T minus ten minutes

Jim checked his seatbelt for the fourth time, tightening it with a nervous flick of the wrist, and looked around. Only a few of the people looked as antsy as he felt, but then most of them had accepted the anti-nausea pills, which Jim was now suspecting had also contained a mild sedative. He didn’t like people fucking with his brain, and this latest stunt was enough to make him curse his involvement in the project all over again. It was too good a thing to pass up, but every now and then he just… wondered. He jittered, uncomfortable and bored. He didn’t know anyone in his section of the shuttle – in fact, he thought he didn’t know anyone on the shuttle at all. It was somewhat unnerving.

T plus six hours

After they had docked and dealt with what seemed like all the bureaucracy the world had to offer, Jim set out to find his room. The set-up on the ship wasn’t too different from the ground colony, likely on purpose – though which had been the original and which was modelled on it, he had no way of knowing. He was still stuck in one of the singles’ ghettos, and one was much the same as the next, though this turned out to be somewhat further away from his workplace than he might have liked. His boxes were already there, sitting tidily in a corner, and he left them there while he looked around the area, then took a short nap on his bed. It wasn’t quite as comfortable as the previous one, but he’d slept in some damn strange places over the preceding months, and the prospect of a reasonably-comfortable bed for the rest of his life was definitely a good one.
He woke in time for the captain’s announcement, and felt only a slight jolt as they started moving. It seemed to yank at something inside him, though, and he found himself curled over the waste-basket, throwing up. He had been so proud of himself for avoiding flight-sickness that it seemed like poetic justice – vindictive, perhaps, but still poetic. He thought, perhaps, poetry was over-rated.

T plus one day

From: J. Zeer
To: S. Zeer
Shit. Shit, Sammy. Look at that dateline. Look at it.
Shit, Sammy.
Jim

“Lucy?” he called through the slightly-ajar door, “you in here?” She pulled it a little further and leaned against it, eyes slitted at him. “Because obviously,” she said, “I would leave my door open while I was far away.” He dipped his head forward until their foreheads were nearly touching. “You too, huh?” he said. She leaned into him for a long moment, then stepped backwards, opening the door wide then shutting it behind him once they were safely inside.

T plus two days

Morning.
Hey. You stayed.
Shops don’t open till we pass the Moon, you know.
Yeah, but… once I dozed off…
You… sorry… I just…
No, I mean, it’s nice, it’s just…
Weird.
Unfamiliar. And oddly enough would be far less so if we were naked and hungover, and god but that’s just sad.
Uh. Yeah. So.
Stay. Mi casa, etcetera. I’m going to have a shower, then you can freshen up, then we can… I dunno, go for a walk or something. Sound OK?
Sounds fine to me.

Jim though he was wandering aimlessly by her side, but it turned out that Lucy had a certain destination in mind – or, at least, a certain type of destination. He was unprepared to turn through a narrow corridor and emerge, suddenly, in one of the viewing galleries scattered around the construct. He stopped, and Lucy stopped beside him, placing a hand on his arm. She nodded towards the screens, and he dipped his head in acknowledgement. Framed in the windows was the Earth, dawn breaking over the surface below. He gazed his fill, until Lucy’s voice broke their calm. “We could still hop a transport. Be back there in a few hours.” Jim turned to look at her, shock warring with denial. “You don’t want to be here?” he asked. She looked back at him for a long moment, eyes wide, then breathed a laugh. “No, Jim, you’re the one that doesn’t want to be here. Remember? All that drunken rambling last night…” she trailed off in amusement. “I wasn’t drunk,” he told her, settling on irrelevancies. She raised an eyebrow, and looked back at the blue-black ball of home. “I wasn’t,” he insisted, “I just needed to talk. I need that sometimes. Everyone does. Just because I never turned up like that before, just because… damn it!” He turned away, and made to leave through the corridor they had previously passed along. He paused at the corner, waiting for a reaction from Lucy, but when he looked back she was still gazing down at the planet, arms folded and head slightly bowed.

