by S. K. Vaughn
The icing on the cake was that she’d had the pleasure of talking to Stephen on a regular basis. It was bittersweet, because from the moment she’d remembered her indiscretion with Ian, it had hung over her like a dark cloud. So many times she’d been on the verge of confessing, but she hated the idea of jeopardizing their interactions. The pregnancy routinely made her feel vulnerable and afraid, and Stephen always brought her out of it. It would have been one thing if it were only about infidelity. But her rising belly was a reminder that it was much more than that. As much as it made her feel disgusted with herself, she had to face facts: she had been with both men in the two weeks prior to launch. Thinking Cheeky might be Ian’s child was nightmarish. She prayed it was Stephen’s. And she knew it would not be possible, or even remotely respectful to both, to keep the secret from Stephen much longer.
“Hello, May.”
Latefa was on the screen in the infirmary as May arrived for an exam.
“Hello, Latefa,” May replied grumpily. “Please don’t ask me how I’m feeling, or I’ll give you the long answer.”
“Roger that. Anything new to report?”
“May mentioned cramps recently,” Eve said.
“Thanks a lot, bigmouth,” May said. “It’s nothing. Probably intestinal distress from all this wonderful food.”
“Please remove your underwear and let’s check for spotting,” Latefa said.
“Aren’t you going to at least buy me a drink?” May said.
“She’s been like that since she woke up,” Eve said.
“Shut up, or I’ll make you listen to techno music again.”
“Shutting up,” Eve said.
When May got her underwear off, she caught a glimpse of a drop of blood on the cotton but didn’t say anything, hoping Latefa wouldn’t notice.
“I see a little spotting there,” she said, and May’s heart sank.
“I’m sure it’s just because Eve was making me laugh so hard.”
“Eve,” Latefa said in a chastising tone, “stop being so funny.”
“It’s a gift.”
“Indeed it is. All right, May, let’s have a proper look at you.”
“For that, you have to throw in dinner.”
May spread her legs apart, and Igor’s camera moved in closer.
“Now Igor wants in on the action. That will cost you both extra.”
“Everything looks fine to me,” Latefa said. “We just need to keep an eye on spotting and cramping. There are many factors that can cause bleeding at this point, some of which we don’t even know, because you’re the first gestating woman in space.”
“I can’t wait to see how bad my picture is in the history books.”
“But there are some we do know about that can pose a risk. The one I would be most concerned about, given your prolonged exposure to microgravity and radiation, is preterm labor. When the bleeding is accompanied by cramping or pelvic pressure, it might be a warning sign for premature delivery.”
“For God’s sake, Latefa, you’re worse at raining on my parade than Eve.”
“I’m sorry,” Latefa said. “If it will make you happy, you can have a little bit of whiskey.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Eve said.
“Shut up, Eve,” May said. “Thank you, Latefa, but I ran out long ago. And I promise I’ll keep an eye on this and let you know if it gets worse.”
“Please do,” Latefa said. “May, Ian has some news he wanted to share with you personally, once you’re dressed. Is that all right?”
“Of course. I’ll be on the bridge in five.”
May got dressed and headed there. Ian was waiting on screen when she arrived. She was relieved he was on the bridge with Stephen and the rest of the crew, but she wasn’t in the mood for any uncomfortable personal conversations.
“So, what’s the good news?” she said.
Ian held up a black box. “We intercepted the Hawking II MADS device.”
“Oh my God,” May said. “That’s incredible.”
“It was Stephen’s idea, actually. Raj had told him about its deployment, so we’ve had a net out ever since launch. The little bugger was on its merry way back to Wright.”
“Well done, Stephen,” May said enthusiastically.
“It’s going to take a while to decrypt,” he said, “but I’m anxious to see if it’s our answer to your data blackout.”
“That makes two of us,” she said, smiling.
When they signed off, May mused about the exciting possibility that the MADS recorder would hold the secrets they needed to connect all the data-blackout dots, damning Robert Warren to that special place in hell he so richly deserved. Since the Maryam I had launched, May had routinely looked at news feeds, tracking the lies Warren had spun to justify what most countries saw as an unlawful military strike on Ian’s island. As expected, her original hero status had changed to that of a traitorous collaborator with a billionaire profiteer enemy of the state. Of course, Stephen and Raj stood accused as well.
Stephen. She had seen a profound change in him amid all of this. The introverted genius with the awful sweater she’d hit with her car, the same man who’d been a shrinking violet in the shadow of Ian, now stood side by side with him and had become an invaluable member of the team. He was now a man of action as well as thought, a quality she’d found attractive in Ian but that had been ruined by the older man’s hubris. It was Stephen’s idea, actually. Naturally. Time and time again, he was proving he wasn’t the man who’d let her go without a word. He was the man moving every mountain he could budge to bring her back.
