Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

OCTOBER 5th, 1957

BREAKING: SOVIETS SEND SATELLITE TO SPACE:

War on the Horizon?

According to reliable sources, the American government has been informed that yesterday, on October the 4th, 1957, the Soviet Union successfully launched the satellite Sputnik into the orbit of Earth, accredited to the dangerous head Soviet astrophysicist V. Mikhailov. The news has frightened and alarmed the Pentagon, who has warned the country of the threat of missiles launched from space, and the urgency of the creation of an American space program has never been more dire. President Eisenhower has put out a call to all citizens who have the proper educational background and strong American patriotic spirit to submit themselves for consideration to join a new program dedicated to space exploration in Washington, D.C. Eisenhower was sure to emphasize that while the situation is fraught, the American people should never cower in fear, for we are a nation of innovation and strength, the greatest country in the…

Jayce let his coffee mug fall to the table below him, thankfully only a few inches above the faded wood grain, and not far enough to cause a spill. He stared, eyes wide in shock at the newspaper in front of him, unable to focus on the rest of the article.

"Mijo! What is wrong with you?" Jayce looked up at his mother, and was unable to wipe the look of awe from his face, the hand that still gripped the periodical in front of him trembling. "Jayce?" His mother's face turned from one of ire over the slightly spilled coffee to concern.

She didn't see him very often anymore, not since he'd married Mel and moved off of the family ranch. It was a gift that she had managed to make the trip to DC at all, and the last thing he wanted to do was concern her. His tenuous marriage had her distressed and fraying at the seams already, despite his assurances that everything was fine. Going into shock over the morning paper was not going to help his claim of being 'perfectly okay.' He didn't care. It was happening.

"They're doing it, Ma. They're finally doing it!" He slid the paper across the table to her, and watched as her eyes widened as she scanned the article. She sucked in a breath between her teeth, and looked up again, somehow even more worried than before.

"Space exploration? Mijito, I know you have dreamed of the stars since you were a babe, but that is all it is: a dream. It is dangerous. No one has gone into space before-"

"Then I can be the first!" Jayce snapped, grabbing the paper back from her, greedily reading it again, and then examining the qualifications for candidates listed at the bottom:

1. Less than 40 years old

   1. Check. Jayce was only 25.

2. Less than 5 feet 11 inches (1.80 m) tall

   1. Check. Never before had he been more relieved to only reach the height of 5' 10." Take that, high school bullies.

3. In excellent physical condition

   1. Check. This was undeniable. Jayce didn't like to brag about it, but his affinity for manual labor over the years had made him incredibly well built. He could out-run and out-lift anyone his age by miles and pounds alike.

4. With a bachelor's degree or equivalent

   1. Check. Jayce was pretty sure his first bachelor's in mechanical engineering and second bachelor's in aeromechanics would more than qualify him.

5. A graduate of test pilot school, with a minimum of 1,500 hours total flying time

   1. Check. He'd found college to be universally un-challenging and spent most of his free time flying; up until now, it had been the closest to the stars he had been able to get.

6. A qualified jet pilot

   1. Also check. Somewhat necessary for the above to be true.

"I qualify for all the requirements, Ma. All of them!" He brandished the paper in front of his face, grinning gleefully. The concerned expression on his mother's face.

"It's dangerous, Jayce. Even the Soviets haven't sent people, only a rocket-"

"Satellite," Jayce corrected her, and she glared. "Sorry. "Jayce ducked his head in shame.

"They're only doing this because they feel the need to beat the Soviets. And that means they will rush it, it won't be done properly, you could die-"

"Die doing what, exactly?" The melodic voice interrupted his mother's rant, and the two of them turned to find Mel standing in the doorway, fine pressed business suit perfectly in place, work back in one hand and glass of orange juice in the other. The golden freckles on her face that seemed to imitate the stars were especially bright today. She was beautiful, as always. Jayce wished that mattered anymore.

"Flying into space," his mother's gaze turned pleading towards Mel, as if begging her to agree that somehow fulfilling Jayce's lifelong dream was to be dismissed. Mel simply looked back and forth between the two of them, assessing the situation with her ever all seeing, piercing gaze.

