A Step Beyond

by Christopher K Anderson

  “We have liftoff,” he announced. He was watching the artificial horizon displayed by the attitude indicator. If something went wrong, he could assume manual control. He glanced over at the time. Thirty seconds. It took six minutes to reach low-Mars orbit. He could feel the lander shake as the powerful engines propelled them upward. At two minutes and ten seconds, he glanced out the window. They had already flown through the dust clouds, and the sky was a bright pink. He allowed himself to relax.

  “The Shepard should be in low-Mars orbit in three minutes,” he announced calmly.

  “Congratulations, Shepard,” Endicott said. “Now I know what to expect when my heart stops beating.”

  Carter looked out the window at the departing planet with relief. He was unable to make out the Tharsis volcanoes, or the Valles Marineris canyon, or even the formidable peak of Olympus Mons. The dust was much too thick. He wondered where under the turbulent shroud the Russians were, but the thought quickly strayed. He turned his eyes away from the surface, away from the Russians, and looked up at the thin pink sky. It was rapidly dissipating. It possessed the consistency of a light mist. One by one, stars poked through the mist and flickered like distant candles. Pink vapors faded into ebony, and a band of sparkling beacons appeared before him. It was the Milky Way. The sight sent a warm and pleasing shiver through his body. He was suddenly possessed with an overwhelming desire to return to Earth.

  “You’re three-point-seven meters off course,” Endicott said. “Computer is calculating new trajectory.”

  “RCS engines at eighty-seven percent. Enough gas left over to do a couple spins around the block.”

  “Burn sequence coded. Primary burn in seven seconds. Twenty-six minutes to rendezvous.”

  “Roger,” replied Carter. “Good to be back.”

  The Valley of Death

  “Not now,” Komarov said tiredly. His thick eyebrows drooped over his eyes like the branches of an old willow tree. He was reviewing the output from the diagnostic tests of the backup lander. Vladimir had boarded the supply ship earlier that morning and had just finished executing the test. There appeared to be a problem with one of the computer chips that interfaced with the reaction-control system.

  “I know they left it up to you,” Tatiana said.

  “I said, not now. We must make preparations.”

  “He is not fit to fly.”

  Komarov was staring fixedly at the terminal, and he was determined not to turn around. He did not respond to her remark.

  “I said, he is not fit to fly.”

  “I think differently.”

  “Bullshit, you think differently. What the hell has gotten into you? Carter is the better pilot.”

  “How many times do we have to go over this?”

  Tatiana could see that Komarov was getting angry and in a way it pleased her. She was finally getting a reaction out of him.

  “Why must it be Vladimir?” she persisted.

  “Vladimir is perfectly capable of flying the lander.”

  “He is half-mad with jealousy. There is no telling what he might do. They gave you a choice. You know what that means. They don’t think he is up to it.”

  “I said I disagree.”

  “What is it? Are you afraid that Carter might actually rescue you? The great Dmitri Fyodorivich Komarov rescued by an American.”

  Komarov spun around to confront her, his face contorted with fury. He was ugly when he was angry, and as she looked at his expression she wondered what she had ever seen in him. She could tell that he hated her at that moment, and it did not bother her. Any love that she might have felt for him was gone. She blamed him for their predicament, and she wanted him to know that she blamed him. That it was his fault. If it hadn’t been for his goddamned ego, they would be safely aboard the Druzhba. He should have aborted the landing as soon as the descent tanks had run dry.

  “If we can’t determine the problem with the lander,” he said, “then it doesn’t really matter who flies it, does it?”

  “What is it that you are afraid of?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s Carter, isn’t it?”

  “No it’s not,” he yelled, and stood up.

  She took a step back, because she thought that he might hit her. He had never hit her before, and she had never heard that he had hit a woman, but she was scared for a moment because his muscles were tightening in such a way that he looked as if he were preparing to hit her. She did not say anything.

  “The descent is controlled by the computer. It doesn’t matter who flies the damn lander. A goddamn monkey could fly it.”

