by Nick Lake
“that’s true—i was,” says Grandpa.
he smiles again, & takes hold of a steering yoke in front of him, then inputs a complex series of keystrokes on a keyboard to his right.
“i have the module,” he says.
“bring us home, then,” says Yuri.
it’s an expression, but it rings a pure, clean note in my head.
home.
Grandpa is obviously steering, making minute adjustments, but it’s not like u would notice. he constantly keeps an eye on a dozen different displays & readings, the angle of the earth relative to us, star charts, data pinging back from radio waves fired at the space station, laser attitude sensors. & he steers.
“strap in,” says Yuri. “helmet.”
i slide my harness fasteners shut. lock my helmet down. shut the visor.
“pressurize,” says Yuri.
i hit my regulator. feel the thick fabric inflate. i am Wile E. Coyote, putting on an Acme space suit, but this time i am going to catch the Road Runner; this time i am not going to fall to earth.
gradually, the space station looms larger & larger. we are going so slowly, & yet i know this is a highly dangerous operation. i mean, i saw what happened to Brown. it suddenly strikes me that i haven’t thought about him for a long time, about his body drifting alone thru space, forever. maybe i should have. but then again i didn’t really know him. it seems cruel. to die up here, & not even be remembered.
& it still might happen to us.
Grandpa & Yuri go very silent as we cross the final few ft. the hatch is a round circle in front of us—thru the window & displayed on a screen on the instrument panel. hashmarked with hooks & latches, like the minute markers around a watch-face. silver metal & white pipes. bright against blackness. then it swings away, as Grandpa turns the module sideways, reading out numbers all the time, Yuri whispering instructions.
then:
“15 ft.,” says Yuri.
“13 ft.”
“10 ft.”
“6 ft.”
“&…”
“docking.”
there’s a thud—surprisingly hard—& we come abruptly to a stop. i feel part of the seat harness bite into my hip, am thrown sideways. Grandpa breathes out, loud & slow. “check readouts,” he says.
“all fine,” says Yuri after a moment. “felicitations. u still have the touch.”
“i don’t know,” says Grandpa. “that was a little heavy.”
Yuri pats his stomach. “we have all grown a little heavier,” he says. he leans over the panel of switches. “engaging assembly system.”
click.
click.
click.
the hooks & latches close, a noise perhaps like very large insects shutting their mandibles.
click.
click.
“docking complete,” says Grandpa. “now we’ll c if they let us in. Leo, unlock our side, would u?”
“sure,” i say. i grab the seat top & use it to propel myself toward the round door we entered the rocket thru. i flip up the heavy lever, then turn the lock to the £OPEN position.
for a long time, nothing happens. then there is a clank from the other side, & the door swings open into the air lock of the space station. the others unfasten their harnesses & we swim thru, me first, then Grandpa, then Yuri.
on the other side of the air lock, beyond the glass, 2 astronauts stand, in casual gray sweatpants & white Company t-shirts. 1 of them is Asian & male, & the other is a woman in a headscarf. “identify urselves please,” she says, thru the speakers mounted in the hull beside us.
“Commander Yuri Bogdanov,” says Yuri.
“Flight Officer Freeman, retired,” says Grandpa.
“& i’m Leo,” i say. “i was born here.”
the woman seems to shake her head.
there’s a pause.
then she activates the switch to close the door behind us, & there’s a hiss as air is forced into the chamber. i look up & c jets of it, of vapor, shooting from the walls.
we wait.
“pressure normalized,” says the woman. “opening air lock.”
she presses something else, & the hatch to the space station itself opens. we take off our helmets & torpedo thru. i notice that i am quicker here than Grandpa & Yuri, my movements more sure, & it’s not just that my leg doesn’t have to rest on the ground here; it’s that i am more graceful too, more suited to my environment.
this is my home, i remind myself.
i am home.
i flip over in the air when i reach the 2 people, come to a stop next to them. thru a window in the curving wall of the space station’s arm, i c the moon, bright as a white paper lamp, circling the earth, as it always does. below it, half-shadowed, is the dome of the earth, jewels of electric illumination sparkling on the dark side, the light side a wonder of green & blue, shaded with clouds.
