Beside her, Aiko is making tea in one of the odd new cups NASA has us trialing, designed to mimic gravity using surface tension. It looks something between a gravy boat and an over the nose oxygen mask. They certainly reduce our single-use plastic consumption – if they work reliably – but so far, they remain alien to my hands.
A delicate floral scent surrounds us as Aiko turns; she startles, almost bumping into me. “My apologies.” She gives a modest bow.
She’s so sweet and mild, it’s endearing. I give her a small smile. “No worries.”
She looks overly relieved as she attempts to tuck her silky obsidian hair back behind one ear, but the nervous habit doesn’t translate well to zero gravity. The inky strands float back up immediately.
“Arigatou,” she offers a timid thank you, bowing her head before she glides back through the room.
Anderson looks up from his conversation to smile at her, and a touch of blush tints her cheeks – a peachy pink, a colour as delicate as her.
I hit the leftmost button on the dispenser, the symbol completely worn from use. I grab one of these new-fangled cups, insert the nozzle of the machine and listen for the woosh of the high-pressure fluid as liquid pours forth. As far as NASA and the ESA are concerned, this button is lemon tea. In reality, it’s pure space moonshine and a well-guarded secret.
I throw back the cup, bumping the extended edges against my cheeks. My throat burns. I cough as I swipe at my mouth with the back of my sleeve.
It’s noxious to the palate, but at least it’s better than the last batch, and the one before that.
It took Yuri just one slow week, a few months into this rotation, to get inspired for his first attempt. It tasted beyond foul, and it burnt like rocket fuel going down.
A few more attempts, and he had it mostly perfected. It only took a few months for him to think of swapping it out for the lemon tea in the drinks dispenser – a flavour no one uses, except for that time the whole station got wiped out with flu.
Perhaps with a botanist on board, his latest batch might have a more pleasant flavour than whatever this abomination is meant to be. It’s the worst taste to ever come from something potato based.
I throw back the cup, coughing as I swipe at my mouth with the back of my sleeve. My throat burns. I palm the cup back under the dispenser as I thumb over the button again. Knocking back the next cup, I savour the burn as it glides down my throat.
That has Anderson frowning at me, “Everything alright, Peakey?”
I warm at the nickname, nodding as I wipe my sleeve across my mouth again. He doesn’t seem convinced, passing his data pad over to Matherson and slipping out of his seat to float towards me.
On Earth, he towers over me, but the lack of gravity has a way of equalising us all. Hell, I think I've grown two inches since I‘ve been up here.
But here in the cramped quarters of the dining area, he still seems head and shoulders above me. Being this close up makes me wonder how he squeezes into one of the crew cabins at night, especially considering they are barely larger than the sleeping bags they house.
“Müller?” He offers me a sympathetic look.
Groaning in response, I thumb the eroded button of the dispenser again, listening to the whoosh of liquid.
He nods in understanding, glancing back over at the girls eating behind us, before he leans in conspiratorially. “I heard he quit.”
I look up at him, “Who?”
He drops his voice lower, “Who do you think?”
“No way,” I spit out some of my drink, spraying Anderson's arm, and he grimaces.
“Said there was nothing left for him on Earth,” he shrugs.
“He’s a workaholic. Work is his whole life,” I say.
“Next thing I know, he’s in talks with Peters, Mission Control and–”
“Wait, the ESA didn’t send him up?”
He shakes his head, brushing the beading droplets of moonshine on his sleeve into a paper towel.
“No, it was NASA. Did Clayton not tell you?”
“No…”He most certainly did not.
