Pale Blue

by Mike Jenne

  7:03 p.m.

  Minutes later, he and Luba ventured out on their evening walk in the large commons area set in the middle of the apartment complex. Except for three other couples, also out for air, and a gaggle of children playing soccer in the fading light, the grassy expanse was unoccupied. Yohzin and Luba paused to speak with a young couple. Pushing a baby stroller bearing their newborn daughter, the husband was a motorized infantry captain who supervised a security force at one of the missile test ranges. As Luba cooed over the infant, Yohzin congratulated the captain and wished the child a long and prosperous life.

  Leaving the couple, they walked on. A flock of doves passed overhead; Luba crossed herself, reached into a pocket of her coat, and scattered a handful of breadcrumbs. Yohzin looked at her and sighed; even in her old gray coat and a dark green kerchief covering her auburn hair, she was just as beautiful now as she was on the day that they had met. He considered himself an extremely fortunate man to have found her after his first wife had passed. Looking back, he remembered that those were extremely dark days, a bleak time where he held out little hope for even the slightest semblance of lasting happiness.

  After almost half an hour of strolling, Yohzin looked out into the distance, aligned himself with a landmark, and silently counted his steps as he paced out onto an open field. He stopped, pointed his finger at the ground, turned towards Magnus and quietly ordered, “Hier. Sitz.”

  The impatient canine sat obediently and then softly whimpered as it awaited the next command.

  “Scheisse.”

  Squatting abruptly, Magnus eagerly complied with Yohzin’s scatological order. He completed the task in mere seconds. Panting, wearing a canine expression of relief, the black and tan Alsatian whirled about and sat down. Vigorously wagging his tail, he dropped his head slightly, pointing his shiny nose at the steaming deposit as if it were a hard-won trophy offered for his master’s approval.

  “Braver hund,” observed Yohzin in German. “Sehr gut.”

  Shaking her head in bewilderment, Luba giggled and then said, “I love you dearly, Gregor Mikhailovich, but sometimes you confound me. Why on earth are you so compelled to torture that poor dog like that?”

  “Discipline,” he answered. “It’s the foundation of all effective training.”

  “I would think it sufficient to bark at him with those German commands, but it’s a little much that you insist on even dictating the precise timing of his bowel movements.”

  Ignoring her, he placed his hands on his hips as he stooped over to examine the fresh scat. He looked at it for over a minute, until he was satisfied, and then slowly stood erect.

  “So are you still concerned that he might have worms?” asked Luba.

  “Always, dear,” he replied. As he dusted himself off and adjusted the brim of his hat, a twinkle of light caught his eye. Just a momentary flicker from the tiled rooftop of an apartment building, he suspected that it was a reflection from the binoculars of one of the clumsy GRU counter-espionage agents who kept a constant vigil on everyone’s comings and goings. The goons were always on the prowl, constantly seeking even the slightest evidence of subversive activities. He smiled to himself; after all, there was nothing for the lurking spooks to see but a couple out on their evening stroll, walking the family dog, a clockwork occurrence on any given day.

  Krepost Project Headquarters

  9:05 a.m., Saturday, September 2, 1972

  Yohzin quietly entered Abdirov’s office, took a chair, and softly declared, “I have it.”

  “Have what?” replied Abdirov, glancing up from a blueprint. He had just returned from Moscow the night before, after briefing the General Staff of the High Command concerning the preparations for the Krepost launch.

  “You had asked for some means to bypass the Perimetr system, Rustam. Here it is,” said Yohzin, handing the disfigured general a small scrap of paper.

  “This?” asked Abdirov. His brow furrowed as his examined the code. “Eight digits? 76810723? How can this be?”

  Yohzin explained how he had observed the Perimetr engineers entering the special code that effectively disabled the interlock whenever they chose. He concluded by saying “I am confident that this bypass code is permanently hard-wired into the interlock’s hardware. It is the key that you seek.”

  “Confident?” asked Abdirov. “How confident are you? Are you certain?”

