Asteroid Diversion

by Bobby Akart

  Then he found it. He tapped on a panel box labeled DSN—Deep Space Network. The DSN consisted of antenna complexes at three locations around Earth that made up the ground segment of the communications system for deep-space missions. The challenges posed to any communications system between a spacecraft and the antennas on Earth were created by the distance.

  The transmitters on board a spacecraft were limited in their power due to lack of space on board. The Jet Propulsion Laboratory at CalTech had addressed this issue with the development of optical communications capable of powering large amounts of data via laser technology.

  Sokolov carefully opened the panel to view the microcircuitry inside. It would not be as easy as flipping a switch, something he’d done before. The new DSN systems were more complicated.

  Frustrated, his forehead began to break out in sweat. He’d been on the lower deck too long. So he just began destroying the communications hardware by pulling out the resistors and scraping away solder jumpers. Anything loose was torn away or twisted. Nobody on board had the tools, much less the know-how, to make the repair.

  With a laugh, Commander Sokolov pushed the DSN panel closed and hustled back up to the mid-deck. He gathered himself, took a deep breath, and reached into his pocket for his own vial of ricin. Like Chernevsky, he preferred the needle as his weapon of choice. It wasn’t just the safety factor, but also the ability to look into his victim’s eyes, when they grew wide and the realization set in that they were about to die.

  It was an unforgettable experience.

  Chapter 47

  Three Years Prior

  The International Space Station

  Two Hundred Fifty-Four miles above Earth

  There was a time in the early development of the space programs when space walks were considered risky and even feared. As NASA ramped up the space station project in the early nineties, many experts voiced concern that astronauts couldn’t safely pull off three or four assembly space walks on every shuttle mission, several times over the course of a year, for nearly a decade. Scientists called the schedule of extravehicular activity, or EVA, the Wall, as it was roundly considered an insurmountable obstacle.

  Yet NASA tore down the Wall in spectacular fashion. Space walks became routine, and perhaps the most incredible statistic about NASA’s EVA record of over eleven hundred hours during the ISS missions was there had never been a serious accident other than bruised knuckles, droplets of water mixing with the protective coating of an astronaut’s visor that found its way into his eyes, and a preventable incident in which a water leak within the space suit nearly drowned an Italian astronaut.

  Even Hollywood’s favorite space disaster scene, during which Sandra Bullock floated off alone, wasn’t considered much of a risk due to NASA’s EVA protocols, similar to the buddy system employed by scuba divers.

  These protocols—in which everything was checked, double-checked, and then inspected again by your buddy on the space walk—were designed to prevent mishaps and provide a quick response to unforeseen accidents.

  Spacewalking was akin to mountain climbing in many respects when it came to tethering to the framework of the ISS. There was one long safety tether that was part of a spring-loaded reel, plus smaller, supplemental ones as backups.

  Even if these tethers failed, the astronaut’s suits were equipped with a mini-jetpack called SAFER, an acronym for simplified aid for EVA rescue. The propulsive backpack system enabled astronauts to conduct space walks untethered or, in the event of a tether-system malfunction, allow the astronaut to navigate back to the hatch for reentry into the spacecraft.

  No one had ever died while conducting an EVA thanks to these well-honed procedures and the use of the buddy system. The only way the SAFER system could fail was if all of the backups and redundancies malfunctioned.

  Or if it was murder.

  Heather was mesmerized by her view of the Earth. She hadn’t taken the time to locate her fellow spacewalkers, her buddies, Chernevsky and Semenova. But they certainly kept their eyes on her.

  It happened in a flash, catching Heather completely off guard. The two Russians slipped in behind her, hidden from her view by the lack of peripheral vision afforded a spacewalker due to the large helmet, and in this case, Heather’s first look at Mother Earth while floating.

  Every day is a good day when you’re floating.

  With precalculated efficiency, Semenova expertly disconnected her American victim’s tethers from the space station’s frame. Chernevsky slipped in behind Heather and grabbed the handheld controller attached to the front of her space suit. He jerked it toward him, extending the connecting wire, and within seconds, using the pistol-grip tool that was a mainstay of the spacewalker’s toolbox, he powered the Dremel attachment at thirty-five pounds of torque.

