Sputnik

Cedric rolled over and woke with a start. He ran his hand along the empty side of the bed. Still warm. He smiled slightly and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, stretching. With one hand, he grabbed the discarded shirt from the floor and pulled it on. He slid his feet into a pair of slippers and padded out into the kitchen in their small apartment.
“Jules?”
“Here.”
Yulia sat at the table with a mug of tea in her hand on the small tv on the counter turned on. She was watching the news with her knees pulled up to her chest. Cedric winced as he heard the now familiar voices of Chet Huntley and David Brinkley. They hadn’t been air long, but he and Yulia had both come to associate those voices with bad news.
“We have no comments from the military at this time, but we can confirm that the device does appear to be there.”
“According to the news coming out of Moscow, you should be able to see it with nothing more than binoculars and pick up the signal with a ham radio if you’re tuned in-“
Cedric put a hand on her shoulder.
“What’s going on?”
“They got into space. They’ve got… They’re calling it a satellite.”
She stood, moving to the coffee pot and refilled her mug. Cedric watched her, noting the worry on her face and in the way she was holding herself. He started to open his mouth when there was a knock at the door.
“Dammit. Turn off the tv, Jules. I’ll deal with them this time.”
But when he opened the door, it wasn’t the neighbors with their little anti-communist vigilance committee.
“Good morning, Sir. Are you…”
The suited man with his dark sunglasses glanced down at a clipboard.
“Cedric Kyriakos?”
Cedric looked at that man, at the one standing beside him, and his shoulders slumped. “Yes, I am.”
“We’re here to speak with Yulia Petrovna.”

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