She heard Donahue’s words again in her mind:
Watch yourself
, she had said. Watch for what? He seemed a good officer, well-liked by the rest of the crew, and this was his second tour. USAC didn’t accept people back who hadn’t made the grade.
He asked how her day had gone. He had been in the tower earlier while she had been practising her circuits, and said that they had looked pretty good.
Clare snorted. ‘Pretty good for someone who’s never flown before. I’ve been flying perfect approaches in the simulator for months before I came here. Now I can hardly catch the wire. You must have been wondering how I made it out here.’
Coombes laughed; a nice easy laugh that made you think he might be fun to spend time with. ‘You’re doing fine. Everyone’s the same for their first few landings. It beats me how you guys do it anyway; those landings terrify me.’
‘Why?’ She tilted her head slightly to one side.
‘Why what?’
‘What is it about them that terrifies you? Are you scared you’re going to crash?’
‘Oh …’ he looked away a moment before answering. ‘I know what you’re going to say; crashes are very rare, and you train and train – I get all that. I just don’t like the sensation of the carrier rushing up towards you, especially here where there’s no ground, and you
have
to land on the carrier. And you realise just how small the flight deck is, and how far the clouds are below you, and how
deep
the atmosphere goes. The thought of something going wrong on the landing, and just –
falling
, down and down.’ He shuddered.
‘Are you scared of heights?’
‘Only if I look down and realise that there’s nothing holding us up. The rest of the time I don’t really think about it.’
‘It didn’t seem to bother you when you took me out on the rear deck.’
‘That was for show. Didn’t want you to know how scared I was.’ He smiled sheepishly. After a moment’s embarrassment, he asked:
‘Would you like a beer?’
‘A beer? You have
beer
here?’
‘Easy, tiger.’ He held up a hand, smiling at her expression. ‘There’s no alcohol in space, but we’ve got special dispensation here because the gravity and the breathing mix is virtually the same as on Earth. The captain can declare a beer night once a month. And it’s your lucky night.’
‘Great. But we had drinks with the captain the other night?’
‘That was special. This is for everyone. So do you want some?’
‘Do I want some?’ Clare was incredulous. ‘Do I
want
some? How much can I have?’
Coombes laughed and got up. ‘Back in a moment. We’re rationed to two beers each – and there’s the ten-hour rule as well.’ He looked expectantly at Clare, but she shook her head.
‘Not flying again until tomorrow morning. I’m going over to the
Wright
with Lieutenant Gray, for some air experience. Way more than ten hours.’
‘Two beers, coming right up.’ Coombes strolled off to the serving hatch, and returned a couple of minutes later with two glasses, filled to the brim. Clare found herself actually salivating. It had been a very long time since she’d had a beer, and she breathed in the aroma over the froth. It smelt a little yeasty, but it was cool and clear, and she tilted the glass and drank one long, slow draught.
‘Wonderful,’ she breathed, turning the glass in her hand. ‘That’s really – very good indeed,’ she added, taking another drink.
Coombes shook his head, grinning. ‘I thought you might like that. I reckon this is the best beer on any of the carriers. I don’t know what they do here that’s different.’
Clare considered the beer in her glass. ‘So this is made here, on board? Oh – I guess that’s the only option.’
‘You’re right there. Way too heavy to fly here all the way from Earth. No, we grow the barley here in the hydroponics farm. The dried hops are light enough to be imported, and the rest – well, that seems to be a closely-guarded secret between the galley staff, although the other crews have had a try at espionage on more than one occasion.’
‘I think this secret is too good to share. ‘I tell you, after the time I’ve had today, this is just what I needed. I can’t remember … when I’d last had …’ her voice tailed off, and she took another drink.
Coombes eyed her through his glass as he lifted it to his lips. Her blond hair was tied back again, and he wondered what it was like when it was loose. He had only encountered a small number of female pilots in his time in the Corps, and so many of them were like her – driven, dedicated. Unattainable. Well, he had his own way of dealing with that one, and he rolled the thought about in his mind, savouring the prospect, as he set his drink down. ‘So tell me about yourself,’ he said. ‘Where do you come from?’
‘Earth,’ she said flippantly.
‘Yes, I think I know that,’ he smiled. ‘
Where
on Earth?’