Later, he found himself at her door again, leaning his arm against the lintel as he waited for her to answer. When she finally opened the door, he didn’t enter straight away, preferring to ask, “Do you want to stay?” She scanned his belligerent pose, and turned her back on him to move further into her room. “Yes,” she said without looking at him, “the question is do you?” He walked in, closing the door behind him and then leaning against it. He didn’t reply.
When the silence had drawn out long enough to be uncomfortable, Lucy sat on her bed, facing him. “You don’t want to leave Sam, do you?” she said. He nodded. “Or Gran,” he added. She nodded back at him, face guarded, then patted the bed beside her. He obeyed her tacit command and sat, allowing her to lean her head against his shoulder. Her sigh, to him, sounded ominous, and so he wasn’t surprised when she said, “don’t hate me, but…” His arm tightened around her waist as he tensed, waiting for the blow, but she seemed to take it as encouragement. “Sam has Casey,” she said, “and he has more friends than you give him credit for. And Gran’s old. It doesn’t make much difference to her, really, and she’ll love the letters, and she’s going to die soon.” She swallowed audibly, and tensed slightly in preparation for Jim’s rejection of her statements and her proximity.
He rested his head on hers, and they breathed together.
Later, he explained, “you said we.”

T plus four days

From: S. Zeer
To: J. Zeer
I was watching the launches on the viewer, and… Jim, dude, you’re really gone. You’re gone, man. Like… oh, Jim.
But you are not forgetting us, you hear? You are keeping the fuck in touch with us no matter what. And that’s an order.
Oh, fine, you bastard, forget whoever you like as long as you let me know you’re alive once in a while. Good enough?
It was totally mad, though, the shots they had. All those shuttles taking off one after the other… I was trying to guess which one you would be on, but I couldn’t know. I was praying for every one, and you know I don’t do that lightly. Looks like it worked, and all. Now all you have to do is… go.
It’s like you’re dead, or something.
I have to go, my husband is calling.
Sam

From: J. Zeer
To: S. Zeer
You’re happy, aren’t you?
The little “my husband” was so not subtle, though.
Uh. Yeah. You probably didn’t get my note yet. It didn’t say much. I just… I can’t quite accept the reality of this yet, which I’m sure is a very bad thing, but I don’t really care right now. So. Whatever.
I’ve got no work yet, so I’m going to do a big writing thing. So I’ll just… go do that.
Jim

From: J. Zeer
To: D. Lau
We’re moving out, Dan. We’re on our way. Feel the weirdness… It’s just, I stopped and looked for a second this morning, just stared at my wall and I could see the swaying… it was very odd.
And it’s too quiet. I’m nowhere near the engines, of course, so even when they were using the conventional boosters to set course, I barely heard a murmur, but now… now, you can go down to Engineering, you can practically sit on top of the things and if you whisper, you hear it. It’s surreal.
God. Sorry. Out of it, a bit, still.
How you doing? You good? You better keep in touch, bitch. I can still come back there and kick your ass. Anyway…
Did I tell you about Lucy, at all? I can’t remember… Oh, I’m sure I did, while we were travelling if not in writing.
How odd is it, that writing seems more real to me than speaking to you in person?
I hope you’re all right.
Yeah, Lucy. She’s… I was going to say keeping my feet on the ground, but that’s not right, is it? She’s looking after me, not letting me freak out too bad. Which is incredibly weird for me, given that normally I’m the stable one in the relationship. Not that it is a relationship, of that sort, as yet at least. If it was, I wouldn’t have slept with you – no offence, just that’s the way I am, you know? But honestly. I’m not the one who gets taken care of. Ever.
I really fucked up looking after you, huh?
God, don’t mind me. Not with it. Write back.
Jim

