Satellite

by Nick Lake

  “i thought they were all destroyed,” he says softly.

  Yuri smiles. “well,” he says. “obviously not.”

  i am in a daze.

  my memory is like a time-lapse vid:

  the hangar peels away, around us, we climb back into the car, & then the forest swallows us & spits us out & we dart across the desert, it rolls by monotonously, the car speeds along, & then buildings appear & streets & we are back in the cosmodrome.

  Yuri turns left, then right, then drives some more.

  i close my eyes for a moment & lose some time. 10 minutes? more? when i open my eyes, i know i slept for a while even tho i didn’t dream, it was just blackness.

  then Yuri slows, & stops.

  it’s the edge of town.

  the driver’s door opens, & Yuri gets out. he pops the back door, & i haul myself out & onto the sidewalk. Grandpa gets out from the passenger seat.

  ahead is a drab building, maybe 5 stories, institutional, like a school or a local government office. a sign in old-fashioned letters, each letter 6 ft. tall, hangs above the door. 2 of the letters are missing.

  COSM NAUT’S HOT L

  it reads.

  an old woman opens the door. she is wearing a black dress, a dirty apron over it. she is holding a bucket in 1 hand & a cloth in the other. she nods, as if our appearance confirms something she has long, & unhappily, suspected. she retreats, leaving the door open.

  i stand there for a moment. to my right, far away at the end of the street, which seems to just stop at a certain point, give way to sand, i can c the desert. a complicated arrangement of structures towers above it. i recognize it as a launch facility.

  “this is where the cosmonauts used to stay, before going up to the ISS,” says Yuri. “we have stayed here before, u & i,” he adds, looking at Grandpa.

  “of course,” says Grandpa. he is looking up at the building with a strange look in his eye. like seeing someone he once loved, but now has complicated feelings for. or an old family member who left, who walked out. i don’t know. something like that. dirty white curtains hang in the windows.

  Grandpa puts his hand out & takes mine. he frowns. lifts his other hand & touches my forehead.

  “what?” i say.

  “u’re running a fever,” he says.

  the air is cold, & it smells of ozone & oil, of the airfields i have come to know, an industrial smell, with something else too. something wild. Snow, perhaps. or the long-distant breath of camels.

  Yuri walks up to the door & indicates the opening with his hands. “come,” he says. “we stay here briefly. until we take the Soyuz.” he points to the sky. it is starting to darken, to purple, & thin, long wisps of cloud almost like enormous aircraft contrails are tinging to the colors of a bruise, as a pale crescent moon stands out sharp against the glossy metallic sheen of the sky, as if branded there. “& we go up there,” he says.

  i’m 6, i think. maybe 7.

  i’m playing hide-&-go-seek with Libra & Orion. there are no adults around; they’re probably on the bridge or in 1 of the modules, conducting an experiment of some kind. we have the run of the main cross of the space station, barreling around, so small that we can fly. we do fly—we power thru the modules like birds, swooping.

  right now, Libra & Orion are hiding. they won’t do it separately. they do everything together, even hiding, even seeking. they are a unit. their mother is not 1 of the adults who is here, on the station, at the moment, & when she is on earth they are even more 1 person.

  i am looking for them. i torpedo past the hydroponics, past tiny lettuces & beans growing under bright light. no sign of Libra & Orion. i go thru our dorm module: we all sleep together, the 3 of us, in 3 little cots attached to the walls. i look under the cots. nothing.

  the clock on the screen on the wall reads 10:21. i know how to read the time. i learned before i learned to talk, almost. Virginia taught us, with a watch she brought up to the station that had a blue hand for hours & a red 1 for minutes.

  time is important: here, there is no night & day, or rather there is, on the earth below, but day & night succeed 1 another so fast, 14 times in 10 hours, that without a 24-hour clock u never know when it’s time for playing, or napping, or sleeping.

  now, it’s time for playing.

