The Phoenix Descent

by Chuck Grossart

  “That’s tricky, Sif. The nozzles aren’t designed to handle the reentry heat.”

  “Then I do it right after the second heat pulse.” She was already entering her parameters into the computer. “If I use the mains to perform a half-sequence braking burn, we’ll still have enough fuel to make a landing and get back to Resolute.”

  Hunter thought it through. If she flipped the ship right after the point of maximum heating, the nozzles could take it, and the braking burn would rapidly decelerate the ship. “Let’s try it. Nothing else has worked so far.”

  He watched Sif’s fingers dance across the keyboard, then suddenly stop. She looked up at him. “This is all based on the premise that we plan on coming back to Resolute. If Lucas can get the cargo landers programmed to survive reentry and landing, we could send them down and take the escape pod. All three of us.”

  Resolute also held a three-person emergency escape capsule, a smaller, three-person version of NASA’s Orion design. It was designed to survive an Earth reentry and was to be used if, upon their return, there was no way to dock with the International Space Station—the ISS—which was their designated recovery point. Regardless, it was a one-way trip. They would abandon Resolute in orbit, which Hunter wasn’t ready to consider yet. “It’s an option, but only if we can’t get Beagle to perform. I’ve thought about it, too.”

  “I figured that. Just wanted it on the record, that’s all.”

  “How close are you to running her through her paces?”

  “Give me another ten minutes.”

  Hunter settled back in his seat—as well as he could in zero gravity—and let Sif work her magic. That’s when Liv came through the cockpit speaker.

  “Alert. Webb. Significant infrared signature detected.”

  Sif started to push away from her console, but Hunter stopped her. “No, you stay here and keep working the solution. I’ll go.” He pushed himself out of Beagle’s small cockpit, through the docking port, and into the deployment bay. He grabbed a handhold and sent himself floating toward the tunnel leading to the command module. “Liv, location of infrared signature?”

  “Forty-three degrees, thirty-five minutes, forty seconds north. One-zero-three degrees, twenty-three minutes, forty-two seconds west.”

  Forty-three north, one-oh-three west. The north-central portion of the United States, or at least what used to be. “Liv, what location equates to those coordinates?”

  There was a slight delay while the AI searched databases. “Webb, these coordinates equate to Wind Cave National Park, South Dakota, United States.”

  Hunter found Lucas in the command module, and he already had the infrared images on the screen. “Fifty-meter resolution, boss.”

  Hunter stared at the circle of light on the screen, a smile slowly stretching across his face. “That’s got to be man-made,” he said. Thirty orbits, and they hadn’t seen a single sign of life, until now.

  “I agree. I think we may have just found some survivors.”

  “We’ve also just found our landing spot, Lucas.”

  “How’s Sif coming with the Beagle mods?”

  “Liv, patch me in to Sif, please.”

  Liv acknowledged his request with an electronic squeak, which was followed a couple of seconds later by Sif’s voice. “Sif here.”

  “Have you run your skip reentry figures though any sims yet?” Hunter asked.

  “Three, so far. I’m getting close.”

  Which meant she had suffered three more failures. “Keep working it, Navy. Use these coordinates as a touchdown point, and run it again.” He read them off. “Copy?”

  “Copy. What’s down there?” Sif asked.

  “Possible survivors, Sif. Ever been to the Badlands?”

  Chapter 22

  “All systems are go for drop, Beagle. Ninety seconds until release point,” Lucas said, monitoring the launch from the command module.

  “Roger, Resolute. Ninety seconds. Standing by,” Sif replied. She and Hunter sat in Beagle’s small cockpit, she in the left seat, Hunter in the right. Sif tucked her prelaunch checklist into a snap pouch on the side of her seat. “Prelaunch checks complete.”

  “Copy. You ready for this?” Hunter said.