  Before Heather knew what was happening, she was drifting away from the space station, looking back at Chernevsky holding her controller, with Semenova by his side.

  “Help me! Help me! I’m off structure!”

  She waved her arms in a futile attempt to get her attackers’ attention. Confused, she asked, “Please, why did you do this?”

  Heather’s heart raced and her anxiety levels hit the red zone. If she’d been connected to the ISS, or if communications had been working with Houston’s Mission Control, alarm bells would be screaming that an astronaut was in distress. But she was on her own.

  Floating.

  Her screams for help were unheard except for the echoing through the inside of her helmet. She desperately tried to wave her arms in a swimming motion, a panicked reflex that was ineffectual in the vacuum of space. Her demands for assistance went unanswered.

  She kicked at her tethers, thinking they would provide her sufficient counterforce to send her floating back toward the ISS. That failed, only serving to get her feet tangled, which caused her to spin slightly.

  Tears were streaming down Heather’s cheeks and floated throughout her helmet. She rubbed at her visor in a futile, subconscious attempt to clear her vision. She tried to focus on the illuminated gauges and digital displays that provided data regarding her space suit.

  TEMP 59F RADIATION MINIMAL WARN OXYGEN 69% LIFE SUPP BATT 61%

  Heather felt around the front of her space suit. She hoped to find some kind of backup system to operate the nitrogen-powered backpack or a way to contact Houston directly.

  There was nothing, but deep down, she knew that.

  What was happening to her had never been contemplated by NASA or any other space agency—murder. She was being murdered. A slow, emotionally agonizing death that would end when her oxygen levels reached zero, or the life-support battery drained, resulting in her freezing to death. Or both.

  TEMP 59F RADIATION MINIMAL WARN OXYGEN 56% LIFE SUPP BATT 54%

  Oxygen fifty-six percent? Or was it sixty-six percent? She begged for the tears to stop. They floated through her helmet, obscuring her view of the digital displays. Could I have used that much oxygen in that short a period of time?

  Heather forced herself to relax. She was breathing too fast, burning up valuable oxygen at a rate faster than the life-support batteries were being drained.

  Why? Heather asked herself. Her mind raced as she tried to understand why the two Russian cosmonauts would want her dead. She’d barely spoken to them since her arrival. They had been cordial, although their commander, Sokolov, was standoffish. But she certainly hadn’t done anything to deserve to die.

  She held out hope. Hope that someone on board the ISS would notice her missing. They could undock the space shuttle and retrieve her. She was sure of it.

  But the ISS grew smaller and smaller as it continued its orbit around Earth without her. The tears had stopped flowing from her eyes, but those floating within her helmet had found their way back to her throat and chin, joining her anxiety-created sweat.

  TEMP 61F RADIATION MINIMAL WARN OXYGEN 38% LIFE SUPP BATT 43%

  Heather’s body slowed its gyrations, giving her a perfect view of Ear
th—home. The atmosphere was clear above North America, and she could easily make out the United States and the Florida peninsula.

  Remarkably, an odd sense of calm came over her. She smiled as she reached out and traced the coastline with her index finger. From Tampa to Cedar Key, around Florida’s Big Bend until she saw the barrier islands of Florida’s Panhandle.

  Dog Island.

  Gunner.

  The tears flowed again as the realization set in. She would never see Gunner again. She’d never enjoy his laughter, his touch, his kiss.

  Her helmet filled with fluid and she began to breathe heavily once again. She tried to force herself to calm down. She needed oxygen. She needed to buy time. They would come back for her. She’d accept their apology.

  No harm, no foul. It’s all good.

  But deep down, she knew. Her days weren’t numbered. Her minutes were. She didn’t know whether anyone could hear her. Maybe there was a recording device built in to the space suit that could be given to Gunner when they …

  Heather’s thoughts trailed off as she realized that nobody would ever find her, nor would they look. She’d either float in orbit like the tens of thousands of other pieces of space debris, or eventually, she’d be cremated as her body was sucked through the atmosphere toward the planet’s surface.

