by Mike Jenne
How should he respond to this potential peril? He thought that the answer rested in the last radio transmission he had received from Control, about an hour ago, in which General Yohzin had spoken to him directly. Although he wasn’t always sure what to make of General Abdirov, and was sometimes concerned that the horribly scarred officer had lost his equilibrium, Vasilyev trusted Yohzin emphatically. Equally respected by the Perimetr engineers and Krepost program officers, Yohzin was the calming influence who seemed to keep everything in balance at Kapustin Yar.
In Control’s last transmission, Yohzin plainly specified that all guidance and instructions remain in effect. Consequently, Vasilyev had to infer the dire reports and instructions transmitted on Channel Three were valid, so even though he had not personally detected any tangible signs of conflict, he had to assume the intelligence was valid and that he had to remain ready to deploy the Egg.
Before replying to the Americans, he went to the Egg’s controls. Shivering, he opened the code safe, took out the targeting book, and leafed through its pages to find the coordinates for New York City. He entered the city’s coordinates—40 degrees 46 minutes North by 73 degrees 58 minutes West—into the targeting computer. Now, if the Americans made a threatening gesture, all he needed to do was press the green ARM button, and the Egg would be on its way. Exhaling his breath in a mist, he sighed. He might be dead hours before the Egg navigated its way to its final destination, but his death would be avenged.
Grimacing, referring to the Russian-English translation guide, he composed his reply to the Americans’ threat. He held the penlight against the porthole, clicked out the message, and then sent it again for good measure.
Gemini-I, On Orbit
14:52 p.m. GMT
“And here it is,” said Carson, copying down the message: OUR NATIONS ARE AT WAR. I WILL FOLLOW MY ORDERS. YOU FOLLOW YOURS. QSL
“Our nations are at war,” read Carson. “I will follow my orders. You follow yours.”
“At war?” asked Ourecky. “Did I hear you right? Are we missing something here?”
“Well, we had better reply,” said Carson. “Any thoughts?”
Ourecky scribbled down a message and showed it to Carson. “How about this?” he asked.
“Hmm. Scaling back the rhetoric is a good start for negotiations,” he said. “Let’s go with it.”
Krepost Station, On Orbit
14:55 p.m. GMT
Vasilyev watched the blinking light and wrote down the message: OUR NATIONS ARE NOT AT WAR AND WE DO NOT WISH TO START ONE. DO NOT DEPLOY YOUR NUCLEAR WEAPON. WE DO NOT INTEND TO CAUSE YOU HARM. QSL
Vasilyev took a few moments to translate. He was perplexed by their message. What? The Americans mean me no harm? And they claim that there is no war? What a strange situation. Surely, they were attempting to deceive him.
As a Soviet officer, he had long since been conditioned to blindly obey orders and to accept reports without question, but the intelligence reports still troubled him. There should be at least some correlation between the Channel Three reports and what he witnessed through the portholes, but there was none. He wished that he had some way to verify the reports. And then he realized that he did possess the means to do so. He held his flashlight against the window and blinked out a one-word message: WAIT.
He made his way up to the docking hub, where he found Gogol’s multi-band radio receiver. He returned to the control area, switched it on, but it didn’t work. Clumsily, he pulled out the batteries from the radio and warmed the batteries under his armpits. He shook uncontrollably; the frigid batteries felt like ice cubes. He waited a few minutes; hoping that they had thawed at least somewhat, he inserted them back into the radio and tried again. He heard static, and then the faint sounds of a piano concerto.
Slowly rotating the frequency knob, he periodically paused to listen to different radio stations, most broadcasting in English. The news he heard absolutely contradicted the information he had received on Channel Three. As he had earlier suspected, the intelligence reports had to be bogus. The Americans were telling the truth; except for some isolated pockets of conflict, the world was clearly at peace. His own countrymen—Yohzin included—were lying to him, apparently using him as an unwitting stooge to instigate a war with the West. He was distraught. With this knowledge, how could he ever go back home?
As he listened to the BBC international news broadcast, Gogol’s notebook floated by his face. He picked it out of the air, opened it, and perused Gogol’s intricately detailed reentry instructions. Flipping through the pages, an idea came to his mind.
