Aleksandr, Christopher, and Emile started preparing to receive the new batch of samples. Christopher spoke to Tung-chi every so often, as his liftoff clock counted down – mainly lighthearted banter, as Tung-chi was nervous about the return journey. Christopher, who was in the hub, asked over the intercom: “Alex, do you care if we re-orient the ship and lock its heading onto Tung-chi, so I can watch him through the telescope?”
“No – just make sure it's aligned with Phobos again, for when the others return,” he answered from the laboratory, where he and Emile were working.
“Okay.”
He gave the command to turn the ship to lock the telescope on Tung-chi’s launch site. The small lander was not visible by either telescope or radar yet. Christopher was actually quite enjoying being alone in the hub. With half of the crew gone, and the others busy, the ship was quiet.
“Will we have passed over his launch site when he lifts off?” Aleksandr asked.
“No. It looks like we'll be about 1,400 horizontal kilometers shy of it. We'll pass over it after he's already taken off. I think that given the transfer time, they're trying to do it in one shot – i.e. a fast transfer up to our altitude, and then a burn to circularize.”
“Right.”
“Computer, overlay IR on visible light in the telescope view, and show radar in a new window,” Christopher said.
“Five minutes,” Tung-chi said, from below. He watched out of the portholes, as his stomach flipped over and over. He prayed that the ship's designers and builders had known what they were doing, and that its computer was programmed with the right trajectory. A small dust devil formed a hundred meters from the left porthole, and he watched it with fascination. He pulled his camera out of his spacesuit pocket and began to record it. He related to Christopher what he was watching, and Christopher said “I really want to see that recording when you get back. Are you plugged into the ship's oxygen and whatnot?”
“Yes. The cabin's still pressurized, but I've got my helmet on and I'm keeping all the life support on the suit fully charged up.”
“Good deal. I'm watching your location with infrared, so I'll see it as soon as you take off.”
“One minute,” Tung-chi said.
“Thirty seconds...”
“Twenty…”
“Ten…” He braced himself for what could possibly be a savage liftoff. An instant shock and acceleration pressed him into his seat, although it was much less severe than the descent had been. Out of the window he saw dust and rocks blasted away by the engine exhaust, and then the dust cleared within a second as he left it behind. It was a fine day on Mars, he thought to himself, as the place he had known up close and personal disappeared below.
Christopher saw a brilliant pinprick of light at the center of the telescope's view, as the heat signature of the engine exhaust lit up in infrared. A second later, the computer announced “LEVEL TWO PROXIMITY ALARM!” as the radar picked up the moving ship.
“Silence alarm,” he said. The computer was only doing what it was supposed to. “Computer, use both ship’s attitude and servo mounts to keep the telescope pointed at radar target A3.” The telescope tracked the speck of light as the radar window displayed its position, velocity, acceleration, and estimated trajectory.
“Looks like you're doing about one and a half G,” Christopher said.
“Yes, I was expecting a lot worse,” came the reply.
“Velocity 450 meters a second, altitude 6.75 kilometers,” Christopher called out shortly afterwards. “Tung-chi has lifted off, and all is well so far,” he announced to the rest of the ship and the surface party. They cheered. He kept watching the data.
Another thirty seconds passed. “Velocity 900 meters a second, altitude twenty-seven kilometers.”
“This isn't a bad ride,” Tung-chi said. “He could already see the curvature of the planet and the sky above getting dark. A minute later, Christopher said “Velocity 1.8 kilometers a second... whoa!” He saw a bright flash from the infrared, and then nothing. A few seconds later, the glow reappeared.
“I thought we lost you for a minute there, buddy.”
“Scared the crap out of me!” came the reply. “Looks like a stage dropped away.”
“Yeah, I had no idea you were riding a two-stage rocket.”
“Me neither. The acceleration feels about the same.”
“I suppose it makes sense, with the delta-V you've got to attain to meet us in orbit 6,000 kilometers up.”
“Yeah.”
The radio channel went silent for a little while.
