“Visible?” Gilly said. It was a popular idea that you could see the ships being built from Earth. But they were the tiniest of dots, little pinpricks distinguishable only at night.
“Sure,” said Len, “after a few filters and adjustments.”
“Oh,” he said.
“And that’s it,” said Len. “Then it’s a direct walk to the shuttle gantry and you don’t have to worry about any of this bullshit anymore.”
“There’s always more bullshit,” Anders said.
“That’s true,” Len said, “but this is the worst of it. Any questions?”
The van slowed and turned down a path marked by glowing orange cones. There was a rising white noise, which Gilly hoped was from the shuttle’s engines but probably wasn’t. Earlier today, during the family meet-and-greet, when tiny frilly nieces and nephews in dark suits were running around the legs of politicians and generals, one of his cousins had asked, Do you know how many people they say will be there? and Gilly had a rough idea, because the send-off crowds had been huge for every Providence launch, but before he could insist that he didn’t want to know, the cousin had said, SEVENTY-FIVE THOUSAND. Gilly couldn’t stop thinking about that. He might be able to pretend the broadcast audience didn’t exist, but he was going to have trouble ignoring that many faces.
“Hey,” Beanfield said, kicking his shin. “You’ll be fine.” She was smiling, and it did make him feel better, not just the smile, but the reminder that Beanfield made crew because she had preternatural people skills, to the point where she occasionally seemed to read his mind. They were all here because they were among the best in their fields. They’d been chosen by a sophisticated and demanding software-guided selection process. His presence wasn’t an accident. He was where he was supposed to be.
The van stopped. The doors were pulled open. He stepped out into a light wind and a high sky and hundreds of people scurrying about in black caps and headsets. Between huge trucks were stacked crates and heavy equipment. A short distance away rose the back of the stage, fifty feet high and twice as long in either direction. Even so, he could see the crowd spilling around its edges, an indistinct mass like a single creature. The noise was like the rolling of an ocean.
“Flight crew have arrived at stage rear,” said a woman in a black cap.
“How many people?” asked Beanfield.
“Latest estimate is eighty-five thousand,” said Len. “We’ve had to open up the overflow areas.”
“Oh, God,” Gilly said.
“Don’t sweat it. There’ll be so many lights in your face, you won’t be able to see a thing.”
A drone buzzed over Len’s shoulder and hung there, watching. Beanfield gave it a thumbs-up. Gilly turned away and peered skyward, trying to approximate the ship’s location.
“Can you see it?” Beanfield said.
He shook his head. “Too bright.”
“But it’s there.” She smiled.
The crowd gave a roar. Something must be happening onstage. A moment later, he heard a booming voice, echoing weirdly because all the speakers were facing the other way.
“All right,” said Len. “This is where I leave you.” He eyed them.
“Don’t make it sappy,” Anders said.
“I want you to know, you’re the best troop of performing monkeys I’ve ever had,” Len said. “In all seriousness, I’ve been nothing but impressed with the way you’ve carried yourselves through pre-launch. I know you didn’t sign up for the media circus. It makes me very happy that we’ve reached the point where you can finally start doing your real jobs. I know you’ll make every one of us you’re leaving behind very proud.”
“Don’t make me cry,” said Beanfield. “This makeup took hours.”
“Jackson,” said the woman in the cap, pointing where she wanted her to stand. “Then Beanfield. Anders. Gilligan.”
“Gilly,” he said. The announcer said something at the same time and the crowd roared and he didn’t know if she heard him.
Len straightened into a salute. They returned it, even Gilly, who had never quite gotten the hang of it. The woman began to lead them toward the stage steps. When Gilly glanced back, Len was still holding the salute.
“There’s one more step than you expect at the top,” Len said. “Don’t trip.”
* * *
—
When it was over and he was strapped into a force-absorbing harness, his knees pointed skyward, blood draining toward the back of his head, he watched a wedge of blue sky turn black through thick polymer glass. The shuttle shook like an old carnival ride and roared like a waterfall but all of that was normal. It was actually comforting. He knew what to expect here.
“Look at Gilly,” said Beanfield, her voice crackling through his earpiece. “He’s more relaxed than he was onstage.”
Anders laughed.
Jackson said, “Clearing the Kármán line. We’re officially in space.”
“This is the closest you’ll be to home for four years,” Gilly said. “And now this is. Now this is.”
“This’ll be a boring mission if you do that the whole time,” said Anders. “How much longer to the ship?”
Gilly knew, but Jackson answered. “Three minutes until we reach synchronous orbit. Ten until we can pull alongside.”
“Look,” Beanfield said. “Stars.”
“There have been stars for a while,” Gilly said.
“But so many.” She was right: The glass was full of them. It wasn’t like home, where you gazed up at a sky scattered with a few bright pinpricks. Here was a city of endless lights. “And they don’t twinkle.”
“No atmosphere.”
“Deceleration burn,” Jackson said. “Brace yourselves.”
The shuttle clunked and whined. An invisible hand curled around Gilly’s body and pulled him forward. The harness creaked.
“Shit,” said Anders suddenly.
“What?” said Jackson.
“I think I left my phone back there,” he said. They laughed.
* * *
—
They established synchronous orbit ahead of the ship, so it was coming up behind them, drawing closer in a way they couldn’t see. The shuttle had no artificial gravity; they would have to remain strapped in until they docked. Jackson called out distances until at last something white began to slide across the polymer glass, which Gilly recognized as a section of the ship dedicated to Materials Fabrication. Then came more, section after section, some stenciled with flags, some with designations. He knew the ship’s design intimately but hadn’t seen it firsthand since early in its construction, and felt surprise at its size. It was one thing to know it was three miles long and a touch over one million tons, another to see it.