Mars Journey: Call to Action: Book 1: A SciFi Thriller Series

by Bill Hargenrader

  Mars Journey: Call to Action: Book 1

  Bill Hargenrader

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  An Epic Journeys Entertainment Book

  Philadelphia

  Copyright © 2015 Bill Hargenrader

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Mars Journey: Call to Action is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Mars Journey, and Epic Journeys are Trademarks of Epic Journeys Entertainment, LLC.

  Dedication:

  For my loving wife Daniele, and for the next level of human exploration.

  And for you, for being a part of the Mars Journey. Ad Mars et Ultra (To Mars and Beyond).

  Table of Contents

  Part 1 - T-Minus 7 years Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  T-Minus 6 Years Chapter 4 - Location: New York City, United States

  Chapter 5

  T-Minus 3 Years Chapter 6 - Location: Silicon Valley, United States

  Chapter 7

  Part 2 - Recruit the Crew Chapter 8 - Location: Paris, France

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10 - Location: Beijing, China

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12 - Location: Star City, Near Moscow, Russia

  Chapter 13

  Part 3 - The Journey Home Chapter 14 - Location: Silicon Valley, United States

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20 - Location: Northern California Mountain Wilderness, United States

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  About the Author

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  Part 1 - T-Minus 7 years

  Chapter 1

  3.5Gs of crushing pressure exerted itself on the bodies and organs of the two astronauts geared up in their orange flight suits and locked into takeoff position inside the compact spacecraft atop the rapidly ascending rocket. These two veterans of space-flight were used to these conditions. What they were not used to was the dangerous rescue mission they were embarking on—one that had never been attempted before.

  Three days earlier, the crew of the Pisces III, one of Earth’s first full-sized commercial space stations, stopped transmitting. To make matters worse, the Pisces was losing orbit rapidly. Thousands of techs, engineers, and analysts from around the globe, working on this problem around the clock, came up with the plan that was now being set in motion at 28,000 kilometers per hour.

  As Brent Carlson, commander of the mission, waited for the vibrations in his skull to subside, he recalled the words of NASA chief Mike Johnson a day earlier as he had addressed him and his pilot Calvin Williams.

  “We are sending two of NASA’s—actually, two of Earth’s—bravest and best astronauts up in our most advanced spacecraft to rescue the crew of the Pisces,” Johnson had said. “This has never been done before, and I have 100 percent faith that you will pull this off for the sake of the crew of the Pisces and for the honor of the astronaut corps. The world is watching. God speed.”

  Not too much pressure there, Brent thought.

  Their spacecraft reached a constant velocity some 220 kilometers above the Earth, and the familiar feeling of microgravity set in. From here they would have just over four hours before the Wyvern completed its five automated engine burns that would bring them in for their rendezvous with the Pisces.

  Brent and Williams got the signal from ground control to take off their helmets. As Brent removed his, he felt the heat of the capsule air and breathed in the familiar aroma of the cockpit: body odor, and motor oil—like a cross between a locker room and an auto shop.

  “How you making out over there, Hulk Junior?” asked Brent.

  Williams shot him a look. Brent had given him the nickname because of Williams’ musclebound, five-foot-seven frame. Normally, excessive muscle was a detriment to space operations, but Williams had an ease of movement gained from years of climbing in and out of the cockpit as a Marine Corps fighter jet pilot. He was one of the few African Americans to make more than four trips to space, a feat he was not shy of bringing up repeatedly.

  “Doing just fine, Wolverine,” Williams retorted. “You?”

  Wolverine was the nickname Williams had chosen to mock Brent’s occasional temper flare up. Brent, with his short cropped brown hair, and lean athletic build, actually kind of liked the label, since he thought it matched him well with the mammal known for its strength and ferocity out of proportion to its size.

  “Rock solid here,” said Brent. “Only two of Earth’s finest, ready to save the day.”

  “Actually, that reminds me,” said Williams. “I know why they’re sending me, being practically the best damn pilot alive. Still haven’t figured out why they sent you though.”

  Brent let out a laugh. “I’m just here to make sure the helmet fits over that big head of yours, buddy.” He extended his fist over to Williams, who bumped it, completing their orbital insertion good luck ritual.

  “Alright, let’s get ourselves mentally prepped for this mission,” said Brent. “Only four hours till contact.”

  “Roger that,” said Williams.

  It really wasn’t a mystery why Brent was here. Years ago Brent had been a child prodigy excelling in the field of astrophysics. He possessed a unique super computer-like mind that could mentally build and breakdown objects in his head, run multiple simulations on those objects, and tweak minor details to get variations on results, allowing him to see things others couldn’t. While 13 year old kids in his neighborhood were lucky if they could identify a constellation, Brent was discovering galaxies. Brent gave up on the safe and boring path of academia, for a life of adventure in the Army, and eventually the Astronaut Corp…

  But there was no use thinking about that now; these were distractions.

