Page 8 of Lunar Blackout

I’ve no idea where he is taking me, how he did the calculations in his head so fast, or how he knew the coordinates of where we’re going, but what I do know is, despite everything I am mighty impressed.

Through the LED screens acting as windows I see Dover as we fly past at a speed I do not like, and head into the English Channel, too fast to have stopped. But I fear we’ll slow before we reach France, which is where I assume we are going. “Iolo, I am about to burn the remains of the fuel in the engine to give us a little more push. Do you trust me?”

The second time he has asked me this, and again I have to remind myself this is a simulation. I swear I can feel a tear in my eye at the terror of the events that are unfolding around us. Maybe I’m not cut out for this mission. Maybe they should replace me with… whomever is in line to replace one of us.

“Iolo, we don’t have time to wait around. Do you trust me?”

I nod, as apparently I’ve lost the ability to speak. Once we are fully over the Channel, there’s a slight boom as the engine ignites for mere seconds, giving us an extra little boost, and just as I think I know where we’re heading, Winston steers the craft towards what I now realise is his home. He’s taking us to Jersey.

“Control this is Smith, speed is deteriorating on target to land at Saint Peter, Jersey with minor damage to craft. Will attempt to use the parachutes one last time to soften the landing further, but our speed will have deteriorated such that even without the craft, Iolo and I will survive unscathed.” He removes his finger from the communication button. “Well, maybe not unscathed, but we can’t scare them too much, can we?” And he winks at me. HE WINKS! How is he so calm in this whole situation?

The airport is now in sight, and we have slowed to the almost perfect speed to land safely. Just as we get close to the runway, Winston gives me a nod, I flick the landing parachute button, and it releases this time, slowing us to the perfect speed to halt the craft with no damage to it, to us, or to the civilian airport we have simulated landing at.

I breathe out every single molecule of air in my lungs, which I feel like I have been holding in since the second parachute failed. Winston squeezes my knee, and my breath skips. I really can’t go on hating him the way I do.

Suddenly there are three rounds of applause coming from outside the craft, not part of the simulation. Winston and I crawl to get out of the craft, and we see Teck, her husband the UBNSA Director, and my sister applauding Winston for his remarkable handling of that chaos. Perhaps he didn’t give himself the captain title prematurely after all. As much as it pains me to admit it, he certainly earned it today.

“Well done boys, that was impressive,” Doctor James McCrimmon says as he shakes both our hands.

“Winston was incredible,” I can’t help but admit, and I give him a soft smile which seems to break him after a week of me being incredibly hostile towards him.

“It was a team effort,” he says, oh so diplomatically.

“Sir, might I have a quick word?” I say to the Director, and he walks with me to the side, while Winston tells Teck and my sister how he was able to calculate the speed deterioration and how he knew he could get us to Jersey. “So, the captainship?”

“It will be decided by the end of next week, Iolo,” he says, clearly not expecting what I’m about to say next.

“Give it to Winston.”

***

My sister has brought me to our favourite restaurant in London. While other government ministers and cosmonauts may go out to fancy restaurants, my sister and I crave out childhood cheap and cheerful places, so we’ve come to a cosy little pub near the Welsh Embassy. The food is delicious, and in my opinion nicer than the food we ate at the Palace.

My social battery is dead after the adrenaline rush of the simulation earlier today. I’m exhausted and so very confused about everything Winston. Do I regret telling the Director to give him the captainship? No, I don’t think I do. My sister is going to be pissed, though. She may be my sister but she’s the Minister of Science first, and having a Welsh captain under her spouse’s premiership would do wonders for the elections coming up next year.

“You look like shit.” Bron’s mouth is full of mashed potatoes as she says this. “That simulation was incredibly intense.”

“Yeah,” is all I can muster. I don’t get why I faltered so much, why I didn’t know what to do, because in this moment it is clear as day. I know the handbooks and emergency scenarios like the back of my hand. Sure, what I would have done would have been nowhere near as impressive as what Winston did, but it would have been by the book.

“Today went well though, Winston and you seemed to work as a team, and the Director and Teck were certainly pleased. Speaking of which, I hear you’ve told them to make Winston the captain of the mission?” Shit, I hoped I could be the one to break that to her.

“He’s the right man for the job, that’s all.” I take a bite of my lab-grown steak in artificial beef dripping sauce, praying she moves on.

“It leads me to wonder—” Oh god here we go. “—If you think he’s right to be captain over you—” Where is she going with this? “— then why are you avoiding him like Covid. I thought you sorted the rift between the two of you back at the Palace, but then Teck said over the last week you’ve been incredibly hostile to him.”

“He doesn’t even remember. We tried to have a fresh start and it worked at first: we went out for drinks, and then Justin appeared as if by magic.” She’s just about to take a sip of her drink at this point, but instead places it back on the table and circles the rim with her finger while she thinks.

“So, he doesn’t remember doing whatever it is that happened? You’ve only ever told me the odd crumb of information, but Justin is one of those crumbs and he coincidentally materialises after you work things out, and what happened?”

“Nothing really, Justin chatted, mostly with Winston but tried to include me when I wasn’t giving him the evils.”

She sighs, a deep and deflating sigh, and downs the entire large glass of Verdejo in front of her. “To me it sounds like you’re holding onto this past event with Winston, acting as if he is who you thought him to be, when reality is telling you and showing you otherwise.” She raises her glass to the barman, who nods and goes to pour her another glass of wine.

“It’s hard to move on from what he did.”

“What did he do? All I know is you were infatuated with him one day, and on the phone in tears the next. I can still feel the way my heart broke for you Iolo, hearing my 20-year-old brother break down on the phone and being unable to speak about it, and seeing it still affect you a decade later, you need to open up about it. Not necessarily to me, ideally to him.”

“I can’t.”