“Okay then, you know the drill— no wild and crazy nights between now and launch.” It’s the Monday after Thanksgiving. It’s going to be hard for my work-hard, party-harder patient to keep it in her pants between now and New Year’s, but I have to at least try to keep her in hand.
“Yes ma’am.” She gives me a sly look; one I don’t trust at all. “And how about you, Becks? Have any wild and crazy nights lately?”
I think back to the man I matched with online, the handsome forty-year-old I’d held out so much hope for two weeks ago. The silver fox who laughed when I said I wanted a family, like I couldn’t possibly be serious. Then proceeded to tell me, a medical doctor, that I should know my body’s limits at my age.
Needless to say we did not make it past the first drink.
“God no.” I swivel away in my rolling chair toward the desk in the exam room. “And don’t call me Becks.”
“Aw, don’t be like that.” The paper rustles on the table under her as she leans my way. “You need a nickname. And some wild and crazy.”
I glance over my shoulder to see her head tilted in contemplation. Jules contemplating my sex life is not a good thing. The woman is smart and driven, but she’s also kind of crazy. Part of it she can’t help, as astronauts as a whole are a bit crazy. The other part she can help, but she doesn’t bother.
Jules slaps her bare thigh, sticking out from the hospital johnny she’s wearing. “Hey, you like cowboy romances? My friend Jackie loves them.”
“Jackie Lee?” I think of the shy, brilliant engineer I recently signed off for Mission Control duty. I don’t see her reading romance. Maybe a book on string theory. But cowboys? No.
“Jackie Darling Lee,” Jules drawls out.
I’m still fighting an eyeroll. “She hates when you use her middle name.”
“I know.” She smirks. “Anyhoo, Dr. Becks. Back to you.”
I give in to the eyeroll.
“Cowboy romances? You like?”
“Can’t say I ever had the pleasure.” I bring up my schedule on the tablet. As busy as I am, I never like to end my visits with Jules. She’s pushy and intrusive, but charming. Probably why public relations coined her NASA’s Star. You can’t help but love her. I point to the calendar on the wall, the one with a different rescue animal for each month. “I’ve been too busy trying to raise funds for Space City’s Animal Shelter to read any books lately.” Which is true, but it also veers the subject away from my disastrous dating life. “The shelter needs to expand so they can house all the animals in need without having to move any to a kill shelter.”
“Good cause. Cute calendar.” She tilts her head in the other direction. “Needs naked men though.”
I scan through my blocked-out planner. Appointments, evaluations, classes. It’s going to be a packed day. “I think naked men might be your answer for everything.”
“If it ain’t broke…”
I laugh, closing out the calendar app.
“Seriously, though, you can count on me.” She points a finger at me. “For a donation, and anything you need signed to auction off, but not actually to adopt an animal. I’m in no position to take on a pet, especially this close to launch.” She snaps her fingers. “Oh, I could get the press over there. You know, put on a dog and pony show.” She smirks. “Pun intended.”
That’s why people put up with her crap, because she really would do anything for her friends. Anything to help. “Thanks, Jules. I appreciate that. Space City Shelter will too.” I use the stylus to send in the required lab codes on her chart. “You’re a softy under that hardened biker-astronaut exterior, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, yeah.” She blows me off, but she’s smiling. The woman is a big old marshmallow, I’m sure of it, even if she’s a bit meddlesome. But at least we’re off the subject of my sex life. Or lack thereof.
“Let’s get back to those romances.”
Sigh. “Jules.” I try for professional again. “I’m not interested in cowboy romances.”
“What then?” My hard tone hasn’t impacted her in the least. “Because I’d think you, as a doctor, would be attuned to the importance of one’s mental well-being. Women like us, with high-powered, stressful jobs, need a release. And I think we both know how I get mine.” She does an oddly seductive shimmy in her hospital Johnny, complete with a pretend ass slapping gesture that has me smiling in spite of myself. “But you? You’re all work and no play. You and Darling both.” She looks back at the white kitten fur-ball in a Santa hat for the calendar’s December photograph. “At least that hooker has cowboy porn to take the edge off. All you’ve got is Fluffy over there.”
“Cowboy porn?” I choke on a laugh. “I’m pretty sure Dr. Lee would be horrified to know you’re telling people she’s into cowboy porn.”
“I’m not telling people, I’m telling you. Friend and confidant. Literal confidant. You know, because of the whole doctor-patient confidentiality thing.”
