Encounter with Tiber [v1.0]

by By Buzz Aldrin

  Ten more minutes convinced him of the grim truth: he couldn’t move it at all. When it had fallen into its new position, one corner had slammed into an upper surface, making a deep dent that it stuck into. To get it out of there would take more than the strength he had. And another corner still stuck out the hatch.

  At that moment his suit radio crackled, and a very deliberate voice said “Tiber Prize, this is Mission Control. Please report your status. Can you explain what’s happening?”

  Quickly Chris explained the situation. He was expecting a long three-second delay, but another voice spoke at once. “Chris, this is Peter. Bring the ship back here. It’s a short ballistic hop. Three of us should be able to get it into order, and there ought to be enough fuel left with a little bit of margin for you to make it back to Earth’s surface. After all, this Pigeon Rack was configured with a lot of extra fuel. I’m sending over the coordinates for the flight right now—should be in your computer. And while you’re doing the hop we can recheck. Just program the hop and jump for it with the door open; you’ve got some time left in your suit, don’t you?”

  Chris checked. “Nearly an hour. I’ll have to jump soon if I do that.”

  He turned to the control panels and began the power-up for liftoff, doing things much faster than he ever had before, doing all kinds of quick shortcuts and changes, rarely looking at instruments to confirm that anything was coming on-line. The voice of Mission Control crackled in his ears again. “Tiber Prize, you are go for abort to Tiber Base—Chris, it’s the only plan we’ve got at the moment. Good luck. We’ll be back in touch as soon as you’ve lifted off.”

  “Right.” Chris’s hands slammed at the computer keys, the thick gloves forcing him to type with two fingers. The coordinates from the base had come through just fine; he plugged them in and told the Pigeon to get him there. “I’m no pilot,” he muttered to himself, “not for one of these things, so I sure hope this software knows what it’s doing.”

  Six times it demanded to know whether he was aware the doors were open; six times he told it to override, that the situation was an emergency. At last it told him to stand by for emergency procedure, and he leaned back into his acceleration couch, plugging in his life support and comm connections to conserve what was left in his suit.

  A great vibration thundered through the ship, and when Chris leaned back so that his helmet touched the couch, he could hear the low sound reverberating. With a wash of flame that flipped over the wrecked pressurized rover once again, the Pigeon Rack rose into the lunar sky on a hard engine burst, taking off at half a gee. Beside him he could hear Xiao Be crying out in pain as the acceleration crushed down on her internal injuries; a moment later he heard Mission Control again. “We have downloaded your flight plan from your computer,” a voice said, “and we have confirmed that you have enough fuel for both a hop to base and for a return to Earth. You are go for your plan. Godspeed.”

  “Thanks, Mission Control,” Chris said, not sure what else to say. A moment later the engine shut off; now the Pigeon Rack soared upward in a ballistic arc, like an artillery shell, headed over and down toward where Peter and Jiang waited for them. It fell for long moments of weightlessness.

  “Xiao?”

  “Still sort of here. Passing out a lot. Get me home, Chris. I’m scared.”

  “I’ll get you home,” he said.

  “Don’t leave me alone on the Moon.”

  “I won’t. Do you want an injection of painkiller? I’ve got it right here.”

  She said nothing; her voice rasped and groaned. According to the first aid training, you couldn’t use a painkiller on someone who was unconscious; he just hoped she wasn’t feeling anything right now.

  The attitude jets cut in and the ship rolled over slowly, end for end, until it was falling toward the Moon with its engine pointed downward again. Then the engine fired and Xiao Be woke up again with another scream; deceleration force rose steadily and Chris heard her labored breathing in his headphones getting rougher and harsher with each gasp. At last, with a final burst, it stopped, and again he felt normal lunar gravity.

  Peter climbed in through the EVA door, Jiang right behind him. Chris unstrapped and he and Peter crawled forward to the Encyclopedia, heaving and pulling on it; Jiang stayed back with Xiao Be, working feverishly as he ran through all the through-the-suit diagnostics.

