“Mum’ll be out on the boulevard about now,” Samson remarked. “I think it’s about the end of Spring. Do you ever wonder what happened to our Springs?”

“Sir?” Marino asked as he fiddled with the Sonar’s display. Samson looked over to her co-pilot and sighed. There was nothing out of the ordinary about being ordinary, she supposed. “How are things going with your mountaineer, whatshisname?” asked Marino.

“He’s a geophysicist and his name is Patrick. Is it that obvious?” Samson opened the shutter a little further and took in the whole view, dazzled by a sight she could never tire of seeing, but despite her advantage, seldom indulged. If she stared long enough, she could see the Earth breath, like a slow motion image of the rolling clouds over the West Coast.

“How’s the O2 in here?” asked Marino.

“It’s been set for nearly three hours,” Samson replied smugly.

Marino closed the shutter and unclicked his helmet. “You know,” Marino turned away from the imaging panel, “Celine left me as well. I’m not sure if there’s a right to maintainable relationships clause in our contract.”

Samson unlatched her visor also. Her untied hairs floated freely, like the tentacles of a bizarre 1950’s comic creature of the deep. Marino giggled.

“You could turn a man to stone with a wig like that,” he said. Marino waited for the come back, but there was no reply. Samson face the Nav again, unyielding.

“Captain?” Marino drifted over to Samson. He turned her around to discover that she held her hands over her eyelids in a vain attempt to catch droplets as they formed in her ducts and floated freely about the cabin. Marino snatched a dispensable waste bag and held it to her.

“Damnit! They’re not supposed to just send us out here like this!” she cursed. “We need more time.”

“Captain… Olivia,” Marino held Samson to his chest, where her agony slowly dissipated into quiet whimpers. “I don’t know why. I don’t think anyone knows why. Please stop crying,” he gently let Olivia loosen from his waist and dry her eyes on the sleeve of her uniform.

“There it is,” Marino pointed to a white spark on the display that seemed only kilometres from the Earth. Marino counted down.

3… 2… 1…

Marino released a blast of photonic waves toward the object and immediately received a read-out of the sonar’s findings.

Samson wrapped the bag and tucked it into her suit. She held on to the Nav board for support. “What on Earth?” she pulled Marino to the dash.

“Is that another sonar?” he asked, mesmerised by the display. “It’s turning around.” Marino span around and picked up the COM. “Paparazzo to Montreal. I don’t know how to put this…” He turned to Samson in bewilderment.

Samson took the COM from Marino’s hand, which he curled around the nape of Olivia’s neck. “We’ve made contact.”