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Alrighty then:
SEP-010, Epilogue, Part 2.
Friday, 26 June 2020.
Saturn-V Display, Johnson Space Center, Houston, Texas.
Jamie Cunningham stared at the S-1C stage of the massive, three hundred-feet rocket sheltered inside of the building she was standing in. The nozzles of the five F-1 engines stared back at her as she leaned against the wall of the building.
She heard footsteps around her, but she didn't pay much attention. The majority of the people who had been inside the building were tourists; people who stopped to marvel at the multistage vehicle that still held the records for tallest and heaviest launch vehicle ever built . . . and, as she spent more time staring at the rocket, had even come to see and admire her. A few people had even attempted to start a conversation with her, and those attempts met with metered resistance.
She was a celebrity, of course . . . and the public already knew about it. It was uncomfortable at best to see so many random people smiling at her, trying to chat her up . . . and the security guard's vaguely reassuring presence at the other side of the building hadn't helped her much.
They were there to keep things orderly, of course, and her intransigent lingering on the grounds where she was for the past several hours had already irritated at least one security guard.
She didn't care much, and as she sighed, she glanced up at the rocket again. It was as dormant and inert as her heart just then, and she took yet another inventory of her feelings, and everything else she experienced in the last several days once more.
The press conference that officially closed out the flight of Space Exploration Program, Mission #10 had been the highlight of the week. In that same conference, a surprise ceremony was invoked by Ed Foulkes himself: awarding of decorations. That invocation blindsided her completely, and she closed her eyes briefly as she remembered NASA's most coveted medal presented to her: the Congressional Space Medal of Honor.
It wasn't the fact the President of the United States had presented the medal himself. It wasn't the fact she'd barely heard of the medal at all before it was pinned to her chest, followed by a numb, yet firm handshake and a hearty "congratulations" from a politician she never expected to meet.
It wasn't even the sudden lightning storm of camera flashes going off in a frenetic cadence that had caught her off guard. It was what the medal meant that threw her off completely.
The Space Medal of Honor was awarded to astronauts who were legends. People who died in the pursuit of their craft. People whose names meant something. Not Jamie Cunningham. Not the woman who, in her infinitely outrageous sense of timing, snark, and insane dumb luck was still that girl growing up in the middle of the sticks in east central Minnesota where nothing this exciting ever happened.
The applause still rang in her ears even then, as she stared at the forty-year-old technological achievement in front of her, and her stomach turned just as harshly as it had in the auditorium. She still felt like she didn't deserve the accolade both her employer and the Congress of the United States of America felt it appropriate to give her. All she did was bring a spaceship back to Earth (mostly) intact.
But that was the biggest reason she got the medal, she'd been told. She brought Constitution back on the same mission after a crippling debris strike that would have killed her and the rest of the crew if she hadn't acted, one way or another. That was exactly the kind of hubris -- no, the self-motivation the country wanted to see in their space program, and the EVA Svetlana and her performed to repair the ship was what sealed the deal. She didn't have to be ordered or instructed to do it; she flatly demanded the opportunity to do it.
Now she was a legend . . . and she doubted she'd ever feel comfortable stepping into those shoes.
She sighed as she looked once more at the rocket. The rocket that represented people who were so much better than she was, and--
"So, they've pulled the plug."
Jamie snapped out of her trance, and turned her head to regard her interloper. Brian Adkinson was no more than an arm's distance away from her, and he smiled sadly at her.
"I know," She replied woodenly. "Same
, different day, huh?"
"I don't expect it to last forever," Adkinson muttered. "They're just freaked out that they've sent several billion dollars' worth of equipment up there, and they got caught with their pants down. I heard the upper management's been embroiled with the Rocketdyne execs; they're all trying to find a better propulsion solution before hell freezes over."
Jamie nodded. Saving the country two billion dollars for the outright cost of the spacecraft sent up was another of the driving reasons for her awarding of the medal. The criteria for her performance in that mission had pretty much fit the bill perfectly. It was all about the money, of course.
"Listen," Adkinson interjected as her expression darkened dangerously, and she snapped out of her death glare as he pulled something out of his pocket. "Ed wanted you to have this. It's a credit card. He's authorizing some PTO for you, and he suggests you take it."
Jamie stared blandly at the credit card thrust into her hand. On the face, the NASA emblem glittered. She read the card numbers, and the VIP CUSTOMER naming, and she snorted.
"I'm a VIP, eh?" She mumbled.
"I'm sure you'll be a household name before long," Adkinson replied. "I even heard someone heard about your iPod going to space. Had several people wanting to know about your track listing."
