“Catherine!” The voice was far away and not immediately identifiable.
She stuck her head out into the hallway to see if she could tell where it had come from, her brow furrowing.
After a moment or two, it came again, more impatient. “Catherine, come on!”
The mug of coffee fell out of her fingers, which had gone suddenly nerveless, and shattered on the tile floor.
The voice was Tom Wetherbee’s.
That’s impossible.
“Let me out already! Be reasonable!”
Catherine’s heart pounded. It sounded as if the voice was coming from the end of the hall, down past her office. The only things down there were the stairwell and a supply closet. Was someone playing a cruel joke? Catherine walked down the hall, forgetting the broken mug.
The voice didn’t sound again right away. The stairwell was empty. No sounds of movement. No voice. Catherine pushed open the door to the supply closet, heart in her throat. She fumbled for the light switch. No one was in there.
“Catherine?”
This time the voice came from behind her, and Catherine jerked in surprise. But the voice wasn’t Tom’s. She turned around to see John Duffy standing there, a concerned look on his face. “You okay?”
“John. Yeah, you just startled me.”
“Is that your mug on the floor?”
Catherine gave him an embarrassed smile. “Clumsy me. I-I was looking for something to clean it up with.”
“Don’t worry, I called Facilities; they’re sending someone up.” Before she could thank him, he said, “Are you sure you’re all right? I, um, heard about you and David. I’m sorry.”
Sometimes the rumor mill around here moved faster than the rockets. “Thanks. I guess nearly a decade apart was just too long.”
“Well, listen, if you ever need someone to talk to,” he said, smiling wryly, “or need someone to recommend a good divorce lawyer, just let me know.” She must have looked surprised, because he added, “Come on, you have to know how high the divorce rate is around here.”
“Oh,” Catherine said. “Um, thank you.”
She escaped back to her office as quickly as she could, the strain of keeping a normal face on wearing on her too much. Tom’s voice hadn’t come from anywhere but her own mind. Dr. Darzi would dismiss this hallucination as a completely normal response to trauma. Catherine could probably have a screaming, ranting breakdown in Darzi’s office and she’d sit there and say the same thing.
Hell, maybe it was.
But what if Tom’s voice was coming from a memory? What if it had really happened? What if what really happened? You locked him up somewhere?
That didn’t make sense. It was just her guilt over the affair bubbling to the surface.
The problem was, it didn’t stop once she went back to her hotel that night.
As she was waiting in line for her takeout, she heard him again.
“Catherine! This isn’t fair!”
It was so loud and sharp she jumped, looking around. No one else reacted at all. Trembling, she paid for her food and raced back to her hotel, the radio turned up to full volume to drown out any noise—real or imagined.
Once in her room, she had a bottle of wine with dinner, and the voice stopped. Blissful silence. And when she slept that night, she actually slept.
The voice was back the next day, so she took a couple of the miniature bottles from the minibar to work with her, tucked in her purse. She told herself it was “just in case.” And just until after the launch. Then she’d have time to figure everything out.
By the end of the day, both bottles were gone, but so was Tom’s voice.
18
THE ASTRONAUTS’ LAUNCH-DAY breakfast was a long-standing tradition. Half the crew—Commander Duffy, Kevin Park, and Leah Morrison—had done this multiple times before for shorter missions, while Grace Kowalski, Zach Navarro, and Nate Royer were all relative rookies, with one or two missions apiece.
Cal was the only true rookie of the bunch. This was his first launch-day breakfast, joining the crew with Aaron and a few of the other support staff. It was embarrassing how… emotional he was. They were sitting in the same room where the greats ate breakfast before heading out: Glenn, Armstrong, Ride, and all the rest. Some of them had never come back. Everyone acted as if it were no big deal, as if this momentous thing that they’d been planning for years wasn’t about to happen.
In a nod to tradition, all the Sagittarius II astronauts had ordered the favorite steak-and-scrambled-eggs breakfast, except their lone vegetarian, Kowalski, who stuck with the eggs. It was just as well, because she barely ate anything anyway, but kept a resolute “I’m absolutely fine” look on her face nonetheless. They all did. Including Cal.
He’d done everything he could to prepare his crew. He’d done absolutely everything in his power to make certain that no issues from Sagittarius I would harm them. The rest was out of his hands. That wasn’t easy for him to acknowledge, but if he’d learned anything working for NASA, it was that there were always some things that had to be left to chance. He watched the minutes count down on the clock, wondering what random things might crop up on this mission.
When it was time for the crew to suit up, Cal had a chance to say goodbye to each of them.
John Duffy was the first, and gave Cal a hearty handshake and a slap to the shoulder that threatened to knock him off his feet.
“Keep ’em in line up there, Commander,” Cal said.
Duffy gave him a salute and a grin. “You know it.”
Morrison was next, and she already had her game face on. Of course. While the others would mostly be passengers for a bit, Morrison would bear the brunt of the responsibility following the launch. To keep from distracting her, Cal just offered a handshake. She looked at his hand, then cocked an eyebrow at him before hauling him into a hug. “Relax,” she said in his ear. “You look like you’re about to get your ass kicked or something. We got this, all right?”
“All right,” he confirmed.
When Morrison pulled back she was smiling. “Better. See you, man.”
He said good-bye to Navarro, Park, and Kowalski in turn, a lump forming in his throat. He kept it hidden from them under his smile.
Nate was last, and Cal couldn’t resist needling him. “Saw you were late for breakfast. You oversleep or something?”
“Nah, I had to make sure I was looking just right before I made my appearance.” They clasped hands and pulled each other into a hug, one that was tighter than Cal intended. Nate picked up on it and pulled back with a frown. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Cal cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m fine. Prelaunch jitters. You know how it is.” He tried on a grin and it almost fit. “Dude, my best friend is leaving for six years, I’m allowed to have a feeling or two about it.”
“Think of all the stories we’ll have to swap when I get back.” He gave Cal’s shoulder a shake. “Just don’t screw up the launch, all right? After that, it’s all down to us.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” Cal teased.
“Yeah, well, next time you can haul your ass out there if you don’t like the way we do things.”
That made Cal laugh, and he felt a bit of tension drain away. “Yeeeeah, I think that ship’s sailed, my friend. I’m gonna keep my feet right down here.”
“Then quit bitching.” Nate gave Cal one last swat to the arm and then turned to go. “See ya.”
“You bet.” Cal kept smiling, and kept the worry off his face. I hope I will.
Mission Control buzzed with activity as Aaron and Cal entered the last planned hold of the countdown. Once the clock started again, if all went well, in nine minutes the ship would launch, and the Sagittarius II mission would be underway. Cal tried to focus on his job, tried not to think about how his friends were sitting on top of a giant explosive device, and that this was the biggest moment of his career so far. He’d never sat in one of the flight-controller desks in Mission Control before, and here he was, at the Flight Activities Officer desk, a few minutes away from his first launch. He focused on the display in front of him, determined to do this right.