From: J. Zeer
To: A. Jeffers
How you doing, man?
I’m freaking out. But oh well. Lucy is helping me cope.
Not that way!
I could rhapsodise about her but I can’t be arsed ‘cause basically she’s being a tease. So what else is new?
Oh yeah. Currently speeding away from the genesis of our birth. Hoorah.
Talk to me, man.
Jim

From: J. Zeer
To: Mrs M. Zeer
Dear Mom,
I’m not entirely happy with the way we parted, but I suppose it was the best that could be expected. We do not live in a perfect world, and I am not a perfect son.
Oh, sorry, make that a perfect galaxy.
Unless I drop out soon, which I’m not going to do, I’ll never see you again. And… this feels bad, but if we keep writing we’ll probably just antagonise each other again. So maybe… just when there’s news? I don’t know. You decide.
Love, Jim

From: J. Zeer
To: Mrs R.A. Keller
And we’re off…
Gran, I’m going to miss you so much. I’m so sorry I’m leaving you behind like this. And Lucy’s going too, and… I’m sorry. Maybe Mom will find it in her to come see you more often, now. Maybe.
Is there anything left to say? I think that is the question. I’m afraid the answer might be no. Nothing pertinent, anyway. I just…
Sorry. Brain is not co-operating right now. I think I’m going to go sit in one of the galleries, have a look back, see what I can see. It’s… we’re not moving very fast yet, barely at the Moon – oh, I should take a look there too, though that’ll be busy. They’re always busy. But… quiet, you know? Just people standing there, looking.
What I was going to say… it seems like you can see the Earth shrinking away just as you stand there. You probably can, but not the way it feels. It’s like I left part of myself back there, and as the ship travels further, I’m getting stretched thinner, and thinner, and thinner, and some day I’m going to snap and it’s going to hurt so much.
Jeez, talk about depressing…
Is it night? I think it is. Well, obviously it’s… yeah, don’t mind me, of course it’s night, and it’s not like we don’t see the same angle to the Earth all the time so the… terminator, is that it? you should know… is always in the same place, it’s just the cities going past beneath it. Hmm. We’re moving to a twenty-five hour clock here, apparently, the better to suit both the human biorhythm and the metricised time-keeping systems. Yeah, well, nobody said they had to make sense…
OK. I’m going to go, and I’ll write again later, and I’ll tell Lucy to write next time I see her (even though she should be the one reminding me) and… yeah.
Love you,
Jim

T plus six days

Lucy?
Yeah?
You said “we”.
Um… I did?
You said “we” could hop a shuttle.
Yeah. I did.
You meant that?
You want to go?
Yeah.
Oh.
You don’t have to…
No, I said it. I’ll… yeah. OK.
No. Not OK.
Why not?
You want this, Lucy, don’t even try to deny it. I’m not taking it from you like that.
So you’ll take it from me some other way?
Huh? Oh. No, I just meant… I meant, I was testing you and I’m sorry and I’ll be going now.
Testing… You really should go now.

T plus one week, three days

“Lucy?” he asked tentatively, peeking around her door. “I’m still pissed at you,” she replied without looking up from her book. He sighed heavily, and tried again. “Lucy, please…” he said. She sighed in frustration, turned her head to see his expression, and tartly asked, “What?” He stood awkwardly by her door, swinging it slightly back and forth, until she told him to enter or go away. He chose to walk in, but then still stood, saying nothing. Eventually, she marked her page and set down the book, turning her whole body towards him. “What do you want?” she asked, strained patience in her voice. “I came to…” he paused, thinking it over. At last, he settled on, “apologise.” She laughed slightly at his deliberations, the sound turning into a full-fledged giggling fit when he turned a look of aggrieved innocence onto her. When she calmed, she asked him again why he had come, and this time he answered with the truth. “I missed you,” he said, “and I haven’t touched anyone in a week.” She stood, walked over and wrapped her arms around him. He brushed his lips across her forehead in thanks, bringing his own arms up to hold her to him. She smiled into his shirt, and said, “I’m still pissed at you, you know.”

