Chad smiled in spite of himself. “Clown.”
Michael tapped the data screen. “Maybe take extra clothes with you. It’s colder in Bulldog.”
Chad nodded and rummaged in a locker for a jacket, then floated down the tunnel to the LM.
What was that all about? Svetlana wondered. She peered down the tunnel, and back at Mikhail. He glanced at her and brought his palms together beside his head, tipping it to one side. Then he pointed at the empty crew couch.
He wants me to sleep? She glanced at her watch and did a double take. It was one in the morning. She paused to assess how her body felt, and suddenly experienced a wave of fatigue. Michael had gone back to looking at the control panel, and she stole a look at the backpack, still securely wedged and barely visible under his seat.
Maybe a quick rest wouldn’t be a bad idea. Tiki chass. Nap time.
She floated onto the right-hand couch and loosely strapped herself in. She took one last look his way, then closed her eyes. Within seconds her thoughts took her into sleep.
Michael glanced over at her inert form, and then leaned to look down the darkened tunnel. He reached over and shut off the cabin overhead lights, then punched in some hexadecimal code on his keyboard to set an alarm for 30 minutes, just in case he dozed off too.
We’re on our way, and I’m flying the ship alone. But man, is this fucked up.
The inside of the lander was completely familiar to Chad after the hundreds of hours he and Luke had spent in the simulator. And yet, with weightlessness, it felt strange, like diving inside a ship underwater. With no gravity to define up and down, even this small space was disorienting. He looked around in the harsh sunlight, adjusting his mind to the weirdness. Like a sideshow fun house.
Michael had strapped Luke’s body up against the ceiling with one of the sleep hammocks. He’d rotated the gold visor down on the helmet so Luke’s face was covered. Better that way.
Chad fit the sunshades into place over the two large, triangular landing windows. The labels and tips of all the switches, coated with luminescent paint, glowed in the darkness. He opened a locker to retrieve the other hammock and sleeping bag, and wrapped them around himself, clipping a strap to a handrail to keep from drifting. He consciously uncoiled the muscles in his body, took a deep breath and smoothly exhaled it. He was glad the motion sickness had passed.
A thought struck him. NASA had encouraged them to bring a few small private items, and he’d had a copy made of his parents’ wedding picture. He reached down inside the sleeping bag, unzipped his leg pocket and slid it carefully out.
The glowing panels illuminated the black-and-white photo softly. Chad angled it to see the faces. His father, a man he only vaguely remembered, looked at him confidently, hair freshly cut, dark suit ill-fitting, with the pants too short, obviously borrowed for the day. Money had been tight. Chad looked into his eyes. Could you have imagined this, Father?
As always, though, it was his mother he couldn’t look away from. She’d worn her best dress, a dark print with a large bow at the neckline. She’d added a long white veil that reached all the way to her calves. He rubbed the photo with his thumb. Her highly polished black shoes gleamed over her dark stockings. She was clutching red roses, and not for the first time, Chad counted them. He could see six clearly and, with care, one more, partially covered. Seven roses, an odd number for good luck, bought by this man, for this woman, on a day filled with promise.
Chad brought the photo closer. Her expression captured him most of all.
His mother’s face was round, her cheekbones high. Her wide-set eyes looked squarely at the camera. He could sense the joy of the day in the way she held her neck, so straight and proud. The veil wasn’t hers, and she knew it, but the day was, and so was a future together with this man. Her broad, full-lipped mouth bore the gentlest of knowing smiles. A smile Chad could still see and feel in his memory.
He touched the likeness just below her eyes. Were they brown, or blue like his? He wished he could remember.
He felt against his chest for her locket, fumbling along the thin chain in the unfamiliarity of zero gravity, finding it floating up near his shoulder. He pulled it around and held it between his thumb and forefinger, turning it slowly. A simple silver pendant, engraved with a winter rose. He looked back at the newly married couple. Did you buy this for her, Father? It had been hers, worn against her warm skin. He touched it to his lips and tucked it back under his T-shirt.
He shook his head, sighed deeply and carefully guided the photo back down into his pocket, zipping it safely closed. He relaxed his arms and was slightly surprised to see them float up in front of him. He glanced at Luke’s body, suspended above him.