Walking on the Sea of Clouds

by Gray Rinehart

  He smiled bigger, this time not trying to hide any pain. The AC folks had finally gotten something right.

  Two days before he’d left the colony site he had ordered a new suit—navy blue pinstripes, classic lines, with dress shirts, ties, and new shoes—and had it delivered to the Independence with his name on it. He’d been afraid Barbara would find out and spoil the surprise, so he made arrangements for the cost to be deducted from his next paycheck instead of putting it on his credit card. Seeing her reaction, it was all worth it.

  “Only you, sweetness,” he said. “Only you.”

  His arms were built to hold her, had ached to hold her for weeks, and he hugged her a long time before giving her a light but lingering kiss. He had no illusions: she knew what he had on his mind, and probably expected him to rush her away from the welcome party and invite her into the back seat of her rental. He hoped, deep down, that she wanted him as much as he wanted her, but a little romancing was in order first. Not only because things between them had been icy the last few weeks, and not only because taking it slow and easy would put less strain on his knee, but because, deep down, he considered himself a romantic kind of guy.

  The welcome party was very informal: heavy hors d’oeuvres and a wide variety of liquor that Van avoided. Barbara greeted all the other crewmembers, mostly warmly; she even gave Grace a little lady’s hug and a kiss on one cheek. Van endured a few moments’ questioning from Dr. Nguyen, and promised to stop in the next day for a full exam. Van was a bit disappointed that the highest Consortium representative was Aliester Whisnant, the Chief of Operations at the San Diego facility. He guessed the brass were staying away because they were upset at how much the setup crew had left undone, and the thought irritated him almost to the point of anger. But he put his arm around Barbara and breathed the salt-and-fish smell of the air and let it pass.

  After they’d made their second run by the food table, Barbara caught him looking at his watch. “Are you in that much of a hurry? Do you have somewhere you’re supposed to be?”

  He scrunched his head down and raised his shoulders in his best innocent child look. “Actually, I do.”

  Barbara’s smile crashed down. “Where?”

  He touched her elbow, gingerly, and pointed with his other hand toward the parking lot. “In the back of that limousine, with you, going to dinner.”

  It wasn’t a big limo, but it was big enough that she gasped. “You’re kidding, right?”

  Van turned and caught Shay Nakamura’s attention. He waved and Shay gave him a little salute and a big smile. Van bowed a little to Barbara and steered her toward the car. “Kidding? Me? Heaven forbid. We have reservations, social commitments. We can’t be spending all our time down here on the docks with the riff-raff. But we can’t appear to be in too much of a hurry to escape, of course, and we must observe all the proper courtesies. So when we get to the car, before we get in, be sure to turn and wave to your adoring fans.”

  “My adoring fans?”

  “Okay, my adoring fans.”

  “God, you’re hopeless.” But she played along, and the look on her face when the welcome party erupted into applause and cheers and waves was worth every penny he’d spent on the suit and the car, and every favor he’d called in from the rest of the crew. Then she ooohed her approval at the plate of chocolate-dipped strawberries on the little table in the limo, and at the bottle of champagne chilling in a silver bucket next to their table when they got to the Oceanaire. “Who are you trying to impress?” she asked again.

  “Who, me?”

  “Yeah. You look like my husband, but I would’ve expected him to suggest getting down and dirty in the limo. Did cracking your knee crack your brain, too?”

  That comment hit a little too close for Van’s comfort. It wasn’t the knee injury that cracked his brain, but relying on the damn codeine and trying to do too much. When he got back from setting up the repeater, he turned in the remainder of Dr. Nguyen’s prescription to Shay and told him not to give him any more—it made him feel too good. Shay let him go back on the Ibuprofen, and he and Henry built the nifty support brace Van had worn until he got on the ship and found a real one waiting for him. He had continued working, though, and even worked overtime like everyone else. In the service they used to say, “Pain is weakness leaving the body,” and now, carrying near constant pain, Van felt very strong.

