“Well—”
“Unless you were about to say ‘a political and public-relations clusterfuck, Aaron,’ you’re wrong. After we lost contact with Sagittarius I, we damn near lost the program. You weren’t here for that. I was.”
This was not going quite the way Cal had planned. “I know the history,” he started.
“I lived the history, Cal.” Aaron stood up, pacing to his window. “Without Paul Lindholm schmoozing his ass off on Capitol Hill, neither of us would have a job right now. The days after we lost that signal were some pretty fucking dark days. There was so much outrage, there was worry that NASA would lose most of its funding for its projects. Paul saved us all.”
Paul Lindholm was a rarity: a former astronaut who’d made it into the NASA administrator’s chair. He exuded an air of hail-fellow-well-met with bright-blue eyes and graying blond hair, and smiled too much for Cal’s liking. On Capitol Hill, though, he inspired confidence and had won funding for NASA even in some of the bleakest situations. Cal trusted him about as much as he trusted any politician: not much.
“But how much worse will it be if we wind up losing a second mission, and it comes out later that we had the information to prevent that?”
Aaron sighed and folded his arms. “All right. No promises, but what have you got?”
“Does Wells have access to the archives on B2?”
“She hasn’t asked for access, so no. Why would she need it? None of her records are down there, as far as I know.”
“I found her down there yesterday. The day she joined us on the TRAPPIST simulation.”
“Well, she might’ve—” Aaron stopped. There was nothing else down on that level, and certainly nothing Catherine might need. Cal knew—he had checked already. “What did she say?”
“That she’d been in the archives doing research,” Cal said. “But she hesitated and her cheeks were flushed, like she was lying.”
“Maybe she got lost, and just felt embarrassed about it.”
“How could she be lost? She was at NASA for years before she left.”
“I know, but with the memory loss she’s experienced, it could happen. And that would certainly make for an embarrassing situation.”
“She didn’t look embarrassed,” Cal insisted. “She looked guilty.”
“Guilty or not, this isn’t the sort of thing that warrants postponing an entire mission. Any longer than two weeks and we’ll miss the launch window. The next one might not be for months.” NASA’s engineers had carefully calculated the Earth’s rotation and position around the sun to come up with the optimum launch window. Anything outside that window ran the risk of Sagittarius running low on fuel too soon. They were already cutting it close. Finding another window could take months, possibly years.
“I’m not saying postpone. Not yet.” Cal debated telling him about the automatic way she told part of her story, and how false that felt to him. Feelings, though, weren’t going to get through to Aaron.
Aaron fell silent for a time, going back to his desk and sitting down. He was thinking it through, and that was a hell of a lot further than Cal had expected to get today. “This program is Paul Lindholm’s baby. It was his initial idea; he’s set all our benchmarks. He’s not going to sit by and let us play with timelines and mission schedules because you’ve got a feeling.”
“If it turns out that I’m right, it’s not gonna be just a feeling.” He took a quick, discreet look at his notes. “Look. Catherine’s memory loss is worse than Commander Addy’s was. Say it was caused by something out there, something we don’t know about. Commander Addy may be our best-case scenario instead of the worst, and I know nobody wants that.”
“Cal, if Sagittarius II goes down, it doesn’t mean just your career, or my career.” He pinned Cal to his seat with a dark-eyed look. “As hard as Lindholm fought to keep our funding after Sagittarius I, and the promises he made to Congress about the program’s potential, if we go down, we might drag the rest of NASA down with us.”
Paul Lindholm, Cal thought, was either a fool or the single most optimistic man on the planet.
“All the more reason to make sure we’re not sending our crew into a bad situation,” Cal insisted. “We can’t put them at risk.”
Aaron laughed harshly. “I’m sorry, did you just say that we shouldn’t put the people who signed up to let us strap explosives to their asses and launch them trillions of miles from home at risk? Risk is what they signed up for, Cal. We minimize what we can, but the Sagittarius program is about more than just individual people; it’s about the greater good. The crew of Sagittarius I paid the price for that, but they knew they might.”
