Over the Darkened Landscape

by Derryl Murphy

  She frowned. “Sure, Allen. Mom’s in the room now as well.”

  “Good. I’ll talk to her for a moment as well.”

  “Oh-kay.” She dragged out the word. “Glad NASA’s paying the tolls on this one.” She pressed the button on the handset, held the phone above her belly. “Go ahead, hon.”

  A few more deep breaths, now sounding somewhat hoarse over the speaker. “Worm? This is your daddy. I know you haven’t heard my voice for a few weeks. That’s because I’ve been working far away from home, helping build the new space station. Whatever you turn out to be, Worm, boy or girl, I want you to know in advance that your daddy is very proud of you. I know that whatever you choose to do, you will do it very well and with much joy.” He took some more breaths. “I love you very much. Please remember that.”

  “Allen?” Jackie sat staring at the phone. “What the hell?”

  “Just a second, love. Denise?”

  “I’m here, Allen.”

  “You’ll know what to do. I love your daughter more than life itself, you know.”

  Jackie’s mother smiled slightly. “I never doubted it for a second, Allen. You were always more than I could have asked for.”

  “Thanks.” He laughed. “You too, sometimes. Take care, Denise.”

  Jackie switched off the speakerphone. “What the hell is happening, Allen? Are they keeping you up there for overtime? Because if they are, I’m going to phone Morris myself and let him know what I think about that. They promised you’d be down in time for the delivery.”

  “No overtime, love. But . . .” His voice caught, and except for the echoing breathing, he was silent.

  “But what? Allen, honey, you’re scaring me.” Jackie could feel tears coming to her eyes. “Please don’t do this. Just tell me what’s happening. Please.”

  “All right.” She heard him sniff loudly. “Shit. Wish they knew of some way to wipe your nose inside a helmet.”

  “In a helmet? Why are you in your suit, Allen? Shouldn’t you be talking to me from the living module or the shuttle?” She bit her lower lip and grabbed the blanket with her free hand, twirling it into a tight knot around her fingers. Her mother got up from the chair, came and sat on the side of the bed, put her hand on Jackie’s knee.

  “There’s been an accident, love. Davey’s been killed.”

  “Oh my God,” said Jackie. “Poor Andrea. Oh God. I have to call her.” She reached over to the night table and grabbed a tissue, dabbed at her eyes and then her nose.

  “I was there too, Jack. With him at the time.”

  “Jesus, Allen! What happened? Were you hurt?”

  “No trauma to the suit, if that’s what you mean. But there were other problems.”

  “Don’t do this to me, Allen! Stop fucking around and tell me what has happened to you!”

  “I’m sorry, love.” More breathing. “I wasn’t tethered at the time, Jack. I had my MMU on, so that I could maneuver between where Davey was working and another spot on the solar array we were trying to fix. I was down beside Davey when something happened to the MMU—they figure it was hit by a loose screw that’s probably been in orbit for a few decades.”

  Jackie closed her eyes, tried to remember what Allen had told her about his suit. Her eyes snapped open. “The MMU? The unit with the nitrogen gas you use for jetting around between sites, right?”

  “Right, love.”

  “Then what?”

  “Just before they patched me through to you, Wesley told me they figure the screw was doing something like a hundred thousand kilometers per hour. It blew right through the MMU. The releasing gas sent me spinning.” There was silence for a second. “I guess it was me that knocked Davey into the path of the laser. Don’t know how or why he kept his hand on the dead man’s switch.” His voice was quieter now, more distant.

  She took a deep breath. “Where are you?”

  “About seventy kilometers away from the station right now, maybe even more.”

  “Christ.” It was a whisper. Her mother reached out and took her free hand, eyes wide and fearful. “Please tell me they’re sending the shuttle to pick you up.”

  Allen was silent, only his gasping breaths coming through right now.

  “Damn it, Allen, tell me!”