"I have to get to work," was all she said in the end, and turned towards the front door, fine heels tapping rhythmically. "Don't wait up." The door closed quietly. Jayce sighed, turning back to the paper in front of him, but his mother was now set on focusing on a different concern for him.

"Jayce. Whatever you've done can be fixed. Just buy her some flowers, or take her on a vacation. The lake back home is so empty now, you could have it to yourself-"

"Stop!" Jayce blurted, louder than he intended, a wave of shame quickly washing over him for yelling at his mother. She meant well, he knew, and no one in the world deserved to be yelled at less than her. "Sorry." Jayce met her gaze, which was now one of utter confusion.

"I don't understand. Can't you help me understand?" She reached across the table, folding his hands in hers, and Jayce melted into the touch, a deep breath he didn't know he was holding escaping him.

"We're not like you and dad, Ma. What you had… well, it's special, rare. True love. That just doesn't exist for me. For us. And we're coming to terms with that."

"That's ridiculous," his mother responded, eyebrows furrowed. "Of course that love exists for you. So, maybe, it is not Mel." She glanced at the door she had walked out of. "While that makes me sad, it is only because it means you have been unhappy." She squeezed his hands pleadingly. "I do not like seeing you sad, mijo." Jayce just shook his head in defeat.

"Nothing to do about it." His mother pursed her lips, the words she knew could solve the situation trapped behind them. Divorce. The ringing bells of the church he'd spent every Sunday in growing up echoed like a ghost between them. There were many sins, but to break a contract made before God was the most despicable. His mother was the most devout person he knew; he couldn't bring himself to break her heart in yet another way, and tell her that he no longer was.

"Has it always been this way? Since the start?" His mother asked. Jayce shook his head vehemently.

"No, no, not at all. I loved her. I still do," he clarified, swallowing down his shame. "We just don't fit like that anymore. I can't make her happy anymore."

"Well," his mother said assuredly, "marriage involves all sorts of love. Talk to one another and sort this out. If you still care for each other, it will work out in the end. Now, I am going to go read my book." She stood up and made for the living room, pausing for one moment before looking back. "I will always support you, Jayce. There is nothing you could do in this world that would take my love from you," and she left the room, only silence remaining. Jayce turned back to the paper in front of him, focusing in on the bottom of the page.

Those interested in applying should call (971) 555-8540.

Jayce stood up from the table, walked to the kitchen, and picked up the phone from the wall.

—

By all rights, Viktor should have been celebrating. After all, it wasn't every day your name made the international papers, and it certainly had never been a day before for anyone where it did so because you engineered a satellite into space. His coworkers surrounded him, piles of various bottles of alcohol scattered about the floor of their workroom, loud and off-tune signing grating against his ears. To them, life could not be better. For Viktor, life could not be worse. He knew all too well the dangers of becoming well known in the USSR; he had seen enough friends disappear behind doors they never reemerged from the moment they faltered in their brilliance. It was only a matter of time until he walked through those doors too. This 'success' had merely accelerated the timeline.

"Viktor!" Alexi his least favorite coworker bellowed, swinging an arm around him, rank odor of absinthe on his breath nearly suffocating Viktor to death. "Why do you not celebrate? You are famous space man, now!" The program had begun to force them to all speak English at work, an attempt to get them to 'infiltrate the West,' or some other bullshit, and Alexi was the worst of them at it even when he was sober. Right now, he was very much not.

Viktor shrugged Alexi's arm off him and made for the door, ignoring the protests that sounded out behind him as his cane avoided the bottles that scattered the ground. It didn't matter; none of them really cared for him that much. After all, they weren't so stupid as to not realize that being his friend would put a target on their back. Viktor glanced back over his shoulder as he swung the door to the hallway open, his fellow scientists droopy eyed and lying on the floor, papers and machines alike surrounding them. A testament to their work, a reason for their well-earned raucousness. Viktor turned back around and left the room.

It was only a matter of perhaps hours before they were demanded back in the control room, being pushed to create the next great space invention. The Americans had surely heard by now what had happened, and Viktor's success could only mean tensions had now built to, no pun intended, astronomical levels. Oh, to be the cause of so much mayhem, when all he had ever wanted to do was invent, and to use those inventions to help people. What a fool he'd been.