  TEMP 63F RADIATION MINIMAL WARN OXYGEN 20% LIFE SUPP BATT 31%

  She closed her eyes and summoned everything within her to send Gunner a message. She imagined typing a text, or an email, or even writing a letter. She found humor in the moment as she imagined creating a message in a bottle that someday would float up on the beach of Dog Island, behind the home they’d built together with love.

  “Dear Gunner,” she said aloud, causing her to begin laughing as her tears of sadness turned to joy. “Well, I’m floating, but this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. Um, the bad news is that I’m about to die. In fact, the race between oxygen depletion and battery failure is no longer a close one. You can put down cause of death as asphyxiation.

  “That’s if I don’t die of sadness first. Gunner, I love you with all my heart and I am going to miss you.

  “Thank you for loving me. You have given me an awesome life, especially by supporting me as I pursued my crazy dreams. We have lived our lives to the fullest, and neither of us should have regrets over the choices we’ve made.

  “I want you to remember our fantastic life together and don’t focus on the loss. Remember the day we got married, the first time we made love, and the last. Remember our walks on the beach, the rides in the boat, and our vacations. Laugh at the memories we made and the fun we had.”

  TEMP 61F RADIATION MINIMAL WARN OXYGEN 11% LIFE SUPP BATT 23%

  Heather briefly considered dictating her love letter to Gunner in her head to save oxygen, but she visibly shook her head side to side as she continued. It wouldn’t be the same unless it was aloud.

  “Take care of Pop. He will miss me, as I will miss him. Howard, too. All three of my guys need to stick together.

  “Gunner, I’ve been unbelievably lucky to spend almost half of my life with you, and I’d promise God everything if He could find a miracle that placed me back in your arms one last time. You are truly the best husband in the universe. You are a hero to your country. There aren’t enough words to express how loved and respected you are.

  “Hold me in your heart, my love. I will surround you with my love through the rest of your life. Just know, if you stop and look hard enough, you’ll see that I’ll be there with you. You are my soul mate and the best wingman a gal could have. And know this, if ghosts are real, I’ll be there happily haunting you for the rest of your days. I’ll try not to make it creepy, lol.”

  TEMP 58F RADIATION MINIMAL WARN OXYGEN 04% LIFE SUPP BATT 14%

  “Oh, God, Gunner. It’s almost the end for me. Please don’t forget that every day matters. Never take your moments on Earth for granted. That is my single biggest regret—that we didn’t spend every minute of every day by each other’s side.

  “I’m certain that someday, we will find each other again. Either in the afterlife, or back on Earth in different bodies. Just look for my smile and adoring eyes. Until then, my love, I will be waiting, loving you from afar, and protecting you in any way possible. Meanwhile, I’ll be floating, counting the days ’til we’re together again.

  “Because every day is a good day when you’re floating, even if it’s my last one.”

  OXYGEN 01% LIFE SUPP BATT 11%

  Heather took her last breath and held it. With a gentle smile on her face, she closed her eyes and held onto her memory of Gunner for her final moments above Earth.

  Then, she floated.

  Chapter 48

  Present Day

  Wednesday, April 25

  On Board the Starhopper

  Chief Rawlings intently studied the data streaming from the onboard telescope through the computer monitors that were positioned at eye level on the center console. Artie was analyzing the images at unimaginable speeds, creating a digital map of the asteroid’s surface. With every tumble of IM86 as it sped closer to Earth, Artie’s analysis changed. Now, coordinates were being marked as the weak points on the asteroid’s surface, generating a series of targets for Gunner to focus on.

  “Obviously, your first target will be pretty straightforward,” he commented, glancing over at his protégé to gauge his level of intensity.

  Gunner rarely blinked as he studied the screen. “Chief, most people would be surprised at the amount of time combat pilots take to prepare for a mission. Usually, from takeoff to landing, a sortie’s duration is around one plus fifteen—an hour and fifteen minutes. This is no different, except the variables are poles apart. I can predict how a bogie will react to a near miss or a partial hit. I can tell you how surface-to-air missiles can be avoided. But this asteroid is gonna require flexibility and quick reaction.”