76
Stephen was holed up in Ian’s processor module, working on the MADS device. He sat with it on a small console deck in the center of the room, having successfully attached its connection cables to the AI processors. The walls surrounding him were all glass, with the tendrils of organic processor material similar to that on the Hawking II spreading all over the other side. He also wore a special radiation suit and helmet, like the one May had worn, to protect him from the concentrated sunlight.
“Any luck with the recent decryption algorithms?” he asked.
“Negative,” the AI answered.
“Shit.”
“I don’t understand shit.”
“That’s for sure.”
He got up to stretch and think it through. He remembered Raj talking about how he’d insisted on programming the MADS encryption himself when he was designing the ship. He hadn’t trusted NASA IT to do the job, mostly because he’d thought they were incompetent and woefully behind the times. It was a good bet that the encryption codes were personally connected to Raj, but in a way only he would think was clever.
Therein lies the rub.
“I’d like you to run all the data from the personnel file of Rajah Kapoor in your next decryption algorithm. See if any of it relates to the encryption codes.”
“Roger,” the AI replied.
The PA in the room chimed.
“Stephen, it’s Zola. May is requesting a visit. Personal. Want to take it?”
“Yeah, I’m not getting anywhere in here anyway. Tell her I’ll be a few minutes, please.”
“Copy that. I’ll feed it to your quarters, if that works.”
He got out of there and out of his suit as quickly as possible and headed over to his quarters. Living quarters were extremely Spartan on the Maryam I. Ian was all about the most efficient use of space possible, and creature comforts were a very low priority. Each person on board had his or her own tube-like module, similar to those on a submarine, with a bed, a sink, and a small screen. Toilets and showers were communal. There was no room to stand upright, so Stephen got comfortable on his berth and switched on the screen.
“Hi,” May said, smiling.
“This is a nice surprise. I’ve been trying to hack the MADS, channeling our boy Raj. I’m not having much luck, though, so you’re a breath of fresh air.”
“So nice of you to say.”<
br />
Stephen could tell May was trying to be her lighthearted self but wasn’t quite getting there.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
“Yeah, why?”
“Latefa said you had a little bleeding, and maybe some cramping.”
“A little. She said to keep an eye on it.”
“Don’t worry about it. She’s just relentlessly thorough. I had a cut on my head that wasn’t healing fast enough, and she bugged me about it to the point that I told her she should chop my head off, just to be safe,” he joked.
May tried to manage a laugh, but instead ended up frowning and looking at the floor.
“May, talk to me. What’s up?”
She took a very deep breath and smiled at him, but there were tears welling. “Stephen,” she said nervously, “I’ve been feeling really scared—terrified, actually—about something.”
“Everything is on schedule. We’re going to get you out of there. You’re not going to have the baby alone. I promise.”
“It’s not about that. It’s . . . I . . . you know how, um, the memories, the ones I’d lost, keep sort of coming back randomly?”
“Yes. You said you were starting to recall more from the time closer to the mission. That’s really good.”
“It has been really good. God knows I’ve struggled with the amnesia, and the more memories that come back, the more I feel I can maybe be normal again.”
“You’re well on your way.”
“Yes, but . . . Oh God, Stephen. It happened recently, and, well, this memory isn’t a good one. In fact, it’s very bad. Something related to us, to our marriage.”
“If it’s about the fight, don’t give it a second thought. Water under the bridge.”
She looked up, struck by his using the same term as Ian.
“What?” he asked.
“I appreciate your saying that, but this is something that won’t just wash away. And I want you to please know I’ve been meaning to tell you, but . . . I simply haven’t had the courage.”
“Why? What could possibly happen?”
She choked back the emotion that wanted to pour out.
“Since we got back in touch, it’s been good—really good—in a way, for us. I feel like we’ve let the past be the past and sort of had a fresh start. And now we’re so close to . . . I just don’t want anything to kill that . . . again. But I know how these things go. There can’t be any secrets between us. Secrets are like poison . . .”
“May, look at where we are, how far we’ve come. The distance between us is gone. I’m right here. You can tell me anything. Anything.”
She took another breath to summon more courage.
“When you were angry at me about Ian, about his helping me regain my commission, I fought back. I said things I will never forgive myself for saying. But I wasn’t angry at you for confronting me about that. I was deflecting you from something else, something I’d done that I was . . . am . . . so ashamed of. My shame made me push you away. I had such a hard, such a terrible time looking at you, being with you, without feeling like a monster.”
“May—”
“No, please let me finish. I’ll never have the courage again. A month before launch, when I was back in Houston, I . . . Jesus. I slept with Ian.”
Stephen felt the blood run out of his face. It was easy for his mind, always poised and ready to deliver conclusions, to ascertain what that meant. And it hit like a lightning bolt. The baby. The child he’d thought was theirs. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to shut out the pain and the spike of anger.
“Stephen, I’m so, so sorr—”
He switched off the screen. Then the lights. He wanted to hide. He wanted to disappear. Their child.
Their second.
