First Contact (Terran Chronicles)

by James Jackson

  Chapter Three - Impact.

  Location:

  International Space Station

  Planetary Orbit

  Earth

  “ISS please respond.”

  “Commander Gustav Fuchs, receiving you loud and clear, Houston.”

  Gustav listens to the almost frantic hurried voice and responds calmly.

  “Please repeat your last transmission, did you say, abandon the station? You do realize we have a crew of twenty-six and no shuttles docked. How exactly are we to evacuate?” He is quite perturbed.

  As he listens again, he turns his head to look out the window and into space. The hand piece falls from his fingers to float about in front of him. He slams down on the ‘All Stations’ intercom button and almost screams.

  “Abandon the station, this is not a drill, prepare to abandon the station!” His voice is not so calm now as he barks the order into the microphone.

  Down below, literally thousands of missiles can be seen rising up out of the atmosphere from America, Russia, Europe, China, and a dozen other smaller countries. They rise to meet what looks like a cloud in space, a cloud coming straight at them. Amongst all this chaos, can be seen one small speck rising up, getting closer, an aging space shuttle. Gustav grabs the hand piece again as he says with bewilderment.

  “Endeavour, uh I thought this was Houston. I was also of the understanding that the Endeavour was decommissioned.”

  “Commander Fuchs, this is Commander John Thompson of the Endeavour. We dug this old bird out of mothballs, fitted some seats, strapped the fuel tanks on, and here we are. Hell, we did not bother contacting you before, as every simulation we ran had us either exploding on takeoff or falling apart during assent. I am however, pleased to inform you that the simulation computers can be wrong, sometimes.”

  Gustav listens to the list of instructions that follow. That’s one hell of a brave flight crew out there, he thinks. How the hell did they get the shuttle ready and launched so fast? Not possible. He continues to ponder, but here they are.

  Twenty-six people now race as fast as possible, in the near zero gravity space station. Heading to where the shuttle is to dock, no one is sure what will happen. Gustav Fuchs awaits them, checking that everyone is present, he speaks up loudly and clearly.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, as we know, the meteor shower we have been monitoring is a real hazard to this station. A shuttle has been sent up to rescue us. As such, we must abandon the station immediately. We will each take our space suits, as much oxygen as we can carry, and strap ourselves into the seating area in the cargo hold.”

  All members understand that this has never been done before, and is quite probably a death sentence for those in the cargo hold. With limited protection and hastily fitted insulation and chairs, they would almost be strapped to the shuttle bay itself. But staying on the station is also certain death, so with trepidation and a little faith they suit up and wait at the docking bay. Once everyone is assembled Gustav continues his speech.

  “We have little time. Crew, assist with the docking procedure then prepare for immediate departure. I don't know where we will be landing, but we must make haste to get off this station.”

  He continues, adding what he hopes is in a positive tone.

  “Hey, we can count ourselves lucky to have that old bird out there piloted by a very brave flight crew.” He feigns a smile which does not even comfort himself. They are merely trading one form of death for another. However, he does figure that on the shuttle the chances of survival are better than zero, slightly better.

  Off in the distance an explosion can be seen, followed by another, then another. Small satellites are either exploding or just disintegrating under the barrage of these small meteoroids. Modern civilization disappearing one satellite at a time, thinks John sadly, as he gazes outside.

  John sits at his pilot seat, as he and his two crew mates finish the quickest manual docking and departure checklist he has ever done in his life. The minutes stretch on as every step seems to take a lot longer than normal. Sweat rolls its way down his face, he can make no mistakes. The crew members aboard the International Space Station each seem to take forever to get into the shuttle's cargo area. All the while, meteor after meteor streaks toward Earth striking satellite after satellite.

  “Check. OK. That’s the final one. Good. Gustav, you reading me? We have room up front for you.”

  “Gustav here, I will stay with the team. We are strapped in as securely as is possible and ready to go.”

  As the space shuttle Endeavour undocks, a small meteoroid strikes the International Space Station, its velocity enough to carry it through the station completely. It passes very close to the departing shuttle. Seeing this, John hits the primary boosters in an effort to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the station. Though the boost firmly pushes the pilots into their seats, the Endeavour pulls away painfully slow at first, as it takes time to build up speed. The cockpit crew can only watch helplessly as more objects strike humanity's greatest space achievement. The station breaks apart spectacularly in a huge explosion, as its fuel tanks suddenly detonate. The shock wave travels out in all directions, sending massive amounts of debris along with it. In the shuttle various small impacts can be heard from behind when suddenly, the primary engines cut out. The silence of space is dominated by numerous small metallic pinging sounds coming through the Endeavour's hull, which send shivers down the spine of even the bravest soul aboard.

  “Gustav, you still with me back there?” Says John nervously. With the cargo bay doors sealing shut long after they undocked, he can only imagine what could have happened to the people strapped in back there.

  Gustav shines his flash light down the rows of strapped in people, and smiles as each gives a thumbs up signal. He pans his light about the shuttle bay itself before responding.