  “I’m always ready.” Everything will work. She ran the skip reentry profile through the simulator another five times after she finally found a solution, and it worked every time. Her rotation and landing sequences worked without a hitch, too. Without the help of a hundred eggheads in Houston, the three of them managed to figure out how to take a spaceship designed for a Mars landing and program it to function in Earth’s atmosphere, which was no small feat. She turned her head to look at Hunter—neither of them could turn their helmets, so the view was limited, but she could still see part of his face. “Are you ready?”

  “Let’s fly this thing, Sif,” Hunter said. He gave her a thumbs-up, and she returned it.

  Their release point was over Antarctica. Beagle’s first skip through the atmosphere would occur over Africa, then they would bounce slightly back up before starting their final reentry over the northern Russian landmass. If all went according to plan, Sif would flip Beagle tailfirst and begin a braking sequence over Canada, with their final landing spot near the circular infrared signature—a fire—located in Wind Cave National Park. If the landing went according to specs, they would still have enough fuel for a return to Resolute. Just barely, but enough.

  “Sixty seconds until release point,” Lucas said.

  “Copy. Sixty seconds.” Sif tested her restraints—she was strapped in tight. The g-forces would be more pronounced for an Earth reentry than the Martian one they trained for. “Do you have enough reading material to keep yourself entertained while we’re gone, Lucas?”

  “Yeah,” he replied, “just enough. You pilot types get to have all the fun, though. You’re getting to go home, while I’m stuck up here taking care of the most advanced piece of machinery ever built by mankind. Ho-hum.”

  “We’ll be back before you know it,” Hunter said.

  “I’ll keep the lights on. Thirty seconds. Vehicle restraint system armed, and release pistons to automatic on my mark . . . mark.”

  Sif confirmed his action on her screen. “Restraint armed, pistons to automatic. Copy. Prelaunch sequence complete. Hey, maybe you can work on Liv’s voice interface while we’re gone.”

  “Why? I kinda like it when she calls me Mr. Potato. Fifteen seconds.”

  Sif’s heart pounded away in her chest. She had only flown Beagle in simulations, never in space. Come on, calm down. Everything will work just fine.

  “Ten seconds.”

  “Good luck up here, Lucas,” Hunter said.

  “Godspeed, Beagle. Come back safe and sound. Drop sequence commence in five, four, three, two, one . . . mark.”

  Sif heard a bang as the restraining arms slammed back into their slots and felt a nudge as the pistons gently shoved Beagle away from Resolute’s belly. She quickly checked her status board. “Good release, Resolute. First thruster burn in twenty seconds.”

  “Resolute copies, looks good on my end.”

  Hunter tapped her arm and pointed to the window above her head.

  Sif glanced up and saw Resolute’s underside slowly moving away. “Thrusters in ten,” she said. The thrusters on top of Beagle’s hull would fire for a couple of seconds in order to give them the final momentum needed to begin their descent into Earth’s atmosphere. At this point, the ship was following a programmed sequence of events—her programmed sequence—and she and Hunter were basically along for the ride. Unless something went wrong.

  Sif tried to ignore her own mantra—sometimes machines just break—as she felt the thrusters fire. She felt her body press against the restraints for a second and could see a puff of gas outside her window.

  “Thruster burn complete. Good results.” On Hunter’s main screen was a moving map display that showed a top and side view of Beagle’s flight path, with small icons marking the ship’s
position. “So far, so good, Navy.”

  Sif looked up again and could see almost all of Resolute above them—bow to stern—moving away as they descended. It was really a sight to see. “Look at her, Hunter.”

  “I know. She’s a thing of beauty.”

  Sif changed her comms to internal only. “Do you think he’ll be okay up there?” she asked, referring to Lucas.

  “It’s no different from what Mars would’ve been like. He would’ve stayed aboard Resolute for the first rotation—a couple of weeks—until we came back up to relieve him.”

  “I know, but under different circumstances.”

  Of the three of them, Lucas seemed to be having the hardest time adjusting to the fact that everyone he once knew was gone. “Maybe being alone up here will do him some good. He’s got Liv to keep him company, right?”

  “Yeah, Liv. She’s a charmer, that one.”

  “He’ll be okay, Sif. And so will we. This isn’t the mission we all signed up for, but it’s a mission just the same. I for one want to know what the hell happened down there.”

