Pale Blue

by Mike Jenne

  Then he ate. Drooling over the culinary possibilities, he foraged through the goodies he had stashed for this moment. Ravenous, he crammed his mouth with dense, half-frozen fruitcake. He voraciously gobbled cookies and chocolate bars. He opened a tin of fancy beluga caviar and savored the salty fish eggs, relishing the buttery aftertaste they imparted as he crunched them between his teeth. He slathered raspberry jam on dark bread that was now stale and hard, and enjoyed it as if it had just emerged fresh and hot out of the oven.

  After he sated himself with food, at least for the moment, he opened another flexible container of liquor and swigged some more. Very soon, he was all but numb to his woes and lost all track of time.

  Gemini-I, On Orbit

  8:27 a.m. GMT, Sunday October 22, 1972

  GET: 7 Hours 42 minutes / REV # 5

  Not knowing what lay in store, their final approach was painstakingly slow and cautious. They couldn’t advance during the forty-five minute night phases of their orbits, for fear of accidentally colliding with the Krepost in the darkness. As orbital dawn arrived, Carson and Ourecky commenced the last stage of their hunt. Glancing out the window, Carson saw that they were passing just to the east of Brazil, and then he rolled the spacecraft a few degrees to watch for the Krepost. Just as planned, it was almost three miles away, directly ahead of them.

  “My Mark One eyeball has us at about five thousand meters,” declared Carson, nudging the maneuver controller as he studied the faint object in the distance. “Of course, it’s way out of calibration. Does it look about right to you?”

  “Yeah,” answered Ourecky, holding up his hand to shield his eyes. “I think that’s accurate.”

  “We’re well into the danger area if that gun is active. Radar detector?”

  “No tone on any bands. Nothing at all.”

  “How about your radiation detectors?”

  “Still nothing but background,” replied Ourecky, looking down to examine the sensor. He looked back up and scrutinized the Krepost through powerful binoculars.

  “Any indication that it’s been transmitting?”

  “None,” answered Ourecky, verifying the “ferret” scanner that swept radio frequencies. “Not since we’re been in range, anyway. Either no one is home, or they’re not very talkative.”

  “Okay.” Carson verified the pressure on the fuel and oxidizer tanks that supplied the four one-hundred-pound main thrusters. “Pressure is still good on the mains. Edging forward.”

  The pilot kept his hand poised on the maneuver controller, ready to immediately ignite the powerful main thrusters at a split-second’s notice. As they closed the gap, it was readily apparent that the Krepost was canted out of alignment and slowly spinning around its long axis.

  The two men periodically saw sparkles as sunlight glinted off pieces of debris that trailed the station. Obviously, their target was badly damaged, but it was like stalking a wounded but still very dangerous beast. The radar warning alarm had been silent through the entire approach, so they were much less fearful of some automatic system triggering the cannon. Besides, the automatic cannon would obviously be reliant on the station’s alignment, and every indication was that the Krepost was completely adrift.

  As they drew still closer, they were astonished by the eerie sight. The much-feared Krepost looked less like a formidable space station, and more like the shattered remnants of a child’s broken toy. There was a gaping maw in the mangled forward module of the Soyuz cargo ferry. Scorched tangles of wire and loose chunks of debris floated out through the jagged and charred edges of the breach. A large semicircular piece of the Soyuz’s pressure vessel drifted alongside the Krepost, tumbling in slow motion. Carson kept his normal distance and tacked on a very liberal safety margin; it was just too treacherous to maneuver any closer.

  “Ugh,” noted Carson, gingerly navigating around the derelict space station. “That definitely looks like the cargo ferry, still docked. There’s no crew transfer Soyuz, just like we were told. If I were to hazard a guess, I think that if someone was left aboard, they’re probably dead by now. That thing looks as dead as a doornail.”

  “Agreed. What’s your plan?” asked Ourecky, snapping photographs.

