Back to the Moon

by Homer Hickam

  Jack heard the name. “Frank Bonner? Sure.”

  “He’s pretty sedated, Jack. He was burned over fifty percent of his body. He has a lot of therapy to look forward to. Guess you know something about that.”

  “Put him on, Sam.”

  Jack listened. The voice was weak but it was Frank. “Jack, I want you to know how sorry I am—”

  “Save your strength, Frank. Whatever you did, you did it because you thought it was the right thing to do.”

  “I have to know... did you find her letter?”

  “Yes.”

  “And was it... ?”

  “Wonderful? Yes. It was everything I’d hoped... and more. I’m afraid it didn’t make it back, though. It’s still on the moon.”

  Jack could hear Bonner’s voice catch as if a wave of pain had struck him. Jack very well knew how that happened when you were freshly burned, how suddenly it felt as if somebody was stripping off your skin. “Take it easy, Frank.”

  “Do you remember... any of it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you... ?”

  Jack closed his eyes, took a deep breath. He could see the notebook paper clearly, and every word on it. He started to recite and as he did, he could hear Bonner sobbing.

  “But I know something, even now

  that I wonder if you know even then.

  It is that I will always love you

  And that I will always be with you

  Across space and time.

  You see, didn’t I send you a message all the way to the moon?”

  MONTANA (5)

  Perlman’s Plant

  The new vice president loved helicopters, loved their versatility, their design, the powerful sound of the whop-whop of their blades cutting through the air. The only thing she hated about them was riding in them, had an inbred sense that it was impossible that they flew, that they were always a thin cable’s width away from disaster. Her face was a frozen expressionless mask but its paleness betrayed her fear. She kept her eyes on the back of the two pilots’ helmeted heads as their UH-1 Montana National Guard helicopter banked sickeningly and came in low over the knoll that overlooked the fusion reactor site. “There it is, ma’am,” one of the pilots called back.

  Tammy Hawthorne forced herself to look sideways, out the open door. The site was unremarkable, a square of fence, a rectangle of concrete where the blast door covered the silo, another rectangle and a low gray building over it that was apparently the elevator shaft.

  “We’re going to land,” the pilot said.

  “Good idea,” the veep responded shakily, and wondered if it was possible for someone to rent a car in Bozeman and come and get her without embarrassing either herself or the pilots.

  The helicopter leveled out, slowed, and settled in beside the blast door. The sergeant who rode shotgun beside her helped with her safety belt and she climbed out, ducking under the viciously rotating blades. An Army National Guard major ran up to her. He had a bullet-shaven head, started to salute, then thought better of it. “Madame Vice President, I’m Major Todd,” he said, his voice hoarse and gravelly. “You can talk to them over here, ma’am.”

  Major Todd took her to the elevator shaft, pointed at the microphone that dangled from the doorway through a hole about the size of a quarter. “The bad guys who were up here put this in, ma’am. It works. They’ve talked to us but they’re not budgin’.”

  The veep nodded, walked up to the mike. She waited until the helicopter’s blades finished their spin-down. “Dr. Perlman, this is the new vice president of the United States. Please come up the elevator and meet me on the surface. There has been a great mistake. Columbia is almost home, bringing with her the helium-3 you need for a full start-up of your fusion reactor. The President has authorized me to tell you that you will not be interfered with in any way. WET has been defeated and it looks like the United States might be having some trouble getting the oil we need. We need you, Dr. Perlman, the whole country needs you. Please come up.”

  Below, in the echoing hall beside the elevator shaft, Perlman and Charlie listened with interest. Perlman leaned on his cane. “What do you think, Charlie?”

  Charlie put his thumbs under the straps of his bib coveralls. “I think there’s a woman up there we can trust, Doc.”

  Perlman put his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Let’s go up,” he said. “Let’s have a look at God’s own fusion reactor, feel its radiance on our faces.”

  “I’m there, Doc,” Charlie said, grinning and leading the way.

