by Peter Damon
“Get the crew out of there as quickly as possible,” Michael said over the tannoy. “We have a team of surgeons on the way up.”
Samuel nodded towards the video camera he guessed Michael was watching through, and helped coordinate the students in order to get the two injured astronauts out of the little that remained of the ISS.
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As soon as the crew of the International Space Station were freed, the docking bay was emptied once more, and the SUV from earth was allowed to enter.
The team of six men and women tumbled out of the over-sized vehicle, and each holding a bag of medicines, were escorted to the surgery on the sixth floor, just forward of the accommodation area of the ARC.
Paul and Gail were already at work, attaching monitors to the two living members of the crew, one unconscious, the other looking about her in amazement. The third crew member lay off to one side, under a sheet, while the needs of the living took precedence.
“Doesn’t look like we’ll need any of our gear,” Captain John York told his team as he looked about him. “We weren’t sure what facilities we’d find,” he explained to the two ARC staff.
“The surgery proper is just next door, if you want to have a look,” Paul offered, stepping back as the army nurses finished cleaning their hands and stepped in to take over the prepping of the ISS crew.
The Captain looked in and nodded. “Ok. Mark, if you and a couple of the nurses do a preliminary autopsy on our friend over there. The rest of us will assess the injuries of the living and decide what to do then,” he said.
Mark, the other surgeon in the team, nodded and pointed to two of the nurses to help him. Gail chose to help too, while Paul assisted with the living.
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Oliver sat at his desk and continued to update his story as it continued to grow with the additional information coming across his screen. On one monitor he had feeds coming in from the surgery, every move recorded for the apportioning of blame he knew would follow.
Robert Fuller was using his tablet to give Oliver snippets of news from the ‘front’. There were short quotes from some of the students who had helped get the crew out of the ISS, photographs of the army team moving rapidly along the main passage in the base of the ARC, stern faced, heavy equipment over their shoulders.
He smiled as he saw another attempt within the social media networks to undermine his factual reports fail. The social media web sites had been indignant to find they had been manipulated, and were now vigorously closing any group of profiles originating from similar IP addresses.
Oliver provided updates, on occasion using the same details but written differently, just to maintain his presence as the main provider of details, and provided another short clip of video onto YouTube to graphically underline his point; the ISS was on the way to destruction well before the ARC had begun climbing over it.
He used clips of Frankie and Maddy standing beside their SUV idly chatting too. They looked good in their suits, both tall and slender, Maddy’s long legs reaching up to a small and taut buttocks emphasised by her small waist. With their spacesuit cowl pulled back, their distinctive head tattoos were visible, the patterns raising a large number of queries and conversations across the Net. Oliver would be surprised if he didn’t see it begin to be copied down on earth.
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“The dead man is Alexei Kanalin, a 35-year old Russian Cosmonaut,” Oliver told Houston Space Flight Centre. “Jerry Mathers, NASA, is recovering from asphyxiation and should be well enough to travel in a few hours. Hilary Web, your other astronaut, is fine, if a little distraught.”
“She’s a scientist on secondment from MIT,” Harold Barker, the Mission Manager was saying over the video link, his face portraying both his shock and his exhaustion.
“We know. We’ll arrange to pick up your doctor so he or she can carry out their own examination. If you give me the address of an airfield?”
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“I’m sorry we couldn’t do more, Glen,” Michael was telling the President’s technical advisor.
“Is there any of it left, other than the small module you recovered with the rest of the crew, of course?” Glen asked.
“Our man on the scene sent part of the boom with those large solar panels into the atmosphere to just clear it out of the way,” Michael explained. “The rest of the ISS, three pieces I think, we’ve left alone for the moment.”
“Are you able to collect any of it?” Glen asked.
Michael considered the question, watching Glen’s expression.
“In particular, it would be good if you could get a hold of the module that was first to break up,” he suggested.
“You’re not suggesting,” Michael began to ask, stopping as Glen held up his hand.
“Too early to be suggesting anything Mr Bennett, other than we should collect as much evidence as possible, either to refute misguided speculation, or confirm actual faults or errors, in their use, design or manufacture of the modules.”
“Yes. We can do that,” Michael agreed.
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“How dare you. Doctor Durov is a legitimate doctor of medicine and highly regarded by ROSCOSMO!” Mr Evzen Hlavka was shouting, half standing behind his desk, somewhere in the heartland of Russia.
“I’m sure he is, but he is also listed on our database as being a serving member of the Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation,” Michael sighed.
“This is preposterous. You wish to keep us from attending the examination of our murdered cosmonaut!” he raged.
“We are not going to allow a member of the FSB onto the ARC. So pick another name, or I will gladly stand in front of the world press to tell them why Russia was not represented at this crisis,” Michael replied. It was only the knowledge that Oliver was taping the conversation that was keeping him from shouting his replies.
“We will get you another name, but the United Nations will hear of this!” Evzen Hlavka stormed.
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“Where’s Paddy?” Gary asked as he helped Samuel coordinate the movement of vehicles to and from the ARC on the various tasks that needed carrying out, all of them straight away.