  i keep going. no Libra & Orion in the dark energy sensor room either. i pause in the cupola chamber, the inverse glass dome an eye & i am inside it, looking down thru it. we are over an ocean, & small islands dot the blue sea. a tiny fleck might be a cargo ship.

  i hover there & watch the earth turning below me. i can hear no one & c no one. i am alone in the space station. i’m small, just a child, & for a moment i feel scared, i feel like maybe i really am all alone, floating up here forever with no one around me. it’s a feeling i’ve had before, but never this strong.

  the black depth of space frames the earth. the distant stars speckling the darkness, tho i don’t know they’re distant. at this age i think only that they are small things, dusting the universe that surrounds the place i live. they have always been there, since i can remember. the moon too.

  my mother has not always been here. & when she is here, she is not like Libra & Orion’s mother; she does not hold me, she does not whisper to me, she does not kiss me or ruffle my hair or tell me stories or any of the things their mother does. & i have no idea who my father is either; it’s like i have no parents. it’s like i belong to the stars.

  so i watch them, the stars.

  & i feel a strange sensation, just for an instant, like i’m older than i am, like i am seeing thru some secret door.

  i am in the moment, but at the same time i am aware that i will remember this moment in the future; it pulses with significance, a beacon in the black sea of time.

  like 1 day, i will be alone again, up here. like this is what is meant for me.

  then i hear a noise, from somewhere down the x-axis of the station, just faint, but audible. i plant my feet on the edge of the cupola & launch myself in the direction where the sound came from, arms stretched out in front of me; a diver.

  i shoot thru a sleeping module & then i enter 1 of the spectrometer modules & i c that the door to a white cupboard built into the wall is ajar, & i open it & Libra & Orion tumble out, Libra somersaulting end over end, tucked into a ball, & Orion careers into me & we spin in the air, laughing.

  “ur turn,” he says.

  “no,” i say. at that precise moment i cannot bear the idea of being on my own. “let’s do something else.”

  Libra is at the window. “look,” she says. “a storm.”

  we look out. a chain of islands is below us, & approaching it, a dirty white flaring circle of clouds, spiking almost, feathering, from the force of the wind that is cycloning inside it.

  right in the middle, there is a core of stillness, of blue sea, surrounded by whirling energy.

  the storm is moving quickly, toward the islands, patches of green in the wide ocean, in the sunshine, suddenly seeming terribly vulnerable.

  i shiver, imagining being on 1 of those islands, imagining being in a house by the beach, watching the storm approaching, feeling the breath of the wind, hearing the rattle of the shutters.

  i’m up here, i remind myself. i touch the wall of the module.

  i hold Libra’s hand.

  scoot closer to Orion.

  i’m up here.

  & i’m safe.

  i open my eyes, & Grandpa is looking down at me.

  “we’ve given u some acetaminophen,” he says. “to bring down the temperature.”

  “i’m sick?” i say.

  “yes.”

  i am dimly aware of my body shivering. i burrow down under the covers. there are brown-patterned walls. i think i’m in the hotel. wait. what hotel? an image floats in front of me: COSM NAUT’S HOT L. on the bedside table is a half-empty glass of water. half-full. half-empty. above is a flickering light, an old-school 1, incandescent bulb, with a tasseled shade.

  �
��where’s Yuri?” i say.

  “meeting people,” says Grandpa.

  i try to sit, but fail. “this…is it the earth that’s making me sick? is this it?”

  “it?”

  “am i…”

  “dying?”

  “yes.”

  he smiles. “no. i think this is just a virus. u didn’t have much exposure to them up there. any exposure.”

  “i had a cold at the base,” i say. “in Nevada. it didn’t feel like this.”

  “did u have a fever?”

  “i don’t know.”

  “then u didn’t have a fever,” he smiles. “this time u did.”

  fever.

  it makes sense. i think of the word feverish. the idea of a certain restlessness, a motion within that can’t be stilled. i feel it, in my bones. deep inside. it rattles me, like the window of Yuri’s old car rattles as it drives.

  “are we still going?” i ask.

