“Uh.”
“Gus? That you? Uh, what?” Fred glanced at Subby's bay window. The lights were on, but there were no pacing shadows or moving blinds. “We can't afford long-assed chats.”
“Think about it,” said Gus. “We're really planning a mutiny. What can he do to prevent it? Sure, he can call security, but that would leave a record. What else can he do?” Gus's voice was tense, worried.
Gayatri figured it out first. “He could pull the plug on us, turn off the power. What do we do if that happens? All the guidance computers are here.”
Gus sounded relieved. “Well, there's always US Space Alliance.”
Fred was appalled. “Those guys? They haven't handled a landing in years!”
Gus scratched his cheek. “Maybe so, but there are vets left over from the old NASA days. How much you wanna bet they have the routines still around?”
Fred considered. “Might be worth a shot. All right, cover our asses, Gus. You got any contacts?”
“For once, old buddy, I do. Let me give them a call, see if they can assemble the old crew.”
“Anything else? No? okay, Gayatri, it's two minutes of eleven. Get over here and let me turn it over to you. Remember, normal. Situation Normal.”
She replied, “All Fucked Up.”
Controlled Chaos
UNSOC Space Station Roger B. Chaffee, June 17 2082, 1100 hrs
“I tell you, I don't think it's as bad as Commander Daniels thinks. Still, it's a break from routine,” said Franz “Head” Steinman as he manhandled boxes of packaged crystals from the ZGCFabrican module over to the fore sled. “On the plus side, there's women on the ground, and damn few up here.”
“And what am I, chopped liver?” asked Lois McClain, working the other end of the pallet. “Watch what you're doing, Head.”
“Listen SuperGirl, you're the one who said no, not me. And besides, I was thinking something along that line,” he said, indicating the passing figure of Celine Greenfield. “Hey, Celine, when we get down, how 'bout we get down?” he called.
“If I'm ever down enough to consider you, Head, then I must be down and out,” she replied to a suppressed chuckle from Lois.
“On Earth, girls love a guy from space!” he called after her retreating back. “Ice Queen,” he muttered under his breath.
“Yeah, yeah. Watch that fitting!” Lois called. “We bang up these perfect crystals, Daniels will have us riding home on the outside of the sled.”
***
Throughout the Chaffee, people were zipping about, shutting down systems, powering off experiments, gathering records. Anti-static bags of electronic parts and memory chips were floating in the air. Engineering was working overtime, as usual, emptying the sleds of long-term supplies to free up room for items that must get to Earth. Medical rushed all of the anti-vomiting and anti-diarrheal meds they had, plus bags and bags of injectable saline and electrolytes.
Lisa Daniels found herself with a problem.
“But Roque, you must leave!”
“Ah, Commander, you know that I cannot.” His wan smile flashed briefly. “I would be completely helpless on Earth.”
“You will die if you stay,” Lisa said.
“My dear,” Roque said, “that should have happened a long time ago. I just held off the Grim Reaper the past eighteen years.”
“I could order you sedated and carried aboard, you know,” she said. “Don't think I won't.”
“Lisa, Lisa. I remember you as a young lieutenant fresh out of UNSOC Ground School. Struggling along here, learning how to swim in the air. But I knew then, as I know now, that you were destined to lead people. You do care. That is why I'm not strapped into a sled right now, snoring away. You are allowing me my dignity.”
Lisa sternly ordered her eyes to stay dry. “I will continue to allow it until it endangers the mission.”
“Let me tell you a story. It will be a brief one. One time, long ago, I was an exchange student to the United States. It was so different from my beloved España. So busy, so full of life! Well, my foster family took me along to the Outer Banks of North Carolina on their annual vacation. Two weeks of the beach, girls, and even sometimes drinking. I was seventeen, and not really sure what I wanted to do in life. Then I met Lynn.