  He covered his thoughts with a smile and said, “Well, I didn’t want your screams of passion to distract the driver.”

  “Oh, right.” She examined him as if she was looking for identifying marks. “And you dress nice, and you shaved, and did they give you a haircut on the ship?”

  Van leaned back and grabbed the lapels of his suit, and turned his right profile and then his left to her. “Yeah, what do you think? I clean up pretty nice, huh?”

  “I don’t know,” Barbara said, and ran her fingers through his hair. “It’s still a little long in back.…” She tugged on the short hairs at the nape of his neck and he leaned in to accept her kiss. They didn’t come up for air until the waiter cleared his throat.

  Van barely tasted the meal. He was sure it was fine, probably even excellent, but the meals he’d eaten on the Indy had cleansed his palate from weeks of reconstituted food and his attention was much more on his wife. He lavished attention on her all evening and into the night, and when he winced Barbara helped him relax and attended him, until both of them were exhausted and happy.

  At one-thirty in the morning, Van called the front desk and ordered a wake-up call and breakfast room service, to be delivered at ten. Within minutes he was asleep, and slept the sleep of the just—sprawled out on the big bed with Barbara snuggled up to his side.

  * * *

  Barbara wasn’t expecting Van to ask the question during their breakfast the next morning, but he did, right after he finished his sausage and flapjacks. She was still enjoying her scrambled eggs and had only eaten one slice of bacon.

  “So, what are we going to do?” he said.

  She knew he wanted to find out if she was still going on the mission, but she pretended otherwise. “Well, today you’re going to the doctor, and I suspect there’s some arthroscopic surgery in your future. If the schedule holds, day after tomorrow we’ve got a flight booked to Birmingham, and from there we’ll drive down to see your folks.”

  “No, I mean after that.”

  “After that we go back to the ranch.…” As she let her voice drop, she smiled, and coaxed a reluctant grin out of him. The ranch wasn’t his favorite place, especially now—he tolerated it well enough in the summer, but he got frustrated in the winter mud and slush. He would be grateful that he’d only have to put up with a couple of days of ranch chores; if he had to stay much longer, he’d probably run out on her and camp out at the Utah training site until she showed up. There’d be no need for that, though: he would get his wish much sooner than Barbara would’ve liked. They reported to Utah in a week for training in the Cave.

  “After that,” Barbara said, “we’re getting ready to go to the Moon.”

  The anticipation he’d tried to hide turned to relaxed contentment, and in a low, humble voice he said, “Thanks.” He popped a grape into his mouth and chewed it, working the muscles in his jaw and making sloppy noises. She refrained from scolding him for his poor table manners; she found she had even missed his occasional lack of couth. He caught her looking at him and leaned toward her, still slurping around the grape. “One more thing. What are we going to do right now?”

  She leaned in and almost kissed him, but that last bit with the grape was too much. She pulled away as he puckered up, and said, “I … am going to take a bath.”

  “Want some company?” he asked, in that pathetic way that he thought was sexy but she just found irritating.

  She bent down and kissed his stubbly cheek, and when she was sure his mouth was empty kissed him fully. “No, I want to shave my legs and you’ll just get in the way.”

  He pulled her down
to sit in his lap; his intentions, perfectly clear before, were even more apparent now. “I like getting in your way,” he said, reaching for the knotted belt on the hotel robe.

  Barbara pushed his hand away and fixed him with her gaze. “I know you do, and you have all night tonight to get in my way. For now, though, I need you to relax. I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you, so just take it easy and take it slow. Okay?”

  He frowned a little, and a hard edge crept into his eyes, but he nodded. “Okay.”

  “Come in and talk to me, and maybe I’ll let you wash my back.”

  He sat back and let her get up, and turned to the mini-buffet he’d ordered. “That’s okay, I think I’ll just have another bite to eat.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  He came through the bathroom door just as she was stepping into the tub. She sat back and closed her eyes as the warmth surrounded and flowed into her.

