Perigee

by Patrick Chiles

  “Real small adjustments,” she said. “Stop pulsing before you think it’s enough. Correct later if you need to…one axis at a time.”

  Poole came back on the frequency. “We concur, Polaris. Let’s slow you down first…need to lose at least a half-meter per second.” It didn’t sound like much, but at this close range that distance would evaporate fast. “We’ll call out closing rates and talk you in on the alignment vector. We’ll fly you right up the R-Bar,” he said, referring to the station’s approach vector pointed toward Earth.

  “Copy that,” Tom said, and began gingerly thrusting away from their line of approach. Puffs of icy vapor flashed outside their right windows.

  …

  “Polaris, we see you slowing,” Simon calmly told them. “Closing at point three. Need to move that out another decimal place or we’ll all have a really bad day.”

  “No pressure there,” Tom said as he kept his eyes fixed on the station.

  “Point zero eight…good. Couple more taps and you’ll have it.”

  He tapped the stick twice more as the station filled their windows. What had looked like a steady approach before now slowed to a crawl. Tom realized how fast their approach had really been, now that they were so close. Shadows passed overhead as they slipped underneath the big solar wings. The size of the thing could be intimidating, especially if he’d allowed himself to think about the velocity at which they were both traveling. “It’s like taxiing into the hangar sideways…on ice.”

  “You’re doing great, skipper,” Ryan encouraged. “Just keep anticipating your movements. And watch out for those solar panels,” he said with concern. “They look touchy.”

  “Thought you said I was doing great,” Tom said, just as they saw one of the wings flutter under the breath of their nose thrusters. “Oh boy…hope I didn’t break anything.”

  “Point oh-five. That’s it,” Poole almost shouted. “That works great for us. Now, let’s get you lined up. Remember, your visual reference point is the Kibo module.”

  “Roger that. Tally on the meatball,” he replied. At Penny’s insistence, they had cut thin strips of duct tape to make a sighting cue for Tom’s left window. Checking the makeshift crosshairs, he could see the Japanese module’s bright red meatball flag. It was out of position, too high in the window. He gingerly tapped the control jets up to center it.

  Off the left wing, two figures were visible in the station’s cupola. They had to be the ones talking them into position. ”Polaris, looking good,” they called. “Fifteen meters, still closing at point oh-five. Null your vertical rate, you’re drifting a bit high.”

  “Roger that…backing off,” he answered, tapping the thrusters again to stop their climb.

  “Need me to handle translation?” Ryan asked. They appeared to be drifting backward as well.

  “I’ve got it,” Tom said, gingerly tapping the trim paddle again. The red ball re-centered in his crosshairs as the plane crept forward. He stopped them with a final bang from the nose jets.

  “There you go,” Poole said. “Perfect. Don’t touch anything, we’ll bring you in!”

  “We’re at their back porch,” Ryan said. “That’s enough for them to grab us, I think.”

  “Works for me,” he said. “I’m not sure if I could bring it any closer. It’s like ice skating for the first time.” He looked over the station from end to end. While dominated by the enormous solar wings, the rest reminded him of his grandkid’s tinker toys: a complex latticework of girders supporting a jumbled collection of metal cylinders. Some were oddly wrapped in fabric, which he assumed were thermal or micrometeorite blankets. It seemed ironic that a spacecraft would be skinned in such a way, as if they were still in the age of wooden sailing ships.

  In terms of space travel, maybe we are.

  “And I used to think this thing was a waste of money,” he marveled. “Looks beautiful now.”

  “Karma,” Ryan quipped. “It’ll get you every time.”

  Penny’s voice cut through on the company channel. “Houston says you guys are lined up perfect. Just waiting for the grappler.”

  Almost on cue, another shadow passed across them as the big double-jointed robotic arm slid past along its tracks above. Poole came back on frequency. “Polaris, hold your position. We’ll take it from here.”