  With two people to balance and coordinate, it took only a few hard heaves to get the Encyclopedia out of the nose and to slide it down onto the place that had been set up for strapping it in; after all the drills together, Peter and Chris had it lashed into place almost at once. Behind them they heard Jiang dogging the nose hatch closed, and a moment later he said, “Stand by to pressurize.”

  Air pressure returned to the cabin almost instantly, and Chris unfastened his visor and pulled it up. He had had fifteen minutes of suit life support left.

  There was a terrible smell, and they looked back to see Jiang lifting the helmet off of Xiao Be. “She’s bleeding, she’s vomited, and I think she lost her bowels as well,” he said. He lifted the phone and spoke into it.

  “Mission Control, this is Jiang Wu. I have examined Xiao Be. Blood pressure has taken a big drop which may be due to a hemorrhage, but it’s currently stable. Breathing is strong but irregular. She’s fighting for air. No evidence of chest punctures or any problem with the pleura, but we can’t rule out broken ribs given where she was hit. Tiber Prize, out.”

  “I can move my feet,” Xiao Be said, very softly. “Wiggle my toes.”

  Jiang grunted. “That’s the first good news so far. Probably no serious spinal injury.” He looked at the graphs and said, “Most likely we have injuries consistent with one very severe blow to the abdomen. Impossible to diagnose further under these conditions. She’s got to get back to Earth. No possibility of treatment here, nor do I think she’s likely to recover without treatment. Well, that’s one issue. Is there any way we can transfer the Encyclopedia to the other lander?”

  “Not a prayer,” Peter said. “It would be like the three of us trying to carry a small car from one third-floor apartment to another, back home.”

  Jiang sighed. “I was afraid of that. All right, then, what I’m recommending to my government is that we get Xiao Be home on the other lander as quickly as possible and leave the Encyclopedia here until a larger crew can move it safely to a lander for return to Earth. If you didn’t notice before now, the main fuel tank is not only dented, but there’s a little bit of hydrogen snow around the dent—you’ve got a slow leak there. I don’t think this ship is fit for the Earth return.” His fingers clattered over the keys as he filed his report.

  “I concur,” Chris said, “and I’d figure as mission commander it’s my call. Okay, let’s send in that report.”

  There was a crackle in the intercom. “Sending the report,” Jiang said.

  They waited for three seconds, and then Mission Control said, “You are go for a return to Earth with the injured crewperson and the Encyclopedia both.”

  “Mission Control, that’s got to be a negative,” Chris said. “We have reason to doubt the functioning of the lander and we are unable to transfer the Encyclopedia. We have urgent need to return with Xiao Be at once, please reference Jiang’s medical report.”

  The three-second delay came and went; finally another voice came over the intercom, a different one from what they had ever heard before. “This is Liu Wan Xi, representing the People’s Republic of China. We do not accept this analysis of the situation. We emphasize that we have a right both to the return of our national heroine and to immediate access to the Encyclopedia. Pressure loss has not been substantial in the main fuel tank and we believe this is an unnecessary delay being inflicted to increase the pain to our citizen and to deprive China of its rightful place, as the place where civilization began and has reached its highest level, to be first to receive the information contained in the Encyclopedia. We demand that if this proposal be accepted that both the People’s
Heroine Xiao Be and the Encyclopedia be returned by the first available all-Chinese crew directly to China.”

  “Bastards,” Jiang said very softly. “Liu is a political hack. He thinks he can turn this to his advantage—”

  Mission Control broke in and said, “We’re not happy with this, Chris, but as we see it the best of possible solutions is immediate return. Even if you have a leak, you still have a large fuel reserve, and besides the pressure record shows only a momentary loss right when the crane hit it; there’s probably no hole but just a bit of overpressure forced some hydrogen out through a safety valve—”

  “Idiots!” Denisov shouted. “There is hydrogen snow right around—”

  The voice said, “This is an order; you are go for immediate return to Earth with both Xiao Be and the Encyclopedia. And the very best of luck to you.”

