C’mon! Harrison said. If it went on much longer, they’d lose consciousness and the ship would break apart. In the spacecraft, Armstrong and Scott were beginning to gray-out. Their vision blurred and distorted. Armstrong reached above his head, trying to focus on the switch that shut down the thrusters. The panel stretched and contorted as the blood pressure in his brain fell rapidly. Holding his head at a certain angle, he managed to get a clear visual fix. He hit the switch. The thrusters shut down.
Harrison was on his feet. He had to get to the Cape Control Center. No one knew the ship or mission like he did. One of the Gemini’s OAMS thrusters must have stuck open; there must have been a short. Only one thing could bring the ship under control now: the Reentry Control System—small thrusters on the nose, reserved for reentry. But Armstrong would have to leave enough propellant in the tanks for reentry, otherwise they’d be stuck in orbit; quickly dead. He had to get up to the Control Center. Harrison’s blood turned fast. He began to sweat, from his face, from his back, from his legs. He looked around the room. He turned off the box, found his car keys and grabbed at the door. Wait. Had he turned the bathroom light off? He didn’t know. He had to check. In case it caused a fire. He went back to the bathroom, lit in yellow, and flipped the switch. He turned the AC off too. Then he unplugged the fridge. He went back to the door. The pants press! He went back and unplugged it. He looked around the room. The squawk box was plugged in. He got down on his knees and looked under the bedside table. A thin black wire trailed out of the back of the box, curled in a bundle on the floor and disappeared behind the bed. He looked under the bed. It had been hardwired into the socket. Shit! He yanked it out of the wall. Sweat fell from his face. Then he realized his mistake: what if there were residual electrical discharge in the wire? He couldn’t just leave it on the floor, under the bed, with all the dust. It could spark and ignite. He began to pull it out, quickly, but the wire was tangled under the bed with the telephone cord. He lay on his front and tried to untangle them. His arms were wet, his pulse rate high. It took him half an hour. He wound the wire around the squawk box and stood it on the bedside table, making sure the exposed end didn’t touch anything. He looked around. Everything was fine. He switched off the main light and held the door handle but froze. He removed his hand. He looked around in the gloom. He reached out for the handle again but stopped before he got to it. He looked round again. He turned the light on. He turned the light off. He went for the handle. He stopped midway. He tried again; his hand barely left his side. He tried again and held the handle and gripped it tight and pushed it down then stopped and let go. He cried out in frustration. He tried again and again. Blood throbbed in his ears. He stopped, stumbled back into the room, fell on the bed and wept. It was too late. He was too slow. The crew were dead and it was his fault. His head felt heavy, lilting with guilt and scotch. He staggered into the dark bathroom, pissed on the floor, then found a bottle of gin in the cupboard and began to drink.
He came round several hours later. He was on his side, on the floor. His keys lay by his face. He looked at them for a long time. Then he picked them up, stood, and walked out of the room.
He drove fast up the stretch, slipping behind other cars before pulling hard past them; past the Starlite, the Satellite, the Polaris. Past Wolfie’s, past Walt’s. The steely blue eyes watched him speed toward the hard beach. His tires squealed on the oily road as he swerved onto the flat sand. A solitary runner pounded the coast. Harrison roared past him. The low sun sprang off powerful breakers as he gunned forward pushing the needle high and waves hit the shore and he turned and spun and tumbled, flipping violently across the iron sand, the car landing silently on its hood.
Jesus. Okay. Thanks. Do you have any cigarettes? Where can I then? Fine. Thanks. No, let me handle that. I’ll handle that too. That won’t be necessary. And he’s stable? We can move him? Now, if possible. Okay when? Tonight? Okay. I’ll sign them. No. No immediate family. Separated. California. Yeah. I’ll take care of that. Uh-huh. No. We’d appreciate that. I’m sorry this is more complicated than—I’m sure you do. I appreciate that. The program. Yeah. Leave that with me. Yes, please. That won’t be necessary. No, that won’t be necessary. Okay. And who do I speak to there? Right. We’ll do that. Okay. Fine. Thanks.
Deke? Harrison said. It was dark. He didn’t know if he was asleep or awake. The voice had come from someplace else. He slipped into his own black place and thought no more.
The sound of fluttering curtains drew him back to the world. He felt cool. And peaceful. There was a purity, a simplicity, in his consciousness. He lay still. There was some pain, but it was distant, like old heartache. He sensed the room around him. It was small. He was alone. It was very dark.