“they warned us but i didn’t believe…,” says the woman, but then she doesn’t seem to know what to say next.
“u guys are in so much trouble,” says the Asian man.
“really?” says Yuri. “what are they going to do about it?”
the man doesn’t answer.
“i’m Sara,” says the woman. “i attended 1 of ur lectures, Flight Officer Freeman. on laser guidance systems. u signed my book afterward.”
“ah,” says Grandpa. “i’m afraid my memory is not what it was.”
she waves this away like it doesn’t matter. “this is Ku,” she says, indicating the man, who only scowls. “we’ll take u to the bridge. Boutros wants to speak to u.”
they lead the way, & we swim after them, thru several modules, before turning at the y-axis & going up toward the bridge. we pass the vegetable trays, the UV lamps over them glowing purple, & i think of Libra, but all the time i’m thinking too i’m home i’m home i’m home.
when we reach the bridge, Sara goes over to a screen spread out on the magnetic table. i follow, Grandpa & Yuri behind me.
Boutros is on the screen.
or rather, his face is, blotchy above a green tie & a white shirt. sweat is springing from his pores.
“Leo,” he says. “what the hell do u think u’re doing?”
“coming home,” i say.
“this is…this is…” a vein starts to pulse on his forehead. “Freeman, don’t think i don’t c u lurking in the background there. u’ll be…u’ll be…u’ll be disciplined for this.”
Grandpa barks a laugh. “u’re going to dock my pay, is that it? make me sit down with HR? please.”
“there’s not enough room up there for all of u,” says Boutros. “u’re going to have to come down at some point.”
“of course,” says Grandpa. “Yuri & i will be returning in the landing module. u can wait for us & slap my wrists then if u like. i always like meeting with HR.”
i look at Grandpa. he’s leaving? well, of course he’s leaving. why wouldn’t he? it’s logical. sadness flares in my stomach, & i force it down. come on, Leo. u can’t have everything.
“u’re leaving?” i say.
Grandpa turns his gentle eyes on me. “i have to,” he says. “the cows. the calves. they need me. i need to make sure that fence is secure, c to the mothers that are calving…”
he tails off. he’s speaking with his eyes. looking for forgiveness. which is not something he needs to ask for.
“of course,” i say. “of course u have to.”
he thanks me, still with his eyes.
& i take a breath.
i say to myself:
u’re home.
u’re home, Leo.
that’s what counts.
Boutros turns back to me. “the Company has invested billions of dollars in u & ur upbringing. we can’t just let u go. u need to come back.”
“i’m nobody’s property,” i say.
“i didn’t say u were, i said—”
“i’m not coming down,” i say.
pause.
“we can force u
to, u know,” he says. his voice kind of cracks at the end. like he knows he shouldn’t have said it, but it came out anyway. like the words crumbled in his mouth.
“i very much doubt that,” i say.
silence.
“what are u going to do?” says Yuri. “train some marines to fly a shuttle? send a drone? this is a space station. it’s not some khalupa in Mukhosransk.”
Boutros sighs. he is pale. i almost feel sorry for him. “do u have any idea of the problems u have created? the president is on the screen to the Russian premier as we speak. they’re talking about it on Moscow news like they righted a gross ethical violation. there is a major fucking international incident unfolding here. not to mention the media & the—”
“i’m sorry,” i say. “i don’t really care.”
“u don’t care?”
“the Company brought me here in the first place,” i say. “u’re responsible. u’re just going to have to deal with it.”
Boutros starts opening & closing his mouth. “this isn’t over,” he says eventually.
“of course not,” i say. “i have my whole life ahead of me.”
