by Mike Jenne
During the Krepost’s passes over the United States, he diligently posted himself at the Earth-facing porthole, carefully scanning for any indications that the Americans might be launching a salvo of ICBMs in a surprise attack. Those were the only instances where he saw anything but the dismal gray interior of the station; as much as he enjoyed looking at the stars, he had abandoned his favorite pastime altogether. Since he routinely deprived himself to stretch his food reserves, hunger pangs constantly gripped his abdomen. He dreamed of the massive feasts that he would devour when he made it home.
He floated down the access tunnel that led from the docking hub to the freighter’s dry compartment. His first task was to make a cursory check of the fuel cell. Examining the pressure gauges atop the cell, he saw that it appeared to be in good condition, but when he placed his bare palm on the cylindrical flank of the fuel cell, he thought that it felt slightly warm to the touch, more so than usual. He was a bit concerned that the coolant loop might be clogged or otherwise obstructed. To keep the device at a relatively constant temperature, a refrigerant liquid cycled through a loop that meandered through its inner workings. Exiting the fuel cell, the coolant loop’s pipe circulated through radiator-like heat exchangers located on the exterior of the freighter’s wet compartment.
Although there was scarcely little that he could do to diagnose a problem with the fuel cell, and even less to fix it, he was still apprehensive about a potential failure. He had recently noticed that the water produced by the cell was gassier than usual, and had a distinctly sour taste. He was also experiencing a lot of bloating and mild stomach discomfort, which he attributed to the water. Unfortunately, although he was aggressively rationing his food intake to stretch out the pickings in the pantry, the fuel cell was producing water faster than he could drink it. Initially after Travkin had departed, Vasilyev drank as much water as he could hold, thinking that it would fill his belly and alleviate some of the hunger, but doing so accomplished little more than making his stomach ache.
Next, he made his way down to the galley to methodically parcel out his food ration for the day. His daily fare fit neatly into the thigh pocket of his coveralls, which made it very convenient to grab a meal on the fly. He used a nozzle to squirt measured increments of hot water into a plastic pouch to reconstitute tea crystals, and then did the same with a similar container of dehydrated chicken broth. As he squeezed the pouches, he examined the rheostat dial on the water heater and remembered how Travkin had repaired it by scrounging a part from the Soyuz. As he stashed the pouch of chicken broth in his pocket, he thought of his friend and how much he missed him. Travkin was always an excellent companion, someone who could make even the worst of circumstances somewhat more bearable.
As he slowly savored the tea, his sole luxury for the day, Vasilyev continued with his daily routine. He looked out the porthole to orient himself and saw that he was passing over Sumatra. He drifted into the control area to check the diagnostic readings for the Egg. Everything was in parameters, so the Egg appeared to be in good order, patiently hibernating until it awoke to obliterate the unknowing inhabitants of an ill-fated city.
Conscious that he had over an hour before the next contact window, he listened to the radios, switching from one channel to the next, hearing nothing but static. He glimpsed a blinking blue light that indicated that the Channel Three receiver had automatically recorded the daily intelligence update while he was sleeping. Vasilyev rewound the recorder, toggled its speed to “normal voice” and donned a headset to listen.
He was immediately alarmed at the items contained in the report. It sounded as if the world was suddenly descending into chaos. American commandos had flown into North Vietnam on helicopters to raid an air defense training camp just outside of Hanoi; in doing so, they had captured several Soviet advisors and were now presenting them as evidence of direct Soviet involvement in the conflict.
One particularly disconcerting item described a major mishap which occurred yesterday in the North Atlantic, during the course of a scheduled NATO exercise. While operating in close proximity, an American missile submarine collided with a Soviet attack submarine. In the immediate aftermath of the incident, the Soviet sub plunged to the bottom with all hands aboard, but the American vessel was able to briefly limp to the surface to disembark most of its crew to a British frigate. An American Navy officer claimed that the Soviet sub had shadowed the American sub for several hours before intentionally ramming it as it tried to turn away and break contact. The Soviet account declared that the American sub had been the aggressor. The maritime incident had devolved into a diplomatic confrontation, with both parties going before the United Nations Security Council to request strict sanctions against the other.
A long list of locations to monitor followed the intelligence updates. In almost all cases, he was being directed to spot evidence that American nuclear forces were being placed on heightened alert. Vasilyev found the list of surveillance targets very frustrating, because he realized that most of the sites were going to be in darkness when the Krepost passed overhead.
It was all very aggravating. According to the succinctly worded intelligence reports, the world was quickly unraveling, so theoretically he was in the best possible vantage point to witness it all. But try as he might, diligently staring down from the loftiest of perches, he could see no evidence of the strife and turmoil that was unfolding beneath him.
