by Bobby Akart
As the group added Cholula hot sauce and sour cream to spice up Pop’s recipe, the countdown process continued from the SpaceX launch facility at Boca Chica Village near Brownsville, Texas.
They watched with great interest as the details of the mission were described to the viewers. Cam and Bear had missed most of the coverage due to their mission in Crimea. The feel of this launch was somewhat different, in that the Starship was capable of liftoff without the aid of the massive booster engines that fall off as the spaceship departs the planet.
The spacecraft’s design as a point-to-point shuttle made it unique among modern-day spacecraft. Once it lands on the lunar surface and offloads its passengers, it will bring back a payload of minerals mined from the Moon, together with a handful of passengers. The Starship, Gunner’s space-based combat jet, was already in place after yesterday’s launch, which went off without a hitch.
The reporter’s voice became concerned. “We’re on a hold now at T minus twenty minutes, as the winds have picked up here in South Texas. A front was moving through early this morning, and weather forecasters had predicted it to work its way up the Gulf Coast, but remnants of this storm are lingering over Boca Chica.”
“That’s gotta be frustrating,” said Cam as the three kept their eyes glued to the television. “You know how Gunner is. He gets his game face on and psyches himself up. Sitting there waiting for clearance must be driving him crazy.”
An hour passed and the mission continued to be on an indeterminate hold as the weather system stubbornly remained just off the shores of Padre Island. Cam and Bear stood quietly on the deck, watching the surf pick up as storm clouds developed to their west.
“A storm’s comin’,” said Bear in a hushed tone of voice.
“Bear, how are we gonna convince Pop to leave? He can be stubborn, you know.”
“I’ll pick him up and take him out the door kickin’ and screamin’ if I have to.”
They sat outside and listened to a panel of experts discuss the psychological impact this delay had on the crew as well as what the delay meant for their plans to intercept the asteroid. They all agreed that NASA had built in a day, or two, as part of a contingency for unexpected delays like this one.
“Bear”—Cam broke the silence—“where are your weapons?”
“In my locker at Eglin. Yours?”
“Tyndall, at the gun range. Ammo, too.”
“Should we get them?” asked Bear as he turned to see if Pop was in earshot.
“Yeah, everything we’ve got. I’ll empty Gunner’s locker at Tyndall also. Buy all the ammo you can find between here and Fort Walton Beach. I’ll do the same.”
“Cam, what are you thinking? Do you think the Russians are gonna make a move on us?”
Cam furrowed her brow and shook her head. “Nah, sadly, if the asteroid wreaks havoc, the Russians will have their own hands full. I’m worried about our fellow Americans. Bear, desperate people will do desperate things. We have to protect ourselves and gather any supplies that we can accumulate over the next few days.”
Pop suddenly emerged from inside the house. “Well, they’ve scrubbed the mission for the day. They’re gonna try again at the same time tomorrow.”
Chapter 28
Saturday, April 21
SpaceX Launch Facility
Boca Chica Village
Near Brownsville, Texas
The eight-minute rodeo ride. That was how former Canadian astronaut and Royal Canadian Air Force pilot Chris Hadfield described the eight-minute-forty-second launch process until an astronaut was weightless.
In most circumstances, astronauts remain in quarantine for a week, allowing them to gather their thoughts and remain in a relatively sterile environment. During this time, NASA builds a space suit around the crew members. They check the suit under pressurized conditions, confirm that all communications systems are functioning, and assist the astronauts in taking on board any personal effects, from clothing to talismans.
It might seem incredible to believe that in the world of manned spaceflight and human beings living on the Moon, there were well-documented superstitions and traditions followed by each and every crewmember as if they were performing a sacred rite.
Some invoked spirits of dear, lost loved ones. Others brought holy water. Talismans, objects believed to bring someone good luck and prosperity, were common.
Gunner didn’t have a talisman per se. When he flew combat missions, he tried to leave his real life behind and become one with the jet. The same was true when he flew experimental aircraft.
For this mission, Gunner carried a blue canvas duffle bag that simply read GUNNER FOX in bright white letters. The bag contained clothing that he could wear while at the lunar outpost, an electric razor given to him by Chief Rawlings in case he wanted to shave off his disheveled beard, and the satellite phone he’d stashed away for the better part of a week. It was a bag given to him by Heather, and every time he touched it, he thought of her.
He didn’t know why Cam had felt compelled to send it to him upon his arrival at Building 9, but regardless of the reason, it had become his talisman as he readied himself to take flight.
The SpaceX launch facility was chosen because of its proximity to the Johnson Space Center and the fact that typically the weather was more favorable. Yesterday’s stormy conditions were an anomaly, and Gunner hoped it didn’t portend more trouble for the future of the mission.
Located at Boca Chica, Texas, the fifty-acre facility was situated directly on the Gulf of Mexico near the border with Mexico. Nearby, like the rest of Texas, a border wall ran through the SpaceX complex as part of the country’s border security plan.
Elon Musk, in an effort to stave off the construction of an ordinary wall, designed one that was less intrusive to the SpaceX operation and that featured a mural of the company’s contributions to the space program.
