Orbital

Eight Jettison

Laney Washburn waves me away as I walk around my truck to open up the passenger side door for her. She steps out, places a slightly shaky foot on the ground and manages to make her way towards the tailgate.

“It’s not a feminist thing,” she says, pulling herself onto the bed next to me.

“I figure you’re in training,” I reply.

“Something like that.” She wipes a few strands of hair out of her eyes as the Cape wind blows across the bay.

When I first met her two months ago, she was a space blogger covering my launch. Colored streaks in her hair, glitter-covered shirt, she approached space with all the enthusiasm of a teenager with a pop idol crush.

Her personality was big and loud, the crutches she used to get around because of her MS seemed like just one more affectation.

She’s a pretty girl with straw-colored hair. In some ways she’s far more mature than her twenty-three years, in others she has a child-like vulnerability about her.

“I miss the colored hair,” I say, realizing she looks rather…um normal.

“It was a phase.” She glances down at a notification on her phone. “T-minus two minutes.”

Across the waterway stands an iCosmos Monoceros rocket. The very, very big brother to the Alicorn I road into space, this is the heavy-lift rocket they use to send up space station parts and NASA’s deep space hardware.

From here it’s still a tiny speck. But in just over a minute it’ll light up the afternoon sky as it sets fire to millions of gallons of methane, sending it into orbit.

“What’s onboard?” I ask.

“US/iCosmos parts, I think.”

“You think? I thought you had the inside track?” Last time we spoke she’d been offered a job at iCosmos in their astronaut program.

“I didn’t take the offer,” she says, staring across the bay.

“What? Vin promised me astronaut track for you.”

“And that’s what he offered.” She shakes her head. “I want to go into space, but not like that.”

“As an astronaut?”

“As a charity case.”

“Laney, you’re more qualified than anybody I know. You’re the reason we pulled off the mission. I can’t believe it.”

“I want to go because I belong there, not because somebody gets to feel good because they checked off some charity case checklist. When you went to the K1 space station the last time, would you have wanted me as your wingman?”

“Yes,” I reply without hesitation. “Basically, you were.”

“Okay…going back to when you had to ditch the Unicorn and bail out. What would have happened if that was left to me?”

“That was a rather unusual situation.”

“And that’s what being an astronaut is about. Being mentally and physically capable of handling those situations. I don’t want to be…”

“Cargo?” I point to the Monoceros. “Most of the people who are going to go up in that thing are cargo.”

“But they have a purpose. They’re going up to build the US/iCosmos station. I just don’t want to be a token.”

A bright ball of fire erupts from across the bay and starts to ascend towards the sky as the Monoceros begins its journey to space.

“I think you’re being ridiculous. Somebody has to go first.”

“There have been plenty of people with disabilities in space. I want to work there and be an asset.”

“Trust me, you would be.” I get the feeling she’s holding something back.

The noise of the blast rolls across the water and fills the air.

“Wait? Is this about me being let go?” I say over the roar.

Laney keeps watching the rocket as it breaks through a cloud layer. “It’s complicated.”

“Now you’re really being ridiculous.”

She turns to me. “Fuck them, David. After all you did, they let you go.” I can see the hurt I her eyes.

“They didn’t have a choice.” I didn’t tell anyone why I left. I just let the official statement that I had completed my purpose there stand.

“You sat in a room with two billionaires and they kicked you to the curb, after you risked your life to protect everything they had.”

“I did it more for selfish reasons.”

She grabs my arm and puts her head on my shoulder. “Is this okay?”

“It’s terrible.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“I’m weighing my options.”

“And those are?”

“What are you, my mother?”

“Just your concerned kid sister.”

“Good way to friend zone me.”

She lifts her head up and looks me in the eyes for a moment. “You’re not datable material right now.”

“The whole unemployed thing. I get it.”

“No. I mean the whole, you don’t know what to do with your life thing.”

“I thought that was being an astronaut pilot. Now that’s been taken away from me.”

“I thought you said you had options?”

“Uh, well. I sent out some inquiries.”

“How’d that go?” she asks.

“People thought it was a joke. Although SpaceTech expressed interest.”

“The vocational school in Orlando? I thought that was a scam for aimless kids with rich parents?”

“Well, at least I’m an expert on aimless. They have plenty of former NASA astronauts on their staff. And space vocational training is becoming a big thing. Hey, didn’t Markov mention offering you a job?”

“Yeah. I’m just not sure if I want to work with a master spy. It’s difficult enough to keep my mouth shut about what we did.”

The only public statement about Laney was that she consulted with the intelligence team about certain space-related background information.

There’s a howler for you. If anyone deserves credit for this succeeding, it’s her. She’s the only reason I’m alive.

I lean over and kiss her on the forehead.

“What was that for?” she says.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to violate your boundaries. I was just remembering that time I was stuck in space with a nuclear weapon strapped to my chest and I thought I was going to die — until you figured out how to remotely operate the DarkStar.”

“Oh, that. I’ll excuse this transgression as long as it’s of a platonic nature.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t try to get to first base until I’m a little less aimless.”

“Let’s hope that doesn’t take too long.”

I see a smile form in the corner of her mouth.

This girl. This woman. This amazing woman. One little variation in her genes and she has to go through life worried that every guy sees her with pity and not for who she is.

She’s cute, real cute. The kind of cute I’d flirt with if I met her randomly. But she’s had to deal with guys saying things about her condition like, “I’d still hit that,” as if it was a compliment. Hell, I’ve thought that several times.

What I suspect Laney really wants is the same thing we all want; to be accepted as the whole package. Not to be used just for the appealing factors.

“Want to stay and watch the first stage come back down?” she asks as I put an arm around her shoulders.

“I’ve go no place to go,” pulling her close. “I can wait for the second one too…”