“The second night I was there, I went for a walk on the beach near sunset. It was strange. In España, the beaches face west into the setting sun. On the Outer Banks, they face east. Fortunately, the land is so flat you can sometimes see the setting sun through the maze of vacation homes.
“I was walking to one of the shafts of sunlight visible on the beach when I saw her. Her hair was black as night, but shone in the reddening light. She was eighteen and beautiful and full of life. She had put on a light shirt against the cooling temperatures, but she was lithe and slender and, to a young boy who was almost a man, irresistibly attractive.
“I somehow got up the nerve to talk to her. Her family had just arrived for their two weeks at the beach, and she had also wanted to see the sunset. It was beautiful. I daresay, more beautiful than any I have seen since. Yes, even up here.”
Roque removed the lid on his smudged white box. Setting aside the lock of hair, he retrieved a sealed tube of what looked like green water and sand and fiddled with it. Lisa tried not to show her impatience, but something must have leaked through her control because Roque chuckled.
“There is not much left to tell. She was my first and only love. The two weeks passed both excruciatingly slow and far too fast. She was fascinated by the stars, and she spoke often of joining the Astronaut Corps and going to space. I had never considered that, but promised I would join, too.
“We were each other's first lovers. It sweeter than I could say. The vacation ended, but we kept in touch, of course. We tried to figure a way for her to visit me in España. About eight months later, she stopped answering me. My friends all tried to console me, saying I should find another girl, for she must have found another man.
“A month later, I received a letter in the mail. Her parents wrote to me, enclosing an article from the newspaper. She was driving home from her job when a drunk driver twice her age plowed into her car, killing her instantly. He had been arrested for drunk driving before, only this time, he disconnected the driver's breath alcohol sensor. He was sent to prison for life, no parole.
“Losing Lynn was the defining moment of my life. I have never had another lover and, frankly, never really wanted one. I know that others would laugh at me for this, and I have been told that I have wasted my life. But she and I were joined in a way that I cannot describe to you, even if I wanted to. I joined UNSOC because of her. I have never regretted it. Not even when I lost the use of my legs. Up here, I am closer to her than I ever could be on Earth.
“All I have left of her is this little bottle of seawater from that long-ago summer, and a lock of her hair.” The plastic bag on the table held a small curl of hair, tied in a pink ribbon. Roque straightened up and gripped the worktable firmly.
“I would be totally useless on Earth, Commander Daniels. I have not exercised very much over the years. Even if I survived the journey down, I would probably have a heart attack shortly thereafter. If I didn't have one, I would be confined to a flotation bed for weeks as I try to adapt to life under gravity. The work I have done, and would have continued to do, is all up here. Down there, I would be just another materials scientist, old and unemployable. No, the price of survival is too high.” His voice dropped. “I know Lynn would approve.”
Lisa frowned and started to retort, but Roque overrode her objections.
“You can sedate me if you want, but I will curse you every day until I die. But if you let me stay, I will tell those fat-bottoms in UNSOC that I refused your orders. We know Subby, too. He'll never agree to evacuation. I can fake him out—make him believe you're still here until it's too late to stop you. I will protect you, Lisa, for I still have friends downstairs. But I will ask a favor of you, in return.”
“
What is this favor, Roque?”
“Take this,” he said, passing her the tube of water and a foam padded box. “Go to the Dare County Cemetery in North Carolina. The directions are inside the lid. Tuck that tube of seawater in her grave, and tell her I never forgot her. Would you do that for me?” Roque gripped her hand hard. “What little I have of Lynn here,” he patted the lock of hair, “and I will die together in space, as she would have wanted it.”
This time, Lisa let her eyes fill with tears, forming floating drops as she shook her head free of them. “Of course, Roque. For you, I will do that.”
They held each other for a minute, but Lisa's sense of duty rose, insistently. “I must go.”
Roque released her, and formally saluted her. “And I must stay. I am honored to serve you until the end.”
“Thank you, Roque.” She returned the salute, wiped her eyes, and kicked out of his laboratory for the last time, the small box of Roque's memories zipped in her jumpsuit.
