Solitude: Dimension Space Book One

by Dean M. Cole

  After parking the forklift off to one side, the man climbed down and wiped sweat from his forehead. Early morning clouds had given way to bright sunlight, turning it into a warm Cleveland day.

  Another series of beeps echoed off of the side of the large facility. With Vaughn atop its rectangular metal deck, the scissor lift inched its way up to the fifteen-foot-tall module. Then he donned a stuffed tool belt.

  Vaughn started removing equipment and hardware. Using the scissor lift, he worked his way from the top to the bottom of the module. Unnecessary or redundant electronics and fasteners soon littered the ground. Twice Vaughn had fired up the generator and taken a reciprocating saw to a particularly stubborn piece of hardware. He could almost see the vehicle's long-missing engineers cringing.

  Vaughn hurled another arcane piece of unnecessary hardware.

  "A man's got to do what a man's got to do."

  Several potentiometers and other extraneous measuring devices cluttered the now mangled chunk of metal. Like everything else that Vaughn had removed, its loss would not negatively impact the thruster's abilities.

  He kept the three-ring binder open on the top of the scissor lift. Vaughn referred to its diagrams on several occasions. The reactionless thruster was a pretty straightforward self-contained assembly. Mounted to a directional gimbal that was, in turn, mounted to the bottom of the module, it had two primary requirements. The drive needed modulated power and a way to cool its electrical components.

  During his early morning studies, Vaughn had learned that the thruster's cooling system was integral to the module's chassis. It had been specifically designed to work in a vacuum, to dissipate heat even when there was no air to which to transfer it. So the man was careful not to disturb any of those connections or cooling fins.

  Finally, he couldn't find any additional hardware or systems to remove.

  It was time to install the RTG.

  The thruster module had a large bank of batteries under the crew deck. Those had provided sufficient power for the hover test in the vacuum chamber. However, out here, if Vaughn tried to launch without a recharging source, the electrical supply would soon deplete, sending the module earthward like a homesick rock.

  He removed the battery bank and then turned to the RTG's green container. After he released its final fastener, the man reached for the upper handle. He hesitated for a moment. Not all of yesterday's movements had been exactly smooth. There had been a few hard knocks between Houston and Cleveland.

  Vaughn placed a protective hand over his genitals and turned his head to one side, closing an eye. Slowly, he lifted the heavy, lead-lined lid. Again its hinges squeaked their protest.

  Through a slitted eye, Vaughn studied the RTG.

  All looked well.

  Vaughn released his gonads and held breath as he fully opened the creaking lid. He soon had the device mounted to the deck of the module. An hour after that, he finished plumbing its cooling system as well.

  Covered in sweat and breathing heavily, the man stood back, admiring his work, and then nodded.

  "Moment of truth, Captain."

  Chewing his lip, Vaughn extended a hesitant index finger toward the module's power switch and then pressed it.

  He flinched as a series of loud clicks emanated from beneath him.

  Then the thruster's instrument panel came to life.

  Vaughn pumped his fist in the air.

  "Yes!"

  He danced around the cockpit, laughing and shouting like an NFL player celebrating a game-winning touchdown.

  Finally, the man powered down the RTG and began preparations for the next task. He raised the scissor lift up to the upper reaches of the module, stopping when it drew even with the base of the cone-shaped collection of tubes that formed the top of the chassis.

  Vaughn hung two new tools from his belt. Then he stepped up to a stack of square sheet metal panels and grabbed the top one. Working his way up from the bottom of the cone, he began to drill and rivet the thin, light metal squares to the angled tubes on top of the module.

  He lapped them like shingles on a roof. This would leave no edge exposed to the prying fingers of air that would stream across the surface of the makeshift cone. Using tinsnips and a rubber mallet, he molded the panels into shape, trimming edges and rounding corners.

  Finally, he riveted a large, orange funnel over the top edge of the uppermost sheets. To save weight, he'd decided not to cover the horizontal walls. During the ascent, it would get drafty inside, but the spacesuit would protect him. Besides, the module wouldn't need to go that fast in the atmosphere. He would save the majority of his acceleration for the exoatmospheric portion of the flight.