He had sent Maddy and Frankie out to the ISS, or what remained of it, to capture the Tranquillity Node 3 module. They had been there when it had torn in two, so they stood the best chance of finding all of it. Matt had gone along with them on the excuse that he knew more about the ISS than both the gypsies put together. It was a lame excuse given that just about any of the students on board knew more about the ISS than the gypsies, and any of them could have guided them over a console from the comfort of the suites. But he got to go anyway.
Mickey and Lenny had been sent down to earth again to collect the NASA doctor from the Johnson base in Houston, Texas, and Paddy was next on the rota should the ARC require assistance.
A little confused as to why Paddy hadn’t returned his call, Gary called up his name from the list of personnel held on the system, fully expecting the man’s RFID tag to highlight his location on the screen. Only it didn’t.
He checked the roster again, and dialled Paddy’s normal retrieval partner, Brendan, certain he’d know where Paddy was.
“Yes?” came the almost immediate answer in his normal challenging tone.
“Brendan. Are you with Paddy?” Gary asked.
“No. We finished about an hour ago. He said he had some business that needed seeing to. That normally means he’s going to visit one of his lady friends, so I left him to it,” Brendan explained.
Gary started to get worried, and having exhausted all the possibilities that he could think of, called Allan.
“What’s up?” Allan answered in Gary’s ear phone from his workstation overlooking the Clyde.
“What circumstance would lead us to not see a man’s RFID?” Gary asked.
Oliver stopped putting together a video sequence of events to listen to Gary’s conversation.
; “If it’s broken,” Allan said. “Who are we talking about?”
“Paddy Miller,” Gary told him, now seriously worried for Paddy’s wellbeing.
“Try the RFID for his vehicle,” Allan suggested.
Gary swore and selected Paddy’s SUV from the list. The screen resolved to show the vehicle sitting on earth.
“Found it. It’s stationary, sitting in the port area of Tartus, Syria. What’s he doing there?” Gary wondered aloud.
“Tartus is the home of the Russian Mediterranean fleet,” Oliver pointed out, and turned back to his console so he could select a video feed from within Paddy’s SUV.
The inside of the vehicle was empty, but outside, visible through one of the onboard monitors acting as a windscreen image, stood a soldier, the barrel of his weapon just visible over one shoulder.
“A guard?” Gary asked. “What’s happened to Paddy?” he wondered nervously.
“That’s a Russian uniform, Gary,” Oliver pointed out, and selected two of the outside cameras to get a view forward and behind the vehicle. Now they could see more guards and, a short distance away, Paddy in an animated conversation with a more senior naval commander. Paddy was smiling and seemed to be explaining something to the Russian who nodded and sometimes smiled in response.
“Do we have audio on these outside camera?” Gary asked while Oliver pressed a key to get Michael on the phone.
“Why would we put audio on the outside camera of a space-going vehicle?” Allan asked with a little hint at humour in his voice.
It took Michael nearly twenty seconds to run from his room to the control-room to gaze around Gary at the view on the cameras outside the SUV. “Yes, Russian Navy,” he agreed. “Shit. What does Paddy think he’s playing at?” he asked.
“I don’t know the answer to that,” Allan’s voice came from one of the speakers. “But I know the answer to your next question,” he told them.
“How to get the SUV out of there?” Oliver asked.
“From the Satellite Monitor table, select the app for ‘Return to ARC’. Once it’s on the board as an Icon, select the SUV from the list of assets. Then just draw the app over the SUV icon with your finger. A dialogue box should open giving you options such as speed, delay, and so on. Just touch the option called ‘Now’. It’s the quickest way,” Allan explained.
Gary followed the instructions and watched, a smile growing across his face as Oliver’s screen showed just blue sky outside the SUV as it rose into the air.
“Soon as that’s back in the ARC, I want the tool box checked to make sure the spray-gun of HYPORT hasn’t been removed,” Michael told the room.
“And we’re still unable to get hold of Paddy?” he asked.
Gary tried getting in touch with him again and shook his head. “Nothing,” he replied.
“What are you thinking?” Oliver asked his old colleague.
“That I don’t know what is happening.”
Oliver looked toward Michael, almost certain that the thoughts running through his mind were running through Michael’s too. Just what had Paddy Miller been doing, going to Syria to talk to Russian naval personnel, and on his own?
“Can you get a hold of Frankie for me, ask if Paddy is on special assignment please Gary,” Michael asked.
“Special?” Frankie answered. “No. What’s he up to now?” he asked, a note of finality in his voice.
“We’ve found him on his own in one of our SUVs, talking to the Russian navy in a Syrian port,” Michael answered.
There was a long and drawn out silence. “Are we saying he was giving the Russians a SUV with the chemical in it?” Frankie asked.
“We think he was trying to. We’ve recalled the SUV to the ARC, which leaves Paddy sitting on the dock, his pockets empty and a bunch of unhappy Russians standing around him,” Michael pointed out.
“Shit!” Michael suddenly cried, slapping his forehead with his open palm. “Those new spacesuits! They’ve got HYPORT inside of them!” he continued, staring in horror at the screen as he tried thinking of some way to retrieve the suit from Paddy while surrounded by armed Russian forces.
