Long Distance Call

The clarity of the call amazed me. I hadn’t been sure the connection would work, but there she was, positively beaming from the screen.

“I’m so proud of you, Ronnie,” she said. “But I miss you.”

“I miss you, too, honey. And the kids. How are they doing?”

“Well, Molly’s front tooth came out all by itself. She was so afraid I was going to take her to the dentist.”

“Is the Tooth Fairy going to be generous?”

“You better believe it. And Kyle got the lead in the play. He’s so proud. Offered to give me his autograph yesterday.”

“Hey, now.” I laughed. “Take it easy on the star. Isn’t this a first for a freshman? I hate that I’m missing this. I miss them so much.”

“They miss you, too, I think, but they’re having a lot of fun with all the attention. They’re everybody’s darlings now, from their friends, and even some that weren’t friends before, but you know how that works, to the news channels.

“Don’t let it overwhelm them, hun.”

“Of course not!”

“Good. I knew you wouldn’t. How are you doing?”

“Unlike the kids, I am avoiding the spotlight. I’m just keeping my head down and proceeding with life-as-usual, tee em.”

I felt my smile crinkle my eyes. Our little joke, the ‘tee em,’ trademark. We managed what life threw at us by treating everything as run-of-the-mill, to avoid the rocky ups and downs we saw so many others deal with. And it worked. When I deployed during the three-day war (that lasted nearly two years), we treated it as business as usual. My month aboard the International Space Station passed without issue, as well.

When assigned to this new mission, Kari had added the ‘tee em,’ and we had a good chuckle.

The mission could not have been simpler: fourteen days out to test the new engine design, phoning home daily to test the new communications array, and fourteen days back. Simpler still, an AI played the role of pilot—with human oversight, thank you very much—and all I had to do was take in the views, check the AI, send daily reports to Command, and call home.

“So you’re okay?” I asked.

“As long as you keep playing Elliot, I’ll be fine.”

“Elliot?”

Kari held up a crooked finger and croaked, “Phone home, Elliot,” before cracking up.

“Oh, really?” I laughed with her. “There better be a trail of Reece’s Pieces leading home when I get back!”

“Dear,” she said, still dealing with the giggles. “Home is more than three-thousand kilometers from your target in the Pacific, and I think the candy would dissolve in the ocean. I’m so sorry, but you’ll have to find your way home on your own.”

“Aww…”

“But,” she paused for emphasis. “I promise to have all the Reese’s you want in stock at home when you get here.”

“Deal!” I paused.

The call timer counted down to zero and turned red as if it were the most expensive long-distance call, but I didn’t want to end the call. I wanted to stare at her and ask her to take the camera to bed so I could hear her breathing and see the slow rise and fall of her chest under the covers. “Got to go now, hun, but I’ll call back tomorrow. I love you, Kari. So much.”

Maybe the tech wasn’t perfect. Her face blurred a little.

“I love you, too. I’ll tuck the kids in for you and give them kisses.”

“Thanks. Now, you hang up first.”

‘No, you!”

And we punched the button together.

With the comms shut down, I made the log entry. Everything was ship-shape, all markers in the green, five-by-five, whatever that meant. In fact, the engines appeared to be even more efficient than they were on paper, and the new quantum comms made me feel connected in a way I’d never felt before. In hindsight, I was glad they hadn’t gone with holograms. I’m not sure I could have handled seeing Kari and not being able to touch her.

After squirting the relevant data back to the number crunchers at Control, I decided the rest of the log entry would be a video tour of the ship. “The kids would enjoy it,” I said.

“Trainees could use it,” I argued.

Okay, okay, I was bored. Mission Control should’ve known better than to include a camcorder with unlimited storage in the supplies of a bored man missing his family.

The tiny device fit in the palm of my hand like a deck of cards, a comparison that held up more as the screen pivoted out like a card. Once open, the screen would lock onto my face and follow me while I pointed the lens at whatever I wanted. I know the guys in lab coats designed this as a training aid, but it sure looked like just the thing for a vlog to the kids… er, I mean Command, of course.

