A History of What Comes Next

by Sylvain Neuvel

  She can’t hear or she won’t listen. She’s climbing over the guardrail.

  —Catch me before I fall!

  She’s crazy. She’s across the rail now, leaning over water. I need to run faster.

  —Stop it, Billie! You’ll kill yourself!

  —Not if you catch me first!

  No! She let go of one hand. She’s dangling sideways, arms spread like an angel. She’s gonna fucking kill herself.

  I’m almost there. Her hand is slipping, or she’s letting it slip. Her fingers are stretching. I won’t make it in time. I—

  —FOR FUCK’S SAKE, BILLIE! ARE YOU CRAZY?

  I caught her, barely. She’s still leaning back but I’ve got her arm. I’ve got her.

  —I knew you’d catch me.

  —Billie, don’t you ever pull a prank l—

  —It’s okay, Nina.

  —No it’s not. You—

  —Shhhh. You’re hurting my wrist now.

  She’s climbing back over. Her wrist’s all red. I squeezed it with all I had.

  —You’re insane, you know that?

  —Maybe. But I knew you’d catch me. And when you fall, I’ll be there to catch you. Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter, Nina. Give me your hand and I’ll catch you.

  —Billie, I—

  —I’ll catch you. I swear. All you have to do is give me your hand. Now say you believe me.

  I’m not going to cry.

  —I want to.

  I want to believe her. I want it so bad I feel my heart will explode, but I won’t cry. It’s bad enough I’m barefoot on a bridge at 4:00 A.M., I won’t cry on top o—

  —Stop crying, Nina. We look like a couple of fools already.

  —I hate you.

  —I know. Now let’s go home and get some sleep before you leave.

  —I’ll be back in a month. If you change your mind, I’ll—

  —I won’t change my mind. Now you go to this place, this Kapustin Yar, and you find yourself.

  —There’s nothing there to find.

  —Then we’ll keep looking together. Either way I’m not going anywhere. I’m here, Nina. I’m here now and I’ll be here when you get back.

  35

  Pink Champagne

  The smell of rocket fuel’s so strong it scratches at your throat. Somehow I feel better out here than I did at home. It might be the booze. Maybe I just really like things bleak and lifeless. Kapustin Yar is three hundred and sixty degrees of nothing, an endless sea of dead grass and dirt roads. Our little island is made of steel and concrete. There’s nothing fragile here. We can’t hurt anyone but ourselves.

  —Hands on your desk, Sergei.

  —One kiss. Then I swear I will get back to work.

  Korolev is a child. He’s a charming, intelligent child, but he has all the maturity of a five-year-old.

  —No! You have a rocket to launch, Mr. Chief Designer. Remember? Also, you look like a goldfish when you do that.

  —It will work! We reinforced the nose cone so it does not overheat. You gave us the idea to fix the guidance system. How do you know about accelerometers, anyway?

  I usually make sure my ideas come through other people, but there aren’t any right now. Also, that takes time and we don’t have much of that either. I just need a vague excuse for not being a complete idiot.

  —I told you, my father liked to tinker. I spent hours watching him. And we didn’t fix anything, we just reduced the vibrations so the thing could work. It might not. The accelerometer could be bad to begin with.

  —It did just fine in the horizontal test. It will work! Trust me! There is no point in worrying about it now.

  I don’t trust him. Well, I do. I just don’t trust the other eleven million people involved in building that rocket. He’s right about one thing, though. There isn’t much more we can do from here.

  —I hope it works. I don’t think you can afford many more of these failed launches.

  —Have dinner with me tonight.

  —I’m serious, Sergei! You need to be more careful.

  —Careful how? My wife is not going to divorce me twice.

  —Not about me, you nitwit. You speak of space rockets in front of everyone, orbiting satellites—

  —I thought that is what we were doing. You said yourself—

  —I know what I said, but Stalin wants missiles. You need to give him that first or you’ll get a visit from Beria and the secret police.