  “My plan? I think we need to complete our documentation as quickly as possible, deploy the Disruptor, and then skedaddle the hell out of here as fast as we possibly can,” replied Carson, pausing to squirt some water in his mouth. He followed the water with a stick of gum. “I’m not at all comfortable with the idea of maneuvering with all this damned wreckage in the vicinity. Granted, it’s relatively stationary in relation to us, so it shouldn’t cause any major problems, but I don’t feel like taking any chances.”

  Carson continued. “Besides, even though the main block is wrecked, the warhead module looks intact. There’s always the possibility that it could be controlled from the ground, and I don’t want to be in the neighborhood when those retros fire.”

  “Amen to that,” noted Ourecky, changing film on his 35-mm Hasselblad camera. He stowed the exposed roll in a metal film can, checked to see that it was correctly labeled, annotated it in his photo log, and then tucked the film can into his right-side storage pouch. “But that thing is still rotating, Drew. How are we going to snare it with the Disruptor?”

  Shaking his head, Carson replied, “I haven’t figured that out yet. It sure would have been sweet if the eggheads had delivered that torpedo they promised. That would have been the hot ticket for this job. Anyway, you keep snapping pics and watching the detectors and ferret gear, and I’ll keep us clear. Once you have all the shots you need, we’ll figure out some way to smoke this cigar.”

  Krepost Station, On Orbit

  9:41 a.m. GMT, Sunday, October 22, 1972

  GET: 38 Days 8 Hours 56 Minutes, REV # 613

  After gorging himself from the pantry, Vasilyev dozed for a while, floating in the galley. Still very intoxicated, he awoke with a start and wondered where he was in relation to the world below. Clutching his queasy gut, he poked his arm out of his cocoon to consult his watch. He was several hours away from his next contact window. Not hungry anymore, but still plenty inebriated, he meandered down to the control area to look at the earth.

  Peering through a porthole, he immediately saw that he was in a dark phase of an orbit, but he recognized the northwest coast of the United States. He oriented himself; there were the familiar lights of Seattle, and over there Tacoma, Boise, Missoula, and Billings. Then he glimpsed something that made him gasp; in the vicinity of Great Falls, where the Americans had buried scores of Minuteman ICBMs in subterranean silos, he saw brilliant flashes of light in the darkness. Instinctively, he rushed to the Egg’s console to switch on the targeting computer.

  Wheezing, he opened the code safe to secure the target book, and then stopped short. He realized that he was operating entirely in the blind. Lacking the regular weather report normally sent up from Control, he had no way of knowing whether the bright flashes were missile launches or merely lightning strikes from a thunderstorm passing over the barren hills and hinterlands of central Montana. Granted, the dire situation reported in the intelligence updates suggested the former, but he still was not sure.

  Staring at the dimly lit console, rubbing his sore eyes, Vasilyev realized just how effectively he had been conditioned to do the terrible deed without even pausing for thought. He was no longer a man, but merely a component of the machine.

  As he thought about how quickly he was willing to trigger annihilation, he recalled a story from the Manhattan Project, the Americans’ crash program to develop the atomic bomb. Before the Americans dropped their nuclear weapons on Japan, they detonated a test device in the high deserts of New Mexico. As he witnessed the test, Robert Oppenheimer—the lead designer of the bomb—was simultaneously awed and horrified at the destructive potential he had wrought. Afterwards, he was inspired to write that he had become Shiva—Death—the Hindu Destroyer of Worlds. Reflecting on the story, Vasilyev laughed. That intellectual
Oppenheimer was nothing but a self-deceiving fool, because although he had created the means for such wanton destruction, he was not burdened with the knowledge that he could wield it at his own whim.

  The General Staff of the High Command had sent him up here to babysit this terrible Egg, to obediently do their bidding. But if thermonuclear war is now so inevitable, then why not just get on with it? What is the sense in waiting? At this juncture, Vasilyev was probably the sole man in the universe endowed with his own personal nuclear weapon, and it made little sense for him to exercise restraint. After all, even if he wasn’t going to be dead in the coming hours, what was there to live for anyway? His wife and daughters had been taken from him, and although he would rejoin them soon, maybe this terribly destructive act could be their legacy. By unleashing one bomb, he might teach the world the futility and fallacy of mutually assured destruction.

