Page 9 of Lunar Blackout

“You must. You’re about to do what you always dreamed of. You’re going to the Moon, Iolo. Think of all the hours you spent with Gramps in his garden, looking at the stars, him teaching you the name of the craters on the Moon’s surface. The story of how the Artemis II team named a bright spot Carol when Gramps was a kid. You can’t let this historic moment be tarnished by your refusal to face the past and resolve things properly.”

She’s right of course, but as her younger bother, I can’t admit that, it goes against the sibling code. “I’ll think about it.”

She nods just as her new glass of wine arrives, takes a sip and seems content to move on from this conversation. I know she’s right, I need to talk to him, I really don’t want to, but I can’t keep avoiding it either.

SIX

WINSTON

A whole fortnight by myself has been interesting, to say the least. Two weeks locked away in a three-star hotel with only myself, my communication tablet and the internet for company. Even pleasuring myself has become a chore, resulting in my left hand and my cock being on a romantic break from each other. Try telling 18-year-old me that I’d get bored of wanking and he wouldn’t believe you.

This has always been my least favourite part of any mission. I wouldn’t wish someone to be trapped with my mind for two weeks, but I can’t escape my brain. I’ve read so many books these past two weeks my school librarian would be shocked.

I used to live in the library when I was in school, I even joined the book club where Mrs Evans, the school librarian, would make us all a cup of tea and we’d talk about the book we had chosen to read that month. And it was very rare that I would actually read the book.

I used to think that I struggled with reading because of my dyslexia, and while that is partly true, I discovered about five years ago that if I read white text on a dark background and with the font a little bigger than is normal, I am able to fly through a book in two days, when it would have taken me months in the past.

But even reading has been a chore. There’s only so many sports romances I can deal with, and I’ve yet to find another sub-genre to pique my interest.

But today I finally have freedom, if getting put in an isolated vehicle and driving a couple hours down to Port Talbot ready for the launch in two days can be classed as freedom. I also finally have my reunion with Iolo ap Gruff, who I’ve not heard from since he apparently told the Director of the UBNSA that I should be the mission captain. Me. Not him. I know for a fact he would kill to be the captain of a lunar mission, so I can’t imagine why he would have done this, except for it being an olive branch. An apology, maybe? I still feel like I owe him one, and he still hasn’t told me what I did back at training camp.

I was 22 during that training camp, a lot slimmer than I am now, though slightly more toned than Iolo, who back then was more twink than the twunk he is today. We met on the first day, standard meet cute, we were roommates. The training camp was at an old air base in South Wales, and was essentially a bonding exercise for the astronauts and cosmonauts from across the four nations of England, Wales, Scotland and Cornwall after UBNSA had been founded.

On the last day of the camp, I finally built up the courage to ask Iolo on a date. His glistening eyes, his tanned olive skin—apparently from Iranian heritage—his beautiful smile, all made me putty in his hands, and his smile was HUGE when I asked him. I couldn’t help myself, I just pulled him close and pressed his lips to mine. We fused together in my heart at that moment, though I worried I had overstepped. Until I felt his soft warm tongue poke against my lips, looking for a way to connect with mine.

We stood there kissing for what felt like an eternity, but when we pulled apart, it felt like it had been no time at all. I was so overjoyed that I had to go and tell my closest friend on camp, Justin, the good news.

When I saw Iolo later, something had changed, and I have no idea what, but he was cold and distant. I don’t believe in love at first sight, but it felt like I had had my heart broken after one single kiss.

I try not to think about that part of camp; I only want the happier memories, of comradeship and that passionate kiss, because when I remember the aftermath, my blood runs cold, and I feel a pit of despair in my gut.

For years I longed for him to apologise to me, but we were still in our queer adolescence as they say, so as I grew, I let it go. It was like a teenage romance, and not something to be worked up about. But now, this mission has brought it all back. I don’t need him to apologise to me any more, I’ve moved past that, but the fact that he still holds pain from that time… I can’t even imagine what I’ve done to make him distance himself from me.

My communicator buzzes with a message from Anthony. One hour till we depart for Space Port Talbot as the locals call it, which is only a couple miles down the road from where camp was held, where that kiss happened.

Snap out of it, Winston!

I force myself out of bed, discard my boxer briefs onto the floor and walk straight into the rainfall shower in my ensuite. While the warm water gently drips through my hair and across my body, I decide that I need to talk to Iolo. We need to clear the air before launch, otherwise this is going to be a very awkward week.

***

The car ride from London to Wales drags. It feels at least three times the length of journey that it actually is. I think the apprehension I feel about confronting Iolo before the mission is making time slow down, like a black hole on the fabric of spacetime at its event horizon.

We arrive at the Welsh Cosmonaut Training Centre. I still find it funny that they chose to name their astronauts “cosmonauts” just to be different from England. Scotland didn’t follow suit, which is surprising as they always want to distance themselves from England. The centre is surprisingly beautiful. The space port here in Port Talbot took over the land that was formerly a steel plant, and is massive. There is the training centre where we are now, office buildings, hangars, and of course—most importantly—the launchpad.

I look over to the pad. The large Black Arrow II rocket stands proudly looking out to the sea, and on top of it lies the Spitfire shuttle, waiting for Iolo and me to board in two days. The dry launch test happened yesterday without a hitch, and the weather is looking clear for tomorrow’s launch. The only thing between us and an enjoyable experience heading to the Moon is the fact that I need to confront Iolo.

He came down to Wales yesterday, his sibling-in-law, the First Minister, had organised a press conference to promote him going to the Moon. He isn’t the first Welsh Man in space, let alone going to the Moon, but he’s the first in this new age of space travel. I watched the conference on the news, everyone there in person, Iolo on a screen from his isolated room. The footage of him arriving in Wales was quite comical, everyone keeping three metres away from him at all times.

My team have brought my requested belongings down already and have set me up in a very cosy room on the top floor of the training centre, where there are several rooms for working crew, but despite us only being here for a couple of days, Iolo and I seem to have gotten the best suites in the building. Top floor, spacious, modern. Bathroom and kitchenette area, but designed homely and cosy, whereas our equivalent at the English Space Port on the Isle of White is cold and clinical. What does that say about the difference in the English and Welsh governments’ priorities in holistic wellbeing?

I grab another shower, because travelling always makes me feel disgusting. I eye up the large bath on the other side of the bathroom but decide to stick with a shower for now. Still, I consider a bath before we leave Earth. There is a loud knock at the door. I quickly grab my towel and hang it round my waist. We are still isolated from everyone else; even in the car here my section had completely separate air circulation than the driver’s section, so I have no idea who could be allowed to be at my door right now.

I walk through the living section of my suite, leaving damp footprints over the hardwood floor, and peak through the peephole to see a pleasant surprise.

Iolo is on the other side of my door with a strange look on his face, his eyes heavy, skin pale, and his lips forced into a sad smile. He looks anxious, and as he knocks the door again, I realise I have yet to let him in.

“Hey,” he says softly as I hardly open a crack in the door, showing only a sliver of my face.