  —They will get their missiles. The R-2 will work. Then we will build the R-3.

  —The R-2 is too small, and even if you built the R-3, it still won’t cross the Atlantic. You know that’s the only thing Stalin is interested in.

  —I will be fine.

  —You keep saying that, but you know how Beria thinks. If you’re not adding to the might of the Soviet empire, then you must be trying to sabotage it. You of all people should know what they’re capable of.

  He thinks he might lose his job, but Beria’s a madman. Korolev won’t survive another stint in the gulag. He definitely won’t survive a firing squad.

  —You are worried about me.

  —I’m worried about the program.

  —… Nah! You are worried about me.

  Fine. I like him. I keep telling myself it’s the work, but there’s something endearing about Korolev. He’s like a puppy. He also builds rockets for a living. Life around him—I don’t know—I don’t hate myself as much when I’m with him.

  —You keep telling yourself that.

  —I will. So? Dinner?

  —Just dinner.

  —Cross my heart. We will talk shop. I will tell you about that paper from Tikhonravov. He has some fascinating ideas.

  Oh, good. He’s read it. “On the Possibility of Achieving First Cosmic Velocity and Creating an Artificial Satellite with the Aid of a Multi-Stage Missile Using the Current Level of Technology.” Mouthful. Mother said I had to publish, and Tikhonravov is my voice in all this while I play Nina the interpreter. He works in another bureau, NII-4. I thought it best to keep some distance. I’m paying him, of course, but he is brilliant. His next paper is called “Flight to the Moon.” I don’t think anyone here will pay attention, but the Americans will think that’s what the Soviets are working on. Hopefully.

  —Okay. Dinner. But on one condition.

  —There I was hoping my mere presence might be enough.

  —Send the German scientists back home. You’re not using their ideas anyway. You’re paying them to play cards all day.

  —End of the year. I will send them all home. I promise. Seven o’clock in the office?

  —Seven thirty. And I’m not sleeping with you.

  —I said cross my heart! Why not, by the way?

  —You are still a married man, Mr. Korolev. And I’m a woman of virtue, not some able Grable you can just—

  —Forget I asked. I will see you tonight. I want to check on the dogs before I leave.

  —Poor dogs. I still hate you for that, by the way.

  —I know.

  —Good. Just making sure.

  36

  How High the Moon

  —I can’t believe Korolev proposed. What’s wrong with men? Did he really think I’d say yes? Ooooh, we fixed the guidance system. Yes, Glavny Konstruktor. I’d love to marry you!

  Here, Tsygan. Let’s get you out of that cage.

  Mother, I have something to show you!

  —…

  Three successful launches in a row. I’ll admit, it was exciting. Saber-some-champagne exciting, not propose-out-of-the-blue. What kind of person does that?

  —Next thing you know he’ll want me to cook his meals, wash his clothes. Fat chance, dog killer. Right, Tsygan? It’s okay. The bad man is gone now. You can look around. This is your new home.

  Mother, I’m back! Where are you?

  —…

  It’s good to be home. I’m glad I went, though. Mother was right. I must be as crazy as Korolev, but being in the middle of nowhere sh
ooting dogs into the sky is as close to normal as I’ve felt since I came back from Germany.

  —Mo—

  —Mia?

  —Yes! I’m in the kitchen.

  —Who are you talking to? I can hear you blab—Is that a dog?

  —Very perceptive, Mother. This is Tsygan. Tsygan, meet Sarah, your … grandmother.

  —I think not.

  —Mother, you won’t believe what Korolev did in—

  —Not now, Mia. I think you better sit down.

  —What is it? No, not the shoes, Tsygan.

  —Sit, Mia.

  —You’re making me nervous now. Just tell me!

  —Your girlfriend has been arrested.

  My heart stopped. Too much to unpack here.

  —Who?

  I didn’t know what else to say. I just need a second to get myself back together.

  —Billie. They arrested her.

  —For what? What did she do?

  —You know why, Mia. I do not think you are the only one she was close to.

