Science Fiction: The Last Astronauts
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There was a bit of tension, as we waited in the vehicle for their boat to arrive, but that was merely an inconvenience. The New Zealanders were very hospitable, just as my memory had suggested. When the ugly old fishing boat arrived, there were more than a dozen of them climbing around in the nets over the side, some knee-deep in the water. They were all smiling and laughing and calling to each other, and as we emerged from the tiny capsule, the entire entourage erupted in cheers. The four of us returned wan smiles. I was very nervous about the virus, and drew a tentative breath, expecting to smell it on the air. Only fish guts and salty air met my olfactories as we trod carefully onto the small rubber raft that had pulled alongside our lifeboat. The men and women on the boat were a mixture of Maori and Caucasians, all had the charming lilt of New Zealanders.
We were brought aboard the boat, and surrounded by happy faces, cheering men and women who were saluting our return as though we had been victorious over something, as though we had surmounted incredible obstacles. We had merely fallen to earth, after losing two of our friends to fear and misfortune. It was obvious to me that the others didn’t feel like celebrating. Neither did I, but the inimitable Kiwis were fully determined to get us pissed—the beer and wine had been brought with them to ally any fears that they wouldn’t get the party going soon enough—and celebrate like there had never been an astronaut in their midst before. I suppose for most of them, that was the truth of it.
There was to be no period of isolation and decontamination, since the earth was gads more dangerous at the moment than any of us could ever have thought to be. We were inoculated more or less right away, in between the back-slapping, and the hugs from strange and beautiful women, and the mugs of beer being plied upon us, we all managed to get hit in the arm with a high-air-pressure injector, which they told us was all we would need to put the horrible virus behind us. How likely that was, none of us were willing to speculate. We all remained quiet amidst the chaos of the fishing boat as it returned to Stewart Island, off the south end of New Zealand. The doctors reported that the virus was mutating, probably because it was lab-created and not a thing of nature. Aside from the deaths of a few minor species of monkey—sad, yes, but nothing compared to the billions dead of mankind—there appeared to be an end in sight for the virus.
We stayed for a few days on Stewart Island, just to make sure the inoculation had taken successfully. They had an excellent if small hospital, and although everything seemed a tad under-populated, for the most part the beautiful little city of Oban is quite warm and welcoming. I found out later that Oban had never been particularly populous. I had never found myself there during my college days, but was incredibly happy to be there now.
When the festivities had died down, and the otherwise sleepy town of Oban had gone back to its daily routine, we decided to head for our homes. Captain Jackson shipped off to the south island, where a small US contingency had retained control over some planes, and were operating the Christchurch airport for the Kiwis. They used to be operating a port of entry for the South Pole research expeditions, but everyone down there was dead or presumed dead—no contact with any South Pole bases in nearly a month, and it was summertime for them. Presumably, she would be flying herself home in one of their smaller combat/reconnaisance vehicles.
Commander Zagovich left us a few days later. His health had continued to decline once we were on solid ground. Apparently the stress of our ordeal, and possibly some guilt over the death of Dr. Noell, had taken a heavy toll on him. I had asked him if the Doctor’s death weighed on him heavily, in a moment of reflection.
“Things are often out of our control, Ano?” He shrugged, and turned away from the conversation, but it was clear enough that he hadn’t come to terms with his guilt yet. I understood him better than he probably thought. I could not stop thinking about Pavel, and what I might have done differently that day on the Chinese satellite. I wish I could go back to that day, and have Pavel set up a camera or something, so that we could have remotely observed the testing. That day has passed though, and there’s no going back, other than in dreams, or nightmares.
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