  “Commander, your skills at piloting are proven yet again, everyone is good back here. I can see no obvious hull fractures, though we heard a lot of noise from the engine area a moment ago.”

  John switches to all channels. “Ok people, Commander Thompson here. We have cut fuel to the main boosters and are on vector for a good approach. We will be going in hot initially, but we managed to take some fuel off the station to help us with maneuvers.”

  As he switches the microphone off he looks at his crew and says. “God help them back there.” John tries not to think about what cut out the main boosters, as he shuts off a multitude of alarms. They will be going in very fast. Without knowing the condition of the rear engines, a deorbit burn could be very dangerous.

  With pieces of the International Space Station falling behind a now escaping space shuttle, the crew gets to see what must have been the first missile to strike one of the larger asteroids. The explosion is far away, almost over the horizon, but clearly a nuclear blast.

  “Oh my,” says John, his blue eyes darting back and forth from his instruments to the view outside. “What are they doing? You guys don't think ALL these missiles are nuclear? Do you?” He looks out at the hundreds upon hundreds of missiles in view from the cockpit, knowing there are probably many more that he can't see.

  He is answered by silence. Neither of his two crewmen can answer as they too just stare blankly out into space.

  More explosions can be seen far in the distance now, many more, all nuclear, all very bright, like miniature suns.

  John looks around at his crew again and says with some concern in his voice. “Ah if those explosions get any closer we are going to have a lot of problems, Normally, I would not worry about EMP, but with so many explosions we will have to consider the blasts effecting our systems.”

  The Space Shuttle Endeavour, the tricky deorbit burn a success, continues its descent into the upper atmosphere. Tiles on the heat shield hold, for now. John’s piloting skills are put to the test yet again, as the Endeavour responds sluggishly. Damage to the rear engines is just the start of their problems as smaller pieces of one of t
he engine nozzles start to fall away. With the shuttles descent, air friction increases, causing more pieces of the engine’s innards to break away. One significant piece breaks off and clips the tail of the Endeavour causing the entire craft to shimmy as he now fights with less and less responsive controls. Entering the lower atmosphere, the Endeavour resembles a meteor itself, with temperatures exceeding tolerance levels over most of the ship.

  Sweat pours down into the suits of all aboard while they descend, the very suits they are in almost cooking them alive. The ambient temperature inside the cargo hold so great, that many of the passengers pass out. In the cockpit, John fights both the shuttle, as it shakes and shimmies, and his own body’s desire to shut down from the oppressive heat.

  Looking at the equally taxed co-pilots he says loudly into their intercom. “She is either going to burn up, or break up, we have to risk slowing her down. Plotting a course to Northrop Strip, White Sands Space Harbor.”

  At a distance of fifteen miles, the Endeavour is far closer than any standard landing would permit. At ten miles out John’s ability to control the landing is taxed even further as pieces of overstressed heat shield tiles start breaking away. A few pieces at first, then more and more as if confetti, trail behind the struggling shuttle. The vibrations aboard shaking every control panel and person alike. Alarm after alarm is silenced by the flight crew as the shuttle literally starts to shake its self to pieces.

  With concern is his voice John says to his crew. “Well, we can't ask anymore of this bird.” Flicking a switch on the console, he hesitates to speak. “Gustav, you still with me back there?”

  “Yes, many have lost consciousness, I am unsure of their condition. The hull still seems intact but some small cracks are forming in various places towards the rear of the cargo bay.”

  “Understood, John out.” He switches channels. “Whites Sands, this is Commander Thompson of the Endeavour, on approach, do you read?”

  The tower crew can only stare in surprise at the speaker. That radar blur was not a meteor after all, but a space shuttle.

  “I repeat this is Commander John Thompson of the Space Shuttle Endeavour. We have the crew from the International Space Station on board. We are severely damaged and coming in fast. Chute deployment is problematic at best. We will require fire crews, medical assistance, and an immediate evacuation of all aboard.”

  The tower crews respond, galvanized into action. Some grab binoculars to look for the Endeavour visually. Dark scorch marks score her white nose and flanks, while massive areas of heat shield tiles are now missing, she hardly looks like a space shuttle anymore. The tail has an obvious bite out of it, with the engines themselves looking peculiar at this angle. She leaves behind a trail of smoke and debris particles in her wake as she approaches, awfully fast.

  John gets the Endeavour lined up for the final approach, it's tough as the failing ship wants to drift left, then right, as it vibrates so much his teeth rattle. He lowers the landing gear and is most surprised to see green lights. The runway approaches much faster than desired. The rear tires touch down hard, causing pieces of the main engine assembly to break off, littering the landing field. The front wheels make contact with the runway sending additional vibrations through the overtaxed shuttle. John hits the parachute deploy controls. They too report green, though the onlookers from the tower can only watch in horror as the entire parachute assembly simply falls off the Shuttle. Pieces smash into the ground, then, in a touch of the diabolic, the parachutes open up to billow uselessly, mocking the fast-retreating shuttle.

