by S. K. Vaughn
Stephen closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“Don’t worry. You’re in good hands. Also, for luck, I’ve taken the liberty of christening the ship the Maryam I. What do you think of that?”
“I think it’s an excellent name, but I’m biased.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Launch sequence initiated.”
The smooth voice of Ian’s AI echoed throughout the ship. Stephen felt the fear coming on, so he focused on Ian’s crew. Like Ian, they defied stereotypical expectations of astronauts and looked more like the members of a rock band. Jack, the pilot, sat next to Ian on the flight deck. He looked and spoke like a Texan good ol’ boy. With his buzz cut reddish-brown hair and matching five-day beard, he looked as though he might be more at home in the cockpit of a crop duster. Zola, also a pilot and Ian’s special propulsion engineer, was from Senegal and spoke with a slight French accent. She struck Stephen as a precise, more analytical counterpart to Jack’s freewheeling style. Ellen, the senior flight engineer, was a tall Danish woman close in age to Ian. She exuded authority and knowledge and went about her business with a quiet confidence similar to his. Latefa, the Algerian flight surgeon, was a former fighter pilot and medevac officer. Her medical tech was Martin, a young former UK Special Forces corpsman.
“Sir, this is Mission Control,” a voice called out on the PA. “We’ve been contacted by US Naval Command and ordered to stand down. They’re sending fighter jets out of Pensacola and have threatened to destroy our vehicle on the pad if we don’t comply.”
“Give me a visual.”
The AI projected a three-dimensional view of the launch center. The crew gathered around. Three naval ships, one of them a warship of some kind, were spaced out in positions around the island.
“Only in America,” Ian mumbled. “Air space.”
The projection switched to a west-facing angle with the island in the foreground. Mixing map imagery with live video, it showed two approaching fighter jets flying side by side at low altitude across the water. Ian touched their images, and their airspeed, weaponry, and ETA were displayed.
“Jack, how soon can we launch?” Ian asked.
“Systems are as go as they’re going to get,” Jack said evenly.
“Thank you, Jack. Ellen, once we’ve lifted off, what are the chances the fighter jets will be able to get a missile lock?”
“With max thrust, we’ll be pushing twenty-eight thousand miles per hour. Their targeting systems are designed to lock onto aircraft moving much slower than that, so I don’t see how a missile lock is possible. However, they can target our heat signature and might get lucky.”
“Sir, this is Mission Control. Naval Command would like a word.”
“Open a line.”
“Roger that.”
“Jack and Zola, strap in, please.”
“Copy,” they both called out.
“This is Mission Control. You’re on with Colonel Perkins of Naval Command.”
“Hello, Colonel Perkins. How are you this fine day?” Ian’s tone was jovial and relaxed, as if they were at a garden party.
“Mr. Albright, I’ve been ordered to destroy your vehicle if you don’t cease prelaunch sequence and surrender your facility.”
“Whatever gave you the idea we’re in prelaunch sequence, Colonel?”
“Our infrared satellite imaging indicates rocket engines are being cycled up. And, quite frankly, it’s fairly easy to see it from my position.”
“We’re simply running tests. There’s no call for alarm, sir.”
“Then you’ll comply with our order to allow us immediate entry into your facility so we can inspect the vehicle ourselves.”
Ian took a moment to think.
“Mr. Albright? I suggest you take this very seriously, sir.”
“This all seems rather aggressive, Colonel. Mine is a private facility, outside US territorial waters. On whose authority can you launch a military attack on us?”
“We’re acting on the authority of the Joint Chiefs at the DOD. Will you comply, Mr. Albright? You’re running out of time.”
“No, you’re out of time, Colonel. I suggest you get your people out of here and keep those fighter jets at minimum safe distance. It’s about to get very hot.”
70
“Mission Control, Maryam I is go for launch. Commence countdown,” Ian called out.
“Roger that. Go for launch in T-minus sixty seconds.”