“I know what the normal operational risks are; you know I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about the risks that the crew didn’t sign up for. The ones they don’t know about.”
“Oh, come on,” Aaron said. “You know there’re plenty of risks they never know about. If they knew everything, they’d never have signed up. We talked about the Longbow Protocol, remember? You didn’t argue against it. And you, in fact, argued that we should keep the information from everyone on board Sagittarius except for the commander.”
“That’s different.” Longbow was a thing Cal didn’t let himself think about too often. “We designed Longbow in case Sagittarius’s return put the entire planet at risk. Longbow is about protecting the planet from alien infection or radiation. If—God forbid—we ever trigger it, we’ll be sacrificing six people in order to save billions. You won’t balk at that, but you’re hesitating at stopping and taking a second look?”
“So what are you suggesting we do?”
“I don’t know. Stop the mission clock until we’ve got this figured out. Look, we’re talking about sending six people into an unknown situation, one where things have already been spectacularly fucked up, on the off chance that it won’t happen again, so that maybe we’ll find a planet to colonize.” Common sense was taking a close look at the storm brewing on Aaron’s face and telling him to shut up, but Cal and common sense didn’t always see eye to eye. He pushed on. “Sending Sagittarius II without more information could mean sacrificing six people so you can cover your ass with Lindholm.”
Sometimes the only way Cal could see the line was when he looked behind him to see if he’d crossed it. Judging by the look on Aaron’s face, he’d cleared it by several feet.
“Let it go. I’m not postponing an entire mission because you think a traumatized woman is acting weird. If I’d gone through what she has, I’d be acting weird, too.”
“But—”
“We’re done. Humanity has to find another home. Now, before there’s an emergency threatening Earth. Sagittarius is moving forward. Let this go.”
“Yes sir.” Cal managed to keep any trace of sullenness out of his voice as he rose from the chair, dismissed.
He thought of Nate and the rest of the crew, how they’d all looked to him. He had no intention of letting anything go.
9
THE SATURDAY OF Aimee’s graduation party, the weather was glorious: warm, but not too warm as the day slowly turned into evening. Catherine checked the ice in the coolers and refilled one of the canapé trays spread across a long table against the far wall. The house was overflowing with a mix of Aimee’s friends, David and Catherine’s friends and colleagues, and a few family members from both sides, including Julie, who’d arrived last night. They spilled through the kitchen and into the yard, filling every seat on the patio.
In the middle of it all, Aimee moved from group to group with utter ease, a gracious host. As Catherine watched, Aimee charmed Aaron Llewellyn, one of the few members of the Sagittarius II staff to make it—understandable, since launch preparations were getting more intense by the day. Catherine was lucky she was able to be here.
“Did you tell her to do that?” David caught Catherine by surprise, appearing at her elbow. “I half expected her to run off to a corner with her friends.”
Catherine glanced at h
im and smiled. “No, it didn’t even occur to me, to be honest.”
“We may have a natural politician on our hands.”
“Good God, where did she get that from? Not from either of us, that’s for sure.”
“I bet I know.” David nodded toward Maggie, who was talking to Paul Lindholm and watching Aimee with the same pride on her face that Catherine felt.
“Remind me to thank her,” Catherine said, and meant it.
Aimee moved back to her friends and settled in with them, digging into a plate of food.
Paul Lindholm came over, his usual broad smile in place. “Colonel Wells, David, congratulations.”
Catherine smiled, but internally winced at the difference in address between her and David. Thankfully, David didn’t seem bothered by it and took Lindholm’s offered hand.
“Thank you, sir,” David said, “but Aimee gets the congratulations. She did all the hard work here.”
Lindholm drank from his half-empty glass, and to judge from the flush on his cheeks, this wasn’t his first. “Nonsense. My wife and I raised three boys; I know how much work went into this day.”
“David did a great job,” Catherine said, for once without a twinge of guilt.