  Funny what your mind thinks of when you’re hurtling towards a structure 100 times your size that is quite literally falling into the planet, where one false move can send you spiraling out into the vast void of space… thought Brent.

  Brent used that daunting visual to focus himself. He reviewed the dossier in his head. He ran through the crew members, their faces, and backgrounds. He ran through the list of potential problems. There were many. There was potentially an oxygen shortage, power outage, biological contaminants, pressurization issues, you name it. There were so many possibilities, and only so much time left. They were risking their lives in a maneuver that had only been invented yesterday.

  Normally a rapid orbital rendezvous required extreme precision coordination from both the spacecraft and the space station. With the Pisces out of commission, that meant the Wyvern would have to bear the full brunt of the adjustment maneuvers. A seemingly impossible scenario.

  In a bold move, Ken Solum, CEO of NewSpace Enterprises, personally guaranteed the Wyvern could handle it. A
fter NASA agreed, the upgraded maneuver code was uploaded to the Wyvern spacecraft on the fly, and now here they were, circling the planet, moving closer to their rescue attempt.

  A few hours later the two astronauts felt the last of the automated engine burns that took them out of phasing orbit and into the path of the Pisces. Brent continued to run visualizations of the rescue mission procedures. He looked back over the Wyvern’s interior. Seven seats in total, two for him and Williams. One for each of the five crew members of the Pisces. If they were still alive.

  “Holy crap!” said Williams. “Check that out, Carlson.”

  Brent looked up to a display monitor in the Wyvern showing a magnified view of their target.

  On the screen, the football field-sized Pisces space station loomed overhead in the distance. No lights emanating. Half of the solar array hanging off its moorings at the wrong angle. If it weren’t for being on the bright side of the Earth, they wouldn’t have been able to see it.

  “Whoa, she looks dead,” said Brent.

  “If there’s anyone alive on there, we’ll get them out,” said Williams.

  “Agreed,” Brent said. “Alright, take it in, Williams. You’re the best damn pilot we have. That’s why you’re here. Make it happen.”

  And just like that, Williams snapped out of any semblance of a normal human; man and machine had become one. His gaze set, his hands on the controls, guiding the Wyvern ever closer. Foot pedals applying thrust. With one eye on the proximity gauge and one on the visual display, they made their way ever closer to the Pisces docking port. They navigated with the apparent ease that only a skilled and time tested pilot could, through an obstacle course of debris, and around the solar array panel that was blocking the normal entry route.

  This guy is good, Brent thought. Then, Brent’s focus went to the docking procedures.

  Since the Pisces was seemingly having electric generation issues, they had rigged the Wyvern with an extra power source. They would reverse the energy feed toward the Pisces and, in essence, act as a massive battery to power the station’s auxiliary systems to assist in the rescue.

  KA-THUNK!

  The Wyvern vibrated lightly as Williams executed a bull’s-eye docking.

  “That’s my Ace!” shouted Brent.

  Over their headsets, ground control gave Williams a more formal congratulations.

  “That was almost too easy,” said Williams with a self-satisfied smile.

  “Easy big guy, we’re just getting warmed up here,” said Brent. “Now, let’s go rescue some civvies.”

  Chapter 2

  Brent and Williams unharnessed themselves and floated in zero G over to the Wyvern dock hatch where they waited for the automated coupling to complete. The Pisces schematics showed backup battery on the oxygen generation units, so they had anticipated the results being 50 percent of optimal. If it was low to zero, they would quickly reattach their helmets and prepare for R operations. Thankfully, there was no need for that, since the display showed positive at 80 percent.

  That’s higher than it should be… thought Brent, but the hiss of the hatch opening broke his concentration.

  The Pisces docking port opened into darkness.

  Brent stared into the void as his eyes adjusted. Then, suddenly, a figure careened wildly toward them through the blackness, shouting gibberish.

  That’s not gibberish, Brent realized. It’s French!

  It was Andrea Martine, the lead civilian scientist. Her red hair and fashion model-like facial features would be hard to mistake for anyone else, even despite her current disheveled appearance.

  “Merci, merci, you must help the others,” she said, grabbing Brent by the suit. “We thought we were done for.”

  “That’s why we’re here,” said Brent, gripping her hands as she looked into his eyes.

  “Thank God,” she said. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” She tried to pull Brent closer, and Brent found himself holding her back.

  “Ma’am, ma’am,” Williams interjected.

  “Oh, yes,” Andrea said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

  “Where is the rest of your crew?” continued Williams.

  “Jean Louis and crew at your service,” came a French-accented voice from the dock doors.

  They turned to see the remaining four members of the Pisces lined up at the hatch.