  Without hesitation, he reached into the code safe, fumbled for the target book, and selected a city to be destroyed. Squinting in the pale light, he entered the target point—the coordinates for New York City—and summarily sentenced millions of civilians to a fiery demise. But it was just as well: the world would be thrown into turmoil, but they would finally have to face the reality of thermonuclear war once and for all. They could no longer hide from it, since Vasilyev would not let them.

  With tears welling in his tormented eyes, Vasilyev entered his eight-digit Independent Action Code into the interlock’s keypad. What was once purely theoretical was now harsh reality; as the computer acknowledged his code as valid, he became the most powerful human in the universe. Only one simple step remained now, and millions would die.

  As his finger hovered over the Arm button that would lock in the coordinates and initiate the arming sequence, he was startled by a screeching noise, which he recognized as the long-dormant stabilization gyros spinning back to life, followed by cacophony of thrusters popping. To his ears, the welcome sounds were something like treasured notes from a favorite symphony. In his drunken state, he had entirely forgotten that once a target’s coordinates and the Independent Action Code were entered, the targeting computer would assume control of the station to optimally align the platform for weapons deployment. In this instance, the targeting computer obviously saw fit to counteract the Krepost’s rotation. In mere minutes, the Krepost was stable again. The rotation was gone! It was truly a serendipitous event.

  The pink glow of orbital dawn streamed through the portholes. Struggling to contain his exuberance, he rushed to the main console and checked the power gauges. With the Krepost now stable, the solar panel arrays now functioned at full capacity, so the batteries were charging normally again. He did some quick calculations; it would still be touch and go, but so long as the sun continued to shine and the Krepost held stability, he should be alive when Gogol arrived in the Soyuz.

  And then grim reality set in. Only moments ago he was overjoyed, but now he was consumed with fear as he considered the consequences of his actions. Granted, it was an extraordinary set of circumstances, but it was still highly probable that he could hauled before a tribunal and charged for attempting to deploy the Egg without express authorization. Certainly, he might be granted some modicum of leeway since he had been issued an Independent Action Code and explicitly stated instructions to use his best judgment, but the fact was that he might have formed his decision after witnessing a string of ICBM launches or observing a bad thunderstorm. The truth was that he could have readily unleashed hell based on a simple weather event. And to cap it all off, he strongly suspected that Abdirov would be just as angry with him for not following through with the Egg deployment. Anyway, there was just no way of knowing if he might be punished for this gross infraction.

  He realized that since all the transmitters were switched off, Control had no means of knowing what had transpired. Feeling warm and flush, despite the bitter cold, he decided to tidy up after himself. First, fidgeting with the keypad, he cleared the data from the targeting computer. The he shifted his attention to the interlock. He tried inserting his key and entering various sequences of arbitrary numbers, in the hope it would reset the interlock, but his desperate efforts were to no avail. The interlock remained disabled.

  Gemini-I, On Orbit

  10:02 a.m. GMT, Sunday October 22, 1972

  GET: 9 Hours 17 minutes / REV # 6

  To remain safely clear of the slowly rotating Krepost, Carson had parked the Gemini-I “ahead” of the station, a few hundred yards forward of the warhead end. In this position, they were well clear of the constellation of debris that trailed the derelict station. They had been watching it for over an hour, struggling to come up with a viable solution to deploy the Disruptor.

  The two men were discussing a diagram that Ourecky had drawn, depicting a potential approach, when Carson happened to glance out the window as the sun rose above the horizon. “Damn it, he’s maneuvering!” he declared, instinctively throwing switches to prepare the main thrusters to fire. “That thing certainly isn’t dead.”

  “Checking ferret gear,” stated Ourecky.

  “Nominal pressure on the fuel and ox,” stated Carson. “We can bolt if need be.”

  “Good,” answered Ourecky.

  “Any radio activity over there?” asked Carson. He tugged a set of binoculars out of his left storage pocket and studied the Krepost.

  “I’m seeing nothing on the ferret,” replied Ourecky, adjusting the dials to gradually sweep through radio frequencies. “He’s not transmitting now, and we didn’t hear any alarms earlier.”