  “Mission Control, we strongly advise against that,” Chris said. “Mission Control, I repeat, we have reason to believe that may be dangerous.”

  Three seconds went by, then ten, and Denisov shook his head. “Well, do we try to restart the debate, do we follow orders, or do we do what we think is best?”

  Jiang groaned. He had spoken more in the last hour than he had in all the time Chris had known him, and for the first time Chris was beginning to feel some liking and respect for the Chinese astronaut. “It’s a direct order. And they may be right. And if they are right it really is the best thing for Xiao Be. All of those things are true. But I feel in the pit of my stomach that they are making a terrible mistake . . . and yet . . . well, I can’t disobey orders.”

  Reluctantly, Chris nodded. “We can’t second-guess Mission Control. They’ve still got more information than we do, like it or not.”

  “You never heard them respond to anything I said about hydrogen snow!” Peter said, urgently. “You don’t know that they have all the facts. All they have is the complete telemetry—”

  “Which is many more instruments than we can read in the time we have,” Chris pointed out, firmly. “Peter, they do have more information. And your guy Liu might be a bastard, but I can’t believe that everyone would just roll over for him,” he added to Jiang. “I don’t think he could be exerting much influence, not if he’s just gotten in on the situation. We shouldn’t let ourselves be distracted by that. If they say go, we have to go— we’re never going to know enough to second-guess them. On the other hand, you two are supposed to stay over, and I’m the mission commander. So I’m going, Xiao Be’s going, and the Encyclopedia is going. You’re staying. And I’m taking off as soon as we can get a trajectory and get you guys clear.”

  “But-”

  “Sorry, Peter, I don’t see any other way. And if I do have a slow leak, the situation is getting worse every second, so get out of here before I lose any more fuel.”

  Jiang and Denisov glanced at each other and began to suit up; in a moment they were gone, and Chris looked out to see them trudging back to the parked habitat. He thought with longing of his bunk, a shower, and a hot meal there; he watched them walk away in the ghost light and wished he hadn’t had to order them to go.

  He told the computer to calculate and carry out a fastest-trajectory return to Earth; he knew that might well mean even higher gee forces for Xiao Be, but the one thing he most had to have was time. As the computer began its countdown, he stretched out on his acceleration couch, hooked up his life support, and looked over at Xiao Be; only her life-support equipment readings told him she was still alive. “I’m right with you,” he said, in case she could hear. “You’re not going to get left on the Moon.”

  The engine fired and they rose from the lunar surface; he had just a glimpse of Tiber Base again, with its silent lander and rows of cairns, and then they were arcing up high and far above the lunar surface, the engine roaring for all it was worth. He breathed deeply from the suit air supply; this would be an eight-minute burn, direct to Earth orbit injection, not even taking a setting up orbit around the Moon because even though it would take them three days to fall back into orbit around the friendly old Earth, every second of delay at this end translated into a second at the other, and who knew how many seconds Xiao might have left? He could only hope that she could last through this acceleration; after that at least the weightlessness would not force more hemorrhaging, though of course it might well cause blood to pool in unusual places and create more nightmares for the surgeons back home.

  Two minutes under acceleration, and they were now far above the surface; the radio crackled and Mission Control said, “Tiber Prize, we’ve got you now, loud and clear. You are go for TransEarth Injection per your flight plan. Looks like you’re going—”

  He felt a thud through his feet. Abruptly, he was weightless. Alarms sounded, but Chris knew what it must be: a tank had breached and the computer had shut down the engine. So rather than check the instruments, he twisted around to peer out the window. A great billow of white was pouring out of the side of the DT, from right where the dent had been.

  Unperturbed, still on the other side of the three-second delay, Mission Control went on, cheerfully talking about a “successful completion even with some rough spots, and . . .” There was a long silence.

