“We’re sure about this intelligence?” Baker asked. “It strikes me that EuroFed might just have put this all together to force us to rush into something we’re not ready for. If they know we’re planning on launching first, they might have decided this is the only way to beat us to the asteroid.”
“This information is confirmed, General. You can count on that. We’ve got two sources and corroborating satellite data, as well as communications intercepts. They’re going to depart in seventeen days. What I need to know is whether we can beat them. From what I see, we can, but I need to hear it from you.”
“Four days?” Knox said, shaking his head in disbelief. “We haven’t even completed a full simulation run. Even if we can get them up and running again, it’s going to be one hell of a job to make even the pretense of our preparations in the time. Not to mention that we’ve got a potential saboteur on board. This mission is going to be hard enough without having to wait for someone to stick a knife in the back at any moment.”
“All true,” Cooper replied. “And if this was just a normal mission, I’d agree with you. It isn’t. That much is clear. EuroFed wouldn’t have done all of this if it was just a matter of prestige for them. They wouldn’t have taken this much risk. That means there must be something else going on, something darker, and we’ve got to know what it is.”
Looking at Knox, Baker said, “As far as I’m concerned, Sandy, we’re ready to go. I can put the hardware into orbit, put the capsule on trajectory for the asteroid. We can certainly do that much. Having said that, I think the final decision isn’t ours to make. It’s down to Tom. If he thinks this can’t be done, that it’s impossible to complete this mission in the time, then I’ll stand with him and face down the President myself if I have to.”
“A direct Presidential order,” Knox said, shaking his head.
Stepping forward, Cooper replied, “Curt’s right, Colonel. Especially when it comes down to the final decision being yours. We’re at the threshold of something amazing here, a step forward for both our country and spaceflight in general. An orbital refueling depot, a secure bastion to protect our country from all those threatening it. I think it’s worth the risk, but then I’m not the one who is being asked to take it, I guess. So it comes down to your decision.”
“Can I have a moment?” he asked.
“Of course,” Baker replied. “Take as long as you need.”
Nodding, Knox walked away from the others, looking across the landscape. The light was fading fast, and the first of the stars were coming out, the moon shining on the distant horizon. It all seemed so real, as though he could reach out and touch it, a longing deep within his soul to simply agree, to go regardless of the risks they would be running, to climb on board that capsule and feel the roar of the rockets once again, feel the push of acceleration press him down in his couch as he soared into the heavens.
To go where no one had gone before. Words that were burned into his imagination for as long as he could remember. Words that had taken him first to the Space Force, then to NASA, and finally to the Moon. He’d never thought that he would get the opportunity to take a greater leap, thought that it would be left to another generation, decades into the future. Now it was here, waiting. A chance to be the first to reach a new world.
He looked down at the ground, at the footsteps in the dirt. It was easy to imagine that he was walking across that new world already. He pictured himself making the leap, making first contact with virgin, untouched territory. Yuri Gagarin, Neil Armstrong, Thomas Knox. It had quite a ring to it. And more than that. To see sights that no man had ever seen before. The political complexities, the unparalleled dangers faded away, down to the fundamental truth. That if his life had been leading to anything, it had been leading to this moment.
The rest of the crew would volunteer, if he asked. Two of them because they believed in what they were doing, wanted to see the mission through to success and take part in the adventure for themselves, the other for darker reasons, but at least he’d know that they were behind him. He looked up at the moon once more, over the familiar cratered surface, and smiled. He’d made his decision. There was no other decision to make.
“Fine,” Cooper said, as he turned back to them. “I’ll call one of the helicopters back, and we can get started on final-stage preparation. There’s still time to give you all another run or two in the simulator, go over approach and landing once more. We’ll just have to hope that thirty-five days is enough.” She cracked a smile, and added, “I can’t wait to see what the history books make of this when they get around to writing them.”
“Wait a minute,” Knox replied. “I haven’t told you what my decision was, yet.”
“Come on, Tom, you were always going to go. It was a foregone conclusion and we both know it. You just had to convince yourself of it.” Walking over to him, she clapped him on the shoulder, and said, “Part of me wishes you’d turned me down. I might have had a chance to go myself.”
“Sorry, General,” he said. “This one’s mine.”
“I figured as much, but I can hope, can’t I?” She looked up at the sky, and said, “We’ll watch your back as best we can. We’ll have to go public tomorrow. NASA will go mad, but we’ll keep a lid on them. One quick press conference, and you’ll be out into the black. How do you feel?”
“Scared.”
“Good. That proves you are at least minimally sane.” She paused, then added, “Emphasis on the minimally. You’d have to be a least a little crazy to go along with this.”
“Hell,” Baker said, “You’d have to be downright insane.” Shaking his head, he said, “Let’s get going. We’ve got two months of work to do in two days. I’ll have them put the coffee on. We’re going to need it.”
