Ocean of Storms

by Christopher Mari

  So all we need is to build the goddamn thing, Deke mused as he squinted out the window at the setting sun, and hope we don’t kill ourselves in the process.

  January 12

  Johnson Space Center

  Houston, Texas

  10:50 a.m.

  “You understand my concern,” Cal Walker scoffed into his phone as he walked down a hallway at the JSC toward Dieckman’s office. “Do you have any idea what a successful Chinese mission could mean?”

  “I’m certain I do, Dr. Walker,” a nervous male voice sounded on the other end of the line, “but believe me, we’re doing all we can—”

  “Obviously you aren’t doing enough. I’m doing all I can here at NASA. Everyone knows I’ll fulfill my task. And they also know that all of the heavy lifting that needs to be done must be accomplished on both of our ends.”

  “With respect, Dr. Walker,” the voice urged, “I’ve spoken to the team leaders this morning. They’ve assured me that they have our full confidence and know that we’re—”

  “You’ve spoken—” Walker stopped in midstride. “Listen carefully, my friend. The next time you try to pull an end-run around me, I’ll make sure you’ll wish you were never born. Is that understood?”

  The voice sputtered out something as Walker terminated the call. He looked around him apprehensively, wondering if any passersby had noticed his outburst. Not encountering any stares, he made his way over to a nearby water fountain and set his briefcase down beside it. The water was powerfully cold and made his teeth ache. The pain helped snap him back to reality. He hadn’t realized how irritated he had become. He slipped a bottle of pills from his jacket pocket, shook one out, and swallowed it with another sip of water.

  A moment of uncertainty hit him. It was more than just being back at NASA, he realized. On the drive over he had come to understand just how precarious his position had become. Did he still have it in him to see the project to fruition? All his life he had been willing to take risks, first at NASA and now in the private sector. In order to embrace the future, one had to be willing to dare to imagine, had to accept that morality was merely an excuse for a weakness of will. He had realized that early in life, while he was helping to adapt von Braun’s deadly rockets into a means for humanity’s journey to the heavens. Why should a man like Wernher von Braun have cared that the Nazis had used his rocket designs for the mass murder of thousands of Britons when he knew one day these same rockets would enable men to escape the confines of this planet? To wonder if they should use such devices was a dilemma Walker never considered. They had to be used in order for humanity to progress. If one were to invoke morality, nothing would ever be made. Every tool ever created had proven to have both positive and negative aspects. And what was the point of dithering about morality? If the earliest human beings had done that, none of us would have ever crawled out of the primordial ooze.

  Odd, Walker thought as he straightened his tie, odd how something I did so long ago could possibly wreck the future.

  Walker picked up his briefcase and continued down the hall. He wondered if his advanced age was clouding his judgment, not because of any degrading of his faculties, but because he knew most men his age didn’t have the will to do the difficult tasks. For the first time in his life, he felt the sting of his own mortality. Despite the company doctors’ assurances that he could well live another twenty years, he was envious of the young faces around him who would live to see the world he was helping to create.

  Steady yourself, old man, he thought as he opened the door to Dieckman’s secretary’s office, you still have enough will left in your body to get this job done.

  “I guess you’ve heard the news, Cal,” Deke said as he gestured toward a seat in front of his desk. “Coffee?”

  “No, thank you.” Walker eased his slight frame into the overstuffed seat. “I heard about it. I’m sure the President is not pleased.”

  “Well, I got an earful,” Deke said as he poured his third cup of coffee of the morning. “Needless to say, that rush job I was talking to you about has broken into a full-on space race.”

  “It really should come as no surprise, John,” Walker replied, “considering the fact that we’ve just about given all of our Apollo technology away to every damned Chinese ‘tourist’ with a camera.”

  Deke held his tongue but went on. “They haven’t got a viable lander.”

  Walker’s face broke into a thin smile. “Well now, that’s reassuring.”