  “You sure look good in there,” he said.

  “Uh-huh. Don’t try your sweet-talking flattery on me, mister.” She opened one eye to look at him, and smiled. He tried to keep his face grim, but he failed.

  “So,” he asked, “what made up your mind for you?”

  Back to that again. “Beverly Needham came to visit.”

  “I knew that.”

  “She stayed for a week, and got out right before we had another terrific storm. She joined up with Gary in Houston. They’re down in Guiana now, I think they launch tomorrow. I should send her an e-mail.”

  “Anyway …,” Van prompted.

  Barbara clenched her teeth a little at the “get on with it” tone of his voice, then focused on the water’s warmth and pushed the tension away. She mostly succeeded.

  “Anyway, it took me back to when we first met, when we all had big dreams and ambitious plans, and I realized I’d bottled up some of my ambition, and almost all of my exuberance. I figured out I’d started existing instead of really living.

  “I thought about that for a long time, and came down here still undecided. The day you splashed down, after you called me, I went up in the park and just sat, going over different possibilities in my head.” Barbara sat up, found the bar of soap, and lathered her leg. The hotel soap was soft and fruity; it smelled like raspberry with an undercurrent of vanilla, and was like rubbing a parfait on her leg. She shaved while she talked. “I went back to my room that evening and made a pro and con list, but I tore it up when I found myself weighting things differently based on what BD or anybody else would think instead of what I wanted.

  “So every day while you were coming back on the ship, I found another place to hike and get away from people and think. I thought about you, and how upset I was at you for going up there and getting hurt. I thought about my dad, how he’s always supported me going off to fulfill my dreams but how sad he’s been since mom died.”

  “So, what about you?” Van asked.

  She jumped slightly at the interruption and almost nicked herself. Irritation found its way into her voice.

  “I’m getting to that. Give me a second.” She took a deep breath to calm herself again. “I realized that when we originally signed up for this, I was doing it only for you. You got the bug, probably from Gary, and you’re not going to shake it, and I figured if you felt that confident then I could tag along.

  “After a while, though, I got the bug just as bad. I wanted to ride on top of the rocket; I wanted to see the Earth above my head every day. I was even jealous of you, getting to go on the setup mission without me. And at first when you got hurt I was mad at you for possibly messing up our plans.

  “But the more I thought about you being hurt, it started scaring me. The whole idea got scary. I felt like a cow standing at a new gate, wondering what had changed and whether I was safer where I was or if I could gather the courage to walk through. And I finally asked myself what I want. I don’t mean like a good family and a couple of kids and stuff like that, but what I really want.

  “And what I decided is this: I want to live. I realized it when I hiked up to the top of Iron Mountain and looked around, and how good it felt to be breathing hard and how huge and wonderful the world looked from up there. Remember when the CGOC took that trip to climb Mount Whittier, and we didn’t get to go? I thought about how much better that must’ve been than what I was seeing, and how much we missed out on by not going on that trip. And I decided I don’t want to miss out again.”

  Barbara rinsed off leftover lather and looked up to see Van’s reaction. He seemed transfixed, staring at her shiny smooth leg where it rested on the side of the tub. She put her leg back in the water and he blinked and shivered a little. She clenched her fist around the washcloth and waited to see what he would say.

  He stood there a long moment without moving, then nodded his head a couple of times. “You gonna miss out on anything down here?”

  “What?”

  “You don’t want to miss out, and I assume you mean miss out on what’s going to happen up there. What about down here?”

  She loosed her grip on the washcloth, and rubbed it a little between her hands. Her mind crowded with people and things she would miss—her dad especially; the ranch, except for the work—but would she really miss out on anything if they stayed? She didn’t think so, but she wasn’t sure. That wouldn’t be what Van wanted to hear.

  She could lie to him … she instantly rejected the idea.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know.”