Chapter 15
Knox stepped into the elevator, carrying a reserve oxygen tank in his hand, securely attached to his suit. The others were already waiting, accompanied by a trio of technicians and a solitary journalist frantically taking notes, preparing for the live broadcast he’d be making in a few moments. Knox had reluctantly agreed to permit a journalist to ride with them up to the capsule, but he’d drawn the line at an interview on their way to the top of the launch tower. The mechanism jerked into life with a start, then smoothly began to rise, the technicians making a series of last-minute adjustments to their suits as they rose.
Outside, he could see the crowds gathering, preparing for the greatest show in town, the first launch of a manned rocket beyond the moon in all of history. Since news of the mission had been belatedly released to the public, a media frenzy had descended on the once-sleepy corner of Nevada, precisely the publicity that General Baker had wanted for the first manned launch from Dry Wells. Every motel and boarding house for a hundred miles was full, RVs scattered across the hills, hundreds of thousands of people coming to take part in the moment.
NASA, aside from a brief statement of support, had been quiet, though Siegel and Imoto had both ended up in Vandenburg, volunteering their services at Mission Control. Beck, on the other hand, had been rumored to have launched into a furious tirade at the first journalist he’d found, only the full weight of NASA’s leadership managing to silence the devastating interview before it could be published. Administrator Bishop had been beaten to the punch, and he knew it.
Knox frowned, watching as the elevator continued to rise, slowly but surely to the top of the tower. NASA could have done more than it had. Could at least have launched an unmanned probe to pioneer the way for them, volunteered Houston to run the mission, instead of leaving it to the Space Force. Vandenburg was more than up to the task, had operated manned missions before on occasion, but the real experts were at Houston, denied to them for this flight. It seemed stranger the more he thought about it, but he had no time for second thoughts. In a matter of moments, they’d be lighting the rocket along which they were climbing, and begin their ascent into space.
The elevator jerked once more to a halt, Maxwell looking nervously a
t Knox, before one of the technicians broke out into a smile, tugging open the mechanism. One last practical joke from the launch crew, a harmless way to break the tension. Knox shook his head, leading his crew along the gantry to the capsule itself, where the pre-flight team was completing their work, ensuring that all their equipment was properly stowed, all their systems ready for launch. CosmoTech had the flight protocols rehearsed to perfection, taking as much of the work off the flight crew as possible. The four astronauts walked towards their ride, Maxwell and Antonova climbing in first, taking the two rear couches, the launch technicians carefully strapping them into position, tugging the restraints tight and locking their retractable consoles into position.
Now it was time for Knox and Murphy, the Commander and the Pilot. Murphy first, taking the right-hand seat, the bulk of the flight instruments before her, then, at last, Knox, sliding into the last vacant couch, the technicians settling him into position, checking the straps, the restraints, and unclipping his reserve tank with a quick jerk. One of them patted him on the shoulder, then climbed out of the capsule, pushing and locking the hatch into position with a loud clunk.
Daylight swept into the cabin as the tower began to retract, the launch gantry spinning away to face in the opposite direction as the pre-flight technicians raced for safety, towards the hardened ATV waiting for them on the surface to speed them to their bunker, where they could return to the tower rapidly if they were needed, if some emergency had taken place. Knox had watched the footage of Challenger, of Columbia, of Soyuz K-5. All astronauts were forced to view them as part of their training, to ensure that they knew, that they truly knew, that the adventure upon which they were embarking was one of the most dangerous in history, that anything could go wrong, that their lives could be snuffed out before they even realized there was a problem.
None of that mattered. All of them knew the risks, and embraced them. All of them knew what they were doing, and had made their own personal decision to defy those risks. Though one of them, almost certainly, was doing it for the wrong reasons. The most through security check the FBI had ever undertaken had failed to find any evidence of the saboteur Knox feared, but that only confirmed to him that the enemy agents had done their job well, had covered their tracks to perfection. Paranoia, perhaps, but after what had happened in the arroyo, he considered it more than justified. He looked around at the others, at Murphy, Maxwell and Antonova, wishing that just for a second, he could read their thoughts, know what was running through their minds.
“Launch Control to Icarus One,” the speaker barked. “The tower is locked back, and we are ready to begin the final stages of the countdown, upon your confirmation that you are ready for launch.”
“We’re all set here, Control,” Knox replied. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
“Roger that. We are now at eight minutes to launch, and counting. Beginning final diagnostic checks. You guys want some music while you wait?”
“No thanks, Control, save it for orbital coast.” Knox looked at Murphy, and asked, “Any problems?”
“Not a thing. All systems go. The launch gang did a great job of getting us ready. I’ve only got a few quick adjustments to make.” She threw a pair of controls, and said, “We’re in the hands of Bob Goddard anyway.”
“True,” Knox replied, with a smile. “Max, you’ve been through something like this before, so you know what to expect. For the rest of you, it’s a kick like thunder that just keeps going and going, a hell of a lot longer than a normal orbital burn. Eight minutes instead of five, and more acceleration.” Before they could reply, he said, “I know you think you know what it feels like, but trust me, you don’t. Not until you’ve lived through it.” He paused, smiled, then added, “Just try and relax, as best you can, and enjoy the ride.”