  With a super human effort, he keeps the shuttle running straight and true down the runway. Having no parachutes the normal stopping distance comes and goes by very fast, even with the extended runway. Emergency vehicles struggle to catch the still speeding shuttle, dodging debris that continues to fall from the obviously crippled machine.

  As the end of the runway approaches the shuttle slows to a realistic speed, allowing the pursuing vehicles to finally catch up. With little runway left the shuttle finally comes to a humbled halt. Ground crews frantically set up a gantry to get to the crew members. Foam is sprayed vigorously over the remaining portions of the shuttle’s engines. The outer hull is still so hot, gloved hands sizzle at each contact.

  The moments tick by as all pray the Endeavour does not simply explode. The cargo bay doors open partially then jam. Fearing an explosion, the gantry crews work fast to get the astronauts out. The minutes drag on as rescue crews work feverishly.

  While the condition of many of the crew still unknown, Gustav finds John, stands tall, salutes him, then shakes his hand firmly. “You are one brave man. On behalf of the ISS crew, we thank you.”

  “Commander Fuchs sir, my duty was to try, and I must say, a pleasure in making it back to Earth alive. I do hope everyone makes it, that was one hell of a rough trip for you folks back there.”

  The rescued team from the ISS are ferried to nearby hospital facilities. John and his crew are not used to having no one wait for them. After a basic physical, the three man cockpit crew can only sit and wait.

  Location:

  Australian Square Kilometre Array Pathfinder (ASKAP)

  315 KM North East of Geraldton, Western Australia.

  The sky is alight with shooting stars from the meteors and asteroids as they blaze their way into satellites, or toward the ground. High in the sky miniature suns appear, then vanish. They are followed by deep booms that resonate through the air, parting the clouds. The effects are quite beautiful as the full spectrum of colors wash over the skies with each blast.

  Joe once again, comes running into the video conference room to see Andrew staring at a screen filled with static. His amazing oceanic eyes that have won over many a lady, are now just blank voids.

  “Andrew mate, we have to leave.” Andrew does not respond. Joe grabs him and says. “We have to leave NOW, impact is under an hour.”

  “What do you mean, impact, are we a target? When did you say?, I can’t believe this is happening.” Andrew replies distantly.

  “C'mon mate, we have to go now!” says Joe with more conviction. He glances at the static filled screen knowing that this can only mean the satellite feed has been lost.

  Andrew shakes his head, rubs his hands through his matted fair hair, clearing his thoughts he looks back at Joe with a little more coherence.

  “Andrew mate, you guys were in that conference for hours and hours. We have lost most of our satellites. There is nothing we can do. We have to leave here, and I mean right now.”

  “Right, yes I remember, just tired mate.” Andrew stifles a yawn as he gets up and stretches his body.

  He has not slept in his bed since before he and Joe discovered the incoming objects. The last of the crew hastily grab all they can before departing. Joe leaves the many systems on to record data for as long as is possible. Hopefully the folks in Perth can get some use out of whatever information they get. Joe had no idea so many people were at the array, as he looks out at the line of vehicles being quickly loaded. With little time to spare, the vehicles kick up small clouds of dust as they accelerate down the dirt road, and away from impending danger.

  Even from a distance of ten miles the blaze of a single asteroid can be seen as it hurtles toward the area the convoy of workers and scientists has just left. The impact is truly staggering. A massive shock wave rolls out from the impact, totally non proportional to the size of the asteroid. A massive dust plume rises up from the desert floor, the ground seems to roll outward as if waves created by a stone landing in a pool of water. The group of cars and trucks stop, all are awed by the power of this one small asteroid as it shatters the landscape.

  Andrew, along with the others, looks at the destruction with despair. Dismayed, he remembers Joe telling him there were about seventy asteroids that size, expected to hit other radio telescope facilities, a few military installations, and worse of all, some populated areas. To no one in particular he mutters, “God help us all.”
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  Joe looks at his laptop and starts to frown at the information displayed. He had not been getting information on the asteroids, but rather of the larger objects behind them. Twenty-three massive objects are slowing down, with some maneuvering into high orbit positions behind the last of the asteroids. With that last snippet of information Joe loses his wireless connection. Looking up into the multicolored sky Joe says a silent prayer before he and his colleagues continue on. He can only wonder at the additional damage we are causing to ourselves from so many nuclear blasts.

  Around the world, electromagnetic pulses fuse power and telephone lines and wreak havoc wherever they reach. Fortunately, the early forays into high altitude nuclear detonations gave us some long remembered lessons, thus, damage is far less than most expect it to be. Even so, Joe's concerns are quite justified.

  Location:

  Manhattan Island

  New York

  As the Earth rotates on its twenty-four hour cycle, impacts strike many places around the globe, from satellite tracking stations to military command centers. Each impact, just as devastating as the one at the Australian tracking station.