John Karr - Detonation Event

“Thanks but not this time,” Trent replied. “Gotta hang with Mom here for a few before the final relay check on red dirt.”

They laughed, not needing to see the jab to Trent’s shoulder to know she was hardly his mother.

“Jerk,” she said.

“What, you act like it,” he said, feigning innocence.

“Too bad you’re such an introvert,” she said. “You might want to get to know a few of your shipmates.”

“Yeah, yeah—hey, spaceman! Yeah, we’ll catch up when I get back.”

She took a sip of coffee and glanced at her brother over the rim of her cup. Trent showed only a hint here and there of the boy she’d grown up with. He was a few inches taller than she was, and a bit more muscular. Almost everyone was genetically calibrated for lean body types, but they did not always work at strength and endurance like the Wagner siblings. Exercising and paying too much for coffee were two items they agreed upon. Space, and their mother, were the other two.

“You put in your request for Earth November, right?” she said.

“Uh, what?” Trent said.

She hit his shoulder with another firm punch. “We’re taking a few days off to meet back on Lunar One with Mom for Thanksgiving?” she said. “From there we’ll take a hopper back to Earth.”

“Wrightsville Beach?”

“Unless you want to try the mountains this time.”

“Please. You know it’s about huge quantities of liquid water clinging to a spinning rock with a molten core!”

She laughed then pursed her lips. “You’re right. Freezing your ass off to catch a few waves does sound fun.”

“I’m gonna get you out with me next time.”

“Yeah, no.”

“It’ll remind you that you’re not an old lady yet, despite your best attempts to behave that way.”

“Uh-huh. Mom and I will enjoy the November ocean with dry winter jackets.”

“If you can get her out of the car.”

“We’ll have her hold some coffee.”

Trent laughed. “Sounds good, sis.” He took a sip from his cup, and they talked several more minutes, mostly about life aboard the orbiters. Job stuff. Music and entertainment.

“Watch it down there on the surface, TWag.”

Trent rolled his eyes. “I’ve only been a thousand times now.”

“That’s when crap happens,” she replied. “People get used to the routine, get careless, get bored. Take chances .” She raised her brows for emphasis. “Remember those sharks I saw when you were surfing at Wrightsville Beach?”

“They’re always there. They eyeball you, bump you, see if they can spook you. Rarely take a bite.”

“…until they do.”

“Yeah, yeah. Safety Sis.” Trent smiled. “You take more chances with your wardrobe than anything else in life.”

“One of the above doesn’t get somebody dead. Wonder which? Besides, when was flying in space considered all that safe?”

“True. Okay, I’ll flip it back, then,” he said, raising his brows for quasi-authority. “You need to watch for aster-turds on the way back to MOS-2. The orbs are pulling back for Detonation Event, so make sure you calculate their speed and direction into your navigation.”

“Naturally. And just to fact you…”

“Fact me? Fact you.” Trent laughed.

“Still laughing at your own jokes, eh?”

“Somebody’s gotta keep me entertained.”

“You’re probably not aware, as you’re not a pilot…” She let it hang, smirk on her face.

Trent arched a brow. “Oh, please continue, your highness.”

“…the navigation has already been charted, quad checked, and approved up the chain. My PS-30 is the last intra-orbiter flight until after the event.”

Trent shook his head and laughed.

“What?” she said.

“Who’d have thought my scared-of-her-own-shadow big sis would turn out to be an astrobio pilot. The spiders and dragonflies you were afraid of turned into a career.”

“I was never afraid of dragonflies! I admired their aerial prowess.”

“I guess so, pilot girl.”

“SCONA prefers safe pilots, bro. Crazy as it sounds, they’d like to keep their people and machines intact. Ry Devans of your PS-9 is the exception. He’s had some scrapes and takes risks seemingly for fun. Nuro keeps him in line.”

“Believe everything you hear?” Trent shifted his weight.

“Mmm. I’ve met him. I can tell.”

“Without risk we’d all be back on Earth trying to think of ways to be useful. Even you.”

“True. But why not tone it down a little? We are constantly vigilant against flesh meeting space. Besides, for me it’s a lot of autopilot by choice. And it’s not just bugs, but cell development and plant life.”

Trent slowly turned his coffee cup on the table. “Speaking of which, each trip down to the surface I poke a few of those seeds you gave me down into the dirt.”

“Soil,” she corrected. “And you’re just killing them.”

“Says you.”

“Way too cold for one. Two, all the radiation passing through that thin atmosphere punishes the surface soil.”

“Uh, that’s why I bury them?” Trent returned. “Maybe they’ll lie dormant for a while and then boom !”

“Well, the boom part is right. The odds of getting viable hot cores that make a magnetosphere, not so good.”

“Now we’re in my workspace,” Trent said. “Theoretical physics have shown it’s possible. Don’t be a pessimist.”

“Realist, little brother.”

“Hmm. You wouldn’t be here if you thought that.”

“Are you kidding? The chance to work on Mars and in space while living on these mechanical moons is reason enough to be here!”

He laughed.

She almost asked about the copilot of PS-9 but held back. Lassiter Nuro wasn’t a compatible match beyond the physical attraction, she could tell. And she didn’t need her baby brother giving her crap about it.

Finally he placed his half-empty cup in the tray. “Gotta catch a ride to Mars, GWag.”

He started to walk away when she protested.

“Damn, not even a hug for the sister who looks out for you?”

He pivoted. “Sorry, just ready to fly down one more time! Couple hours and these feet will be on Martian soil.”

“At least your radiation-protected boots will.”

“For a while. Human feet someday, sis.”

“Later, bro.”

A brief hug and they headed to different ports and different shuttles. She looked back once to wave, but he fell in with a group and was seemingly swept along.

Now she was in the pilot seat as PS-30 pushed superheated plasma and light into space behind it. They easily outstripped MOS-1 in its leisurely retreat from Mars and headed toward MOS-2 as it performed a similar pullback. True to form, she had reviewed one more time the pathways for possible asteroid interaction, or aster-turds, as Trent referred to them.

Gwen turned from the stars and glanced at the holo and the shuttle’s projected pathway toward MOS-2, a week’s journey away.

“Computer, resume lights.”

“Resuming.”

“Ugh.” She blanched and squinted as light stung her eyes. “Gradually, next time.”

“Noted.”

Gwen eased back in the seat. “Okay let’s see what the little bro is up to. Computer.”

“Online.”

“Switch holo to PS-9 on Mars,” she ordered.

The hologram of a brightly lit PS-9 setting down at the second tunnel overlaid the holo of their pathway toward MOS-2.

“Separate images. PS-9 left, MOS-2 right. It’s going to take us a week to get there. I want to see what my baby brother is up to.”

“The data item ‘baby brother’ is not defined,” the computer said.

“Disregard. Separate holos. Zoom image three times on PS-9 landing team.”