“You get some of the credit, too, young lady.” Lindholm extended a finger to point at her. “You may have been on a mission, but it’s clear how much influence you’ve had in her life. Did I hear that she’s going to MIT this fall?”
“She is.” David puffed up a little bit. “She’s still trying to decide what branch of engineering interests her the most.”
“Ahh, so she takes after her father.” Lindholm gave Catherine’s shoulder a friendly pat. “Hope you’re not too disappointed,” he teased.
“Not at all.” She gave him a smile in return. This all felt so easy, like a glimpse of what her life might have been if she’d never gone into space, if she’d stayed home with David and helped raise Aimee. “You’d better watch out for her, though. She’s already said she wants to work for NASA after she graduates.”
“Well, if she’s anything like her parents, we’d be thrilled to have her.” Lindholm drained his glass. “I need to head out, but congrats again. Aimee’s a great kid.”
“Thank you,” Catherine said. “And thank you for stopping by.”
Once he was gone, Catherine and David exchanged a glance and David shook his head with a rueful smile. “I’m always going to be Mr. Catherine Wells where NASA is concerned, aren’t I?” So he hadn’t missed that after all.
“Sorry.” Catherine wrinkled her nose and slipped her arm through his. “Although, if it makes you feel better, you make a great trophy husband.”
“Cath.” Julie caught up to them. “Can I get your hand in the kitchen for a minute?”
“Oh, sure.” Catherine kissed David on the cheek. “Stay right here and look pretty, trophy husband.”
“Sure, I might even smile a few times,” David deadpanned before waving them off.
The kitchen was quieter than the rest of the house, and Catherine didn’t realize how much she could use those few minutes of quiet.
“How’s it going out there?” Julie arranged some chopped vegetables on a tray.
Catherine came to help, the two of them still working together in a habit born of a lifetime of family holiday dinners. “It’s good. Aimee is a natural at this.”
“And you’re doing okay?”
“Yeah. I really am.” Catherine couldn’t keep a note of surprise from her voice, but it was true. She was connecting with the Sagittarius II team at work, and she, Aimee, and David had settled into a rhythm at home. She couldn’t quite describe it all as normal, but they were getting there. And there had been no more lost time.
“You look more like yourself than you did on our last Skype call.” Julie reached into a cupboard and pulled down a pair of wineglasses. “Here, I tucked this bottle away because I know it’s your favorite.” She took a bottle of pinot noir from the sideboard and poured them each a glass. When Catherine picked up hers, Julie clinked it with her own. “To Aimee, who is going to do great things, just like her mom.”
Catherine chuckled. “Hopefully greater things.” She drank, and the taste of the wine brought back the vivid sense memory of standing in the ship’s galley, the taste of the same wine in her mouth along with the unexpected and unfamiliar feel of Tom’s mouth against hers.
How long would that memory still ambush her? Thankfully, it hadn’t happened when she and David were making love, but she was afraid it was just a matter of time. It was maddening that the clearest memory she had was the one she didn’t want.
“Hey. You in there?”
Catherine pulled on a smile. “Yeah, sorry. It’s been a crazy week.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet it’s been.” Julie leaned against the counter. “So . . . Cath . . . I know this is probably a bad time to bring this up, but with getting ready for the party I didn’t get to talk to you last night, really, and I’m leaving tonight, so . . .”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine. I’ve been talking to Mom’s doctors, and . . . they think she might be able to handle seeing you.”
Catherine had given up on the possibility of seeing her mother alive again a long time ago. Hearing Julie say that, she had a sudden inkling of how David and Aimee must have felt, hearing that she was coming home. “Really? Are you sure? Are they sure?”
Julie made a small, amused sound, looking down at her wineglass. “No. But given where she’s at right now, we can’t be sure about anything. And it’s not as if there’s a lot of published literature about how to reintroduce an Alzheimer’s patient to a presumed-dead family member.”
“I don’t want to make things worse, though.” Oh, but the thought of being able to see her mother again, even just once . . .
