Back to the Moon

by Homer Hickam

  Fisk nodded agreement and Burrows excused himself and scurried off toward the copier. Cecil sat comfortably in his chair, ignoring Fisk’s sullen stare. It was dangerous but strangely exciting to tweak the nose of the federal government. Burrows returned with the copies and Cecil was escorted out. As he went, FBI staffers came into the hall to get a look at him. Cecil straightened as he walked by. He could almost feel his stature growing as he was hurried toward the waiting limousine.

  EXTRAVEHICULAR ACTIVITY (1)

  Columbia

  Jack had managed six hours of desperately needed sleep in the cockpit after which his mind seemed sharper than it had ever been, as if all his synapses were suddenly open, keen in the face of danger. When he found both Penny and Virgil still sleeping, he’d taken a big risk going out into the cargo bay alone to send off Cassidy. Single EVAs were potentially dangerous things—if he’d gotten tangled in his tether out there, or the backpack had had any kind of a problem, he’d have been on his own in the harsh vacuum. Still, there was simply no way to keep Cassidy’s body aboard, even in the cargo bay, considering the likely effects of vacuum and solar radiation on an exposed human cadaver, and Jack had seen no reason to delay. He had come to the conclusion that the remainder of this flight would include many such risks. All the margins he and his MEC team had carefully inserted into the mission profile were gone with the loss of Cassidy. Virgil had signed on for the worst, and would take the complications in stride, he reasoned, and as for High Eagle—well, High Eagle would just have to get used to it. Jack found, for some unfathomable reason, that he liked to tantalize her with bits and pieces of information while holding other things back. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why—but decided he didn’t have time to think about it, in any case.

  Some numbers crunching on the computer screen caught his eye. He was looking at radar data. “That’s strange,” he said aloud. He called down through the hatch. “Virgil? Need you.”

  Virgil appeared from below. “What’s going on, boss?”

  “I put the system in the co-op mode so it would trigger the transponder in the engine package. Now I’ve got another transponder signal. If it’s not our package...”

  “Company?”

  “So it would seem.”

  Virgil put his hand to his headset. “He’s still calling. Jack, why don’t you just say hello to him? What could it hurt?”

  Jack sighed, nodded. “All right, all right. Let’s see what the old cowboy wants.”

  SMC

  Sam jerked upright in his chair. He’d been droning calls to Columbia for ten minutes. “This is Columbia. Make it quick.” The voice was brusque but he recognized it all the same. Jack Medaris.

  “This is Sam Tate,” Sam said. “Would you go to air-to-ground three?” Air-to-ground 3 was the encrypted voice channel from the shuttle.

  A moment passed while Sam held his breath. Would Medaris do it? He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard him come back on the secured push. “Go ahead, Houston.”

  Sam keyed his mike. “Jack, cut the crap. This is Sam. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  There was a momentary crackle of static. Then Sam heard the click of Medaris’s mike. “Hello, Sam. I guess it won’t hurt to be informal on the chatter channel. How’s Geraldine?”

  “Dammit, Jack. She’s fine. She’s missed you. We all have. I was glad to hear you were back in the space business with your sling pump. But, Jack, listen, this is wrong what you’re doing—”

  “I don’t know what you mean, Sam,” Jack interrupted. “I’m involved in a commercial enterprise that has been approved by the Depart ment of Transportation. It’s all in our contract. Our lawyer is probably working with authorities now to straighten things out if there’s a problem.”

  Sam wasn’t buying it. “Listen, old son, I don’t know why you’ve done this. . . hell, boy. . . come on back. The quicker you get off the shuttle, the less trouble you’re going to be in. As slick as you pulled this off, there might even be a few old boys around who’ll call you a hero. What happened to Hoppy?”

  A long pause and then: “An accident at launch. But he was with us, Sam. You would be, too, if you knew everything.”

  Sam rubbed his face, pinched his nose. “What—what have you done with him?”

  “He got what he would have loved, Sam—the first burial in space. I gave him the requisite tumble so he’ll reenter in a few weeks. I know Hoppy wouldn’t want to pose a hazard to spacecraft. Please give my regrets to his family. Tell his son that his father was a great pilot.”