  Vaughn lowered the scissor lift to the ground and climbed out. He stood back and studied his work. He laughed and shook his head.

  His little spaceship looked like something straight out of a steampunk graphic novel.

  The aeronautical handyman checked his watch.

  "Oh shit! Almost time to call Angela!"

  He ran to the truck and grabbed the ham radio set. After a few starts and stops, he finished installing it in the Sigma Thruster. By the time Vaughn powered it up, he was five minutes late for his check-in.

  He depressed the transmit trigger on the module's control stick. "Angela, are you there?"

  "Well, it's about time, Captain. I was starting to get—" A series of hacking coughs cut the sentence short.

  "That doesn't sound good."

  "It doesn't feel very good either," she whispered. "How did it—" more coughing, "—go this morning?"

  After a silent moment staring at the radio with a concerned look, Vaughn pressed the transmit key. "So far, so good. I have a couple of items left to do, but they won't take long. I should be flight-ready in an hour or two."

  "That's great news, Vaughn!"

  He looked at his watch. "Is that departure time still good?"

  "Yeah, then or ninety minutes later will work, too. After that, the next few orbital passes will have me too far south—"

  Her words dissolved into another spasm of coughs and she broke the transmission.

  "Angela? Are you okay?"

  After a worrying silence, she returned. "I'm a long way from okay. Hurry to me, Vaughn."

  Looking overhead, the man warily eyed the tin roof of his glorified silo. "Okay, Angela. I'll call you back when I clear the atmosphere."

  "Good luck, Vaughn, and … thank you for working so hard … Thank you … for everything. You really are my hero."

  Chapter 28

  Vaughn gave the cargo strap one final ratchet and then tugged at the modified nozzle of each oxygen bottle. They didn't budge. He'd scavenged them from all over the research center. Their sizes varied from long, thin tanks to short, fat ones. The man had connected each of them to a long pipe that served as an oxygen distribution manifold. He'd found most of the necessary hardware in the Space Power Annex. However, finishing the project had required another trip to Home Depot, so the first launch window had already passed and the second one was nearing.

  The man jumped down from the module and ran into the facility. A few minutes later, he returned garbed in a new spacesuit. His original one no longer fit. When Vaughn had tried it on, he'd been swimming in its expansive interior. Before donning this one, he had wired a three-lug audio jack into its communication system. It was the same type of socket you would see on an MP3 player or iPhone.

  In preparation for liftoff, the astronaut-to-be circumnavigated his unlikely chariot. Everything looked flight-ready, or at least, as much as it ever would.

  Vaughn climbed onto the module's flight deck. With trepidation, he eyed the array of oxygen bottles. Lined up like a row of dead soldiers of varying body types, they filled the available floor space between the back side of the foot pedals and the module's outer edge. He would have preferred to bring more oxygen. However, the collection of tanks already amassed significant weight. Vaughn had rigged each with a quick disconnect like those that carpent
ers use to connect pneumatic tools to their compressed air source. To lighten the load, he planned to remove and discard the tanks as they emptied.

  Vaughn connected the O2 supply to his suit. He left the valve closed and his visor open. No sense using his limited oxygen supply while still in an ocean of the stuff. Finally, he plugged the suit's modified communications cable into the module.

  After strapping in, Vaughn looked at the copilot seat. He had occupied that one the last time this thing had flown. Back then, the man had been a virtual sandbag, just dead weight to prove that the module could hover with two people aboard. At the time, he had wondered if Mark had picked him more because of his weight than for the stated reason of his competency.

  Vaughn shook his head. None of that mattered now. Only one purpose remained for that seat. And it was time to put it to use.

  With hard-learned diligence, he worked methodically through the pre-flight checks. A few minutes later, he had all systems online.

  Vaughn's heart raced as his finger traced over the last checklist item. He gave the parachute strapped to his chest an appraising tug. Still secure. The man had belted another one into the copilot seat. He had brought them for obvious reasons. However, until the module was above 1000 feet, a parachute wasn't likely to do him any good.

