Chapter Text
“…Whether it will become a force for good, or for ill, depends on man, and only if the United States occupies a position of pre-eminence can we help to decide whether this new ocean will be a sea of peace or a new terrifying theater of war….”
He looked down at the grass beneath his feet, now marked with splotches of dirt from the crowd that had trampled it in the stadium. He then raised his gaze toward the vice president on the podium, twenty yards away, delivering a speech to an audience of forty thousand. Young, energetic, and passionate, he was the leader everyone dreamed of, in stark contrast to the president standing behind him.
He shifted his attention to the grass beneath him rather than observing the vice president.
“…I do say that space can be explored and mastered without feeding the fires of war, without repeating the mistakes that man has made in extending his writ around this globe of ours…”
“Dr. Iras?” Called the younger man beside him. He turned his gaze toward his companion. “You really should take a good look at him. Just look at how charming he is. Think of it as for me, please. I can't see a thing up here.”
Zedaph raised the corner of his mouth at the young man. “You surely can't. Even I can barely see his head bobbing up and down.”
“Is it fun to watch?” His companion asked, stretching his neck to try to see the vice president through the gap between the people standing in front of him. “Man, I guess I’ll have to watch a tape after this…”
“…But why, some say, the Moon? Why choose this as our goal? And they may well ask, why climb the highest mountain? Why, 35 years ago, fly the Atlantic?…”
“Sorry to drag you with me, Dr. Hubble,” he said, attempting to get a better look at the podium on his tiptoes, which elicited some complaints from behind. “My bad!”
“Do you really have to call me that?” Dr. Hubble chuckled, tapping his cheek with his finger. “Is that all I am to you now? And don't apologize. I'm enjoying myself quite a lot.”
“…We choose to go to the Moon. We choose to go to the Moon. We choose to go to the Moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard; because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills, because that challenge is one that we are willing to accept, one we are unwilling to postpone, and one we intend to win, and the others, too.”
Applause erupted throughout the stadium as the vice president placed his hands back on the podium. Dr. Hubble, however, did not join in the applause; he simply yawned, covering his mouth with a hand.
“I’m done. Let’s go, shall we?”
“But he’s not. What, are we just going to walk away like that?”
“Yeah?” Dr. Hubble reached for the hand rims of his wheelchair and shrugged. “But you’re the only one walking away, I’m afraid, Dr. Iras.”
They both shared a quiet laugh amid the roaring crowd.
She walked straight through the open door. Two men were already waiting in the meeting room of the White House. The oak table was definitely too large for just three people, but not big enough for the staff who were about to sit at the other end. Both men wore expressions that conveyed a mix of stress, confusion, and considerable irritation. She chose not to greet either of them and sat down across from NASA’s newly appointed director—who was also her new boss.
“You’re late, Miss Hamilton. That’s quite unusual...” Her boss said, tapping the end of his pen violently on the black file folder in front of him. “Oh my gosh—what should we do?”
Pearl raised her hands in the air, remaining silent.
What can they do?
“Not this—oh no—” The director tossed his pen aside, then slowly buried his face in the file until his wail was muffled. “Not right after the assassination! Why does everything have to go wrong?!”
“Take a breath, Mr. Kepler…” The other man leaned back in his chair and raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Just...tell the vice president everything. He'll understand, or, God help us.”
“Who is the first to receive the news?” Pearl asked, dragging the file with great effort underneath Mr. Kepler’s nose. Her boss didn't protest at all. “You or Mr. Webb?”
“It’s me,” Mr. Webb said, hugging his arms. “When I told Mumbo, he started having a panic attack. Now you can see the unfortunate state he’s in.”
“How are we going to meet with the vice president if NASA’s director looks like this?” Pearl winced at the photographs in the files. “Geez, man… That’s basically charcoal. He better come up with a decent excuse for why we just lost three of our best astronauts in a random plane crash.”
Mumbo made some unintelligible noises at the desktop. She couldn't understand anything her boss said.
“You’ll be okay, poor Mumbo…” Mr. Webb reached out a hand to rub his back. Mumbo didn't even move a bit. “Where’s your attitude now? Where did that dictatorship go?”
