Fear the Survivors

by Stephen Moss

  07:36:14 PM … Access arm retracts

  The crew aboard the Orion Multi-Purpose Crew Vehicle, nervous despite their countless hours of training, busy themselves throughout the retraction of their access bridge, symbolic of their cutting off from the ground below.

  07:38:44 PM … Launch window open; hydraulic power system (APU) start

  Stepping into their window of opportunity, the sense of urgency builds. The reality of the launch becomes tangible. Nerves tingle as possibility turns into imminent reality.

  07:38:49 PM … LO2 replenish terminates

  Fuel loaded, systems ready. Cool liquid oxygen propellant stirs in the rockets’ vast tanks, waiting to expend itself in flaming glory as the rocket surges into space.

  07:39:44 PM … Purge sequence four hydraulic test, IMUs to inertial

  Systems begin to reconfigure themselves for the coming press of acceleration, and the ensuing escape from gravity. Years of perfection hone their delicate structures to the brief but glorious task only moments away.

  07:40:14 PM … Main engine steering test

  Nozzles designed to focus the stupendous energy of launch flex and turn under the watchful eyes of expendable cameras, which are soon to be consumed in the fury.

  07:40:49 PM … LO2 tank pressurization

  07:41:09 PM … Fuel cells to internal reactants

  07:41:44 PM … Crew close visors

  07:41:47 PM … LH2 tank pressurization

  07:43:13 PM … Orion’s own GPCs takes control of countdown.

  Mission Control gives up control of the launch to those that will live and die by it.

  07:43:37 PM … Main engine start (T minus 6.6 seconds)

  5, 4, 3, 2, 1 …

  07:43:44 PM … CBC ignition

  go

  Years of experience don’t even slightly blunt the feeling of being driven back into their harnesses as the rocket powers upward. No amount of appreciation for the vast forces at work can possibly temper the sheer, childlike joy that comes from being catapulted by humanity’s greatest achievement into the greater void.

  With nothing left to do but watch, the four men and women grin broadly. Leaving common sense behind, they reconcile themselves to the spectacularly dangerous career they have dedicated themselves to by smiling and thinking:

  if you have to go, you might as well go big …

  - - -

  Below them, the earth shakes with the thunderous roar of fifty-seven million horsepower as seven massive boosters send four tiny astronauts surging into space. The Delta IV Heavy was already one of the most powerful rockets in the world. When they attached four extra CBC boosters to it, they made it the biggest, most powerful machine ever made.

  The big rockets’ cones vibrate with insane abandon as they fight to tame the mayhem exploding out of them. At six thousand degrees, the fiery plume from the combustion of their liquid hydrogen fuel is hot enough to boil iron. The engine burns its liquid fuels so quickly it could drain a swimming pool in twenty seconds.

  After only eight minutes of this mad burn, the rocket has reached seventeen thousand miles per hour and is already passing Low-Earth Orbit, two hundred miles above Earth’s surface.

  But this rocket’s mission will take it much farther. For they are going far outside their ordinary orbit, and they are not alone. Like their sister ships that are already in space, Cable Lift Vehicle-19 (CLV-19) carries an unusual cargo. For along with the small module carrying the four astronauts is a massive length of nanotube cable wound into twenty spools. It is the nineteenth section of a greater whole to be hefted into space over the past month by US Delta IV Super-Heavies and modified European Ariane-5 MEs. But this is only the second one that has been manned, and it will hopefully be the last.

  Sixteen hours into the mission, the commander acquires their destination visually, a lonely white dot floating in a strange-looking cloud of grey dots. Like an explosion of grey that has been paused, the first of the CLV manned Orion modules sits among the loosely tethered batch of more than seven hundred tons of cable, like a shepherd keeping eye over a grazing flock of grey sheep.

  As CLV-19 approaches her rendezvous, she is now only a fraction of her launch weight, her First Stage Rocket along with its six CBC boosters have long since been jettisoned. Left behind as empty husks, mere memories of their former glory, after they wantonly expended the hundreds of tons of fuel that had made up 90 percent of their mass at launch.

