Jennifer Wells - Beyond the Stars - At Galaxy's Edge

Whatever he did, Frank was minutes away from glory. No matter what happened when the flow turned back on. He’d repeated his little trick on habitation module twelve’s airlock as soon as he passed the threshold, the outer door had sealed, and he was out of sight of the engineering crew. The moment he stepped back into that thing and cycled the air, the inner airlock door would jam, permanently lock, and all the air in both the airlock and half of habitation module twelve would escape out into the near vacuum of Mar’s atmosphere.

“Ok,” said the engineer. “We’re going to start the flow. You’re either about to be able to breathe without your suit, or explode. Godspeed, Mr. Bickham.”

“Roger that.” He raised his voice, knowing that the entire colony was listening. That he was being recorded for history. “And if I don’t make it out of here, I just want every Martian in the sound of my voice to know that... that it was an honor serving with you. These past few months I’ve made wonderful friends, I’ve lived with you, loved you, and if I don’t come back from this, my only hope is that I’ve made your lives a little better. What can any man really hope for when he’s gone? Thank you. Frank out.”

He closed his eyes, waiting for the possible explosion. A minute passed. Two minutes. Then a voice. “Frank? You still there?”

“Yeah.”

“Good news. The air is cycled, and optimal oxygen flow restored, now from the Tycho Dome. Congratulations, sir! You’re not only alive, but saved everyone in Huygens dome.”

He heard a cheer from everyone in the room on the other side of the comm, but all he could think was, Damn, I guess I’ve got to do this the hard way.

“Roger that. Heading to airlock now.” He worked his way from the engineering alcove in habitation module twelve to the airlock, and before initiating the irreversible process that would jam the door and vent the whole module, he sat down to check his messages one last time. He’d sent one final note to his granddaughter, Ramona. Looked like she hadn’t replied yet, so he burned another minute rereading his message to her.

Sweetie,

I’m about to do something very dangerous to help the colony, and if I don’t come out of this I just wanted you to know I love you, and I’m proud of you. You’re a wonderful mom, and an amazing lawyer. Please give Sammy and Ted big kisses from me.

Ramona, you asked me, right before I got my assignment here back in November, what I wanted to be remembered for. I think by asking me that you were trying to get me to change my mind about coming here. You wanted me to stay with you and Sammy and Ted. I wanted that too. But I also wanted something more.

I want to matter. I want my existence to have mattered. For people to remember that I was here, and that I was here for a damn good reason. I want people to say, “Frank was here, and thank God he was.”

Doing this thing that I’m doing now is the best way I can think of to achieve that goal. And if it means I have to be the first man to die on Mars to achieve it, then so be it.

Goodbye, Sweetie.

He looked up at the airlock controls next to his seat. Everything was ready. If he delayed any longer the engineering team would begin to worry, and possibly suspect something.

History was waiting for him.

A chirp from his handset made him jump. He looked down, expecting to see a message from Ramona, but instead it was a call from someone in the colony.

It was the kid. Wix.

Tentatively, he accepted the call. “Hello?”

“Grumpy? Where are you?”

“I’m, ah... I’m in habitation module twelve, kid. Your old home.”

“You said you’d come back today. Are you still coming?”

“Working on it, kid.”

He thought he heard a little sniffle on the other end. “I miss you, Grumpy. You didn’t come yesterday, either. Doc said you were in the hospital to give me blood, but you left right away without a visit. And then when you didn’t come today, I thought you’d never come back. I... I...” He paused, then lowered his voice. “Grumpy, can I tell you a secret?”

“Shoot, kid.”

He whispered. “It made me cry. Please don’t tell any of the other boys that I cried. It would be catatrophic.”

“Catatrophic? Don’t you mean catastr‌—‌”

“Yes, Grumpy. Catatrophic. Promise not to tell?”

Frank bit his lip. He stood up, and fingered the controls to the airlock.

Shit.

His handset beeped again. It was Ramona.

You matter to us, Grumpy. To a lot of people.

We love you very much. Do what you have to do.

“Grumpy? Promise?” said Wix.

Frank’s hand trembled over the controls. History was waiting. His destiny was literally at his fingertips.

He would matter.

“I ... I‌—‌” he began, before adding, “aw, sh‌—‌” He stopped himself.

“Shamwow? I still think you made that up.”

Frank chuckled. “Ok. I admit it. I made it up. I was going to say shit .”

Wixam lowered his voice to a mocking, sarcastic tone. “No shit, Grumpy.”

Frank lost it, convulsing in laughter. “Kid? Are you sure you’re six? Fine. Fine. I promise. No one will ever know you cried when I didn’t come visit you. My lips are sealed. Forever.”

“Forever? Why? Are you dying?”

Frank laughed again. “Not today, kid. Then I wouldn’t be able to visit you. How’s five o’clock sound?”

Frank sipped his coffee, and offered the other cup to the other man as he sat down at the table on Bickam Boulevard. “Will Doc Pratt let you drink it?”

“Do I care what he says?” said Ed Smith, an oxygen tube suspended below his nose.

“Good point.” He turned to his other companion. “How’s that hot chocolate?”

“Tastes like shamwow,” said Wixam Hanuman.

“Well you’re late for school anyway. Get.” Frank waved a hand, shooing the kid away. Wix gulped the rest of it down, stuck out his tongue at Frank, and trotted off down the street.

“Turn it up, will you? I want to hear if everyone made it.” Ed motioned up to the TV, which was playing the CNN feed.

Frank waved a hand and said, “volume up.”

“‌—‌and ongoing coverage of the Mars shuttle crash. With me now is the media relations officer for Interplanetary Reserve with an update.” The new anchor on the screen turned to a mousy man in a crisp suit seated next to him.

“Thank you, Jim.” The mousy man turned to the camera. “I’m afraid we have bad news to add to the good news I delivered earlier. While it is true that the shuttle made a miraculous crash landing and remained mostly intact, it is with heavy heart that I announce that there was, in fact, one fatality. Jerry H. Su, flight engineer on the shuttle’s voyage, sustained life-threatening injuries during the crash, and, unfortunately, did not make it. I’ve spoken with the American President, and he will posthumously be awarded the presidential Medal of Freedom. The French President will award him the legion of‌—‌”

“Well ain’t that something,” said Smith. “Wasn’t he...?”

“Yeah.”

“And now he’s...?”

“Yeah.”

Ed shook his head, incredulously, the oxygen tube wagging back and forth. “The first man to walk on Mars, and now the first man to die on Mars. Funny how things work. He comes all that way, lives a life like that, all to die in a fiery crash for nothing. Poor guy. I guess he’ll be in the history books, or something.”

“Or something,” Frank repeated, glumly.

It seemed Ed was intent on watching the broadcast, but Frank had no such interest. Luckily, he noticed the notebook lying on the table.