When he reached his quarters, he downed the bottle of fancy vodka he'd been saving for something special, threw his cane on the floor, and promptly fell face first into his pillow, instantly falling into the sweet, mindless thrall of sleep.

—

Of all the unpleasant ways he imagined he would be awoken next, a slobbery tongue to his face had not been one of them. Still, the world was always throwing some new obstacle at Viktor. He should have known some mangy mutt would somehow, of all the people sleeping in this compound, find his face to drag its drool over.

"Hey! уходить!" He shouted at the dog, pushing the thing off of him and blearily rubbing the drool off his face. The dog didn't seem perturbed, though, simply sitting down and beaming up at him, panting a bit, tail wagging back and forth. What the hell was a dog doing in his room? Viktor wondered, but the dog jumped back up and was kissing him more, wrapping its paws around his waist. Viktor shoved the dog back again, but this time only away from his face, its legs still gripping on to the bed.

She really was mangy; several different colors of fur in an indistinguishable pattern, uneven hair texture, dirty. Clearly fresh off the streets, but her happy expression and swishy tail would almost make you think otherwise. "Woof!" She barked, and Viktor covered his ears, the sound loud with how much it echoed around the small, empty room. He had never been good with dogs. Cats were much easier; aloof and broody like himself, never requiring much attention. This dog, however, seemed to need attention to survive. So Viktor lowered his hands and gave her a small scritch on her head, which she leaned into eagerly, eyes closing and tail wagging even faster. Then she jumped up onto the bed next to him and put her head in his lap. When Viktor simply froze, she looked up at him and whined, a pitiful look in her eyes, and Viktor resumed petting her head. She sighed happily and promptly closed her eyes, falling asleep. What the hell was happening?

"What's your name?" Viktor found himself asking after a moment, aware of how ridiculous it was to talk to a dog, but finding himself unable to resist her sweetness. She looked up at him with big eyes, questioning, like something as simple as a name was something she had never had the privilege of having before. Viktor supposed if going by her looks, that was probably true.

He pet her some more, running his hands down her back, where they snagged in the slightly curly hair. She shimmied more into his touch, and he scratched a bit harder, and her tail started wagging. Despite himself, he let out a small chuckle.

"How about Kudryavka?" The dog sat up and gave him a sloppy kiss on the nose and Viktor giggled. Actually giggled. He wasn't sure he remembered the last time he'd done that. "Okay, Kudryavka it is," he murmured, and Kudryavka sat back down in his lap, content to receive more scritches on her head.

"Oye! Viktor!" The sound of Alexi's grating voice was no more pleasant when he was sober, the rare peaceful moment he'd been having now interrupted, putting him immediately into a foul mood. Viktor groaned, glaring at the door as his unwelcome guest sauntered through. "Ah! You found her!" Kudryavka perked up at his voice, tail wagging, and Alexi wandered over, giving her some pets. "Silly little mutt ran off. Dogs, am I right?" He laughed, but Viktor was feeling the sudden urge to wrap his hands around Kudryavka and not let her anywhere near anyone else in this God-forsaken compound.

"Why is she here?" Viktor asked, but his hangover was starting to clear, thoughts coming into focus, and the sharp reminder of where he was all adding up in his head like a horrible equation. Alexi just chuckled and shook his head, gesturing for Kudryavka to follow him, which she readily did. Every part of her exuded the blind trust she had in the humans around her. It made Viktor's gut feel weak.

"Oh Viktor, always such an infant. Don't know how you've made it this far." Alexi moved to the door. "Next test is to see if life can make it up there." He gestured skywards like the explanation of what 'up there' meant was necessary. Like it wasn't all they worked on. "General announced it this morning. We've got a month. Progress doesn't wait!" Viktor's heart dropped to the pit of his stomach.

"You mean-" Alexi snorted, clearly amused by the gray color Viktor's face was surely turning.

"Ah, man. You did not think the generals would be evil and send human into space first? Got to make sure it's safe!" Safe. What a joke. No one knew satellites and rockets and space travel like Viktor, and Viktor knew they were nowhere near ready to send any form of life up, and a month would not be enough time. They didn't have the resources, not when every time a scientist messed up they got killed, not when they didn't have the funding, not when nobody reported problems because it would mean they would be blamed. But no one would care, no matter what he said. That rocket was leaving in a month, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Alexi whistled, interrupting Viktor's spiraling. "Here, Laika!" He snapped his fingers, and Kudryavka - Laika - followed Alexi out of the room. Towards the command center. Towards the death machine that Viktor would be tasked with making.