Boutros closes his eyes. it’s like seeing the gradual collapse of his corporate shell, of the covering that sustains him. “this is insane,” he says. “Leo, think about this. u’re just going to orbit thru space till u die.”
“yes,” i say. i reach out my hand, ready to cut the vid connection. below me, the earth spins at 177,000 miles an hour.
i pause.
“but how is that any different to u?” i say.
& then i press OFF.
“goodbye, Grandpa,” i say.
he hugs me. already my body feels stronger, less fragile. on earth i was a baby bird u could crush in ur hand if u weren’t careful; here i’m flying.
so why is it that i feel like i’m holding myself together? why is it that the word goodbye, when i say it, feels like the precise note an opera singer sings in 1 of Libra’s old cartoons to make a vase shatter? only now the vase is me.
“goodbye, Leo,” he says. “u know i would stay if i could.”
“i know,” i say.
“but the cows…the land…i have responsibilities, u know?”
“i know, Grandpa,” i say. “really.”
he smiles. it’s ok. i don’t need him to stay. he got me up here, & that’s what counts. of course he has to go back to the farm. of course he has to make sure that Mother is looking after things ok.
“i’ll vid u as soon as i get home,” he says.
“u’d better. & say hello to Comet for me.”
Yuri swims over & gives me a bear hug. “wave whenever u are over Russia, ok?” he says. “i will wave back.”
i laugh. “bye, Yuri. & thanks for everything. i’m…i can’t believe what u did for us.”
he shrugs. “it was that or the repainting of my window frames. i should thank u. for bringing me here again.”
“u’re welcome anytime,” i say.
“i don’t think i will be leaving home again,” says Yuri with a half smile. “the Americans have landed in Baikonur, i hear. no more hidden rockets.”
i feel bad. that’s my fault. but Yuri claps me on the back.
“u made Russia proud,” he says. “plucky cosmonauts, helping child return home. the news vids from Moscow talk like u are national hero. don’t worry.”
a national hero.
what a strange idea.
Sara & Ku come along as Grandpa & Yuri head to the Soyuz landing module to begin their journey home. the Company will be waiting for them of course. Grandpa insists they won’t be arrested or anything tho: too much media attention. still, i expect he will get a serious talking-to. i almost wish i could c it. i almost feel sorry for Boutros & the others who will have to do it.
my grandpa is not to be trifled with. the old-fashioned words make me smile.
Sara & Ku, i suspect, only want to make sure that Grandpa & Yuri really do leave. they wave, & Sara closes the hatch to the air lock. the 2 old men finish climbing into their suits, put on their helmets, & wait for the chamber to depressurize.
“good journey,” says Sara thru the intercom.
they nod.
i drift to the intercom & ignore Sara’s protests as i press the button myself. “myagkoj posadki,” i say.
Yuri beams & gives me a thumbs-up.
then the door to the module opens & they wave 1 last time, before floating headfirst thru it. i c them start to settle into their seats, as Sara closes the hatch.
Sara, Ku, & i return to the bridge—me in front, because i torpedo so much quicker than they do thru the turns & narrow apertures of the station, know all the handholds & the places i can use my feet to boost off, the points where angular momentum can be redirected, like a swimmer turning under water & kicking off the end wall of the pool.
on the bridge, i watch Grandpa & Yuri on 1 of the screens as they go thru their preflight protocol, checking the manuals & all the readings in the landing capsule. soon Sara is there & she starts calling out data to them, checking numbers; she’s the astronaut. Ku, it turns out, is a meteorologist, here to set up some kind of net of minisatellites that will provide more accurate predictions, especially for places where global warming is driving extreme weather events.
Ku, therefore, just hangs back like me & watches.
minutes pass. finally, every safety check has been done, every relevant piece of data has been recorded.
“decoupling,” says Grandpa. he hits a switch on the board in front of him & i wait for the module to detach, to float away from us for a while before it’s at a safe distance to fire its thrusters.
but nothing happens.
