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“Sergey—”
“Don’t forget to say hi to your brother.” Sergey fixed Sasha with a look, and then stepped back, beckoning Mikhail closer.
Sasha didn’t know how to say hello to Mikhail. They weren’t friends. They were sparring partners, gym rats who sweated together in the Kremlin. Mikhail was as prickly as he was, quiet and serious and sullen and undeniably Russian. Sergey honestly couldn’t have picked a more difficult person to pretend to be Sasha’s relative. Though, as he fumbled with reaching out to Mikhail for an awkward hug, both of them straining to fake affection—and failing horribly—they probably looked exactly like awkward siblings from the same fucked-up and emotionless Siberian family. Maybe that’s why they were now brothers.
He pulled back from Mikhail as Mark caught up to their small group, greeting Sergey with a warm handshake and a smile. “So you’re Sergey. I’ve heard a lot about you recently.”
Sergey was still beaming. “Yes, I am Sergey Ivchenko.” He pumped Mark’s hand as he borrowed Ilya’s last name. “I’m so very proud of my Sasha.”
“We are, too.” Mark introduced Roxanne, Erica, and Chris, serious NASA heavyweights, each of them shaking Sergey’s hand and telling him how proud they were of Sasha.
A burn started in Sasha’s gut, worming through his body and up his spine. Were they beingtoocongratulatory? As congratulatory as if they were meeting President Puchkov? Why were they telling SergeyIvchenkohow proud they were of him? Sergey Ivchenko wasn’t important like Sergey Puchkov was. What was this? What if they all saw right through Sasha and Sergey’s little charade? What if they were just playing along—
“Show me your simulator.” Sergey interrupted his thoughts, looping his arm through Sasha’s. “Show me everything.”
“I’ve saved up all my stories about Sasha for when you got here.” Mark walked with them across the simulator bay and launched into story after story, from Sasha’s first-ever ride—and crash—in the simulator to his most recent, besting Gordon in a no-win scenario that should have left him a smear in the atmosphere.
“That’s my Sasha,” Sergey chuckled. “He’s a cat with nine lives. Has he ever told you about the horizontal ejection he did out of a Soviet death trap in the Arctic?”
“Horizontal?” Mark’s eyebrows shot sky-high.
“Sergey!”
“You should ask him. It’s quite a story.”
The kids had mostly run off from the simulator, now staring instead at the holo projections of orbital flights and a time-lapse run of a flight to the Lunar Gateway and back. A couple of the kids were playing in the lunar ATVs, pretending to drag race across the Sea of Tranquility.
TheEclipsewas empty. Sasha climbed aboard and then helped Sergey shimmy through the hatch.
“Wow,” Sergey said, spinning in the cramped pod. “This is theentirespacecraft? All of it?”
The capsule was the size of Sasha’s bedroom in his apartment, or Sergey’s bathroom at the Kremlin. “This is everything.”
“For six of you?”
“It’s bigger than the Apollo capsule they first took to the moon.”
“It’s a space hamster ball.”
Sasha snorted. He helped Sergey into the commander’s seat, dangling from what seemed to be the ceiling of the capsule. He slid into the pilot’s seat and grabbed a radio headset. “Gordon, can you give me a run?”
“Hotdogging for your partner, Andreyev?”
“I’m going to make you proud, Gordon.”
He heard Gordon snort, both over the radio and through the open simulator door. A moment later, a perfect star field appeared on the video screens, the moon in one corner of the monitor as the Earth rose beneath them. “Go for Kennedy descent,” Gordon said over the radio. “Bring her in beautifully.”
It was a textbook landing, as perfect as it never, ever was. Halfway through the deorbital OMS burn, Sasha reached for Sergey’s hand and laced their fingers together. He kissed Sergey’s knuckles, his lips dropping kisses like falling stars on Sergey’s cool skin. Space receded, darkness streaking with melting watercolor blue and twirling wisps of cloud until the sky burst around them, a more vivid azure wonder than Sasha had ever seen. TheEclipsetrembled, rocking on the upper atmosphere.
Sasha read out his altitude and his speed as he guided Sergey’s hand to the control stick and wrapped his fingers over Sergey’s. “When I say, press down.” He moved Sergey’s free hand over the parachute release switch.
Gordon called the mark. Sasha nodded. Sergey pressed, and theEclipseshuddered, the trembles turning to gentle sways, the craft rocking on simulated winds and floating down from ten thousand feet to the waters off the Florida coast, ten miles from Kennedy Space Center. A minute later, the speakers splashed, and the sound of waves rocked against the hull.
“Perfect landing,” Gordon said. “I know it wasn’t you who did that, Andreyev. NASA should hire your partner.”
Sasha couldn’t answer. Sergey had lunged for him, crossing the separation between their seats and kissing him as deeply as he ever had.
They were still kissing when Mark undogged the simulator door and poked his head in to let them know the tour was moving on.
