Gwendy’s Final Task

“It is a magic bus,” Becky says, and actually plays a few bars of the Who song.

“This hardly seems the time for stupid computer tricks,” Gareth says. He sounds wound up and pissed off, that amiable tone of voice from earlier outside of the lavatory a distant memory. “Next you’ll be asking it to tell knock-knock jokes while our lives are at risk!”

“No one’s life is at risk,” Kathy says. “This is a walk in the park.”

If only, Gwendy thinks.

Now there’s a touch of gravity again as Becky fires the aiming rockets in small, feathery bursts.

“Ops, do you want to go around another couple of times?” Eileen asks. “Sunset in twenty minutes, your location.”

“Negative, Ground, all good with us, and Becky can see in the dark.”

But Kathy and Sam can’t, Gwendy thinks, and computer-directed docking only works if Becky’s programming is flawless, and if there’s no dreaded holy-shit moment.

“Roger, Eagle Heavy.” This time it’s a male voice, Eileen’s superior, not a rocket jockey but some political appointee. Gwendy should be able to remember his name—she was the one who appointed him, for Christ’s sake—but she can’t. She tries some of Dr. Ambrose’s tricks, but none of them work.

A sudden brilliant thought strokes across her mind, as scary as a stroke of lightning hitting just feet away: Where is the button box? Is it in her tiny capsule of a cabin, or the storage compartment beneath her seat? Oh God, is it sitting home on the high shelf in the garage? What if she forgot to bring it?

She has enough wit to change her comm to private and then select the Bug Man’s setting on her iPad. “Adesh, do you know what I did with the steel case I brought on board? The one with—”

“Yes, the one with CLASSIFIED stamped on it.” He points down. She looks and sees it’s beneath her leg, just as it was on liftoff.

“Thank you,” she says. “Forgive the flightiness. I’m a little nervous about the docking.”

“Totally understood.” He smiles at her through his visor, but there’s no smile in his eyes. What she sees there is consideration. Maybe evaluation. She doesn’t like it. They must not know what’s wrong with me until the mission is accomplished. After that it won’t matter what they know.

There’s a thud from above them as Eagle Heavy’s docking hatch slides open on its servomotors.

“IDA is in place and green across the board,” Becky says. Gwendy has no trouble with that. IDA is the international docking adapter, so called because every nation that can send rockets to MF uses the same system. She can remember that, but for the time being her own middle name escapes her.

“Locking hinges in place,” Becky says.

The cabin rocks port; rocks starboard; comes steady. Little jerks accompany each movement, as if an inexperienced driver is goosing the gas pedal, releasing it, then goosing it again. A metaphor Gwendy could have done without.

“Ten meters,” Becky says.

All at once a huge shadow darkens the cabin, causing the interior lights to come on. Gwendy cranes her neck and sees they are passing under one of the MF station’s huge spokes, clearing it by what looks like only feet. She can make out every seal and rivet.

“Jesus, too close!” Gareth cries. “Too fucking cl—”

Then his voice is gone. Someone—probably Dave Graves—has cut him out of the general comm. Which is a good thing, Gwendy thinks. No one needs to listen to him bellow. Nevertheless, she braces herself for a collision that seems almost inevitable. A gloved hand takes hers. It’s Jaff. She turns to him and winks. He looks scared to death, but he manages to wink back.

“Five meters,” Becky says.

Seconds later there’s a bump—not hard but plenty solid. Gwendy has a moment of vertigo and realizes her body hasn’t been fully aware of Eagle Heavy’s constant motion until it stopped.

“Soft capture complete,” Becky says.

Kathy relays that to the ground, and Gwendy hears applause. Beside his porthole, Gareth looks bewildered. He can’t hear what’s happening.

Gwendy selects OPS 1 on her iPad and says, “Kathy, loop Gareth in. I think he’ll be okay now, and he should hear everyone in the down-below is happy.”

“Roger that.”

Becky tells them to stand by for final docking. There are more thuds, harder this time, as the 12 latches engage, two by two.

“Docking sequence is complete,” Becky says.

“Good job, Beckster,” Dave says.

“Always glad to help,” Becky says. “Shall I handle the hatch opening?”

“I’ll do that,” Kathy says. “Stand down, Becky.”

“Standing down.”

Sam Drinkwater says, “The hard line is connected. You’re go for hatch opening, Kath.”

Kathy turns in her seat. “Everyone pressurized? Let me hear your roger.”

They give it. Gwendy thinks the rich guy—name momentarily escapes her—looks grumpy but relieved.