“There’s a lot I could say about that,” I told him. “I could tell you it’s a doctor thing. Or it’s my only chance to go to Mars, like I wanted to when I enlisted. None of those are why I jumped into this.”
“What is?”
“I love him.” I spread my hands, palms up with nothing to hide. “That’s it. I love Jackson. I promised him I would have his back, no matter what, and I’m not going to break that promise. I will do anything for him, and if that means I hop a rocket bound for the Red Planet? That’s a small price to pay for his life.”
Randall listened to me speak, silent and evaluating as my words hit his ears. A hush reigned in the wake of my answer. At last, he said, “I think I believe that, son. I believe you love him, and- And I’m not sure I believe what Laramie told us. That breaks my heart to say. It was easier to believe you were a liar, and a cheat, than it was to believe my youngest son had lied to us instead.”
“Let’s revisit that when all this is over.”
“Fair enough.” A long, heavy breath escaped him. “He may never come back to you, Sebastian. Jackson’s been through so much already. He may not want to try again.”
“I know.” I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is thatdeathdoes not part us. If Jackson does, that’s his choice, and I’ll walk right into Hell to ensure he has the chance to choose.”
Randall’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “You’re a good man. If it means anything- I hope he changes his mind.”
“Me, too.”
“When he told us he was gonna let a computer pick his husband, I told him he’d lost his damn mind. I was wrong. That machine couldn’t have picked anyone better.” A complicated smile, one built up from layers of worry and fear and hope, lifted the corners of his lips. “You get on that rocket knowing I believe you love him, and knowing I’ll always consider you part of my family. No matter what Jackson chooses, you’re a son to me, and that will never change.”
Tears spilled onto my cheeks. I couldn’t hold them back, and didn’t know if I wanted to. “Thank you. That- It means a lot. Especially after I saw my father today.”
“Tell me about it sometime. Now.” He nodded toward the pills in the plastic cup. “You take those. They’ll help you sleep. When all my kids were small, and they were too nervous or afraid to close their eyes, I’d sit by their bedsides. And I’d tell them to leave their worries with me. I’d hold those worries long enough for them to sleep. Tonight, I’m gonna do the same thing for you.”
Earlier that day, my father had sat at his breakfast table and told me I was not his son. That night, Randall Sadler, father of my soon-to-be-ex-husband sat at my bedside and rubbed my shoulder while I sobbed out my fear and my heartbreak. He helped me take my pills, and tucked me in as my own father never had, with the strange linens up around my face as I lay in an uncomfortable, industrial bed.
Then he stroked my hair and settled in to sit beside me, a sentinel in the darkness. I heard his voice rumble as the first, feathery touches of the sedatives caressed me down towards sleep. The words sounded like a talisman against the fears, a ward against worry with the weight of ritual behind them.
“I know you’re scared, son, and I know you’re worried about what happens next. You leave those fears and worries with me. I’m right here, and I’ll hold onto them for now. You just rest.”
Against all odds, I fell asleep.
29NO ONE WANTED TO KNOW WHOSE SHIRTS I WORE
The Air Forcehas kindly provided me with a press sheet to “guide me through the tricky process of discussing classified aircraft in a safe but meaningful way”. In other words, they gave me a couple bullet points you’ve already gleaned from other vague news releases, and a reminder to keep my damn trap shut about the classified aircraft I rode off Earth.
They did not say that if I talked, they would take me up in it again and chuck me out a window like the last fragment of a hamburger bun no one wants. I felt that part was implied.
Brenda and Randall saw me off. Each of them hugged me before the helpful Air Force newbie wrangler hustled me away to suit up. Brenda cupped my cheek in an iron grip and said, “I believe in you. You can do this.” Randall tried to crush my ribs and spine and told me to pass part of that hug along to Jackson.
It didn’t feel like enough time with my new family, especially since I might never see them again. Even if I lived, I might never see them again, because Jackson might want nothing to do with me and they might decide they didn’t want me around as the elephant in the room. Still, I followed my keepers off to put on a special flight suit, one that could double as an environment suit in a pinch.
The moment I tucked my helmet under my arm and strode out toward the runway was when it really hit me. I looked like the pictures of every astronaut I had ever seen, or a badass pilot headed for the vast blackness of the beyond. (I know because Cheyenne, who’d flown in to watch the launch and be with her parents, took a commemorative photo for me. It is my third favorite picture I own.)
This was it. I was going to space. I was an astronaut, and I was going to space.
In case you’re wondering, yes. I did have a little internal freakout.
Here’s where I start reading points off the press sheet. That sleek, black beauty of a ship was then called the XC-41, and is now officially the EC-41 “Ravenwing”. The Ravenwing was inspired by the infamous SR-71 “Blackbird” reconnaissance plane, which is known for its ability to fly to the edge of space, its speed, and its terrifying hunger for fuel and maintenance.
Lockheed had stared at the concept of “could fly to the edge of space” and said, “But what if it didn’tstopat theedge?” From that idea sprung the XC-41. Why a space plane? I’m so glad you asked.
Lifting objects off the ground and out of the atmosphere presents both the greatest danger and the greatest cost when it comes to spaceflight. Weight is a, well,massiveobstacle to flinging people and equipment off Earth. The less you bring back down with you, the less subsequent launches will cost in time and money.
A space plane allows the military to leave more of its toys in Earth’s orbit. They can ferry personnel, equipment, and random not-quite-doctors to the big ships already in space without having to stage repeated, expensive launches for their heavy-duty Mars rides. Now, this does present its own set of issues, including how to hide the contents of their top-secret parking lot from the opposition’s spies. No one gave me a press sheet on that one.
My wranglers helped me into the aircraft. Other passengers followed, each of them a ranking officer with business on Mars. A bit of light preflight chatter told me a few had been scheduled to go up with the next normal transport, but the nebulous Command felt the situation on Mars needed more hands-on oversight. A ship was headed to Mars anyway, and it wasn’t cost-effective to send just me, so they called in anyone who needed a bullet train to the Red Planet.
The rest were going on purpose. For reasons. They may have used the words “you aren’t cleared to know that”. One did say, “no offense” after, so I didn’t take any.