  “Yes, but Vladimir could decide to do something irrational. He could decide to commit suicide. He is not in his right mind. There is no telling what he might do.”

  “Don’t you think I’ve considered that?”

  “No I don’t.”

  “Look, it’s not that simple. There are many different factors that I must take into account. I wasn’t given as much of a choice as you might think.”

  “What do you mean?” Tatiana said, calming down somewhat, seeing that he wasn’t going to hit her and that he was about to tell her something that she had not been privy to.

  “We must think of the New Republic. It is a matter of national prestige.”

  “I am not going to die for national prestige.”

  “No one is going to die. I told you a goddamn monkey could fly the thing.”

  “Yes, but a monkey is not going to do something stupid, like take control and crash the lander on purpose.”

  “You need to calm down.”

  “We’re talking about our lives here. How can you stand there and pretend that this doesn’t matter? I tell you, Vladimir is not right.”

  “I said, you need to calm down.”

  “And you need to come to your senses. I’m sure as hell not going to let your goddamn pride be the cause of our deaths.”

  “Look, if Carter flies the lander, the lander has to dock at two ships. That is an unnecessary complication. It introduces an additional risk. You’ve got to admit at least that.”

  “I’ve taken that into account,” Tatiana replied indignantly. She gathered her breath and was about to continue, but Komarov held up his hand to stop her.

  “Look, I’ve talked to Takashi. I think he may have a valid point. Vladimir is more likely to behave irrationally if we don’t let him fly the lander. He is in the Druzhba all by himself. If we provoke him, he might do something that we’d all regret.”

  “Takashi said that?” Tatiana asked, wanting to consider every aspect. She told herself that her primary concern was their safety, and what Satomura had said did seem to make sense. She had seen how Vladimir reacted lately when they did things that disturbed him, and this would certainly disturb him. But she was not yet ready to accept that having Vladimir fly the lander was the safer course. It also annoyed her that Komarov might actually be right.

  “Yes he did,” Komarov replied.

  “What did Takashi say he might do?”

  “He didn’t actually go into details. But the possibilities should be obvious. Vladimir could do a number of things. He could permanently disable the backup lander, which would leave us stranded on the surface. Or if he is feeling suicidal, he could just take the lander and fly her out into space. God knows where. He could even crash her into the planet.”

  It seemed to Tatiana that everything Komarov had just said was indeed possible; and that it had been Satomura’s idea made it easier to accept. But she was still angry at Komarov. It had not been his idea. He had brought it up as a last resort. His motivation was still his pride. She was certain of that. But she did feel better about Vladimir flying the lander, although she wanted to think about it some more.

  “Well, if Takashi thinks it would be more dangerous not to choose Vladimir, then I think I would have to agree with him.” She fought back an urge to strike Komarov in the face. He was looking at her with a victorious glint in his eyes. �
��But you’re an asshole, and all of this is still your fault.”

  “Fifteen seconds to primary burn,” Vladimir announced as he scanned the lander’s instrument panel. His mind was elsewhere. The diagnostic error with the computer chip that controlled the reaction-control system had turned out to be a false alarm. The error had been caused by a faulty line of code in the diagnostic program, not by the chip. But it had taken them several days to determine that for certain, and it made Vladimir wonder what other faulty lines might be buried within the programs.

  Beyond the portal, the supply ship from which he had launched thirty minutes earlier had dwindled to a point and was impossible to distinguish from the many stars that filled the sky. He felt a jolt as the braking engines fired to commence the descent. Mars appeared momentarily, then disappeared as the ship tipped over backwards and plummeted toward the rocky surface. His body began to shake with the g forces. He dug his fingers into the fabric of his chair. A quick glance at the monitor revealed 3.2 g’s. A red glow appeared outside the portal as the heat shield of the lander grew hotter. An ionized sheath of atmospheric gases enveloped the ship, severing his communications link. He stared at the fiery blaze for a few moments, then returned his attention to the instruments of the flight-control panel.