Gemini-I, On Orbit
15:32 p.m. GMT
Over thirty tense minutes had elapsed since the last message. As they waited, they decided to prepare for Ourecky’s EVA. Ourecky had pulled the ELSS chest pack out of its bracket and had wedged it between his thighs to inspect it. Munching on a Fig Newton, Carson S-rolled the right seater’s umbilical as he kept an eye on the Krepost’s porthole.
“There’s a light,” blurted Carson. He quickly scribbled down the message: I WILL NOT DEPLOY WEAPON. I NEED ASSISTANCE. WILL YOU HELP? QSL
“Well, this is certainly interesting,” noted Ourecky.
Without hesitation, Carson held his flashlight to the teardrop-shaped window and transmitted: YES. WE WILL HELP.
“He’s sending another message,” said Carson moments later, jotting down text. “It looks like his radio frequencies.”
“No good,” declared Ourecky, looking at the numbers written on Carson’s kneeboard and shaking his head. “These are outside our range. The ferret gear can show us when he transmits on these frequencies, but we can’t hear him or talk to him.”
“Well,” said Carson, unwrapping a stick of gum. “There’s just one logical solution, then. Let’s pass this ball downstairs and let them put it in motion.”
Gemini-I, On Orbit
17:40 p.m. GMT
It had only been two hours since they had passed the information to Mission Control at Wright-Patt, but Carson was definitely aware that the ground had established contact with the Krepost’s cosmonaut and that plans were already beginning to gel. At this point, he and Ourecky had effectively been pushed to the sidelines, and there were plenty of indications that Tew might call them home sooner than later, even before the situation with the Krepost was entirely resolved. After all, there was little that they could contribute to the situation now.
“I want to go outside,” announced Ourecky.
“You’ve ridden in this bucket how many times?” asked Carson. “I would have thought you were well past your claustrophobia by now.”
“Well, let me be more specific,” said Ourecky. “I think I can fix the Disruptor. That’s why I want to go outside on EVA.”
Carson shook his head as he contemplated Ourecky’s comment. It just wasn’t worth the risk. Over the course of eight missions, nine including this one, they had witnessed more than their share of technical glitches, and had been very fortunate to have survived a few of them. Merely opening the hatch entailed a huge amount of risk; if it failed to close or properly seal after Ourecky returned from his jaunt outside, they could not safely reenter. The simple fact was that the longer they stayed up here, the more likely it was that something would go wrong. It might start as something minor, like a failed relay or a stuck solenoid, and then quickly escalate into something catastrophic. So, if granted the opportunity, Carson would gladly light his retros and go home at the earliest possible opportunity. In his mind, the time for orbital heroics had long passed, and he was anxious to hear Tew order them to reenter.
“Nope,” said Carson. “It’s obvious that the Disruptor’s not necessary anymore. The ground has this game now, and all there’s left for us to do is be passive observers. Even then, we’re still pretty damned superfluous, because whatever is going to happen is going to happen whether we’re here or not.”
“Maybe, but everyone is assuming that our comrade will follow through on his promises,” said Oure
cky. “What if he doesn’t? Right now, if he decides to deploy that weapon, there’s nothing we can do to stop him, short of ramming it. Fixing the Disruptor would at least give us an option if worse comes to worse.”
“Agreed,” replied Carson, looking out the window at the ominous Krepost.
“Moreover, we don’t know if this thing can be controlled from the ground,” said Ourecky. “If that’s the case, it really doesn’t matter how much help we’re able to lend our new friend over there, if his bosses decide to drop that bomb without his knowledge.
“Excellent point,” observed Carson. “But let’s be realistic, Scott. Tew is not going to approve an EVA. It’s just too dangerous.”
“I agree, but I also know that as hazardous as it might be for us, there are still millions of lives at risk downstairs. I’m guessing that something simple has the Disruptor jammed up, and I’m confident that I can fix it. Once it’s fixed, we can deploy it on that warhead next door, and Ivan would never know, but doing that would give us a hole card if this deal suddenly goes south. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” answered Carson.
