Gwendy’s Final Task

Gwendy’s entire face brightens—and the years fall away. Stapleton stares in amazement, thinking: This is what Gwendy Peterson looked like as a little girl. “You’re kidding, right?” She holds up her iPad for him to see. “The interior temperature of our current destination, specifically Spoke One of the Many Flags Space Station, is a comfortable seventy-three degrees Fahrenheit. I was curious, so I checked.” She taps the screen—once, twice, three times. “TetCorp plans to take a ship very much like the one we’re presently flying on to Mars in the next couple of years. Do you know what the current temperature on the surface of Mars is at this exact moment?”

Stapleton actually does know, but he doesn’t dream of saying so. Not with Senator Gwendy Peterson looking at him with the cheery (and wonder-filled) eyes of a twelve-year-old. Instead, he shakes his head.

“It’s the middle of the night on Mars, and almost 200 degrees below zero.” She lowers the iPad to her lap. “Makes Maine feel like a beach in the Bahamas.”

He laughs and gives a gentle kick of his legs to remain in place. “So what was all the commotion about earlier? I heard Kathy had to shut the party down.”

“That was my fault. Winston was over there snoring like a banshee, and it got me to laughing.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Once I started, I couldn’t stop.”

“Sometimes first impressions are correct ones,” he says, glancing at the billionaire’s empty flight seat.

Gwendy nods, recalling Winston’s booming voice and obnoxious behavior during their four weeks of close-quarters training. “I keep reminding myself to give the man the benefit of the doubt, but it’s not been easy.”

“Maybe this will help.” He lowers his voice. “Kathy told me that Winston is responsible for more than half of Saint Jude’s annual funding, but the press doesn’t print a word about it, because he doesn’t want them to know. Shocking, huh?”

“Well, if in fact that’s true,” she says, wondering why the information was missing from her dossier, “then God bless Gareth Winston, and he certainly deserves the benefit of my doubt. May heavenly choirs sing his name.”

“Hopefully, you’ll still feel that way after spending nineteen days with him on MF-1.” He grins. “If you’re really lucky, you and Winston might even get partnered up to take a space walk together.”

Gwendy flashes her training partner a scorching look—but doesn’t say anything. She’s thinking about Richard Farris’s plan for the button box at that moment, and praying she can pull it off.

“I better head back. Reggie and Dale get upset if I leave them alone for too long.” He begins to drift slowly upward, then stops himself by grabbing hold of one of the ship’s support beams. “Almost forgot to ask. You ready for your video chat?”

In just over two hours, Gwendy has a video conference scheduled with top high school and middle school students from all fifty states, as well as select members of the media. She’s not looking forward to it. In fact, she’s dreading it. All she can think is: what if I have one of my Brain Freezes on live television? What then? That’s one question she knows the answer to—it would be an unmitigated disaster and most likely signal the end of her journey.

“As ready as I’m going to be, I guess,” she says, craning her neck to look up at him. “I just wish it could wait until we got settled in at the space station. Like Adesh and Jafari are doing with their students.”

“No can do. You’re a sitting U.S. senator and the VIP on this expedition. The world demands a bigger piece of you.”

That’s what I’m afraid of, Gwendy thinks.

Gareth Winston emerges from the lower level, a sour look on his face, and passes within a couple feet of Gwendy’s flight chair. He doesn’t make eye contact with her or any of the other crew members and doesn’t say a word. His lower lip is sticking out. Once he’s strapped into his seat, he turns his head and stares silently out the porthole.

Wonder what that’s all about, Gwendy thinks. And then it comes to her. Winston must’ve overheard Stapleton calling her a VIP, and now he’s in major pout mode. What a baby! She’s about to lower her voice and say as much to Stapleton, when the Com-Mic attached to the front of his jumpsuit gives out a loud squawk and Kathy Lundgren’s voice inquires: “Bern, are you in the middle of something?”

“Just about to head back to level two. What do you need?”

“Can you accompany Senator Peterson to the flight deck? Immediately.”

“Roger that. On our way.” He clicks off and looks at Gwendy. “Wonder what that’s all about.”

Gwendy swallows, her throat suddenly sandpaper dry. “You’re not the only one.”