Perigee

by Patrick Chiles

  Not that it would have stopped them from trying this anyway, so desperate was the situation and so limited were the alternatives. It simply had to work.

  The other PREs were in no better condition, but they had the benefit of not being tested by frantic passengers. Magrath struggled once more to brace himself, and pressed even harder against the inside walls with his feet.

  The ball tore open along its seam, and the small volume of air inside rushed into the vacuum in a flurry of snow. His skin tingled with the odd burning sensation of sudden freezing, bruising immediately as surface capillaries burst. To his credit, Magrath instinctively pressed his hands against his mask in a desperate attempt to keep it sealed to his face, despite pain like daggers plunging into his head as his eardrums blew out.

  …

  Sergei was the first to see the eruption of ice crystals from the burst PRE, and immediately recognized the danger. He watched in horror as someone’s exposed legs emerged, flailing in the vacuum.

  Without a word he checked his own tether’s anchor on Austral Clipper, quickly judged the distance, and launched his body toward the open airlock. He flew past Ryan, who was reflexively grabbing for Magrath in a useless gesture, being out of arm’s reach with nothing to push against. That was good, because there would only be one shot at this.

  Sergei reached for the thrashing legs and pulled him free of the ruptured enclosure as he flew by. He had pushed off far more strongly than he normally would, counting on that extra force to carry them both into the airlock. He counted on Max understanding that as well...they’d need him to try and absorb some of their momentum on the other side. He called out over the radio and realized he was shouting in Russian.

  No matter. He saw Max braced against the airlock with outstretched arms and heard his voice crackle through the earphones. “I’ve got him, Sergei! Let go!”

  He released his grip on the body and simultaneously braked himself with the safety tether, coming to a wrenching halt halfway between the two ships. Magrath sailed across the void to Max, who caught him in a clumsy bear hug. The force of impact pushed them both deep into the open chamber, which was exactly what they wanted to happen.

  “Emergency re-press!” he heard Max shout. “Closing the airlock!”

  …

  Ryan watched in disbelief as the outer door closed not ten meters away. That left him floating in space with Marcy and their remaining three charges in the rescue balls. He watched Sergei drift over to each of their portholes, lifting his visor so they could see him smile and give a cheerful thumbs-up. It was probably a good thing they had no radios. Sergei finally came close, pulling himself along on the tether.

  “Nice work,” Ryan said. His voice was surprisingly shaky. “What the hell happened?”

  “Your passenger—the one you warned us about—tried to kill himself,” Sergei said. “But I don’t believe it was intentional.”

  “Probably not,” Ryan agreed. “But he’s just as dead, isn’t he?”

  “Surprisingly no,” Sergei answered. Contrary to popular belief, exposure to open space did not guarantee instant death. “Humans have survived in vacuum for as long as thirty seconds. Some of the damage is permanent, but not always life-threatening. But if he tried to hold his breath, his lungs will be ruptured. We’ll know soon.”

  66

  ISS

  It took an agonizing five minutes to equalize airlock pressure enough to safely open the inner door, time that Max spent staring dumbstruck at the horrifically bruised body floating next to him. Unable to remove his gloves to feel for a pulse, he could only look for clues of life while keeping the oxygen mask pressed against the man’s face.

  Magrath’s eyes were already bloodshot and rapidly turning red. Max thought he saw eyelids flutter. There—his mouth opened in a sudden gasp for breath. Max looked for any blood or other fluids, the telltale signs of ruptured lungs.

  “Max?” It was Poole. “Report.”

  “He’s alive. But he is in very bad shape, Simon.”

  …

  Denver

  “No, Aud,” Penny said into the speaker phone. “We don’t keep that kind of emergency medical equipment onboard our planes. Just basic first aid kits. There’s nothing on Station?”

  “I don’t think we’ve stocked enough bandages in the whole friggin’ program to keep this guy wrapped up,” Audrey said. “He’s a mess.”

