evening. I guess there’s one more level of technical review before they bring me in.›
The car turned onto a single-lane road and began ascending. The farms vanished, and the land became barren, a wasteland of dry gravel broken only by high islands of eroded rock. Ribbons of whirling windmills snaked along the ridges. Sally dug into a pocket, and fished out a crumpled peanut bag covered in Vietnamese characters. ‹I design zero-gravity robotics,› she said, offering Jie the nuts. ‹What do you do?›
Jie gave her a rundown of his last 24 hours. ‹The disk array’s an incredible engineering challenge,› he said. ‹They’re desperate to cut the schedule, so I’m part of some plan B.› The car shook in a wind gust, pellets of snow skittering off the windows. Their rising elevation exposed a line of mountains, their fluted white ridges a stunning backdrop to the windsculpted patches of snow along the roadside.
‹Oh. Wow.› Jie snapped a photo through the window. ‹For my son.›
‹Beautiful, isn’t it?›
‹Incredible,› agreed Jie. ‹Between my work and Beijing’s dust storms, I don’t get outside much. It was full brownout when I left. In February, can you believe it? It’s getting worse.›
‹Maybe you can help change that,› said Sally.
They settled into an effortless conversation, wandering across topics as broad as the landscape. It had been a long time since Jie had talked to a stranger, but where his social skills were rusty Sally smoothed the gaps. Hours passed in minutes; they crested a long hill where the valley terminated in a gravel plain walled by mountains.
‹Welcome to the Xinjiang Space Center,› said Sally, pointing to the cluster of indistinct shapes in the distance. ‹It’s one of two facilities in the world that still has heavy-lift launch capabilities. But it’s been quiet. We had three launches last year. India had one. Nothing goes above low Earth orbit anymore. Just the odd scientific instrument.› Her voice took on a distinct bitterness. ‹Remember the moon base? Remember Ganymede? Our reach has gotten so much smaller.›
Ganymede? How old was I? Thirteen? Jie’s whole class had watched the Verne lander touch down. Every morning he’d followed the nuclear probe’s progress, watching as it drilled through the kilometers of ice crusting the Jovian moon’s frozen sea. And then, just ten seconds after it had hit the water, the signal had been lost. A software bug. Or a civilization of hyper-intelligent jellyfish, if you believed the conspiracy theorists.
‹Did you work on Ganymede?› asked Jie in wonder.
‹Do I look that old?› laughed Sally, tapping him playfully on the arm. ‹I’m an astronaut. I was scheduled to do a rotation on the moon base. Before the accident.›
The car slowed. A gatehouse straddled the road, set inside a razor wire fence. Signs on the fence flashed ‹Lethal security measures in place› in alternating Chinese and English, but the guards who stepped out to meet them were smiling and relaxed, and let them in with only a per-functory check. The car wove through the space center’s scattered buildings and stopped outside three stories of brick and glass.
Jie climbed out, hunching against the frigid air, admiring the sunset hues on the wall of snowy mountains. That huge structure in the distance must be the vertical assembly building. And the open space beyond is the launch area. The sprawling industrial complex, set in this primal landscape, added to his sense of displacement. A day ago I was in Beijing, trying to steal the cup. Hmmm… I wonder if they’ve got a game center.
Sally heaved her duffle onto her shoulders. ‹Guest quarters are through there,› she gestured. ‹I’m in staff quarters next door.› She smiled. ‹Really nice to meet you, Jie. I hope I’ll see you around.› She started to walk away.
Too bad she doesn’t live in Beijing. Cute. And a rocket scientist even.
She turned, catching Jie staring at her.
The car turned onto a single-lane road and began ascending. The farms vanished, and the land became barren, a wasteland of dry gravel broken only by high islands of eroded rock. Ribbons of whirling windmills snaked along the ridges. Sally dug into a pocket, and fished out a crumpled peanut bag covered in Vietnamese characters. ‹I design zero-gravity robotics,› she said, offering Jie the nuts. ‹What do you do?›
Jie gave her a rundown of his last 24 hours. ‹The disk array’s an incredible engineering challenge,› he said. ‹They’re desperate to cut the schedule, so I’m part of some plan B.› The car shook in a wind gust, pellets of snow skittering off the windows. Their rising elevation exposed a line of mountains, their fluted white ridges a stunning backdrop to the windsculpted patches of snow along the roadside.
‹Oh. Wow.› Jie snapped a photo through the window. ‹For my son.›
‹Beautiful, isn’t it?›
‹Incredible,› agreed Jie. ‹Between my work and Beijing’s dust storms, I don’t get outside much. It was full brownout when I left. In February, can you believe it? It’s getting worse.›
‹Maybe you can help change that,› said Sally.
They settled into an effortless conversation, wandering across topics as broad as the landscape. It had been a long time since Jie had talked to a stranger, but where his social skills were rusty Sally smoothed the gaps. Hours passed in minutes; they crested a long hill where the valley terminated in a gravel plain walled by mountains.
‹Welcome to the Xinjiang Space Center,› said Sally, pointing to the cluster of indistinct shapes in the distance. ‹It’s one of two facilities in the world that still has heavy-lift launch capabilities. But it’s been quiet. We had three launches last year. India had one. Nothing goes above low Earth orbit anymore. Just the odd scientific instrument.› Her voice took on a distinct bitterness. ‹Remember the moon base? Remember Ganymede? Our reach has gotten so much smaller.›
Ganymede? How old was I? Thirteen? Jie’s whole class had watched the Verne lander touch down. Every morning he’d followed the nuclear probe’s progress, watching as it drilled through the kilometers of ice crusting the Jovian moon’s frozen sea. And then, just ten seconds after it had hit the water, the signal had been lost. A software bug. Or a civilization of hyper-intelligent jellyfish, if you believed the conspiracy theorists.
‹Did you work on Ganymede?› asked Jie in wonder.
‹Do I look that old?› laughed Sally, tapping him playfully on the arm. ‹I’m an astronaut. I was scheduled to do a rotation on the moon base. Before the accident.›
The car slowed. A gatehouse straddled the road, set inside a razor wire fence. Signs on the fence flashed ‹Lethal security measures in place› in alternating Chinese and English, but the guards who stepped out to meet them were smiling and relaxed, and let them in with only a per-functory check. The car wove through the space center’s scattered buildings and stopped outside three stories of brick and glass.
Jie climbed out, hunching against the frigid air, admiring the sunset hues on the wall of snowy mountains. That huge structure in the distance must be the vertical assembly building. And the open space beyond is the launch area. The sprawling industrial complex, set in this primal landscape, added to his sense of displacement. A day ago I was in Beijing, trying to steal the cup. Hmmm… I wonder if they’ve got a game center.
Sally heaved her duffle onto her shoulders. ‹Guest quarters are through there,› she gestured. ‹I’m in staff quarters next door.› She smiled. ‹Really nice to meet you, Jie. I hope I’ll see you around.› She started to walk away.
Too bad she doesn’t live in Beijing. Cute. And a rocket scientist even.
She turned, catching Jie staring at her.
Similar Books