  Shit. This is bad. This country wasn’t made for people like her. I just need to know that she’s fine. I need her to be fine.

  —Wha-what did they do to her? Where is she?

  —In a psychiatric clinic. Her mother put her there.

  No, not this. Anything but this. Billie won’t survive in a cage. Is this my fault? Did someone see us? I hate myself for making this about me, but I can’t handle this being my fault. I’ve hurt her enough already.

  —How long?

  —A day or two after you left. She’s been there a whole month.

  37

  Moanin’ at Midnight

  My daughter would not take no for an answer. The clinic is quite small. Hopefully everyone is sound asleep and we can sneak in and out. Mia is angry. She does not understand. Billie’s mother was smart to have her committed. She can either be mentally ill or a decadent fascist conspiring against the state. Neither are pleasant but she would not survive the latter. She would be in the gulag already if she were a man. Homosexuality is a crime for them. Women get arrested for plotting against the government, or they are “reeducated.”

  —Through here, Mia. This window is open.

  Part of me is glad we came. What goes on in these places is inhuman. I have heard of ice-pick lobotomies performed in the US. Place a sharp pointy object, like an ice pick, underneath the eyelid and drive the point through the bone and into the brain with a small hammer. This is a more “gentle” clinic. They will not punch holes in Billie’s brain, but she will wish she were dead nonetheless. I wonder if her mother knows what they will do to her.

  —Mother! Are you coming?

  I am. I should not be, but I am. From the outside, we could only see light in one of the rooms up front. This must be where the nurse on duty is working. This corridor is empty. I hope the guards are not making their rounds.

  —Patient rooms are on the second floor, Mia.

  —I know.

  She is upset. I sympathize, but we should not be here. Do not draw attention to yourself. I told her not to come. I ordered her. It was foolish of me but I thought she might do what I asked. This is the second time Mia has disobeyed me, but it is the first time she has done it to my face. I suppose I should be glad it lasted this long, but nothing good can come from this escapade. They do not allow visitors during treatment. Even if they did, it would be bad for Mia to be seen with Billie. There is also a distinct possibility Mia will not get the reaction she wants. Either way, there is nothing we can do for that woman.

  —Here, Mother. She’s in here.

  The door is locked. They will not let them out of their room. I wish Mia would be satisfied seeing her through the window, but I know my daugh—Strike that. I never knew she could pick a lock. She is good.

  —Go, Mia. Talk to her so we can leave.

  —I’m not leaving without her.

  I do not remember ever being this stubborn. I must have been.

  —Mia! You have not thought this through. Just get inside and talk to her.

  —Stay here, Mother.

  I hope Mia gets some satisfaction out of this, a modicum of closure. I hope Billie is capable of having a conversation. Mia does not understand what goes on within these walls. There is no telling what kind of mental state Billie is in, what drugs she is on or what they are doing to her. I can only guess.

  [I don’t want you here! GET OUT, NINA!]

  This was a bad idea from the start.

  —Mia, you need to keep her quiet.

  —I just—

  [GET OUT!]

  —Listen to me carefully, Mia. You need to keep her quiet before the situation escalates. Do you understand what I am trying to tell you?

  —I know! I’m trying!

  She believes the old Billie will surface if she is able to calm down. I fear she might be out of reach.

  —Mia! They use psychotropic drugs to make subjects more suggestible. Billie could be having hallucinations. She might not even know if this is real or not.

  She might have spent the last month vomiting all day. They give patients nausea-inducing drugs and make them watch homoerotic pictures while they lie in their vomit or feces. She would have received shock therapy, electric current applied to her hands or genitalia while being shown photos of naked women. Masturbatory reconditioning. These “treatments” may not change anyone’s sexual preferences in the end, but they will do a number on their mind. Mia should know that.

  [GET OUT! GET OUT! HEEEELP! SOMEONE GET HER OUT OF HERE!]

  —Stop it Billie, please!

