Page 2 of Lunar Blackout

The Moon. My destination in just over a month’s time. And I cannot wait.

Alice brushes the excess powder from my face, and my mind snags on something my sister just said. Is the anti-English revision just because we’re being hosted by the Queen of the Kingdom of England this evening at a celebratory banquet, or could it be my travel companion is themself English? I was hoping for a Scottish comrade—I have always found their accents grounding—but having an English astronaut stuck in a small space with me for a week is an experience I would be happy to avoid. They always seem so bitter since the United Kingdom fell apart. Let’s just hope that it’s a woman. I can’t be dealing with being cooped up with a man for a week, especially since I can’t think of a single male astronaut from the Royal Space Organisation who is enjoyable company, especially not he who shall not be named.

***

Shit. Shit. SHIT.

Anthony Steward, the head of the Royal Space Organisation, takes his place at the podium. We are in the press hall of the Union of British Nations Space Agency’s headquarters, the room is packed with press from all over the world—not just the four nations—all here to see me, and the man next to me. It had to be him, didn’t it?

“Ladies and Gentlemen—” My sister clears her throat in protest. “—and others.” A painful smile crosses his face as he makes his statement more inclusive. Not even one line in and the tensions are already there, though I won’t complain. I’ll focus on anything right now to distract me from—did he just tap my foot? He tapped my foot. Why would he?

“It is my great honour to host today’s press conference following the announcement that Cosmonaut Iolo ap Gruff from the People’s Assemblies of Wales, and Astronaut Winston Smith from the Kingdom of England have been selected by the governing body of the UBNSA to be part of the first British mission to orbit the Moon ahead of the planned Moon landing in a couple of years’ time.”

The applause deafens me. God, his smile is arrogant, cocky, intoxicatingly handsome.

Scratch that last thought.

The conference goes by in a blur, the same old boring questions as when I became the first Welsh cosmonaut to visit the ESA Space Station.

“How does it feel to do this?” – Great, yeah.

“How do your parents feel?” - They’re dead, my grandfather raised me, and oh yeah, he’s dead too.

“How does your partner feel?” - Way to rub a man’s singleness in his face.

The second the conference is over, the room clears out, and the staff of the member organisations of the UBNSA gather for a casual lunch. I make a b-line straight for the drink station. I am proudly Welsh, but I’m sure the DNA of my English great great great grandmother becomes dominant in times of stress, because all I really want right now is a nice cup of tea, and thank god it’s Yorkshire.

I repetitively dunk the tea bag, holding it by its string, zoning out from everyone in the room, when suddenly I feel a very large, attractive presence next to me.

“G-rough!”

I don’t think I could stop my eyes from rolling even if I tried.

“It’s pronounced Gruff, and Gruff is my father. My name’s Iolo.”

Silence. I’ve apparently shocked him into sweet silence.

“Apologies.” Well, there goes the silence. “I’ll be honest, I was confident with the pronunciation of your last name, whereas with—” He pauses to think. “—Yohh Low, I had no idea, it’s why I always used to call you buddy at that training camp. What was it, ten years ago now?”

I add the milk to my tea, refusing to look him in the eye. “Gruff isn’t my family name, it is my father’s name. Ap means ‘son of,’ I am Iolo son of Gruff.” I put emphasis on my first name, to hint at the subtle correction needed in its pronunciation. Then, stupidly, I look over at him. He’s smiling. Again. Why must he keep smiling in my vicinity? I take a sip from the tea and try to hide that I burn my tongue on the scalding drink.

“I was over the moon, pardon the pun, when I found out it was you I was going to be doing this mission with.” He says it so genuinely I almost believe him.

“I felt blindsided. The UBNSA Director could have informed us before the official press release.”

Okay, what is this face he’s pulling? If I were a betting man I’d say confusion. But on a gym rat like him it almost looks like wind.

“What?” I finally ask.

“You only found out today?”

“Yes.” In the distance I see my sister talking to Anthony. She clocks me, and I swear her skin pales a little.

“Oh.”

“Why? When did you find out?”

“About a month ago.”