  “Honestly, after closely examining the schematics, I am about ninety-five percent confident that it cannot be removed from the interlock’s inner workings. In fact, I strongly suspect that this is not just an interim code inserted into the hardware for test purposes, but that it is likely the Independent Action Code as well. If you think about it, there’s no practical way for Perimetr to relay or otherwise update that code without the risk of compromise, so it has to be hard-wired into the interlock from the very outset.”

  “But just eight numbers?” said Abdirov. “It could not possibly be that simple.”

  “But it is,” commented Yohzin.

  “So, how were you able to accomplish this?” asked Abdirov. “I would have thought that our esteemed Perimetr colleagues would have guarded their treasures with a little more care.”

  “And they do,” replied Yohzin. “But as fate would have it, one of the Perimetr engineers was stricken with a severe case of diarrhea recently and neglected to pick up his notebook from his workstation when he rushed to the latrine. So, I was able to filch it with no one being the wiser.”

  “And am I to assume that this man’s bowel issues were not an accident?”

  Yohzin grinned. “Perhaps.”

  Abdirov smiled. “That’s what I like about you, Gregor Mikhailovich, besides your abundant intellect. I greatly appreciate your willingness to exercise the initiative.”

  “Thank you, sir. As always, I am glad to be of service.”

  Abdirov chuckled and then exclaimed, “Such a diabolical caper! Such cunning and guile you possess! Perhaps I should keep a closer eye on you myself, lest you steal my secrets.”

  Yohzin felt his heart stop for a moment. Remaining calm, he replied, “Perhaps you should, friend, because if I can pierce Perimetr’s security and purloin their secrets, then I could steal yours as well and sell them to the Americans. I would not surrender them cheaply, though; I would insist on top dollar, of course!”

  Abdirov laughed uproariously, so much so that tears flowed from his single eye. Regaining his composure, he said, “Hah! Gregor, I fear that you might sell my secrets to your damned German friends, but the Americans, never.”

  And now, time for the moment of truth, thought Yohzin. “So, do you still intend to use this thing to force a confrontation between East and West?” he asked hesitantly. “Do you still plan to just drop the Egg and see what becomes of it?”

  “That’s a very plausible scenario,” stated Abdirov. “But truthfully, I have reconsidered the entire idea.”

  Yohzin breathed a silent sigh of relief. Perhaps his old friend Abdirov had finally come to his senses. “You’ve reconsidered? How so?”

  “As I’ve always told you, the Egg could certainly be the catalyst that initiates the reaction that breaks this damned deadlock,” said Abdirov. “But what good is that, if we inadvertently allow the Americans to gain the upper hand? We would be deceiving ourselves if we chose to believe that they didn’t possess a formidable advantage in many areas, particularly nuclear-armed submarines.”

  “Agreed.”

  “So, if I’m going to crack this Egg, doesn’t it at least make sense to give our side at least some modicum of advantage? Assuming that this secret code of yours proves to be valid, and I’ve directed the crew to use it, then I intend to notify the High Command after the reentry process has been initiated and there’s no turning back. That will lend them roughly forty-five minutes to formulate a plan and issue orders to the strategic forces.”

  Abdirov continued. “That’s sufficient warning time to launch the first volley of ICBMs and prepare the res
t, as well as enough time to get virtually every bomber into the air and headed towards America. They should also be able to launch every fighter and interceptor so they’re positioned to bash the American B-52s out of the skies. Finally, we have a chance to land a knockout blow, even before the Americans get their feet planted under them!”

  “Then you’ve made up your mind?” asked Yohzin.

  “I have.”

  “When?”

  “For various reasons, I will wait at least until after the crew receives their first resupply freighter,” said Abdirov.

  Yohzin nodded but was silent. If Abdirov was willing to wait that long, then perhaps there was still adequate time to persuade him away from this path of insanity. But he knew to tread lightly; even as he coaxed Abdirov to step back from the brink, he had to be cautious not to agitate the old man.

  “This is truly momentous,” said Abdirov solemnly, gazing at the scrap of paper that contained the code. “I am indebted to you, my brother.”