“Please stop calling me a dictator, Impulse…” Mumbo finally lifted his head and let out a deep breath. He rubbed his temples with more force than necessary. “Where do you think—where do you think we are? I don’t want the FBI coming after me…”
“Yeah. What if Mr. Vice President hears us?” She laughed. “You gotta lot of explaining to do, Mr. Kepler.”
“Pearl—”
“Actually, Mr. President now.” Impulse lowered his hand from Mumbo’s back. “Since LBJ has just died, the public can finally get what they wanted all along.”
“And nothing can stop him anymore.”
Pearl spoke in a low voice, but both men heard her clearly. Mumbo ran his fingers through his hair while Impulse gazed at the ceiling.
An uncomfortable atmosphere lingered in the room as the three sat in silence.
“Sending a man to the moon before the end of the decade.”
Impulse let out a dry laugh.
“We barely managed to send a man on a spacewalk, and that came after the Soviets. We cannot send a man into space before the communists, nor can we conduct an EVA before they do. How can we possibly send a man to the moon—”
“Mr. Kepler,” Impulse interrupted, stopping the hand that was tugging at his hair. “We’re going to do this no matter what. There’s no other option for us. And we will need the most talented men and women in this part of the world.”
“Taurus 4? How do you read?”
No response.
“Lieutenant, how do you read?”
He repeated into his headset. Several engineers stood beside him, some glancing at him nervously while others focused on the analog screen in front of him. Through the blurry black-and-white footage, he could see the astronaut just a couple of buildings away, inside the newly built command module. It was a small, diamond-shaped white vehicle designed to carry the crew of Taurus 4 into space next month.
“…I can read you. But it seems like you can't read me. How can we get to the moon like this?”
He laughed, though it felt somewhat strained.
“Roger that. Great news… Now we just need to do some testing here and there. Wait for another ten minutes or so, Lieutenant.”
Someone leaned over him and placed a hand on the pale green top of his radio: it was his supervisor.
“Mr. Webb?”
“Are we experiencing some transmission issues, Cub?”
Impulse put on a spare set of headphones and sat beside him. He turned the knob on the control board for the radio all the way up. It was evident that he hadn’t shaved in a while, as stubble was starting to show on his neck and chin. The yellow tie around his neck hung loosely below his collar.
“Yeah.” Cub sighed. “It’s not that big of a deal. We can continue the test.”
Impulse shot him a glance. “There’s no small matter in a space mission. I thought you knew that.”
“I… I’m sorry, Mr. Webb. I misspoke.”
Cub shifted his gaze away from the man and brought the mouthpiece closer to his lips again.
“We are now beginning some tests with the fuel tank. Can you read me, Taurus 4?”
“Just…do your thing. I'm getting bored already.”
Laughter erupted in the flight command center, but their supervisor did not join in.
“Dr. Hubble?” Impulse lifted his head when he noticed someone entering through the hall gate. Cub kept his eyes on the blinking lights of the control board.
“You finally built the ramp!” Dr. Hubble exclaimed with excitement as he moved his wheelchair down the gentle slope. “Is this just for me? I'm honored!”
“We can't allow one of our potential lead engineers to be isolated in a room. You need to see this in person.”
“What for?” Dr. Hubble paused beside Impulse, looking up at the screen. “So you all can show me off and prove that your module is great, while definitely not needing to build more ramps for me?”
“No, we might still need your help—”
“Uh… Flight? Flight!”
Cub swiftly lifted his head to the camera footage as he heard a scream coming through his headpiece.
A sudden light source appeared in the corner of the module.
It was bright.
Too bright.
“Lieutenant?!”
“It’s a fire! It’s a fire! Flight, it’s a fire!”
The panicked cry echoed in his ear. Cub stood up, watching the flames grow larger each second.
“Mr. Webb!”
“Oh my god…”
“Mr. Webb! What should we do?!”
The center was chaotic. All eyes turned to the supervisor, who remained silent.
“Do something! Do—”
Cub saw some engineers in white uniforms outside the module window, pulling and pounding on the metal gate.