It was just before dawn, and the launchpad was illuminated with large xenon lights, lighting up the Starship like a silver-bullet-designed obelisk. The spacecraft stood proudly, awaiting this opportunity to ferry the important passengers to the Moon on a mission to save Earth from destruction.
Now that the time for liftoff had arrived, the world was sitting on edge once again. The tragedy of a week prior and the dramatic cancellation of yesterday were forgotten. The commander of the starship gave his team a pep talk despite the late addition of Chief Rawlings, who had seniority by virtue of age. The chief of the Flight Directors Office insisted upon the commander being in charge of this bird, as he put it. Rawlings was simply a passenger accompanying his fellow crew members to the Moon.
While the commander went through the countdown with the launch team at Cape Canaveral in cooperation with the SpaceX operations center, Chief Rawlings spoke with Gunner.
“There’s no turning back now, Major.”
“Good,” said Gunner with a chuckle. “No, seriously. I’m ready. Of course, I’ve played every aspect of my training through my head over and over. Chief, I don’t think I slept twenty minutes last night.”
“Nervous jitters?”
“No, really, it was more excitement. I was ready yesterday, and the aborted launch really was a downer. That said, it gave me time to review everything again. I’m ready to do this.”
Chief Rawlings gave him a thumbs-up, and the two turned their attention to the final countdown. They lowered their visors and settled in to their seats. Gunner clenched his fists in anticipation of the tremendous force the rocket engines would place upon his body. He recalled the words that Commander Hadfield had uttered once, as relayed to him during training by Chief Rawlings.
The eight-minute rodeo ride.
And the ride had begun. The main engines ignited, and the entire spaceship rattled and shuddered like a San Francisco skyscraper during a 9.0 earthquake. A deep rumble shook the cabin as the main engines came up to full thrust.
At T minus zero, the rocket boosters ignited, giving Gunner a massive kick in the back as th
e Starship blasted off the launchpad at Boca Chica. The pounding of the rocket being propelled toward space shook Gunner continually as they accelerated ever higher at two-point-five g’s, ripping through the atmosphere under seven million pounds of thrust.
He closed his eyes, and visions of Heather came into his consciousness. Incredibly, he began to hum a song to himself—Kenny Chesney’s “How Forever Feels.” As he thought of the lyrics, he inserted Heather Fox in place of Jimmy Buffett and Richard Petty.
Now I know how Heather Fox feels.
Gunner opened his eyes as the Starship reached maximum dynamic pressure, or max q. The engines throttled back up to full thrust with the spine-tingling scream of the slipstream, the wake of air and fluid displaced by the Starship, causing the hair on his neck to stand up. It was the sound of immense power unleashed in barely controlled fury.
The commander of the Starship began to call out the Mach numbers during the final minute: 22 … 23 … 24, and, finally, Mach 25.
Done!
The main engine cut off, and thrust dropped to zero in less than a second. The pressure on Gunner’s body vanished, and he suddenly began to float within the restraints that held him in his seat.
Every day is a good day when you’re floating.
Heather’s dream was to be an astronaut. She’d lived her dream, and now Gunner was living it, too. Tears of mixed emotions poured out of him, dripping down his cheeks and into his suit. He closed his eyes in an unsuccessful attempt to hold the tears inside him. He mouthed the words that only he could hear.
Today, I’m leaving Earth, maybe forever.
Just like my wife.
PART THREE
ASTROMETRY
Identification Number: 2029 IM86
Right Ascension: 13 hours 12 minutes 41 seconds
Declination: -18 degrees 31 minutes 09 seconds
Greatest Elongation: 62.23 degrees
Nominal Distance from Earth: 0.19 astronomical units
Relative Velocity: 31,845 meters per second
Chapter 29
Saturday, April 21
The Oval Office
The White House
Washington, DC
President Watson was wearing a hole in the rug, figuratively speaking. While his chief of staff, Maggie Fielding, conducted the briefing with representatives of State and Defense, the president’s mind was on the mission.
The Starship launch at the SpaceX facility was flawless and without the drama accompanying the liftoff of Falcon Heavy a week ago. Shortly, the American team would join their Russian and French counterparts to begin final preparations for the assault on IM86.
Like most other government officials directly involved in the mission, the president was having difficulty sleeping. As the leader of the free world, it was not unusual to carry a heavy burden as he went through his daily activities.
Most days consisted of a combination of strategic planning sessions and briefings, with the vast majority of decisions having been made before they were presented to the president. His job was to simply reassess alternatives to a particular issue and then give his stamp of approval to move forward.
Upon discovery of IM86, the American government had slowed to virtually a standstill. Congress stopped holding hearings, and no new bills were presented or voted upon. All eyes were on the news, and the news was singularly focused on the Watson administration as it dealt with the crisis.
As was always the case, expert pundits on all sides of an issue were readily available to state their case for handling the oncoming asteroid in one way or another. For every decision made by NASA or the Defense Department, with the seal of approval of the president, there were countless scientists prepared to denounce it.