  Just then, Wade’s voice finally came through over their intercom. “Quite a view back here, gentlemen. Looks awfully close to me, but if they’re okay with it then I’m not complaining,” he said, shouting over a cacophonous background noise they didn’t recognize.

  “Everything okay back there?” Tom asked.

  Ryan looked perturbed and opened their door. They were greeted by the sound of cheering.

  58

  ISS

  Inside the cupola, Poole hovered over Gerard’s shoulder as he gingerly moved the manipulator arm across Austral Clipper’s blunt nose. As big as the station must have appeared to that Polaris crew, he was just as intimidated by their plane’s size. It was easily longer than the space shuttle had been and under far more tentative control by two unknown pilots.

  They looked to be doing a good enough job as the big plane sat waiting for them, rock-steady by the airlock node. Hope it all holds together when we grab them. Being this close, the alternative was too ghastly for him to think about—it would be bad enough for those people out there, but chances were their ship would take the station out with them.

  “Remote arm is functioning nominally,” Gerard reported after checking its mobility around each joint. “I’m approaching the ATV with it now.”

  Poole acknowledged and thumbed a microphone switch by his waist. “Node One, we’re ready here. Report,” he called.

  Sergei’s voice came over the frequency. “Max and I are both ready for EVA. Airlock is vented.”

  “Gerard is grabbing the ATV now,” Poole said. “Stand by.”

  …

  Houston

  Audrey’s team had a ringside seat thanks to multiple camera viewpoints from the ISS. They saw the manipulator arm’s carriage roll to a stop, positioning itself alongside the makeshift tug. Almost immediately, Gerard flexed its joints and unfolded the awkward-looking device. The slender white armature extended outward, a skeletal limb reaching for the docked ships. A grappling claw opened on its end and slipped beneath the Clipper’s wing, reaching for the tug’s own fitting. As the arm absorbed their remaining momentum, the spaceplane shuddered to a stop.

  Audrey held her breath, sharing Simon’s worry. If that thing unclamps, they’re toast. And it was awfully quiet up there.

  “CapCom, we need a status report.”

  From where she sat it looked like a good capture, but no one up there seemed confident yet. Everyone was waiting for that beast to unlatch and tumble out of control into the massive complex.

  “Flight, they have the ATV and it appears the Clipper is holding on tight,” he reported. “They’re sending a volleyball over now.”

  Just then, she could see a white ball drift toward the spaceplane’s tail. Another remotely-operated device, it was a sphere fitted with a camera and small maneuvering jets. It danced around the engine nozzles, inspecting the tenuous fit between Austral Clipper and the ATV. A separate video feed appeared in a corner of the screen.

  The charred titanium exhaust petals appeared undamaged and evenly gripped around the tug’s docking collar. It was definitely an unconventional arrangement, but had worked nonetheless. Nobody ever said it had to be pretty, Audrey thought.

  “Houston, we have capture,” they heard Poole say. “Looks good from up here.”

  “Thank goodness,” she sighed, and began to call Denver.

  59

  Denver

  “Capture!” Grant rejoiced after hanging up with Audrey. “They’re ready to start EVA.”

  Penny looked relieved, but would not let herself relax. “So that’s one down and a hell of a lot more to go,” she said. “Let’s confirm our rookie spacewalkers are suited up
, and have them depress the cargo deck.”

  …

  Austral Clipper

  “Denver, understand we’re go for depress. Stand by,” Ryan answered, and twisted in midair to face Marcy. They were alone in the big empty bay, gently floating against cargo restraints they had attached to their suits as safety tethers.

  “You ready for this?” he asked quietly. They were both fully enclosed now, gloves and faceplates locked down tight.

  “I am,” she said. “But these helmets are more claustrophobic than I remember. Can we do one more pressure check?” she asked anxiously.

  “Sure,” he said, and spun her around to check her life-support backpack. “Your O2 is at 95%, pressure is holding 5.1 psi. Does that match what you see?”

