Loose
Ends
immediately after Space Brain
Sandra was exhausted. Alpha's air pressure had finally stabilized and all sources of air leakage were confirmed patched, at least on a temporary basis. With a sigh, she gratefully slumped back into her chair, rubbing her burning eyes. Finally looking up, she watched the red-sleeved man seated across from her work on rebooting a stubbornly uncooperative portable computer unit. His calm presence was reassuring.
"That is it, Paul. Atmosphere is again nominal."
Paul looked up, then stood and moved around the consoles to glance over Sandra's shoulder at the readouts. "Good." He looked as tired as she felt. Resting a hand lightly on her shoulder, he looked down at her. "Why don't you take some down time? It's been a long day."
"For you also." They both had been sitting the night watch the previous evening when the first transmissions from the space brain had crossed the screens.
"I know. Soon." Paul placed his hand under Sandra's arm and helped her up. "Go on."
Normally she would have protested such a dismissal, but she was just too weary. She looked numbly around Main Mission recalling her fear as the odd foam-like material had poured in and had quickly reached the height of Paul's shoulders. And he was not a short man. She looked without really seeing the clean-up crews hard at work trying to rid Main Mission of the last of the congealing mess. A memory tickled at the back of Sandra's mind. She was missing somethingÉ With a sinking feeling, Sandra looked around trying to recall where she had left it. She last remembered it there on her desk, carefully returned to its plastic bag for safekeeping. She looked down but knew what she would find-- it was no longer there. She simply couldn't recall what she had done with it given the recent chaos. She shook her head, had it really been less then twenty-four hours?
"Sandra, go." Paul's expression was worried and kind. She nodded in agreement and turned to leave. Certainly if one of the crew found it, he or she would put it safely aside.
Feeling infinitely older then her twenty-eight years, Sandra left Main Mission and headed toward the residential block. Everywhere she passed foam or the remnants of foam still lingered. What were they going to do with it all? If it did not degrade on its own they could always dump it outside on the lunar surface, but that would only delay the problem. In the vacuum of space, the foam would continue to exist as it was, unchanging. Oh well, that was a problem for tomorrow.
Leaving the as yet uncleared travel tubes for another time, Sandra headed down corridors she usually bypassed. The long walk turned out to be therapeutic and the fear of being smothered or crushed to death slowly faded. Now, she could fret over the small things. How would she find her surface-level quarters? Covered in this mess? Her stomach grumbled. Would dietary be up and running soon? She had not eaten since before this all started. And where was it? She could not bear the thought of losing it after all they had been through. It was one of her few tangible reminders of home.
Sandra remembered that day she had gone to Supplies to pick up a package from Earth. Personal packages had been dreadfully expensive to ship up and such a rarity usually meant a treat from her stepmother or younger sister. This time the small package had borne her father's bold penmanship. She had taken it back to her quarters to open privately without the snoopy supplies tech watching. Sandra smiled slightly in recalled happiness. Inside she had found a painted needlepoint canvas. The depiction of the Acropolis was nothing she would have ever chosen, especially in needlepoint, but it reflected her Papa perfectly. It was the first and only time he had even shown interest in her favorite hobby and she felt a little closer to him when she worked on it. She often did so while sitting a night watch, and last night had been no different.
She paused at an intersection to allow a suited and heavily loaded-down exterior maintenance crew access to the emergency airlock she was about to pass. As she waited, she recalled that just before Commander Koenig had opened the door from his office, she had been fussing with a knotted strand of yarn. Paul had been reading to her from a book on the history of The Beatles she had found tucked away in a forgotten corner of the library. She remembered the Commander bidding them a good night and leaving. It was shortly thereafter that the bizarre messages had started and she supposed she had folded the canvas and yarn and put it on her console. Much later, just as the pressure suits arrived, she remembered thinking she had to tuck everything back into the plastic bag before the final onslaught of foam, and seemed to remember doing so.
Mildly surprised, Sandra realized she had arrived at her quarters and was standing outside the already opened door. She walked inside, looked around and sighed. The foam was everywhere. The lower levels on the lunar surface were supposed to be the safest from attack. Not this time. She usually had little need for the maintenance crews inside her quarters, but now she would let them finish would they could. Maybe she could stay at Paul's tonight. But first, she wanted something to eat.
The foam made the walk to the main residential cafeteria treacherous, but as it was on the third level it had escaped the worst of the damage. Sandra entered to find a few others hunting for the sandwiches the dietary staff usually put together in times of crisis. Technically assigned to her Service Section, Sandra let chief dietician Geoff Okemah manage his dietary staff without any interference from her. He let his needs be known and she tried to accommodate him as best she could. It was a good working relationship. She walked over to the serving line and looked dubiously at the sandwiches.