“No,” Frankie told him from his SUV. “I hadn’t actually given it to him yet,” he admitted, chuckling dryly.
“Jesus, Frankie!” Michael gasped, holding his chest as the hammering of his heart died down a little.
“Yes, well, Paddy’s a big boy now. He can take care of himself. You’ll have to excuse me; I’m chasing little bits of the ISS around earth,” Frankie told them, and turned off the link.
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Michael winced as he allowed the door to open to Professor Don Graves and his entourage.
“Look,” he began, about to apologise for the noise and turmoil.
“Don’t interrupt me while I’m talking, lad,” the professor told him sharply, and Michael sensed he was in for a very bad confrontation with the angry Harvard professor.
“We were not informed that the International Space Station had suffered a terminal failure. Had we of known, I’m sure we would have stopped our studies to assist in any way possible. As it stands, we don’t believe we can add anything to the steps you’ve already taken, but we’re here to tell you that we’re available should you need us,” he told Michael.
Michael shut his mouth with an audible snap and nodded. “Yes, well, thank you,” he muttered, and watched the three professors leave again. Pavel Chaichenko was the last to leave, and turned right at the last moment to smile and wink towards the astonished Head of Rolle College.
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“Did my little spy-satellite provide any good images of the ISS as it broke up?” Sally Locke asked Oliver the first opportunity she had to see him after the event.
Oliver looked at her quizzically.
“My spy-satellite. The one I put just above the ISS. Michael asked for it, remember?” she reminded him.
“You’re right!” Oliver gasped, rising from his seat to begin running towards the control-room.
Sally followed him, attracting quizzical stares, few being used to seeing aged reporters running away from twenty-something young women.
They reached the control-room and Oliver rushed to his desk to call up the feeds available to him, only to hesitate as he tried to find the one he wanted. “I can’t see it,” he told the room.
“Here,” Sally told him, pushing him aside so she could look down the list, a finger hovering to press the item as soon as she saw it. But it wasn’t there. “I don’t believe this,” she muttered.
“Can I help?” Gary asked, others in the control-room beginning to look towards them with greater interest.
“My spy-satellite. Where is it?” she asked.
Gary brought up the main list of assets and, selecting the single spy-satellite, brought up its details on his board.
“No, that’s wrong,” she told him, the coordinates totally alien to her. “That’s not where I put it,” she explained.
Oliver took a note of the identifier and manually fed it into his board so he could access its cameras, and frowned when the image revealed an area of a town, one whose walls were crumbling, with streets littered with burnt out cars and the debris from collapsed walls.
“Where is that?” Sally gasped.
Gary, meanwhile, had de-coded the coordinates and was licking his lips with growing nervousness. “It’s somewhere over Turkey and Syria,” he murmured.
“Shit!” Oliver spat. “Get a hold of Michael and find out everything you can about that satellite. We need to know whose handled it, and what images have come from it, and that information is not to leave this room!” he told them, his voice rising to ensure everyone heard.
September 10th.
Michael met with Oliver, Gary, Heather and Sally in his and Heather’s suite. He was beginning to think nowhere was safe in space, certainly not the ARC. Now, on top of the continuing turmoil regarding water and soil ‘stolen’ from the moon, the media was discussing the ARCs role in the destruction
of the International Space Station. All he needed was news to break that the ARC was using its position to circumvent the rules prohibiting independent and uncorroborated photography of the conflict in Turkey, and the ARC would lose all credibility in the eyes of the general public.
Some of the media had been digging deep into the past of the English Travellers too, and the list of crimes they had been arrested for filled a double page of one of the more popular English tabloids. That half the arrests had not been taken any further held no weight at all, not when such small considerations got in the way of a good story.
“So, what do we know?” Michael asked, referring to the movement of the spy-satellite.
“We have a log of instructions received from the satellite,” Gary told him, and put his screen display up on the monitor for all to see.
“Matt!” Oliver gasped. “I don’t believe it,” he shook his head.
“I wouldn’t have believed any name that came up there,” Michael pointed out.
“But Matt, for heaven’s sake!” Heather added her disbelief to that of Oliver’s.
“Could someone have used his ID?” Michael suggested.
“Sure, if he leaves his tablet lying about,” Gary agreed.
“And he does.”
“We all do on occasion.”
“He more than others, is what I mean,” Heather clarified. “He only needs it for communication. The rest is already on recall in his brain,” she pointed out.
“The satellite also has a log of internal movements, cameras, heat sensors, all that stuff. So we know when tools were used, or moved. We know what areas were of interest, and which facilities were used to record activity,” Sally pointed out.
“Good, that might help,” Michael agreed. “OK Heather. This one is clearly a security issue. Interview our suspect and take whatever action you think appropriate. Oliver; talk to the media. Ask if anyone purporting to be from the ARC has been offering pictures. Warn them that we’ve heard of some pretending to be one of us, etc, etc. Will that work?”
“Quite possibly,” he agreed. “I’ll try and get some names off of them too,” he offered.