  Van nodded, slowly, several times, his mouth puckered in an odd little thinking frown. Then he looked her in the eye and said, “I hope you figure it out soon, sweetie. You need to be sure.”

  He limped out of the bathroom and left her to her figuring.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Wounds You Can’t See

  Monday, 5 February 2035

  Lunar Colonist Group 2, Training Day 64

  Lunar Colonist Group 3, Training Day 1

  The tons of rock above her head dogged Barbara like a phantom weight on her shoulders. The more she tried to ignore them, and the obscene feeling that every breath and every step might bring debris down on her head, the more they pressed down on her. She deliberately took shallower, slower breaths to keep herself under control. How the others coped inside their own heads she would never know, but this was the perfect weeding-out experience for the Consortium to concoct for her.

  Bastards.

  She was sweaty and tired. The day wasn’t half over. She stank from the hour she’d spent in the pressure suit, first waiting to cycle through the big fake airlock and into the darkness of the mine, and then walking around the outside of the habitats in the dark, her lights and the lights on the other suits only penetrating a few meters into what was supposed to pass for lunar night. Squeezing between the rock wall of the mine and the outside skin of the mockup prefabricated modules only accentuated the claustrophobia she was experiencing from the mine itself.

  Finally, they cycled through the tiny airlock—big enough for two people and a crate, but miniscule compared to the double doors on the front of the mine—and into the habitat itself. She wanted to smack the Cheshire cat grin off Van’s face as he stripped out of his suit. Not because he lorded it over her or anyone else that he was in his element—just on general principles, so he wouldn’t feel so full of himself. No one should get over leg surgery that fast; it didn’t seem human. She was proud of him, and a little awestruck when she was honest about it, but concerned that if he didn’t stop strutting he’d like as not hurt himself again.

  As the new group cycled into the habitat, the noise and confusion grew almost exponentially: where to stow these suits, is that my bag or yours, I thought our cabin was this one instead of that one. The sixteen trainees still remaining in Group Two tried to go about their business, sliding gracefully aside to let small gaggles of newbies pass—even though a couple of those gaggles were bigger than what was left of their entire class. Aside from some cursory greetings, they left Group Thre
e alone.

  Group Two had originally been spread out through eight modules when there were forty of them, then gradually gathered into four as their numbers dwindled. The Consortium had made them move again the day before Van and Barbara’s group arrived, and they were now spread back out among thirty-eight new candidates. Barbara understood why they’d be a little upset, being forced out of their “homes.”

  She and Van found their cabin, which was smaller than a walk-in closet. It was like a room that might be built under the eaves in an attic, but less homey; it would’ve been claustrophobic, but after being in the pressure suit in the dark, seemed roomy enough.

  Van tossed his bag in the corner and said, “I’m going to make the rounds and see if the rest of this place looks as good as this does.” He tapped on the sliding door. “Same company built these as built the real ones, and so far they seem exactly the same. But getting them this far underground must’ve been a bear. Want to come with me?”

  Barbara looked at their schedule; they had a briefing in an hour in the “big room,” two modules over. By her map it wasn’t very big at all.

  “No, thanks,” she said. She pulled him into a hug. “You go ahead. Besides, I think I know the real reason you’re going out and about.”

  He smiled at her, but narrowed his eyes a little as he wrapped his arms around her. “What?”

  “What was it you said the other day about your adoring fans? I think you have some among our compatriots. I could see it in their eyes when we got to the airport.”

  From the way he squeezed her a little tighter, she knew she was right and he didn’t want to admit it. “Well, they may want some advice, you know?”

  “Uh-huh.” She stepped back out of his embrace and matched his powerful smile. “You go ahead and see to your fans. Make sure you give them good advice—but not too good.”

  Van grabbed her hand and kissed it, and said, “Okay, sweetie. You take a siesta and I’ll be back in a little while to get you for the briefing.”