‘Right.’ Harry nodded at Eliot, who was standing close behind him.
Although he was not actively retching, Eliot still looked a little green, and Harry was sure he could smell the bitter scent of bile on his clothes. He noted the ambiguous brown stains around the collar of his uniform, emitting an odour that never failed to repulse. Harry had not vomited involuntarily his entire life, not after the Leavers’ Ball, when he and his friends finished off a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, not during simulated launches, not on the human centrifuge, where he and his classmates were whirled around its fifty-foot arm in order to experience 3, then 4g. The other astronaut candidates would pale with nausea and beg the technicians to stop, but Harry had always roared ‘more,’ the sensation of speed nothing but exhilarating.
Some people were born for this life.
Even now, the artificial gravity on the ship felt as familiar to him as the cockpit of a shuttle, and he took to it as if he had lived amongst the stars his entire life. Fazed by nothing; not the absolute blackness of space, nor the constant ambient noise of the ship, because he was surely right for this voyage. He took his place beside the other astronauts at the table.
‘You’re just in time.’ Commander Sheppard beamed. ‘We go live in ten minutes. Better get your camera face ready.’
The meal was rehydrated beef steak and green vegetables they had brought with them on the shuttle. It reminded Harry of Sunday lunches at Dalton, but he had eaten nothing all day and it was all he could do not to shovel the food into his mouth with grateful abandon. Halfway through the meal, Igor passed around little plastic cups of sparkling white wine and held one above his head to toast.
‘Before we finish eating, I’d just like to say a few words.’ Solomon stood up, and his large body cast a shadow across the table. Everyone put down their forks and waited. ‘These past few months were some of the most trying of my life. I know they must have been for you too. I can tell you this now…’ he looked down for a moment. ‘We lost someone we love on Saturday, and, for a while after, I wasn’t sure I would make it up here at all. Ara’s death is something I know it will be difficult for us to recover from.’ He paused again, swallowing. Harry watched the bubbles in his cup surge to the surface. ‘I’ve been involved in this programme since its conception. I still remember the day I saw a couple of you walking through the school gates at age thirteen, and every time I think about it I remember how far you’ve come. Watching you all at the launch site, waving at the crowd, taking it all in your stride, I realized that you’ve not only become fine astronauts. You’ve become fine adults. This morning, I have to say… I was proud.
‘It’s an honour to be your commander. It’s an honour to be part of this mission. You know, in Greek, the word Damocles means “the glory of the people”, and that’s what this mission will be for our country, insh’Allah.’ He held his cup higher above his head and said, ‘To Britain! To all of Earth!’ and they all echoed him happily, clinking their glasses together and swallowing down the sharp sweet champagne.
‘Okay,’ said Poppy, once Commander Sheppard sat down, ‘my notes from the ground said that they want us to look as natural as possible. I’ll go around the table as you eat your meal. Tell the viewers how excited you are, what a smooth journey it was, et cetera. I’ll start with the Beta and then pass it around to the two seniors and then Commander Sheppard can say goodbye. Are you ready?’
They looked around at each other and nodded, Eliot counted down and then the light on the side of the camera came on and Harry could tell that he was broadcasting live to Earth, because the monitor of the computer perched on the counter said so. Poppy listened to instructions from the ground through her big headphones and then finally gave them the thumbs-up.
‘Welcome aboard the Damocles,’ she said, addressing the camera. ‘I’m Poppy Lane, head of communications and in-flight correspondent for this mission, which means you’ll be spending a lot of time with me and my colleague, Junior Flight Engineer Eliot Liston. It’s a real privilege to serve on this mission. We’re grateful to the team on the ground, who are supporting our flying, and to you at home for cheering us on.’ Then, for the international audiences, she said some words hastily in French, Russian, Mandarin. ‘Bienvenue à bord du Damoclès/Menya zovut Poppy Lane/Gǎnxiè nín de zhīchí…’ The selection committee had been right; like Harry, Poppy was a perfect face for their mission. ‘Et maintenant, un message du restes des Bêta.’
Poppy handed the microphone to Harry first. ‘So,’ she began, ‘Harrison Bellgrave. As one of the youngest people in space, at the start of this historic mission can you tell the viewers back on Earth how you’re feeling?’ Harry smiled at his own reflection in the lens, his pupils big and dark as singularities. Although, even as he felt it, it was fading from him. That familiar feeling of pride at his accomplishment. The golden shards of sunlight on the arm of the trophy as it was handed to him, the familiar weight of it. The evanescent thrill of victory. He enjoyed the game because he always won. The sound of the crowd, of a million hands clapping just for him, swift and vanishing as a roll of thunder, and what came after this? More years of striving? For what? What now?
Harry smiled anyway.
‘Tonight, I feel like… an astronaut.’
Chapter 11
JESSE
13.05.12
THE SOUND OF THE siren knifed into his sleep, and Jesse awoke shivering with a primitive kind of fear. He tumbled into an awareness of his surroundings. It was his first night on the ship, and he was in danger.
His time at Dalton had conditioned him into a Pavlovian response to the master alarm – stop whatever you are doing. Get up. Find the nearest exit. So that is what he did. He shimmied down his bunk and landed on the floor in time for Harry to flip on the lights.
‘Do you think it’s a fire?’ Harry asked, his eyes wide with terror.
Eliot squinted from his bunk. ‘What?’ he croaked, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
‘Maybe a meteor?’ Jesse said. He pictured a flying rock searing a hole through the hull of their ship, and then rapid decompression as the oxygen poured out. His back prickled with goosebumps.
‘Let’s go,’ Harry said, flinging the door open, and they dashed out into the darkened crew module where Poppy and Astrid were already gathered, blinking in their pyjamas, their faces illuminated by warning lights.
‘Maybe it’s a drill,’ Poppy said.
‘On the first night?’ said Jesse.
‘Drill or not, let’s just do what we’re supposed to.’ Harry fumbled for the hatch. Jesse cast his mind back to training, where they’d slide down the ladder so fast they sustained friction burns, bare feet smacking the lower deck. Then, they were expected to strap themselves into an escape vessel and contact the ground for recommendations.
But, just as they were about to head down the ladder, Igor’s voice boomed through the speakers. ‘Solar storm. This is not a drill.’ Jesse heard the words with a stab of terror. ‘You have six minutes to get to the shelter.’
The blood drained from Harry’s face. ‘Okay,’ he said, catching himself. ‘This way.’ The corridors were blazing the fire-engine red of the warning lights in the ceiling. Harry led them back along the corridor and Jesse was at his heels as they sprinted across the bridge that led to the greenhouse. The gravity was lighter here, in the centre of the ship, and Jesse felt it in his knees as he raced to the radiation shelter at the far end in high, flying bounds.