9
FUEL CELL
Krepost Station, On Orbit
5:50 a.m. GMT, Saturday, October 14, 1972
GET (Ground Elapsed Time): 30 Days 5 Hours 5 Minutes, REV # 483
Jotting down notes, Vasilyev listened to the intelligence update that he had recently received via the automatic recording system on Channel Three. The news was growing progressively worse. Soviet and American nuclear forces were at their highest alert status. American anti-submarine planes had damaged a suspected Soviet submarine just a few miles off the Outer Banks of North Carolina. The crippled sub was forced to surface, and its crew taken into custody by the US Coast Guard. A US Navy reconnaissance plane flying from Alaska had blundered into Soviet airspace, or so the Americans claimed, and was engaged by Soviet interceptors. The crew bailed out over the Bering Strait, with two of the ten men lost at sea. The other members of the United Nations Security Council were taking extraordinary measures to resolve the growing confrontation before the pot boiled completely over. As he listened to the reports, Vasilyev was absolutely sure that the world was teetering on the verge of all-out total war.
He was perplexed. Despite the ominous developments described on Channel Three, the communications traffic on the other radio channels was calm. Channel Two, the frequency reserved for Perimetr communications, was strangely silent. On Channel One, the Control frequency, the mission controllers seemed to act as though business was entirely normal.
There was not the least tone of alarm in their voices; they could have been housewives casually gabbing over the clothesline, sharing tidbits of gossip. Oddly, they seemed to be even more chipper than usual. Perhaps they were under strict orders to keep him as calm as possible. He also suspected that the mission controllers were not granted access to the intelligence updates, in order to ensure that they maintained focus on purely operational matters concerning the Krepost.
Rubbing his aching stomach, he floated up to the docking hub to check the Krepost’s defense systems. He switched on Sparky’s independent stabilization gyros to test the gun’s sights. Instead of the usual whirring sound he had grown accustomed to, he heard a clicking noise, followed by a series of loud pops, and then a persistent hum. The docking hub’s lights and fans sputtered for a moment and then resumed their normal functions.
Vasilyev was certain that it was an electrical problem of some kind and hoped that it wasn’t too serious. He deactivated Sparky’s gyros, locked the gun in standby mode, and went to the distant end of the Krepost to investigate. He floated into the control area and audited the gauges on the st
ation’s power status panel. The discrepancies he saw gave him cause for alarm. For some inexplicable reason, the fuel cell was not charging the station’s batteries.
He returned to the docking hub and floated headfirst down the access tunnel into the cramped dry compartment of the freighter. Since he and Travkin had transferred the dry compartment’s contents—food, spare parts and other items—from their aluminum storage racks to the Krepost, the free space around the fuel cell was mostly empty, except for trash—used food containers, primarily—they had packed into the module to be jettisoned.
Holding a small flashlight with his teeth, he painstakingly inspected the wiring harness that led into the docking hub and then toward the power distribution module within the Krepost. Then, returning to the freighter, he methodically checked the exterior of the fuel cell and its connections. Since everything seemed to be in good order, he tugged out several trash bags packed around the fuel cell casing, and then traced the cryogenic hoses, swathed in insulating blankets, that snaked from the wet compartment. The cryogenic conduits supplied the all-important components of liquid oxygen and liquid hydrogen, warmed into their gaseous state by the fuel cell’s residual heat, which the device then combined to generate electricity and water. Perplexed, he shook his head; everything appeared to be in kilter. So why wasn’t the fuel cell running?
He returned to the docking module to ponder the puzzle. Although the fuel cell’s failure was aggravating, it was by no means calamitous. Although he hadn’t gained absolute confidence in the fuel cell, he did have to admit that it had chugged along for over two weeks with very few problems. Since he had not detected any physical damage to the cell, and the cryogenic pressures looked nominal, he felt secure that the engineers at Control could provide him with a set of procedures to coax it back on line.
Until the fuel cell was returned to service, the Krepost still had three sources of electrical power. The first was the station’s main batteries, which were normally replenished from the fuel cell. He had just checked their gauges in the control area; all of the batteries were completely charged and in excellent repair. By themselves, even in the worst of circumstances, they could fully power the station for roughly four days, which he could stretch to almost a week or even longer by carefully allocating the power to the most critical systems.
The Krepost was also equipped with a pair of solar panels, protruding from the hull like large wings. These were also in good order, and when oriented correctly at the sun, generated power to trickle-charge the main batteries. Unfortunately, the solar array were extremely dependent on another system—the station’s stabilization gyros—which kept the Krepost appropriately oriented, not just to keep the panels pointed at the sun, but also to maintain several other directionally dependent systems—communications antennas, Sparky, Sparky’s detection and acquisition radars, etc.—in correct alignment. Without the stabilization gyros, the Krepost would gradually begin to wobble and then eventually just drift. So, while the solar panels were important, approximately half to three-quarters of the auxiliary power they generated was eventually lost to the gyros.
Finally, there was yet another entirely redundant set of back-up batteries within the independent module that housed the Egg. Those batteries, which were intended specifically to ensure that the Egg could be deployed even in the event of a catastrophic power failure on the Krepost, were not even connected to the station’s main power grid. They were only placed into operation when the Egg was activated. Since the batteries and their connecting bus were physically separate from the main station, Vasilyev could not gain access to them, even in an emergency, to supplement the station’s power.