  The initial stages of the descent were controlled by the computer; Vladimir’s role was limited to the red abort button, which would fire the ascent engines and return the lander to low-Mars orbit. But he was determined not to push the abort button, and at one point had even considered dismantling the button altogether. He didn’t do it because he was afraid that they might find out and decide he was unfit to fly the lander. He did not know how close they had come to choosing Carter. They had not consulted him, other than to ask a few questions that were not quite to the point, questions he suspected were intended to assay his competence as a pilot. This concerned him and caused him to question his own abilities, but he had managed to convince himself that his government would not subject itself to such an embarrassment unless it absolutely had to. His performance on

  the simulator was quite good, even though it was not as good as it had been. And he no longer suffered from the physical symptoms of alcohol withdrawal, a problem he had kept to himself but suspected might have been apparent to the others.

  He looked at the abort button and thought of Tatiana. He still had the dream. He was terrified that she might die and feared that the dream might be prophetic. He knew that if he failed, she would remain stranded on the planet. Their life-support systems would only last for a few months. Their food would go first. They had pills they could take that would end their lives quickly and painlessly. But he tried not to think about that, even though his mind kept going back to it. He thought by saving her that he would be able to restore their relationship. He was hoping that she would see his actions as heroic. Right now he was her only chance. He wanted to be with her, to hold her in his arms, and to show Komarov that he was the better man, at least in Tatiana’s eyes. He had convinced himself that she would never have been unfaithful had they not been separated. And because he himself had been unfaithful, he was able to forgive her. He still suspected that ultimately he was to blame, but he did not possess the courage to tell her about Mariko. His guilt troubled him, and he vaguely hoped that it would not be as great once he had rescued her.

  A message indicating the comm link had been reestablished flashed across the screen. Behind Komarov’s image, which filled most of the monitor, Vladimir detected movement he imagined to be Tatiana’s.

  Vladimir could feel his weight shifting toward the bottom of his seat as the lander righted itself. At approximately seven kilometers above the surface the computer deployed a drogue to open the parachutes. The drogue pulled the main chute from its housing. Vladimir felt the gentle tug of the drogue . . . but not the expected, more forceful tug of the main chute. He enlarged a window that displayed data from the exterior sensors. The compartment that had housed the parachutes was empty. The chutes had deployed—there was still a chance they would open. He then glanced at his airspeed. It had not decreased.

  A recommendation to abort flashed before him. Komarov’s head disappeared from the screen as it fell into his hands and revealed Tatiana grasping for a table. Her skin was pale white. Vladimir realized that this might be his last glimpse of her.

  “Abort,” Komarov ordered, lifting his head, blocking Tatiana from Vladimir’s view.

  “There seems to be a problem with the communications link,” Vladimir responded. The bastard, he thought, wanting me to abort when he did not do so himself. He pointed a finger at his ear for emphasis.

  The computer dropped the likelihood of a successful landing to 66 percent.

  “Abort,” Komarov repeated more forcefully.

  Vladimir pretended not to hear the command.

  “Abort, now!” Komarov shouted.

  Vladimir did not point at his ear this time. He tried to put Komarov out of his mind as he considered his options. The chutes, he reasoned, were tangled. The computer had just come to the same conclusion and was flashing the message urgently on the screen. His only hope for reaching the surface was to pray the parachutes might miraculously untangle. Suddenly he was afraid he might die. He glanced at the abort button and tightened his grip on the arms of his chair. He could feel the ship shaking. He watched the digits decrease on the counter that now dominated the screen. It gave the seconds remaining in which the abort sequence could be successfully launched. The number fifteen appeared on the screen, then disappeared. If he delayed the abort past the final second, the lander’s descent would be too unstable for the ascent engines to fire reliably. At ten seconds Komarov abruptly disappeared from the screen and was replaced by Tatiana.

  “Save yourself,” she pleaded.

  He glanced at the timer. There were seven seconds left. “Vladimir.” Her eyes opened wide with concern as she realized he had not responded to her plea. Reaching out, she touched the screen with the tips of her fingers. “Vladimir,” she repeated with a pained look. A watery mist filled her eyes, and she wiped a tear before it was able to roll down her cheek. “Please.”

