While Mark rambled, Teresa scanned overhead, checking that fuel cell number two wasn’t about to act up again. Station rendezvous always made her nervous. All the more so when she was flying a model-one shuttle. The noises Pleiades made — its creaking aluminum bones, the swish of coolant in old-style heat-transfer lines, the squidgy sound of hydraulic fluid swiveling pitted thrusters — these were like the sighs of a one-time champion who still competed, but only because the powers-that-be found that less expensive than replacing her.

Newer shuttles were simpler, designed for narrower purposes. Teresa figured Pleiades was perhaps the most complex machine ever made. And the way things were going, nothing like it would ever be built again.

A glitter over near Sagittarius caught her eye. Teresa identified it without having to check: the old international Mars mission — scavenged for components, and the remnants parked in high orbit when that last bold venture had been canceled, back when she was still in grade school. The new rule for harder times was simple — space had to pay for itself with near-term rewards. No pie in the sky. No investment in maybes. Not when starvation remained an all too likely prospect for such a large portion of humanity.

“… checked our trajectory three different ways, folks, and Captain Tikhana has declared that all’s well. Physics has not broken down…”

Overlaid across the constellations were multicolored graphics displaying the vessel’s orbital parameters. Also in the forward window, Teresa saw her own reflection. A smudge had taken residence on her cheek, near where a curl of dark brown hair escaped her launch cap… probably a grease speck from adjusting a passenger’s seat before launch. Rubbing just smeared it out, however, overaccentuating her strong cheekbones.

Great. Just the thing to make Jason think I’m losing sleep over him. Teresa didn’t need any more aggravation, not when she was about to see her husband for the first time in two months.