“I guess there’s no real food because you’re worried about me getting motion sickness, which is more likely to happen on an empty stomach,” I’m disappointed, a bit miffed. “And more to the point, it isn’t supposed to happen to begin with considering my enhancements.”
“I’m not worried about you being motion sick.”
“Then why skip lunch? Why not ask whoever left the tea also to include food?” I’m tempted to add that the commander of Space Force should be able to request anything he wants. “There’s probably nothing for us in the galley either,” I already know the answer, and Dick shakes his head, nope, not a morsel.
I don’t mean to be a crank but the last I ate was when Mom fixed me two fried egg sandwiches before I left the house, and that was a long time ago. It would have been nice to grab lunch in the White House mess hall before we headed out. But there wasn’t time, Dick mandated.
He said, and I quote, “You don’t keep a 140-ton military tactical transporter waiting while you order a turkey rueben even if it’s to go.”
“I said you’d be upset with me,” Dick sips his tea. “I’ve held off telling you for as long as I could in hopes of making it easier. But the fact is you can’t have anything else today, nothing tonight or in the morning. Nothing to eat before the launch except clear fluids, maybe crackers. And after that it’s space food, some of which you’ve had before.”
“Probably while I was locked up at Dodd Hall,” I connect the dots. “Like the bags of space punch. You probably had me eating reconstituted space food that I don’t remember.”
“Your mom and I had a discussion about whether you should have those fried egg sandwiches this morning,” Dick says, his phone in hand like always, monitoring messages.
“What did she do, text you about it?” as I think, Are you kidding?
“Actually . . . ,” he hesitates, and that’s exactly what my mother did.
“Do I get to decide anything on my own anymore?” I’m incredulous, annoyed and secretly flattered.
“Penny pointed out that whether you ate or not this morning, it was risky either way,” as if they were discussing surgery instead of breakfast. “As important as the White House briefing was, better to make sure your blood sugar didn’t drop.”
“Which it does more than it used to,” I admit, taking the blankets from him.
I begin unfolding them, draping one over his lap, the other over mine, sitting side by side like roomies again inside our private space. Our view is the wiper blades parked askew on the windscreen, the dimly lit steel fuselage filled with big darkly silhouetted shapes, and in the distance the cockpit glows like a light at the end of a tunnel.
“Hunger is a powerful thing,” Dick says. “I’m sorry if your appetites are out of whack,” as if it’s not just food we’re talking about. “There have been a number of things to adjust with Carme too.”
“It’s like the volume is lower in some areas,” I reply, “and higher in others. That’s how it feels,” and it’s not a subject I’m eager to discuss with him.
“Well, clearly something needs to be adjusted,” he decides as if we’re talking about a misfiring carburetor. “Probably your hypothalamus. But I’m no doctor.”
“Then maybe don’t guess about things like that,” I suggest.
By now the pilots have begun firing up the 4 engines, and if we weren’t sitting here with the helicopter doors shut, I’d suggest hearing protection.
“How about some nice hot tea?” Dick says. “You can have all of that you want,” pouring himself a cup.
“Not helpful. You know what happens,” I remind him. “What’s the bathroom like on this thing? I prefer to avoid it if possible. It would be like tromping out into the cold to use a steel outhouse, and no thank you.”
00:00:00:00:0
“HERE,” Dick hands me the steaming cup. “A few sips, and if you have to hit the loo? Just remind yourself that won’t be a problem soon enough,” he nudges me with his elbow the way Carme does, the way he used to do when she and I were kids.
“You mean when I’m wearing a diaper again,” I reply.
“There are some advantages to our humiliations.”
“That’s probably not one of them,” trying the tea, I taste honey and lemon, the way he’s always taken it for as long as I’ve known him.
As we talk in the near dark, I ask him to be honest. We’re way beyond being coy or disingenuous, and I don’t need him sitting on details that might cause me to walk off the job.
“Is it possible Neva could know about the PEQUOD, the MOBE? If so, for how long? And might she have similar technologies?” I get to the point. “Or what if she has more advanced ones?” and it’s a very bad thought as I prepare to face off with whatever rogue spacecraft she’s dispatched to screw the rest of us.
“We’ve kept the technologies as off grid as any project we’ve ever done. But with her there’s always a chance for anything,” Dick tops off his tea, and I don’t know where he puts it. “The short answer is we don’t know the extent of her capabilities. We can’t say for sure that she doesn’t have a secret spaceship that’s been weaponized.”
“One that’s attacking our satellites at the moment and about to strike again apparently,” I’m sitting with my feet up on the helicopter seat, my arms around my knees, the blanket over me.
“For starters, very possibly she’s behind it,” Dick agrees, the C-17 lumbering along the runway as we take off. “And yes, it’s my suspicion that she’s doing all of this, intending to monopolize everything she can.”
“So much for getting to take my Chase Plane on a test spin,” I reply. “Or even seeing it in the showroom beyond the photograph of it in the hangar. By this time tomorrow I’ll be orbiting in GEO, piloting a spaceship I’ve never been in before and didn’t know existed except in white papers, schematics and my imagination.”
“There’s nothing you haven’t done countless times in the simulators, and a lot of those very programs are the ones you wrote. Or you and your dad did,” Dick reminds me. “I wouldn’t allow you to do this if I didn’t think you were up to the task, Calli.”