“Houston be aware - I’m coming in hot.”

“Roger that, Zenith One. We expected this. Brace for a bumpy landing.”

I braced all I could in the coffin-like pod, bunching my fists and screwing my eyes tight. Thoughts of Emily popped into my head, the way when she smiled at me she always gave me a little wink, something I’d never seen her do to anyone else. I couldn’t wait to see her. I had only been away for a day but that was a day too long.

A slight knock rattled the pod. I must be at the edge of the Earth’s atmosphere. The rattles turned into a full on battering as the air became thicker. As klaxons blared, I felt the pod beginning to tumble, pressure building in my legs, chest, arms, head. I tried to push back, held my breath and forced air up, trying to not black out, but I was crashing… crashing… this was it… Emily…

I came to hearing a rhythmic beeping to my left - my heartbeat turned into something digital - felt the cool of hospital sheets under me. I peeled open my eyes, making out the figure of Major Bolcher, chest puffed, wide grin.

“Welcome home, son. Extraordinary effort. First class. Our names… your name will be in the history books. ‘Tom Anderson, Light Speed Man.’”

The mission swam through the fog in my head, becoming clearer. The first manned attempt to reach light speed, slingshotting around the sun and Pluto. Apparently it had been a success.

“Emily…” I managed to croak.

The Major looked confused. “No Emily here, son. Was she working on the mission? Your nurse, maybe?”

The darkness closed around my eyes again.

The next few days were a blur. I heard voices, felt people prodding and poking with needles and icy implements. And in between, I dreamt of Emily, our wedding day, our honeymoon, nights curled up watching a movie, days eating at fine restaurants. At one point I was sure she was in the room with me, felt her presence, smelled her perfume. I forced my eyes open to find only a porter pushing a mop around my bed.

After a while the dream state lifted and I found myself face to face with the Cheshire Cat-smile of my best friend, James Brennan.

“What’s happening, Shitkicker?” he laughed.

“Not much, Skyscraper,” I grinned. “Nice of you to visit.”

“How could I not? How are you feeling, buddy?”

“Like I just fell out of the sky. How’s Emily? Where is she?”

“Who?”

“Stop screwing around, man. Emily. My wife?”

James clamped his hand over my mouth hard, his head swiveling to look around. “Hay dude, what’s wrong with you? Knock it off with that W talk before we both end up on the Separator.”

I pulled his hand away. “What the hell are you taking about? I want to see Emily.”

“Oh man, I think there’s something wrong with your meds. You’re talking crazy. I’m going to get the nurse,” jabbered James as he left in search of help. He couldn’t leave quick enough.

The rest of the day was a stream of nurses and doctors, all looking sternly at my notes, more prodding and poking, the kind of whispered conversations that are never a good sign. Still, no Emily.

That night, having mostly regained full use of my brain, I clicked on the TV above my bed. Some gameshow was on, the host a perma-grinned, vaguely orange man with the personality of an over-excited toddler. He was gesticulating wildly at a half-naked man and woman trussed up in some strange metal contraption that made it appear as though they had their arms and legs intertwined with each other. This was a strange gameshow.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our spouses have been loaded into The Separator,” the host chattered as an off-screen audience roared in applause. “Now, please welcome… The Convictooooorrrrr!”

The audience erupted in adulation as a tall figure, shrouded in a black cloak, entered the stage and stood with his (its?) back to the contestants.

“Spouses,” the Convictor boomed, “you have been found guilty of co-habitation, pursuant to Section 4 of the Anti-Marriage Act of 1983. You are sentenced to… Separation!”

A loud hydraulic hiss came from the contraption and the contestants (victims?) began to scream frantically, their faces turning pink, then red, then deepest purple. The strain was showing on their limbs as they were pulled apart from each other while still remaining intertwined. Their screams grew louder as the pressure grew before suddenly the contraption split apart, arms and legs and blood and muscle and bone raining down onto the stage as the crowd cheered their appreciation.

I hammered the power button on the remote, casting the room into near darkness.

My head was spinning. Marriage outlawed? Punished by death? Where was Emily? Where the hell was I?

I spent the next three days not taking in anything around me. People came and went, I slept a little, ate nothing. My mind was racing but I had no answers.

On the fourth night I was awoken by James. “Come on, buddy, we’re getting you out of here.”

I found myself in a car, speeding along a dark backroad. “I found her,” said James excitedly.

“Who?”

“This Emily chick. I found her. She was at college with us, right?”

“Of course. That’s where we met.”

“Well, man, I don’t know why you are obsessed with her all of a sudden, but I found her for you.”

We stopped, now in a quiet suburb, outside a small house. James nodded. “This is it. Be careful, man.”

I stepped out, cold air entering my hospital gown, stepped up to the house. I knocked.

A woman opened the door, unmistakably Emily. She smiled that same smile, gave a little wink. “Hi. I’ve been waiting forever to see you.”