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Authors: Robert Tine
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Alex’s lips and he screamed, yelling his lungs out in pain and anguish—a sound louder than the howls of his tormented wife, a scream that screamed all the life out his body.
When the shriek finally died away, Alex Streck fell back on the beer-covered concrete behind that shitty bar in Florida... and he was dead. It was as if he had chosen to screech the very life out of his soul.
Before anyone else could react, Natalie dropped to her knees next to her husband, the fabric of her blue jeans soaking up the thick black blood that had flowed out of his body. She knew he was dead and she picked up his heavy head and cradled it in her
own strong arms, as if it was a sacred relic. She laid her tear-streaked face on his bloodencrusted face and whimpered, “No, no, no, no... oh, Alex, please, no.. .“ The tears ran from her eyes and cut pale courses through the blood on his cheeks like rivers.
Everything was so quiet, and so suddenly. The merrymakers, the party-goers, the hangers-on suddenly felt as if they had intruded at something sacred.
The night had become as quiet as the grave.
Quiet but for the grieving of a woman lost. “Oh,” she said, “Alex... oh... Oh, my Alex, what did they do to you?”
Natalie Streck, the lifeless body of her beloved husband clutched in her arms, looked up at the assembled crowd. The astronauts, the NASA geeks, the Mission Control guys, the crew of the Victory... she looked at Spencer and Jillian Armacost. Sherman Reese was still there but the Director was nowhere to be seen.
“What happened?” she asked quietly. “What happened to my husband?”
In the distance insistent sirens could be heard. They were drawing nearer with the passing of every second.
Natalie still wept, but she knew what she wanted to say. “What’s going to happen to us all?”
In the days that followed, those who had been at the farewell party for Spencer and Jillian Armacost would speculate a great deal about the events of
that evening and the words that Natalie Streck had spoken that night. The general consensus was that Alex Streck’s injuries in space had been underestimated by the doctors back on earth and that he had been given a clean bill of health well before he deserved one. The injury, the excitement and yes, even the excessive drinking had contributed to his huge coronary that night.
And whatever Natalie had to say was a result of nothing more than stress and hysteria—after all, the only thing you had to hear about was what had come next.
And besides, look at Spencer Armacost, they said. He sailed through this with flying colors. He and Alex had been through the same ordeal, the only difference was Spencer was a whole lot younger than Alex—and those years made all the difference.
The wags around NASA gave each other slight, knowing looks and winked and said, “See, you leave the agency, you head up north, or out west or to the coast if Boeing is interested in you, and then you make yourself something like a ton of money. You cash in the way Spencer and Jill did. Who could blame you? It was the lifers like Alex Streck and that nutty wife of his... they were the ones you had to worry about...”
They talked about it endlessly—at lunch, or during their morning commutes, at dinner, and in bed with their wives. Do your time at NASA, do what you love for as long as you can... Then, and only then, it’s time for a change. You will have served
your country. You will have served science. But there comes a time when you have to serve yourself. Any damn fool could see that was the wise thing to do. The trouble was Alex Streck hadn’t seen it that way and neither had Natalie. And that was their downfall.
Now Spencer Armacost and his wife Jillian— they knew how the game was played and they got out when it was time to. Get the hell out while you re still sane and can make some serious money. I mean, look at Spencer and Jill, did they play it right or what? I think I’ll give Spencer a call myself when I
When the shriek finally died away, Alex Streck fell back on the beer-covered concrete behind that shitty bar in Florida... and he was dead. It was as if he had chosen to screech the very life out of his soul.
Before anyone else could react, Natalie dropped to her knees next to her husband, the fabric of her blue jeans soaking up the thick black blood that had flowed out of his body. She knew he was dead and she picked up his heavy head and cradled it in her
own strong arms, as if it was a sacred relic. She laid her tear-streaked face on his bloodencrusted face and whimpered, “No, no, no, no... oh, Alex, please, no.. .“ The tears ran from her eyes and cut pale courses through the blood on his cheeks like rivers.
Everything was so quiet, and so suddenly. The merrymakers, the party-goers, the hangers-on suddenly felt as if they had intruded at something sacred.
The night had become as quiet as the grave.
Quiet but for the grieving of a woman lost. “Oh,” she said, “Alex... oh... Oh, my Alex, what did they do to you?”
Natalie Streck, the lifeless body of her beloved husband clutched in her arms, looked up at the assembled crowd. The astronauts, the NASA geeks, the Mission Control guys, the crew of the Victory... she looked at Spencer and Jillian Armacost. Sherman Reese was still there but the Director was nowhere to be seen.
“What happened?” she asked quietly. “What happened to my husband?”
In the distance insistent sirens could be heard. They were drawing nearer with the passing of every second.
Natalie still wept, but she knew what she wanted to say. “What’s going to happen to us all?”
In the days that followed, those who had been at the farewell party for Spencer and Jillian Armacost would speculate a great deal about the events of
that evening and the words that Natalie Streck had spoken that night. The general consensus was that Alex Streck’s injuries in space had been underestimated by the doctors back on earth and that he had been given a clean bill of health well before he deserved one. The injury, the excitement and yes, even the excessive drinking had contributed to his huge coronary that night.
And whatever Natalie had to say was a result of nothing more than stress and hysteria—after all, the only thing you had to hear about was what had come next.
And besides, look at Spencer Armacost, they said. He sailed through this with flying colors. He and Alex had been through the same ordeal, the only difference was Spencer was a whole lot younger than Alex—and those years made all the difference.
The wags around NASA gave each other slight, knowing looks and winked and said, “See, you leave the agency, you head up north, or out west or to the coast if Boeing is interested in you, and then you make yourself something like a ton of money. You cash in the way Spencer and Jill did. Who could blame you? It was the lifers like Alex Streck and that nutty wife of his... they were the ones you had to worry about...”
They talked about it endlessly—at lunch, or during their morning commutes, at dinner, and in bed with their wives. Do your time at NASA, do what you love for as long as you can... Then, and only then, it’s time for a change. You will have served
your country. You will have served science. But there comes a time when you have to serve yourself. Any damn fool could see that was the wise thing to do. The trouble was Alex Streck hadn’t seen it that way and neither had Natalie. And that was their downfall.
Now Spencer Armacost and his wife Jillian— they knew how the game was played and they got out when it was time to. Get the hell out while you re still sane and can make some serious money. I mean, look at Spencer and Jill, did they play it right or what? I think I’ll give Spencer a call myself when I
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