The Secretaries of State and Defense were ever-present figures in the West Wing, using Fielding’s office like a revolving door. The Roosevelt Room had been converted into a war room of sorts. Television monitors, computers, and a whiteboard had been brought in. On a moment’s notice, the decision makers in the process could convene, ready to address any aspect of the mission that went awry.
“Mr. President, I can’t tell you how important it was for us to form this international coalition,” the Secretary of State said, drawing the president into the conversation. “It helped us overcome the debacle of Friday the thirteenth with minimal damage in the eyes of other nations.”
The Defense Secretary added, “However, we’re still in the dark as to the status of Russia’s own mission to the asteroid. They refuse to share video footage, if any, or any kind of update as to whether they’ve landed.”
“Some coalition,” grumbled President Watson. “They shoot down our orbiter. They continue to try their own approach. And they’re oh so kind enough to allow us to take a shot of our own. I don’t trust them. I don’t like them. I just can’t understand why they think this threat is something to trivialize. Am I missing something here?”
“No, sir,” replied the Secretary of Defense. “They seem to have confidence in their approach. Our intelligence sources tell me that Moscow expects to have the asteroid diverted before we arrive there on Monday.”
“What can they accomplish in forty-eight hours that they haven’t so far?” asked Fielding.
The Secretary of State gave her opinion. “Well, sir, if they’ve already landed on the asteroid, they may be waiting until they’ve achieved a modicum of success in changing the trajectory before making an announcement. President Putin is known for his grandstanding.”
“That’s an understatement,” said the president softly. “Let’s address the issue of timing. As we know, our Starhopper will be in position on Monday. It’s my understanding that we have a specific window of opportunity to blast this thing to either move its trajectory drastically, or at least cause it to break up into many, much smaller chunks of rock.”
NASA’s acting administrator was unable to attend, so he’d sent Nola Taylor, the head of the Space Technology Mission Directorate. “Mr. President, the mission schedule allows the Starhopper to establish an orbit around IM86 while the spacecraft’s onboard computer maps the surface. During that time, data regarding velocity, mass, speed, and rotation will be sent back to Houston for analysis. We’ll be able to generate several computer models indicating the points that should be targeted and, at your request, sir, the window of opportunity that minimizes the impact to North America.”
President Watson considered the qualifier in Taylor’s statement. The president, while cognizant of his responsibilities to help protect Earth from this threat, owed a solemn duty to the people of the United States. His instructions were clear—minimize the impact to America. He looked for confirmation of this issue based upon updated information.
“With a proposed intercept of Monday, does it still hold true that we’re better off striking early rather than at the last minute?”
Taylor was prepared to respond. “Yes, sir. The timing of initiating Project Jackhammer will determine where the largest debris field strikes the planet, mostly in the Northern Hemisphere. An early strike will cause the most damage over Russia, the largest country on Earth. A later strike is more likely to spread the debris across North America, from Central America toward the Arctic.”
“Thank you, Miss Taylor,” said the president with a determined look on his face. “Let’s turn to the domestic front. We are preparing for a worst-case scenario, one that will impact us on Friday by all calculations. My question is whether our nation will survive until then? I’m getting reports of hoarding, price-gouging, looting, and violent assaults all across the socioeconomic spectrum. It seems the nation might lose its collective mind before we’re in the throes of IM86’s remnants pummeling the planet.”
“Mr. President, I think we need to make a formal declaration of martial law,” said the Secretary of Defense, causing the attendees to grow silent.
“Is Homeland Security ready for that?” asked Fielding.
A representative of DHS responded, “We’re ready to d
eal with unrest, Mrs. Fielding, but FEMA is not prepared for recovery. They are working frantically to get their assets staged uniformly across the country, but as we know, FEMA is a second responder, of sorts. They can move into a region or specific location to assist those in need, but they are not designed to help the entire country at one time. Their personnel and recovery assets are spread too thin.”
“Well, can they at least be ready once the remnants of the asteroid hit us? Have Air National Guard at the ready to move them around as needed.”
“Sir, um, may I address that?” asked Taylor. “This is purely from NASA’s perspective, but we all have to keep in mind that even if the mission succeeds, Earth cannot avoid the catastrophe. While it is true that we can avoid extinction by way of a mile-wide rock hitting us at fifty-some thousand miles per hour, we will still be subjected to thousands of meteorites, the remnants of the asteroid that don’t burn up in the atmosphere.”
The president furrowed his brow and continued his pacing. “In other words, it’s impossible to plan for a specific area of impact, even at the eleventh hour.”
“That’s correct, sir. And there’s another issue that we’ve been discussing with the Defense Department. Our wired, interconnected world is highly reliant upon satellite technology for everything from communications to national defense. The sheer size of the meteor storm will be devastating to the satellites in low-Earth orbit. We need to be prepared for a loss of communications and, quite possibly, widespread power outages if one or more of our electrical substations around the Continental U.S. is hit. There will be a cascading effect all across our power grid.”
President Mack Watson stopped and leaned against the Resolute desk, a nineteenth-century partners’ desk used by presidents since the mid-seventies. He stared upward toward the ceiling and slowly closed his eyes. His job just got much more complicated.