  Hammond interjected. “We’ve got to get him to a hospital. Can you return him on one of the docked Soyuz?” What the hell, it’s only another eighty million or so, he thought. At this rate the company wouldn’t be around in another month anyway.

  “Negative,” she replied. “That’s a high-g re-entry; our flight surgeons don’t think his body could withstand the trauma right now. We’ll have to keep him holed up in one of the airlocks and nurse him back to health.”

  Hammond hit the mute button and looked at Penny. “Why is that?”

  “Embolism,” Penny said. “The bends. They’ll have to turn an airlock into a dive chamber.”

  Audrey continued talking, unaware of their side conversation. “...and we’ll need a couple of your people to help out. Surgeon’s working up a pressure schedule, but someone’s going to have to monitor it 24/7 for several days. We have an M.D. on the crew to manage his care.”

  “No problem,” Penny said. “Keeping them busy is not a bad thing anyway.”

  “Roger that,” Audrey replied. “Just wish the circumstances were different.”

  Don’t we all, she thought. Distracted by this latest emergency, no one had heard from Tom for the past half-hour.

  67

  ISS

  Ryan was the last to be pulled across, after making certain that Marcy and the PRE balls were safely aboard ahead of him. Before he knew it, he was being pulled into the airlock. Sergei moved quickly to shut the hatch and pressurize the compartment.

  Once it was safe, he removed his helmet and unlocked his gloves, stuffing them inside it. His nose crinkled at a sharp, acrid odor, reminiscent of ozone or used radiator fluid. The smell of space, he vaguely recalled hearing about before.

  The compartment was a jumble of storage lockers, ductwork, and wiring. Ryan saw two men emerge from a hatchway in its ceiling. One was easily the oldest of the group—stocky, with a blue submariner’s cap pulled down tightly over his balding head. That would be the Station commander, an old Navy man, he’d remembered from their rushed briefing.

  Ryan’s prior experience took over. “Commander Poole?” he asked, saluting. “First Officer Ryan Hunter, Polaris AeroSpace Lines. Request permission to come aboard, sir.”

  The older man casually returned the salute. “Permission granted, Mr. Hunter. Welcome aboard,” he said, ringing the ceremonial ship’s bell. “Glad to see the Marines still remember Naval courtesies,” he said.

  He’s obviously been briefed on their new guests, Ryan thought. “How’s Mr. Magrath?”

  “Imagine he’s seen better days,” Poole said, and explained their plans to nurse him back to health. “We’ll need to train a couple of you on how to manage the airlock controls.”

  “That’s no problem,” he said. “Marcy’s used to managing our own life support. She and I can do it.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Poole said. “And my regards to your captain,” he added gravely. The look in his eyes signaled Ryan that something else was very wrong.

  Perplexed, he looked around at the rest of the station’s crew, then at Marcy as she removed her own helmet and gloves. Max and Sergei avoided his gaze, helping her extract the others from the cramped rescue balls. They seemed to be in a hurry.

  He turned back to face Poole. “Somebody want to tell me what’s going on?”

  …

  “Tom, this is Ryan. How copy?”

  There was no answer but silence. Ryan checked for the correct frequency and called again. The crackling static was finally interrupted by a microphone click and followed by a tired voice.

  “Gentry here...
go ahead.”

  Ryan kept to business first: “Pax transfer is complete, everyone’s safe,” he lied, if only partially. No sense burdening him with more grim news. “Marcy and I are aboard as well. We’re coming back with a PRE for you as soon as we can.”

  There was another long pause before Tom finally answered. “Good work. Keep everyone safe over there,” was all he said.

  Time to cut the crap, Ryan thought. “I really don’t like secrets between crewmembers, skipper. It’s bad for morale. I don’t have a direct line to the company from here, but the Station commander briefed me. We have to get you out of there,” he finished emphatically.

  “You can try, but I think it’s too late,” Tom replied hoarsely. “There’s not enough left to repress both compartments.”

