Executive Intent

by Dale Brown

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now let’s stop thinking about the accident and start thinking about survival and rescue,” Kai said resolutely, as much to himself as to Hunter Noble. “You’ve got at least a couple hours before Stud Two can get to you. What we’re going to do is start evaluating your condition, and then the condition of your ship, because we need to pass as much information to Stud Two as we can before he launches. You’ve got battery-powered lights on your helmet and suit, so let’s get them on and take a look around.”

  “Roger,” Boomer said. He felt as if he was underwater, perhaps in the big NASA EVA training tank in Houston -everything was moving in slow motion. But he touched the control on the side of his helmet on the first try, which illuminated two LED lamps on either side of his helmet.

  “I’ve got a hole in my forward windscreen on the upper right side,” Boomer radioed. “That’s probably jammed the canopy closed. We’ll probably need the ‘Jaws of Life’ to pry us out of here.” He turned to his right and felt a stab of pain run through his neck. “Wrenched my neck, but I can move it.” He let the LED light play outside the Black Stallion. “I see a white cloud surrounding the ship, so I’m probably leaking something. Not sure if it’s jet fuel or oxidizer-might be both.” He then noticed the Earth-it was traveling overhead from left to right. “Looks like we’re slowly spinning, x-axis, counterclockwise, not real fast, maybe two revs a minute-just enough to be annoying.”

  “Good info, Boomer,” Kai said. “Keep it coming.”

  “Roger.” His fingers began finding their way across the forward and side instrument panels-he was familiar enough with the cockpit layout that he didn’t need lights to find them. “I’m shutting off any switches that are still on, but I’ll leave the battery switch on for now so we can communicate.” After he made sure all switches were off, he continued his scan. “Looks like whatever came through the windscreen exited through the left side of the canopy-probably missed me by just inches.”

  “Lucky at cards, lucky with flying debris.”

  “Unlucky at love, right?”

  “We haven’t finished writing that chapter yet, have we?” Kai asked.

  “No, we haven’t, sir. What’s going on with the Chinese?”

  “They’re still heading for Mogadishu, and now we’re tracking a large formation of high-subsonic aircraft heading that way, too.”

  “Looks like someone’s going to get clobbered down there.”

  “One crisis at a time, Boomer. Check your oxygen lines and fittings.”

  “Roger.” He let his fingers travel along the oxygen lines. He felt some pain when moving his right shoulder, but it wasn’t as bad as his neck. “Can’t feel any breaks in the oh-two line.”

  “Roger that. Stud Two is taxiing for takeoff, Boomer. The tanker is airborne. They’ll be with you in about two and a half to three hours. Intermediate orbit, transfer orbit, rendezvous.”

  “Not bad. Lucky again.”

  “How’s your suit?”

  “Stand by.” Boomer raised his left arm, then winced as he reached up with his right hand to turn on the suit control panel. “EEAS is on ship’s power,” he said. “ Battery status is one hundred percent and still being charged with ship’s power. Everything else looks like it’s in-”

  Just then, he noticed a flicker of light off his right side-a reflection in the white cloud of gas surrounding the ship. “Hey, I see a light off to the right,” he radioed. Through the stabs of pain, he craned his neck as far as he could over his right shoulder to see what it was. “Can’t see any…wait, there it is again. It comes and goes. It’s reflecting off the vapor cloud around the Stud.”

  “Still no cockpit indications?”

  “No. I’d have to reset the master switch. Think I ought to give that a try?”

  “I don’t know, Boomer. If you have a fuel-or oxidizer-tank breach, powering up the ship could set something off.”

  “Something might already be getting ready to set off, General,” Boomer said. “I can reset the master switch, check for any sign of trouble, and then shut it off again real quick.”

  “And if that starts a fire? What then?”

  “Only one option,” Boomer said. He didn’t say what it was-that would’ve been too horrible to think about.

  “If you think the risk is worth it, Boomer, do it,” Kai said. “Your help won’t arrive for a few hours.”

  He saw the flicker of light again-that decided it. Something was going on back there. “I’m resetting the master switch…now.” He felt for the switch, clicked it down from the center “OFF” position, then up to “ON.” The cockpit lights turned on immediately…

  …and brighter than all of them were the two red-colored illuminated handles on the eyebrow panel marked FIRE NO. 3 and FIRE NO. 4.