"What?" Jamie demanded dryly. "Are you serious?"
Adkinson frowned. "If anyone's going to make a buck out of this mission, you can damned well be sure it'll be the music industry. I heard from the PAO that someone was looking to release . . . what was it . . . Space Jam?"
Jamie leaned her head in closer as her eyebrows narrowed. She'd never pulled off what some people in high school had called the 'Kubrick Stare' before . . . but as stunned and violated as she now felt, she knew somewhere in the back of her mind she was actually doing it.
Adkinson shrinked away from her slightly, and the corner of her mouth curled slightly.
"Are they, now?" She intoned.
"That's . . . that's just what I heard," He said. "Anyway, the office feels it might be a good idea for you to get away for a week or two. There's five thousand dollars on that card. You can use it for airfare, gas . . . whatever you want. If I were you," He leaned in closer, "I'd get away from this hellhole for a while. It might do you some good to get some fresh air."
"Yeah . . ." Jamie mused as the idea began to endear her, "I think that's a good idea."
Adkinson smiled at her as he turned to leave.
"Hey," She said.
He turned around again to face her, and a smile crossed his face.
"Are . . . you going to be alright?" She mumbled. Her eyes told the story, and he stared at her for a long, poignant moment. He smiled once more.
"Jamie," He said lowly as he walked up to point blank range. He gestured for her to come closer; she cocked her head closer, and he placed his face an inch away from her ear. "You remember what they said about conservation of energy?"
She nodded slowly. That was one of the inescapable, incontrovertible laws of Everything.
"Our energies will not die," He whispered softly. "Nothing gets created . . . nothing gets destroyed. Every vibration, every BTU of heat, every wave of every particle that is both you and I will remain. I'm not worried about anything anymore. We've been to the moon and back, Jamie Lee . . . and according to the law of conservation of energy, not one bit of you, or I, or any of this here," He gestured in a wide arc around him, "will ever be gone. We'll just . . . be slightly less orderly when we die. But that's none of our concern, isn't it? I mean we're already about as disorderly as we can get, right?"
Jamie nodded slowly. She still felt extremely numb then . . . but as the logic began to penetrate her brain, a slow smile began to surface, and it stayed on her face as he turned to walk away.
Yes, she decided as she watched him leave . . . things were going to be okay.
* * *
League City, Texas.
Jamie Cunningham fumbled for the keys as she walked up to the door of her apartment, and that's when she heard it: The sound of dishes clattering, and her kitchen sink faucet running.
She unlocked the door, feeling the sudden shot of adrenaline stabbing through her system, and as she opened the door, she heard the sound of a plate striking metal.
"Opá!" A woman's voice barked, and Jamie stuck her head inside.
Svetlana Zaytseva was at the stove, and Aleksander Zaytsev was at the sink on the opposite side of the kitchen. Jamie's eyes widened as several things hit her sight at once: A pot with steam rising from it, and a sudden flurry of activity around the sink as half-done tasks were now being quickly rushed.
"Priv'yet," Zaytsev said conversationally as he closed the door to the dishwasher and started the machine with a twist of his wrist.
"Hi," Jamie said woodenly as he dried his hands with a towel, and she fought to keep several impulses from surfacing to her forebrain as she studied the situation. Starting the dishwasher at the precise moment of matriarchal arrival was one of the oldest tricks in the book, and she found herself slightly amused by the act in front of her. In fact--
As the sound of a toilet flushing from down the hallway met her ears, she entered her apartment fully, absorbing the sounds and smells around her. Svetlana was cooking something in her kitchen, and she suddenly found herself very interested in what it was. At the very least, she now knew her home wasn't occupied by intruders; she was among friends, and a slow smile crawled across her face as she calmed down.
"Jamie!" Another woman's voice exclaimed, and she snapped her head around to look.
"Holy crap!" She exclaimed. "Sienna! What are you guys doing here?"
"Your landlord let us in," Sienna Morrison explained. "Good God, you're all over the news. We thought we'd do you a favor and help out around here while we're still in town."
"That's really sweet of you, guys . . . but . . ." Jamie ventured, and Sienna cut her off with a winning smile.
"Listen, sweet-cheeks," Svetlana said, and Jamie flinched. "You have taken us to the moon and back. I think that means we can trust you with our lives; the least we can do is clean up your flat for you."
"Yeah," Sienna interjected, "and I'll give you five points if you can find your couch again."
Svetlana gave Sienna a mischievous grin, and Jamie's eyes widened again.
"My what?" She sputtered.
"Oh, don't worry. It's not like we went through your stuff and pawned it," Sienna chuckled. "Besides, I think you'll really like what we've done with the place."