One Last Rodeo
Johnson Space Center Museum, June 17 2082, 1210 hrs
“I said it's Carl! Remember me? I was in Propulsion on the old Constellation Program!” The voice over the commpad was querulous and thin but, for Roger Feidler, unforgettable.
“Carl, jeez, I haven't seen you since we did that last landing back in, what, 2058? How are you doing?”
“Have you been listening to the infonet? Been outside? For God's sakes, man, are you alive?”
Roger shook his head. Carl was always like that, overdramatic. Some people never changed.
“Are you there? Roger?” shouted the commpad.
“Jeez, yes, I'm here. What's bugging you Carl?”
“. . .the Moon, ya dumb klutz. I said, 'Have you seen the Moon?”
Roger looked at the commpad in bewilderment. “It's the middle of the day!”
“Turn on your infonet! Channel, er, uh. Just turn on any news channel. It's the only story on all of them.”
Roger turned to his favorite news infofeed.
“We will, of course, keep you up to the minute with information as it happens,” said the breathless young anchor. Roger watched this feed because it required all of its on-air personalities to keep their clothes on. He had tried the other ones, but watching other people become aroused as they reported on plane crashes and other tragic events left him wanting to shower in boiling water.
“Repeating, there has been a huge explosion on the Moon. The Moonbase Collins went silent about ten minutes later and has not been heard from since. The huge orbital factory Chaffee is still up and running, but there are all kinds of unconfirmed rumors about the state of the astronauts stationed there. Stay with NewsBeat, and we'll keep you up to the minute with news you need to know.
“In our next segment, we'll discuss whether tonight's high tide will be affected by the explosion on the Moon.”
Roger had seen enough and turned back to the commpad, touching the key that reactivated their conversation.
“What the hell, Carl?”
“I know, right?” replied Carl. “They're gonna have to evacuate Chaffee.”
“I think you're right. But how?” Roger asked. He looked at the various spaceship models he had scattered around the room his wife jokingly called 'the office'.
“Remember the sleds?” said Carl. “I heard they were complete and ready.” Carl and Roger had worked on some of the early models of the emergency reentry vehicles back in the sixties.
“No freaking way. Splash into the ocean or whack into the ground at nine gees? Fancy way to die, I say.” Roger stared at the infofeed for a few seconds, then turned to the commpad. “No wheels, no nothin. I don't care how much you flare those suckers when you get close to the ground, you're going to lose half or more of the people on the ride.”
“That's if they can get through reentry. What was your max score on Shuttle Lander back in the day?”
“Seventy-five, and I was in the top ten.”
Carl said, very slowly, “I remember.”
Silence reigned on the line. Then Roger got it. “They need us.”
“Badly,” Carl agreed. “I've been calling people like you all morning. I was out walking my dog when I saw the flash in the sky.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Gather all your Shuttle Lander gear. The data sheets especially, but the console, cables, charger, whatever you think you need, if you still have it, I mean. Dump it in your car, haul ass to Johnson Space Center. Charge your commpad. I have a feeling that UNSOC is going to reach out to us, and we better be at the front gate or we're never going to get things up and running in time to help anyone.” For once, Carl's overdramatics made perfect sense.
“Got it! Want me to call anyone else?” Roger started thinking about who lived in the area.
“If you have commsigs for your old team, yeah. Anyone more than an hour away, tell them to stay home but get everything booted up.”
Roger looked grim. “It's a hell of a thing.”
Carl nodded on the commpad's small screen. “Think of it, though. One last rodeo. A bunch of steely-eyed missilemen in their 80s are gonna bring them all home.”
“Thanks for thinking of me,” said Roger, his voice suddenly thick. “We've got things to do! Let's go!”
Loading the Sleds
UNSOC Space Station Roger B. Chaffee, June 17 2082, 1230 hrs
Eddie powered up the two craft and loaded the navigation computers with positional data from the main station computer, now fully rebooted and functional. He found the pre-launch checklist, complete with hand-written addenda, in a small compartment that held general flight charts.