  “Me, too. At least there are some people still alive, but we have no idea how long it’s been since whatever happened.”

  “Based on the amount of plant growth in the cities, we’re probably no more than a hundred years or so away from our time, so there’s still got to be some sort of knowledge about it.” He glanced at his screen. “Still tracking. We should hit the Kármán line in about three minutes,” Hunter said, referring to the boundary between Earth’s atmosphere and space, roughly sixty-two miles above Earth’s surface. “Forward thrusters in two minutes.”

  “Copy, two minutes.” Sif had programmed Beagle’s thrusters to fire for one second, adding a slight impulse to their forward momentum, just enough to keep the ship from being pulled down into the atmosphere and instead bounce off the upper layer. The first interaction would last about three minutes, at which point they would rise above the Kármán line again, and hopefully, if her calculations were correct, not fly off into space. Her heart was still beating fast, but she was calmer now than when they launched. Once she was flying, her nerves always settled down. She felt much the same way when waiting for the catapult to launch her fighter off a carrier—as soon as she was in the air, and in control, she became more focused and less nervous. She cross-checked her instruments—everything was in the green. Hunter did the same, keeping a close eye on his moving map display.

  “Beagle, Resolute. I’m showing two minutes, thirty seconds until first entry.”

  Sif switched her comms back to external. “Copy, Resolute. Two-thirty.”

  “You two are being awfully quiet,” Lucas said.

  “Not much to say,” Hunter replied. “We’re hands-off, enjoying the ride.”

  Sif looked up through her window again and could still see Resolute, now just a bright speck in the distance. “You should see yourself up there, Lucas. The ship looks so tiny.”

  “Yeah, and I’m already lonely. We’ll lose communications during the first reentry segment, Sif. Give me a shout when you’re on the other side. We should still be line of sight. Good luck.”

  Communications blackouts were a normal part of reentry, as the ionized region that surrounded the vehicle blanked out any radio waves. After they skipped back up out of the atmosphere, they could communicate again. Without the aid of satellites, though, they would have to rely on line-of-sight comms. “Copy that,” Sif replied, quickly scanning her instruments again. “Thruster fire in fifteen seconds.”

  “Still traveling right down the pike, Sif,” Hunter said. “Dead on course.”

  She didn’t especially appreciate his word choice, but acknowledged him just the same. “Copy.”

  When the thrusters fired, they both felt a small kick and were pressed back in their seats. Hunter watched the tracking display closely. “Okay, Sif, we should start to feel it soon. Almost to the Kármán line.”

  And they did. It was slight at first, a barely noticeable vibration in the ship’s structure, but it increased quickly. Hunter and Sif watched as a dull red glow became visible outside their cockpit windows, turning orange, then yellow-white as Beagle plowed into the upper reaches of the atmosphere. The vibration became more pronounced. The first bang startled Sif, but it was to be expected. As they hit thicker portions of the atmosphere, they would get kicked around a bit, much like riding in a jetliner flying through turbulence. Because of Beagle’s biconic shape, it wasn’t quite as smooth as the reentries the space shuttle astronauts experienced, but much smoother than the old Apollo or Soyuz capsules. Beagle’s ceramic composite thermal protection system would soon heat to nearly three thousand degrees Fahrenheit. It was a remarkable piece of technology, first developed by the Brits for their Skylon spaceplane project, and it was the only thing that would keep them alive. If it failed, they would only have enough time to realize it, but that would be all.

  “Thruster fire, adjusting nose-high angle, looking good,” Hunter announced. Beagle was automatically adjusting its orientation, keeping itself on the preprogrammed course. When they first entered the atmosphere, Beagle was traveling at roughly 7.9 kilometers per second, or well over 17,600 miles per hour. Now, they were entering the “sweet spot,” where the friction from the atmosphere would reduce their forward velocity just enough to bounce them back up without sending them off into deep space.