1 second.
2.
3.
4.
5.
still nothing. it’s like an inverse countdown with no outcome, no climax.
Sara scoots over to the mic. “Soyuz, what’s the problem?” she says.
“we don’t know,” comes Yuri’s voice. “we are attempting to unlock from peripheral assembly but it is not working.”
Sara starts tapping keyboards, checking different screens.
“servos seem ok,” she says. “power fine. have u tried pressing it again?”
“what do u think?” says Yuri.
“ok ok…,” says Sara. “hatch is still showing as locked. could be an electrical fault?”
“running diagnostics,” says Grandpa.
i push off from the table & move toward her. i pull down a screen she’s not using. “here,” i say. “there’s a camera on the y-axis truss. on the robot arm, for guiding it? if there’s a problem with the latches on the hatch, it might show it.”
Sara looks at me for a moment. “good idea,” she says.
i bring up the camera menu & then camera 241, which i know is the 1 mounted for monitoring of the remote-controlled arm. i tap in the code to take control of it, then tilt & pan—but it’s too close to the body of the space station; it doesn’t give an elevated enough view to c what’s going on with the docking port.
i indicate the screen on which Sara has been looking at the servo readouts. “u mind if i use that 1?” i say.
“go ahead,” she says, with a faint, only slightly ironic smile.
i pull it over to me & launch the subsystem that gives me access to the arm. i put my fingers on the multi-touch sensors & ease up the slider that turns it to manual. they had an accident once when the end of the arm damaged a shuttle that was docked to the station because they hadn’t thought to limit its range of motion. now it’s got a defined window of rotation in each axis, but u still have to be careful with it.
gently, i lift the first joint of the arm up & away from the wall of the space station. the camera is on the next joint, so i turn that 1 next, up & sideways. at the same time i keep glancing over to the other screen & adjusting the camera angle.
1 more twist of the arm…
zoom & tilt on the camera…
…&
there it is, the end of the station’s crosspiece, the module attached to it by the standard androgynous assembly, the ring of hooks & latches.
i zoom.
“there,” i say.
Sara comes & looks.
“c the problem?”
“yeah.”
the latches have all popped up with the exception of 2, on the port side. they are still clinging to the Soyuz, preventing it from leaving.
Sara clicks the intercom. “we have a visual on the hatch exterior,” she says. “the latches are not releasing properly.”
“all of them?” says Yuri.
“no, just 2 that we can c. maybe try locking it again? & then unlocking?”
on 1 of the screens i c Grandpa hit a button. nothing happens.
“nothing,” he confirms.
“dammit,” says Sara. she turns & takes another mic, which is connected to Nevada. she presses CALL. “hey,” she says. “give me engineering.”
“this is Singh,” says a familiar voice. “we’re watching. u’ve got a problem with the latches?”
“yes,” says Sara. “is there a flight rule on this situation?”
“we’ll check the database,” says Singh.
silence.
more silence.
outside, stars wheel past. the aurora flickers like fire on the earth.
“the latches can be manually opened,” says Singh eventually.
“good, ok,” says Sara. “where’s the control?”
“u’re not understanding me,” says Singh. “manually. it requires an EVA.”
Sara’s mouth opens, & then shuts. “i can’t do that on my own,” she says.
“no & it would be against protocol anyway,” says Singh. “maybe Freeman can leave the module & help u, then return to…,” he tails off. “no. as soon as the latches are opened, the module will detach.”
“& Yuri will be on his own,” i say.
“hmm,” says Singh. “& it takes 2 pilots to fly that thing.”
“what’s happening?” says Grandpa over the intercom.
Sara grabs it. “somebody has to EVA. to unlock it. but if 1 of u does it, u’ll end up stuck here while the other 1 leaves.”
“we can’t do that,” says Grandpa. “neither of us can pilot this alone.”
“we know,” says Sara. “i’m sorry. it looks like u’re stuck here.”