‘My parents have a farm in Kentucky. Horses, chickens. Hills.’
‘Sounds nice. Did you live there as a child?’
‘They bought the place when I was six. I loved it. My brothers and I spent all our time outdoors. I had a pony, and I rode it everywhere, then when I was fourteen I got my own horse, and my Mom and Dad spent every weekend taking me to competitions and shows. I never wanted it to end.’
‘So why did it?’
‘Oh, I just grew up, went to school. Discovered boys. You know.’
‘So what made you join the Corps?’
‘Oh … well, it’s kind of embarrassing.’ She laughed, and hung her head in mock shame.
‘It can’t be any more embarrassing than anyone else’s story.’
She took another drink.
‘Well, it was on a school trip. We’d gone over the state border into Ohio, to Wright-Patterson Base. Massive USAC base and test centre; it’s where Neil Armstrong trained. Anyway, we were there on this trip and this spaceplane came in. I’d never seen one before and I didn’t realise just how big they were. It swept over us as it landed, making this huge shadow, and we watched it land and taxi in. And when they put the steps up to it, this woman astronaut came out first and took off her helmet, and I saw her hair blowing in the breeze, and I just wanted to be her, flying a spaceplane in the Corps. So that was it, I told my parents, they weren’t happy, but they said if I got through selection they’d support me, and I did. I got a Corps scholarship to read aerospace engineering at Cincinnati, and the rest …’ she shrugged. ‘I seem to have avoided being thrown out, so far.’
‘Hartigan said you were one the best students he’d had.’
‘Did he now?’ Clare coloured slightly in surprise. ‘That was good of him.’ She was quiet for a moment. ‘What about yourself?’
‘Me? Oh, you already know about me.’ He took a drink of his beer.
‘No, I mean, why did you join the Corps?’
‘Well, unlike you, it wasn’t something that I’d always wanted to do. I did planetary science at university, and I ended up writing models to predict atmospheric gas flows in different atmospheres. On the back of that, I landed a job with the Corps in their planetary weather division. After a year or so, I was told that if I took a commission and did the training, I would be eligible to go into space, so I did. And here I am.’
‘Have you ever regretted it? I mean, you’re away from home for months or years at a time, you can’t go out and do normal things – it’s not everyone’s idea of a dream job.’
Coombes turned his glass in his hands.
‘I sometimes wonder what life would have been like if I’d stayed back on Earth. You know, got married, had kids, normal job. But here –’ he gestured outside, at the clouds and the sky ‘– where else would you get to see something like this? And people here really
depend
on my forecasts, it really matters to them, and I feel valued, in ways I probably wouldn’t be on Earth.’ He smiled sidelong at Clare, and she found herself warming to him. She picked up her glass again, and found it empty.
Coombes drained his. ‘You want another one?’
‘Sure. I’ll go get them.’
‘No. My treat.’ He picked up their glasses and disappeared back to the galley.
Clare felt suddenly very happy. It must be the beer, she thought, but it was more than that. Here she was, newly promoted, drinking beer with this pleasant guy. Tomorrow there would be more flying. And the next. Life was good, and she sighed contentedly as she leaned back in her seat, gazing out at the sky.
She smiled warmly at Coombes as he came back. It had been a very long time since her thoughts had strayed from her job. As if there had been the opportunity … But she and Coombes were of the same rank. And he seemed to like her, so why not? See where it goes, she thought. What harm could it do? He wasn’t a pilot, so there wouldn’t be any issues with crewing together.
She felt suffused with a warm glow that spread from the centre of her body, to her extremities. And not just her extremities. With a shock, she realised she was aroused, and she sat up suddenly in her seat.
‘Something wrong?’ Coombes smiled back at her.
‘No, nothing wrong.’ She laughed, and looked sideways, out of the window. For fuck’s sake, get a grip! She couldn’t look him in the eyes, in case he could tell. She thought hurriedly of something different to say, to change the subject. ‘Hey, when are you going to show me the hydroponics farm? You promised, remember.’
‘Yes, I promised.’ He pursed his lips, as if he was thinking. ‘It should be pretty quiet down there by now. What say we go when we’ve finished these?’
‘Are we able to go this late?’