  “Beyond working on the new rockets, we’d like to get your technical expertise on some of our designs.” Deke reached across his desk and handed Walker an iPad. “These are the prototype designs of an air force redesign of the Saturn V, as well as a copy of our most recent design specs to the lander. The higher-ups have ordered work to begin on the lander immediately. The rocket’s never been built or tested, but all the computer simulations suggest that it’ll not only work but will have all the thrust we need to get to the Moon. Over nine million pounds of thrust in all, more than enough to carry a bigger payload. The only problem is that we’ve got to get it out of the R&D phase as soon as possible. That’s where you come in. Once we’re done here, I’ll take you down to meet the engineers.”

  Walker pulled a pair of reading glasses from his pocket and surveyed the schematics. “The rocket looks promising, I’ll admit. But the lander is far too heavy. One can see that at a glance.”

  “But as you can see, the air force specs indicate—”

  Walker glanced at him over the rims of his glasses. “I don’t mean to sound obtuse, John, but the lander is too heavy. Not to land on the Moon, but to achieve escape velocity from the lunar surface. The essential design is sound enough, but we’ll likely have to—”

  A knock at the door interrupted Walker’s train of thought. Mattie Kendricks’s blond bob appeared after a moment, an apologetic smile on her face. “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Dieckman, but those gentlemen you asked—”

  “Oh right, Mattie. Send them in.”

  A moment later Donovan and Zell entered Dieckman’s office. Walker pulled off his glasses and turned slightly in his chair to look at them. Dieckman came from behind his desk to make the introductions.

  “I thought you gents would like to meet Dr. Cal Walker. Dr. Walker worked here in the days of Apollo,” Deke began. “Dr. Walker, this is Dr. Alan Donovan and Dr. Elias Zell, the archeologists who’ll be going to the Moon.”

  Walker stood before his chair and held out his hand. “A pleasure. Your reputation precedes you, Dr. Zell.”

  “As does yours, Dr. Walker,” Zell said, gripping his hand. “There are few names as closely linked to all aspects of the Apollo program as yours.”

  “You flatter me. I’m sure I can think of a few far more deserving of such praise.” Walker turned to Donovan and shook his hand. “How do you do, Dr. Donovan?” he asked with a slight smile. “You know, I used to know a Hunter Donovan. You wouldn’t happen to be a relation, would you?”

  “I’m his son,” Donovan said, forcing a smile to his face.

  “I remember Hunter well,” Walker said, looking at the ceiling. “One of the top geologists in the astronaut corps at that time. He never did make it on a Moon mission, did he?”

  “I believe you would know, Dr. Walker,” Donovan answered. “You were on the committee that recommended against his going on a mission.”

  “Yes, I suppose I was.” Walker stroked his pointy chin. “Something about a heart condition? We were concerned about the g-forces, the stress on his system?”

  “Something like that,” Donovan muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

  Deke rubbed his temples. How had he not noticed the connection to Walker in Donovan’s file? “Dr. Walker will be assisting the engineers with building the Saturn VII, as well as helping us with the lander.”

  “Nice of you to come out of retirement to do so,” Zell observed.

  “Oh I’m not retired,” Walker explained. “Just doing my part.” He wandered
over to the models of the Apollo spacecraft on Deke’s desk, with that slight smile still gripping his face. “Strange, how it feels like I was here just yesterday. Hard to believe it was more than forty years ago. But still, the more things change, the more things stay the same. After all, here we all are, off to the Moon, NASA behind the gun, in a space race, and despite that still trying to train civilian scientists to be astronauts.”

  Deke spoke up before Donovan or Zell could answer. “By the way, guys. I just wanted to let you know that you’ve both passed your Class I physicals with flying colors. So you’re a go for training. Tomorrow I’ll introduce you around to the rest of your team.”

  “Well, that’s good news,” Walker said. “Congratulations, gentlemen.”

  Donovan forced another smile. “Thank you.”

  “Is there anything else, Deke?” Zell wondered.