"Just the usual ÔAlphan mystery meat-less,' Ms. Benes."
Sandra looked up to see a tall, thin black woman with an unusual American accent smiling at her.
"Here, you'll be wanting some of this to wash it down with."
Sandra took the glass of flavored water and the sandwich from the tall woman. "Thank youÉ" She was embarrassed. This person was part of her section and had served her meals frequently over the past months since Breakaway, but Sandra simply could not recall her name.
"Juanita Hughes, Ms Benes. And this here is Maisey Watts." Sandra looked again and smiled at the small, thin mousy woman standing almost invisibly in Juanita's shadow.
"Thank you, Juanita. Could you see that food is delivered to Main Mission? I know that would be greatly appreciated."
"Can do." Juanita unclipped her commlock and spoke quietly and quickly in an accent that Sandra had difficulty following given her fatigue. "Done."
Sandra thanked the woman again and moved to a table with her snack. Seeking privacy, she avoided eye contact with the few other Alphans present. She ate the sandwich quickly and gathered her plate to walk to the clean-up line when inspiration hit. The Commander had ordered her and Dr. Russell to the observatory level of Main Mission just as the foam arrived. Could she have left the needlework up there? She did not remember taking it, but that meant nothing. Needlework had been a hobby for so many years she could put a project up neatly for the evening and not recall doing so the next morning.
All right, back to Main Mission. She would not be able to rest until she checked. In any case, it would give her a chance to ask Paul if she could stay the night.
Sandra paused by the door under the Main Screen to see who was present. She really did not want to be scolded for returning to Main Mission, at least not until she knew if the needlepoint was up there or not. Kano was still sitting at his computer console, typically ignoring the sandwich by his hand. And thereÉ Paul's back was turned to her as he leaned over to say something to David. Good. She slipped along the wall and over to the stairs to the upper balcony. She had climbed about halfway when she heard Dr. Russell's quietly distressed voice. She paused, not wanting to intrude on what was obviously a private conversation.
"We could have tried to move him. Leaving him there was a death sentence, and he might have survived being disconnected from ComputerÉ"
"As a vegetable, Helena. You're aware of that as well as I. That's not what Kelly would have wanted. Nor Melita."
That surprised Sandra. She had expected Dr. Russell to be speaking with the Commander, but then again, Dr. Mathias' presence also made sense.
"I suppose. John said something similar, butÉ"
"Helena." There was a break in the conversation, and then Dr. Mathias continued softly. "Helena, you care and that is why this hurts so much. That is what makes you a good physician. And," there was another pause, "you also know the pain will get less with time. You've been through this before with patients."
"I know."
Sandra stepped quietly backwards down the stairs. She could check for the needlework later. She was almost back to the floor when she bumped into someone and lost her balance. Relying on the supporting hand immediately placed on her arm, she turned about to face forwards. OhÉ
"Commander. I apologizeÉ"
"Is she still up there kicking herself?" Koenig interrupted, a small smile forgiving any indiscretion on Sandra's behalf. He let Sandra's arm go as soon as he saw she had regained her balance.
Koenig shook his head slightly as he looked past Sandra up to the balcony. "I'd hoped she'd believe Bob, at least. There was just no time to save Kelly, or even try."
Sandra nodded. There was little to add. She had not known the pilot beyond recognizing his face. She knew Melita better. The woman was a stellar cartographer in her section. Sandra made a note to herself to make sure she checked on the grieving widow over the next few days.
"Carter's probably kicking himself, too. I'm damn glad he took that risk and went out and got Kelly, though. It turned out we really needed that information about the space brain. It made the difference."
Again, Sandra nodded. She realized she hadn't seen Alan in a while, not since she had been assigned the atmosphere check.
Koenig looked down at her and frowned slightly. "I thought you'd left to get some rest. You look exhausted."
"Yes, Commander. I was just checking on something I misplaced."
Koenig looked at her, not asking but plainly curious.
Sandra sighed and gestured slightly over her shoulder. "My needlework. I was hoping I left it up there, safe."
The sounds of footsteps coming down the stairs caused both Sandra and the Commander to look up. They stepped aside to allow Bob Mathias room to pass. Several steps down, Dr. Mathias turned to look back at the Commander. He shrugged.
"What can I say, Commander? It's a hazard of the profession. It will pass."
Koenig grimaced. He hated to see Helena like this. "Thanks, Bob, for trying."
Mathias nodded and turned to leave. Sandra slipped past the Commander to follow Dr. Mathias down the rest of the steps. She walked over to Paul who was still working with the portable unit. He looked up, obviously ready to scold her when she leaned over and whispered her request in his ear. Their relationship was common knowledge, but there was no reason to be blatant about it.