  THE SOYUZ ATTACK

  Columbia

  Jack sat in the cockpit and watched nightside earth grow. Dozens of thunderstorms raged across the planet, violent flashes punctuating the darkness as if a war across the hemispheres were being waged. Scattered here and there was the pale glow of cities. Since everything had quieted down for their long trip back, he had been in a strange mood. There was something missing and he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.

  Perhaps it was because everything was on automatic. He was only a passenger on board the ship that he had come to think of as his. He was happy that it was all over but still... He shook his head. What was he worried about? Sam Tate had called up with news that, after careful analysis, it looked as if there was enough OMS propellant aboard to slow Columbia down so that they wouldn’t burn up when they hit the atmosphere. They would hit it over the Indian Ocean, he said, skip a little, and then come in over the Pacific. Columbia would be guided in by the automatic landing system (ALS) at Edwards Air Force Base. Edwards was flat and dry. Even if Columbia missed the runway, the hard-packed desert floor would give her a good landing. All Jack had to do was sit back and enjoy the ride home.

  He tried to relax but his mind was swarming. What was it going to be like back on earth? From the messages he had received, Cecil had managed to get him and the MEC employees off all legal hooks. And the thirty kilos of dirt he and Penny had collected were being eagerly awaited by the nation, according to a personal message voiced up by the new vice president. Everything seemed resolved and yet...

  What about Penny? Perhaps that was what was bothering him. What was he to do about his feelings toward her? And what was she thinking? She was an independent woman. Would she really want to tie herself down with him? What could he offer her? His company was gone. He wasn’t even certain he wanted to try to rebuild it.

  Jack peered into the darkness. He thought he’d seen a blinking light, alternating red and then green. He looked away, an old observer’s trick, and then scanned the area again. Nothing. You’re seeing things, boy, he remonstrated to himself. Part of his general unexplainable unease and anxiety, he thought. To his knowledge, no one had yet put blinking buoys out on the Armstrong Sea.

  Soyuz-Y

  Dubrinski finally assumed control of his spacecraft, much to Grant’s relief. The radar blinked its solution. He fired the Soyuz-Y’s thrusters for a ten-second count.

  Grant searched ahead. “I see her.” She pointed at a smear of pale light. “There!”

  “Exactly on schedule,” Dubrinski replied crisply. He switched on the docking lights, red to port, green to starboard. “Shall I call them, Colonel?”

  Grant held binoculars to her eyes. Her heart raced as she saw the familiar shape of Columbia. She’d flown on her once, and she was supposed to be aboard her now. She felt a twinge of jealousy. “Not yet, Yuri. I’d like to inspect Columbia first, starting with her belly. And turn off your signal lights!”

  Dubrinski toggled the switches. “Yes, ma’am. If I have learned nothing else about being a capitalist, I have remembered one axiom: The customer is always right.”

  Grant didn’t respond to his attempted joke. She lowered the bi noculars, looked around the capsule. Its stick and controls were the same as used on the MiG-29 fighter-bomber and also similar to those of the F-15, an Air Force jet she’d learn to fly to perfection. A button on the side of the stick acted as the throttle with an analog readout on the console ind
icating accelerations. It was simple but effective. She watched Dubrinski deftly work the stick, the lateral thrusters responding. The Soyuz-Y whisked around the shuttle and came in underneath.

  Grant studied the glittering shuttle tiles. “Can you hold us in this position?” she asked the Russian.

  “Of course.” He worked the stick and the capsule slowed until it matched the shuttle’s speed and course. “What a beautiful spacecraft,” he said, awestruck.

  “Right, beautiful,” Grant muttered. She turned away from him, reached into her personal kit stowed in a strapped-down cloth bag beside her.

  Dubrinski kept admiring the big shuttle. “It is just like Russia’s own Buran shuttle,” he whispered. “It is such a shame we only flew it once, and unmanned at that. A damned shame...”

  Grant jabbed a spring-loaded hypodermic needle into his thigh. Dubrinski jerked, looked down, and then back up at her, a startled expression on his face. When she pulled the needle out, his suit still held pressure, the hole too small to cause a leak. He reached for her but his hand drifted up past her face and then hung there. He was already out.