  Marcy held up her left arm, which had a similar gauge embedded in the wrist. “It does.” She lifted the sun visor from her faceplate. Her blue eyes seemed pull Ryan in, distracting him from the anxious look they held. “Thank you,” she said. “For earlier, I mean. I really appreciate your discretion.”

  “It’s nothing. You needed help, and it’s almost all guys up here. I get it.”

  “I was mad at myself, at least for not being prepared.”

  “Like I said, nothing to it.”

  She smiled. “There’s a reason for everything, no matter how ridiculous it may seem.”

  It was an idea he’d certainly heard enough of today. “Everybody keeps telling me that,” he finally said.

  “Then maybe there’s a reason for that, too,” she said, suddenly giving him a clumsy hug through their pressure suits.

  Tom broke in on their frequency. “You kids ready back there?” he asked. “We’re burning daylight here.”

  Marcy pulled away in embarrassment, like being caught by her dad kissing a boyfriend on the front porch. He couldn’t have heard them, could he?

  No matter. It was time to go.

  Clearing his throat, Ryan apparently had the same reaction. “Just doing a final suit check,” he said, giving her a wink. “You can start depress.”

  …

  “They’re ready, Wade.” Tom pointed to the panel above Ryan’s seat. “Confirm the cargo system is set to ‘manual’ and open the overboard exhaust valve…slowly. I’ll keep an eye on the pax cabin.”

  Strapped into the copilot’s seat, Wade carefully followed the guide Tom had given him and reached for the overhead panel. Amidst the maze of etched schematics, he found the pressurization controls and began slowly dialing the cargo bay down to zero. As he did, a cylindrical valve embedded in the plane’s side slid open to expose the compartment to vacuum.

  “Outflow valve’s open…pressure differential’s dropping fast,” he said, surprised. “Already down to 2.6 psi.”

  “Take your time,” Tom said, intently watching the passenger cabin pressure for any sympathetic changes that might signal a problem. “You’re doing great. Just let me know when they reach vacuum.”

  “We’re doing okay back here,” Ryan called over the intercom. “Both suits are holding pressure.”

  “Cargo differential’s at zero, Tom.”

  “Roger that,” he replied with unusual detachment. He was still fixated on the passenger cabin displays.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, we’re fine,” he finally said, turning away from the gauges. “But would you mind keeping an eye on your fellow passengers? With a compartment exposed, I don’t want them floating around back there without adult supervision.”

  “If that makes me the adult, we’re in worse shape than I thought,” he deadpanned.

  Tom surprised him by gently grabbing his arm. “Thanks for your help, Wade. I mean it. I was kind of hard on you earlier and I regret that.”

  “Glad to help,” he said, and made his way toward the cabin. “I’ll keep the intercom headset if you need me.”

  Tom followed him to the hatchway and quietly shut the cockpit door, engaging the digital combination lock from inside. The flight deck was now sealed tight.

  While they were depressurizing the cargo bay, that same annoying tickling sensation had returned and seemed to brush the hairs on the back of his neck. Now alone, he pulled a small memo pad from his sleeve pocket, tore out a couple of pages, and set them free.

  In zero-g they would float at random until being picked up by air currents. As the minutes passed, he watched them begin to drift overhead and swirl towards the emergency escape hatch, circling it like leaves down a storm drain.

  The same memo pad held a picture of Elise that he’d taped inside its cover. He gazed at it longingly, gently peeled the tape away, and carefully placed it in the center of his control yoke.

  60

  Austral Clipper

  “We’re going to be fine, you know that,” Ryan said calmly, and grasped Marcy’s arm. She nodded anxiously behind her visor. “We just follow their lead and get our people out of here. All we have to do is enjoy the view while they pull us along that tether. Just be glad you’re not tucked into one of those human hamster balls, right?”

  She stared silently at the outside door. The compartment was in vacuum, but they were not yet open to space. The only audible sound was her breathing and the whirring circulation fans inside her suit.

  “You with me?”

  “I’m with you,” she sighed, snapping out of her trance. “It’s strange—I always wanted to do this, but now I’m scared to death.”