Then, all black.
All that could be heard was the sound of radio static echoing in his ears.
He stood in stunned silence, knowing everyone in the hall felt the same way.
Everyone, besides a man.
“Well,” Dr. Hubble tilted his head at the dark screen. “Guess you’ll need someone more qualified to build the module, then.”
“Dr. Hubble…” Cub said, feeling his mouth dry up. He didn't get to finish his next sentence, as his supervisor took over.
“…Is there something wrong with you…Scar?”
“I’m fine at the moment, thank you,” Scar said with a nod and a smile. Then he finally seemed to notice the dozens of eyes watching him.
“What?” He glanced around the quiet crowd with an innocent expression on his face. “It’s just an astronaut. You all have plenty of them lying around, don’t you?”
“Mr. Ariel, are you with me?”
He held the phone between his chin and neck, not responding to the man on the other end. He glanced at the television.
“…The astronaut assigned to Taurus 4 died in the fire caused by an electrical malfunction. The White House is currently requesting a formal investigation from NASA’s Space Center in Houston…”
“Mr. Ariel?”
“Yes, I can hear you.” He turned his gaze away from the screen and spoke to his phone, tugging on the tangled wires.
“We need you. A plane is ready for you at a moment's notice.”
“Wasn’t I a backup?” He laughed dryly into the phone. He gripped the wires tightly in his hand. “I’m not… I’m not suitable for this.”
“…You will be. This is an order.”
He halted his hand and looked up at a group photo on the wall. He was on the far left, dressed in his uniform with two yellow stripes and a star on his shoulders.
The faces, once youthful and filled with naïve hope for the future.
“…The president has stated that the plan for the moon landing remains unchanged. It will continue to be the primary goal for humanity in this decade.”
He abruptly hung up the phone.
The chalk scraped against the blackboard, dust settling on his lap. His once-gray trousers were now turning white. He glanced down with a small frown, but then chose to ignore it and continued writing.
“So, when we have a series like this…” He circled the equation he had just written down. “We have a sum of 𝑥 raised to the power of 𝑛 divided by 𝑛, with an exclamation mark, as if it were surprising for 𝑛 to be included here…”
The students in the lecture hall laughed, and he smiled.
“Then what do we have here, class?”
He quickly lifted the blackboard. It struck the top frame and bounced back slightly.
“A…Taylor series, Professor Hubble.”
One of the smarter students who always sat in the front row answered immediately while holding a pencil against his chin.
“That's right.” Scar turned his wheelchair toward the young man after dusting the chalk off his hands. “Anything else?”
The young man scratched his head with the end of his pencil.
“C’mon. Try harder, please?”
He glanced back at the equation, ensuring he had written everything correctly this time. He realized that sometimes the only reason his students struggled to find the answer was his own silly mistakes, and they were often too hesitant to speak up.
“If you’re struggling, try drawing a graph,” he advised as he returned to his students with a shrug. “It always helped me. I couldn’t understand anything in grad school until I learned how to draw. Now I could easily get into RISD next door if I wanted to.”
A faint echo of laughter fills the nearly empty lecture hall.
“And?” He let out a shallow sigh, feeling drowsy in the early afternoon. There was no doubt that the students felt the same way. The spring weather in Providence was always too soothing. “What else do we get besides a Taylor series?”
There was no noise for a long time, except for a few yawns here and there.
“Good lord, how do you people even get into the School of Engineering in the first place!” Scar laughed and said. “Just be grateful I’m not in charge of admissions.”
“A Maclaurin series.”
He heard the correct answer, but it didn't come from any of his students. Instead, it was spoken by a man leaning against the doorframe of the hallway. The man said the words without even looking at the lecturer, as if he was talking to himself. He wore a red turtleneck sweater, had dark blonde hair, and a pair of black eyes. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his pants.
“That's… right, Dr. Ariel.” Scar blinked slowly and turned his eyes away. “It’s also a Maclaurin series because it hits the zero point.”
Some students looked at the man, while others glanced at the clock above the blackboard and began to pack their belongings.