“Velocity 3.6 kilometers a second, altitude 270 kilometers, downrange distance twenty kilometers. Looks like you’re starting to pitch over, Tung-chi.”
“Yes, I am.”
“I’m keeping an eye on you. Still can’t see your ship visually yet; only the heat signature.”
Another two minutes passed.
“Velocity 5.4 kilometers a second, altitude 567 kilometers, downrange distance 160 kilometers. You're really starting to pick up some speed there.”
“Yes, I'm well above the atmosphere.”
“Computer, display trajectory of radar target A3 against our own in a new window.” A window appeared that showed the IME's own high-altitude path around Mars, and the projected ballistic arc of Tung-chi's ship. At present, it looked like a brave attempt to escape Mars’ gravity that would ultimately end up with him falling back to the planet's surface, albeit thousands of kilometers from where he started. The engine burn was not yet done, however. The projected arc reached further around the planet as the rocket continued to accelerate.
“Well, you're doing 7.2 kilometers a second, and you've traveled 500 kilometers downrange. Your altitude is 762 kilometers.”
“Okay. Actually, it feels like the thrust is slacking off a bit now.”
“It is. According to this, you're only accelerating at about one G now. Looks like you're in for a long engine burn to get you up here.”
“It's pretty pleasant compared to the descent. There are Mars rovers and landers that have had less punishment than I did coming in.”
“Heh. Oh, by the way, you're officially in orbit now.” The red trajectory line had snapped away from the planet's surface, and now formed an oval around Mars. The highest point was now over halfway up to their own orbit, and the craft kept accelerating.
“This is really a long engine burn,” Tung-chi said a while later.
“Yeah, it is. You've been underway for ten minutes now. Your planners seem to have done their jobs, though – your trajectory is getting steadily closer to ours.”
The radio channel remained silent for a while. Christopher reported the latest status to the others, all the while keeping an eye on the displays. “Your apoapsis is now about 5,750 kilometers,” he said. “Your onboard computer should really give you this type of information.”
“Yeah, it's ridiculous. All they gave me was a countdown timer. A two-year-old could fly this thing. It’s kind of...” A violent explosion tore through the lower half of the Adventurous Fire. Engine parts were blasted away into space. The concussion smashed into the cabin, and the electricity cut out. Tung-chi's helmeted head was slammed into the wall behind him, so hard that he was knocked unconscious. His helmet cracked, and blood ran from a wound in the back of his skull. It pooled there since there was no gravity to take it anywhere. Locker doors flew open, and their contents floated everywhere. Fluids leaked out into space from what was left of the lower part of the hull. Drops of liquid propellant froze solid instantly in the vacuum, and dispersed. The stricken craft tumbled, dark, silent, and helpless, continuing on its trajectory away from Mars and up towards the International Mars Explorer.
68
Christopher watched the numbers and trajectory changing. The tiny ship was only just visible through the telescope, as it was still 3,000 kilometers from the Explorer. He was chatting with Tung-chi, and watching the picture, when the radio channel suddenly went dead. He saw a bright flash
of light. Initially, he couldn’t tell whether there was anything left of the other craft. He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Within a second, his training kicked in, and he sounded the general alarm.
“Tung-chi’s craft has malfunctioned! It looks like there was an explosion! The radio’s gone dead!”
Aleksandr’s voice came over the intercom: “All crew to the hub immediately!” before he remembered that he and Emile were the only other crew on board. They were there within seconds.
“What have you got?” Aleksandr asked.
“Computer, zoom in times ten,” Christopher said. A pixelated view of the wreck appeared – it was still too far away to see well.
“You can see major damage to the aft end,” Christopher said, pointing. Aleksandr bit his bottom lip, and nodded. “It looks catastrophic.” He got on the comms to the others. “All crew return to the Explorer immediately! It looks as if Tung-chi’s ship has blown up or been hit by a meteorite. We have no further information yet. We need everyone back here now.”
