Halcyon's Wake: Faith

Revelations

Beth was pounding away mercilessly on the treadmill, her hair pulled back in a pony-tail that wavered to and fro like a windsock in a whirlwind. Her expression was placid and pensive beneath a thin sheen of perspiration, and I knew a million different wheels of logic and emotion were whirling through her mind. I knew it best not to interrupt her when she wore that expression.

“They’re going to leave us, Zack,” she stated casually, breathing smoothly and never letting up in her grueling pace. Jerry Reed belted out “East Bound and Down” in the background.

“I know.” A lie, perhaps, or simply an acknowledgement to what my subconscious expected to hear during the President’s briefing.

She turned and eyed me with a bemused grin, her ponytail arcing up and outward like a horse’s tail caught flexing in mid-relief.

“Horse apples, Sherlock,” she said, completing the horse imagery rather nicely I thought, and giggled.

“...The boys are thirsty in Atlanta, and there’s beer in Texarkana,” crooned Jerry.

“Not entirely,” I replied, tightly cinching down the straps that would allow me to generate a bit of resistance in the microgravity. I had yet to match Beth’s grace on the machine, just one more feather in her cap of oneupmanship. She looked like a gazelle in full stride. I looked like I was scampering along in a full body cast with a broom handle shoved indelicately up my posterior. I loosened the straps connected to the harness around my waist just a tad and felt my gait even out - slightly, and with one more minor adjustment I loped into matching Beth’s comfortable but challenging stride.

“You got to dodge and you got to duck it, you got to keep that diesel truckin’, just put that hammer down and give ’er hell…”

“Other than Jim - you and I are the only remaining American military peeps on board,” I offered in defense of my very recent epiphany, “But I don’t think they’re really leaving us, per se. I think you and I may instead be leaving them.” She eyed me curiously.

“Besides...” I added as our footfalls thrummed along in rhythm with a twangy electric guitar solo, “If they’re leaving us - then where exactly might they be wandering off to? Last I checked the nearest Holiday Inn went out of business about 97 days ago.” Beth said nothing and breathed deeply - then casually pointed a finger straight ahead towards the horizon. The moon was rising above the earth’s curvature, a pale blue and silent witness to the shroud concealing its ancient neighbor. I wasn’t certain if she simply wanted to point out the rising moon as a distraction or to say that that’s where they were headed.

“...We’ve got a long way to go, and a short time to get there, I’m east bound, just watch ol’ Bandit run.”

We finished our workout in silence, both sweating profusely and relishing the burn in muscles that longed for gravity’s weighty embrace. Beth went to change into a fresh set of clothes and I told her I’d meet her at the shuttle in 15 minutes. She nodded an assent and threw her sweat-tinged towel in my face. More of that sweet, green-apple smell mixed with a hint of vinegar and jasmine filled my nostrils and I wiped my face dry, then Velcroed the towel to one of the observation rooms many air vents. The cool air chilled my skin slightly and I headed down the opposite corridor towards the shuttle and my little sanctuary.

I passed birthday boy Wayne in the corridor, presumably on his way to fix the lavatory, and wished him well, in both efforts. He chuckled amiably, shaking his head and mumbling something about butt hickey’s as I floated on by with a smile. I thought about giving him the package of M&M’s as a birthday gift, instead succumbing to greed and opted to keep them safely tucked away in my pocket, patting them gently just to hear that reassuring crinkle of canary-yellow paper rubbing against those colorful little orbs of delight. I’m a nice guy and all - but come on - the last M&M’s, ever - if I’d had two bags… no prob. But these babies were mine. Best I just keep these little goodies tucked away for a rainy day.

I crabbed my way on through the corridor and shot through the air lock to the main shuttle compartment. Kind of my own private corridor these days since the shuttle bay had been converted into ‘the Hangar’. Basically, crews had installed a series of curved frames wrapped in thick insulation that spanned the cargo bay between the open cargo doors. It looked like a giant conestoga wagon cover - the first-ever prairie schooner in space. The solar panels and coolant systems on the interior of the shuttle doors now provided more power to the station, while the open space made for a wonderful ‘play room’ for all the station’s inhabitants, as well as an improvised movie theater.

Crew members could access the hangar via an airlock aft of the shuttle bay, leaving access to the cockpit primarily as my own exclusive domain. I was somewhat surprised to see President Bielski and one of the station’s original Russian crew members - Lego-something - Legoyavitch, that’s it - flipping through frequencies on the shuttles communication panel. Kind of a no-no in my book, and the look on both of their faces elevated my suspicions just a tad. My own face must have said so, too.

“Good morning, Zack” the President said, “Don’t fret - we aren’t taking her for a spin.” Legoyavitch quickly said something in Russian over the mic, glanced to the President who made a swiping motion across his throat, then quickly toggled the comm panel off. The big Russian nodded casually and then brushed by me on up the air lock.

“What’s up, sir?” I asked casually, moving towards my clothing locker to grab a fresh t-shirt.

“Just verifying some information before the meeting, Zack. The shuttle provides a little more privacy than some areas - I’m sure that’s why you chose to hang your hat here.” He smiled his million dollar grin, the same that helped him win two terms with ease, and I felt the hackles on the back of my neck rise slightly.

“It’s not like she’s my own private yacht, sir - I just don’t get too many visitors, that’s all. No disrespect intended, Mr. President.”

He laughed amiably - another one of his polished political tools, no doubt.

“Don’t forget I was Air Force, Zack - way back in the day - I know what it feels like to have someone else pawing on ‘my’ gal. He tapped the console affectionately, smiled and then headed out the airlock. “See you at the briefing, Zack.”

“With bells on, Mr. President.”

I stripped out of my flight suit, rank t-shirt and shorts, used some baby wipes to try and scrub away the worst of the funk on me, day-dreamed about a hot shower for the millionth time when curiosity got the best of me. I floated naked across the cockpit, reactivated the comm panel the Russian had turned off and took note of the frequency he’d been using. We’d been scanning the whole gamut of military and civilian bands since we hit orbit - and this particular frequency was absolutely foreign to me. I plugged my headset into the comm panel, and just for giggles I toggled the mic three times - anyone listening on the other end would hear the staccato burst and might reply. After about five seconds a female voice said something unintelligible in Russian -along with one word I did know - and I quickly killed the comm panel, my heart racing.

I didn’t speak Russian - other than a few bawdy toasts and some basic conversational stuff I’d picked up on my visits over the years to the Cosmodrome at Baikonur. But I did know everyone currently on board the station fairly well - and that didn’t include any Russian-speaking females.

Whomever was on the other end of the line wasn’t in the neighborhood, and for whatever reason, I felt that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. I was pretty confident that ‘Luna’ in Russian meant exactly what I thought it meant. Involuntary chills crept across my naked body and I knew this was going to be one helluva briefing.