  “What do you mean by flexibility?”

  “Well, let’s take what Artie is doing for us now,” replied Gunner. “The mapping process is a huge help, but everything will change with the first strike.”

  “Artie will help you there,” said Chief Rawlings.

  “I’m sure of that, as long as he doesn’t argue with me.”

  The two men grew silent for a moment as the timer marking the interception point ticked down. Chief Rawlings grew antsy in his seat, turned around, and craned his neck to see if anyone was hovering outside the flight deck.

  “You know, I’d feel better if we were all together for the last two hours. This spacecraft has all the bells and whistles but no internal communications system. Then again, I don’t think they envisioned calling out all hands on deck during a trip to Mars.”

  “Chief, you can go get them. Nobody is gonna sit in your seat, trust me.”

  Chief Rawlings nodded, stood, and patted Gunner on the shoulder. Then he paused and said, “Gunner, there’s no doubt in my mind that you’ll knock the shit out of this booger. Stay calm and trust your training and your instincts.”

  “Thanks, Chief. I feel good.”

  Chief Rawlings left Gunner alone in the crew module and made his way toward the back of the Starhopper. He poked his head into the hallway of the sleep modules and saw no activity, so he made his way through the ship until he reached the recreation area.

  “Arrrgh!” growled Semenova as she emerged out of nowhere to attack Chief Rawlings. In his late fifties, the retired astronaut’s reflexes were slower than when he was a younger man, but he still managed to fend off the attack.

  He grabbed her with both arms and pushed her into a series of cabinets that opened using push latches. Her body weight caused the doors to depress inward, and as she bounced to the floor, the doors swung open abruptly, causing food supplies to tumble on top of her.

  Enraged, Semenova crawled toward Chief Rawlings and grabbed his pant leg, yanking his right leg out from under him until he crashed downward. He struck his forehead on the corner of a cabinet door, causing b
lood to run down the left side of his face.

  He frantically tried to wipe the blood out of his eyes and cleared his vision just enough to see Semenova lunge at him with a syringe held high over her head. She thrust her arm down toward his face, but he raised his arm in time to deflect the blow.

  She rolled to the side and he crawled on top of her. She continued to jab at him with the needle, and Chief Rawlings reached for her wrist to stop the assault. As he focused on her arm, she raised her knee hard into his groin, causing him to gasp for air and double over in pain.

  Semenova had the upper hand again, using catlike reflexes to take another stab at Chief Rawlings with the syringe. She aimed for the right side of his face, but he turned it just in time to avoid being punctured. She tried again, but he whipped his head the other way, again avoiding her attempt.

  Her arm slid along his cheek and Chief Rawlings didn’t hesitate to bite her wrist, causing her to shriek in pain as he punctured her skin, drawing blood. Semenova was infuriated and lost control.

  Still holding the needle, she flailed away at Chief Rawlings, landing body blows with her free hand, but being thwarted by the older man’s ability to block the arm holding the needle.

  Then Chief Rawlings squirmed, using his body weight to throw her off balance. He was back on top of her again and grabbed her wrist that was holding the syringe. He gritted his teeth and forced the needle toward her face, using all of his weight to push it downward.

  Semenova’s eyes grew wide as she saw the sharp tip of the needle grow closer. This just provided Chief Rawlings a bigger target. With one final effort, he grunted and plunged the syringe into her right eye, not bothering to find the plunger. She screamed in pain as he crammed the needle into her eyeball with a circular motion, forcing it deeper into her head until she released her grip. When she did, he pushed down on the plunger, emptying the deadly poison into the optic nerve and directly into the brain, killing her in seconds.

  Chief Rawlings relaxed and scrambled off Semenova’s dead body. He tried to hold the blood back from the cut on his forehead, to no avail. He wiped it off his face the best he could as it continue to hamper his vision, but it only served to distract him as two sets of powerful fists began to pummel him from behind.