Blood alone moves the wheels of history.
-- Benito Mussolini
Tammy lay strapped in Samantha's seat on Constitution, her belly swollen enormously. In the midst of the countdown, Lud Woolsey appeared from nowhere, naked and swollen in his own vile way. He was on her in an instant, tearing her clothes away and thrusting into her with animalistic force. She turned her head to the left and cried to the next astronaut, "Please..."
The helmeted head rotated toward her and its visor slid upward of its own volition. From within glistened the water-bloated, unrecognizable face of a Challenger crew member. "At least you survived," it gurgled.
"At least you survived," echoed three charred skulls atop the flame-tattered remains of three ancient Apollo-era space suits.
"Go at cartwheel," Launch Control announced over the loudspeakers.
Woolsey's jerks and spasms caused Constitution to rock back and forth on the launch pad. At the point of his climax, the spaceship teetered on its left SRB and seemed to hold that position for an eternity. Tammy saw just beyond the other astronaut that President Crane stood at the port bulkhead. "Get this thing moving!" he shouted, and slammed a fist against the lockers.
Constitution's solid boosters ignited, first one, then the other, and the spaceship fell slowly, slowly to one side even as it accelerated toward the grandstands.
She saw them all applauding, nodding appreciatively as the flames rushed toward them. Her point of view shifted to an omniscient, godlike overhead vantage as if looking down upon an aerial photo or a map. The flames roiled across the three miles separating Launch Control from Pad 39-A, spreading like a wave. Then the crew cabin shot out from the flames like a bullet and tore into the bleachers and building.
Suddenly, a chorus of thousands chanted, "You survived. You'll even have a family. You'll move on. We're gone. Cry for us, not for you."
Tammy lay in place of Samantha in ICU, tubes of all sizes penetrating her nose, mouth, and veins. She could not move, she could not feel. Lud Woolsey sat in the room with her, the word RAPEST bleeding on his forehead.
"She doesn't matter," he said to a dark figure behind her. "She is only an instrument of national policy. I just want my son, Lud the Fifth!"
He plunged his hands into her abdomen, each of his fingers an engorged male member piercing through flesh and blood--
"God!"
Tammy awoke in a sweat that smelled of whiskey and worse. She was in her own apartment, of that much she made certain with a flick of a light switch. Wiping the soaking perspiration from her face, she began to weep and add more wetness.
She reached for the bag on her night stand and pulled out the passport and airline ticket to assure herself that she had made a firm decision.
The office, Reis noted, was clean and modern, even by Brazilian standards. Clad in her white, open-backed gown, she settled onto the cushioned table and put her feet into the stirrups.
The doctor entered. She was tallish, middle-aged, greying at the temples, and possessed a firm self-assurance moderated by just a touch of world-weariness. She smiled.
"Good morning, Tammy. I'm Dr. Fletcher." She strode over to the examination table and raised the metal stirrups a few inches. "You've come quite a long way to have your pregnancy terminated."
Tammy nodded. "I came to you because you're out of the country. Nobody can know about this."
Dr. Fletcher's smile never wavered. She wheeled a cart over to her patient and picked up a speculum. "You've come to the right place for that," she muttered. "Let's take a look."
Reis stared at the ceiling and tried to think of the beauty of Space as the cold, impersonal device entered her. All she could see were the eyes of the man who had stolen her life.
"You're pretty far along here."
"Two and a half months. The rape occurred January Twenty-Eighth."
Dr. Fletcher raised an eyebrow. "And you came to me?"
Reis nodded. "I want this done right. I don't want any lingering doubts."
"I can terminate it today, then, if you want. Do you have any preferences regarding the... disposition of the fetus?"
Tammy's jaw tightened. "Yes," she said with grim determination. "Very specific preferences."