  Too late. I hear footsteps in the stairwell. A guard. Medium build, about my height. Baton in hand, no firearm. I see one exit behind me, one behind him. He is coming this way.

  [What’s going on here?]

  —Good evening, sir. My daughter and I are visiting our cousin.

  [There are no visitors. How did you get in here?]

  It was worth trying but we broke in in the middle of the night. It will take more than a story.

  —We were just leaving. Take this envelope, sir—take it—and let us agree that we were never here.

  I had a feeling we might need to bribe our way in or out. It is the one constant in this country now. People are underpaid if they are paid at all. He saw what is in the envelope. If he were going to do anything, he would have done it by now. He will pretend to think about it, either to convince me I was lucky he took my money, or to convince himself he has some moral character left. Now. He just slid the envelope inside his shirt pocket.

  [I SAID GET OUT!]

  Shhhh! The guard is entering the room. I know why. If she keeps screaming and someone else comes … He does not need the complication any more than we do. He could lose his job, or the money he took from me.

  [You ladies need to go now. And you, will you shut up already?!]

  Mia is just standing there. She is waiting for a happy ending but none is forthcoming.

  [HEEEEELP!]

  [I told you to shut. Your. Mouth!]

  He put his baton on Billie’s throat. She cannot protect herself. Her arms and legs are tied to the bed. I do not think Mia will—

  —MIA, NO!

  Open-hand strike to the throat. I did not see it coming. Neither did he. This is what I was afraid of. This is why I came. The guard is on the floor clawing for air. She must have crushed his trachea. I could open up his throat before he asphyxiates, but the money will not be enough. He will talk. Will Billie?

  Mia is still waiting for the person she knows and loves. That person is likely gone, and Mia just killed someone right in front of her.

  —MOTHER, BEHIND YOU!

  AAHGHH! I think my arm is broken. Another guard. I did not hear him approach over his colleague’s gargling. Assess, Sarah. His baton is in my right hand. I grabbed it without thinking. Push him against the wall and strike with the forehead … I broke his nose. He will focus on that while I snap his collarbone.

  There is a nurse
standing atop the stairs. She was looking at me. She froze, but fight-or-flee will kick in soon. Here it is. Flee. I must catch her before she calls for help and this gets out of control.

  Faster. I should land midway through the stair leg if I jump over the rail. Ugh. I twisted an ankle but I am three feet behind her. Close enough to lunge forward.

  She hit the concrete floor hard. I have her in a choke hold.

  —Do not resist, ma’am, you will only make it worse.

  We lie a few inches from the doorway, but no one can see us. If the noise did not alert anyone, this should be the end of it.

  I hope Mia has Billie under control. I will find out when this nurse stops moving. Brain hypoxia will begin five minutes after the blood flow is stopped, but I am exerting over a hundred pounds of pressure on her neck. If her vertebrae are not severely damaged, enough blood vessels will rupture when crushed against her spine. Another thirty seconds should suffice.

  I must remember to wipe down anything we touched. The window frame, the door handles. The police do not have our prints, but Mia and Billie were close. They were in youth group together. Zero degrees of separation. It will not take a genius to—

  —Let’s go, Mother.

  What is Mia doing here?

  —Mia, you should be upstairs. Wipe our prints. Keep Billie quiet.

  —We need to go.

  I do not have the courage to tell her what needs to be done. We cannot leave a witness anymore, not after we killed three people. Mia will never forgive me, but that is something I must learn to live with. Do not draw attention to yourself. I broke the rule and I will pay the price. I will send Mia home and take care of Billie myself. I only wish they could say goodbye.

  —Mia, we cannot leave just yet. There is—

  —Mother! It’s done. Let’s go.

  She knew. That look on her face. It is not resilience, or the knowledge that it had to be done. She is … angry. Is she angry at me? Perhaps Billie did not give her the recognition she wanted. Mia loved and she was not loved back. She felt vulnerable. That is not what we do best. It could be something else entirely, but it does not matter anymore. The nurse is dead. It is time for us to leave.

  38