  The panting he heard in his ears reminded Vaughn of his first trip into the vacuum chamber. As he had done that day, he swallowed hard and took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down.

  Finally reining in the emotions, Vaughn began to lift the stick in his left hand. It worked like a helicopter's collective control. Pull it up to increase thrust and vice versa.

  Unlike his vacuum chamber experience, Vaughn could hear the thruster's hum this time. It began as a murmuring vibration that radiated through the floor and seat, but it escalated into a tooth-rattling drone as he continued to lift the stick and increase power.

  Suddenly, the module began to dance and skitter on its landing gear. Then it slid left several feet. Vaughn increased power, and the thruster leaped into the air, and its lateral drift accelerated.

  "Son of a bitch!"

  His eyes widened as the Sigma Module sped toward the scissor lift. Shoving the center stick to the right, he arrested the drift just as the module bumped the side of the lift. Finally gaining control of the beast, the pilot haltingly flew the module back into position.

  After a few seconds of unsteady hovering and some pilot-induced oscillations, Vaughn got a feel for the flight controls. He soon had the thrumming beast in a stable hover.

  The space-rated GPS that he had strapped into the instrument panel showed a ground speed of zero and a digital altitude of ten feet. Earlier, Vaughn had been right not to trust the navigation system's position information. When he had arrived in Houston, the center of the airport's location had been off by more than a mile. However, the error drift was minuscule. It would work just fine for speed and general location data.

  Vaughn looked up.

  "It's time to get busy living, Captain!"

  He raised the collective control, and the ship began to climb. It rose slowly at first. But as he increased power, it began to accelerate. Soon he felt turbulence buffeting the outside of his spacesuit. The wind whipped through his open helmet. Water streamed from his squinted eyes. Keeping his right hand on the center stick or cyclic, Vaughn released the collective and slid the visor down enough to shield his eyes. It worked. He blinked the tears from his vision and the horizon resolved. The trees and then the buildings of the NASA facility dropped out of view beneath him.

  Grabbing the collective again, Vaughn added more power. Like a helicopter climbing straight up, the SSTO Module ascended through five hundred feet.

  The turbulence under the thruster's makeshift nose cone increased. It now buffeted Vaughn left and right. A moment later, the altimeter crested one thousand feet.

  "Hell yeah! I'm on my way, Angela!"

  Vaughn added more power, and the vertical speed increased to 1500 feet per minute. A quick check of the GPS display showed that he'd picked up some unwanted ground speed. Cross-referencing the ground track with his magnetic heading, Vaughn saw that he was drifting left. He applied right cyclic.

  Having reined in the drift, the helicopter pilot applied more power. The vertical speed needle crept up to 2000 feet per minute, but the leftward drift returned. His lateral velocity soon exceeded twenty knots and building. He tried to apply additional right cyclic, but it hit the stop.

  He couldn't arrest the drift!

  Vaughn didn't know if this was upper-level winds or something else. He reduced the power, and the climb rate fell back to 1500 feet per minute. Vaughn applied left pedal, and the module pivoted a quarter turn. Lake Erie rotated into view. Even though he now faced north, the ship continued to drift left. Apparently, it wasn't caused by the wind. The cone must be creating some asymmetrical lateral thrust.

  The module climbed through 3000 feet of altitude. Beneath him, most of the airport was no longer visible. However, Vaughn could now see the entire city of Cleveland. Ahead of him and to his left and right, Lake Erie stretched to the horizon. At the reduced climb speed, he was able to zero out the lateral drift again. Vaughn checked the power level. So far, it had not exceeded seventy percent. There was plenty more available, but he'd have to wait for thinner air before he could apply it.

  A few minutes later he crossed 10,000 feet. He continued to play with the power setting. Presently, seventy-two percent left sufficient lateral thrust to keep the drift in check.

  When the module climbed through 12,000 feet, Vaughn lowered his visor and cracked open the first oxygen bottle. The suit had enough on-board for a couple of hours, but he wanted to save that for later.