  “Nope,” Deke said with a grin. “Though I’m sure with your connections you already know that the British prime minister has given her blessing to your going on this mission.”

  “I did, but I’m glad to hear it officially,” Zell remarked. “I wouldn’t want her to revoke my passport for making an unauthorized trip abroad.”

  “We should probably get going,” Donovan suggested. “We were planning on getting in some weight training this morning.”

  “Certainly,” Walker said. “Good day, gentlemen.”

  With a nod and a smile, Donovan and Zell left the room. Deke swallowed the rest of his coffee in a gulp and leaned on the edge of his desk, with his arms folded across his chest.

  “You were part of the review board that grounded Donovan’s father?”

  Walker pulled his glasses from his pocket and began to study the schematics again.

  “Oh that. I was on so many in those days. They simply wanted one of the rocket engineers to testify about the effects of the engines on someone in Hunter’s condition, and I was selected.”

  “I’m sure his son isn’t too happy about it.”

  Walker looked up from the blueprints. “I can’t see why not. The stress certainly would have killed his father, and he wouldn’t have ever been born.”

  Deke rubbed his cheek. “You said something before about civilian astronauts. I take it you don’t approve of sending these men to the Moon.”

  “John, what does one old man’s opinion matter?” Walker asked good-naturedly. “But for the record, I was never much for sending civilians to the Moon. Such a job involves years of training, and, even with that, only the best and brightest should go. But as I said, that’s just my opinion.”

  “Cal,” Deke began slowly, “we’re all glad to have you aboard. Believe me. But my concern is the well-being of our astronauts. Those men are going to be a tremendous help to us once they get to the Moon. I’m not going to have them going thinking anyone here doubts they can do the job.”

  “I didn’t mean to make any trouble, John. From now on I will concentrate on the task assigned to me,” Walker said as he glanced at the tablet again, “which I will give my absolute attention.”

  January 13

  Johnson Space Center

  Houston, Texas

  8:32 a.m.

  The introductions lasted all of two minutes. Shortly after Donovan and Zell had arrived in Dieckman’s office, he escorted them into an adjoining conference room. Sitting there were three men, each in blue NASA coveralls. The men immediately got up when Dieckman entered. The oldest of them, a black man of strong military bearing with a glistening, carefully shaved head, practically stood at attention. Standing to his left was a massive blond man whose face and piercing blue eyes betrayed a kindly, easygoing disposition, despite his best efforts to maintain military composure. The final man in the room was wiry and black haired and stood barely five feet seven but displayed all the easy swagger of an ace pilot.

  “Dr. Elias Zell, Dr. Alan Donovan,” Deke began, “this is Lieutenant Colonel Franklin Wilson. He’ll be the commander of your mission.”

  “An honor, gentlemen.” Wilson held out his hand to them. The handshake was firm and confident, the grip dry and cool.

  “And this is Lieutenant Commander Thomas Mosensen, who’ll be the lunar-module pilot.”

  “Call me Moose,” Mosensen said with a big grin on his ruddy face as he extended his hand.

  “And this is Lieutenant Commander Anthony Benevisto, the command-module pilot,” Deke remarked, adding: “He’ll be in orbit around the Moon, relaying intel to us while the rest of you guys are on the surface.”

  “Most everybody around here calls me Benny,” Benevisto said as he shook hands with both of them.

  “I don’t envy your job,” Zell noted as they shook hands. “Going all that way and not even stepping on the Moon.”

  “Hey, I’m getting ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the way there—a helluva lot farther than most people I know have gotten outta Brooklyn,” Benny said.

  Deke looked at each of them in turn, unable to suppress a smile. “Gentlemen, come this June, you will be the first men to return to the Moon.”