Julie looked up at her solemnly. “Cath, I don’t know that it’s possible to make things much worse. We’re probably looking at months now, not years. And—and when that does happen, I don’t want either of us to have any regrets. Or, at least, not this particular regret.”
Catherine wrapped her arms around Julie tight, and Julie returned the embrace. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you’ve been dealing with this all alone.”
“I knew what I was signing on for, and Mom would’ve kicked my ass if you’d tried to stay home to take care of her.” Julie kissed her on the cheek and stepped back. “So when I get back home, we’ll start talking dates, all right? Sooner rather than later, I think.”
“Yes. I’ll talk to David and Aimee . . . The launch is soon, but I should be able to get away for this.” Catherine met Julie’s eyes and tried to smile. “Thank you. So much. For everything.”
“That’s what big sisters are for.” Julie took her by the shoulders, turning her toward the living room. “All right. Break time’s over, kiddo. Time to go play hostess again.”
“Ugh. Okay, but you come, too. Don’t stay in here fussing with things.”
Julie handed her a huge tray of sandwiches. “All right, I’ll be out soon. Take this with you.”
Catherine carried the tray out and set it down in time to see Aimee stand up and climb onto the fireplace hearth in the living room.
“Excuse me,” she said, her clear voice ringing out, “if I can get your attention for a moment.”
Catherine moved over to David’s side. “What’s she doing?”
“No idea.” He slipped his arm around her waist.
The party quieted down, a few people filtering in from outside to see what was happening. Aimee, bright-eyed and smiling, had a fluted glass of the sparkling cider set aside for the kids. One of her friends, sitting on the hearth, muttered something and she kicked him lightly, laughing. “Shut up.”
Then she looked up at the guests and smiled again. “I just wanted to say thank you all for coming today. You all know it’s been kind of an . . . interesting year for me, for my family, but I am so happy that my mom is home and able to be here, and I
know my dad is, too.”
Catherine’s eyes stung and she looked up at David, whose eyes were also overbright.
“I wouldn’t be where I am right now without both of my parents.” Aimee lifted her glass, her cheeks turning pink. “So, here’s to my mom and dad. My dad stayed here with me to make sure I kept my feet on the ground, but my mom taught me that it’s possible to fly, and it’s important to, even when it’s scary and you don’t know when or how you’re going to land.”
Glasses rose around the room, and Catherine let the tears fall down her face unabashedly. She met Aimee’s eyes and mouthed I love you, and Aimee smiled. Still, there was a sense of incompleteness, and honestly, there was an elephant in the room that needed to be addressed.
Catherine cleared her throat and spoke up: “I’d like to mention someone else who has been an important part of Aimee’s life, too, and deserves plenty of credit for helping her reach her goals.”
Maggie was standing on the edge of the room looking at Aimee with a soft smile. “While I was gone,” Catherine said, “Maggie was able to be there for Aimee when I couldn’t, and I am so grateful for that.” Maggie looked over at her, surprised, and started to shake her head, but smiled when some of the crowd’s appreciation turned to her as well.
David kissed Catherine’s temple and murmured, “Nicely done.”
“I knew Aimee wouldn’t mention her for fear of making me feel bad.” She leaned against David and gingerly wiped away her tears.
After Aimee’s toast, the crowd started to thin out a little, work friends leaving first, with Catherine showing them to the door as it began to get dark.
She followed Leah Morrison out to her car and waved as she drove away. As she turned to go back up the front walk, a twig snapped. There was an audible murmur, and then silence. A peculiar sensation prickled at the back of Catherine’s neck. It wasn’t terribly dark yet, but there were shadows everywhere, plenty of places to hide. She stood by the garage, frozen in place, straining her ears for the slightest sound. Her breathing was loud in her ears so she held it, still listening. She couldn’t shake the undeniable, overwhelming feeling that she was being watched. She glanced around, half expecting to see a man with a knife or a gun standing in the yard looking at her.
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