I chuckle and lean back in my chair. “I’m pretty sure that doesn’t extend to cowboy porn.”
“Hey. Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” She bends forward conspiratorially. “Between you and me, I’ve read a few.” Her lips purse like she’s fighting a smile, and she nods her head. “It’s pret-ty hot.”
My own smile is wide and unhidden. I’ve given up. “You realize this isn’t an appropriate conversation to have with your doctor, right?”
“I’m not. Right now, I’m having it with my friend.”
Despite the fact that I am a thirty-six-year-old woman, at the top of my game in aeronautic medicine, I can’t help but feel a flush of pleasure that this nutbag astronaut is my friend.
“Be that as it may—”
BEEP BEEP BEEP
Our hands fly to our ears, protecting them from the high-pitched fire alarm.
“Just as I was getting somewhere.” Calmly, hands still on ears, Jules pops off the exam table and walks toward the door.
“Hold on!” I shout, releasing my ears to reach out and tie the back of Jules’ Johnny. No need for the next Astronaut Commandeer to flash all of NASA during an evacuation.
We both march through the door and into the hallway. I’m glad to see most people are remaining calm, heading toward the fire exits. But that stops when a waft of smoke seeps into the exam area from the back, where construction has been going on to expand the facility. Suddenly calm and orderly goes out the window.
Jules walks into the fray, trying to manage the chaos, but I yank her back.
“Get out of here.”
“I can help—”
“I know you can, but so can I, and I don’t have to worry about smoke inhalation grounding me for the next flight.”
She hesitates, torn between her duty to her job and the need to help, as only an Air Force pilot and an all-around national hero would be.
“Listen,” I shout, the beeping still as piercing as ever. “I promise you I’ll make sure everyone evacuates. You head outside and tell the fire department where the smoke is coming from when they get here, okay?”
She takes another beat, face as grim as I’ve ever seen it, but in the end she nods. “Okay, but get ’em out and get safe.”
“Will do.”
She takes off, barefoot and clad in nothing but a hospital gown, heading toward the nearest exit, looking like a general heading to war. She grabs panicked patients and staff as she goes, dragging them out with her.
Once I make sure she’s out, I re-enter the exam room, grab an extra Johnny from the cabinet and wet it under the sink. Using it as a mask, I jog toward the smoke, making sure those rooms are clear before working my way down the hall and toward the third floor to help evacuate.
Sirens wail in the distance as I reach the stairs.
Ryan
Drama.
You would think that someone who thrives on the adrenaline rush of fighting fires would be used to drama. Maybe even embrace it.
Not this guy.
So I was more than pleased when a call came in a few minutes ago that diverted my crew’s inquiry into why my latest date, this one with Chloe the aspiring social media influencer, hadn’t gone well. I was saved from having to tell them how she’d spent the majority of the night making duck faces into her phone and asking me if I thought her friend Vanessa’s comments on Instagram about her newly purchased high heels were sarcastic or not.
By the end of the night I had seriously considered setting a small, contained fire in the men’s bathroom just to get out of having to spend one more minute in her drama-fueled, vapid world.
Derek, the station’s driving engineer, pulls through the security gates at NASA, the truck barely clearing the overhang. Rocket Park rushes past us on our left while we head toward the main buildings at Johnson Space Center.
Being a firefighter is an adrenaline rush on its own; add in that Houston Station 72, my station, is the one on call for JSC, and my job description goes from awesome to pretty freaking badass. When the call came in, my men and I energized quickly, even those of us on the backend of a forty-eight-hour shift.
Derek pulls our engine in front of a three-story glass building, where two EMT units are already parked. Men and women are huddled across the street. Well, all but one.
I’ve seen a lot of shit as a firefighter. But a woman with crazy curly hair wearing nothing but a hospital Johnny, her hands resting on her hips like she’s about to lecture us on the importance of punctuality while a building smokes behind her, is a new one for me.
Hopping down from the truck, I step toward the mental health escapee. “Ma’am, do you need help?” I wave over one of the EMTs holding a blanket.
“I’m fine.” She waves off the offered blanket with a scowl.
I’m about to ask her to move to the other side of the road with the rest of the evacuated when she hits me with a situation assessment.
“Fifty-one accounted for, no injuries. From what I could tell when the alarm started, the fire is emanating from the new construction section. Second floor.” She thumbs over her shoulder to the new medical clinic on-site at NASA, which has a dark plume of black smoke coming from the rear right side of the building.