  He sounded far too accepting of the situation. “That’s not going to stop me from trying, you know that.”

  “You never were much for blindly following orders.”

  “Not funny, skipper.”

  “Tomorrow is promised to no man. Listen—you guys may be in someone else’s house, but you’re in charge now. Take care of your people,” he said with a timbre of authority returning to his voice. Ryan thought he could hear a muffled echo. He must have put on the emergency O2 mask. There was no telling how many times he’d already used it by now.

  “Don’t let the high-maintenance types get your goat,” he continued. “They’re all under a lot of stress right now.”

  “Got it…don’t throw Wade out the airlock.”

  He was answered with a raspy laugh. Ryan overheard Houston relay the last pressure readings from Denver, which were nearly an hour old. Quickly doing the math in his head, he figured the cabin altitude over there must be at least twenty thousand feet and didn’t appear to be reaching equilibrium.

  Of course not, moron, he chided himself. If there’s a leak in the hull, equilibrium means ‘vacuum’ out here. God help him. The air pressure inside that cockpit would be like summiting Everest with no oxygen tank. Soon it would be even higher.

  Even a hard core no-frills mountaineer couldn’t maintain that for very long. And Tom was what, sixty? The guy loved hiking and fly-fishing, though he hadn’t done much of either for the last year or so. All that exertion in the Colorado high country would’ve conditioned him somewhat, but soon there could be no turning back. A few thousand feet more in cabin altitude, and it’d all be over. He would pass out from hypoxia and eventually die.

  “Ryan, I need to talk to my wife,” he finally said. “See if we can get a phone patch to my house.”

  …

  Ryan approached the ISS commander, who had been keeping himself at a respectful distance. “Commander Poole?” he asked, holding out his headset. “We need access to a better radio. I need to talk to Denver.”

  “It’s Simon,” the man replied cordially. “And we can do better than that. Right over here,” he said, leading them over to a small panel in the control block.

  …

  Denver

  “Okay, we’re up on your freq,” they heard Ryan say. “We should have three-way comm with 501 now.”

  “Copy you five-by-five,” Penny replied. “Tom, how about you?”

  It was taking him longer to respond. “Loud and clear,” they heard weakly.

  “We’ll have Elise for you soon…” she said, catching herself. “Someone is heading down to your house right now.”

  “Thanks,” they heard him breathe. “Penny, listen,” he said, after another long pause. It sounded like he was pulling from the emergency O2 mask again. “Remember when you asked me how we made it for so long?”

  “I did,” she agreed, trying to keep him engaged.

  “I never said enough…maybe that was wrong,” he continued, taking another breath. “It was our belief. Our faith, Penny—the things we hold on to that are bigger than ourselves. When everything else looks hopeless, that’s all you have left.”

  “Faith in each other?” she asked uncomfortably.

  “No,” he replied emphatically. “People will always let you down. Even the ones we love most,” he gasped, “especially them, sometimes.”

  “Then what, Tom?” she asked plaintively, knowing what he would say but not wanting to hear it.

  “The gospels didn’t leave a whole lot of room for divorce, Penny,” he struggled to say, “and we clung to it in faith that God knows us better than we know ourselves.”

  Penny glanced quickly over at Grant who also listened quietly. They’d occasionally had conversations like this over the years, but she’d always found a way to squirm out of them and change the subject. Tom had always been more reticent, no doubt because they worked together and never knew how such talk would turn out. But Elise could be unrelenting at times. God’s got your number, Penny Stratton, you just don’t know it yet, she had said many times.

  “We tried to follow that advice…especially when we didn’t really want to,” Tom said. “Stick with Joe. Things will get better for you both.”

  …

  ISS

  Ryan listened in stunned silence, still tucked into a corner of the airlock module. They’d only flown together for a few months and during that time he’d never gotten a true sense of the man behind the captain’s uniform. Always intensely busy from start to finish, there had not been many opportunities to socialize.