He attempted to follow his own advice, settling down into his launch couch as comfortably as he could, looking over the instruments as Launch Control completed their preparations. Unless something went wrong, the four of them would have almost nothing to do until they actually reached orbit. Nine out of ten launches went perfectly. It was the tenth that would test their training and their skill.
They were rushing it. That’s what worried him. Three years to prepare for the moon, a hundred simulated launches. They’d had five. All of them were veterans, all of them knew what they were doing, and he had every confidence in the skills of his crew, but that didn’t do anything to arrest the nagging worries dragging away at him, the concerns that there was something critical they’d missed, something they’d forgotten, something that would end up costing them either the mission or even their lives.
Shaking his head, he looked at the clock, watching it sweep past five minutes. Data streamed across the heads-up display, a host of systems checks to ensure everything was ready, that they’d have control of the raging thunder they were about to unleash. He heard a faint rattle in the distance, the fuel pumps kicking in, down below, ready to feed the bi-propellent mix together, the tanks being topped up at the final minute.
They had the worst seats in the house, ironically. Millions, perhaps tens of millions of people would be watching the launch live on television, their walls dominated by projections of the takeoff, expert commentary from veteran astronauts and experienced scientists, going over every detail of the mission. All he had was a cramped chair and a ten-inch personal display, and right now, all it showed were a few clouds, high up, faint white traces across the clear blue sky. They’d be up there with the clouds, any moment now, and beyond them.
“Launch Control to Icarus One. Two minutes to ignition. Requesting final status check.”
“Roger that, Control, Icarus One is still go for launch. Repeat, we are go for launch.”
“Confirmed,” the cold voice replied. “We show the same here. One minute, fifty seconds to ignition.”
“Last chance to change your minds,” Murphy quipped. “Hope you all brought your passports.”
With a wry smile, Maxwell replied, “I knew I’d forgotten something. Let’s hope Daedalus doesn’t have any border security.”
“We’ll be the ones to set it up if it does,” Knox said. “One minute, thirty seconds, people.”
Ninety seconds. Ninety eternities, as the countdown clock slowly trickled away, the noises from the rocket below slowly building, slowly rising, as though the gods themselves were building for a battle. Knox took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, and failing. It just felt too good to be riding fire once more. A feeling not one in a million would ever experience, and he was going on his fifth ride. His fourth beyond Earth orbit. He’d believed, not long ago, that he’d remained Earthbound for the rest of his life. Now he was going out once more, one last time.
“Thirty seconds to ignition,” the voice of Launch Control said. “All systems remain go for launch. Icarus One, have a safe ride, and a happy landing.”
“Will do, Launch Control,” Knox replied. “We remain go for launch.” He looked over the indicators one last time, a sea of green lights on the display, and took his final deep breath, his head facing forward, keeping himself perfectly still. The others were the same, silent, waiting, ready. The countdown swept past twenty seconds, then fifteen seconds, and for an instant, all was still, all was calm.
“Ten seconds,” Launch Control replied. “Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Ignition sequence start. Three. Two. One. Ignition.” The last word was swept away by the roar that grew, and grew, and grew, the rocket straining against the titanic clamps that locked it into position while it built up thrust, smoke and flame billowing in all directions as the mighty Nova booster attempted to force itself free, before finally, the clamps swung clear, and the rocket launched, the ferocious force of acceleration pushing the four astronauts back in their seats, the tower dropping away as they ascended into the sky, leaving the cold embrace of gravity behind.
“Icarus One, you have cleared the tower at oh-nine, oh-five,” Launch Control intoned, the volume automatically turned as
high as possible as the speaker warred with the burning rockets beneath. The capsule as shaking, trembling under the stress load, the altimeter racing from its track as the speed build up, fuel burned frantically by the four massive engines beneath them, hurling them into the sky.
One of the green lights winked to amber, and Knox frowned for a moment, quickly dismissing it as a non-critical system, the observation cameras on the lowest stage. They’d suspected they’d likely fail under the stress loads. Just one piece of engineering data they wouldn’t be able to record now. They could live without it. Probably.
Twenty seconds into the launch. The ride was beginning to settle down, to smooth out, as they continued to rise, punching past ten thousand feet, past the speed of sound, barely even registering the change. The rocket began to roll, then started to dip, turning into the gravity gauge as they struggled to gain velocity, to take advantage of the rotation of the Earth to place them into the desired orbit, to make use of all the speed they could gather.
“Roll and yaw maneuver complete,” Murphy replied. “First stage is burning well, just as advertised.”
“Roger, confirm,” Knox said with a nod. “Launch Control, how are we doing, over?”
“Wait one, Icarus,” Baker replied. “I’m in the seat, we’re running checks now.” He paused, then said, “Right down the center line. You’re looking good.”
“Thanks, General,” Knox said. “Twenty thousand feet and gone. All systems go.” It had been less than a minute since they were resting on the earth, and now they were pushing through the lower levels of the atmosphere, higher and higher by the second, gathering more and more speed, the thunderous roar of the engines continuing to rise. He looked across at a control, spotting another amber light wink on, then replaced by a red one.
“Control, we have a malfunction on first stage separation.”
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