But it was also the moment. Through his adrenaline-soaked fatigue, he had become mentally untethered. And why not? He was no longer on Earth, he had lost his wife, he was so disconnected from his daughter he had a difficult time imagining her face and voice—
He was like that ancient aquatic beast that found itself spending more time in the open shallows than in the water. He was embarking on an adventure, leaving his old comfortable world completely behind, exploring the Biggest and Dumbest Big Dumb Object in human history—
“Go for egress,” Tea said.
Yvonne cranked the hatch open. The light of the Keanu morning was brilliant, not only because of the unfiltered Sun, but the snowy landscape, too. If the sky hadn’t been completely black, Zack could have been convinced he was home on the Upper Peninsula, taking a winter walk.
Yvonne was first onto the grill-like platform extending out from the airlock hatch. She turned around, grasping the railings of the ladder. “How am I doing?”
Zack was a step behind her, peering down at Venture’s feet at the surface. It looked like recently melted snow and ice cooling over rock. Trickier than the nasty lunar terrain at Shackleton, perhaps, but not dangerous. He gave a clumsy thumbs-up. “It’s a nice day. Let’s take a stroll.”
Yvonne carefully negotiated the six steps down to the surface. The ladder reached only to within a meter of the ground—an easy step on the Moon, many times easier in Keanu’s gravity. Picturing Yvonne in near free fall, he cautioned her: “Take it slow, kiddo. It’s more like swimming than walking.”
“Got it.” She was already breathing hard. And when had he started using the word kiddo?
With her hands firmly on the railing, Yvonne kicked off and slid ohso-slowly to the ground. “Okay!” she said, clearly pleased. “Hello, Keanu! May you be as happy to see us as we are to see you!”
Not bad, Zack thought. Yvonne edged away from the lander. “How’s traction?” he asked.
“Not great,” she said, but quickly corrected herself, “but workable. Sliding works better than stepping.”
“Cross-country skiing,” Zack said, making his own descent to the pad. They actually had two sets of ski poles available in the equipment bay. Might be wise to break them out early. “Wish you could all be here,” he said, stepping off the pad. Yvonne had been too kind . . . in spite of the ankle weights and the cleats on his EVA boots, he almost fell right on his back. Fortunately he didn’t, sparing himself and NASA an eternal You-Tube moment.
The flight plan called for them to spend twenty minutes doing a “walkaround,” getting a feel for the surface—which was crunchy, making Zack happy that he weighed probably five kilograms—and learning how to move.
Apparently determined to break the mold of the taciturn space explorer, Yvonne chattered incessantly about the light, the surface, the view.
Happy to let Yvonne carry the burden of commentary, Zack shuffled as close to the lip of Vesuvius as he dared. It turned out to be only seventy meters away—from the windows of Venture it had seemed much farther. It was another reminder that Keanu was small.
“Yvonne,” Zack said, “let’s press to step two.” Step two in the flight plan was to deploy the experiment package mounted in a small bay in Venture’s side, next to a larger one holding the folded rover.
“Give me a minute, boss,” Yvonne said.
Turning, Zack could see that she was still heading toward the lip of Vesuvius. Well, who could blame her?
Suddenly he felt a jolt, losing his footing like some cartoon character. When he stabilized, he could still sense the sickening, wavelike rumbling of an earthquake. “Venture, can you feel that?”
“Yeah!” Tea said. “I think it’s Vesuvius—!”
Not good. “Yvonne,” he radioed, “get back here now!”
Too late. He could see her directly in front of him—no more than ten meters distant—but beyond her bloomed an expanding cloud of white.
“Oh God—!” Yvonne screamed.
The blast of superheated steam blew the Destiny astronaut off her feet, launching her into the sky in the general direction of the Brahma landing site.
As she flew over Zack, she was cartwheeling.
This is Destiny mission control at eighty-one hours, twenty minutes mission elapsed time. The communications team here is troubleshooting an apparent problem with the Venture lander’s Ku-band antenna, which has caused a temporary loss of video coverage of the historic EVA by astronauts Hall and Stewart. We are in voice contact with the crew and all is proceeding according to flight plan. Video coverage is expected to resume shortly.
NASA PUBLIC AFFAIRS COMMENTATOR SCOTT SHAWLER,
MOMENTS AFTER YVONNE HALL’S ACCIDENT
“Okay, it’s calmed down . . .” Shane Weldon’s voice was strained in Harley’s headset. “What is your team thinking?”
“We’re only getting macro data.” The moment Yvonne Hall had been blown off the surface of Keanu, Harley Drake had wheeled himself out of the Home Team and next door to the family holding room, with its limited audio and video feed. Not limited enough, apparently: Patrick Downey’s wife, Linda, and two tween children were huddled in a corner, flanked by a priest as well as their CACO.
Meanwhile, Rachel Stewart sat, stunned, in the company of her friend Amy Meyer. Rachel stood as Harley approached. “Zack hadn’t gotten the package set up yet,” he told Weldon, through his headset.
“So you’ve got fuck-all.”
“I’m on it,” he said, making reassuring gestures to Rachel. “What about Hall?” Yvonne Hall had no family members in the room, but her father was Gabriel Jones, head of the Johnson Space Center. The relationship wasn’t secret—hundreds at JSC knew of it. But neither the director nor his astronaut daughter talked about it or acted as if they had more than a passing acquaintance. Harley could only imagine what was going through Jones’s mind. . . .
“She hit the ground pretty close to Brahma. They’re still getting data from her suit. Zack’s on his way.”
“That’s good.” He mouthed Yvonne’s okay to Rachel and gave her a thumbs-up as he clicked off.
“What, she’s okay?” Rachel said, clearly not believing him.
“Sorry, I should have said alive. I’m more worried about you.”
Rachel shot a glance at her friend, who was sobbing. “Well, I’m freaking out.” Her manner contradicted her words; she looked nervous, but in control.
Harley touched her hand. “If you’re not a little freaked out, you don’t understand the situation.”
“Tell me again why my father thought this would be a good idea?”
“Maybe when I come back.” Over the past year, he and Rachel had become pals of a sort, bonded by their mutual tragedy—and by, of all things, a shared fascination with Keanu. (Rachel had liked the extrasolar NEO right up to the day her father was assigned to explore it.) “Weldon is demanding that I explain the structure of the universe . . .”
“Yeah, you better go back. Feel free to fix this.”
“On it.” Harley was not your standard CACO—he had another hat to wear for Destiny-7. He had declined the assignment when Zack first asked. (“Christ, don’t you remember the last time I was your CACO?”) But Rachel had insisted . . . and it was Rachel who made it possible.
He pivoted his chair and rolled back to the Home Team.
Having a T1 thoracic spinal cord injury, which was what Harley Drake had experienced for the past two years, sucked in a broad-spectrum way. To begin with, there was the pain and general humiliation. Then there was the horror of lost sexual functioning . . . loss of bowel control . . . giving up flying . . . having to learn to deal with a chair.