  Yohzin took a moment to compose his thoughts. Finally, he spoke hesitantly. “If you are truly indebted to me, sir, may I ask one favor?”

  “Of course,” replied Abdirov. “Anything.”

  “Dear friend, you know that you can rely on me to stay at my post no matter what comes,” said Yohzin softly, like a condemned prisoner asking a king for dispensation. “But if you would be so kind as to grant me sufficient advance warning, I would like to make arrangements for Luba and my sons to visit her parents, and no one would be the wiser.”

  Obviously contemplating the request, Abdirov closed his sole eye and was silent for over a minute. Fearful of what ire his mentor might dispense, Yohzin gripped his thighs and willed his pounding heart to slow before it leapt from his chest.

  Abdirov opened his eye and spoke in a soft voice that Yohzin could barely hear. “As I recall, Luba’s parents live in a rural area southwest of Odessa, not too far from the Black Sea, correct?”

  “Da,” croaked Yohzin. “That is correct.”

  “And it is a very remote area, far removed from any military bases or industrial complexes, correct?”

  “Again, sir, that is correct.”

  “Then certainly I will grant you that, one week’s warning, provided that you keep this secret to yourself. Agreed?”

  “Agreed, sir.”

  “And moreover, Gregor Mikhailovich, since you have effectively finished all of your chores associated with the Krepost, I will soon announce that you will be heading up the design team for that damned Skorpion. And because I am so pleased with your diligent labor on the Krepost, I strongly suspect that I might order you to take a furlough at the same time, so that you might accompany Luba and your boys. Do you understand?”

  Swallowing deeply, Yohzin nodded and spoke. “Spasiba.”

  Abdirov leaned forward and took Yohzin’s hands in his. “Please hear me, brother. When that time comes, go and don’t look back. After all, who could possibly refuse such a grand opportunity to visit their mother-in-law?”

  10:33 a.m., Sunday, September 3, 1972

  Reading an urgent dispatch from the Korolev bureau, Abdirov was livid. The High Command had explicitly ordered the exalted aerospace design bureau to directly support Abdirov’s effort by providing a steady supply of Soyuz spacecraft to shuttle crews to the Krepost, as well as a specially modified version to serve as a freighter to keep the station replenished.

  At this point, the Korolev bureau had already delivered the first freighter, which was currently being packed with supplies, as well as the first two Soyuz crew vehicles. The memo before him stated that production of the second freighter would likely be delayed, because some titanium welds had failed inspection. On a positive note, it also stated that production of the additional Soyuz crew vehicles was proceeding apace.

  It was an aggravating development, and the manner in which the memo was delivered was aggravating as well. It was an unofficial “back channel” communication that was not on the official record. Theoretically, the Korolev bureau was doing him a favor by granting him advance notice of a potential delay. In reality, it obligated him to either delay the Krepost launch, under the assumption that the next freighter would not be delivered on schedule, or launch according to their current plan. In either event, he had to assume risk and also be prepared to accept blame.

  As he contemplated the potential impact of the tersely worded memo, he recognized that timely delivery of the crew vehicles was largely irrelevant. In the current scheme, the crews would rotate every forty-two days, so if the crew vehicle production was delayed, or if there was a launch mishap, he could just simply order the crew on orbit to remain aloft. But while they might be able to keep their vigil indefinitely without relief, they certainly wouldn’t fare very long without food, water, and oxygen. In order for the Krepost to remain operational, the freighters had to be launched at three-week intervals. The only exception was the first mission, with Gogol and Vasilyev; since the Krepost itself was so heavy, it would only be stocked with two weeks of supplies, so their overall mission would be thirty-five days.

