Zach Powers - First Cosmic Velocity

Leonid’s voice faded up from nothing in the speaker, already in the middle of a sentence as he came into range. Lately, it had been like this. Before, he seemed to know exactly when Star City’s antenna would snare his signal and waited to speak until then. Now he was always halfway through a thought. Mars wondered if Leonid talked for whole orbits now, or if his timing had been thrown off so much that he just started talking a few seconds too soon. There was no way to tell. Leonid’s conversations never seemed to have a proper beginning or end.

Leonid paused in talking, and Mars realized he had not been paying attention. Mars tried to recall what he had heard, but his mind was blank. He rubbed his face and was surprised to find a beard there, as if it had appeared full-grown just then. Leonid must have a similar beard, he thought. Razors were not among the supplies stashed in Vostok’s few compartments.

“Did you know that clouds look the same on top as they do on bottom?” asked Leonid.

“I’ve seen the pictures the Americans took,” said Mars.

“But the clouds never rain up. Sometimes as I pass over dark patches, beneath which I know the rain falls in torrents, I can’t understand why the same is not true on the other side. I expect to hear the rain splatter against the hull of my little ship. A ship should be in water, yes?”

“I’m not sure yours would float.”

“I can’t remember what water looks like. Even the water I had here—I have long since drunk all of it—didn’t look like water. I squeezed some out of the plastic container, but it wouldn’t fall. It just globbed up in front of me. Like a marble. We didn’t have marbles as children. I didn’t even know what they were until Giorgi explained them to me.”

“Giorgi is… Giorgi died.” Mars had refused to attend the funeral, even when the Chief Designer insisted.

“I know. I’ve been up here forever. Everyone I know is dead.”

“Who do you think you’re talking to, then?”

“You’re up here with me.”

“Where the weather is always nice.”

“I miss the rain.”

“As do I.”

“You should go outside.”

“And you probably should not.”

“I’m no longer sure of that.”

BY THE TIME the Chief Designer made it to Star City—forty kilometers that took two hours through the endless construction on Route 103, lined with massive wheeled machines of indeterminate purposes that never seemed to move from their places on the side of the road—the effects of so much travel were catching up with him. The last few kilometers he caught only in glimpses, when his eyes startled open from the bumps on the unfinished blacktop.

Like at RKK Energia, the Chief Designer had the reserved parking space closest to the front door of Star City’s main building. Here, the lot was paved and painted with lines, in far better shape than the road that led to it. The car made a spurting noise as the driver shut off the engine. The Chief Designer exited the car and walked to the door.

Inside he was met immediately by Mishin and Bushuyev. They had a knack for always being around when he needed them. Did they wait by the door the whole time he was away? Did one of them watch out a window for the approach of his car? Was there an underling somewhere tasked with keeping tabs on the Chief Designer at all times? Some sort of intercom system that could warn Mishin and Bushuyev of his approach? Did they, in the moment just before he opened the door, skid to a halt at the end of the dead sprint that brought them there?

“Let’s see the dogs,” said the Chief Designer.

“There’s a problem,” said Mishin or Bushuyev.

“What is it?”

“Actually, there are two problems,” said one of them.

“Several, maybe,” said the other.

“Out with it,” said the Chief Designer.

“We’re not sure which to tell you first.”

“If you don’t tell me something soon, the only problem you will have is looking for new jobs.”

“The heat shield.”

“What about it?”

“We just received the test results.”

The Chief Designer did not know how the data had arrived before him. He would have to discuss the route with his driver. Obviously, there was a faster way to get from the factory to Star City.

“I was there,” said the Chief Designer. “The results were optimal.”

“Yes, yes. The General Designer’s heat shield performed brilliantly.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The materials. We have the asbestos. We’d been experimenting with that ourselves. But the phenolic resin. The factory didn’t produce enough before they shut down operations.”

“The factory closed?”

“It was converted to process dairy.”

“Thank god we’ll all have enough cheese. How much resin were you able to get?”

“We can make one shield, but only if we perform no more tests. A new factory is scheduled to open within the year, but it would be the first state project to ever be completed on time if it did.”

“There are two launches just months away. Even if the factory opened on time, it would be too late.”

Mishin and Bushuyev exchanged a glance. “We might have a solution. The docking clamp.”

“What about it?”

“With both capsules in orbit at the same time, one could dock with the other…”

“And the cosmonaut could then bring the dogs aboard the capsule with the heat shield. Yes, that just might work.” The Chief Designer found himself fully awake now, almost bursting with energy. “This will be an even greater accomplishment than we planned. Two ships docking in space! You, comrades, are geniuses.”

“About the dogs,” said Mishin or Bushuyev.

“Yes, yes. What about them?” His mind raced, cycling through all the considerations that this new project required.

“Kasha is gone.”

“What do you mean gone ?” He would need to assign additional engineers to the docking project. There had been problems getting a good seal. Sometimes he cursed the Vostok’s spherical shape. So practical and so simple, but it made it hard to attach things to the outside.

“Nadya and Leonid took her.”

“Took her where?” But the one capsule would not have to return to Earth, so maintaining balance for reentry was not required and the docking apparatus could be attached permanently to the door.

“They didn’t return with us from Ukraine.”

“They’re with Ignatius?” The other ship, though, would need some sort of detachable clamp. Mishin and Bushuyev had been working on one. They would not have suggested the idea if they did not think it would work. Neither was much for taking risks.

“They left on their own. It’s unclear where they might have gone.”

“Surely Ignatius knows. She would never let the two of them out of her sight.”

“We saw them leave, and Ignatius wasn’t with them.”

“Are you telling me they ran away?” He imagined the docking clamp releasing from a capsule and tumbling away through open space.

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t try to stop them?” The Chief Designer’s voice inched up in volume with each word, the hard syllables coming gravelly from the back of his throat.

“We tried.”

He shouted, “But you failed!”

Mishin took a half step forward and spoke the Chief Designer’s name. “You of all people should possess the capacity to forgive a failure.”

The Chief Designer’s scar throbbed.

“Why would they leave me?” he asked.

“The reasons should be obvious,” said Mishin or Bushuyev. “The real question, the one that should comfort you, is why did they stay for so long?”