“Make it thirty,” Ian said, strapping himself back in.
As Mission Control counted down, everyone closely watched the sky projection in the eye and readied themselves for ignition. Stephen found himself impatiently waiting for the countdown to finish so they could get out of range of the fighters he could see closing in on them in the projection. In the final ten seconds, Stephen braced himself as the low rumble of the rocket engines became a deafening earthquake.
“Looks like we got four bogeys on a northwest skid around two minutes from missile-lock distance,” Jack yelled.
“Three . . . two . . . one. . . liftoff.”
The rockets fired, and the sheer force of liftoff pinned Stephen so hard into his seat that he could barely breathe.
“Fighter jets have reached missile-lock distance and are firing,” Jack said.
“Best of luck to them,” Zola said. “Second stage.”
Stephen didn’t think he could be squeezed down any tighter—until the second-stage rocket fired, doubling their velocity.
“Missiles vectoring to the end of our heat sig,” Jack said. “It might get bumpy.”
Stephen watched in horror as the missiles fired from the jets and flew into the white-hot plume of fire that shot hundreds of feet down from the bottom of the engine. They exploded, and the blast shook everyone in their seats, but the ship was unscathed.
“This is Mission Control. Speed and trajectory are perfect. Altitude . . . stand by. Sir, one of the naval vessels has fired a ballistic missile.”
“Detach Solid Booster 1,” Ian yelled.
“That will throw us off course,” Jack yelled back.
“If we don’t lose that missile, it will blow us out of the sky.”
“Detaching 1,” Jack said.
When he did it, the ship shuddered violently and careened off course. Stephen felt as though his body were being pulled away from his head.
“Manual flight control,” Ian shouted, taking the controls.
He righted the ship and got it back on its trajectory, and the projection switched to the view below them, where they watched the missile striking the jettisoned booster.
“Brace,” Ian shouted.
The ballistic missile explosion was a hundred times more bone-jarringly violent than those of the ones fired from the jets. Stephen closed his eyes, waiting for the ship to break apart and fall to the sea in a billion flaming bits of molten metal. But then they broke out of the atmosphere and glided into space, and earth-shattering mayhem quickly turned to silence and serenity.
“Activating diamagnetic field,” Jack said.
There was a loud humming sound, and Stephen could feel an unseen force lightly pushing against him. The crew released themselves from their chair restraints and stood up for a moment, getting their bearings. Ian motioned for Stephen to do the same. He was able to stand and walk, but it didn’t quite feel like normal gravity—more like walking in water.
“It’s a little weird at first,” Ian said. “The diamagnetic field is produced by the ship. Your suit has a metal mesh that the field uniformly repels. It’s not quite gravity, but at least you won’t be floating around knocking your head on things.”
Stephen walked to the bridge. It was strange, but his body quickly got used to navigating. When he wanted to move forward quickly, he bent over slightly. The diamagnetic force above would then push down on him and almost squeeze him forward. The crew, of course, had it dialed in and moved almost as freely as they had on Earth.
“Release Booster 2,”
Ian said quietly.
Jack attempted to release it, and the flight deck lit up with alarms.
“Release bolts not responding. Diagnostic image.”
An exterior view of that part of the launch vehicle loaded in the eye. Ellen manipulated it in space, examining all angles.
“Might be missile damage,” Ian said.
“Internal assembly view,” Ellen called out.
The eye loaded a view of the area where the booster connected to the ship. Flames and smoke swirled, clouding the image.
“Sir, we have a fire in Booster 2.”
71
“All hands,” Ian called out.
Jack, Zola, and Ellen sprinted to the engine deck. Ian stayed on the flight deck with Stephen, watching the team converge on the fire. The rocket booster was burning the last of its fuel inside the cells. There was severe structural damage near its connection point with the ship. Long fissures from the damage lengthened, and fuel ignited within them.
