Winter World (The Long Winter #1)(60)

James has erred on the side of paranoia in his message.

“Repeat,” he says into the microphone. “Our estimated arrival time is as follows. All numbers taken from the mission briefing manual. We will reach Earth in first number on page three, third number on page eighteen. Time is in days.”

When he saves the file, I say, “Kind of cloak and dagger.”

He shrugs. “We’re at war. The artifacts—or whatever is out there—could have technology that understands our language. If they know our arrival time, they could cause a solar event to affect us when we arrive at Earth even if they can’t see us.”

“Wars have a purpose. Something each side wants to gain. I think it’s safe to assume the artifact—or artifacts, or whatever else is out there—is causing the Long Winter. But why?”

“Not sure,” James says.

I grin. “Don’t give me that. I know you have theories.”

He cocks his head as he closes the panel of the buoy. “Okay. Here’s what we know: Alpha attacked the probe. Beta destroyed the Fornax and I think tried to destroy the Pax when it self-destructed. Both artifacts were hexagonal. That implies there are many more, and that they likely fit together. They’re here for a reason. Maybe for our sun or our planet or us.”

“What’s your best guess?”

He withdraws. I bet he knows why the artifacts are here, and he’s withholding the knowledge because it would disturb me.

“If they’re here for us,” I say, “they could have already invaded Earth. It could be occupied when we arrive.”

“True.”

“Or it could have been occupied a long time ago. Aliens among us. Spies planted to watch us.” I raise my eyebrows theatrically.

“You have quite an imagination.”

He has no idea.





After jettisoning the comm buoy, we settle into a routine. I exercise. He exercises. We talk about what we’ll do when we get to Earth. We talk about finding the Midway fleet and launching more ships to trace the artifacts. I can tell there are things James is keeping from me, about his conclusions. I don’t press him.

We play cards after work hours. Work consists of analyzing the data from the Pax and especially the confrontation with Beta. It’s busy work, and I’m grateful for it—anything to keep my mind off of the Pax crew or my ISS crew for that matter.

The card games are gin rummy mostly, with magnetic cards one of the Pax crew had the foresight to pack for us. It’s important to keep a schedule. The days are shapeless. The sun is behind us, never rising or falling. We cover the porthole to simulate night and strap in to the sides of the module, across from each other, and talk for hours until one of us yawns.

I once read somewhere that after the First and Second World Wars, when most troops came home on large ships, the trips across the Atlantic and Pacific provided time for them to decompress, to mentally pack away the stresses and horrors of war and prepare for life at home—a quieter, more peaceful life. This feels a little like that. On the Pax, it was a roller coaster of emotions. Constant stress. Problems and more problems. Now it’s just James and me, and for a while, I forget about our freezing world, the six crewmembers we left behind, my sister, and everyone counting on us and everything else. It’s as though we’re in a small pocket universe. Everything outside of us exists, and we care about it, but it’s far away, a problem for a distant day that may never come. Here and now, time seems to stand still, and we rotate around each other. It’s perfect in that way.

Some nights we watch movies and TV, usually old ones. Sometimes The X-Files. And Star Trek. These are a gift from Harry. His video collection is nearly endless. When Marlon Brando’s scene in On the Waterfront plays and he says, “I coulda been a contenda,” I can’t help but think of Harry and his impression. I laugh, and I hear James laughing behind me. And I feel my eyes well with tears.

I push off and drift back toward James. I’m startled when he catches me and guides me to the back wall. We plant our feet on the floor and sit, his arm around me. At some point, my head drifts down to his shoulder, and his head gently touches mine. I can’t remember when I felt this happy. Or this sad.





Though I exercise daily, I know I’m still losing a lot of bone density. Too much. Assuming we make it back to Earth, I won’t be stepping out of this module—I’ll spill out, and I may not even be able to stand. I’ll slow James down, no matter where he goes. I would do anything for him. Except hold him back.

“James.”

He looks up from his gin rummy cards.

“I want to talk about what happens when we get to the ground.”

He discards a seven of diamonds. “Okay.”

I draw a card and study it. Jack of clubs. I’ve got one jack, but I can’t risk trying for a set. He’s getting close to knocking. I’m pretty sure of it. I toss the card on the pile. It clicks onto the magnetized tabletop.

“I won’t be able to walk. Probably not.”

“Uh-huh.” He draws. Studies the card and inserts it into the middle of his fan. Must have been a card he needed. He discards as he says, “Nothing medication and physical therapy can’t fix.”

“But that’ll take time.”

“True.”