  “yes,” says Grandpa. “but only when u’re better. can’t risk taking a virus up there. it would circle around forever.”

  i wake up.

  it’s dark.

  no one is here.

  i go back to sleep.

  i am sitting up when Grandpa comes in. my body is still, my muscles no longer trying to shake off my skin, to slough it away.

  i am sipping water from the glass. i feel hungry.

  “i feel hungry,” i say.

  “good,” says Grandpa. “Yuri will be pleased. he wants u to try some mutton dish the cook is making. it smells…interesting.”

  “oh great.”

  Grandpa winks. he sits down on the side of the bed. “here,” he says. he passes me an unrolled screen.

  i look at it.

  there is a message there, in big type. i assume Grandpa zoomed it for me.

  go, Leo.

  fly.

  fly, & don’t look back.

  it would be inaccurate to say that i am proud of u. u are my pride. u are the best of me, walking around the world. but the world isn’t the place for u.

  so fly.

  love,

  ur mother.

  “u told her?”

  “kind of had to,” he says. “they are freaking out hard at Mountain Dome.”

  “it would have killed her to sign it ‘Mom,’ i suppose,” i say.

  Grandpa smiles. but i am smiling too.

  i don’t know how many days we lost, but i’m better. not feverish anymore, anyway.

  the Americans used to fly from here too, back when the United States & Russia were still collaborating on the international space station.

  back then, the astronauts would have been quarantined for days before a launch, to make sure they didn’t catch colds & things—a cold on a space station could be disastrous. no gravity to help clear the nostrils, which meant infections lasted a long time & a circulating air system constantly pumping germs back into the bodies of the other astronauts on board.

  so it’s a good thing i’m feeling better. we’re just going to have to hope Grandpa & Yuri are ok too.

  Grandpa & Yuri have spent the last 2 nights going over the flight rules for the Soyuz, refreshing their memories. i heard them murmuring when i briefly woke up, saw the glow from their lamp as they sat in the corner of the room checking rule after rule after rule. it reminds me of the death sims up on Moon 2, the endless meetings going over every detail of a mission.

  “in the old days we would study this for at least a week,” Grandpa said.

  this time they will have less. we know we’re on the clock: the Company will have made calls already, will be speaking to the Kremlin, coming after us.

  now, a Kazakh woman knocks on the door & enters with a cart. she says something in her own language, & Yuri translates. “breakfast,” he says. “important we eat.”

  there is something called tvorog that Grandpa tells me is basically cottage cheese. also fruits, caviar, nuts, coffee, oatmeal.

  Yuri goes over to the curtains & opens them. to my surprise i c the Soyuz rocket lying on a huge flatbed train near the launch pad that is maybe 500 ft. away. it wasn’t there a couple of days ago. carts & cranes drive around it, people mill around.

  Grandpa sees me looking. “that was quick,” he says.

  Yuri nods.

  “a lot of people seem to be helping us,” says Grandpa. he points to the breakfast cart. then back at the rocket. “the trains. hundreds of people. technicians.”

  Yuri nods again.

  Grandpa looks worried. “they know? the government?”

  “this is Russia,” says Yuri. “maybe they don’t exactly not know that we’re doing this. maybe they don’t exactly not want to take opportunity to piss off the Americans.”

  Grandpa sighs.

  “u want to go to space or not?” says Yuri to me.

  “yes,” i say.

  “ok. then we need the help,” says Yuri. “come on. time for us to go. our government has eyes. but so does urs.” he points up, to where satellites orbit the world above us.

  “go?” i say.

  “to space station,” says Yuri.

  “now?” i say.

  “u want to wait for ur 18th birthday, have big party? no. we go now.”

  i look at Grandpa—he doesn’t seem surprised. “u knew it was today?”

  “when i saw the ship,” he says. “the Russians believe it’s bad luck to c ur rocket before the day of launch. like…the groom not seeing the wedding dress before a wedding.”