‘Sure – it’s open for everyone to walk round, as long as they don’t take any of the crops. And it’s on my duty roster this week; we all take turns at keeping it tidy. Come on, drink up, I’ll show you.’
The hydroponics farm was at the lowest point of the ship, slung underneath the main hull in a long glass blister that took advantage of the huge amount of light reflected from the clouds. Coombes led the way down the set of spiral stairs that wound down from its opening just outside the galley.
As they passed through the second of two doors, Clare felt the air grow suddenly more humid, and an earthy smell of compost and growing things filled her nose. It was dark at the bottom of the stairs, but as her eyes adjusted, she saw that they were at one end of a long room filled with rows of plants. Lights burned at intervals amongst the foliage, giving the place a grotto-like appearance. In the background, she could hear the sound of water tinkling into a pool or tank, and the hum of pumps.
‘Like it?’ Coombes asked.
‘It’s … amazing,’ she breathed. ‘Are these tomatoes?’ She touched the leaves of one of the nearer plants, and sniffed the familiar scent. Coombes rummaged amongst the foliage and pulled out a bunch of small green tomatoes for her to see.
‘There’s more. Come on.’ Coombes took her along one of the rows. They passed dozens of tomato plants, with fruit in various stages, and then a tall stand of sweetcorn, then what looked like potatoes. All of the crops were being grown in trays of various depths, set at the appropriate height on stands for easy maintenance. Narrow black tubes weaved in and out of the plant stems, dripping water constantly onto the soil.
They passed rows of onions, peppers, beans, chillies, a bed of what looked like carrots, cabbages – the variety of plants and vegetables was astonishing.
‘During the day, it gets so hot in here we actually have to restrict the sunlight coming in.’ Coombes waved at the slanting side windows. ‘The sunlight bouncing off the clouds comes in through the windows and gets reflected off the ceiling.’ Clare looked up, and saw that the entire ceiling was covered in long sheets of reflective plastic. ‘Ah, this is what I wanted to show you. Look.’ He swept his hand across a large area of cereal crop.
Clare examined the fine whiskered ears of grain on the end of the stalks. ‘This is your barley, right?’
‘Yup. Special dwarf variety, bred for growing here. We grow our own wheat here, too, but we haven’t been able to grow enough to completely replace flour from Earth.’ He moved on to a cluster of metal vessels in the centre of the farm. They hummed continuously, and Clare could hear something being stirred inside.
‘What are these?’
‘Biomass processors. Composters, to you and me. Here, let me show you.’ Coombes pressed some buttons on a small control panel, and the nearest of the containers stopped humming. He opened up a wide door in the side, and a strong, but not unpleasant smell of warm compost rolled out. Inside there was a mound of dark brown material and two large blade-like metal stirrers. She picked up a handful of the material and sniffed it.
‘Smells like good stuff. Is this from all the biowaste on board?’
‘You guessed it. All the leaves, stems, and waste from the farm goes in here, plus any compostable waste from the galley, and some of the output from our recycling plant – suitably treated of course. It all gets chopped up fine and then put in one of these processors and turned constantly. It only takes six weeks to be ready, and then we irradiate it before using it. In this enclosed environment we can’t risk anything getting through – any plant diseases would just run round this place.’
‘Yes, I remember once when our sweetcorn caught a virus,’ Clare said. ‘We had to burn the entire crop, and it was years before we could risk growing it again.’
‘Oh, of course, you lived on a farm. Hey, you must know more about what’s going on here than I do.’ He grinned, and swung the door shut and set the processor going again. ‘Come and look at this.’ He beckoned her over to a set of six large black plastic tanks. They leaned over and looked into the swirling water inside. ‘This is the water for the hydroponics system. It gets filtered, aerated, and then nutrients added before being pumped to the growing trays.’
‘But I saw soil back there – that isn’t hydroponics.’
‘No. Our first few crops were pure hydroponic – no soil at all, just seeds in growing trays – but with successive harvests we’ve recycled the waste biomass into soil, and some plants are much easier to grow and maintain in soil than in hydroponics trays.’ He scooped some water up in his cupped hand, and watched as it trickled back out between his fingers. ‘Incredible to think that this is all harvested from the atmosphere. Fifty thousand tonnes of air has to be processed just to fill one of these tanks.’