Kinuko, Alessia, Nikita, and Martin looked at each other in horror and made for their SEVs (as fast as the nearly-zero gravity would allow them to). Aleksandr opened a channel to Mission Control, and told them the news.
“Chris, power the reactor up to 75%. We’re going to go and chase him,” Aleksandr ordered.
“I want to make it 100%,” Christopher said. “Even though Mission Control said we should only use 75%, one of our crew is still out there.”
“Go ahead,” Aleksandr said. “Pray to your gods that the cooling system doesn’t leak any more.”
“I think it’ll be okay,” Christopher replied. “It’s only going to be for a day or two. Don’t get me wrong; I’m still concerned about it, but in this instance I’m willing to chance it.”
Aleksandr nodded, and turned back to the comms: “Surface party, get back aboard as soon as possible. We’re leaving Phobos. Christopher, keep the telescope on him – we need as detailed information as possible. Then send Mission Control his orbital elements.” He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he was glad of a situation that put him in his element – leadership, requiring high-speed, critical, decisions.
Twelve minutes later, Earth was once again electrified by news from deep space. Many workplaces closed for the day, since most people had made an excuse and stayed home, glued to their television. A panel of experts was hastily convened, who took one look at the fuzzy picture of the Adventurous Fire and entered its orbital elements into a computer to calculate rescue scenarios and possibilities.
Emile, Alessia, Kinuko, and Nikita were back on board in record time, albeit still in the airlock. Pressurization was maddeningly slow, so the rest of the crew came to them. That way, they could speak through the glass of the inner airlock door. Aleksandr relayed the situation. As he did so, the response came back from Mission Control. It confirmed the sick feeling he had in his stomach.
“The delta-V between the Explorer and the Fire is 1.2 kilometers a second. There is no way for you to reach her in hours. It will take a day, minimum. Needless to say, this does not look good for Tung-chi’s survival, if indeed he is still alive. We are reaching out to experts around the world to brainstorm possible rescue scenarios.”
They looked at one another through the glass of the airlock door in disbelief, even though they had known it deep down already. To hear it put so matter-of-factly was almost more than they could bear.
After a minute or so, Nikita broke the silence: “It will be a recovery mission.” The others nodded. The screen in the airlock showed the telescope’s view. The image of the tiny ship was becoming clearer very rapidly, as it coasted up towards them in its orbit.
“I don’t know what oxygen supplies he has on board,” Christopher said. “Let’s not give up hope yet.” Then he shook his head. “Goddamn. He’s only going to be 250 kilometers away at his closest approach. That’s nothing in space terms. But, as ever, it’s velocity rather than distance that counts.”
Nikita nodded. “What MC said confirms the rough figure I had in my head. It’s at least a day to change our orbit to his, and that’s assuming he’s favorably placed in his orbit, so that we actually meet him and not just his trajectory.”
They stayed silent for a while, just watching the screen. The sun glinted off the spacecraft’s polished surface as the surface of Mars moved slowly by in the background.
“The back end’s gone,” Emile said, at length.
“Yeah. It’s tumbling at what – maybe, two or three revolutions a minute?” Christopher asked.
“About that,” Nikita replied. “Whenever we get there, we’re going to have to arrest the spin before we can do anything else.”
“Anyone care to take a guess at what caused it?” Alessia asked.
“I’d say either a crack in the engine bell or the combustion chamber,” Christopher said. “It’s been through a lot of day-night cycles while it was sitting in orbit. Maybe the constant expansion and contraction of the metal weakened it.”
Aleksandr shook his head. “Poor Tung-chi.”
“The cabin’s pretty much intact, though,” Christopher said. “The door’s still shut, and the window’s not broken. He told me he had his suit and helmet on, so there may be hope.”
“Only if he has a thirty-hour oxygen supply,” Aleksandr replied.
“Yeah,” Christopher sighed. At last, the airlock chamber was fully pressurized and they could open the inner door. They got out of their spacesuits, and everybody gathered in the hub.