  Sif lifted her arm and, for the first time in over a month, felt the effects of gravity. The pull was light, but noticeable. Extended time in zero-g meant that they would need time to recover after landing in order for their bodies to readjust to Earth’s gravity. They wouldn’t be able to move about right away without suffering exhaustion, but their bodies would acclimate rather quickly.

  Sif kept her eyes locked on Hunter’s display, watching the numbers roll by as the ship icon crept along the projected flight path. So far, so good. As the line curved upward, Sif noticed the glow outside the windows begin to lessen, and then finally disappear. They were back in space.

  “Velocity looks good, Sif. We’re on track. Systems all check in the green.” She felt Hunter’s gloved hand on her arm. “That was perfect. Good job,” he said.

  “Thanks, but that was the easy part. We get to do it again in about twenty minutes.”

  The alarm blared in her helmet, and Hunter’s nav display went blank. “Shit! Nav system is down.”

  They both reached for their checklists, flipped to the correct page. “Got it, trying reset,” Hunter said.

  Every second the nav system was down meant a greater chance that Beagle could slew off course, and their reentry solution would be shot.

  “Reset unsuccessful. Check breakers A-three, A-six, and B-four.”

  “Copy, checking.” Sif checked the breaker locations above her head—none were popped. “Breakers are in.” Dammit.

  “Uh, okay, trying reset again.” Hunter’s voice was a little tighter than usual. They mentally counted down the seconds as the computer went through the reset process. Sif breathed a sigh of relief when the screen came back on, but it was short-lived, and she immediately noticed the ship icon was slightly above its projected path. She waited, but Beagle wasn’t automatically correcting course.

  “I see it,” Hunter said. “The interface isn’t working.” The nav system was functioning—the ship knew where it was, but it wasn’t making course corrections. If they didn’t fix it soon, the result would be disastrous.

  “We’re off course. I’m taking manual control.”

  “No,” Hunter said quickly. “Wait. Not yet. Check system master to ON.”

  “System master to ON,” Sif replied, her hand resting on the control stick. “We’re wasting time.”

  “Cycle interface control from A to B, then back again.”

  Sif cycled the switch. Waited. Nothing. “That’s it. I’m flying her down.” She flipped the manual override switch and lightly grabbed the control stick. “Call out the numbers for me, Hunter.”

  “Roger.
We’re three degrees nose high, velocity is slightly above projected. Slow her down a little.”

  With her eyes locked on Hunter’s display, Sif manually fired the nose thrusters to bring Beagle back on course.

  “Don’t overcorrect, don’t overcorrect,” Hunter yelled.

  “Copy. I got it, I got it. Try the interface again.” Even though she knew she could probably do it, their chances were much greater if the computer were flying the ship.

  Hunter reached above Sif’s head and cycled the interface switch again. Nothing. “Negative results. The interface is shot. You’re a degree nose low. Bring it back up.”

  “Beagle, Resolute, come in please.”

  Perfect timing. Sif mashed her comm button. “Resolute, Beagle is manual. I say again, Beagle is manual. I’ll talk to you after I land this thing, Lucas. Beagle out.” She gently massaged the thruster control, keeping a light touch.

  “Okay, Sif,” Hunter said, his voice now much calmer and professional, “you’re back on track. Velocity is good.”

  Sif opened her kneeboard—a pad strapped to her right leg—and flipped to a page where she jotted down all the necessary course adjustments, listed by elapsed time and duration. Now that they were solidly back on course, she should be able to follow the same instructions she’d entered into the ship’s flight control computer and take her down manually. She heard Hunter laugh.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You, that’s what,” he said. “You were ready for this.”

  “Of course I was. I’m a naval aviator, remember? We land jets on floating postage stamps, in any weather, even at night.” She turned her head, peered at him through her helmet. “We’re all good,” she added, “but I’m pretty sure I’m the best.”

  Hunter groaned. “Do we really have to go there right now?”

  “I’m not going anywhere, just stating a fact. Keep your eyes on that screen. We reenter again in five minutes.”

  Hunter shook his head. “I hope those figures of yours take into account the weight of your ego, Navy.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. They do.”