“Yes. Once your team starts firing the thrusters, the crew will be confused momentarily. By the time they figure out what is happening, it will be too late to regain control, especially as we counteract any corrections they make.”
“And the MSS will detonate the bomb before impact?”
“Yes, sir, seconds before.”
THE AIR CONDITIONER was running full blast in Peter’s home as he sat comfortably on a bar stool. Anya was barefoot in a pair of tight, white jeans and a loose, blue blouse as she meticulously worked the pots on a stainless steel stove in front of him. His fiancée had been working all day in the kitchen preparing a traditional Russian meal. It was Saturday night, his last evening home before transferring over to the spaceport in Nevada. She wanted to cook him something special as a send off. They had finished the first course, which was a cold soup called Okroshka. She couldn’t wait for him to try the sour milk-based soup that she grew up loving. Though it really wasn’t his thing, he politely endured the bitter flavor as he complimented her on its taste.
Anya was soaking what looked like dumplings in a pot of boiling water. When he had come home from work earlier in the day he had watched her painstakingly hand-making the little pastries, filling each with what looked like minced meat. He was pleased when she had ordered him out of the kitchen after he asked if he could help. Before leaving, he jokingly dotted flour on her nose as he gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek.
He was now starting to feel guilty as he lightly drummed his fingers on the granite countertop while she eagerly worked in front of him. “There must be something I can do to help?”
A smile was playing at both sides of her mouth as she gave him an endearing look. “You just relax and enjoy yourself.”
He definitely was enjoying himself. He wrapped his fingers around the bowl of his chilled wine glass and slowly brought the goblet to his mouth as he watched her turn around and reach for the plates in the upper cabinet. As he took in the wine’s aroma, he proudly admired the beautiful creature from behind. As the chilled liquid flowed over his lips, he realized once again what a lucky son-of-a-gun he was.
Soon the romantic couple sat comfortably across from each other at the dining room table, light jazz playing softly over the sound system. Peter had to block out the unpacked boxes scattered behind her, reminding him of the work he still had to do before they were fully moved in.
Peter lifted his glass for a toast. “Bon Appétit.”
Anya brushed her dark bangs from her eyes as she raised her glass and lightly tapped his, the soft chime echoing over the music. “I hope you like it.”
He took a sip of wine before looking down at the half-moon shaped dumplings neatly arranged on his plate. “So what is this dish called?”
She took a sip before answering. “It’s called Pelmeni. It’s one of my favorites. My grandmother used to make it all the time.”
“Does that mean anything in Russian?”
Her elbow rested on the table as she held the glass near her face. “It actually means ear-shaped bread in the Finnic language.”
Peter saw some dipping sauces. “So do I use my hands or fork?” He grinned. “I want to make sure I eat them the traditional way.”
She smiled. “Russians aren’t barbaric. We use forks.”
He set his glass down. “You know I didn’t mean that.”
She winked. “I know.”
Peter put his napkin in his lap before picking up his fork and stabbing one of the morsels. He dipped the small pastry in hot mustard before bringing it close to his lips. He stopped short of putting it in his mouth, feeling its warmth. He sat frozen, his eyes locked on her. She tilted her head before a sly grin signaled she understood he was being a gentleman, waiting for her to take the first bite. She promptly set her glass down, speared a dumpling and took a small taste.
Being given the green light, Peter set the whole dumpling on his tongue before closing his teeth gently onto the fork and pulling the food off. He slowly started to chew. Savory flavors and mustard spread across his palate. This is good. Anya stared with her hands clenched, obviously curious what he thought. The bite was too good to rush down, so he took his time chewing. Besides, he liked seeing her squirm. Once he had swallowed the last bit, he lifted his fork and slightly bowed. “That’s damn good. My compliments to the chef.”
Anya’s shoulders relaxed. “I’m so glad you like it.”
“To be honest, I really didn’t have high expectations.” Peter quickly speared another dumpling and dipped it in the same sauce. “But damn, this is good. So what’s in it? Something is giving it that spicy tang.”
“I can’t tell you. It’s my grandmother’s secret.”
Peter grabbed his glass with his free hand and did an imaginary toast. “Well, good job, Grandmother.”
The two proceeded to enjoy the dinner and had a pleasant conversation, never addressing the space mission around the corner. Soon, Anya’s face became serious. “So you’re sure you won’t be flying?”
“I’d say that’s a safe bet. Instead, I’ll be in town next week clearing up some of these unpacked boxes.” Peter pointed to the clutter behind her, before taking a sip of wine. “Jesse was officially put back on the prime crew yesterday, moving me to backup.” He swirled the remaining liquid around in his glass. “I just got checked out in my spacesuit today, which was cutting it close if I were flying. So as long as Jesse stays healthy, he’s the one and he is unquestionably the best man for the job.”
Her crystal-blue eyes stayed fixed on him. “So you’re going out there more as their boss?”
“Yes and no. Management still wants me doing all the same preflight activity as the guys in case Jesse has a relapse, which I’m positive won’t happen. They’re just being overly cautious.”
She pursed her lips. “Should I come out?”
“Na, we don’t want you missing any more work.”
She chewed her upper lip for a second. “And you’ll be back on Friday night?”
Peter decided this was a good time to tell her about the White House visit that Gavin had told him about earlier. Apparently the President wanted to present him with some medal on the following Sunday if he wasn’t in space. “Hopefully sooner. I would prefer to watch the launch from Mission Control, but they may want me there up until the last minute, and of course there could be delays. Regardless, I want to be home by next Sunday for a special meeting.”
Anya lifted an eyebrow. “What meeting is that?”
“How would you like to visit the White House with me and meet the President of the United States?”
Anya’s jaw dropped. “What? Are you kidding?”
“Nope. He wants to give me a medal. It will be a private presentation that won’t be made public.”
“Congratulations! It would be a thrill to meet the President.”
“Well let’s hope I don’t have to fly in space then.”
Anya put her hands together. “Believe me, that request is already in my prayers, regardless of any White House visit.”
He smiled. “Hopefully I get out of Nevada on Friday and you can make me these dumplings again.”
“They’re called Pelmeni and the soup was Okroshka.”
“I remembered the name, Okroshka. In fact I just like saying the word.” He slowly sounded out the word trying to add a Russian accent. “Ok-rosh-ka.” Peter then gave a modest shrug. “But since I love the Pelmeni, I can tell you the truth. I wasn’t a big fan of the soup.” He lifted both hands with a grin. “But I still love saying, Okroshka.”