T plus one week, five days

From: D. Lau
To: J. Zeer
I’m glad you’re having a good time. Listen… shit. Can we, maybe, not do this? Or, at least, not so much. ‘Cause it hurts, knowing I could have been out there with you and I fucked it up.
Yes, your last letter made me cut. My head is fucked. Deal with it.
I’m glad Lucy’s looking after you. She sounded like a real sweet girl. Just what you need, really, isn’t she?
Anyway. Crap. Tell me, you know, when something important happens. We can do birthdays and Christmas, or something. Or not. Or whatever. I just…
I don’t know if I could deal with a regular correspondence with someone on the Santa Maria. It’s nothing to do with it being you, it’s all to do with it not being me.
Whatever.
Thanks for the help.
Dan

From: A. Jeffers
To: J. Zeer
I don’t know what to say, man.
Life’s… not too bad. April’s a bit pissed at me at the moment, because she kinda figures we said goodbye properly and while she gets that it’s something we had to do she’s still not happy about it. But she forgives me. Exceptional circumstances, and all that. And it’s not like we said anything binding. And it’s not like it’s going to happen again.
Shit, man, it just… it’s fucked with the equilibrium. I don’t regret it, but. It has. So.
She doesn’t want me writing to you.
I will, but… maybe not so much, just once in a while? Just till she stops worrying about it. Though really, what we’re going to do…
The irrationality of women. Embrace its glory.
Alan

T plus one week, six days

From: S. Tellegrin
To: J. Zeer
Re: Mrs R.A. Keller
The assistant entrusted with your letter reported the following responses:
At the fourth paragraph: “bands”
At the end: a nod.
S.W.T.

From: Mrs M. Zeer
To: J. Zeer
It does sound bad, doesn’t it?
Whenever we feel like it, then. No constraints, no obligations.
I do love you.
Your mother,
Mary K. Zeer

T plus two weeks

From: S. Zeer
To: J. Zeer
I think Casey objects to my occasional proprietary actions, but… I love him, and I want the world and more to know it.
You’re not coming back, are you?
I will… I will really miss you. I really will.
Jesus, Jim, you just have to go and leave me with the shitty part of the family… not that I’m really in the firing line any more.
So, tell me something’s happening with Lulu, I can’t bear the UST any longer. Really, man, something’s got to give. Unless of course it already has…
Hey, you’ll be so glad to hear this: profits are up! Third quarter in a row. Of course, now we’re actually doing the community property thing instead of separate accounts and frequent presents, I don’t get quite as much of it, but there’s no way I can see that as a bad thing.
OK. Sorry for inflicting my obnoxious happiness on you.
Sam

T plus two weeks, two days

From: J. Zeer
To: S. Zeer
I’m not coming back.
I could. If you really needed me to. But not for much longer.
And I’m not.
I don’t want to screw it up for Lucy.
Yeah, well, about her… When we got back to base, everything was too hectic to spend any time together, but once we got up here, we did some general, just, comfort stuff – hugging, that is, not anything else, so just don’t… Um. Yeah. And she said that if I wanted to hop a shuttle back then she would come with me, and she meant it, and to me that sounds like a pretty serious commitment right there, and… We’re such girls, sometimes.
Oh, she’s still pissed at you for Lucy-loo, so I think I’ll just neglect to mention the shortened version.
Good news about the money, man, glad you’re happy, happy you’re glad, hope hubby’s looking after you properly (and vice versa)… oh, Mom’s decided that she and I shouldn’t feel obligated to write to each other, which is probably a good thing since all we ever do is piss each other off. And Dan says my letters fuck with her head. So that’s off as well. And Alan’s girlfriend doesn’t like him writing. So it’s just you and Gran, and the replies I get from the home are hardly detailed. So I guess I’ll be relying on you for contact with the ground. How fucked is that?
Never mind. Have to go… do something. Whatever.
Love you,
Jim

