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Ten am. That was the time Clay had written and circled in red marker across today’s date on his calendar. That was the time he’d told his loved ones to tune in to the news to watch live coverage from the Space Center. That… was the time his life would change forever. After then, he would be seen as a survivor, a hero, a celebrity of the scientific community. If only he felt like any of those things. Today was supposed to be the greatest day of his life; the day he’d spent years training for, pulling countless all-nighters studying for… but, instead, his whole body was weighed down by a thousand pounds of dread. Absolutely nothing about the conversation with Director Cosmos he’d had yesterday gave him any reason to be happy. No one was going to space today, and he was the only person on the entire launch crew besides the Director himself who knew. The rocket had been affixed with a bomb, set to detonate when the launch countdown hit zero. It would demolish the entire craft, and spell certain death for the two men assigned to board it… Clay himself being one of them. Still, to maintain a positive public image, everything had to proceed as if nothing was amiss. It was a convoluted and deceptive plan, but if it kept the Center’s doors open it was an undeniable necessity. He just had to keep reminding himself that everything he was doing was, ultimately, for the best. Everything would be fine. He loaded his essentials in his jacket pocket, things he’d originally planned to leave at home when he still assumed his rocket would actually take off. Why leave them at home when he knew not only that his feet would remain on the ground, but that there was a disaster on the horizon as well? Once he started running through the list of items in his head, he realized he’d almost forgotten to grab the most important essential: the incredibly suspicious-looking little baggie containing three round white pills. He couldn’t let himself think too much about them. All he had to do was carry out the instructions he’d been given.
Nine dollars for coffee was a small price to pay to ensure the most crucial part of this plan went smoothly. He would have made the stop either way; it was an errand he ran multiple times a week. Some of the café staff had memorized his order and would be working on it by the time he got to the counter. That is, if he went inside. Between the strict time constraints and bone-crushing guilt over what he was about to do threatening to rip a hole in his stomach, he couldn’t bear facing the chipper morning crew. The young barista at the drive-thru window recognized him anyways and tried to drum up some light conversation about his latest adventures, but returning her sentiment was like trying to slog through cold maple syrup in oversized rain boots. Still, he could always manage a shimmering smile, no matter how he felt inside. He received his order, pulled around the building, and paused in the farthest parking spot he could find. The last thing he needed was for someone to be close enough to haphazardly witness what he was doing. Slowly, he drew the baggie of pills from his jacket pocket and took a deep breath while pulling the zipper seal open. The two drinks were identical, so it didn’t much matter which one he chose, as long as he had a way to tell them apart after. Thankfully, he had a sharpie in the glove compartment. Sometimes being scatterbrained had its advantages. His hands were perfectly steady scrawling a big star on one of the thick papery cups, but began to quake when he made the motion to pop the lid off. Was he really doing this? Cosmos had insisted this was the only way, but was it? Clay hesitated. He hesitated for several dreadful seconds. The clock was ticking… he didn’t have time for this. He shut his eyes tight and shook the pills out of the bag and into the steaming coffee, refusing to open them again until he heard three distinct drops. Well… they were in. No taking them back now.
Eight sharp was the time on the clock in his car when he rolled to a stop in his usual parking place. His nerves about the coffee had made him a few minutes later than he would have liked. Oh well. It wasn’t like he’d get any grief about it, not today. The one responsible for noting his tardiness had bigger things to worry about, and it wouldn’t be terribly long before everyone else did, too. Just two more hours… the moment he set his things in his locker and the drinks on the table, a firm clap on the shoulder rattled his whole body and pulled him out of his own head. He’d recognize that happy energy anywhere: Solomon Starbuck, his beloved hero-turned-mentor, the one who’d instilled in him a love of space and passion for discovery, a dedicated scientist who’d become like an older brother to him as he blossomed from an excitable student to a studious young man… and the one he had to deceive the most. It was a rarity for Sol to be at the Center before him, a fact that was quickly turned into lighthearted remarks as the former shared his excitement about the coming hours. Clay did what he did best: he smiled. This smile, however, felt different. Wrong. The muscles in his face started to burn with fatigue as he fought to maintain his lie. His discomfort must have been more apparent than he’d realized, because Sol noticed it immediately. He blamed it on a sleepless night, which was just the segue he needed to direct attention to the pair of fresh coffees on the table. He scooted the one he’d marked closer to his unsuspecting partner. Another smile.