“Well then,” said Ourecky, reaching back to unstow the ELSS chest pack. “I guess we just have to resort to our normal way of doing business. On the next comms window, we ask for permission to do the EVA, and if they shoot us down, then we go ahead and do it anyway. Sound good to you?”
“Yep.”
“Then if you don’t mind, you want to prep my umbilical? The faster we make this happen, the better.”
Gemini-I, On Orbit
19:03 p.m. GMT
Less than ten minutes since he opened the hatch to venture outside, Ourecky was hovering in the adapter at the far rear of the Gemini-I spacecraft. He took great care to remain absolutely clear of the Disruptor’s boom, since they had already triggered its deployment; a combination of compressed gases and high tension springs strained to swing it out to its deployed position, but all that potential energy was apparently held in check by some sort of malfunction in the latch mechanism. If the boom spontaneously deployed while he was back here, his helmet’s visor could be shattered, his umbilical could be snarled or any number of other misfortunes could befall him, killing him immediately or at least preventing his safe return to the snug sanctuary that was the Gemini-I’s cockpit.
Resisting the urge to rush, Ourecky moved slowly to keep his respirations and heartrate under control. It had been weeks since he had walked in space to transfer from the Gemini-I to enter the MOL to rescue Russo, and even longer since he trained for EVA while immersed in the massive Tank in New Orleans, but he was abundantly conscious of the need for patience and restraint.
His suspicions were confirmed as he examined the latching mechanism that was intended to hold the boom in check before deployment. The latch had not completely opened; a tiny sliver of metal, perhaps a sixteenth of an inch wide, prevented the Disruptor boom from deploying.
Ourecky gradually made his way to a makeshift “toolbox” mounted in the adapter, selected a implement that resembled a metal pry bar, and floated back to the latching mechanism. He checked again to ensure that he and his umbilical were safely clear of the boom’s path, carefully inserted the tool’s blunt tip into a gap in the latching mechanism, and gave it a slight twist.
Now set free, the boom immediately sprang to life, swinging out of the adapter and properly locking into place. The rest of the Disruptor’s components followed suit.
“Drew?” he asked over the intercom. “See it?”
“I do,” replied Carson. “Now, get back in here before I have to come get you. Good work, Ourecky.”
Krepost Project Headquarters
7:40 p.m., Sunday, October 22, 1972
Several key personnel met in Abdirov’s office to brief the general on the newly revised flight. Yohzin saw that it was patently clear that no one had previously expected Vasilyev to survive to this point, and now they were compelled to make rapid adjustments to accommodate his continued participation in the mission
Clearly terrified of Abdirov, Bogrov was the only representative from Perimetr; obviously he was being offered up as the sacrificial lamb.
Abdirov called the group to order, and then asked, “Is Vasilyev aware of the issues with the interlock?”
“We don’t think so,” answered Yohzin. “He still has his hands full dealing with other issues, since the crisis is far from being resolved. He might be aware that the targeting computer malfunctioned and caused the spontaneous alignment of the platform, but we don’t believe that he understands that the interlock is currently disengaged.”
“But we have talked to him since this interlock issue surfaced, correct?” asked Abdirov.
Yohzin answered, “Comrade General, be aware that I personally spoke with him on the last contact window. He didn’t mention the interlock, and I avoided calling his attention to it. I have instructed the others in Control to follow suit.”
“Very good, Gregor,” said Abdirov. “So, once he has docked and gained access to the station, Gogol’s first priority is to reactivate the interlock. Correct?”
“That’s affirmative, Comrade General,” answered Bogrov, clearly avoiding eye-to-eye contact with the disfigured officer. He held up a screwdriver, pointed at its unique tip, and explained, “In order to gain access to the power board, Lieutenant Colonel Gogol will need this special tool to undue the fasteners on the Egg’s panel. Beyond that, it’s a relatively simple procedure. We will ensure that he is ready before he departs tomorrow.”
“Good. And you are comfortable with this?” asked Abdirov, pivoting toward Gogol.
Gogol answered with a grin, displaying his collection of stainless steel caps, and a nod.