8:50 a.m. GMT
GET: 30 Days 8 Hours 5 Minutes, REV # 485
Hovering in the control area, Vasilyev watched the mission clock and waited patiently for the next contact window. As the remaining seconds ticked off, he donned his headset and listened for the call. Clear as a bell, it came through: “Krepost, Krepost, this is Control. Are you monitoring?”
Speaking calmly, he curtly reported: “Control, this is Krepost. Be aware that the fuel cell has failed.”
A few seconds elapsed before Control replied: “Krepost. We acknowledge that you are experiencing difficulties with your fuel cell. Is it charging the main batteries?”
Vasilyev groaned. Is it charging the main batteries? Why, no, it’s not; because I’m not simply experiencing difficulties with the fuel cell, the damned thing has FAILED. Weren’t they listening down there? He took a breath, keyed the microphone, and slowly said: “Nyet, Control. The fuel cell is not charging the main batteries. The fuel cell has failed.”
“Krepost, are you alleging that the fuel cell has ceased to function?”
Am I alleging that the fuel cell has ceased to function? Why, yes, I am. Is there some other definition of failed? “Affirmative,” he reported. “The fuel cell has failed.”
Two minutes passed, and all he heard in his earphones was the faint crackle of static. Impatient, he keyed the microphone and said: “Control, this is Krepost. I request guidance concerning this situation.” In composing his transmission, Vasilyev chose his words very carefully. Under no circumstances would he allow himself to utter the word ‘emergency.’ Arbitrarily declaring an emergency implied that he was losing control, and if his bosses assessed him as even the least bit prone to panic, he probably would never be permitted to fly again. No more flight bonuses. No more perks. Better to die a hero than create a fuss.
As he waited, Vasilyev gritted his teeth. He had hoped that the engineers would have already anticipated all potential problems with the fuel cell and would already have a contingency plan ready for him to diagnose the shortcoming and bring the device back on line. Unfortunately, if their prolonged silence was any clue, that didn’t appear to be the case.
Finally, after two minutes of pregnant silence, he heard a voice on the radio: “Krepost, this is Control. Be advised that we will provide you with a restart protocol on the next contact window. Do you understand?”
Vasilyev took a deep breath, let it out, and replied: “This is Krepost. Affirmative. I am standing by for the restart protocol.” Moments later, he heard the faint warbling tone that indicated that he was losing contact, following a persistent buzz of static.
Now, things were becoming more serious. While the situation was not yet an emergency, it was coming dangerously close to that territory. Vasilyev assessed his situation and decided that it was an opportune moment to set priorities for power consumption and to scale back non-essential systems to extend the batteries as long as possible, just in case the fuel cell predicament took a while to resolve.
He still considered defending the Krepost to be his foremost priority. While most of the defensive systems—Sparky and its attendant target acquisition radar—were fairly power-hungry when activated, they could remain in standby for the time being. Only the proximity alarm radar needed constant power, so that circuit would remain open. Sparky—the automatic cannon—and several other key systems, including the highly directional communications antennas, were effectively useless if the Krepost was not kept in stable alignment, so he had little choice but to let the station’s stabilization gyros continue running.
After he identified those items that absolutely had to remain operational, he drifted slowly through the station, switching off lights, air circulating fans, and any other equipment that wasn’t absolutely essential. As he cut off the lights in the docking hub, he considered the potential consequences of a worst-case scenario, one in which the fuel cell could not be restarted and the main batteries were eventually depleted. He was extremely conscious that the three docking mechanisms were dependent on electrical power; without adequate power, even if a freighter or relief mission was launched, their Soyuz spacecraft would be unable to dock.
Of course, if worst came to worst, a Soyuz rescue vessel would not have to dock in order to effect a rescue. Since the docking hub could be depressurized, with provisions available
for an airlock, theoretically he could use it to transfer to a rescue vehicle. But although it was theoretically possible, it was also largely irrelevant as an escape option. He and Travkin had been fitted with the very rudimentary SK-1 spacesuit, and while the SK-1 was considered adequate to contend with a catastrophic loss of cabin pressure, there was no absolute assurance that they could provide sufficient environmental protection outside the spacecraft. His SK-1—now safely tucked away in a storage locker in the docking hub—was provided with a chest pack that would provide oxygen for roughly twenty minutes, but it was specifically intended to ensure that they could evacuate the Krepost. Solely intended for internal use within the station, it might work if he was compelled to take a stroll outside, but that was certainly not an excursion that he looked forward to.
After switching off all non-essential systems, he returned to the control area. He consulted the list of surveillance targets he was supposed to observe, and realized that it would be a few hours before the first of them came into view. His stomach growled and he was tired. Lacking anything useful to do, he closed his eyes and tried to snatch a quick nap until the Krepost spun back around for the next communications window.
10:20 a.m. GMT
GET: 30 Days 9 Hours 35 Minutes, REV # 486
He cursed his bosses for placing such reliance on untested fuel cell technology. Even the Americans had experienced problems with the temperamental cells and their associated cryogenic tanks. In fact, only last year, they had come very close to losing the three-man crew of Apollo 13 when a liquid oxygen tank abruptly ruptured.