  CLV-19 is now left, a long, thick cylinder, and after the might of its exit from Earth’s embrace, it takes only small attitude thrusters on her sides spraying gas to maneuver her, to roll her over, spinning her gently and silently. For her pilot and commander looking out of her cockpit, the glittering white globe of Earth seems to rotate around the module, the clouds swirling on its panoramic surface adding to the eerily beautiful effect. Her other two crew members are prepping for egress as the module closes in, attitude thrusters in her nose slowing her as she slides closer to her sister.

  In the final meters, the pilot has a disconcerting view of the other module’s large final stage booster, cold now, and silent in the vacuum. Along her near side, the commander and pilot see two white-clad figures tethered to four powerful-looking clamps. They are matched by the two other members of their own crew now outside in the vacuum.

  Various thrusters tweak the module’s speed and position in tiny increments as she slides quietly by, their jets silent in the vacuum of space, no air to transmit their sound to the few ears that could hear. Barely three meters apart in all the vastness of space, the two members of each crew tethered to the side of the modules wave to each other with big white gloved hands as they slide slowly past, two of them actually reaching out for a once-in-a-lifetime high five.

  Radio chatter bounces between the modules as the pilots and crew coordinate the final crucial seconds of the coupling. Unlike the other US and European rockets that had brought the other loads of nanotube cabling into space, these two modules are going to link together. As four massive clamps are bolted shut by the crew, the huge modules ease to a virtual halt relative to each other, moving millimeters at a time in the final moments. Finally the clamps seal, one by one, resounding, metallic clanks transmitting through both hulls. The two modules are now one, and the process of attaching a portal between their modified cabins begins.

  “Mission Control, this is CLV-1, clamp seal confirmed.”

  “Mission Control, this is CLV-19, clamp seal confirmed.”

  “CLV-1 and CLV-19, Mission Control, clamp seal confirmed. CLV-1, what is your status on system linkage?”

  “Mission Control, CLV-1, crew reports primary socket seal, and control board linkage is confirmed on my board.”

  “Confirmed, Mission Control, this is CLV-19, showing linkage complete here as well, initiating systems tests. Estimate portal seal in five minutes.”

  “CLVs 1 and 19, this is Mission Control, as of this moment, your combined designation is officially changed to Terminus One. Congratulations Terminus One. Commander Cashman, you have the com.”

  “Thank you and confirmed, Mission Control, this is Commander Cashman of Terminus One. Beginning Systems Integration Test now.”

  As the two modules complete the process of fusing themselves into one cohesive whole, the crews return to their now connected command modules to prepare for the next stage. The connection process has been relatively quick, but still exhausting, and they are sweaty from the thick spacesuits they have been working in. The irony of overheating in the cold vacuum of space passes without comment, and seeing that they have time, Commander Cashman sends the members of his crew that had gone extravehicular to clean up and get some food.

  With controls synced and switched to one board, the remaining crew meets to discuss the next stage. The commander of the now defunct CLV-19 assumes his role as second in command of the newly designated Terminus One and they go over their plans one last time. If all goes well, neither of the modules now forming Terminus One will ever ret
urn to Earth. In fact, if all goes to plan, their crews will be the first people ever to ride a train there.

  Chapter 15: SpacePort One

  The HMS Dauntless followed her patrol vector with typical precision. Though it was never mentioned, her crew was still ashamed by the way their former Lieutenant John Hunt had fooled them. In the captain’s chair on the bridge, Lieutenant Commander Joe Waters sat in for Captain Bhade, who was at a meeting of senior officers.