  On console some of the controllers crossed themselves. An American had died in space. Sam tried to contain his rising anger but he gave in to it. “Damn you, Jack! You were once part of this agency! We trusted you!”

  “I have a contract,” Jack replied placidly. “This is nothing against NASA.”

  Sam pounded his fist on his table. “Nothing against NASA? You’re killing this agency single-handed! The media’s dragging out every problem we’ve ever had. Do you think Congress is going to give a tinker’s damn about us after this stunt? They’ll shut us down! And you’ve caused Hoppy’s death.” He tried to haul himself back but failed. “And it’s not the first death you’ve caused either!” He regretted his words nearly as soon as he said them.

  There was a long silence. “I’m well aware of that, Sam,” Jack finally replied in a subdued voice. Then, more spiritedly, he said, “They’ve been looking for an excuse to shut NASA down for years. I didn’t cause that.”

  Sam gripped his console table, fought for the right words, tried to bring himself back from the edge. “Look, Jack. . . I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. But it’s over. I don’t know what you and Hoppy were trying to do but it can’t be done, not now. There’s a satellite with a very big eye moving into your neighborhood. Whatever you’re doing, you’re going to be seen. They got your number, son. Come on back and we’ll sort things out.”

  “Is it a Keyhole or a Big Bird?”

  Sam cursed his big mouth. Medaris was no rookie. He knew everything there was to know about a shuttle. He’d probably already seen a blip on his radar but hadn’t known what it was. The shuttle was maneuverable. Jack could give the spy sat a merry chase if he wanted to. “Even if I knew I couldn’t tell you,” Sam said. “But this thing is just the start of it. They’re coming after you with blood in their eyes, Jack. Let us bring you in. We’ll glide you down at Edwards. Big runways there. It’ll be easy.”

  “Sorry, Sam,” Jack responded. “But thanks for your concern.”

  “Jack—”

  “Two minutes to Tee-drus L-O-S,” CAPCOM announced. LOS, loss of signal. Columbia in company with the Keyhole was moving into a blackout area where the TDRS tracking, data, and relay communications sats couldn’t hear them.

  “Jack, don’t maneuver again without letting us know, okay? It’s dangerous without us watching over you. How about it? We’re kinda fond of that old shuttle.”

  “Thanks but no thanks, Sam,” Jack answered amiably. “We can take care of ourselves.”

  “You pigheaded sumbitch!” Sam growled.

  “He’s signed off, Flight,” Commtech advised.

  Columbia

  Jack had pulled the plug on Tate because an alarm had sounded. It was SAREX with word from the MEC control center now rolling across southern Mississippi.

  BE ADVISED SPY SAT COMING YOUR WAY.

  Jack guessed that MEC had tapped into the back rooms of Houston and Huntsville, getting their intelligence from the techie buzz over the loops. He keyed an answer.

  COPY. ON TIMELINE. EVA TO UNPACK ET NEXT.

  The laptop whirred.

  ALL FINGERS CROSSED HERE.

  “Here too,” Jack muttered to himself.

  SMC

  Sam answered the urgent call coming over the land line push. “And what can I do for the dear old Defense Intelligence Agency?” he growled.

  It was Clay Corbin. “Mr. Tate, that was very unwise. This is co
nsidered black business. Do you understand? You are not authorized to tell the people on Columbia anything about what we are doing. Do I have to make that an order?”

  Sam smiled at his controllers, who were all looking back at him with wide eyes. “An order? I don’t think I’m in your chain of command, son,” he drawled, utterly delighted to have the opportunity to irritate one of the men who’d usurped control from Houston.

  Corbin came back, obviously outraged. “I have my authority from the highest level. The highest level. Do you know who that means?”

  Crowder tugged at Sam’s sleeve. “Sam, maybe you better—”

  Sam shook Crowder off. “Dr. Corbin, I am the flight director for this mission. I will do whatever I think is necessary for the safety of my spacecraft.”

  Corbin’s voice went up an octave. “Your spacecraft? That isn’t your spacecraft. You let the bad guys steal it. Remember?”