  Tom’s voice ended his reflection and resonated with all the strength he could muster. “Ryan,” he almost ordered, “Look after Marcy. Be patient for the things you can’t control. You are meant for things you can’t even imagine yet.”

  …

  A new voice could be heard over the channel. Ryan suspected Penny had turned over her “CapCom” duties. “501, this is Grant. We show your cabin altitude at two-six-zero and climbing,” he said calmly.

  “Feels about right,” Tom’s raspy voice answered, noticeably struggling for coherency. Ryan could sense he was pulling his strength together one more time, and heard him draw another breath from the emergency mask. It must have taken everything he had to summon such clear-headedness now, Ryan thought. The old man’s tough, that’s for sure.

  “Tom, Mr. Hammond would like to speak with you.”

  Ryan spoke up for them. “We appreciate that. Go ahead, sir.”

  There was another short crackle of static before Art Hammond’s booming voice came through.

  “Everyone down here is really proud of you. All of you have performed admirably in a horrendous situation,” he said. “And I’m sorry you had to. I encouraged you to do this flight, and I take full responsibility for the consequences.”

  “Not necessary,” they heard Tom reply. “My bright idea…” he whispered, “…my decision.”

  “Regardless,” Hammond continued, “not to put too fine a point on it, but FAA and NTSB are crawling all over us right now and I will not see the people of this company suffer for my own aggrandizement.”

  “Appreciate that, Art,” Tom said. “Ryan and the others,” he breathed, “will be home soon. Find out the truth.”

  “You have my assurance we will do just that,” Hammond said solemnly.

  “Is he for real?” Marcy asked aloud, covering her headset. “What is he talking about?”

  Ryan waved her down. “We’ll talk later,” he whispered, covering his own microphone. “It’s complicated.”

  Hammond’s voice faltered. “You watched my back for a long time. It was a pleasure flying with you all those years. Now, I’ll shut up and let you speak with someone more important. She’s been most kind to let me ramble.”

  …

  Tom floated listlessly in his seat. He had shut down everything except the radio, trying to conserve power. If Art’s suspicions were correct, they would probably need to get back over here at some point, he’d decided earlier. For now, he watched Earth’s night side drift once again into morning. The sparkling clusters of city lights became a blur; he’d long ago given up trying to pick out where they were.

  There was anoth
er burst of static, someone else trying to speak with him.

  “Hi honey,” came Elise Gentry’s gentle voice, shocking him back from the edge of consciousness. “You’ve gotten yourself into another fine mess.”

  “I know,” he coughed, fighting back his subconscious. “Sorry, babe,” was all he could manage. “It’ll turn out all right this time.”

  “Yes, it will,” she agreed, “and I’ll be okay here. Arthur was kind enough to come down here himself. And the boys are on their way home now.”

  He closed his eyes and smiled. “That’s good news, babe. Guess we’ll both be home soon enough.”

  …

  Ryan felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Simon Poole pointing to a small monitor on the comm panel. He was momentarily surprised to find a message for him from Penny, then remembered she had been up here once or twice before.

  ATTN ISS FOR RYAN HUNTER: HIS WIFE IS SICK. LATE STAGE LEUKEMIA...6 MONTHS.

  That explained everything: Tom’s detachment, irritability, his taking a pass on Reno last month...of course.

  And he was evidently becoming incoherent. Ryan thought he heard muffled singing over the radio. He faintly recognized the uneven melody and suddenly felt perversely intrusive. It sounded like something they would have shared a long time ago, the kind of silly rhyme newlyweds would have made up for each other when their marriage was fresh and full of possibilities.

  You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…

  “Thank you,” Elise said gratefully. “I haven’t heard that in a very long time. I thought you had just gotten too old and cantankerous.”

  Ryan felt both honored and shameful for eavesdropping on such a private moment. He heard Elise draw a breath and begin praying for her husband, for his comfort and a swift journey home. She closed with a promise. “You know I won’t be far behind, dear. See you soon.”