  “Jesus, she’s big,” said Tac Officer Thomas McDonald at the comms desk. He was surveying the various ships and submarines tied into the tactical radar network that made up the Joint Task Force. The USS Ronald Reagan formed the core of the taskforce’s defense network, and it was anchored only a quarter of a mile offshore. It represented the largest runway within over two hundred miles. The international airport on the island of Sao Tome was in the far north of the island, and until they had their shore-based facilities completed, the Ronald Reagan was serving as both the new base’s airport and strategic headquarters.

  Aboard her, Captain Bhade looked around the low-slung briefing room. It was as crowded as it could be, not a seat was empty, and the senior captain stood amongst the more junior of the officers gathered in the room. Filling the room were a host of senior captains and admirals, colonels and generals from around the world gathered to discuss the defense net being set up around the previously backwater southern tip of Sao Tome island.

  Pinned to the wall at the front of the room was a map of the island showing the small country’s infrastructure. As the captain of the most advanced anti-aircraft battery in the taskforce, Captain Bhade had been put in charge of coordinating the fleet’s air traffic control network. His ship’s vastly capable tracking systems forming the hub of a network of radar systems spreading out like overlapping petals. At the front of the room, a man that introduced himself as General Milton was briefing the senior team on the next stages of the project.

  “I know that you must all have been wondering what military priority would warrant the force size that has been assigned to this location, and I am happy to tell you that today I have received approval to release that information to this group,” said General Milton to the room, his powerful voice filling the space. “But before I get to that, I wanted to take this opportunity when we are all in one place to introduce the various team leads on the ground here, and have them talk through their plans. Then I will walk the group through the final plan for the base once all our work is complete.

  “First of all, I would like to introduce Admiral Terence Cochrane of the Royal Navy, who is in charge of our sea-based defensive network here at Rolas Base.”

  A slight-looking gentleman stood, familiar to most of the officers in the room as one of the most senior admirals in the British Royal Navy. The very fact that Admiral Cochrane was involved in the project was comment enough on its importance, even if one didn’t factor in the scale of the naval taskforce assigned to the project.

  But despite his slight-seeming frame, Admiral Cochrane was a famously sharp mind, known throughout the international military community as a stalwart of the Falklands war, and thus one of the very few naval officers in the world with actual naval ship-to-ship combat experience. Standing, the man stepped behind a podium and spoke into the microphone, his voice not used to barking across a room. But its tenor lacked nothing of the force of the general’s for all of its subtlety and seeming finesse.

  “Gentlemen, ladies, fellow officers, let me start by saying that it is an honor to see such an unprecedented collection of international allies working together toward one concerted goal. Let me assure you that once you all understand the nature of our mission here you will appreciate, as I do, the extreme importance of our role in putting in place an impenetrable defense network around this location.” He allowed a mischievous smile to spread across his face and went on, “I am sure all of you want to get to that point in our discussion as soon as possible, but when General Milton and the rest of the command team discussed this briefing, we decided that once we have shared that information, the last thing you will want to do is discuss patrol matrixes or construction plans.

  “With that in mind, let us focus on the different aspects of our taskforce here first, and then we will get to the big event. So please bear with me as I run through the core aspects of our naval operations here.” Though cordial, his carefully enunciated English accent managed to demand their attention, and few were in doubt as to how little tolerance he would have for anyone who didn’t give him their undivided attention. “As most of you know, our naval operations here are split into three divisions. Firstly our Surface operations are under the command of Vice Admiral Alicia Burns of the United States Navy, based here on the Ronald Reagan.

  “Vice Admiral Burns commands the USS Reagan, along with two Ticonderoga-Class cruisers, the USS Port Royal and the USS Lake Erie, providing large gun and missile fire support, these ships will coordinate the base’s defense around the east and west coast patrol fields.”

  A projector overlaid two circles onto the map of Sao Tome on the wall, showing how the two powerful cruisers were stationed on either side of the island, providing overlapping fire support that covered the entire island and extended several miles out to sea in either direction. Highlighted on the map was the island of Rolas, a quarter of a mile off of the uninhabited southern coast of the main island of Sao Tome. Also marked was the semi-dirt road down along the east coast of the island from the only large city on the island, the capital in the far north. The road ended at the tiny fishing village of Porto Alegrè, overlooking a large bay, which was to become the hub of operations once base construction was complete.