  Dieckman asked them to be seated as he stood at the head of the conference table, jingling the keys in his pocket as he glanced over some files. “Just to give Dr. Donovan and Dr. Zell a brief overview of the training: normally astronaut training takes up to two years, with candidates assigned to the Astronaut Office here at JCS. Owing to the fact that we’re under considerable time constraints, that means you will be getting a crash course in how to be astronauts. All of your formal mission training will be compressed and overseen by Lieutenant Colonel Wilson, who is our most experienced astronaut. Assisting him in that capacity will be Lieutenant Commander Mosensen. Conversely, you gentlemen will be required to impart as much of your archeological training to other team members, since one of them will be on the lunar surface with you at all times. The days between now and the date of launch will be long and tight, but everybody here at NASA is confident that you will be ready when the time comes.”

  Zell leaned back in his chair and folded his arms against his barrel chest. “So what’s the first thing on our agenda?”

  “Glad you asked,” Deke said, pulling a small remote from the table. He punched a button, and an engineering schematic of a rocket appeared on a small screen mounted to the wall behind him.

  “This is the Saturn VII. Like the Saturn V that took the Apollo astronauts to the Moon, it has three stages. For the first two and a half minutes of flight, the first stage will push you out of the densest part of the atmosphere. When it is depleted of fuel, the first stage is jettisoned and the second stage kicks in. The second stage will burn for six and a half minutes until you gain orbital speed before it is also jettisoned. The third and final stage burns for another two and a half minutes, enough time to push you out of Earth’s orbit and toward the Moon.”

  Donovan studied the screen. “What’re the g-forces through all this?”

  “About seven g’s,” Benny said with a good-natured laugh. “Enough to squeeze your eyeballs out through your ears.”

  Moose glanced at him. “Like you’d know.”

  Deke smirked. “At this point, I’ll turn you over to Lieutenant Colonel Wilson.”

  Deke passed the remote to Wilson and took a seat. Wilson clicked a button, and another image appeared, this one of the Phoenix spacecraft itself. “Again like Apollo, Phoenix is composed of three parts: the command module, the service module, and the lunar module. The command module is the cone-shaped capsule you see at the top of the screen. This is where we will live and work for the majority of the mission. This middle section is the service module, which is connected to the command module and provides things such as oxygen, thrusters, fuel cells, and the propellants necessary to get in and out of lunar orbit. Once the third stage has put us into translunar injection, the command and service modules will turn around, dock with the lunar module, and pull it out of the third stage.”

  Donovan wrinkled his brow. “While we’re going to the Moon?”

&
nbsp; Wilson glanced at him. “It’s a fairly standard procedure, docking with a spacecraft while both are in motion, Dr. Donovan. Just leave the driving to us.”

  “How do we get into the damn thing once we need to get down to the Moon?” Zell wondered aloud.

  “We unlock the docking collar, which opens a tunnel between the command and lunar modules,” Wilson explained. “Don’t worry, we won’t have to do an EVA just to get from one module of the ship to the next.”

  Zell leaned into Donovan. “Now that’s comforting.”

  “So once we’re in lunar orbit, then what?” Donovan asked.

  Wilson turned to face him. “The four of us will suit up, and Mosensen and I will pilot the ship down to the Ocean of Storms.”

  “Basically it’s like this,” Deke explained from his chair. “The mission will last two weeks—three days for you to get to the Moon, three to come back, and eight days scheduled for exploration and excavation at the source of the pulse. You two will land on the Moon with Lieutenant Colonel Wilson and Lieutenant Commander Mosensen. You’ll work in two shifts, with one experienced astronaut and one experienced archeologist working at the site. Right now there are no plans for all four of you to be on the surface simultaneously, but if the need arises, you will do so. Your task is to excavate the object—and if possible, return it or parts of it to Earth for analysis. Since we don’t know how big the damn thing is or even if it will be possible to unearth, your space suits will be equipped with digital cameras and additional equipment so we can get a picture of what’s going on there.”

  “Eight days is a pretty short time to do all that digging,” Donovan noted, “especially since—if I understand correctly—the object is buried about a mile below the Moon’s surface.”