Seven different members of the launch team came in and out of the locker lounge during the astronauts’ morning chat, all of them just as hyped for the mission as Sol was. With every joyful exclamation, the pit that had formed in Clay’s stomach at the cafe grew deeper and deeper. None of them had a clue. The longer they sat there, the more he began to doubt his judgment. That medication would definitely kick in well before two hours had passed. How was he going to make this work? The fate of the space program, the whole Space Center, hinged on him being able to control as many variables as possible between his arrival and the end of the countdown. Maybe he could convince Cosmos to start early if the rest of the crew was ready… no, that was a ridiculous thought. Everything had to run according to the existing schedule. If anything, even the most miniscule detail went wrong, he would have no one to blame but himself. The world would have no one to blame but him. Again, his visible unease was mentioned. This time, he chose to pass it off as pre-launch nerves, but he knew no one would truly believe he was ever nervous about anything. For the first time in his life, his happy-go-lucky, gung-ho fearlessness had become a detriment.
Six long years had passed since the docudrama detailing the impossible flight of the first HAT mission was released. Despite only being officially enrolled in the astronaut program for two of them, Clay had studied the ordeal the entire time. Everyone was pretty convinced they’d caught the guy responsible for both the launch sabotage and the grisly murder that followed, but the active threat of history repeating itself sang an entirely different tune. The scientist side of him wanted to ask a barrage of questions; ask until he had enough information to form his own answers, ask until he was satisfied, ask until he was blue in the face. But… instead… he had to bite his tongue. He’d never been too good at that. His mind wandered as he got up and followed Sol out of the locker lounge and towards their next step. Everything was going to be fine. He’d wholly convinced himself of this, until he was reminded of his coffee run. Time moved at half speed as he watched the marked cup fall from his friend’s hand and hit the bottom of the trash bin, empty. Never in his life had he heard a sound so hollow yet so deafening. It echoed coldly, the haunting chime of a death knoll beginning an unstoppable countdown. No going back now. No taking back what he’d done.
Five times in a row, he put on the same glove backwards. He really needed to get himself together… he’d already been probed about his behavior twice, he doubted he’d get many more chances before the whole team was worrying. During tense times, they’d all relied on his bright smile to get them through, Sol especially. It had been up to him to keep morale high. So far he’d done a good job of it, if the energy buzzing all around him was to be believed. His own heart had been overflowing with so much happy anticipation for this launch for so long, and now he felt nothing but a black hole void of emotion where that warm glow once shone. What if… what if Clay broke and told him? What would happen, realistically? He could calmly explain the plan he’d been following, admit his deception, and they’d still proceed on. It wouldn’t stop the drugs from running their course, but being able to be honest and express his deep regret would help cushion the blow a little. He took a breath to steady himself before making the big confession, but then he remembered exactly why he couldn’t tell Sol the truth. The man had been through hell and back last time, on that first HAT mission all alone, and his mental health suffered greatly for it. The only reason they’d been able to get ahold of the powerful sedative in the first place was because he’d been prescribed them after the disaster; all Clay had to do was swipe a few from Sol’s locker the night before. He had witnessed a few of the flashbacks, and they could range from vague foreboding anxiety to full-body episodes where he’d forget where he was. No… Clay knew, no matter how wrong some of his actions were, it would be a worse cruelty to put his friend through that pain by telling him what happened back then was about to happen again. How would he ever forgive himself if his desire to be transparent ruined the plan? Or, worse, if it turned the man who’d inspired him to go to space away from the space program entirely? They’d go to space one day, just… not today.
Four months was a long time to spend suspended in zero-gravity with nothing but infinite blackness on all sides, but something inside of him said it would never be enough. Compared to the years of schooling and conditioning he’d worked through to get his brain and body ready to break atmosphere, less than half of one year was nothing at all. He knew, though, even getting half a second to behold the greatest infinity mankind had only begun to understand would be the sweetest fruit of his labor. If he could stay focused on that, keep his eyes on the prize, he’d find the strength to make it through today. Once they were both fully decked out, ready to go the instant they got the word, he took a moment to shake his fears and replace them with dreams of the future. He bounced up and down a few times and commented how he remembered all this gear being much heavier. That was all it took to make Sol crack a smile. About an hour had passed since they’d greeted each other, so they were halfway there. Maybe keeping the smiles and laughs coming was the trick to fending off the drugs’ effects until the right moment. It was worth a shot, and it was something Clay knew he could sustain. They had to make an important stop in the research lab before they could head to the boarding lounge; now was as good a time as any to put his hypothesis to the test. He practically bounded down the halls weightlessly in his heavy suit, Sol cackling behind him all the way. He jokingly remarked how, with that energy, Clay could probably carry him around too, gear and all. The simple acknowledgement hit Clay like a truck full of cement. How ironic a comment to make. How tragic a premonition to have.