Panjar Bijanergee, the Chaffee's Deputy Chief Engineer, joined him and together they ran down the pre-launch checklist for each sled. Between the two of them, they worked hard to get the shelters ready for flight.
Along the way, Eddie picked up the basics of the situation. There had been some kind of explosion on the Moon. Everyone on the Chaffee probably suffered serious radiation poisoning. Worse, there was a wall of debris rising from the Moon, due to intersect Earth’s orbit in about nine hours. Commander Daniels was abandoning the Chaffee using these solar shelters turned lifeboats. Eddie Zanger, pilot, was going to have to fly the maiden voyage on one of these hand-built, untested reentry vehicles. It was either that or die when chunks of the Moon blasted through the Chaffee at three miles per second.
He was connecting the reactant hoses to storage tanks when Celine Greenfield floated into the bay. As always, Eddie’s breath caught when he saw her. Celine never talked to him other than with official business since that single, unforgettable touch back when Holt was still commander. That didn't stop him from longing for her, like nearly all the men on board.
“Okay, Eddie, enough staring. Which one are you piloting?” she asked.
“I have no idea. I was just told to get down here,” he replied. “Are you my copilot?”
“Hardly. My gear's in this one,” she said, tapping the side of the solar shelter next to her. “You take the one across the way. We're the only qualified reentry pilots on this hulk. Thanks for warming this up for me. Better get your duffel.”
***
Celine started at the beginning of the checklist, racing through the completed sections. She had been designated pilot based on her Astrogation ability plus her pilot's license and multiengine rating from groundside. She looked over the crew assignments written on her checklist. “John Hodges, Copilot/Flight Engineer,” she read, to her surprise. She mentally reached inside her heart and mind for a moment. Yes, she felt happy to have John in the next seat.
***
“So, how did this sled get built, anyhow?” asked Alice Webber as she collected the pharmaceuticals from her company's module. Franz Steinman, one of the Chaffee's spacehands, was loading them into a standard transport container. His large head tilted to one side as he thought.
“Well, I guess it won't be a secret that we've got sleds in the next hour or so,
so I might as well tell you. Got room for another dozen of these, I think.”
Alice passed over another double handful of the foam-encased vials. “The sleds?” she prompted.
“Near as I can tell, it all started when we had a sick crewman. I can't remember what he had, it was a long time ago and everyone's story about it is different. There was a solar storm going on at the time, or it was just ending or something, and there wasn't an Earth shuttle in dock. There was literally no way to send him home for treatment. So the crew had to sit and watch him die from something that Earth could have fixed if we could have just gotten him there. Okay, this one's full. What else you got?”
“How much more room have they allotted me?”
“Don't know. Best I can tell, we're going down packed to the gills. I figure pack up everything you can, then chuck out the least important.”
“Then let's see if we can get some of this equipment packed. Who knows, we might be back here in a month or so.”
“Ma'am, from the scuttlebutt I've been hearing, we aren't coming back for years. Forget the equipment. What about product? Or starting materials?”
“In that case, we've got product here we could have made on Earth, but it wasn't as important as the stuff we just packed. Okay, so the crewman died. What next?”
“Guy's name was Ted. Well, the commanders and whatnot got together and petitioned the UNSOC for an emergency escape pod. You know what they said?”
“I'm guessing they said no.”
“Ya damned right they said no. And you know why? Because Ted was the first avoidable casualty in seventy years. Something about cost/benefit ratios and wasting money on something that probably won't be used for another seventy years. Penny pinching bastards. If we hadn't done something, we'd all be sitting up here, getting ready for them Moon rocks to make Swiss cheese out of us.” Franz was furiously jamming boxes into the container, just short of throwing them in there.
“Whoa, Franz, settle down a little. That product's in glass, remember? So, what next?”
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