Skyfall

“Perhaps he's the lucky one. He will never know when it happens.”

“Oh, God, it's just too terrible to believe.” She clutched him, buried her face in his chest — but could not cry. You can weep at others' deaths, not at your own to come.

“This is Mission Control, come in, Prometheus.”

The call was repeated over and over — but it was not answered. On the other couch Nadya stirred in her sleep.

“Why doesn't Patrick answer it?” Coretta asked.

“We should look, find out.”

Patrick had fallen asleep. The total exhaustion of the past days, the pain, the drug to kill the pain, all had taken their toll. Topped by the news that all their efforts were in vain, that there was no time left, it all had just been too much for him. There was simply no reason to stay awake now, he could die just as easily awake as asleep, so he had simply let go.

“Come in, Prometheus, come in please. The President is on the line.” The call sounded over and over from the wall speakers.

“Shouldn't we awaken him?” Gregor asked, looking down at the sleeping Commander. Coretta was next to him. Their hands were clasped together, both to keep from floating apart and for the pleasure of the human warmth. She shook her head.

“I'm not sure. Patrick needs the rest — and what could they possibly tell us of interest after the last good news that the trip was about over?” She said the words lightly, or at least tried to, but within she was overwhelmingly afraid.

“But it is your President who wishes to talk to you.” She smiled at his worried look.

“You respect the mere idea of authority too much, Gregor darling. Bandin is a political hack, always was, always will be. When he was still a congressman he was on the committee for school bussing — and his district was split, half white half black. That was when they first started calling him Rubber Bandin. He could stretch to reach anything, any side, and never lost a vote. Or accomplished anything. Anyone that adroit had to be elected President.”

“Coretta, please, you should not talk about your leader in that manner….”

“For a revolutionary you make a damn good bourgeois, my leetle Russian bear. Isn't your Polyarni the last of the old Stalin gang? Wasn't he involved with all those camps?”

“You should not talk like that,” he said, worried, looking over his shoulder. Coretta saw the gesture and burst out laughing, uncontrollably, over and over, tears rolling down her face. She was still laughing when she spoke.

“You should have seen your face! Looking about to see if you could be overheard — in a rocket in space about to blow up. I'm sorry, I'm not really laughing at you. But at us, all of us. With all our little nationalisms and fears. At least we few, here, can forget about them in the little time we have left.” She pulled herself close and kissed him warmly. “I'm glad I met you, really I am. It doesn't make all this worthwhile — but it sure makes it feel better.”

“And I, you…”

“The call, take the call. .” Patrick said, thickly, twisting against the restraining strap. His hands went to his bandaged eyes; he had forgotten what had happened, wondered why it was dark. Then unwelcome memory returned and he let the air out of his lungs and dropped his hand to the con switch.

“Prometheus here, come in Mission Control.”

“The President would like to talk to you all. Are you ready for this call?”

“Put him through,” Patrick said, uncaring. After a few moments Bandin spoke.

“This is the President of the United States speaking…”

“He can even make a phone call sound like the Gettysburg Address,” Coretta said, turning her back in a gesture of defiance.

“… it is with a heavy heart that I address what might be a final message to you brave astronauts, citizens of two countries, united in the bond of brotherhood in this great mission that seems to be terminating so disastrously. It is my sad duty to tell you the details of the atomic explosion that so recently occurred near your vehicle….”

“They found out!”

“Be quiet!”

“I have talked with Premier Polyarni at length and he wishes me to extend his heartfelt regrets that such a terrible accident could have occurred. For that is what it was. A single man, deranged, in the Soviet Defense Command, launched the missile…”

“One of ours, no,” Gregor said, shocked.

“He has been apprehended, but the deed was done. His breakdown was understandable since the world is filled with fear at this time. After the unbelievable catastrophe in Britain the rest of the world beneath the track of Prometheus has lived with the terrible knowledge that their turn might be next. We should understand this officer, though of course we cannot condone the dastardly action he has taken. I join Premier Polyarni in his pleas for understanding, his depth of sorrow at your plight, his unhappiness at what appears to be a disastrous end to this beginning of a new era, his hope that others will carry on the gallant battle you brave few have begun. Goodbye.”