Paul nodded with a tired smile. "Certainly, Sandra."
"Sandra." Commander Koenig's voice from the balcony caused all eyes to look up. With a small smile, he tossed down a plastic wrapped package before turning back to Helena.
Sandra caught the bag and quickly looked inside. Everything looked dry and safe. She truly smiled for the first time in hours.
"Sandra?"
She turned back to Paul. He looked ready to order her to leave. Now that she knew her papa's gift was safe, there was something else the Commander had said that needed her attentionÉ
"Here, Paul. Take this back with you." She handed him the carefully re-wrapped canvas. "I need to check on someone."
As Sandra turned to leave she heard David make a comment about Paul acquiring a new hobby. Paul's undoubtedly sardonic response was lost however when the doors closed behind her.
The foam-slick floors remained a challenge as Sandra carefully made her way up the final two levels to Alan's quarters. After Breakaway, Alan had chosen quarters at the highest point in the residential block, not so coincidentally overlooking an Eagle launch pad. Finally outside his door, she pulled her commlock off her belt and pushed the button to speak with the room's occupant.
"Alan?" No answer. Using her authorization codes, she did a quick check with Computer to confirm Alan had entered his quarters less then 20 minutes ago. "Alan? It is Sandra, may I come in please?"
There was no response. He might have fallen asleep, but she rather doubted it. More likely, he was lost in thought blaming himself for Kelly's death. Sandra thought briefly to use the override codes she was not supposed to know, but did. Her ethical dilemma was solved when she looked up at the approaching footsteps and recognized Tony Verdeschi's limping step coming toward her.
Tony was head of Weapon's Section and second in the Security division. The limp was the last sign of the devastating Breakaway injuries he had barely survived. The handsome Italian had become a good friend during his long recovery. Through a mutual acquaintance, they had discovered each liked to watch the dreadful old Italian spaghetti westerns Alpha's video library held so many of. She had spent many afternoons and the occasional evening with him in Medical Center watching movies. Usually, Tony poked fun at the poorly translated subtitles and then gave a proper translation for Sandra's benefit. Their friendship was comfortable and platonic. Paul was not very pleased at the time they spent in each other's company, but then again, Paul did not speak Italian.
"Sandra, you made it through alright?" The purple-sleeved man chose just that moment to slip and lose his balance. He caught himself against the doorframe to Carter's quarters. Realizing where they were, he gave Sandra a speculative look.
"Yes, thank you, but I am worried about Alan. Kelly died."
"Damn. I hadn't heard that yet. He's in there bashing his head against the wall like usual?"
Sandra shrugged slightly. "He will not answer. Can you let me in?"
"Yeah. Not a problem." It was a moment's work for Tony to use his security override codes to open the door. "Call me if I can help, Sahn."
"Thank you." Sandra entered the darkened quarters and the door closed behind her.
All the lights were off except a dim reading lamp over the sofa. As her eyes adjusted, Sandra saw Alan standing in the shadows by the far viewport staring out at the stark lunar surface. Still facing away from her, Alan spoke first. His voice was harsh and grief stricken.
"I know I disobeyed a direct command, and I don't think you can say anything to me I haven't said to myself. But, damn it, I had to get Kelly out of there. I couldn't just leave him to die."
There was a longish pause as Sandra wondered what she should say.
"And if I hadn't gotten him out, we wouldn't have got that information from the brain." Alan's voice became quieter. "He was a good man. He didn't deserve to die like that. None of them did." Alan's head now hung low and he crossed his arms over the front of his chest. Sandra thought he looked defensive. His next words were louder.
"Damn it, John, this isn't like you. Just chew me out and have done. You're acting like Gorski."
Sandra took a step forward into the room as Alan turned around. They spoke at almost the same time.
"AlanÉ"
"Oh, Sandra, sorryÉ"
They stopped and awkwardly looked at one another. Sandra took another step toward him, her hand slightly outreached.
"If it helps, Alan, the Commander said almost the same thing. About rescuing Kelly. I do not think he faults you."
"Yeah, well, it doesn't bring Kelly back, though, does it?" Alan walked over to the sofa and slumped down against the backrest under the reading light. He motioned with his hand for Sandra to join him if she wished. She sat in the chair opposite him.
Alan looked down at an over-sized hardbound book sitting on the small table between them. He suddenly sat up and reached out his hand, tapped the book's cover and looked up at Sandra.