"Guys . . ." Jamie intoned, and all activity around her stopped as they absorbed her tone. "I'm on vacation as of right now. They've pulled the plug on the manned spaceflight program -- at least for now. I've got five weeks and five thousand dollars . . . I think I'm going to take a cross country trip."
Svetlana nodded, and Sienna pursed her lips. Aleksander leaned against the countertop closest to him as they all listened.
"And . . . as crazy as it sounds . . . I think I want you all to come with me. Are you guys up for that?"
"A cross-country trip across America? I'd love to!" Sienna chirped, and Svetlana nodded with a smile of her own.
"We'll need to go shopping, of course. I don't think I want to hit every hotel between here and there," Jamie continued. "Have you guys ever gone camping?"
* * *
"Alright," Jamie said as she unfolded the atlas upon the hood of her car. As Aleksander Zaytsev loaded the trunk with everything they just purchased, she traced her finger along the map until she found Houston. "It looks like we'll need to take Interstate 45 up into Dallas . . . and then it's Interstate 35 all the way up for the next thousand miles or so."'
"That short of a distance, eh?" Sienna bleated as she unscrewed a bottle of Coke.
"I-35 goes all the way back home for me," Jamie said. "And we'll have several stops along the way. It's one of the more heavily trafficked corridors through the Midwest. We'll be fine. Now," She regarded Sienna and Svetlana seriously, and cast Zaytsev a disapproving glance as he lit a cigarette, "I have a few rules I'd like to impose. First off, no smoking in the car if at all possible. Secondly, I'd like to stay away from certain fast foods. We're going to be on the road a lot, if you take my meaning. Third--"
They piled into the car as she rattled off her list, and her mouth snapped shut at the nonverbal communication playing between them all. As each door slammed shut, Jamie fumbled with her keys. Then she turned around in her seat. Sienna Morrison rode shotgun, and Svetlana and Aleksander rode in the back seats. They smiled at her, and she smiled back.
"Guys, I'm really glad we could do this," She said feelingly. "You don't know what this means to me."
"Start the damned car already, would you?" Sienna said drolly.
"Right," Jamie said as she stuck the key in and turned the ignition. The engine started dutifully, and the air conditioning kicked in immediately afterwards.
"Here we go!" She said as she put the car in gear.
* * *
SEP-010, Epilogue, Part 2.
Friday, 26 June 2020.
Saturn-V Display, Johnson Space Center, Houston, Texas.
Jamie Cunningham stared at the S-1C stage of the massive, three hundred-feet rocket sheltered inside of the building she was standing in. The nozzles of the five F-1 engines stared back at her as she leaned against the wall of the building.
She heard footsteps around her, but she didn't pay much attention. The majority of the people who had been inside the building were tourists; people who stopped to marvel at the multistage vehicle that still held the records for tallest and heaviest launch vehicle ever built . . . and, as she spent more time staring at the rocket, had even come to see and admire her. A few people had even attempted to start a conversation with her, and those attempts met with metered resistance.
She was a celebrity, of course . . . and the public already knew about it. It was uncomfortable at best to see so many random people smiling at her, trying to chat her up . . . and the security guard's vaguely reassuring presence at the other side of the building hadn't helped her much.
They were there to keep things orderly, of course, and her intransigent lingering on the grounds where she was for the past several hours had already irritated at least one security guard.
She didn't care much, and as she sighed, she glanced up at the rocket again. It was as dormant and inert as her heart just then, and she took yet another inventory of her feelings, and everything else she experienced in the last several days once more.
The press conference that officially closed out the flight of Space Exploration Program, Mission #10 had been the highlight of the week. In that same conference, a surprise ceremony was invoked by Ed Foulkes himself: awarding of decorations. That invocation blindsided her completely, and she closed her eyes briefly as she remembered NASA's most coveted medal presented to her: the Congressional Space Medal of Honor.
It wasn't the fact the President of the United States had presented the medal himself. It wasn't the fact she'd barely heard of the medal at all before it was pinned to her chest, followed by a numb, yet firm handshake and a hearty "congratulations" from a politician she never expected to meet.
It wasn't even the sudden lightning storm of camera flashes going off in a frenetic cadence that had caught her off guard. It was what the medal meant that threw her off completely.
The Space Medal of Honor was awarded to astronauts who were legends. People who died in the pursuit of their craft. People whose names meant something. Not Jamie Cunningham. Not the woman who, in her infinitely outrageous sense of timing, snark, and insane dumb luck was still that girl growing up in the middle of the sticks in east central Minnesota where nothing this exciting ever happened.