  The screen flashed a message: INADEQUATE FUEL. ABORT TO GROUND (Y/N)? Chris’s gloved finger pounded the Y key, giving the simplest of instructions to the computer—get them back down onto the Moon, for a soft landing, anywhere it could. He started his and Xiao Be’s life-support packages onto fast, emergency recharge; there was some risk of damaging batteries doing this, but if he had to walk back carrying her, he wanted both of them able to breathe.

  He tried not to estimate how far that walk might be, or how far he could go.

  The computer let the ship ride out its upward ballistic trajectory and begin to fall back toward the Moon. The voice of Mission Control said, “Chris, our estimates of your fuel are extremely unreliable at this point.”

  He was looking out the window again; back along the Pigeon Rack he could see white wisps and flows eddying around the ship. “I’m not surprised,” he said softly.

  “We’re guessing it’s about fifty-fifty whether your landing is soft or not. No prediction on whether you’ll find a spot that’s fit to land on, either,” Mission Control went on. “And you have no fuel to hover or search. This will be a blind landing for all practical purposes.”

  Chris looked out at the Moon, which was becoming less round and more a flat swath of land every moment as they fell toward it at an ever-rising speed. “Good luck to you, Chris, and we hope it works out. Set off your radio beacon as soon as you’re down. And we’ve got someone here to say something.”

  He heard Jason’s voice. “Dad, I’m at NASA. They came and got me out of school when things started to go wrong. I’m really proud of you. I love you. Make it back if you can. I love you.”

  There was a long pause, and Chris said firmly, “Jason, I love you, too. Don’t know how this will work out, but if I can’t live I’ll die trying. And listen, I want you to have space for yourself; I gave you a gift that Sig will explain to you when—”

  The rocket fired under him; Chris glanced out the window to see the razor-sharp edges of the mountains, the dark hollows of the craters. They looked close, the number on the altimeter looked low, the speed indicator terribly high.

  The engines thundered against the fall, and the craft fell more and more slowly, ever downward toward the wild jumble of peaks and craters. Chris sat and waited; radar showed speed relative to the ground falling, falling, falling, till they were moving at less than 50 kilometers per hour— already he was below the peaks of the tallest mountains he could see, less than half a kilometer off the lunar surface. About a minute more, and his craft would touch down somewhere; he could only hope it wouldn’t land on a cliff edge or giant boulder.

  Then the Pigeon Rack shook violently as the engine began to chug out the last gasps of fuel. The floor pounded against Chris’s feet for a scant few seconds as the final bits of fuel b
urned erratically in the combustion chamber; then there was only the eerie silence and weightlessness of free fall.

  Chris spoke quickly. “Ah, hell, Jason, all I wanted to say is I love you and have a great life.”

  Then Chris turned up the volume on his headphones so that he could hear anything that might come up from Earth, and stood and listened for those words that might come after the three-second delay, watching the altitude and speed indicators. The engine had burned out at 470 meters, and his speed relative to the ground had been 50 km/hour or about 14 meters per second. His speed tripled, as the altitude indicator whirled down toward zero. He waited quietly for the zeros, listening for the long seconds as his family and friends called out to him across the quarter-million-mile gulf, knowing that he wouldn’t have time to see the zeros. In fact the “152.8” of the digital speed indicator was the last number he ever saw, as the rocky cliffs abruptly whizzed into view past his window, the frame of the Pigeon Rack broke against the ancient rockfall, and the stone face of the Moon tore into the Pigeon Rack as it smashed its way down the slope. Chris had a moment to see the world turn upside down, to see rocks pouring in through the breach in the hull, and just one last glimpse of the brilliant, steady, eternal stars before, with crunching finality, the ship slammed against a cliff face and fell sideways down into the crater, breaking apart as it went. He was almost certainly already dead when the Encyclopedia broke from its mooring and fell out onto the slope, crashing separately down to its resting place.