  “They tried, Jack. But Mission Control stopped them before they could even close up the airlock and push away from the station. There isn’t enough fuel to safely pick me up. They’d lose the shuttle and everyone on board as well.”

  “As well.” Jackie repeated the words. A sob welled up from deep inside her, escaped before she could cut it off.

  “I’m sorry, love. I wasn’t sure where this conversation was going to go once it came out, and there were some things I wanted to make sure I did. For your benefit as well as for the baby.” More distant breaths. “Shit. Only so much time and so much to say, I don’t want it screwed up by crying the whole time, making so much noise we can’t hear each other.”

  Jackie closed her eyes for a moment, fought to regain control. She was an astronaut’s wife, damn it! Part of her had always been prepared for this.

  She tried to speak but her voice choked inside her throat. She coughed, then said, “I’m all right now.”

  “Good. I knew you could handle this. Wesley didn’t think this call was a good idea, but thankfully they called Morris. He cleared it right away. Man knows what’s important.”

  A thought came to Jackie, of her husband floating through space forever, lifeless body wrapped inside his tomb of a suit. She bit her lip. “What’s the view right now?” she asked. She knew her husband could rave for hours about all that he saw when he was in orbit.

  “Great.” Allen laughed. “A little unsettling, to tell you the truth. But still great. Just wish it was constant.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m spinning crazier than a top, love. It’s worse than the first time I jumped from a plane, when I forgot to arch my back. Earth-space-Earth-space-Earth-space, on and on. At least I had a chute to straighten me out back then.”

  She smiled. “I remember that jump. I was so pissed off with you when you came home with that sprained ankle.”

  A small laugh. “Only time in my life I’ve regretted being served my meals in bed.”

  The doorbell rang. Denise got up to offer a hand, but Jackie shook her head vigorously, waving her towards the front door instead. “There’s someone at the door, Allen.” She pressed the heel of her free hand to her left eye, smeared at the tears that were starting to flow there, repeated the procedure on her other eye.

  “Should be Morris and Sandra, Jack. He told me they were going to be heading right over. Just make sure you check before opening the door, confirm that it isn’t media. They shouldn’t know about this yet, but you can never be too sure.”

  Denise headed downstairs, Jackie following slowly behind her. At the foot of the stairs she paused, watched as her mother let the former astronaut and his wife into the front entry. “It’s them, Allen,” she whispered. “But I’m not sure I want company right now.”

  “Your mom will know what to do, love, don’t worry. Just go settle into your comfy chair.”

  Sandra came over and gave Jackie a quick hard hug, looked her in the eyes with her own agonized expression, then turned and followed Denise into the kitchen. Already Jackie could smell the coffee brewing. She turned and went into the den, eased herself into the comfy chair.

  “You know where the key for the safe deposit box is?” said Allen.

  Jackie held her breath a moment, willing herself to be strong for him. “On the rack by the back door.”

  “Yeah. There’s a video for Worm in the box, something I made a few days before launch. My will and a note for you as well.”

  He waited for her to answer, breathing still sounding louder and more ragged than his voice. When she didn’t talk, he continued.

  “Insurance and the pension should cover things nicely, and I suspect you can expect a decent payout from
NASA. Spend something on yourself, put a bunch away in a fund for Worm for education. I’ll trust you to know what’s right to do with it.”

  Jackie held the phone away for a second, blew her nose. “Damn right you’ll trust me, hon. I do the money stuff even when you’re home.”

  “Ha. Right you are.”

  They were both silent for a few seconds. Then, “Have I told you today that I love you?”

  Before she could fight it off, a sob jumped from deep inside her. She pulled the phone away from her ear, biting hard on her quivering lower lip and squeezing her eyes against the new flow of tears. No matter how hard the day, no matter the time, Allen always found time to say that to her every day they were together. Even if it slipped his mind until the literal last minute, he would wake her up at a minute to midnight if he had to, just to tell her that.