“Oh, shoot…” Scar glanced at the clock as well. The students started to leave one by one, bypassing the man who was still leaning against the doorframe. “See you all on Monday—have fun. Don’t break your legs like I did.”
“That’s the new story you came up with, Dr. Hubble?”
Dr. Ariel walked down from the lecture hall toward him, casually uttering the words.
“Uh-huh. I got bored telling the same story after a few years.” Scar grabbed an eraser from below the blackboard and began erasing his equations. “Haven’t seen you for a while, Grian.”
“Not a doctor anymore?” Grian chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “Did you revoke my degree after I joined the Navy?”
“What would you like me to call you now?” Scar didn't look at him but continued erasing with increasing aggression. “Dr. Ariel, Lieutenant Ariel, or just Mr. Ariel?”
As soon as he finished speaking, the eraser slipped from his hand after a fierce stroke. It hit the ground just a few feet away from his wheelchair, right beside Grian's feet.
Grian picked it up, blew off some chalk dust, and tossed it to the podium instead of handing it directly to him.
He lowered his hand and kept his eyes on the half-erased blackboard instead of looking elsewhere.
“Why are you here, Grian?”
“You know, just visiting my old advisor, Dr. Iras, and saying hello to a fellow ex-classmate at Brown.”
“Zedaph sent you to talk to me, didn’t he?” Scar chuckled bitterly. “I heard the news, Grian. You don’t need to rub it in my face.”
“Is this how you choose to greet me, Scar?” Grian walked toward the blackboard and stood behind him. “Aren't you still the same curious fella from all those years ago?”
“How would you like me to greet you? I know why you’re here.”
“I’m here to congratulate you, and nothing more.” He placed his hands on Scar's shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze. Scar remained silent, allowing the gesture. “Congratulations on your new position at NASA, Professor Hubble. You’ll be the one controlling my life and death for the next few years. Aren’t you excited, Professor?”
“You think I am?”
Scar tightly clasped his hands together on his lap.
His hands trembled.
“It’s not what I wanted. Nothing in this world can give me what I desire. But it always offers everything to you without asking, Lieutenant.”
“Ah, guess who’s jealous.” Grian lowered himself to Scar’s level with a smile. He leaned in closer until Scar could see the light freckles on his face, just inches away. “Yes. That’s me. You'll be stuck on Earth, watching me walk on the moon while you pity your sorry ass in this wheelchair, again and again.”
Scar averted his gaze from the face before him. He remained silent.
“And one more thing,” Grian continued, laughing in his face. “I don't even like space anymore. I'm not a lunatic like you, Professor. Frankly speaking, I hate it!”
He gripped the hand rims without looking back. He snatched his notebook from the podium and tossed it into the briefcase hung on his push handle.
“Well,” Grian straightened himself up, “maybe if you used your time more wisely instead of wasting it on that empty void, you could… I don't know, start to learn how to walk again.”
“Shut up, Lieutenant. Go to hell.”
Scar said under his breath.
He flipped through his notebook repeatedly, searching for a blank page to write on. At this moment, it was more like a sketchbook, filled with graphs and equations everywhere.
He decided to spend some time in the main green area of Brown that afternoon, enjoying the warm sunlight on top of the college hill. Some undergrads were playing with flying discs, and he found their noise irritating. To be honest, he was feeling annoyed by everything at that moment. This was unusual for him; he couldn’t remember being this irritated in a long time.
“Dr. Hubble?”
He heard a friendly voice calling him. When he looked up from his notebook, he saw a man with platinum blonde hair, dressed entirely in beige and khaki—his favorite color tones. The man had a round face and eyes that were a striking purplish-blue.
“I told you not to stop calling me that.” He closed the notebook snappishly and said, “I can call you Dr. Iras since you were my advisor, but it’s not funny when you call me back.”
“Whoa! What happened to you, Scar?” Zedaph raised his hands to his chest, pretending to be surprised.
“Thank you so much.” Scar said to him with a bright smile that he put on. “Alright, now tell me—why would you—would you—you can't do a man dirty like that!”
“I didn't do anything. I just told Grian to see you since you both are going to work together, and that's all!”