77
Houston, Texas
January 30, 2067
Rain. Hard and gray. May felt it seeping into her shoes as she stood next to an open grave with other black-clad mourners. A small coffin, dressed with a cheerful arrangement of spring flowers, sat atop the lowering device. Hands reached in and laid single rose and daisy stems on the silvery white lid. Tears fell with them and disappeared into rivulets that dropped into the dark earth below. Heads nodded, collars were pulled up, and May was offered quiet embraces and condolences, which she endured in the same manner she was tolerating the rain.
After everyone dispersed to their cars in a row of bobbing umbrellas, she stood alone and waited for the casket to be lowered. I won’t let you go alone, she thought as each of the six feet it traveled down drove the pain deeper into her chest. When it was done, she couldn’t bear to see it down there in the darkness, so she walked away, umbrella dangling at her side, and let the rain soak her through.
A limousine waited on the gravel access road, and May slid into the back. She lit a cigarette, not giving a shit what the driver said, and he was old and wise enough to keep his mouth shut. Instead, he lit one of his own rolled cigarettes and casually blew the smoke out the driver’s side window, waiting for instructions. May offered them in the form of throwing her half-burned filter out the window, and he drove her home. Along the way, she drank dry her mother’s silver flask, which she had filled that morning. The whiskey burned the chill out of her bones and strengthened her resolve.
Walking into the house, she found Stephen still in bed, a bottle of sleeping pills on the nightstand. She sat on her side of the bed and removed her soaking shoes.
“I’ve asked to be reinstated,” she said firmly.
Every coffin had its final nail, waiting to be pounded home. May had just brought the hammer down. She heard the change in Stephen’s breathing, despite the fact that he hadn’t yet turned to face her. It might be a while before he could do that.
“Did you hear what I said?” May asked.
“When?” he said quietly.
“Last week.”
He sat up but looked straight ahead and rubbed his eyes. Stephen had rarely been overly emotional, but now he was devoid, something she hadn’t seen before.
“You have nothing to say—” she started.
“Such as?” he quickly interjected.
“I can think of any number of questions a husband might have—”
“I don’t,” he said curtly.
“I’ll thank you to stop interrupting me,” she said angrily.
Silence. May had wanted to keep her anger at bay, but it was smoldering, and the whiskey was beginning to fan the flames.
“I don’t see what there is to talk about now, Maryam,” Stephen said through gritted teeth. “Your actions are speaking volumes. If you really gave a damn about how I felt about your asking for reinstatement, you would have talked to me before you did it. Just as if you really cared about how I felt about the funeral, you wouldn’t have had it.”
“Caring. Let’s talk about that for a moment,” she said, seething. “It seems to me that if you cared about what I’ve been through rather that servicing your own emotional disabilities, you would never have opposed having a funeral for our dead son.”
“That’s not—”
“That’s not what?” she roared. “True? You said you couldn’t do it. In that weak, whining voice of yours. Or does he not have the right to a proper burial?”
Stephen was way out of his league, and she relished watching him sit in silence, searching for something, anything, to save him. But it wasn’t there. He didn’t have the ability to process what had happened with the baby, let alone what was now happening with May.
“Maybe if you had been there with me at the hospital the night I collapsed in a pool of my own blood, you would have some clue about what I needed. Maybe then you wouldn’t have been so fucking selfish.”
“May, don’t.”
“Don’t what? Talk about waking up in the recovery room and having to hear that my baby was dead?”
“Goddammit, stop. You’re not the only one grieving.”
May ignored him, her anger reaching fever pitch.
“Ye
s, but I’m the only one with so much scar tissue on my uterus that I can’t even have children anymore. And I’m the only one whose lifelong dream died along with our son. Or have you forgotten all of that as well?”
Stephen started sobbing, his body heaving, something else May had never seen.
“No,” he shouted, clawing at his hair. “I haven’t forgotten any of it. I will never forget it as long as I live. That’s why I can’t even leave this bed. Because we lost our . . . and because I know I’ve lost you. I wasn’t there for you then. I couldn’t be there for you today. I’m so sorry, May. And I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t want you to. I don’t . . .”
May looked at Stephen and wept, finally able to see and feel his internal destruction. She had been fully focused on her own, wanting to lash out and make him pay, assuming he was being selfish and cold. But what he was experiencing was total paralysis. The vulnerability she’d been eager to use to cut him most deeply was already mortally wounded. That was true for both of them. They were two people who had been grossly unprepared to handle their relationship. Yet there they were, desperately holding each other as their trial by fire burned them beyond recognition.
78
“We’re getting some comm interference again.”
Zola, Ian, and Jack were on the bridge, examining a projection of their communications transmitters. They manipulated the image over and over, looking at it from every angle.
“I’m not seeing any malfunctions,” Zola said.
“It has to be from outside. Solar interference.”
“It’s too persistent for that,” Ian said. “AI has analyzed the usual suspects, and none of them seem like the culprit.”
“And,” Zola said, “it appears to be happening more frequently and for longer periods. There might be a pattern coming together.”
“Chase that down, please.”