Another perk of the new engines: I got to walk normally. After the initial launch, which I spent in a gravity bed while reaching record-breaking speeds, the mains kicked in, providing the exact feel of moving around at home. Well, almost the same feeling. The bed was firmer, colder, emptier, and the food wasn’t as good, but thank God I didn’t have to eat it through a tube.

The good folks at the International Space Agency even saw fit to install a gym with a massive screen filling one entire wall. The machine, which switched between an elliptical bike, rower, climber, or treadmill by flipping a few levers, faced the wall, and I could jog, bike, or row anywhere I wanted. Or pull a couch out from the far wall and laugh at old sci-fi movies.

And don’t get me started on the bathroom. I won’t say what goes down in there… get it? Down in there, because I have gravity. On the other hand, maybe I would wax poetic. After all, Neil Armstrong had his catchphrase, right? And that group slide down the chute with the Mars landing? Classic!

“It’s not the standing, or the sitting, it’s the spitting.”

Really. Swallowing toothpaste and rinse water was, well, nauseating. Now, thanks to gravity, I could spit the nasty stuff into an actual sink.

After brushing my teeth, I put the camera away, still grinning, and stripped down to my underclothes and sealed myself into bed with the roll-down door.

Eventually, I slept, dreaming of Kyle’s grand turn as Puck and Molly’s visit from the Tooth Fairy.

***

With an expansive yawn, followed by a languorous stretch, I silenced the alarm and unsealed the bed. Another day, another buck twenty-seven after taxes. Looking at my wrist display, I realized I might catch the kids before school.

Not like this, though.

I pulled on a fresh set of gray Tyvek coveralls, rubbed my eyes to remove any sleep, and ran fingers through my hair. They’d seen stubble before, so, skipping the shave, I headed to the comms panel. Upon my return, I would find the developer of the quantum comm and shake his hand. Hell, I might even hug him before I punched him.

The ringtone, and there were no alternatives, made my teeth wiggle. My pain and suffering would be worth it. The look on the kids’ faces would be priceless.

Kari answered, wrapped in a robe, her eyes bleary.

“Ronnie? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I wanted to catch the children before school. Are you okay? You kind of look… sorry, babe, but you look like hell.”

“Dear, it’s three AM.”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. There must be a glitch in the time-synch circuits. It isn’t as easy as figuring out the time difference between home and Tokyo. Look, why don’t you go back to sleep? I can call again this afternoon. Maybe I’ll catch the kids coming home from school, instead.”

“Nonsense,” she said. “I’ll just put on some coffee, and we can talk now.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind, really.”

“It’s okay, sweetie. I wasn’t sleeping real well, anyway; awful big space for just itty bitty me. What’s up… besides needing to reset your watch.”

“I tell you, hun. This is the most boring mission I’ve ever been on. It’s like staying at a high-tech Hil—”

The screen flashed red, and the image scrolled to the right, leaving static ghosts before snapping back and clearing up.

“Did you see that?” I asked.

“You mean the jitterbug step to the left and the blue wash? Yeah. Weird. A bug?”

“Yeah, probably. I’ll need to include that in my report today.”

“You were saying something about a high-tech hill.”

“Uh-huh, um, Hilton. Listen, honey. I really need to send this report sooner rather than later. Can I call you back tonight?”

“Yes, of course. If you can get your watch figured out and call at seven, I’ll make sure both kids are here.”

“Oh, Kari. That’ll be great. I got to go. Love you.”

I stabbed the button before any of the panic I felt slipped out. No need for both of us to freak out. Just life-as-usual, tee em.

When I said I would take in the views, I meant watch the monitors. Long-distance spacecraft didn’t have windows, but I wished this one did. Instead, I pulled up a navigation chart and called on the pilot.

“Samwise,” I said, laughing at the geeks back home. “What is our current velocity?”

“Commander Ronald Sinclair, we are currently accelerating at one G.”

“Yeah, I can feel that, Samwise. What is our vel-loss-city… how fast are we going?” I asked, as if really enunciating would help the AI understand me.

