A couple days later, when I get an email from [email protected], my heart stumbles all over itself. But it’s just an empty email, no text, not even an automatic signature. Just an attachment with his NASA application from a few years ago, together with a handful of other people’s. More recent ones that he must have gotten from his friends and colleagues, a few more examples to send me.

Well.

Two weeks later, I turn in a reflection paper as part of my Water Resources class requirements.

I must admit, Dr. Harding, that I initially thought this assignment would be a total waste of time. I’ve known I wanted to end up at NASA for years, and I’ve known that I wanted to work with robotics and space exploration for just as long. However, after meeting with Ian Floyd, I have realized that I’d love to work, specifically, on Attitude and Position Estimation of Mars rovers. In conclusion: not a waste of time, or at least not a total one.

I get an A- for the class. And in the following years, I don’t let myself think about Ian too much. But whenever I rewatch video recordings of mission control celebrating Curiosity’s landing, I cannot help but look for the tall, red-haired man in the back of the room. And whenever I find him, I feel the ghost of something squeeze tight inside my chest.

Three

Svalbard Islands, Norway

Present

They said they couldn’t send first responders!”

My breath, dry and white, fogs the black shell of my satellite phone. Because Svalbard in February is well into the negative Celsius. Disturbingly close to the negative Fahrenheit, too, and this morning is no exception.

“They said it was too dangerous,” I continue, “that the winds are too extreme.” As if to prove my point, a half-hissing, half-howling sound weaves through what I’ve begun to think of as my crevasse.

And as far as crevasses go, it’s a good one to get stuck in. Relatively shallow. The western wall is nicely angled, just enough to allow the sunlight to filter in, which is probably the only reason I have yet to freeze to death or get horrible frostbite. The downside, though, is that at this time of the year there are only about five hours of light per day. And they’re just about to run out.

“Avalanche danger is set at the highest level, and it’s not safe for anyone to come out to get me,” I add, speaking right into the satphone’s mic. Repeating what Dr. Merel, my team leader, told me a few hours ago, during my last communication with AMASE, NASA’s home base here in Norway. It was right before he reminded me that I’d been the one to choose this. That I’d known what the risks of my mission were, and I still decided to undertake it. That the path to space exploration is full of pain and self-sacrifice. That it was my fault for falling in an icy hole in the ground and spraining my fucking ankle.