  “Think of it like skydiving. Remember that?” he offered, recalling a surprise he’d set up for her during an extended layover in Hawaii. “You ended up enjoying it, if I recall.”

  “Yeah, once the parachute finally opened,” she said. “That was some birthday present, not knowing if I’d live to see the next one.”

  “Well, you won’t need a chute for this. It’s too far down to make a difference.”

  “You’re not making me feel any better,” she said as he pushed off for the door.

  “In that case let’s just get on with it,” he said. “Glare shields down…here goes nothing.” He slid the black reflective visor down over his faceplate and punched the lock.

  The compartment exploded in sunlight as the big door slid open and the station’s gleaming metallic framework filled their view. Backlit by the slowly spinning globe beyond, it was impossible to escape the sensation that they were actually falling around the Earth.

  And it was a long way down.

  Not ten meters away, two space-suited astronauts waved at them. Marcy reached for Ryan’s hand and gripped it hard enough for him to feel through the firm gloves.

  “Okay, so it’s not exactly like skydiving,” he admitted.

  …

  ISS

  “They’re open,” Poole heard the Russian report through his headset. “The safety tether is secured to Node One airlock.”

  “PREs ready?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Petrov replied. “Proceeding on your mark.”

  “Stand by,” he instructed. “Polaris, Station. Are your people up on our freq?”

  “That’s affirmative,” Ryan answered for them. “We’ll maintain VOX on this channel from here on. Ready when you are.”

  “Sergei, your EVA is go,” Poole said without waiting for Houston. “Go fetch ‘em, gents.”

  …

  Petrov unconsciously tugged at his safety tether while checking his aim point—right at the center of that big hatch where two waving crewmen now floated, hard to miss in their international-orange pressure suits. The entry was easily big enough to fit a small car through, he thought before launching himself into the void. It would be an easy target from ten meters.

  Regardless of his experience, it was always a delicate balance between pushing off with enough force to cover the distance, but no so much as to bowl over the two rookies waiting for him…or injure himself if his aim was off and he hit the side of that plane.

  Petrov floated effortlessly across the void to the yawning door. Max helpfully stopped his traverse by pulling up the s
lack on the other side of their tether just as he entered the Clipper.

  “Spasibo,” he said over the radio. “Thank you, Max,” he repeated in English, and quickly steadied himself against handholds along the deck’s walls and ceiling. “Sergei Petrov, station engineer,” he greeted with a wave of his gloved hand.

  Ryan and Marcy returned the gesture.

  “My comrade’s name is Max Becker,” Sergei said, gesturing through the open door towards the station’s airlock. “He will send the rescue enclosures over once we have secured the tethers here.”

  “Well then, let’s get to it,” Ryan said, looking over the d-ring connection offered by the Russian, exactly as they’d been told to expect. “Those ought to work fine on our external lift points,” he said approvingly, and pulled himself along a handhold to the doorsill. He focused on the task and leaned out over the edge, ignoring the yawning gulf beyond it. “Just outside by the wing-body join…there,” he said, pointing to a small access hatch embedded in the wing root. He braced himself against the handrail, reached out, and popped it open to expose a trunnion underneath.

  “We were all kind of counting on that, Polaris,” Poole interjected over their frequency. “Otherwise this exercise would get a lot more complicated.”

  Sergei lifted his glare shield and gave them a knowing smile, reaching past Ryan to connect the safety line.

  …

  “Tethers secured,” Poole heard Max report. “PREs are attached at Node One,” he added. “Transferring to the Clipper now.”

  Through the expansive cupola windows, Poole could see the four white spheres being pulled across to the Clipper’s open bay. He thumbed his microphone switch for the mission control frequency. “Houston, tell your friends in Denver that we’re sending the balls over.”

  …

  Denver

  They could see the television feed but it was reassuring to hear someone talking them through. “Charlie, Houston reports transfer lines are secure on both ships, and the rescue balls are onboard,” Penny said after taking another call from Audrey.