The applause still rang in her ears even then, as she stared at the forty-year-old technological achievement in front of her, and her stomach turned just as harshly as it had in the auditorium. She still felt like she didn't deserve the accolade both her employer and the Congress of the United States of America felt it appropriate to give her. All she did was bring a spaceship back to Earth (mostly) intact.
But that was the biggest reason she got the medal, she'd been told. She brought Constitution back on the same mission after a crippling debris strike that would have killed her and the rest of the crew if she hadn't acted, one way or another. That was exactly the kind of hubris -- no, the self-motivation the country wanted to see in their space program, and the EVA Svetlana and her performed to repair the ship was what sealed the deal. She didn't have to be ordered or instructed to do it; she flatly demanded the opportunity to do it.
Now she was a legend . . . and she doubted she'd ever feel comfortable stepping into those shoes.
She sighed as she looked once more at the rocket. The rocket that represented people who were so much better than she was, and--
"So, they've pulled the plug."
Jamie snapped out of her trance, and turned her head to regard her interloper. Brian Adkinson was no more than an arm's distance away from her, and he smiled sadly at her.
"I know," She replied woodenly. "Same
, different day, huh?""I don't expect it to last forever," Adkinson muttered. "They're just freaked out that they've sent several billion dollars' worth of equipment up there, and they got caught with their pants down. I heard the upper management's been embroiled with the Rocketdyne execs; they're all trying to find a better propulsion solution before hell freezes over."
Jamie nodded. Saving the country two billion dollars for the outright cost of the spacecraft sent up was another of the driving reasons for her awarding of the medal. The criteria for her performance in that mission had pretty much fit the bill perfectly. It was all about the money, of course.
"Listen," Adkinson interjected as her expression darkened dangerously, and she snapped out of her death glare as he pulled something out of his pocket. "Ed wanted you to have this. It's a credit card. He's authorizing some PTO for you, and he suggests you take it."
Jamie stared blandly at the credit card thrust into her hand. On the face, the NASA emblem glittered. She read the card numbers, and the VIP CUSTOMER naming, and she snorted.
"I'm a VIP, eh?" She mumbled.
"I'm sure you'll be a household name before long," Adkinson replied. "I even heard someone heard about your iPod going to space. Had several people wanting to know about your track listing."
"What?" Jamie demanded dryly. "Are you serious?"
Adkinson frowned. "If anyone's going to make a buck out of this mission, you can damned well be sure it'll be the music industry. I heard from the PAO that someone was looking to release . . . what was it . . . Space Jam?"
Jamie leaned her head in closer as her eyebrows narrowed. She'd never pulled off what some people in high school had called the 'Kubrick Stare' before . . . but as stunned and violated as she now felt, she knew somewhere in the back of her mind she was actually doing it.
Adkinson shrinked away from her slightly, and the corner of her mouth curled slightly.
"Are they, now?" She intoned.
"That's . . . that's just what I heard," He said. "Anyway, the office feels it might be a good idea for you to get away for a week or two. There's five thousand dollars on that card. You can use it for airfare, gas . . . whatever you want. If I were you," He leaned in closer, "I'd get away from this hellhole for a while. It might do you some good to get some fresh air."
"Yeah . . ." Jamie mused as the idea began to endear her, "I think that's a good idea."
Adkinson smiled at her as he turned to leave.
"Hey," She said.
He turned around again to face her, and a smile crossed his face.
"Are . . . you going to be alright?" She mumbled. Her eyes told the story, and he stared at her for a long, poignant moment. He smiled once more.
"Jamie," He said lowly as he walked up to point blank range. He gestured for her to come closer; she cocked her head closer, and he placed his face an inch away from her ear. "You remember what they said about conservation of energy?"
She nodded slowly. That was one of the inescapable, incontrovertible laws of Everything.
"Our energies will not die," He whispered softly. "Nothing gets created . . . nothing gets destroyed. Every vibration, every BTU of heat, every wave of every particle that is both you and I will remain. I'm not worried about anything anymore. We've been to the moon and back, Jamie Lee . . . and according to the law of conservation of energy, not one bit of you, or I, or any of this here," He gestured in a wide arc around him, "will ever be gone. We'll just . . . be slightly less orderly when we die. But that's none of our concern, isn't it? I mean we're already about as disorderly as we can get, right?"
Jamie nodded slowly. She still felt extremely numb then . . . but as the logic began to penetrate her brain, a slow smile began to surface, and it stayed on her face as he turned to walk away.
Yes, she decided as she watched him leave . . . things were going to be okay.
* * *
League City, Texas.
