of even those comforts.
Consider how this deprivation might foster the bonding of two people when such closeness would not normally exist. Is not the all too human response to hold onto somebody, almost anybody, to help fill the emotional void? Are Kelly and I deluding ourselves (if we believed) that back on Earth we could continue our relationship? If that is the unlikely future, is it not presently unfair to be placing expectations on one another?
Despite all my strained logic to the contrary, the biggest part of me said the emotional risk was well worth taking, that Kelly was,
is
, the best woman to come along in my life. The rest of me said shut up and be thankful for the temporary solace we gave each other.
But what of Paul, Diana, Thompson and Melhaus? How were they coping?
Diana Gilmore and Paul Bertrand are a pair, a partnership cemented several years ago on Earth’s firm footing. They seemed to be doing well onboard, especially Diana. Short, red hair, fiery and profane: Her demonstrative enthusiasm for the mission was infectious. In some ways she acted more like fourteen than forty-one. I once saw Thompson use this to his best advantage during the only time I saw them in a heated argument. When her complaint (I don’t recall what) deteriorated from reason to accusation he abruptly changed tact, ever so calmly stating that if she didn’t behave herself she’d be sent to her cabin without any supper. Few things are as satisfying as witnessing a raging argument doused by a good laugh.
Paul, on the other hand, is just a bit reserved, possibly because Diana has enough excited energy for both of them. As she sets fires, he sits back with a bemused look on his face and takes it all in. If she is effervescent champagne, Paul could be labeled vin ordinaire, an analogy he’d likely take umbrage to, he being of French nationality. He is very much devoted to Diana. As the mission planners had found out, they were, in fact, inseparable. During the outbound voyage, they were taking great comfort from each other’s company.
And what of Thompson? Although it may appear he has nobody to care for, that isn’t quite true: He has his ship and the entire crew. We are, after all, his primary responsibility and he takes it seriously, despite the sarcasm he doles out on a routine basis. We’re five mature (except, maybe, Diana) children to watch over, each with our own peculiar personality quirks and problems. You could say that to him we’re one big adopted and sometimes dysfunctional family. I’ll have to remember to call him stepdad.
Melhaus represents a totally different case. What comfort, if any, he derives from the company of others is difficult to say—our most intimate (and woefully incomplete) knowledge of him had been obtained indirectly, and somewhat indiscreetly, through CSA psychologists. He can be a hard person to read because he reveals little of his inner self. On the exterior, that which we see, he appears quite content to keep his emotions hidden away. It helps to know that he is smart. Scary smart. While attending Imperial College in London (he happened to be fifteen at the time) he scored 178 on an IQ test. His mental skills developed so rapidly, and at so an early age, that his social skills suffered. Eventually he came to believe that personal relationships were something he could never be proficient at. As a consequence, he withdrew from most unnecessary contact, not wishing to suffer a potential blow to his ego by trying to relate, and failing. He wasn’t very accepting of failure. He wasn’t used to it. Not in the arenas of academia and science.
Our reaction: During the three-month outbound voyage the physicist has been prodded, coerced and cajoled to come out of his shell and take part in our little group. This was sometimes accomplished by Thompson’s sarcasm, other times by Diana’s enthusiasm. Even Angie occasionally got into the act by dropping the stuffed duck at Melhaus’s feet and