  “The cruisers and the Reagan are supported by a joint force of several ships, including one Japanese destroyer, the JMDF Chokai, two French stealth frigates, the Surcouf and the Courbet; and the British destroyer, the HMS Dauntless.

  “Our subsurface operations are being run through Admiral Takano aboard the JMDF Chokai. The admiral commands a powerful taskforce of submarines consisting of three Oyashi-Class multi-role submarines and two Asashio-Class attack submarines. Together with our surface ships and the air fleet based off of the Reagan, this force constitutes a naval defensive position unparalleled since World War Two, and from a sheer firepower perspective not surpassed in history.”

  The admiral let that point sit out there a moment with not a small amount of pride, then continued with the introduction of the captain of the Dauntless. “Directing our air traffic defensive matrix is Captain Bhade on board the HMS Dauntless, using the first ever multinational coordinated radar array. The network connects the radar systems of every ship in the taskforce to create a panoramic, auto-validating picture of any movement in a two-hundred-fifty-mile radius, with fixed-weapon response capability out to ninety miles, and airborne response out to two hundred miles on permanent rotating patrol.”

  The map continued to update as the admiral spoke, showing the various force deployments around the island as the taskforce spread out to clamp down all movement in and out of the sensitive space they needed to protect. The admiral continued with a detailed explanation of the priorities and movement criteria agreed to with the government of Sao Tome. The system was now tracking any and all movement off the coast of the island, separating it into two groups: intra-island traffic, such as fishing boats, and inter-island traffic, such as cargo ships and commercial air traffic into the civilian airport at the far north of the island. Wrapping up his briefing, the admiral thanked the group and handed back to General Milton.

  “Thank you, Admiral. We can take questions now or later, what would you prefer, Admiral?” The admiral shrugged and Barrett looked around the room to see if there were any pressing thoughts. Seeing none, he moved on, “Well, if no one has any immediate questions on the naval force deployments, we will press on. If you do have any questions at any point, you can find the Allied Chain of Command in your briefing documents, please feel free to escalate any questions up th
rough your commanding officer.”

  The general looked down and consulted his notes before continuing. “Now I would like to introduce General Braldinho of the Brazilian Army who has been coordinating the construction of our land-based perimeter defenses.”

  A stolid-looking man with graying temples and sparkling eyes stood, stepped over to the podium, and said in hesitant English, “You must to forgive me, my fellow officers, but English is not so good as my fellow admirales e generales. I have asked to one of my younger and better-looking subordinates for conduct today briefing.” A muted laugh fluttered through the room at the self-deprecating joke.

  At a wave from General Braldinho another man stood, a man the general introduced as Major Garrincha. Only a handful of those present knew this was a pseudonym, the second one that the man in question had adopted in as many years. Under his first disguise, the man had struck fear across the Middle East before leading one of the most terrible guerilla attacks in modern history. Sharply dressed in a well-cut uniform, his hair cut short against his head, his chin closely shaven for the first time since his arrival on earth, the man Barrett had only recently come to know as Lord Mantil spoke out with a smooth, crisp, pleasantly lilted accent to the gathered officers.

  “Obrigado, meo Generale. My fellow officers, I wanted to lay out the three stages of our land-based defensive construction, the first of which is nearly complete, and the second of which is underway as we speak.”

  At a nod from the faux-major, a new projection came over the map on the wall, showing the single road connecting the only town on the south of the island with the more heavily populated northern side.

  “Our first job, and one which has proven surprisingly problem free, was to relocate the two hundred inhabitants of the small villages of Puerto Alegrè and Monte Mario, as well as the employees of the small resort that was located on the island of Rolas, to another location designated by our hosts, the government of Sao Tome e Principe.” Quavoce used a laser pointer to highlight the two towns in question as he spoke.