Deb
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Hi Mom,
I was really glad to get your message. I know you have a lot of questions, and I know you’re worried, but really, it’ll be okay.
First off, the Bartolomé disintegrated because of a crack in the engines, not because of a portal malfunction. It was a terrible thing, but they’ve taken every possible precaution to keep that from happening again.
And second, you’re totally right: the first bunch of ships to Kepler carried everyone in hibernation pods. Everything was automated, and all that worked just fine. They don’t need live crews working these ships...and that’s a big part of why my crew is traveling this way. They don’t know how hyperspace affects people who are awake and working onboard these ships. Eventually they will need live crews, so they need our data. So yes, I’m going to be a guinea pig. Which is why my paycheck is so ridiculous!
Third, this has nothing to do with Mark and Sofia. That was five years ago, and I’ve moved on. This is me still moving on.
And finally, I won’t be gone for ten years. My contract calls for a year out, a year working on-site, and a year back, probably in a hibernation pod unless they need more data. So it’s just three years; I’ll be home before you know it. Heck, I’ll be back before I know it; they’re saying a year in hyperspace will feel like just three or four months, but again, that’s something they’re still gathering data on.
So: it’ll be fine. Give that niece of mine extra kisses and hugs for me when you see her, okay? And I guess if you can spare ‘em, one or two for her daddy and Papa, too.
Love,
Deb
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Hi Mom,
We are underway! The jump to hyperspace went off without a hitch yesterday morning. And in even better news, I was able to finally keep some food down this afternoon.
We all went through hours and hours of hyperspace simulation, but honestly the sims were nothing like the real thing. It’s so...weird. It’s not just being mostly weightless—I got used to that on the shuttle ride over. It’s...everything’s just off. It’s like I don’t know where my own body is anymore, and I keep fumbling around. I have no idea what time it is; if we didn’t have clocks none of us would have a clue. I’m dizzy and nauseated. It feels less like motion sickness and more like being hooked up to a mild electric current. Our medical team swears all that will get better after a few days, and I hope so; meanwhile, they’re going through just as many airsick bags as we are.
We have windows on the observation deck so we can see out into hyperspace. And in its own way, it’s the weirdest part of the whole thing. At first you think it’s this expanse of blackness, just like regular space, only you can’t see any stars. But then the longer you stare out into it...you start to realize you don’t know what color it really is. It’s a color, all right, but not something any human being ever evolved to perceive. One guy, a medical researcher named Vince, gave himself a full-on panic attack staring out at it. Doctor’s orders? Don’t look out the windows more than five minutes. And I’m just fine with that.
Love,
Deb
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Hi Mom,
Merry Christmas! I’m picturing you all at the table eating goose and Aunt Ximena’s tamales. Thanks to something Dr. Cedar cooked up, we’re all over being hyperspace-sick and had turkey and ham for dinner. It really wasn’t half bad, although I’m pretty sure it was all soy (I spent a lot of time outgassing in the head afterward).
We had a holiday exchange; the stowage limits were pretty strict, but they told us to bring something light and fun. Team building! So I wrapped a couple of bars of gourmet chocolate in snowflake hologram paper, and I got a pair of little bottles of Grand Marnier from Vince, he of the window panic attack I mentioned.
Mark loved Grand Marnier. The last time I’d had any was at his wake. Funny how the taste and smell of something can bring so many memories flooding back, isn’t it? I couldn’t sleep after the party, and I ended up in the hibernation pod racks staring down at the face of this little colonist girl who looks so much like Sofia. I just started sobbing.
Vince found me back there and talked to me a while. Turns out he’s from Ohio; his folks have a rice farm. He lost his wife in the Lake Shore Bullet Train crash seven years ago; she was pregnant with their first child. He misses her so much, and it’s obvious he still loves her more than anything. I feel for the guy. It was good talking to him, though.