“Exactly…” Scar sighed as he leaned back.“You just want to see some blood spilling over the campus like the good old days, don't you, Zed?”
“Did you two cause a scene again?" Zedaph asked with a hearty laugh. "Did you finally manage to blow him up with liquid nitrogen, or did you set up another gun duel in the main green? Is that why you're waiting here?
“I wish I could shoot ‘em! I really do.” Scar exclaimed as he watched the leaves swaying gently in the soft springtime breeze. “Why can’t he just die somewhere over the Pacific? That would be better for both of us. Why did NASA have to choose him to be the astronaut? Have they finally run out of random, average-looking, average-build, average-intelligence lieutenants to burn?”
“I think you just heard yourself giving the answer,” Zed said, his smile fading. “He's their best option for now.”
“So you think making him talk to me will change my view, do you?” Scar turned toward him. “I bet you heard some gnarly things about me from your former colleagues at NASA.”
“They are people, Scar,” he said. He paused to choose his words carefully before continuing. “Not just the astronauts—everyone. We are all people. There are other important matters besides a starry sky. You and everyone at NASA should understand this better, especially since you’ll be heading to Houston very soon.”
“I doubt the people at NASA share my perspective, Zed.” Scar rubbed his eyes and face. “They lost the first race to the Soviets because they kept testing their dumb rockets repeatedly, while the Soviets were willing to launch as soon as they could.”
“Yes, and,” Zedaph nodded his head, “the astronaut risked his life.”
He began to laugh and clapped his hands.
“Oh, man. A life! How marvelous!”
“Scar…”
“Now that mindless blonde is going to the moon,” he continued his laugh. “And I’ll be the one to keep him safe. Wonderful, wonderful! This world just hates me so much. How nice of it!”
“Don’t you think he acted…off, to you?”
Scar hummed. “I haven't seen him for a while. I can't tell you anything.”
“I believe you can.” Zed gave him a look. “You were basically his closest friend at Brown.”
“Friend?” Scar winced at the word with disgust. “You have a queer definition of friendship, Zed.”
“Then what? Were you two dating?” Zedaph chuckled. “I still didn't understand what was happening back then. Every morning, I just prayed to God that you two wouldn’t tear the whole building apart.”
“I’m not a homophile, and neither is he. If he were, he would have never received this job offer in the first place,” he said, trying to suppress an eye roll aimed at his old advisor. “We just can't see eye to eye. It didn’t help that people kept comparing us to each other, including you, Dr. Iras. I’m fairly certain you were doing it on purpose.”
“What for?” Zedaph laughed again. “What good could it possibly bring?”
“Is that… You were right.” Scar muttered reluctantly. “He did seem off to me. He tried… He made fun of my condition. That was a new low, even for someone like him, I’d say. I thought it was the Navy speaking.”
“I don't think it’s the Navy, I'm afraid.”
“Well, then. So he's just an asshole now.”
“No, it’s because…” Zedaph paused for a moment. “I think he knows you well enough to recognize the terrible truth of his fate.”
“Be the lamb for sacrifice?” Scar grinned. “This is great news for me. I’ve been waiting for this day for as long as I can remember.”
Zedaph lowered his head and averted his gaze from Scar.
“What did you promise them?”
“Who, NASA?”
“That’s right.”
“A module that can work, unlike that piece of junk.”
“And?”
“A lunar orbit rendezvous. They can never do a rendezvous in Earth orbit and send a man to the moon. They are a bunch of goons for thinking otherwise, still sitting on the fence for my plan. Sayin’ it’d cost too much to build something like that or I’m just out of my damn mind. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Still on the fence? Even after you asked them to alter their entire moon landing plan just for you?”
“Yeah?”
Zedaph took a deep breath before speaking again.
“What did you promise them, Scar?”
“Huh?” He scratched his hair. “I just told you everything, Dr. Iras.”
“No… The numbers. Tell me.”
“Oh—that,” Scar said, opening his mouth and holding his chin. “Fifty, and one.”
Zedaph gazed at him for a moment.
“They're right, Scar. You are just out of your damn mind…and so are they.”