Page 28 of Stars
“The guards will bring him and your brother straight to us on the tour when they get here.” Sasha hung back as Mark moved to the center of the room and called for everyone’s attention. The rest of the day was show-and-tell, the whole campus closed for them and their families only. There were fourteen astronauts in Sasha’s class, and all their husbands and wives and kids mixed and mingled at Rocket Park. The entire JSC was closed: no outside visitors, no press, no public. Families only.
Sasha tagged along at the back of the group as they moved from Rocket Park to the avionics labs and then on to the science labs, mimicking the set up on the ISS. His fellow astronauts led their partners into the simulators, lifted their kids onto their shoulders and let them flip switches and turn dials. Mark gave a great tour, describing their training and sharing stories from their past two years.
He squeezed his phone, willing it to vibrate. Or maybe he was going to throw it away. He’d been beside himself with excitement all week. This morning, he’d woken up and puked. What did he want now? Sergey to show up or Sergey to turn around and go back to Moscow?
Buzz.
Govno, finally. He spun away from the group and checked his phone.We landed.
[The tour has begun. They’re waiting for you at the gate.]
I’ll be there soon.
Mark moved everyone to Gordon’s shop, the dynamic simulator bay with theEclipsecapsule on hydraulics. Gordon greeted every family, and Mark shared stories about each of the pilot trainees being subjected to Gordon’s carefully devised failure scenarios. He didn’t mention Sasha.
A gaggle of kids squatted inside theEclipse, big eyes gazing at the displays and the simulator screens keyed up on looping, freewheeling orbits. Sasha could hear the excitement in their voices, the shouts and cries for more as Petra steered theEclipseon a gliding path toward the South Pole.
Sergey was on his way. He was going to be there,right there, in front of all his colleagues. In front of Mark. NASA’s administrators. The chief of operations and the flight directors from the ISS and Orion missions. All of Sasha’s future bosses. What would they do?
What would Sasha do? Shake Sergey’s hand? Nod from a meter away? Puke?
A door banged open on the far end of the simulator bay.
Heads turned.
Sasha froze.
A security guard led a pair of men into the bay. “Andreyev?” he called out. “Visitors for Andreyev.”
And there he was.
Sergey looked different thanks to his FSB disguise. His blond hair was dyed to brunet and seemed longer, a rakish, almost European arrogance to the style, so different from Sergey’s clean, short look. He’d grown a close-cropped goatee dusted with gray. Glasses perched on his nose, narrow dark-rimmed readers. He looked sophisticated and urbane, an art history professor from Vienna or a painter from Kiev—though Sasha would know him anywhere, no matter how Sergey dolled himself up or tried to change.
Sasha’s breath faltered. Sergey had done it. He hadn’t believed it would work.
He started moving—jogging, then running, then sprinting across the simulator bay. Conversations died behind him, the chatter of his bosses and his colleagues and Mark going quiet as each pair of eyeballs zeroed in on his back. Sergey jogged forward, his suit jacket over his arm, his shirt rumpled and sleeves rolled up, tie pulled loose. A giant smile stretched his face, almost breaking it in two.
Every thought of restraint fizzled out of Sasha’s mind. He threw open his arms and grabbed Sergey as they crashed into each other. He absorbed Sergey’s momentum, lifting him off his feet and spinning around and around before burying his face in Sergey’s neck.
“I missed you, too,lyubov moya,” Sergey whispered as Sasha finally set him down. Sergey’s hand cupped his cheek and he leaned in, faster than Sasha could react. Their lips met in a soft, lingering kiss.
Sasha didn’t pull back. He kissed Sergey again, and then again, and then rested his forehead against Sergey’s.
Sasha squeezed Sergey’s hips as he exhaled. Everything rushed at him suddenly, the simulator bay, his fellow astronauts, NASA’s administrators, the flight directors and his bosses andtheirbosses. Dizziness broke over him like a wave, tried to grab his knees and pull him down.
Mark strode toward them, Erica Hargrave, JSC’s director; Chris Slattery, Mark’s boss, the director of spaceflight operations; and Roxanne Villanueva, chief flight director, trailing behind him.
He was out.All the wayout. He’d come sprinting out of the closet—literally—and scooped Sergey into his arms. The room spun. Sergey kissed him again.
“Everything is okay, Sashunya,” Sergey whispered. “And you just made me the happiest I’ve ever been in my life with that hello.” He couldn’t stop smiling, it seemed, his grin so big and wide Sasha could see his molars.
“I havemissedyou,” Sasha breathed. His eyes traveled over Sergey’s longer hair, his glasses. “The dark hair is different. Long suits you. But do you really think this is enough?” He tapped Sergey’s glasses with a finger.
“It worked for Superman.”
“You are more important than Superman.”
Sergey winked. “I like hearing you say that.”