Probably most of the crewmembers have their own heartaches. All of us live long enough, we lose someone we don’t want to live without, but we have to keep going anyhow.
Love to all of you. Make sure you’re hugging my niece! Can’t get too many hugs at her age.
Deb
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Hay Ma!
Hhaspy New Yaer! Hope ur having a gret time! Engneering made a still and whooooa thts some stron stuff!
Vinse sez he cn seee ghosts out th wijndows. Hes such a bobo!
Looooovvvvvvveeee
DEB!
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Hi Mom,
I’m really sorry for the drunk message I sent. I haven’t been that hammered in my life. Not as hung over as I expected; Dr. Cedar was handing out a remedy last night and it seems to have worked. But the dizziness is worse than ever, so I’m staying strapped in my bunk for a while.
I wanted to come clean with you about something. When I told you that I wasn’t doing this because of Mark and Sofia? That was a pathetic and obvious lie. I kept hoping that if I told it to myself enough times, it would become true.
Have you ever been so sad and missed someone so badly that you thought your heart surely would stop? And yet, it never does? I feel hollow inside, and angry at God for taking them away from me. With all the medical advances we have, why do people still die from the flu? And I brought it home to them, God damn it. In my nightmares I see them in the ICU. Especially Sofia. Watching her struggle to breathe like that, fight and suffer and die anyhow...Jesus, that tore me up in a way I’ll never get over. I know it about killed you and Papa too.
The first year I thought, okay, I’m mourning, I’ll get over it. But I never did. If I see something that makes me smile, I’ll turn to tell Mark about it...and of course he’s not there. I’ll do that three, four times a day. I’ll walk down the street and hear a baby laugh and I’ll look for Sofia...and suddenly in my mind I’m watching her die all over again.
And I still love Mark. I’ve tried dating, I really have. I want my family back, I want to try for another baby, but...I just can’t make it work. I can’t bring myself to fake it for someone I don’t care about. As bad as I still want to be a mother, I just can’t get past wanting Mark, and there’s no way I can ever have him again.
A few months ago, I realized that the whole wide beautiful world is full of constant reminders of him and Sofia, and the ten thousandth time waking up and realizing they’re gone doesn’t hurt any less than the first and second.
Solution? Get off the world.
So now I’m somewhere far beyond the solar system traveling 20 million miles per second...and there are still sleeping beauties and tiny bottles of Grand Marnier out here.
But it’s a whole new year, and something has to change.
Love,
Deb
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Dear Mom,
We hit something. Nobody knows what or how. The whole ship rattled around like a carnival ride and I got slammed into a bulkhead. I’m fine but don’t know how long I was unconscious. It looks like all the auxiliary power went out for a while. But we’re still in hyperspace, and all the hibernation pods seem fine, and the nav computer looks okay, but...something’s not right with the clocks. We have two atomic clocks onboard, and they should be synched perfectly but they’re off by months. There should be no way that could ever happen. Nobody knows what it
means. On past flights, they found some discrepancies in atomic clocks kept in different parts of the ships, but we’re talking milliseconds there.
The other thing is, I’m getting an error every time I try to access my sent messages, so I have no idea if the system is transmitting properly or not. Another thing we have to troubleshoot. My head really hurts.
More later; Vince is having another panic attack I think. He is screaming complete nonsense. I better go see if I can help.
Love,
Deb
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Dear Mom,
Vince nearly killed himself; he may still die. Dr. Cedar sedated him and we locked him in an observation room. But he woke up screaming and gouged his own eyes out with his fingers and started tearing his face off. He did a lot of damage to himself before they were able to sedate him again. He’s tied down now, his face covered in blood-soaked bandages.
He’s such a sweet guy. It’s so terrible what’s happened to him, but it’s especially hard on his wife Rufina. She told me she’s expecting their first baby.
More later.