  “Sorry, Yuri,” Grant said, tenderly. The syringe had been delivered to her by Carl Puckett with the admonition to do her duty, no matter what her personal feelings might be. That’s what she had done, God help her, because no one else would.

  Grant worked the stick, flew through a few practice loops, until she got the feel of the Soyuz-Y. She was the best pilot in the astronaut corps and was about to prove it. Grant came up over the lip of Columbia ’s port payload bay door and flew down the sill, snapping the shuttle’s Ku-band antenna off at its neck.

  Columbia

  Jack felt Columbia shudder. He came out of his seat and flew back to the aft view ports in time to see the Soyuz-Y fly down the length of the payload bay and then come back. It was a very distinctive spacecraft and Jack knew what it was at once. He could see two cosmonauts in the twin window panels.

  He also saw that the Ku-band antenna, their primary communications link to America Control, was missing. Penny and Virgil came up beside him. “Jack?” Penny asked. “What is it?”

  “Company. They hit us.”

  “A Soyuz, Penny,” Virgil explained. “Russian. Why do you think they’re here, boss?”

  Jack watched the little green capsule maneuver. “I hope they’re a welcome wagon, Virg. But somehow I doubt it.”

  The Soyuz-Y came up to the view ports and hovered in front of them. “It’s Olivia Grant!” Penny gasped.

  That told Jack enough to bet on trouble. He flew to the cockpit and strapped himself in, Penny sailing into the seat beside him. “What’s she doing, Virgil?” he called over his shoulder.

  Virgil was still at the aft flight deck view ports. “Nothing. Just sitting out there watching!”

  Jack got on the comm loop, using the S-band. Before he could reestablish contact with America Control, Columbia shook as if she had run aground. “Jack,” Virgil yelled. “Grant hit the port sill. I think she’s after the tether.”

  The tether was Columbia ’s principle power source. It was standing out like a gigantic yo-yo string straight out from the cargo bay. If Grant was after it, there wasn’t much Jack could do to stop her.

  Soyuz-Y

  Piloting the Soyuz-Y was about as much fun as flying a turnip in space but Grant was a quick learner. She flew down the payload bay, accidentally bouncing off the port sill, and then up the tether, striking it with the capsule’s docking latches. She backed off and came at it again. The tether vibrated but did not break. She flew around the cargo bay and came in from behind. The OMS rocket engines were on both sides of the vertical stabilizer. If she could damage those, the spacejackers wouldn’t be able to slow themselves and would either bounce off the atmosphere or burn up. Grant no longer questioned herself as to why she was attacking Columbia. She was there. She had been given her orders. She was going to do what needed to be done.

  She piloted the Soyuz-Y into a wide circle around Columbia. She could see no one at the view ports. She willed calm, studying the shuttle, deciding her next move.

  While Grant sat and thought through her situation, she didn’t see the shuttle arm swinging out. The Soyuz-Y was a sturdy ship, essentially overengineered, but it had one great weakness. Even with the larger windows put in on the Y-variant, the pilot was blind to everything that wasn’t directly in front.

  Columbia

  Jack pushed the motion rate to the peg, unfolding the shuttle arm and turning the wrist to open the end effector. He could only hope that the grapple had not been damaged when Virgil had snagged the Lem.

  The Soyuz-Y had an American-style grappling fixture on the side of its descent module, added for its application as a lifeboat with the International Space Station. Jack aimed the end effector, pushed its velocity to the red line. The end effector closed over the fixture. “Got you!”

  The thrusters of the Soyuz-Y lit up. The arm strain gauge numbers soared into the red zone. Grant was tearing the arm apart, pulling the shuttle around with it. Jack had to get rid of the arm. He called up the contingency deorbit checklist, chose QUICK RESPONSE JETTISON from the menu, and clicked on it. A few seconds later the explosive bolts in the arm’s base detonated. The severed trunk rose, cables trailing behind, and described an arc out of the payload bay. The Soyuz-Y went with it.

  Soyuz-Y

  Grant desperately worked the controls. When she tried to fly forward, the mass of the arm carried the spacecraft off at a tangent. Frustration filled her and she slammed her fist again and again against the cockpit wall. Then she saw Columbia in the window. Luck had carried her to the rear of the ship. Grant’s face turned from a grimace into a sad smile.