T plus two weeks, five days

From: J. Zeer
To: Mrs R.A. Keller
Dear Gran,
How are you? I’m doing all right.
Well, considering you’re one of only two regular correspondents I have left, not even three weeks into the journey. The other is Sam, of course.
Huh. You, me, and Sam. Family.
Lucy’s doing all right, as I’m sure you know.
So what should I tell you about today? I want to have a story for you… hmm. All right. Here’s one.
I was taking a walk a few days ago, just meandering through the corridors. It was the middle of the fifth shift, so most folks were asleep – we’re not far enough out for sleep patterns to have changed much, though I expect they will eventually. So I found myself in one of the main thoroughfares, and I was the only person there at that moment in time. It’s just a corridor like any other, though to a larger scale – enough room for three buggies side by side. Did I tell you about them? Most people just walk, but there’s a transport service, emergency vehicles, a few private cars for the officers… The normal people just walk. Anyway, I was in this corridor, completely alone, having had just a little too much sugar. I ended up walking a tightrope line down the middle, for maybe half a mile or so, singing as I went. The worst part? I was singing what you would refer to as “teeny-bopper crap”.
Ashamed of me yet?
I’m kidding, Gran.
Love you,
Jim

T plus three weeks, two days

#News Item#
All right, people, this is your last chance to get off this boat.
Seriously, if you don’t want to be here, if you’re not sure, make your mind up right now. Because as of next week, the shuttles stop coming. The shuttles stop going. The only way off this thing is through an airlock. And there’s nothing on the other side.
Talk to someone about it. Make sure you want to be doing this. We are approaching the point of no return, people, and I for one am excited as all hell and just as scared.
#End Item#

T plus one month, three days

From: S. Zeer
To: J. Zeer
Jim,
Much as I love you, I’ll get by without you.
About Lucy, though – what the hell is she thinking? Giving that up for a man she’s not even sleeping with?
You sure she wasn’t just humouring you, reassuring you, guilting you into staying?
Sorry, shouldn’t have said that. Just sounds a bit too good to be true.
Oh, for crying out loud, the way I’ve been acting over him… I’m happy you’re happy, bro, and I hope it all works out for you.
I don’t know how good a contact I’ll be – I’ve basically run out of things to say already. But if there’s anything you want me to keep you updated with, just tell me and I’ll do that.
So. Good luck with that.
Sam

T plus one month, one week

Hey, isn’t that a shuttle?
Must be just about the last one.
I thought they were supposed to be done by now.
Why? Oh, the thing, yeah, they lied because people always put off decisions.
How do you know that?
Well, it was Sonya that wrote it.
Sonya?
You’ve met her, Jim. I think you introduced us. Sonya. Floaty clothes, long red hair, wicked eyes. Writes. Remember?
Uh…
Useless man.

T plus five months, two weeks, four days

Girl, if you don’t get your claws into him soon, someone else will. I guarantee it.
It’s awkward, I told you.
And I’m telling you that you can’t keep him hanging like this.
God, Sonya, would you get off my back?
Tell you what. If it looks like he’s going to go looking for ass, tell him to come to me.
Sonya…
What? He’s all right.
No. Just… no. He won’t.

T plus six months, two weeks

OK, someone tell me what’s going on?
Jim!
Sonya.
Isn’t it fantastic?
What?! I don’t know what the hell…
First colony baby!
No way!
Yeah!
That’s…
Yeah!
Fuck!
I know!
Shit. That’s just…
Yeah.

T plus six months, two weeks, one day

But she must have been…
Three months, yeah.
Lucy, isn’t it against…
Against medical advice. You’re not supposed to shuttle if you even think you might be.
And three months, that’s…
Far enough along to know.
So she lied?
Yeah.
Shouldn’t they have picked it up in the medicals?
Yeah. But her husband’s one of the doctors.
Fucking hell.
Yeah.
They’re getting disciplined for sure.
They’re celebrities now, Jim. They’ll be fine.
Yeah, for now. As soon as the spotlight’s off – they’re back in the ghetto with no nursery time, you mark my words.
You’re such a pessimist sometimes, Jim.
Well, I didn’t even do anything…
You never told me what…
Nothing too big, just general arsing about.
Bastards.
Yeah.