Viktor allowed himself one minute to simply sit there, hands gripping the edge of his bed, vision coming in and out of focus, before he made up his mind. He would find some way to convince the generals that it couldn't be a dog they sent up. And if they wouldn't listen, Viktor would simply remove the dog from the equation.

It had been so long since he'd had something worth living for, and now one had dropped right in his lap. Hadn't he always wanted to do something good? The cowardice at the back of his mind whispered vile warnings, all the ways his death would unfold horribly when he was found out. But then he thought of that sweet little dog trapped in a metal tomb he'd made, alone and betrayed by the people she loved, burning up through the atmosphere.

He saw her golden hazel eyes, wide and loving. He made up his mind.

NOVEMBER 4th, 1957

BREAKING: SOVIET SPACECRAFT LAUNCH FOILED BY ROGUE SCIENTIST: Surprise American Hero?

The news that no one expected: an unlikely hero to save the day! Would you believe us if we said it was a Soviet national who has contributed to the American cause of space exploration? Because it's true!

Renowned scientist V. Mikhailov, the engineer behind the successful launch of Sputnik 1 just one month ago, has stolen away from a Communist compound and fled to America, bringing his brilliant plans and scientific knowledge with him! If there was ever to be proof that the American spirit has made its way beyond the wall, it is this: one man's defiance of the evil of Communism.

We have been informed that the USSR planned to launch Sputnik 2, not a satellite, but an actual rocket capable of carrying life to the stars. They would have successfully launched it on November 3rd, advancing their progress in understanding space exploration to a devastating degree, putting the US years behind, but their head scientist escaped with the proposed passenger: a dog! A stray taken in from the streets, that according to our sources, would not have survived the flight. No such evil would ever have been allowed in the US, a cruelty towards animals unseen anywhere else.

The dog, Laika, pictured below, has been brought safely to the US along with scientist V. Mikhailov. Their location is being kept secret for their own protection from the wrath of the Soviets, but Mikhailov has promised his scientific expertise in return for sanctuary. A loss for the Communists and a win for the West; the Era of Space Travel has officially begun to turn in our favor. And to think, a Soviet who helped us! Goes to show, never judge a book by its cover! There's an American spirit inside of everyone, if they choose to embrace it.

Jayce read the article again. And then again. The phone had sat quietly in his kitchen for a month now, no response from the Pentagon as to his application for the space program. The several times he had followed up had gone unanswered as well. He'd been falling into a deep despair because of it; his hair was shaggy, his beard grown long. Even Mel, who tried not to look at him these days, was worried. Her constant attempt to assuage Jayce: They don't have the resources yet. Once they do, they'll call. He tried to convince her he believed her. Yet now, reading that there had been a win for the US space program, he started to hope that maybe Mel was right. That they had the resources now. This scientist, who stood in a photo next to the article, had brought something that could change lives. Change Jayce's life.

Jayce stared at the photo. Even in blurry black and white, the man was stunning. High cheek bones, piercing eyes, lithe shoulders and waist, a cane gripped tightly in one hand. His expression was serious, laced with something close to surprise, but more strongly, defiance. Next to him sat the dog, Laika, that this V. Mikhailov had supposedly saved. Jayce shuddered at the thought of the poor thing being crammed into a capsule and sent to a torturous death. The article was a bit over the top in trying to convince its readers how evil the Soviets were (Jayce was aware they were people just as him, no better or worse because of where they were born, no matter what the papers screamed at him), but he couldn't help the wave of anger that ran through him towards the people who were going to do it. And then, he felt the small spark of warmth in his chest towards the man who had risked his life for a small, and what some (but not Jayce) would deem inconsequential, dog. It didn't hurt that the mam was devastatingly attractive, too. A different part of Jayce warmed at that thought. Jayce set the paper down on the table, sighing and dragging his hand through his unkempt hair. He really needed to get out more if he was getting hot and bothered over a grainy photograph of a man he would never meet.

Then the phone rang.