Love,
Deb
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Dear Mom,
I found Dr. Cedar dead in the hall outside sickbay. I can’t get her face out of her mind. She looked like she’d been dead a month; she was all dried out and her lips were pulled back from her teeth in a horrible grin. And her eyes—oh God. You would have bad dreams forever so I won’t tell you.
Her sister, the other Dr. Cedar, says it was an undiagnosed aneurysm and she was only dead a couple of hours. I don’t see how that’s possible, but she’s the doctor, right?
I’m really glad Mark is here and we’re patching things up, finally. I had so many nightmares that he and Sofia got sick and died, but she’s safe in her hibernation pod and he’s sitting just across the room. I really missed him, Mom.
But...I know I haven’t been with him, but...I can’t remember why we separated? Or when? I remember the nightmares. But it’s been years...or has it? And I feel like Sofia should be...older now? Or is that just the hyperspace affecting my memory?
I wish I could talk to you. I wish I could talk to Vince. I feel like he’d be able to help me sort out what’s in my head. At least he’s still alive; Dr. Cedar says she thinks he’ll pull through, but she has to keep him in a medical coma until we get to Kepler.
We’re all still getting error messages when we try to access our message archives; I tracked down a couple of lines of corrupted code yesterday, but fixing them didn’t help. If I didn’t know better I’d think the damn program had been rewritten.
I wish this headache would go away. Dr. Cedar’s meds make me too sleepy and stupid to work.
Love,
Deb
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Dear Mom,
Sorry it’s been so long since I wrote you. I had a bad reaction to the drugs we’ve been taking for hyperspace sickness and came down with meningitis, of all things, but Dr. Cedar is getting me squared away. Finally the headache is getting better. I’ve been confined to quarters because I can’t stand the lights, but Mark’s been the best. He’s been telling me all about how we’re going to give Sofia brothers and sisters soon. He’ll be a great dad. I can’t wait.
Love,
Deb
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Dear Mom,
Time has flown! But you know how busy it is when you’re expecting. I can’t believe how pregnant I am right now, and the babies are so active! Mark is one proud papa. He says I am the best mother he’s ever seen. Dr. Cedar thinks there are eight babies? They all get wound around each other and it’s hard to make them all out on the scanner.
Dr. Cedar and Rufina have been tremendous helps in setting up the nursery. They’ve spun their silk everywhere; the whole room is so soft and looks like Santa’s beard. Vince is in there, and most of the crew from Engineering. They will help the babies get big and strong.
I might not make it through the birth. But I’m okay with that, because my babies will live and that’s what’s important. It’s been so long since the Kthath had a good host species and I could die happy knowing I helped save them. But I don’t want you to worry—Mark and Dr. Cedar will do everything they can to make sure I can see them grow up. Mark says I’m tough and I can make it. I have a lot to teach the babies about humans and human behavior so they can fit into the Kepler colony. They’ll have to take the places of everyone in the nursery, and that’s hard, so I might be gone longer than I said I’d be. But it’ll be fine—once my babies have had babies, we’ll all head back to Earth.
See you soon,
Deb
The Still-Life Drama of Passing Cars
Co-written with Gary A. Braunbeck
“Mom!” shouted Jason from the back seat of the station wagon. “Lookit that woman! She’s crying!”
Tammy Horton caught a glimpse of the shiny black BMW as it sped past. The driver—a woman on the wrong side of forty and trying hard not to look it—was, indeed, crying. Her right hand shook terribly as she wiped at her puffy eyes with a wadded Kleenex, ruined mascara running in dark streaks down both sides of her face. Maybe she was coming from a funeral, or from the hospital where she’d been visiting a dying friend or relative. Or maybe she’d discovered that her husband was having an affair with a younger woman. It didn’t matter; the misery on her face and the tears in her eyes told everyone, for just a quick moment shared by passing Monday cars, that her entire world had just collapsed.
“Well?” Tammy asked her children.
Jason and Lynn looked at one another, then Lynn said: “Jason saw it first.”
