Over the Darkened Landscape by Derryl Murphy Read Free Book Online

crowds.”
    “Jesus,” I whisper. I look up to the ceiling, imagining.
    Again there is silence, and then Tom says, very calmly, “Fuck you. And fuck the President, too. I’ve been yanked around enough to know when the rope is being pulled tight again. I think I’ll take my chances here, rather than get crapped on all over again.”
    I gape at Tom, and then see with surprise that Jason has turned and is wheeling his chair away again. “Same goes for me,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’ll take my chances with what I know, this time.” Jason and his chair disappear into the old locker room, Tom behind the screen to his cot.
    He looks helplessly at their backs. I can tell that he wants to say something. A look crosses his face and I think, I know , that he wants to order them back. But he stops himself, lowers his head and looks at his gnarled hands, clenched into fists and leaning on the table.
    “We . . . you have all suffered intense pain because of what happened to the program. Peter.” He raises his head and fixes Peter with the look. “Peter, I’m so sorry about Liz. I wanted to come to the funeral, but they had me sequestered in a hospital, trying to stem the tide.”
    Tears well up in Peter’s eyes, but he fights them down. Liz died fifteen years ago, killed herself because she, like all our wives, couldn’t handle being married to a fucked-up alcoholic former astronaut. But she had chosen a more permanent way to forget.
    “I hate to dredge up old pain like that, Peter. I just, I just want you all to know that I never did forget about you. That I haven’t spent these years ignoring you and trying to shut you all out.” He takes a breath, and I watch with awe and fear as his jaw trembles. “I knew that there was only one way for me to help you all. But it took so God damn long to get there.”
    He looks to the curtains where Tom and Jason have gone. “I wish they could know.” Then he turns away.
    Servos whine, the exoskeleton helping him walk to the door. He stops halfway and looks at us, sadness in his eyes. “We were a team, even a family. I am sorry for all that’s happened to you,” he looks around the room, “but what has happened means I can only help you now . And only if you can help me.” He turns again and shuffles out the door.
    We are still for a moment, and then Peter hobbles over to the door as quickly as his cane and bad knees will let him. He pauses as if in thought, then turns and looks at me, then Alex. He is afraid and sad, I can see it so clearly. And then he follows out the door.
    Alex tips his head down, chin almost resting on his chest, eyes closed tight, and then he doesn’t move.
    And me. God help me, I don’t know what to do. I walk over to the window, dragging my chair behind me, and sit, waiting.
    Perhaps when the crowds come out tonight. Maybe then I’ll know.

Voyage to the Moon

    S tanding on the pad, he let his gaze drift back up to the full moon, ignoring the techs for the moment as they zipped and buckled and sealed him into his orange launch suit. The moon hung low in the night sky right now, but would slowly drift into place directly overhead. He hoped the high foreheads had calculated the perigee and launch rate correctly.
    “Helmet,” said one of the techs. He nodded briefly, gazing for a second into his reflection in the visor, reading the backwards letters of his name badge in bold script: Armstrong . He then stood stock still as they fitted it over his head and sealed it into place. He hefted his auxiliary dephlogisticator, heard the hiss as air began to stream into his suit, then nodded at the tech when he pointed at his own throat. Yes, he could breathe fine.
    From there he was helped into the launch vehicle, eased onto the couch and plugged into the console before the door was shut, sealing him off from the outside world. Then things were silent for a few more seconds, just the hiss of air and his breathing echoing around inside his