  “We have to go in now with the Disruptor,” announced Carson, stowing the binoculars. “This might be as good as it gets. We might not have another opportunity.”

  “Aren’t you being a little hasty?” asked Ourecky. “You don’t want to watch him for at least a few minutes?”

  “Look, we don’t know how long he’s going to be stable and stationary,” said Carson. “Besides, I can think of only one logical reason…”

  “He’s getting ready to deploy that warhead,” blurted Ourecky.

  “Yep. Ready?”

  “Let’s go for broke,” replied Ourecky. “It’s why we’re up here.”

  “Definitely not an occupation for the fainthearted,” replied Carson, grasping the hand controller. “I’m going to nudge forward. After we’ve closed the gap and nulled out our residuals, you’ll pop up the boom and get it ready, just like we’ve practiced, except this time we’re obligated to move a lot faster. Okay?”

  “Okay on my side.”

  “Maneuvering forward,” said Carson calmly. “Fasten your seatbelt and secure any loose items, because this ride could get a mite bumpy.”

  In just a few minutes, Carson had moved the Gemini-I into position. “Hey, I know we’re not supposed to work in the dark, but today we’re going to push through.”

  “I’m good,” answered Ourecky. “Light or dark, rain or shine, let’s do it.”

  Switching on the floodlight, Carson said, “Deploy the Disruptor.”

  “Deploying the Disruptor,” replied Ourecky. He threw a switch to initiate the chain of events that would swing out the Multi-Function Disruptor’s boom from the adapter section in the rear of the spacecraft. Powered by compressed gas cartridges, the large boom would extend out and lock into position. A large hoop, constructed of metal tape, was attached to the end of the boom. Once the boom was locked in place, Ourecky would activate a motorized drive to expand the hoop until it was slightly larger than the diameter of the target. Once the hoop was properly sized, Carson would deftly maneuver the Gemini-I to center the hoop around the target, much like placing a ring on a finger. After it was in position, Ourecky would reverse the motorized drive, gradually cinching the hoop until the Disruptor’s target engagement head was snug against the target. Once this was accomplished, Ourecky would fire a pyrotechnic charge to sever the boom, and then Carson would carefully back away from the target.

  Aptly named, the Multi-Function Disruptor incorpo
rated three potential options to interdict a suspect satellite. First, the Disruptor’s target engagement head contained an explosive charge capable of demolishing a target outright. Second, it was fitted with a solid rocket motor that could cause its target to prematurely fall out of orbit. The third means of attack was probably the most devious: a miniscule “needle” thruster, powered by a tank of compressed nitrogen, which would force the target into a slow spin that interrupted key functions.

  At this point, the Disruptor had proven itself time and again. Carson and Ourecky had successfully used it to attack and destroy seven Soviet satellites. But today, there was a problem: the vaunted satellite killer just wouldn’t deploy.

  The hoop was cradled in a series of small supports in the Gemini-I’s adapter section. Ourecky looked up through the viewport in his hatch, but did not see the boom protruding from the adapter. He rotated a knob to check the various functions on the Disruptor’s control panel. The “STOW” light on the Disruptor’s control panel flashed green, indicating that the hoop hadn’t budged, so the boom had not deployed.

  Ourecky tapped the switch, then toggled it again.

  “Not good,” he observed. “No joy on the Disruptor. The boom must be stuck back there.”

  “Ouch,” replied Carson. “Keep trying.”

  Ourecky persisted for a few minutes, but to no avail.

  “Buddy, we need to stop for a quick chat,” said Carson. “Although we’re going to continue working the problem, we have to consider the worst-case scenario, in case we have to act immediately.”

  “Okay. What’s on your mind?”

  “Right now, we have to assume that this thing is being controlled from the ground, since we’ve seen no evidence that anyone is alive inside there,” said Carson. “If they’re preparing to deploy that warhead, we have to be prepared to immediately react. Here’s my take: if the warhead physically separates from the station, we should light the main thrusters and chase after it.”