“Alessia, I want you to go and keep trying to make radio contact with him,” Aleksandr said. “Go to the lab to do it, though, because we’ll be talking to Mission Control from here. Chris, keep studying the images of it. It hasn’t yet reached its closest approach – when it does, we’ll get a much clearer picture. We need to glean every bit of information we can about its condition – and possibly the cause of the mishap. Nikita, have you plotted a new course for us yet?”
“Just got it done.”
“Reactor should be back at full power in five minutes,” Christopher said.
“Okay. Nikita, program our course. Light ’em up and get underway as soon as it’s online,” Aleksandr said. “We don’t need to wait for Earth’s permission on this one.”
Alessia’s voice came over the intercom: “His suit radio is still on. He’s not talking on it, of course, but the frequency is still active.”
“Then his suit’s electricity supply is still on, and the radio is intact,” Aleksandr said. “There may be hope yet.”
Nikita brought up the navigation console and programmed the initial phase of their course. “Starting engines,” he said. A panel showing all 390 engines, in their hexagonal array, showed them starting up one by one.
“You know,” said Emile, “that the V in VASIMR stands for variable. As in variable specific impulse. We can output higher thrust than we have been.”
“Yes,” Christopher said. “We throttled back for maximum efficiency, since that was the only way to get the xenon gas to last there and back. We can go twenty-seven percent higher than we have been.”
“Will that burn through our reserves?” Aleksandr asked.
“Off the top of my head, it shouldn’t use up all of it,” he replied. “It’s only going to be for a day. We can get back here after the rendezvous using normal thrust. It might cut it dangerously low for getting to Deimos, though, since it’s in a retrograde orbit – it’ll take a lot of energy to get there.”
“Who cares about Deimos when we’ve got a stranded crewmember?” Emile asked.
“I kind of do,” Martin said, with a sigh. “It’s an asteroid that was captured by Mars’ gravity. It would be a chance to study a completely different kind of body than Phobos. But, if we have to sacrifice that part of the mission to do this, so be it.”
“Go ahead will full thrust, Nikita,” Aleksandr said. “Get us on a new course, and then let us know the new ETA for rendezvous with the other
ship.”
“Okay.”
Thirty seconds later, Nikita said, “All engines are good, and running at 100%.” They started to drift slowly towards the floor of the hub. “New ETA: twenty-three hours and fifteen minutes.”
“Good, that cut a few hours off,” Emile said. “Still wish we could get there faster, though.”
“Bye-bye, Phobos,” Martin said, with a sigh.
“I take it we’re underway?” Alessia said, over the intercom, from the lab. “I kind of figured it out when I wasn’t floating anymore.” They chuckled.
“What a mission this has been,” said Kinuko, exhaling loudly. “What is it you guys say? Murphy’s Law, or something?”
“Whatever can go wrong, will go wrong,” Christopher said, quoting the famous proverb.
“I don’t know – at least we haven’t had a major life support malfunction,” Aleksandr said.
“True. And the bathrooms still work,” Christopher said, to laughter from the others. “I’d hate to think what kind of shape we’d be in if they quit. Believe it or not, that contingency was planned for. Think lockers full of tiny plastic bags!”
“I’d prefer not to,” said Kinuko.
“Guys, we’ve lost sight of him through the telescope,” Christopher said.
“Ah, yes, forgot to mention that,” Nikita said. “The ship is turning almost ninety degrees, in order to get on the right course. However, you should be able to track him with the servo mounts, once they can reorient the telescope.”
“Until he’s at his closest approach, probably,” Christopher replied. “Then the angular velocity will be too high, and we’ll lose him. Nothing we can do about it, though.”
There was quiet for a couple of minutes, as everybody contemplated and tried to process the situation.
“How long until his closest approach to us?” Alessia asked, at last.
“One hour and three minutes,” Nikita replied. “He’s in a 5,751 by 4,178 kilometer orbit.” The others nodded. “We’re dropping our orbit as fast as we can, but it’s going to be damnably slow to be able to match his.”
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