Three locks separated the astronauts from the sleek capsule containing the asteroid samples the Center needed for its next major breakthrough. Clay wasn’t a hundred percent sure what exactly that was; information had been highly classified, even to him. He figured the reasoning was related to the capsule’s belonging to the first disastrous HAT mission. The purpose of the whole mission was to send this thing out to further reaches and for a longer period of time than a human could travel, and it had just returned from its elongated journey. Whatever the case he’d probably find out soon enough. Without context, the idea of them taking it out of the lab and onto their rocket was… strange, to say the least, and something Sol had pointed out. If this recently-returned capsule was so pivotal to Center research, why would they be instructed to remove it from the lab to bring on a second mission before it had the chance to be properly studied? The diversion they’d officially been fed was that it had something to do with some equipment inside the second rocket and some stationed off-planet, but Clay knew the truth. Whatever specter was haunting this launch, it apparently wanted that capsule above all else. The safest place for it was in the hands of a crew member, one who would be far away from the danger zone when the threatened bomb blew. This vital task had also been designated to him. He was to protect these research samples with his life. Clutching it tightly under an arm, he led the way towards the boarding lounge… where the final stage would begin.
Two steps into the lounge, he noticed the gap between him and Sol widen significantly. There was a sort of empty, vacant look beginning to overtake his mentor’s typically sharp features. Was his acquired astraphobia starting to catch up to him, or was it the sedative taking hold? The most likely answer was both. There was about half an hour left now… he had to hold out just a little longer… he sat down on one of the futuristic-looking chairs, a hand up to his forehead as if he were trying to make it stop spinning, and expressed thorough confusion about why he was feeling this way. Not wanting to dwell on the situation, Clay sprung into action with a flashy grin and a confident affirmation that everything would be fine. And it would be! It would be fine! They were fine! He drug out the pep talk as long as he could, rambling about every little thing that popped into his mind. Twenty minutes to go… ten minutes… at the ten minute call, they traded one last affirmation, secured their helmets, and opened the door that would lead them from the lounge to the launch pad. Except… at the other end of the corridor, past the second security door would not be the launch pad the elder astronaut was expecting. They’d been sent to the replica rocket in the museum. If Sol opened that door and saw the museum instead of the intended destination, the jig would be up. The plan would be blown wide open. So, at some point during the relatively short walk down the corridor, he had to go down. Thankfully for Clay, down he went almost immediately after opening the door. His timing couldn’t have been more perfect.
One arm around his comrade, the other toting the all-valuable capsule, he completed the journey into the museum. The full-sized replica that served as its centerpiece wasn’t exactly ready for boarding, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that both of them and the capsule were out of harm’s way in a different area of the building. Director Cosmos’s voice sounded in his earpiece and made him jump so suddenly he nearly dropped both arms’ payloads. It was time. He chose his response carefully; he knew it was being projected over the speakers for the entire rest of the team to hear. The words he spoke were positive and confident, but he felt his breath catch for a moment and heard his tone falter. Would anyone notice? There was no redoing it now. The countdown began. It filled his ear and bounced around in his brain like a swarm of angry bees. Oh, how cold and unforgiving it sounded… the staccato counting down from ten harmonized with his own heartbeat, pounding in his chest at ninety miles a minute, knowing what was to come. It created a dissonant, nightmarish symphony that would only ever play for an audience of one. Think about the future… the glory of finally going to space after all of this was over, the integrity of the Center’s reputation… three… two… one…
Zero. Zero time to think. The echoing rumbles of explosions elsewhere in the building were his call to get moving back through the door, all the way down the corridor, and through the other door into the safety of the boarding lounge. He’d been promised they’d be safe there. Now that the bombs had detonated, that was the safest place they could be. A few red emergency lights flashed on and off in time with the blaring alarms, the intensity of both increasing dramatically as he approached the door to the lounge. About halfway there, he felt his stamina beginning to fad. His muscles ached in a way he’d never felt before. His lungs burned trying to fulfill his muscles’ demand for more oxygen. The walls felt like they were closing in around him, the alarm transforming from a minor yet necessary annoyance to an unrelentingly oppressive force. The place he’d called a second home for so long slowly morphed into a walk of horrors. Surely he’d be hearing that awful sound in his nightmares for the rest of his life. He managed to make it to the door at the end of the tunnel just as the weight on his shoulders became too much to bear; the weight of the whole Space Center’s fate, his reputation as the rock of the team, his duty to stand as the sole protector of science and of lives… and, of course, the actual physical weight of his unconscious friend in an entire space suit. A dark vignette crept in all around his peripheral, and it wasn’t just because of his tinted helmet. Was he… blacking out? Was this what it felt like to faint? The last sensation his brain registered was his knees slamming into the hard ground, his final coherent thought repeating over and over: ‘it’s going to be fine’. Once this mess was all finished, the whole thing would feel like a bad dream. He still had so many more good dreams to have, and his whole future ahead of him as a hero… right?