Jamie Cunningham fumbled for the keys as she walked up to the door of her apartment, and that's when she heard it: The sound of dishes clattering, and her kitchen sink faucet running.
She unlocked the door, feeling the sudden shot of adrenaline stabbing through her system, and as she opened the door, she heard the sound of a plate striking metal.
"Opá!" A woman's voice barked, and Jamie stuck her head inside.
Svetlana Zaytseva was at the stove, and Aleksander Zaytsev was at the sink on the opposite side of the kitchen. Jamie's eyes widened as several things hit her sight at once: A pot with steam rising from it, and a sudden flurry of activity around the sink as half-done tasks were now being quickly rushed.
"Priv'yet," Zaytsev said conversationally as he closed the door to the dishwasher and started the machine with a twist of his wrist.
"Hi," Jamie said woodenly as he dried his hands with a towel, and she fought to keep several impulses from surfacing to her forebrain as she studied the situation. Starting the dishwasher at the precise moment of matriarchal arrival was one of the oldest tricks in the book, and she found herself slightly amused by the act in front of her. In fact--
As the sound of a toilet flushing from down the hallway met her ears, she entered her apartment fully, absorbing the sounds and smells around her. Svetlana was cooking something in her kitchen, and she suddenly found herself very interested in what it was. At the very least, she now knew her home wasn't occupied by intruders; she was among friends, and a slow smile crawled across her face as she calmed down.
"Jamie!" Another woman's voice exclaimed, and she snapped her head around to look.
"Holy crap!" She exclaimed. "Sienna! What are you guys doing here?"
"Your landlord let us in," Sienna Morrison explained. "Good God, you're all over the news. We thought we'd do you a favor and help out around here while we're still in town."
"That's really sweet of you, guys . . . but . . ." Jamie ventured, and Sienna cut her off with a winning smile.
"Listen, sweet-cheeks," Svetlana said, and Jamie flinched. "You have taken us to the moon and back. I think that means we can trust you with our lives; the least we can do is clean up your flat for you."
"Yeah," Sienna interjected, "and I'll give you five points if you can find your couch again."
Svetlana gave Sienna a mischievous grin, and Jamie's eyes widened again.
"My what?" She sputtered.
"Oh, don't worry. It's not like we went through your stuff and pawned it," Sienna chuckled. "Besides, I think you'll really like what we've done with the place."
"Guys . . ." Jamie intoned, and all activity around her stopped as they absorbed her tone. "I'm on vacation as of right now. They've pulled the plug on the manned spaceflight program -- at least for now. I've got five weeks and five thousand dollars . . . I think I'm going to take a cross country trip."
Svetlana nodded, and Sienna pursed her lips. Aleksander leaned against the countertop closest to him as they all listened.
"And . . . as crazy as it sounds . . . I think I want you all to come with me. Are you guys up for that?"
"A cross-country trip across America? I'd love to!" Sienna chirped, and Svetlana nodded with a smile of her own.
"We'll need to go shopping, of course. I don't think I want to hit every hotel between here and there," Jamie continued. "Have you guys ever gone camping?"
* * *
"Alright," Jamie said as she unfolded the atlas upon the hood of her car. As Aleksander Zaytsev loaded the trunk with everything they just purchased, she traced her finger along the map until she found Houston. "It looks like we'll need to take Interstate 45 up into Dallas . . . and then it's Interstate 35 all the way up for the next thousand miles or so."'
"That short of a distance, eh?" Sienna bleated as she unscrewed a bottle of Coke.
"I-35 goes all the way back home for me," Jamie said. "And we'll have several stops along the way. It's one of the more heavily trafficked corridors through the Midwest. We'll be fine. Now," She regarded Sienna and Svetlana seriously, and cast Zaytsev a disapproving glance as he lit a cigarette, "I have a few rules I'd like to impose. First off, no smoking in the car if at all possible. Secondly, I'd like to stay away from certain fast foods. We're going to be on the road a lot, if you take my meaning. Third--"
They piled into the car as she rattled off her list, and her mouth snapped shut at the nonverbal communication playing between them all. As each door slammed shut, Jamie fumbled with her keys. Then she turned around in her seat. Sienna Morrison rode shotgun, and Svetlana and Aleksander rode in the back seats. They smiled at her, and she smiled back.
"Guys, I'm really glad we could do this," She said feelingly. "You don't know what this means to me."
"Start the damned car already, would you?" Sienna said drolly.
"Right," Jamie said as she stuck the key in and turned the ignition. The engine started dutifully, and the air conditioning kicked in immediately afterwards.
"Here we go!" She said as she put the car in gear.
* * *