“We are currently accelerating at—”

“Okay, okay… Shit! Can we abort?”

“Yes, aborting the mission is possible. In order to calculate an early-return course, I’ll need to determine velocity. Please verify.”

“Samwise, we’re going to try this backwards. What was the last velocity reading?”

“At oh seven oh four, the ISA Daedelus traveled at 299,792,458 meters per second.”

I stared at the screen, shaking my head. My pinkies dug into both ears.

“Can you repeat that?”

“At oh seven oh four, the ISA Daedelus traveled at 299,792—”

“Stop. That’s not possible. Do you hear me? Light speed is not possible. Where are we?”

“Unknown. There are no recognizable constellations in the vicinity to allow for accurate triangulation.”

“Can you reverse course exactly until we can find a reference point?”

“Slowing to a safe navigating speed will require twenty-seven days, twelve hours, and three minutes.”

“The mission is only twenty-eight days! How can slowing down take that much time?”

“Original mission parameters included a slingshot maneuver for the return trip.”

“Then do that.”

“There are no systems in the vicinity with which to complete a slingshot maneuver.”

“How far away is the next system?”

“Unknown. There are no recognizable constellations in the vicinity to allow for accurate triangulation.”

Oh, fuck… Kari!

“Slow us down. As fast as possible. Get us home. Now!”

I spun in the seat and slapped the comms, waiting, hoping for that shrill screeching tone. Please, oh God, I need to feel my teeth wobble. Please.

The tone filled the cabin, and I exhaled. Answer, dammit!

The screen flickered and came to life. Blonde ringlets bounced on a little girl’s head as she ran away, yelling, “Gramma, Gramma! The thingy made an awful noise, and I poked it and a weird man and—”

“Molly?” I whispered.

Another voice in the background, vaguely familiar, said, “Whoa, Rhonda. Slow down. Now what?”

Rhonda?

“The strange man.”

“What strange man?”

“On the thingy. It made a noise, and I poked it.”

“Oh my God. Dad!”

Dad?

An older woman came into view. Her blonde hair showed streaks of gray, and her eyes looked rheumy. The cane she used clicked on the floor as she approached.

“Dad?” she asked. “Is that you?”

“Mm… m… Molly? Is that really you, Molly? My God.”

“Yes, Dad. It’s me.” She was crying, wiping her eyes with a hankie pulled from her sweater sleeve. “Where are you? What happened? ISA said you went off the scope. You were declared dead.”

“Dead? I’m not dead. How could they—”

“It’s been forty-two years. Are you coming home? You have grandchildren that would love to meet their famous great-grandpa.”

“I, uh, I’ll try. How’s Kyle?”

“Last time I spoke to him, he was wrapping the latest holofilm. He’s directing now. Got a Summit award last year.”

“Summit?”

“Yeah, they replaced the Oscars and Golden Globes back in forty-seven when holovids went mainstream.”

“That’s wonderful. And you?”

“Just busy getting old,” she laughed. “Would you like to meet your little namesake? Rhonda, come here…”

“Molly, where’s Mom? Where is Kari?”

“Dad… Mom passed away… thirteen years ago. Cancer. But Dad, she never strayed. She waited. Said she knew you were okay. That’s why the comm is still in the living room. Something about having more than a quantum connection.”

Something inside broke. I bawled.

“Dad? It’s okay. Come home.”

“Molly, I love you,” I said, mopping the snot and tears from my face. “Give Kyle my love, and tell my grandchildren I wish I had met them.”

Cutting the connection, I screamed and hammered the comm panel with my fists. Futile. The smooth, transparent surface remained undamaged, but my knuckles bled.

Sinking to the floor, I sobbed for I didn’t know how long.

“Samwise.”

“Standing by for command.”

I couldn’t go back. I must go forward, explore. Who knew what I might find out there? I could still send data home. For the kids. And their kids. For Kari.

“Abort return. Let’s see what’s out there.”

“Acknowledged.”

“Wait, Kari… I’m coming. It’ll all be tee em, again, in time.”