“Ellen, if the cell wall is cracked and expands more from the heat, the burning fuel is going to funnel right through those cracks into the ship,” Ian called out over the ship PA. “We need manual disconnect.”
“Copy,” Ellen replied. “Going into the hull compartment.”
“Looks like the booster assembly bolts have fused to the housing,” Jack said. “You’re going to have to cut them free.”
“Copy,” Ellen said.
Ellen made her way with a tool pack through a narrow maintenance panel, and Jack sealed it behind her. Ian and Stephen watched as she continued on, moving deeper into the dark underbelly of the hull.
“Six feet ahead of you,” Jack said.
“On it.”
Ellen examined the booster attachment assembly. It was a gnarled mess of metal and composite, streaked with grime from the smoke.
“Any signs of hull breach on the other side?” she asked.
“Negative,” Ian said.
The ship rocked as more fuel ignited inside the damaged booster.
“Cutting the bolts,” Ellen said.
“As quickly as possible,” Ian said.
The bolts were massive, a foot and a half in diameter. The first one took several minutes for the laser cutter to get through.
“Got one,” she reported.
“Good work. Go for number two,” Ian said.
Ellen’s laser cutter was halfway through the second bolt when the ship jolted hard. Everyone went flying across the bridge. Stephen tumbled until he could find something to hold on to. Ian zoomed into the exterior view of where the booster attached to the ship.
“A leak has ignited in one of the booster cracks,” Ian yelled. “It’s thrusting and changing our course. Cut that bolt now before it rips it out of the assembly.”
The opening in the side of the booster widened, and burning fuel was shooting out of it like a jet engine. The stronger the flow, the more the ship was jerked around violently in space. Stephen lost his grip and skipped across the back of the bridge. He grabbed hold of a passenger launch chair and strapped himself back in. Ian had managed to strap in as well, but Jack and Zola were struggling to hang on to safety bars. Ellen got the worst of it. She was being tossed around in the hull compartment like a rag doll.
“I can’t get to it,” she screamed.
There was a loud roar as the hole in the booster blew open wider and tore itself away from the ship, rocketing off into oblivion.
“Hull breach,” Ian yelled. “Two and a half feet.”
The pressure change was brutally swift and powerful. Ellen was sucked through the hole, barely forty inches in diameter, like a scrap of paper being sucked into a vacuum cleaner. Her body was instantly shredded and sprayed out into space.
“Ellen!” Jack screamed.
“Jack, Zola, evacuate,” Ian yelled. “We need to seal the engine deck and bleed atmosphere.”
They ran through the engine deck door, closing and sealing the emergency airlock.
“Done,” Jack said quietly.
“Bleed engine deck atmosphere 95 percent.”
“Affirmative,” the AI replied.
“Prep my EVA suit and return to the flight deck,” Ian said somberly. “Latefa—”
“Already here,” she said as she stood next to the engine deck airlock, also suited up for EVA.
Ian unstrapped and walked out. Jack took the helm while Zola helped Ian suit up. She came back to the flight deck, and they watched as Ian and Latefa floated up to the hull breach. Inside, there was nothing left of Ellen other than blood and uniform fabric now frozen around the edges of the hole.
“Exterior view,” Jack said quietly.
Both he and Zola broke down when they saw the long strips of flesh, bone fragments, and blood frozen solid to the outside.
72
“It’s hard to even begin to articulate how I’m feeling right now,” Ian began.
Everyone had assembled on the flight deck. The entire crew was visibly shaken. Ian and his team were obviously very close, more like a family. He struggled to maintain his composure.
“I’ve known Ellen for more than two decades. Her father and mother worked for us as engineers on early vehicles, but she was the wunderkind of the family. So brilliant, but humble. Always willing to learn, to expand and push the limits. I will miss her dearly. But I have no regrets, nor would she. All of you volunteered to be here because you believe in this, because you know it needs to be made right, and because you know you have what it takes to do so. The truest test of great women and men is not just the measure of their exceptional gifts. It’s their willingness to use those gifts for the greater good of humankind, even if it means self-sacrifice. Ellen understood this as well as any of us. In her good name we will press on, and I would like to dedicate the Maryam I’s maiden voyage to her. All in favor?”
