Adventures of the Cosmic Woman

Chapter Two

'Did you do....' Tacmo trailed off as the word escaped her. Fattakhov, Solokov, and Netunaeva had been getting their landing suits on for a while. Infield, Tacmo and Ryzanov were waiting their turn. Tacmo put her index fingers together and then broke them apart. 'You husband?'

'Divorced?'

'Yes!' Tacmo pointed. 'Divorced.'

'I did. Best money I ever spent.'

'My parents divorced.'

'Oh, we didn't have kids,' Infield said. 'Mahlia came later. I was forty years old and...' she traced a pregnant belly with her arm. 'Not ideal. Her father did meet her once. I took her to Italy when she was seven. But I told her don't get too attached. He's not that kind of guy.'

'Bad guy,' Tacmo gave a thumb's down.

'No, he was fine,' Infield said with a smile as she remembered his dark skin and hazel eyes. 'Perfect. He left straight after. I didn't think I'd see him again but...'

Tacmo traced a pregnant belly.

'Yep.'

'Not want to see his daughter?'

'Didn't care. I didn't want him to care. I just thought they should meet.'

Infield watched the blue glow of earth through the cockpit visors and thought about everyone who was down there. She smiled as her heart ached to get it all over with. Get life back on track. Whatever this weird interval was, it could end now. Time to move on.

The other crewmembers emerged in their suits and Infield followed Ryzanov down the passage to the aft chamber where they helped her into one of their spare suits. She saw the nodes on the backs of the hands as she fumbled into the gloves. Down the front was a flatter, smaller version of the console.

They certainly refined the design quickly...

In principal it was still the same. They held their left hand by their hip and pushed their right hand out in front of them and floated in that direction. But it was all so seamless. More comfortable. Nodes built into every suit.

How could it have happened so fast?

They strapped into their seats and Infield strapped herself into her bed. She watched the cockpit from across the chamber and heard Russian back and forth over the radio. They spoke amongst each other as well. Then the lights started. Bright flashes over the nosecone that trailed up the visors like rapid lens flares. Then the bright streaks across the portholes. Shooting stars just for them. The shuttle shook. Turbulence. Her training back at Kennedy reassured her that all this was normal though she could not help but get a sweat up.

Before long Infield's tongue was stuck to the top of her mouth.

Netunaeva coolly communicated with Moscow while the rest of the crew made brief comments among each other. The whole front visor was bright yellow. The light shone powerfully through the tinted glass of Infield's helmet. A high whistling filled the shuttle. The Zetayev. Both the voice in Moscow and Netunaeva kept repeating a word that sounded English.

'Turbulentnost.'

The ship buckled once. Then again. Then it buckled again. The whistling intensified. Netunaeva shouted something. The voice at the other side kept trying to interject. They each grew louder. The others - silent. The light that shone through the visors had become so bright it reflected off the tops of their helmets as though it was in the shuttle with them. The whistling hurt Infield's jaw.