I shout for John and Randall to circle the building, see if they can pinpoint the location of the fire and size up any ventilation issues. They pull their helmets and shields in place and jog around the building with their walkie-talkies.
I turn back to the woman. “Listen ma’am, I need you to step across the street now. Thank you for the update but now I need—”
“I’m not going anywhere until Becks comes out.”
“Wait. Someone didn’t evacuate?” Irritation climbs up my spine.
“Becks is trying to—”
I don’t wait for her to finish. Instead I bite off a curse and signal the men, who’ve already hooked up the hose to a nearby fire hydrant, to move to the front of the building. John checks in on the walkie-talkie. “Low level amount of smoke exiting a second-floor window. No blaze. Looks internal and small. My assessment is we can control it with a direct, interior attack.”
“Okay, this is a medical building, but the caller said the fire was coming from an empty section of building under construction. I don’t anticipate hazardous materials, but like I said, this is a medical facility. Keep your eyes and comms open.” I glance at the pissed-off woman behind me, her hair wild like the aftermath of a lightning strike. “And be warned there may be a civilian on the second floor.”
When I move forward to toward the building’s doors, the crew carries the hose behind me, the siren stabbing our ear drums and our protective equipment weighing us down.
The fire doesn’t look serious at the moment, but any fireman worth his salt knows how quickly that can change. And one thing firemen don’t need is some civilian playing at hero when they have a job to do. Whoever this Becks guy is, he doesn’t know the damage a distraction like him can cost my men.
A quick scan of the vacant open concept lobby and then I’m opening the stairwell door. My men spread out in pairs, making sure the area is cleared of civilians.
I lead the way upstairs at a fast pace, used to training under the weight of my gear. I stop on the second-floor landing, turning to Nick and Todd behind me. “Sweep third floor, then meet Rich and me back here. This is where the fire seems to have started and seems, for the moment, contained.” I get nods all around, and then I’m opening a heavy metal door into the second floor. The air is slightly cloudy, but with good visibility. Like a home-cooked meal gone wrong.
Rich and I step forward, each of us poised to sweep the area, as trained. The alarm cuts off, thankfully, though the emergency lights are still flashing.
Remembering the asinine guy’s name, I call out, “Becks?” Movement from down the hall catches my eye.
A woman, not a dude, walks toward me with a tablet under one arm and a stack of papers in the other. I can tell it’s a woman even with the baggy scrubs and lab coat hiding the shape of her body and a wet rag covering most of her face. It’s in the way she moves, the way her long, sl
ender fingers hold the materials in her hands.
“Becks?”
She mumbles something under her rag that sounds like “Jules.”
Shaking off the odd awareness I have of her and pissed at how nonchalant she’s acting in the face of a fire, my tone is harsh. “Are you Becks or not?”
The way she straightens at my demand is hot.
“Yes. I’m Becks.”
Rich steps forward, arm out. “Ma’am, you need to evacuate.”
She shakes her head at us. “Yes. I’m aware.” She gestures behind me. “You going to let me pass?”
I shift to the side, realizing that between Rich and me, our size and the equipment takes up the entire hallway. “Uh, yes. This way.” Rich moves past her and I turn, pushing open the stairwell door for her. Between the crazy woman outside and this one in a lab coat and rag, I’m feeling out of my element. I’m used to people panicking, looking to me for help. Not calmly walking through a burning building like they were talking a stroll in the park and making me hard while doing it.
Trying to regain control, I use the voice I usually save for recruit training. “Head down the stairs. No stopping until you’re outside and cleared of the area. Understood?”
All I see is one quirked eyebrow before the woman pulls the rag away from her face and puts me on my ass. Or at least that’s what it feels like.
Because wow.
Long, black hair pulled up in a high ponytail slips free from the material, swishing behind her like fallen silk. Under that finely shaped quirked brow, almond-shaped eyes narrow slightly and the cutest bow-shaped mouth purses.
“I swept the third floor. No one there. The fire is coming from the back end of the hallway, from the new construction site.” She glances at her wrist. “Three minutes ago, I felt the door. It was warm, but not untouchable. I’m not sure how fast the fire is building. I put wet towels at the base of the door to stop smoke infiltration, but not sure if that’s a lost cause or not.”
Space Age- Houston, Prepare for Launch Page 1
