“Mars would appear red.”
“It’s a better name for a person than a planet.”
“Thank you.”
“Mars, Mars, Mars.”
“Yes?”
“Did you know that you can hear your own heartbeat in space, after a while? There’s no other sound but the clicks of the capsule. The beating emerges like something out of a hole. At first, it’s maddening to have a living thing pounding in your head, but soon enough you realize you’re only hearing yourself. How’s that different from thought? Beat-beat-beat becomes your only cognition, and any thoughts you do have are an intrusion. The beat becomes your mind.”
“What does this new mind tell you?”
“The only thing it’s able: Keep going.”
THE KENNEL SEEMED more full of people than dogs. Nadya and Leonid had visited almost every day for years, and besides the woman who fed and washed and walked the animals, there was never anyone else there. But today, a half-dozen white-coated veterinarians were pulling dogs from the cages and prodding them with instruments and for every veterinarian there were two assistants, who might have been veterinarians themselves but did not have the white coats to prove it. The dogs were unusually silent, as if all the activity had stunned them too much to bark. Sometimes a small yip came as a dog received a needle or had its mouth forced open or ear probed. The sound was a cry of pain but also of sadness, Leonid knew. He remembered the hungry cries of the cats in his village, before they were all gathered up to be eaten.
“You’re hurting them.” Leonid spoke loudly to the whole room.
“It’s just a checkup,” said the nearest veterinarian, an old man with a straight back, and Leonid knew without asking that the man had been an officer in the war. The old officers all had a way of looking at young men, as if assessing their readiness for battle. But this one was a veterinarian now, and had likely been one in the war, more fit for judging horses than people. He nodded once at Leonid, then returned his attention to Laika, who still managed to look happy, tail fanning frantically, even while she was twisted this way and that by unfamiliar hands.
“Where’s Kasha?” asked Nadya.
Leonid spied her tail, arcing up and over, the tip dipping down at her back. Instead of white fur, her body was a pale blue, and it took Leonid a moment to realize she was wearing a vest. The veterinarians tugged it into place as he watched. The vest did not look comfortable, too tight, squeezing Kasha’s body, the fur directly above the neckline puffing out like a mane. Leonid had never realized how small she actually was, how much of her apparent size was due to the thickness of her fur.
She tried to run over to Nadya and Leonid at the door, but one of the veterinarians restrained her while another adjusted the vest, tightening it even more. Leonid went to Kasha and knelt.
“Be careful,” he said.
“The dog’s fine,” said one of the veterinarians.
Indeed, Kasha wagged her tail and tried to lick Leonid but could not reach and lapped at the air instead. Nadya stood behind Leonid and rested her fingertips on his shoulder.
“So it’s true,” said Nadya. “We’re really going to send her into space?”
Leonid did not understand what she had said, and her expression revealed nothing. He caressed Kasha, starting above her ear and ending at the scruff of her neck. It was the way his brother had always petted Kasha’s mother. She nuzzled against Leonid’s arm.
The old veteran veterinarian loped across the room. His chin came to an uncomfortable point, as if the sides of his face were pressed in with a vise. His limbs seemed too long and too thin. Leonid thought he looked very much like the horses to which he once had tended.
“I don’t know the plan,” he said. “We were just called in today to check the dogs and establish a training regimen. The last time I was here was what, five years ago?” He looked at Nadya until she looked back. “Your launch made all our work for naught. Little Laika here was destined to be the first living thing in space.”
“Perhaps also the first to die,” said Nadya.
“Excuse me?” said the old veteran.
Leonid sprung to his feet, inserting himself into the space between the veteran and Nadya.
“But she will fly now, yes?” asked Leonid.
“She’s too old. A feeling I can relate to! No, this time we’ll launch that one there.” He pointed at Kasha. “I remember her mother. She was my first choice for launch. Much quieter than even Laika, you know. Very calm. But for some reason the Chief Designer wouldn’t allow it. If it can’t be Laika to launch, then I’m glad it’s Kasha’s daughter.”
“But we can’t launch Kasha,” said Leonid. His eyes felt hot. A sick taste rose to the top of his throat. He swallowed. He took a quick breath and swallowed again.
The old veteran laughed. “You go into space yourself and yet worry for a dog! Cosmonauts are a strange breed.”
Leonid looked down at all the dogs. Little creatures. Sweet and needy. He whispered their names: Kasha, Laika, Strelka, Chernushka, Ugolyok, and all the others. Nadya gripped him around the biceps and led him from the room. He was whispering the last of the names as she shut the door.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she said. “I think I didn’t want to believe it myself.”
“Why now?”
“Would another time have made it better?”
Leonid took backward steps until he bumped against the wall on the other side of the hall.
“Did you know that my brother and I saved the original Kasha? The villagers were starving and wanted to eat her. There had been no meat in so long. We hid her in our home and she knew not to bark. That’s why the veterinarians here loved her so much, for her restraint. No matter what they did to her, she never complained. I think she would have been better off had she bitten someone now and again.”
Leonid pushed himself off the wall and hurried away. Nadya trotted after him.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Perhaps it’s time to give the Chief Designer a nip to the hand.”
AFTER THE GENERAL DESIGNER left, the Chief Designer could not concentrate on the reports stacked all around his desk. The stack nearest the edge he pushed off and watched as the individual pages fluttered free from their folders and to the floor, mixing and matching with papers from other reports. If only the right pieces would land together, he might finally rid himself of reports forever.
Another commotion arose in the waiting room, Mishin and Bushuyev speaking loud, quick phrases, another voice responding, nearing the door, and then the door opened. The Chief Designer expected a return visit from the General Designer, but instead it was Leonid followed by Nadya. The Chief Designer felt himself relax. He did not think he could handle another conflict today. At least the reports never talked back.
His relief left him as quickly as it came, though, when he saw the look on Leonid’s face. That mouth, trained for years to greet everyone it came across with a grin, a grin that could hush crying babies and swoon the wives of even the most charming men, instead glowered. Beside him, the expressionless Nadya seemed elated in comparison.
Mishin and Bushuyev stood on the other side of the doorway. They shrugged at the same time and pulled the door shut.
“You don’t seem happy to see me, Leonid,” said the Chief Designer.
“You can’t do this. You must not. Choose another dog, but not Kasha.”
The Chief Designer had been unsure of how Leonid would react to the news. That was why he had not told him yet. But while news did not escape Star City, it was impossible to keep it from spreading within. The only secret that had ever seemed to keep was that of the twins’ very existence.