  He felt her pain, and that more than anything else made him want to be with her. She seemed fragile. He glanced quickly at the timer. Two seconds.

  There was one last desperate option available to him. During his preparation for the rescue, he had performed two simulations where the chutes had failed to open. In the first he aborted as the contingency plan dictated and returned to orbit. In the second, however, he chose to continue the descent. The main parachute finally opened seven seconds beyond the point an abort could be safely performed. He managed to land by using a longer burn on the retro-rockets. He had not sent the results of the second simulation to the Russian Space Agency because he knew that they would have disapproved.

  “I must try,” he said, pulling his eyes away from Tatiana. He did not know how much time he would have. He figured that it was not much more than seven seconds, since he had barely succeeded with the simulated landing. He punched the override button so the lander would not automatically abort. The event timer was displaying negative seconds. He watched the seconds pass, and when they reached negative seven, he knew that he was going to die. He waited another three seconds before firing the retro-rockets. The ship seemed to lurch backwards, but had only slowed down. He continued the burn until there was no more fuel. The monitor showed that he was still above the veil of dust shrouding the planet. Beads of sweat were rolling down his face and into the collar of his space suit. The ship started to pick up speed again. He looked over at Tatiana. They both knew he had failed.

  “Vladimir . . .” she began, then faltered as her words were lost in short gasps for air, and for a moment he thought she was choking. Then she started to cry.

  “Forgive me,” he said apologetically, as if he had done something terribly wrong. He touched the screen with his fingers, and she did the same.

  The ship began to shake more
violently as its speed increased. Tatiana was wiping her cheeks with the back of her hands when her image flickered, then disappeared. The circuitry within the communications antenna had fused together. Seconds later the antenna itself was ripped from the outer hull of the lander. Vladimir was attempting to restore the comm link when the lander’s primary fuel tank exploded. He was dead before his mind had time to register the blinding flash of light produced by the combustion. The few pieces of the lander that struck the surface formed a small crater nine kilometers from the Gagarin.

  The once plump and rosy cheeks of Dr. Cain were pale white and pasty and resembled the damp flesh characteristic of a fresh corpse. He had requisitioned a cot for his office the night before, shortly after the lander had crashed, but had not managed to find the time to sleep. His hands were wrapped tightly around a steaming cup of black coffee. He was seated at the head of a conference room that contained NASA’s elite and was watching the Russians, projected against a wall screen, present their recommendation for a rescue attempt. What bothered Cain was that since the attempt had been Carter’s idea, there was no tactful way to back out.

  Wearing the wrinkled remnants of a business suit, Emil Levchenko raised his body from his chair and cleared his throat. His face was dominated by large, dark semicircles that extended past the bridge of his nose. They filled the screen like the swirling coins of a hypnotist. The bodies behind Emil shifted out of focus.

  “Jesus Christ,” muttered Carter as he took another bite of his steak and washed it down with a pint of reconstituted skim milk.

  “Please,” Endicott admonished.

  Nelson walked up behind the two and placed his hands on their shoulders. They were looking up at the monitor on the wall.

  “It is my professional and personal opinion,” Levchenko began, “that the rescue plan proposed by Lieutenant Colonel Carter presents an acceptable risk. The backup lander for the Volnost was designed to last ten years, in the hope that it might be used in future missions. Four years remain. I recommend that Lieutenant Colonel Carter restore power to the supply ship and run diagnostics on the lander. We are not concerned about the power failure for the simple reason that the lander does not require power when it’s shut down. The decision to launch can be made once the diagnostics are completed.” He paused to observe the reactions of his colleagues. They were nodding in concurrence. Glancing at the monitor, he could see that the Americans did not display the same enthusiasm. “I should probably add that the global dust storm is not a concern. Contrary to several stories that appeared in the press this morning, we are confident that the dust storm had nothing to do with the failure of Vladimir’s attempt.”