"Did you know Kelly was from New Brunswick, Canada? Loved lobsters, Kelly did. He flew in their Air Force until he petitioned to join the European Space Agency back in the eighties." Alan snorted in memory, staring into the dim past. "He was actually in orbit when the nuclear strikes hit Geneva. Said it was the scariest thing he had ever seen. Wasn't sure he'd have a home to come back to."
Sandra settled back in the large, comfortable chair. Wondering briefly where Alan had found the stuffed chair, she listened to him reminisce.
"He was a damned good pilot and probably would've been the head of the Meta Probe training if he hadn't been such an idiot." Alan looked back up at Sandra. "He reported a cadet for smoking pot. Officially, he was commended. Unofficially, well, the promotions just about stopped coming. He didn't know the kid was the son of an important politico. Anyhow, he was still flying in the ranks when Alpha came to be built. They teamed us up more often then not. The two troublemakers kept where the powers-that-be could keep an eye on us."
Sandra smiled a little. "Was this before or after the chocolate and wine incident?"
Alan looked at her dismayed. "You've heard of that?" Softy, he chuckled ruefully. "Before, actually."
Alan reached out, picked up the large book, and opened it. He flipped through a few pages and closed it again, letting it sit on his lap. "Kelly's why I've got a draft horse named after me." He looked up at Sandra with a sad grin.
She nodded for him to continue.
"Well, I was about to hop a transport to get to the Wright-Pat Eagle Base when Kel suggested I drive instead. ÔSee the real America.' Yeah, right. In the middle of nowhere, I was run off the road by a deer. Landed unconscious in a ditch with a dislocated shoulder."
Sandra thought he looked a bit more relaxed as he remembered better times.
"I was pulled out by this bloke looking like he had just stepped through some sort of time warp from the eighteenth century. Rough farm clothes, straw hat and even a horse and buggy."
Sandra was becoming interested despite herself. When Alan's pause went on for too long, she prompted him, "And..."
Alan startled; he had forgotten she was there. "He was ÔAmish.' A religious group that lived like they did a couple hundred years ago. He and his kids rescued me in a rainstorm and took me home in a real horse-drawn buggy. Incredible people. They fixed my shoulder, fed me some of the best food I've ever eaten and even let me help foal a horse. That mare was just about the biggest brumbie I'd ever seen." Alan shook his head lost in the memory. "They took me into town and left me where Kelly could come get me. I bought this book in the local store to learn more about them and when I got back up to Alpha found this note inside."
Sandra stood and walked around the table to sit next to Alan. She took the offered note and held it up to read under the dim light. On the small scrap of real paper in what was plainly a child's hand was the simple messageÉ We will name the colt Carter.
She looked up at Alan. His face was sad again. "Melita only came to Alpha to be with Kelly. He wanted her to stay on Earth."
And now, Sandra thought, she was left alone. She hadn't realized Alan and Kelly had been such good friends.
Alan handed the large book to her. "Here, Sahn, you might like this. There's a chapter about Amish women and the things they make." He stood and walked back into the darkness to stare out the viewports once again.
Sandra opened the richly illustrated book about the Ohio Amish and their traditions and lifestyle. There was page after page of close-ups of handmade quilts. The geometrical shapes and strong, rich colors appealed to her aesthetic sense. She thought she might just be able to scan the pictures into Computer and have the needlework program she had smuggled up years ago convert the quilts into cross-stitch patterns. She closed the book and looked over to the viewports.
"Alan?" There was little she could think to say. They all had lost friends but the usually cheerful Alan did not often share his grief with others. It was upsetting to see him so.
He turned and walked back over to Sandra. She set the book aside and stood. She found his face looked old in the dim light.
"Hey, thanks for coming. It helps."
Sandra thought Alan was about to reach out to her, but after an awkward pause he looked away and the moment passed. He bent over and picked the book up off the sofa.
"Thanks again, Sahn. Here, keep the book as long as you want."
Sandra nodded her thanks, took the book and turned to leave. She looked back one last time as the door closed. Alan was back staring out the viewport.
A short time later, Sandra felt more herself after a shower and a change of clothes. She sat curled up against the corner of the sofa in Paul's quarters wearing his old RAF sweatshirt, the one that was familiar and comfortable. She briefly considered working on the needlepoint, but instead picked up Alan's book. Reaching over her head, she absently adjusted the reading light slightly to minimize the glare off the glossy pages. The feel of the heavy book in her lap was reassuringly solid. She had never heard of the Amish before and found their lifestyle intriguing. She slowly leafed through the chapters looking at the pictures; the beautiful agrarian scenes were soothing. She'd leave the text to read another time. After half an hour, she closed the book and leaned back. She sat quietly and listened to Paul's soft snores coming from the sleeping alcove. Tomorrow would be another day.
25 May 2006
MDG
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