Orbital

Twenty-Six Passenger

I’ve set foot on two different space stations: One was a Chinese satellite where I found a half dead astronaut. The other was a Russian platform where I watched a friend die on my first trip and had to kill two men on my second, and nearly destroyed the entire station in the process.

To say that I have some anxiety about setting foot onboard the Sagan is an understatement.

Laney’s last words to me before I stepped onboard the Unicorn spacecraft were, “Try not to break this one.”

We shared a platonic hug that I let linger a little too long. But she endured it and didn’t embarrass me by pulling away.

I couldn’t figure out the right way to tell her that I was going to miss having her in my ear.

For this operation in order to blend in, I have to behave like all the other researchers onboard the Sagan and then report in when I’m alone in my own cubicle.

Our pilot is Jenna Schroeder. I trained with her at iCosmos, but didn’t know her terribly well. She and everyone else was told my cover story about working as a consultant for a company doing equipment testing.

It’s a pretty plausible story. Everyone in aerospace is still crazy multidisciplinary.

It was weird sitting in the plastic chairs of the iCosmos classroom and going through that process as a passenger and not a prospective pilot.

Anyone going into orbit as a passenger on an iCosmos craft has to spend a week in training — not counting what the destination and their own institution require. It’s still not at the point where you just buy a ticket on your phone and walk into an airplane.

I’m pretty sure it’ll never get to that point. Even as space travel gets safer, there’s still the medical issues that everyone goes through to some degree.

Right now, getting flight rated is pretty similar to scuba training. You have to pass a few tests and show that you’re not going to immediately pass out or freak out.

And this is the real space certification; not the adventure camp style they do for rich tourists where they treat them like make believe astronauts then send them on a seven-minute suborbital flight where they sort of see stars and experience weightlessness before falling back to Mojave.

I mean, if that’s your thing, great. But that’s like jumping into the hotel pool in Brisbane and saying you swam the Great Barrier Reef.

As a courtesy, Jenna let me sit in the empty co-pilot seat. I was a good passenger and didn’t touch anything.

“You want to get the hatch?” she asks as the lights turn green after we dock.

“Sure thing.” I unbuckle my harness and drift over to the nose of the vehicle.

I give the wheel a spin and pull the hatch inwards. On the other side is the interior hatch for the Sagan. A small porthole sits in the middle.

I press my face up against the cold glass, trying to see who is on the other side.

My stomach does a backflip when all I see is an empty airlock and I get flashbacks of prior missions.

Suddenly a Stormtrooper helmet pops into view and yells, “WHO GOES THERE?”

I flinch. “JESUS!”

When I look back, Jenna is covering her mouth trying not to laugh.

“You knew this was going to happen?”

She nods. “They do it to everyone.”

My pulse begins to settle down. “For heaven sake. I have a history with this kind of thing…”

“That’s why they wanted me to make sure you weren’t armed.”

“Not funny, Schroeder. Not funny.”

“Sorry, David.”

I shake my head. “No. It’s cool. You knew Peterson and Bennet too.”

“Peterson would have loved this kind of thing.”

“Yeah, and Bennet would have just shaken his head.”

“And not have screamed like a little girl.”

“I didn’t scream,” I reply.

“If that’s what you want me to report in the log.”

The Stormtrooper takes off the mask and I’m greeted by the smiling face of an older woman. This would be Tamara Collins, the station director.

She gives the hatch a triple knock, letting me know she’s about to open it. I drift back as the door swings into the Sagan.

There’s a group of people filling the small airlock waiting to greet me.

Tamara shakes my hand, “Welcome aboard, David. We don’t get too many celebrities here.”

“So that’s what they’re calling me.”

I float into the junction and get introduced to some of the researchers who came down to meet me. I already know who they all are from the Penumbra files, but I pretend to learn their names for the first time.

Noticeably absent are two Russian scientists. I don’t know if this is because they have other work to do or if this is some kind of protest.

While Radin had made a public display of calling me a hero for working with his intelligence officials — a complete lie — I know that back in Roscosmos there’s not a lot of warm feelings for me.

“Let me give you the tour,” says Tamara.

I drift around towards Jenna. “You good?”

She points to her display. “I’m supervising the cargo extraction.”

Right now a robotic arm is unloading the modules from the Unicorn’s cargo trunk and placing them into an airlock adjacent to the docking section.

“Need any help?”

“You’re all clear. Passenger.” She gives me a smile.

“Am I supposed to tip you?”

“Just give me a five-star rating.”

“I’ll consider it.” I drift towards the hatch.

“Hey, David!” she calls to me.

“Yeah?”

“It was a pleasure to fly with you.”

Well damn. Now I’m all emotional. Being let go from iCosmos was one of the most depressing things that happened to me. On top of losing Bennet and Peterson, the thought of not being part of a team again really affected me.

Hearing Jenna say that…man…that just hit me. In a good way.

Now I’ve got to go meet my new team, get to know them and then secretly plot against the one I think is a traitor and then have them find out I’m a total fraud.