  “ah!” says Yuri. he seems to remember something, goes over to the cart. there’s a silver bottle on it, like a thermos flask. he unscrews the cap & slings the water out of 3 glasses. then he pours something viscous from the thermos into them. into 2 of them he also pours something from a clear bottle.

  he hands a glass to Grandpa, then to me.

  “drink,” he says.

  i sniff mine. it smells like gasoline.

  “come on,” says Yuri. his expression conveys urgency.

  i knock it back & gag. it tastes like gasoline too. i cough for a minute.

  “what is that?” i say, seeing Grandpa grimly downing his.

  “gasoline,” says Yuri. “rocket fuel actually.”

  “it’s for luck,” says Grandpa, in a slightly strained voice.

  “i don’t feel very lucky,” i say.

  “ha,” says Yuri, clapping me on the back. “i left the vodka out of urs.”

  we go downstairs & out into the clear air. the sky is Pacific atoll blue above us. it’s so cold that almost immediately i feel my eyelashes freeze, feel them go hard & unwieldy. there’s a bus waiting, a minibus, with its door open & exhaust & steam fuming into the air behind it.

  we get on. Grandpa runs thru the launch scenario with me, prepping me on the stages. i am not really listening.

  the bus drives us to a nondescript, flat concrete building, where we go inside & are met by stony-faced men in day-glo uniforms. there are pressurized space suits on a big rack behind them.

  “Sokhol,” says Yuri. “suits for mission. it means falcon.”

  the men measure us with tapes, then pull out helmets & suits, & help us into them. quickly i am feeling hot, a stark contrast to the chill outside. sweat starts streaking my face.

  we get back on the bus, Yuri & Grandpa supporting me, clumsy in our bulky suits, boiling up, holding our helmets in 1 hand. we drive an absurdly short distance, then get out again, on a flat piece of concrete, the launch pad ahead of us, the train tracks to our right.

  then, in front of us, are 2 long, high pyramidal shapes formed from sand—meant to absorb shock waves if there’s an explosion, i guess. they are arranged like brackets leading to the launch site itself, almost as if illustrating perspective as they narrow toward the pad where the Soyuz will blast off from.

  if we blow up, those long pyramids will take some of the flame, some of the force, & stop it from reaching the city. they will soak in particles of us.

  the rocket is strapped to th
e train, like a macro version of the 1 that Wile E. Coyote ties to his back in 1 of the cartoons.

  that makes me think of Libra.

  i wonder what she is doing right now. without me, without Orion. she will be with their mother, i think, & i am glad & sad at the same time.

  what i am doing is watching as the train slowly starts to move, hauling the rocket toward the launch pad, belching black fumes from its heavy diesel engine. the rocket moves backward—the end of it is facing us, the tail fins facing the pad. it takes a long time. i am still sweating & i start to wish they had done this before getting us into our suits.

  after an eternity, the train stops, just short of the pad. enormous robot arms turn & move to the end of the rocket. there are vast clamps at the ends & these descend, the pace still leisurely, & men & women in hard hats oversee as the clamps attach to the rocket & begin gradually, gradually, standing it up.

  now i realize why it’s facing backward: so they can lift it into place, stand it up from its position on the train onto the launch zone.

  more time passes.

  the robot arms whir away, move back on their slots. whirring.

  the train backs up.

  now the rocket stands alone, next to a high scaffolded structure shaped as a tall C—the gantry—steps switchbacking up the lower part like a fire escape, the upper part sheathed in steel. i realize this is it. this moment. those are our steps. this is our rocket.

  “come,” says Yuri.

  we cover in ten minutes the distance it took the train to cross in maybe 1 hour, even with my bad leg. i lean on Grandpa as i walk—the exo-structure of the suit seems to help too. there’s no ceremony, no one to wave us off. a technician of some sort comes forward from 1 of the robot arms & says something to Yuri.

  Yuri nods.

  then Yuri leads the way to the steps & we climb up them. this feels surreal. like i’m still in my bed in the hotel & Yuri & Grandpa are still poring over their rule books & i have imagined all of this, dreamed it.