  Sam snarled and punched the land line off. He vultured his people, sending their heads diving back to their monitors. Then he eyed the shuttle’s track on the big video screen. “What are you doing, Jack?” he breathed. “What are you doing?”

  “What’s that, Sam?” Crowder asked.

  Sam didn’t reply. He just kept looking at the screen, trying to figure it out.

  Director’s Office, JSC

  Frank Bonner, just arrived from Washington and back in his office, received a call from Sam Tate. He listened, then repeated the name he’d heard. “That’s right, Frank,” Sam said. “He used to be head of the Propulsion Lab in Huntsville.”

  “I know who he is,” Bonner snapped, and hung up the telephone. He slumped in his chair. How could it be? He felt as if his mind had been torn from its hinges. Bonner sat, staring at, without seeing, his office wall blanketed with awards and autographed photos, all representing the career he’d built to replace the happiness the man had snatched from him. Medaris!

  Everything was swept clean from Bonner’s mind, his hopes to be the NASA administrator, to get Columbia back and operational again. Nothing made sense except for one thing: Medaris. Bonner would see that this time he was destroyed. Permanently.

  Columbia

  Penny hung from a handrail, watching Medaris inside the airlock, checking the extravehicular mobility unit (EMU) suit he had worn on the burial EVA. There were three other suits stowed there. “I heard what you told Houston,” she chided. “You said your contract was for a commercial purpose. I thought it was top secret. You can’t even keep your lies straight.”

  “There are plenty of commercial activities that are secret,” Medaris answered, his voice sounding hollow from the airlock. “Company proprietary. I’m sure you’ve heard the phrase.”

  “This ain’t right, boss.” Virgil interrupted the argument to start one of his own. “It ain’t safe for you to be outside alone.”

  “You’re in no condition to help me,” Medaris answered. “Don’t worry. I can handle it.”

  “Isn’t it against the rules for only one person to go EVA?” Penny questioned.

  Medaris stuck his head out of the airlock hatch, gave her that look. Penny felt like slapping his face. “Don’t tell me. You went to the EVA class?”

  “She’s right, Jack,” Virgil said in a low tone.

  Medaris shrugged. “You might have noticed I already did it once.”

  “That wasn’t right neither,” Virgil muttered.

  Penny was starting to feel left out. “What are you going to do now?” she demanded to get back into the discussion.

  “There’s some gear in the base of the external tank. I’m going out there and get it. After that I’ll start removing the shuttle mains.”

  Penny looked at Virgil. “Tell me the truth, Virgil. You two are escapees from a nut ward, right?” She looked out of the corner of her eye to see Medaris’s reaction but was disappointed when he turned away to work on his suit.

  Virgil looked thoughtful. “Seems like that sometimes, ma’am.”

  “Just in case Virg gets sick again, how about staying on comm with me?” Medaris asked Penny.

  “Look, I told you. I’m not going to be a part of this.”

  “High Eagle”—he sighed, coming back over to the airlock hatch—”Virgil and I have a job to do, one that we’re going to do. And the quicker we get it done, the quicker you get to go home. All I’m asking you to do is answer the phone. How about it?”

  “If only I knew what you’re really doing....”

  “One more time.” He sighed. “We’re on a top secret and a commercial mission. And unless you can get limo service up here, you’re going to have to stick around until we’re finished. You can’t go home until then.”

  It popped out before she could stop herself. “I don’t have a home.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I just lease a place. I’m mostly on the road.”

  “It’s sad not having a home,” Medaris said. “I guess I don’t have one either.”

  “This is sort of our home now, ain’t it?” Virgil offered.

  “I guess it is,” Medaris said.

  Penny looked around. “I never figured my home would have the bed and toilet all in the same room.”

  “Consider it an efficiency,” Medaris said.

  “You always have to have the last word, don’t you?” Penny growled.

  He pulled the airlock door shut. A faint hiss signaled the beginning of his oxygen prebreathe, necessary to avoid decompression sickness in the lighter pressure of the suit. Penny slapped the view port. “He’s so damned full of himself!” she griped to Virgil.