  Boomer’s reaction was immediate. He pulled both illuminated handles and waited a few seconds…but the lights didn’t go out. He spoke as calmly as he could, “Fire in leopards three and four, evacuating!” He then immediately shut off the master and battery switches, cutting off communications. His right hand went immediately to a selector switch under the right forward instrument panel and verified it was in the “BOTH” position, then opened a red-colored guard next to it and flipped the switch inside up…

  …which blew off McCallum’s cockpit canopy using cannons of nitrogen gas, followed two seconds later by Boomer’s canopy.

  He quickly unstrapped and floated free of his seat. He pulled the headrest off his seat, which was a small survival kit, and clipped it onto his flight suit, then retrieved his HMU and clipped it on his suit as well. Unreeling his umbilical lines behind him, he pulled himself to the aft cockpit, unfastened McCallum’s seat straps, and pulled him free of the ship as carefully but as quickly as he could.

  Now that he was above the Black Stallion, he could see what was going on: Debris from Kingfisher-8 had hit the two right engines and right wing, creating clouds of leaking fuel. Something inside one of the engines was creating a spark when the oxidizer made an electric arc ignite, but when the oxidizer dissipated, the spark went away. They were extremely lucky that one of those sparks hadn’t encountered a cloud of leaking jet fuel and exploded. Chemical explosions in space were extremely rare, but with this much oxidizer floating around, it was certainly possible.

  Making sure his umbilicals and tether were connected, he grabbed McCallum’s survival kit and HMU, fastened them to his flight suit, then grasped McCallum as tightly as he could and kicked himself away from the Black Stallion. The umbilicals were several yards long, and Boomer thought he would go out to their full length, stay connected to the ship’s oxygen as long as possible, use the hand jets to stay clear of the stricken ship as it continued its lazy spinning, and detach as soon as he saw any sign of…

  …and at that moment he saw a bright flash of light that obscured half the ship, and a massive tongue of flame curled around underneath the right wing inside the cloud of oxidizer and jet fuel for a fraction of a second before disappearing. Boomer didn’t hesitate-he unlocked and released the umbilicals from his and McCallum’s suits; then, with a momentary hesitation, unclipped the safety tethers. He then used the hand maneuvering jet to propel them away from the Black Stallion.

  He and McCallum were now part of the thousands of pieces of space debris orbiting Earth.

  Boomer used his HMU to push them away from the ship, discarded it when it was empty, then used McCallum’s HMU to push out farther and to stabilize them both until it was almost exhausted, then reattached it back to his flight suit. He and McCallum were perhaps a quarter mile away from the Stud and slowly drifting farther-that was the best he could do. They were probably safe from all but the “golden BB” piece of space debris. The Black Stallion continued to flash and flare as fuel caught fire for the briefest of moments-it looked like a shiny speckled trout washed up on shore, sparkling brightly in the sun even while it was dying.

  Next order of business was to make sure the suits were plugged in, tu
rned on, and functioning. The suits had valves to close off the umbilical lines once disconnected, so Boomer and McCallum had a good supply of breathing air. Each suit had a backup battery to power lights and a short-range single-frequency radio, and he turned that on as well. Both suits had carbon-dioxide scrubbers that should keep CO2 levels at survivable levels for several hours-a simple pull of a tab activated the first of two canisters in each suit. That gave Boomer a chance to look at McCallum’s suit control panel, and he was pleased to see his pulse light blinking-weak, but it was a pulse-and good oxygen-saturation levels.

  “Thank God,” he said aloud. “Hang in there, Jeff. If we’re still alive, we’ve still got work to do.”

  Boomer thought of waiting to activate the distress beacon until Stud Two was on its way to this orbit, but just in case the CO2 scrubbers didn’t work and he was rendered unconscious, he decided to activate his beacon and use Jeff’s as a backup. Another quick pull of a tab, and the beacon was on. It was meant for use after ejection when on the ground, but supposedly it would work just as well in space. He made sure his Electronic Elastomeric Activity Suit was on battery power-that was one thing McCallum didn’t have to worry about; Jeff’s suit was fully inflated. The survival kits had emergency oxygen bottles that would refresh the air in the suits for a few hours after the CO2 scrubbers were saturated-rescue was imperative after that.