“But, Comrade General, can we trust this man to reactivate the interlock?” asked Bogrov timidly. “After all, we could be placing the fate of the entire world in his hands.”
“I trust him, and it’s my decision,” blurted Abdirov. “But if you want to question his reliability and my judgment, then perhaps we can stuff you in the Soyuz in his stead, and shoot you up there to mend your damned gadget. Would that suit you?”
Cowering like a lamb before a wolf, Bogrov trembled as he meekly answered, “Nyet, Comrade General. I fully trust Lieutenant Colonel Gogol to execute this task.”
“That’s good, because if you recall, you idiots claimed that your damned interlock could pose no threat to my crew!” he bellowed. “That was clearly erroneous, since my people are now compelled to clean up after your mess.”
Abdirov obviously relished the opportunity to berate Bogrov. The previously untouchable Perimetr people had been abruptly knocked down from their high pedestal, and Abdirov had resumed his dominance. It had only been hours since the interlock had failed, but there were already rumors that the unreliable Perimetr equipment might be scrapped from future Kreposts.
“Since our circumstances have changed so drastically in the past twenty-four hours, what is the rest of our plan?” asked Abdirov.
The flight director answered, ”Until the next freighter arrives, Gogol and Vasilyev will inhabit the Soyuz, and will enter the Krepost only when absolutely necessary. To continue the mission indefinitely, we will need to clear the docking port that is currently obstructed by the damaged freighter. My engineers are fabricating some special equipment for this, which will be stowed on the next freighter.
“Once the new freighter arrives, Gogol and Vasilyev will seal the docking hub from their Soyuz and the Krepost. Comrade Gogol will be suited up and will remain in the docking hub. He will evacuate the docking hub’s atmosphere and then conduct an internal spacewalk to enter the damaged freighter and close its nose hatch. He will mount a small remote-controlled rocket motor, which our engineers are currently fabricating, to the nose hatch.
“Once the docking hub hatch is sealed, Gogol will repressurize the docking hub, and then he and Vasilyev will over-pressurize the access tunnel and then jettison the freighter. The over-pressure should shove the freighter
well clear of the station, and then Gogol will remotely fire the rocket motor to brake its orbit. Afterwards, they will transfer cargo from the new freighter, activate its fuel cell, and we should be able to resume normal operations.”
Yohzin studied Gogol as the flight director recited the revised flight plan. Picking at his fingernails, Gogol wore a bored expression. Yohzin suspected that the stocky cosmonaut had heard the new plan so many times that it was entirely second nature, or he might not be paying attention because he knew the plan would never actually be implemented. Yohzin hoped for the former, but resigned himself to the knowledge that Gogol was still programmed to drop the Egg.
“So, we are prepared to execute this mission?” asked Abdirov. “Do you have any significant discrepancies to report?”
“We are experiencing some minor problems with the R-7 launch vehicle,” answered the flight director. “The pad crew is seeing some erratic readings on the first stage oxidizer lines.”
“Will that preclude you from launching on time?” asked Abdirov.
“Probably not, Comrade General, but although the optimal launch window is tomorrow, we still have an acceptable window the following day. Since Vasilyev is in good health and the Krepost is currently stable, we would like your permission to delay the launch one day.”
Abdirov’s face instantly turned red. It looked as if he were on the verge of detonation. “That is unacceptable!” he shouted angrily. “We will not delay! You will be ready tomorrow, or you will be digging for turnips in Kamchatka by the end of the week. Do you understand?”
Yohzin was momentarily perplexed at Abdirov’s unusual behavior, and then remembered that within the Soviet space program, it was expressly forbidden to launch on October 24. The date was considered incredibly unlucky because an R-9 rocket had caught fire, killing nine pad workers, on October 24 in 1963. More importantly, October 24 was the anniversary of the infamous Nedelin catastrophe, in which the second stage of an experimental R-16 ignited prematurely, instantly immolating scores of the Soviet Union’s most proficient rocket scientists. Abdirov incurred his terrible injuries on that tragic day, so the date’s significance was certainly more than merely symbolic to him.