  Virgil nodded agreement. “Jack’s got his ways, all right.”

  Penny squinted at the big man. “Listen, I’m walking on the edge here. If I don’t get the truth, I’m going over it and I swear I’ll take you with me. I don’t want to hear nuthin’ about no damn contract, you hear? Tell me the truth. Start with him. Who is he?”

  Virgil mopped his brow. “He used to be the head knocker up at the Propulsion Lab in Huntsville.”

  Penny could see Virgil’s space sickness was coming back. Very soon, she knew, he would make use of the vomitus bag Velcroed just within reach. “What is he now?” she asked.

  “President of MEC. My boss.”

  “And why isn’t he still a wheel in Huntsville?”

  Virgil swallowed a burp. “An engine he was testing went out of control on a test stand ten, eleven years ago. Killed one of his engineers. NASA blamed him for it.”

  “Let me guess,” Penny said harshly. “Those engines hanging on the arm—they’re the same kind as the one that went out of control?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Penny shook her head. She understood now. “He just had to do something to prove himself right. Even if it meant spacejacking a shuttle. Yes, I think I’ve got your number, Mr. Jack Medaris.”

  “A couple of things you ought to know before you start bad- mouthing Jack, Dr. High Eagle.” Virgil’s eyes were squeezed shut, sweat beading on his forehead. “The first one is that he’s saved a buncha guys—rocket engineers, technicians like me—by giving us jobs when NASA didn’t want us no more.”

  Penny shrugged. “Saved them for prison, you mean?”

  Virgil was holding the plastic bag just beneath his mouth, ready to use it. “The other thing was that the engineer that got killed, it was Jack’s wife, Kate. Turned out she was pregnant too. He got that burn scar on his face and neck trying to save Kate and their baby.”

  Cargo Bay, Columbia

  Jack exited the airlock, tethered on to the guide wire that ran down the starboard sill of the cargo bay, and pulled hand over hand down it until he reached the vertical stabilizer. There, he set up a silvery reflector he had taken out with him. It acted the same as a convenience-store corner mirror, giving a wide view all the way down to the external tank. “Anybody see me?” he called.

  “I see you, Medaris.”

  Jack turned to look behind him, saw a figure at the aft flight deck view p
ort with binoculars. “High Eagle?”

  “Yeah. What do you want me to do?”

  “Just keep watch.”

  “Okay. But if you slip off, what then?”

  “Well, at least you can tell everybody where you last saw me.”

  “Medaris, look. . . we need to talk, okay?”

  Jack hooked his feet inside the propellant feed lines on the external tank and used his waist tether to clip to an attach strut. “What about?”

  “Everything.”

  Jack eyed the curved base of the ET. There had been no way to train for this EVA and it wasn’t going to be easy. “I’m kind of busy to talk about everything.” He reached for the strut to stabilize himself. “By the way, you haven’t killed Virgil, have you?”

  “Of course not. He got sick again. He’s asleep.”

  “Just don’t lock the door on me, okay?”

  “Don’t put any ideas in my head.”

  From a T-bar attachment that held a set of special EVA tools on his chest, Jack selected a pair of thick shears and used them to wedge out a chunk of ET foam. Underneath he found the loop of wire that Estes and Tribble had embedded for him. He snagged it and pulled. The wire cut a square in the foam as it came out, revealing underneath it a hatch. The effort had taken more out of him than he’d anticipated. Working in the pressurized EMU suit was not easy. He was breathing hard.

  “Medaris, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” Jack muttered, but he wasn’t. Besides his fatigue he had suddenly felt a massive presence. When he looked up, he found himself turned away from earth, facing deep space. There was nothing, only emptiness. For the first time since he’d been in low earth orbit, he felt scared. “High Eagle?” he called, almost against his will. He hoped she wouldn’t notice the strain in his voice.

  “I hear you.”

  “It’s big out here. It’s easy to feel. . . alone. The stars aren’t much company.”

  “I’m watching you, Medaris.” Her tone was casual.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re not welcome.”

  “Hatch is off,” he grunted to no reply.

  THE ATTORNEY GENERAL