  There was nothing left to do but float. “Hey, Jeff,” he radioed over to McCallum, hoping he was listening while still unconscious, “I’m surprised that I’m so damned calm. Here we are, adrift orbiting around planet Earth and, if not rescued in time, our lifeless bodies will eventually become meteorites. I’m not scared. In fact, I’m relaxed and kind of enjoying the view. I know help is on the way, and our equipment is actually working as advertised. We’re good for now.”

  He kept on talking, telling stories, doing imaginary interviews about this experience with beautiful and adoring news anchors, telling Jeff which landmarks he was able to see on Earth, and even remarking that he thought he saw Armstrong Space Station whiz by. “I waved my arms, but I guess they couldn’t see me,” Boomer deadpanned.

  Sometime later, he began wondering if he had made the right decision by abandoning the Black Stallion-but at that instant he noticed a bright flash of light off in the distance. “That blast surely did her in,” he radioed. “You did good protecting us, old girl. Hope to see you when you reenter.”

  “Are you talking to me, Boomer?” he heard a voice ask.

  “Jeff!” Boomer raised the dark visor on McCallum’s helmet and was relieved beyond words to see his eyes open. “You’re awake! How do you feel?”

  “Like my head’s ready to explode,” McCallum said weakly. He looked around. “Where are we?”

  “Adrift,” Boomer replied.

  “What?”

  “Easy, Jeff, easy,” Boomer said. “We abandoned the Stud a little more than an hour ago. Kingfisher-Eight exploded and creamed the ship. I think the Stud just blew.”

  “My God,” McCallum breathed. Boomer didn’t need to check his respiration blinker to know McCallum was on the verge of panicking. “Are we going to die out here? Are we going to freeze to death?”

  “Relax, bro,” Boomer said. “We’re more likely to overheat. In space, there’s no air to radiate heat away from our bodies, so it all gets trapped inside our suits. Relax. They’re on their way to get us.”

  “We have no air?”

  “Just what was in our suits when I disconnected us from the ship,” Boomer said. “The survival kits have emergency bottles, and if you need it I can hook you up. But the C-oh-two scrubbers will remove the carbon dioxide for hours.”

  “Then what?”

  “We’ll be rescued before then, Jeff, don’t worry,” Boomer said, hoping he sounded convincing enough. “The general launched Stud Two after us, and we have a locator beacon going. Another hour or two and we should be headed back to the station.”

  “This is insane. We’re going to die out here!” McCallum cried. Just as Boomer heard him beginning to hyperventilate, McCallum reached up to the locking mechanism of his helmet. “I can’t breathe, man, help me get this damned thing off!”

  “Jeff, no!” Boomer shouted, pulling McCallum’s hands away from his helmet latches-watching carefully to be sure McCallum didn’t reach for his gear, like a panicked swimmer pulling a lifeguard under. “Jeff, listen to me, listen! We’re going to be okay. We’re safe inside our suits, we’re not going to freeze to death, and we have plenty of air. You’ve got to relax! We’re going to make it!”

  “Why did you do this to me, Noble?” McCallum screamed. “Why did you push me out of the ship?”

  “It was going to explode. I had to-”

  “Things don’t explode in outer space, you idiot!” McCallum shouted. “How can something explode without air? You killed me, you stupid jerk!”

  “Relax, McCallum, relax!” Boomer said in as calm a voice as he could muster. “We’re going to be okay-”

  “I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe!” McCallum gasped. Boomer was having a tough time keeping his hands away from his helmet lock-fortunately, the lock was very hard to remove with gloves on. “Help me, Boomer, help me, I’m dying…!”

  “No, you’re not, Jeff, you’re okay, just hang on!” Boomer shouted. “Calm down! We’ve practiced this a hundred times. Stay calm and we’ll wait for rescue together.”

  “That’s with a full EMU setup, Boomer, not a simple suit without an air supply!” McCallum shouted. “I’ve got no air! I’ve got to get out of this thing! I can’t breathe!”