  “We figured that a rescue via space vessel was the highest probability, so we gathered here,” said Jean Louis.

  “That was a good plan,” said Brent. “It’s far less risky for us to have to board the Pisces. Come on. Let’s get you all strapped in so we can get you safely home.”

  The lights in the entryway began to flicker. All at once, they turned on.

  Andrea looked up at the lights with a look of shock. “How is that possible?” she said.

  “We are powering the station temporarily,” said Brent. “We thought it might be necessary.”

  “Smart thinking,” Andrea began, but she was cut off by Jean Louis.

  “Wait—power is on now?” he said. “I can get my experiments that were on emergency lock down! It will only take a minute.”

  Before Brent or Williams could say anything, Jean pushed off and floated his way back on to the Pisces.

  From behind, an alarm started blaring.

  Brent turned to look at a gauge on the Wyvern console. “Not good,” he said. “We are dropping altitude faster than the predictions.”

  “Why?” asked Williams.

  “Must be when we reversed the energy flow,” said Brent. “Some of the structural alignment thrusters kicked in… We’re rapidly descending.”

  “Roger that,” said Williams. “Lock these guys in. I’m going after our runner.”

  Brent nodded his okay, but then, all of a sudden, his world appeared to move in slow motion. Brent’s hyper-speed mind had taken over. Something wasn’t right. The rapid descent. The oxygen levels at 80 percent instead of 50 percent… Layers of schematics, blueprints, conversations with techs and engineers ran through his mind in rapid succession.

  Andrea floated in front of him. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Brent didn’t respond. He was still locked in his trance-like thought, running the scenario again and again in his mind, changing tiny details and small variations. Maybe it was nothing.

  Stay focused, this is important, a voice spoke up in his mind. It was the voice of his wife Shayla—the internal voice that he used to keep himself calm in stressful situations.

  He had been thinking of the Pisces in its entirety; but now he focused in on individual modules, their components, and how they interacted. How they each affected one another, and—

  Wait. There it is—No!

  Brent, startled from his trance, shouted, “Williams! Wait! If you go after him, we all die! We have to get out of here now!”

  “I’m not leaving him behind,” Williams shouted back and continued to make his way back to the Pisces.

  Sorry, my friend. No way I’m going to let that happen.

  Brent quickly searched for a way to stop him. Williams wasn’t responding to commands. He wasn’t the type to respond to threats. A blow from the fire extinguisher to Brent’s right could kill him. Any punch that Brent threw could break his hand and was no guarantee of disabling Williams. Williams was far too strong to grapple.

  I’ll have to put him to sleep.

  Brent narrowed his eyes on the back of Williams’ neck. By now, he was halfway through the vessel docking bay.

  Brent grasped the side of the seat he was next to for stability, planted both his feet on the side of it, and propelled himself forward as he floated in zero G on a precise trajectory for Williams. At the last second, Williams sensed Brent’s approach, but it was too late. Brent's arm was already snaked around Williams’ neck, wrapping around to clasp his own arm. He placed his hand on the top of Williams’ head in a perfectly executed rear naked choke.

  And Brent squeezed as hard as he could.
>
  Excellent technique. Ideal leverage. Williams should be out cold in three, two, one…

  Williams defied the average and, tightening the knotty muscles in his neck, managed to stay conscious. He thrashed and elbowed back into Brent’s ribs to little effect. He reached back and tried to punch Brent in the face but missed awkwardly. Brent was using the benefit of weightlessness to nullify his friend’s incredible strength.

  Former friend, probably, he thought. I don’t see us staying friends after this.

  Finally, Williams went limp.

  Brent sensed the seconds ticking down fast. He grabbed Williams under both armpits like a lifeguard with a drowning victim, then found purchase with his feet on a rung and launched them both sailing back through the Wyvern bay.

  Brent clipped his head hard on the top of the hatch bulwark.

  That’s gonna leave a mark.

  As he sailed past Andrea he shouted to her, “Get that hatch sealed!”

  Andrea, with tears rimming her eyes now, shook her head no. Behind her, the rest of the crew were buckled into their seats, looking nearly as confused as they were terrified. Brent muscled Williams’ limp body into a seat and threw a harness strap over his shoulder.

  “Get that hatch shut now, or you kill the rest of them!”

  “I—I can’t.”

  BOOM!

  A massive reverberation rocked through the vessel, vibrating the very air. Brent’s hyper-speed mind identified it as the engine compartment.

  “Now!” he shouted at Andrea.

  She obeyed and pushed off towards the hatch to close it as Brent made his way to the cockpit chair, taking time to buckle only one of his harness straps. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw down the Pisces docking bay. Jean Louis was returning, his hands full of documents, his face fearful. He started to shout something, but he fell out of view as Andrea closed the hatch.