  But then she found a smile, small and sad, but still a smile. “Trust you to wake me up in the middle of the night to let me know. Couldn’t remember at a decent hour, could you?”

  They both laughed, Jackie’s laughs quickly turning into a coughing fit to cover up the rising swell of sobs.

  “Remember all our special walks in the woods, okay? And dinner at Packrat’s.”

  She smiled. “Always.”

  His breathing was more ragged now. “Seeing the Perseids together on our third date, and me lying in bed crying from laughing so hard when I read you things that you always managed to put up with, even when you hated them.” His voice caught. “Never forget.”

  “Never,” she whispered. She closed her eyes and imagined she could smell him right now, his sweat and odor comforting her.

  “I have to go now, love.”

  Her eyes flew open. “Now?” Jackie heard the hint of a wail in her voice. “Why now? You phone to tell me you’re about to die, and then you hang up on me before I can get my head around the news!” The tears pouring down her cheeks were ignored now.

  “Jack, I’m not heading off into some obscure orbit. The MMU kicked me down, straight into the gravity well.”

  “Down.” Her heart stopped.

  “Down. Guess you’d hear it from Morris or worse, on the news. I’ll be going out like a comet, love.”

  “You’ll burn.” This much she remembered.

  “I won’t feel it. Fat chance I’m going to wait around for my face to catch fire. Just don’t tell Worm, ‘kay? Let the little gaffer know that I went out in a blaze of glory, not in a blast of self-administered explosive decompression.”

  More sobs. “Okay. It’ll . . . it’ll be our secret.”

  “Right.” Breathing, sounding heavy and frightened, some background noises. “Jack?”

  She caught her own breath, held it for a moment until she felt some semblance of strength return. “Have I told you today that I love you?”

  Silence. Her voice caught in her throat and she was about to scream his name, but then he finally answered her. “Today and every day, love. Take good care of Worm.”

  There was a click, and seconds later a dial tone.

  The baby started to kick again. Jackie sat on the comfy chair, legs curled to the side, one hand on her belly and the other still holding the phone, eyes closed. The sobs started when her mother came into the room and put a hand on her shoulder.

  The Cats of Bethlem

  England, 1925

  Wells stood just outside the entrance to the hospital. He was feeling nervous, and perhaps the most obvious sign of that anxiety was his constant reaching up to adjust his tie. With him were two burly interns, men who looked to be very close descendants of their Darwinian forebears. They had met him as he approached and one of the interns had indicated they would wait there until the rest of his party arrived.

  Soon, two cars pulled up alongside the curb below. Out of the first stepped two more fierce-looking men, these in the employ of His Majesty’s government. The driver of the second car stepped out—also a large man, Wells noted—and then opened the rear door of the same car.

  The former Prime Minister, J. Ramsey MacDonald, climbed out, looking very grim and serious. Both men from the first car approached him, taking up station on either side of the man who until last November had been leader of the country.

  If the ex-Prime Minister looked grim, these men looked positively morbid. Perhaps it was the thought of what could go wrong on this visit, mused Wells, the thought of this great man even daring to consider entering such a facility.

  MacDonald mounted the stairs, and a smile briefly crossed his countenance as he reached out a hand to Wells, before his face disappeared into the pits of a glower again.

  “H.G. Good to see you again.”

  Wells nodded his head and allowed himself a small smile as well. “And you, James. I trust everything is going well?”

  “Ha!” exploded the great man. “Allow me to remind you of the basics of the parliamentary system some time, my friend, even if you don’t choose to take another run at a seat. I no longer run things, but we’re working on that. And in the meantime, nothing but trouble with that infernal Baldwin and his cohorts!”

  Wells laughed politely, and then the two men turned to enter the hospital. The two beefy interns led the way, there to clear any unwanted madmen out of their path. The two security men walked slightly behind, on the watch for any danger, hopefully more imagined than real.

  The doctor Wells had met once before was at the door. He couldn’t remember the man’s name, but supposed it didn’t matter since they were not here for pleasantries.