  “They’re on their way, Jeff, just stay calm and relax! Stop struggling! Breathe steady, man, you’re hyperventilating! Stay-”

  McCallum’s hands suddenly left his helmet collar lock and pushed right at Boomer’s helmet, sending him spinning away head over heels…and it was only then that, because he was unconscious until just a few moments ago, he realized that in the emergency evacuation of the Black Stallion he had broken the first and most important rule of extravehicular activities: “Make Before Break,” or always attach a tether to something before releasing it…

  …he had never secured McCallum to himself.

  “Jeff!” he shouted. “Hold on! I’ll be right back to you!” He fumbled around, finally retrieved the Handheld Maneuvering Unit, and used short spurts of nitrogen to stop his tumbling. It took him several long moments to get his bearings. He remembered Earth was “underneath” him, not above him, so he reoriented himself, then used more short bursts to look around for McCallum.

  “Jeff, can you see me? Use your strobe or your helmet lights to help me find you!” He heard heavy, rapid breathing sounds, and he prayed McCallum might pass out from hyperventilating. Just then, he saw him, only ten yards away. His hands were no longer trying to work the helmet lock-it appeared as if he was checking his suit’s monitor on his left wrist. “I see you, Jeff!” he radioed, raising the HMU to start his way over to him. “Hang-”

  But then he realized what McCallum was doing…because moments later McCallum had stripped off his left protective outer glove and was now working the ring latch on his left suit glove! “Jeff, stop what you’re doing! Stop! Hold on, Jeff, I’ll be right over!”

  “I can’t get my helmet off, Boomer!” McCallum shouted. “It won’t come off! I can’t breathe! If I get this damned glove off, it’ll be easier to take the helmet off!”

  “Hold on, Jeff! I’m almost there!” Boomer hit the HMU thruster. If he hit him, he might be able to distract him enough. He had to be perfect, but there was no time to aim…

  “I’ll get it,” McCallum said in a high, squeaky, strained voice, almost like a child’s. “If I can take these damned gloves off, I can get it.” The helmet ring latch was really designed to be operated by a helper, although the wearer himself could do it with a little patience and practice, but the glove’s ring latch was designed to be operated inside of an air lock by the wearer, and was therefore easier to ope
rate with space-suit gloves on. Before Boomer could reach him, McCallum had opened the locking mechanism and…

  …at that moment Boomer rammed into him. In his EEAS it was easier for Boomer to grasp and hold something, and he grasped at anything he could-McCallum’s head, his space-suit material, anything to keep from rebounding back into space. He had flipped right over McCallum, but he held on. They were both twisting around after the impact, but they were together once more. “I got you, Jeff!” he shouted. “Hold on to me, Jeff, and I’ll get us secured. Hold on, man, we’re gonna make it…”

  But just as Boomer began pulling his partner around to face him, McCallum twisted the ring latch another half inch, and with a puff of moisture-laden oxygen, the air began leaking out of his suit.

  “No!” Boomer cried out. He fumbled for the left wrist. McCallum made a loud animal-like bark as oxygen forced itself out of his lungs. Boomer reached the ring latch, but he couldn’t force McCallum’s hand away in time before all of the air in the space suit evacuated. Boomer watched as McCallum started gasping for air for a few seconds, his eyes bulging in terror, and then he closed his eyes and mercifully fell asleep from hypoxia.

  Boomer managed to snap the ring latch closed. He then retrieved his seat-back survival kit, found the small bottle of emergency oxygen, removed the mask, plugged it into the port on McCallum’s suit, and pulled the activation ring. It was empty almost instantly. Boomer opened McCallum’s survival kit, found the oxygen bottle, and drained it into the suit as fast as he could. No reaction.

  Boomer checked the wrist monitor and found less than one-fourth of an atmosphere of oxygen in the suit. McCallum’s pulse and respiration were almost nonexistent. His friend would be dead within a couple minutes after all the oxygen in his brain had bubbled out. It was not a horrible way to die-the body didn’t explode or freeze, the blood didn’t boil-and he was free of the horror of loneliness and certain death that his mind had created.