T plus ten months, four days

Lucy stopped just short of her room when she noticed the door was ajar. She didn’t know who was in there, but she was sure she had locked it. Warily, she pushed the door open, and was greeted with the words, “Gran’s dead.”
She stepped back from her doorway in shock at Jim’s quiet statement. He reached out with one arm to pull her into the room, cupping his hand around the back of her neck and stepping back as he drew her in, while she kicked the door shut out of habit. She stepped forward again as he stopped, resting in the circle of his arms for a moment before stepping past him to sit on the bed. “What happened?” she asked. He sat next to her, and shook his head. “You said it yourself. She was old. It happens. The letter just came through.” Lucy sighed softly, grieving, and leaned back on her elbows. “I’d forgotten,” she said. It was the truth, in a way – the facts had been far from her conscious thought, but she had known all along that Mrs Keller was fading. It had simply been a matter of time. “Probably heart failure,” she mused quietly, “though I wouldn’t be surprised if it was an infection.” Jim mirrored her posture, and turned his head to look at her. “It said “peaceful”. That was probably bullshit, yeah?” She thought about it for only a moment, before answering in the affirmative. It would do no good for her to lie to him as well.

They held a small ceremony, just the two of them, in a viewing gallery that looked back, right then, towards the inner reaches of the solar system. They sat side by side, and each lit a candle for the one they had lost, sharing memories and thoughts of her as they watched the flames slowly consume the votives. By the time they hauled themselves off the floor, it was late and they were exhausted from the emotional stress and the sheer length of the day. “C’mon, Luce,” Jim said, “I’m, like, a mile nearer.” She stretched lazily, and asked who would get the bed. He didn’t answer until she stared pointedly at him, and then he stuttered, and stumbled, and suggested they share – platonically, of course. “Sometimes,” she said thoughtfully, “you just want someone there.” Jim nodded, and skimmed a hand over her hair before turning to gather their things.

T plus one year

“Why are we here, again?” Jim grumbled, tugging at his tie. Lucy turned him impatiently and pulled it out of his hands, deftly re-setting the knot. “We decided to do this,” she told him. “You decided,” he muttered, and she slapped him lightly on the shoulder. “You agreed!” she exclaimed, “and I’m damned if I’m going in there without a date!” He blinked at her, and carefully pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “I wasn’t going to back out,” he said plaintively, looking at her through his lashes. He wasn’t sure how he was managing to keep control of his laughter, but he was very grateful for it. She looked away, and it took him a second to pick up the words coming under her breath. “…bitch and piss and moan and act like an idiot and stare at the girls in red dresses and guys in short jackets and yeah, sure, so will I but you’ll have this bored look on your face like all you want is a fuck and all the while…” She was still muttering when she placed her hand on his arm and tossed her hair back gracefully. She poised her body, drew a deep breath and looked him in the eye. “So,” she said clearly, “let’s go.”

It hadn’t, he thought later, so much been the ball itself – he could cope with champagne and dancing, and the fact that they were a little low on the social scale didn’t worry either of them enough to put them off – but the combination of exhilaration at the passing of a year and plain old “date” nerves was sufficient to screw with their dynamic. He shouldn’t really have been surprised, looking back, that by the end of the night the only reason they were speaking to each other was that they were on a couple ticket and it was fairly well obligatory that they appear to be a couple, to some degree at least. It was a far cry from the beginning of the night, when they had complimented each other and he, at least, had looked forward to a progression of their tentative relationship. He walked her home out of politeness, and she merely glared at him before not-quite slamming the door.