  The freighter, essentially an unmanned truck, had been adapted from the Soyuz spacecraft. A standard Soyuz consisted of three parts, from bottom to top: a Service Module, a Descent Module, and an Orbital Module. The cylindrical Service Module housed life support equipment, electric power supply equipment, various electronic instruments, and communications gear, as well as the propulsion systems—including the associated propellant storage tanks—necessary for maneuvering in orbit and returning to Earth. Two wing-like arrays of electricity-producing solar panels, one on each side, protruded from the Service Module. The Soyuz cosmonauts hunkered in the snug confines of the Descent Module during launch and reentry, and otherwise occupied the more spacious Orbital Module.

  For the freighter variant, the Descent and Orbital Modules had been replaced by a single bullet-shaped Cargo Module that was little more than a titanium shell that encased and protected the goods being ferried up to the Krepost. The Cargo Module was internally subdivided into a pressurized “dry” compartment and an unpressurized “wet” compartment. The dry compartment was packed with food and other supplies, while the wet compartment contained bulk water and cryogenic vessels for liquid hydrogen and oxygen. The Cargo Module was a relatively simple vessel, which was topped by a rendezvous and docking pod, which borrowed key technology—the IGLA automatic rendezvous system, docking hardware and pressure hatch—from the Soyuz crew vehicle.

  Unlike the manned version of the Soyuz, the freighter was intended to be entirely sacrificial. Once the supplies were depleted and the vacant dry compartment filled with trash, the freighter would be undocked from the Krepost and would incinerate upon reentry.

  Early on in the Krepost program, Abdirov had been faced with choosing between the Korolev and Chelomei aerospace bureaus for the design and production of the freighter. Although ordered to do so, neither of the premier aerospace bureaus was enthusiastic about playing second fiddle to Abdirov, and both approached the General Staff of the High Command demanding an opportunity to submit their own design proposal for the Krepost. The High Command quickly squelched their objections; obviously recognizing that there was no way to usurp Abdirov, the two bureaus aggressively competed to win the freighter design.

  The choice was not an easy one. Since 1965, the Chelomei bureau had been developing its own unique freighter—the TKS—for its Almaz military space station. Unfortunately, while the TKS looked promising, no prototype had actually flown yet. Consequently, since betting on the unproven TKS was a wager he just wasn’t willing to place, Abdirov elected to stick with the Korolev bureau’s proposal, which entailed modifying the existing Soyuz. He had another motivation to stick with the Korolev bureau: they were also refining an even more sophisticated unmanned freighter—the Progress—which was projected to become the logistical mainstay for future Soviet space stations. He felt confident that the Korolev bureau could ultimately shelve the interim Soyuz freighter and
switch to the Progress to sustain future Krepost missions.

  Now, faced with news of the delay at the Korolev plant, he regretted his decision. And there was more for him to be troubled over. He was hearing pervasive rumors that the Perimetr engineers were on the verge of perfecting a remotely operated interlock system. If the freighter delay compelled him to wait until the next available launch window, then it was highly likely the Perimetr engineers could install the new interlock aboard the first Krepost before it was fired into orbit. If that came to pass, then Yohzin’s efforts to purloin the secret code would all be for naught, since the Krepost crew would have absolutely no role in disabling the interlock in order to drop the Egg.

  Abdirov just couldn’t shake the notion that the Korolev bureau was colluding with the Perimetr faction to stall his program. After all, both entities would be delighted if the Krepost foundered even before it left port. Even so, the last thing he wanted to do was to accuse the well-connected Korolev bureau of deliberate sabotage; that would be the equivalent of political suicide.

  “Lieutenant Colonel Gogol is here as you ordered, Comrade General,” announced his secretary. As usual, even though she had worked for him for over a decade, she averted her eyes slightly, so as to not directly look at him.

  Abdirov took a deep breath and calmed himself. Gogol’s arrival reminded him that, while aggravating, the production delay was really not a tremendously significant matter in the grand scheme of things. “Send him in,” he said. “And ensure that we are not disturbed.”

  As she pivoted to walk out, he held out the Korolev memo. “And draft a response to this,” he said. “I want to make sure that the Korolev bureau is aware that I intend to proceed with the current launch schedule, and I expect that they will fix their problems and resume production of the freighters so that they are delivered on schedule, as they promised.”