The rules of this particular road game were very strict: If You See It First, You Have To Claim It.
“Okay, Jason…it’s yours.”
“Cool!”
A moment later he held a dark, wet, squirming mass in his arms.
“Ew!” said Lynn, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “It’s uglier than a squid!”
“Want to hold it?”
“Wanna bite me?”
“Knock that off right now, you two.” Tammy glanced at the woman in the BMW. There was no longer any soul-crippling sadness on her face; in fact, she looked as if she couldn’t quite remember why she’d been so upset.
Tammy changed lanes without bothering to signal. No one sounded their horn. Big surprise. She closed her eyes, knowing she wouldn’t crash. When she wasn’t able to see the road, she could smell water, and there was a nasty taste like old pond scum in her mouth.
The afternoon sun turned roads and the cars on it into gold.
Tammy’s car cast no shadow.
“Mommy!” shouted Lynn, bouncing up and down on the seat beside Jason. “That man over there’s hitting his little girl!”
A ‘76 Impala, its mismatched body panels seemingly held together by rust patches and primer, came up alongside them. The driver—a blond man in his late twenties who had the sunken eyes and hollow cheeks of an alcoholic—repeatedly punched the little girl sitting next to him. He reminded Tammy of her ex-husband. The little girl cowered against the passenger door, trying to ward off the blows by turning her face toward the window. The man was red-faced and screaming, and though Tammy couldn’t hear what he was saying, she could tell from the pain on the girl’s face that his words hurt much worse than his fist ever could. How many times had the girl been through this? Would she repeat the cycle of abuse with her own children?
The cold lump in the pit of her stomach told Tammy everything she needed to know about the girl’s fate. Whether they were victims or perpetrators, those ensnared in violence were destined to relive it. The cycle never ended, not for people like them.
“Your turn, Lynn.”
“Got it!”
Lynn turned her attention to a deformed infant on her lap. It made mewling sounds like a kitten. Its head looked like something that floats. Its mouth was a knotted
mass of hardened scar tissue. Its eyes were blinded by cataracts.
The man in the other car was staring at his fist in confusion, as if he’d never seen such a thing before; then he reached over and gently caressed the back of the little girl’s head. The little girl squirmed and shuddered, then—seeming to forget that Daddy had ever touched in any other way—giggled at something funny the man was saying and leaned her head against his arm.
“Good girl, Lynn,” said Tammy, moving the car over into the center lane without signaling.
She pushed in the cigarette lighter, reached down into her battered handbag, and worked a smoke out of what was left of her crushed pack of Virginia Slims. Bending down over her distended belly sent sharp pains through her bladder and lower back. Her ankles were swollen, and her skin was clammy and itchy. God, why did she have to be seven months pregnant in the middle of summer?
The lighter popped out. She lit up, taking a deep drag on the cigarette. The smoke tasted sharply foul, like mud and rusty cans. Dammit, every cell in her body craved nicotine; why couldn’t the cigs at least taste good, like they used to?
Jason leaned forward, his small face scrunched in a worried frown. “Daddy’ll be all mad again. He said—” Tammy coughed as she glanced back at her son. He’d always looked too much like Jake, his father. She forced down her irritation, making herself instead smile. “I love you, hon, ’kay? And I know what your daddy said, but he ain’t here no more and we’re not gonna be seeing him again for...a while.”
“I know,” whispered Jason sadly. “I just don’t like it when you cough.”
“Thank you, hon.” Tammy affectionately mussed his hair. He really was a good kid. He’d be a heartbreaker when he grew up. Just like his dad.
She turned her attention back to the road. Her eyes ached and stung from staring at the sun glaring off the endless miles of sunbaked blacktop. She wondered if anyone driving past had taken notice of them on that day three months ago. Had anyone glanced over and said to themselves, “Jesus, that woman looks in bad shape. And those kids! They look like they’ve not had a good day on this earth since they were born.”
while the black stars burn Page 5