  Calling on all of her piloting skills, she began to sense the center of gravity of the grotesque craft she was flying. She poured on the main thrusters, using the laterals at the same time, sending the Soyuz-Y trailing the RMS arm flying straight ahead until the five nozzles of Big Dog filled her windscreen.

  The Soyuz-Y slammed into Columbia ’s tail, snapping off the Russian spacecraft’s instrumentation module and swinging the descent module up into the starboard OMS pod. Smashing the pod also crushed the fuel and oxidizer tanks positioned there. Columbia shook as the tanks exploded, flames erupting into space. The Soyuz-Y, its pressure hull ripped open, kept grinding, its destructive path ending only when it plowed into Big Dog, tearing the engine apart.

  THE FACE AT THE WINDOW

  Columbia

  By the time Columbia managed to make contact with America Control on the S-band, there was only one hour until reentry. Jack told the story quickly.

  “We copy all that, Jack,” Sam responded. “Stand by.”

  Virgil hung over the seat. “Stand by, the man says. This time we’ve had it. One OMS left and that ain’t gonna be enough to slow us down. When we hit the atmosphere, we’re just gonna be one big fireball.”

  “Virgil, please be quiet. Let Jack think,” Penny said. “Please think, Jack.”

  Jack was thinking. He attacked the problem, his mind flying all over the shuttle, probing everything on it for something to slow them down. Then he thought about what was in the cargo bay and snapped his fingers. “Got an idea.”

  “What?” Penny breathed.

  He told them. “I think it’ll get us at least through reentry. Where we pop out, I don’t know. And I’ll have to land this sucker wherever it is, and the biggest thing I’ve ever landed before was a Cessna-150. Maybe I could do it at Edwards but on some short strip... and of course we might not even come in over land. Still, it’s a chance.”

  Penny’s mouth dropped open. “You told me you were a pilot and could land a shuttle.”

  “When did I say that?”

  “I don’t know. The first day, the second—you know, right after you kidnapped me, Medaris!”

  Jack smiled sheepishly. “I guess I wanted your cooperation, High Eagle.”

  “I can’t believe this....”

  �
�What about the wreckage hanging off our tail?” Virgil worried.

  “We’ll hope it burns off when we come in.”

  Jack called Tate, explained his plan. “Virgil and Penny will bail out as soon as we get low enough,” he concluded after outlining what he proposed.

  Penny grabbed him by his collar. “Forget it, Jack. Where you go, we all go.”

  Jack knew better than to argue with her. “Go check the RMS base,” he said. “Make sure nothing is left that’ll interfere with the bay doors closing. Quickly, now.”

  Penny saluted sardonically. “Yes, sir!” She pulled herself out of her seat, went hand over hand along the flight deck floor, and then up to the bank of consoles and switches. She looked out the view ports to inspect the shuttle arm base left after the explosive bolts had blown the arm away. She screamed when she saw the face at the window.

  REENTRY

  Columbia

  Jack pulled on his suit and headed outside, ignoring the requirement to prebreathe. There was no air in the main supply of his suit, and there wasn’t much in the emergency supply, and the scrubber was all but dead. If he prebreathed, there wouldn’t be anything left to use to go outside. What he had to do out there, he’d just have to do quickly.

  Jack pushed open the hatch and climbed out of the airlock into the cargo bay. He looked up and saw what he assumed to be the Russian pilot of the Soyuz-Y still at the view port, carrying Grant with him. He grabbed him by a boot, drew him and Grant into the airlock, slammed the hatch shut, and hit the pressure lever. After ambient was reached, Virgil opened the inner hatch and the cosmonaut came out, turning to pull Grant out with him. She was unconscious. Jack followed after doffing his suit.

  Penny settled in beside the Russian. “What were you doing with Ollie Grant?” she demanded.

  “A rescue mission,” Dubrinski said after introducing himself. He had taken off his scorched helmet. “But then your Colonel Grant saw fit to drug me. There is a needle wound on my thigh if you do not believe me.”