breath as she eyed Prokhorov closely. He’s worked himself up over what we all knew would happen during the trip—separation from family and doubts about his own ability to contribute to humanity’s first trip to Mars. If he only knew . . .
“I’m going to make arrangements for you to have extra time on the comm link to talk with your wife and children,” she said.
The Russian shook his head. “That would only make things worse. The others will think I’m getting special privileges.”
“But—”
“Besides, it won’t do any good. She’s left me.”
Taki felt it like a physical blow. “Left you?”
Nodding morosely, Prokhorov said, “I asked her to come with me for the training period. She refused. She told me if I went to Mars she would leave me. Then I found that she was already seeing another man, behind my back.” Sinking his head into his hands, he moaned, “If I were there, I would… I don’t know what I would do. But I’m not there. I’m here and seeing you all get along so well just makes me envious.”
Without thinking, Taki almost slid her arm around his shoulders, but stopped herself. Instead, she leaned forward to get his attention. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“And my boys,” Prokhorov almost sobbed.
There’s nothing I can do! Taki realized as resisted every emotion that would allow her to reach out and put her arm around him. Prokhorov would likely not appreciate the gesture and might even misinterpret it, so she kept her hands at her sides. Even if we were back on Earth, there’d be nothing I could do.
After a few moments Prokhorov straightened up, his eyes red and puffy. “I’ll apologize to Hiram. It was stupid of me to tease him like that.”
Taki nodded understandingly.
“But not a word about my personal problem to anyone,” he said, sudden steel in his voice. “I can carry my burdens.”
“I promise,” Taki said. Then she added, “You can talk to me anytime. Mikhail. You don’t have to be alone”
He flashed a bleak smile. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
Then he got up and ducked back through the hatch, leaving Taki Nomura sitting by herself in the observation cupola, staring at the distant stars.
Ted Connover saw Prokhorov shamble past the open hatch of the communications center. He leaned forward in his chair and pulled the sliding screen shut. Privacy was at a minimum aboard Arrow , and he wanted as much of it as he could get.
The comm center was a tiny compartment jam-packed with the communications gear that kept Arrow in constant touch with mission control on Earth. Every system aboard the ship was monitored electronically, microsecond by microsecond, and the data radioed to Earth continuously. Located just behind the command center, the “radio shack” was the place Connover went to when he wanted to be alone.
Normally, he would have felt cramped, confined in this narrow compartment. The electronic gear hummed constantly and the booth felt uncomfortably warm. But it was the one place where he could send a message home without any of the others hearing him.
Satisfied that the sliding doors on both ends of the compartment were closed, Connover reached for the headset and slipped it over his ears. Then he tapped the button on the console’s keyboard to start a video message.
Keeping his voice low, he began, “Vicki, we’re so far out now that the time delay makes it impossible to have a normal conversation, so please forgive me for sending this one-way message to you.”
Glancing at the red light that showed the video camera was working, he continued, “First, I want you to know that I love you very much and miss you even more. With each passing day I think about all the time we’re still going to be apart and it fills me with mixed feelings. Yeah, I’m excited about being here and making history, but there’s a part of me that regrets going on this mission and being away from you and Thad for so long.
“By the time I return
“I’m going to make arrangements for you to have extra time on the comm link to talk with your wife and children,” she said.
The Russian shook his head. “That would only make things worse. The others will think I’m getting special privileges.”
“But—”
“Besides, it won’t do any good. She’s left me.”
Taki felt it like a physical blow. “Left you?”
Nodding morosely, Prokhorov said, “I asked her to come with me for the training period. She refused. She told me if I went to Mars she would leave me. Then I found that she was already seeing another man, behind my back.” Sinking his head into his hands, he moaned, “If I were there, I would… I don’t know what I would do. But I’m not there. I’m here and seeing you all get along so well just makes me envious.”
Without thinking, Taki almost slid her arm around his shoulders, but stopped herself. Instead, she leaned forward to get his attention. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“And my boys,” Prokhorov almost sobbed.
There’s nothing I can do! Taki realized as resisted every emotion that would allow her to reach out and put her arm around him. Prokhorov would likely not appreciate the gesture and might even misinterpret it, so she kept her hands at her sides. Even if we were back on Earth, there’d be nothing I could do.
After a few moments Prokhorov straightened up, his eyes red and puffy. “I’ll apologize to Hiram. It was stupid of me to tease him like that.”
Taki nodded understandingly.
“But not a word about my personal problem to anyone,” he said, sudden steel in his voice. “I can carry my burdens.”
“I promise,” Taki said. Then she added, “You can talk to me anytime. Mikhail. You don’t have to be alone”
He flashed a bleak smile. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
Then he got up and ducked back through the hatch, leaving Taki Nomura sitting by herself in the observation cupola, staring at the distant stars.
Ted Connover saw Prokhorov shamble past the open hatch of the communications center. He leaned forward in his chair and pulled the sliding screen shut. Privacy was at a minimum aboard Arrow , and he wanted as much of it as he could get.
The comm center was a tiny compartment jam-packed with the communications gear that kept Arrow in constant touch with mission control on Earth. Every system aboard the ship was monitored electronically, microsecond by microsecond, and the data radioed to Earth continuously. Located just behind the command center, the “radio shack” was the place Connover went to when he wanted to be alone.
Normally, he would have felt cramped, confined in this narrow compartment. The electronic gear hummed constantly and the booth felt uncomfortably warm. But it was the one place where he could send a message home without any of the others hearing him.
Satisfied that the sliding doors on both ends of the compartment were closed, Connover reached for the headset and slipped it over his ears. Then he tapped the button on the console’s keyboard to start a video message.
Keeping his voice low, he began, “Vicki, we’re so far out now that the time delay makes it impossible to have a normal conversation, so please forgive me for sending this one-way message to you.”
Glancing at the red light that showed the video camera was working, he continued, “First, I want you to know that I love you very much and miss you even more. With each passing day I think about all the time we’re still going to be apart and it fills me with mixed feelings. Yeah, I’m excited about being here and making history, but there’s a part of me that regrets going on this mission and being away from you and Thad for so long.
“By the time I return
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