Everyone exclaimed a resounding “Aye.”
“Thank you.”
Everyone nodded and hugged and returned to their posts.
“Sorry you had to see all that,” Ian said to Stephen.
“My condolences to you and your crew, Ian,” Stephen said. “I’d like to offer my own engineering services if they’re needed.”
“Thank you,” Ian said, looking at Ellen’s empty engineering console.
Zola took Ellen’s seat there as her second.
“Status check,” Ian said.
“Hull is patched and sound,” Zola said.
“Stress tests?” he asked.
“Perfect score,” she said.
“Hull check?”
“Also clean,” Jack said.
“Okay. Prime propulsion.”
“Copy,” Zola said, her hands flying across the engineering console.
The ship vibrated as the propulsion system fired up. A low metallic moan traveled the full length of it.
“Don’t worry, Stephen. That’s normal. The ship’s skin is highly flexible but exponentially stronger than that of a conventional vehicle. The downside is that she can be a bit noisy and wobbly at times.”
“I’m excited to see what she can do,” Stephen said, encouraging them.
“Good. How about the rest of you?” Ian asked.
“Champing at the bit,” Jack said.
“Me as well, sir,” Zola said. “Propulsion is primed. All systems go.”
“Why don’t you do the honors, Jack,” Ian said, stepping out of his chair.
“Aye,” Jack said, taking his place.
“Throttle up 10 percent, please.”
“Ten clicks,” Jack said, moving the throttle.
The ship accelerated with no discernible change.
“Smooth,” Ian said. “Like my old Silver Shadow. Another ten, please.”
“Ten it is,” Jack said.
Again he moved the throttle, and the ship accelerated effortlessly. Stephen had also just noticed that it made no sound.
“Ladies and gents,” Ian said, “we are now traveling as fast as the fastest spacecraft speed ever re
corded—a probe that was a small fraction of the size of this vessel. And we’re only at 20 percent power.”
This lightened the mood as Jack and Zola smiled proudly.
“Congratulations, sir,” Latefa said, walking onto the bridge with Martin.
“Thank you. Shall we defy physics even more and take her up another ten?”
“I’m game,” Jack said.
“We’re running clean and efficient,” Zola said. “I don’t see why not.”
“Another ten,” Ian said.
Jack slowly increased by ten. This time, Stephen could feel the change. It was not like being in the rocket and getting pinned back in his seat. It felt like falling forward.
“That gave me a tingle,” Ian said, breaking the tense silence. “Outside view.”
The outside view appeared in the eye. The ship’s dark surface material was moving in small, fluid waves that looked like ripples on a still pond.
“Mitigating molecular friction?” Stephen asked.
“Give that man a prize,” Ian said, impressed. “At these speeds, molecules out there are like subatomic bullets. They hammered our test probes to pieces. But that’s not the only reason for the ripple. We use them to collect matter and convert it to energy, sort of like a fish collects oxygen bubbles with its gills.”
“Congratulations,” Stephen said. “Looks like you just reinvented the wheel.”
“How about another ten?” Ian said, the familiar gleam returning to his eye.
“Boss, maybe we should see how this speed sits for a while. First flight and all.”
Jack’s nervousness deflated Ian a bit. But he thought about his pilot’s suggestion, or at least it looked as if he were carefully considering it. Then he slapped Jack on the back like a coach trying to get his star player’s head in the game.
“Everything is working perfectly, Jack. Let’s just try a little more. Then we can throttle down to cruise. What do you say, Zola?”
“Setting my apprehension aside, there’s no apparent engineering reason to say no.”
“I like the way you think,” Ian said. “Another ten.”
“Aye,” Jack said, and throttled up.