Page 45 of Stars
Sighing, Sergey slumped forward, resting his forehead on his cell phone. The case was hot in his hand, almost enough to burn. He’d been running nonstop, charging his phone whenever he wasn’t fielding a dozen different phone calls. When was the last time he had been able to sit and breathe?
Not since he’d left Sasha in Houston.
Sasha. What time was it there? His tired eyes flicked to his watch, and he automatically counted back the hours. It was the middle of the night in Texas. Sasha would be asleep.
What did Sasha think of the Americans’ plan? Launching an emergency satellite retrieval mission within a week? A triple rendezvous at the ISS? American astronauts boarding a Soviet satellite? It was like something out of the movies.
Would Sasha be in Mission Control when his American astronaut friends boarded that Soviet weapons platform? Would he translate for them? He could hear the confusion now, all Sasha’s stories from two years of listening to the ISS crew trying to read Russian over an interstellar radio connection.I see a backward B and a kind of funny-looking Y…
Govno, maybe after the Americans had taken care of the damned satellite, he’d submit his resignation. Maybe it was time. He didn’t have anything when he took office, nothing but Ilya and their dream of a reimagined Russia, freer and less riddled with graft and corruption. But now he had Sasha, and they had a future together—a future that was on hold until he was done beingPresidentSergey Puchkov and could simply be Sergey Puchkov, Sasha’s lover.
He wanted to be at Sasha’s side. He wanted Sasha by his side. He craved that solidity, the presence Sasha had.
He wanted to hear Sasha’s voice so badly he ached. He could no longer count the hours that had passed since their last call. They’d traded text messages instead, Sergey telling Sasha he loved him and would call him as soon as he could. Apologizing, over and over, and Sasha…
Sasha saying they needed to talk.
Frowning, Sergey read Sasha’s last string of messages.
Seryozha, call me. We must talk.
Call me when you can. It doesn't matter if it’s the middle of the night. Just call.
It’s about the mission.
You must call me.
Three in the morning in Houston. But Sasha had said call no matter the time—and he’d never said Sergey had to call him before. His heart turned over, hammered a faster rhythm as his hands slicked with cold sweat.
Sergey dialed.
Sasha answered on the first ring. “Seryozha?”
Sasha sounded impressively awake. “Weren’t you sleeping? It’s the middle of the night.”
“No,” Sasha said. He sounded strange, off. Like he was choking something back or was about to burst apart. It was the voice he’d used on the ice when he’d promised Sergey he was coming back to the Kremlin but instead had fled to the farthest reaches he could, trying to save Sergey from their love.
“Aren’t you exhausted? You need sleep.”
“So do you. I am getting your texts at all hours.”
Sergey managed a tiny smile. “Guilty as charged. I haven’t been able to stop since this damned satellite went off.” He leaned back in his office chair and closed his eyes, falling into the sound of Sasha’s voice. Amazing how—even in this situation—just a few seconds of hearing his lover’s voice made his whole body start to unclench. “Why are you not sleeping, Sashunya? Is NASA working everyone to prepare for this damned emergency launch the Americans devised?Govno, I couldn’t believe it when they suggested it. It was Mark, I think, who first brought it up to President Wall. Ineverthought Elizabeth would go for this. One week to launch?” He snorted. “I know you and everyone at NASA trains until you can do everything in your sleep, even shit on that space toilet, butthisseems…” Sergey blew a huge burst of air out of his mouth. “Americans.” He chuckled.
“Seryozha…”
“I wish you were here.” Sergey’s throat clenched, and his voice went thin. “Or I wish I were there. I wish I were anywhere but dealing with this.”
A sound came out of Sasha, something between a gasp and a moan. “Seryozha…I’m awake because we have to shift our internal clocks to adjust to ISS mission time. Zulu time. The crew has been waking up earlier every day. I’m on my way to JSC—”
“Why are the ground crew shifting their internal clocks to mission time? Does Mission Control synchronize their bodies with the astronauts?”
He could count the seconds it took for Sasha to inhale. “I’m not in Mission Control.”
“What? I don’t understand. Then why—”
“I amonthe mission.”
“No…” He’d misheard. He was delirious, he was so tired. He needed to rest. Sasha couldn’t have just said—