  An hour into the vertical flight, the Sigma Thruster crested 100,000 feet. The sky had turned indigo blue. From this altitude, Vaughn could clearly see the planet's curvature. A grin spread across his face as he looked down on the Great Lakes and much of the Northeast.

  "It's beautiful." Vaughn raised his eyebrows. "Scary as shit, but beautiful."

  The ever-thinning atmosphere had permitted incremental power increases. He had decided to cap it at an arbitrary value of ninety percent. However, as atmospheric drag declined, the module's vertical speed continued to increase.

  Vaughn turned the vessel so that he faced east. Now that it was clear of the atmosphere's worst effects, it was time to start building lateral velocity. Applying forward cyclic, he tilted the module a few degrees toward the eastern horizon. His ground speed began to grow as the module's vertical velocity decreased. The pilot experimented with varying levels of pitch until he found the ideal combination of vertical climb and lateral acceleration.

  Two oxygen bottles later, Vaughn saw that it was time to discard another one. He had fashioned a tether for the purpose. Parachute or no, a misstep at this altitude would be catastrophic, not only for Angela but likely for him as well. He was quickly approaching 200,000 feet. No one had ever done a free fall from anywhere close to this altitude. He would likely spin out of control and lose consciousness. The parachute he had was of the dumb variety; it had no auto deploy system.

  Vaughn climbed from the seat and then crawled on hands and knees toward the empty tank. He soon had it disconnected from the supply manifold. The man released the cargo strap that held the tanks together and began shoving the empty cylinder out of the row. However, before he could get it clear, the tether pulled up short.

  Without looking, Vaughn grabbed the strap with his left hand and yanked.

  Suddenly, the ship spun, tossing out Vaughn and the loose bottle.

  "Oh shit!"

  The man grasped desperately, but his hands closed on nothing but empty space. His arms and legs flailed violently as he reached the end of the ten-foot-long tether. His head snapped back in a painful whiplashing motion.

  As he'd flown out of the cockpit, Vaughn had glimpsed the tether drifting away from the left pedal. The strap must have snagged that yaw control
when he had yanked it. Thankfully, the tether had come clear of the pedal, but, even though the controls had returned to neutral, the module continued to rotate about its long axis.

  Hanging from the end of the thin strap, the panicked flailing man now orbited the slowly turning module. Centrifugal force kept the line taut, but acceleration and minor atmospheric drag pulled his body aft, causing him to spin around the thruster like the world's highest swing ride.

  Fortunately, he had made the air supply line a bit longer than the tether. Just as he had the thought, something cylindrical flew from the module, and a faint hiss joined the sound of his heavy breathing.

  "Damn it!"

  Wide-eyed, Vaughn watched the oxygen bottle fly earthward as he desperately grasped the tether. Working hand-over-hand, he began to climb it. Thankfully, the pedals had neutralized. Otherwise, the centrifugal G-forces would have been too strong to overcome. At some point, they would have overloaded the tether and thrown him clear of the module.

  No time to think about that right now.

  Vaughn grunted as he lunged another hand higher up the tether.

  Halfway there!

  Two other bottles oscillated at the ends of their hoses.

  "Shit, shit, shit!"

  Vaughn reached for the closest structural member. Then his hand slipped, and he lost a yard of progress before his other hand rejoined the effort.

  "Son of a bitch!" he growled through a grunt. "Really?!"

  Shaking his head, he shimmied hand-over-hand back toward the structural member. This time, he wrapped the tether around one glove. Just as he grabbed onto the module, a second bottle broke free and floated away.

  "Fuck!"

  Still holding onto the cross-beam, Vaughn snaked his leg into the cockpit and pressed the right pedal. The module, as well as the horizon, finally ceased its spinning. Fortunately, the ship's angle hadn't changed. It was still climbing.

  But Vaughn had bigger problems. His ears popped as the suit continued to lose pressure. A moment later, he identified the problem. When the tanks had broken off, they had left their nozzles in the quick disconnects. Vaughn ejected them, and the hiss stopped. A few seconds later, his ears quit popping as pressure equalized and then rebuilt to pre-leak levels.