  “Mr. MacDonald. Mr. Wells. Welcome to Bethlem. How do you gentlemen do today?” he asked.

  The doctor was middle-aged, developing a fair paunch around the torso, and losing hair on top, which he tried to cover by combing hair from one side over to the other. Large white flakes hung from various places on his scalp. His nose was red, with a street map of many telltale broken capillaries.

  Both men responded with how-do-you-do’s of their own, and then the doctor turned to lead them beyond the lobby and to the ward where their destination lay. As he walked he pulled a large key ring from his belt and fumbled about until he found what was obviously the right key. A few steps later they were at the first locked doors.

  “How is Wain today, Doctor?” asked MacDonald.

  The doctor cast a glance back before attempting to insert the key in the lock. Over the doctor’s shoulder Wells could see almost a dozen patients had gathered at the sound of the keys and were standing in a semi-circle around the doors, silently watching the latch.

  “The same as usual, sir,” replied the doctor. He twisted the key that he had finally managed to get into the lock, and then pushed the doors open. Both interns rushed ahead to herd the patients back and away, barking “Get back!” in sharp tones that echoed up and down the halls, but none seemed to be interested in escaping; they all moved back silently, shuffling feet and hanging heads as they went.

  The doctor closed the doors behind them and inserted the key once more, locking them in. Then he stepped around the patients and led the way again.

  As they walked, Wells let his eyes rove about, keenly taking in details. There were several closed sets of doors to the left, and what appeared to be a common area not too far ahead. To their right as they walked was another set of double doors, from behind which came moans, screams and other wretched noises often popularly associated with the mad. He briefly paused to look in through the wire and glass, only to jump back startled as a patient flung himself against the door, causing it to shake. A trail of spittle was left on the glass as the madman slowly sank to the floor, dazed from the impact or perhaps drugged with something that was only now taking effect.

  Behind him one of the two guards MacDonald had brought along chuckled, and the former Prime Minister said, “Good job, Wells. Nothing like giving them a reason to get all worked up.” Face flushed, Wells turned and rejoined the entourage, trying his best to ignore the sounds still emanating from behind those doors.

  The doctor
still walked in front, consulting with one of the large interns and waving off requests from other staff members that tried to approach the party. The quietly insane that inhabited this ward lined the walls, watching their unlikely, well-dressed visitors with a sort of unattached, vacant curiosity, as if they were of interest only because they were there, and that would all change as soon as they were out of sight. Movement and colour in an otherwise dormant, static world.

  “Doesn’t say much for your hopes for a utopian society, now, does it, Wells?” commented MacDonald.

  Wells looked at him with a sidelong glance, trying to judge if he was being put-upon or if the man was serious. Wells himself had run twice for the Labour Party; the second time MacDonald had formed a minority government, although Wells himself had been unsuccessful both times. As well, they had both been members of the Fabian Society, and yet he still had trouble figuring the man out. But for now he decided now that this was no joke, that MacDonald was indeed feeling very grim about their surroundings.

  “I still think it is possible,” replied Wells. “We should start with sterilizing all these poor creatures and those who have a history of creating them. Stop the bloodlines before they take over the world.” He swept his arm about, taking in all of so-called modern psychiatry in one gesture. “And then, I think that sooner than you might think we will be seeing some wondrous scientific and humanitarian achievements that should make this a thing of the dark ages.” At this the doctor grunted, but made no further comment. Wells chose not to pursue it.

  MacDonald snorted. “Sooner than I might think could still be a thousand years away, Wells. Too many stains, too many stains.” He picked up his pace, obviously through with the conversation for now. The rest of the party sped up in kind.

  They stopped outside a room with a lock on the door. An intern moved to unlock it but the doctor held up his hand. “This is where Wain spends his days and nights, gentlemen. The lock is by his request, not ours. He wanted one that he could lock himself, but that is of course against hospital policy.