The Death of the Universe: Rebirth: Hard Science Fiction (Big Rip Book 3)

by Brandon Q Morris

“I don’t think this is such a good idea,” said Sasha.

  “What? Should we abandon everything?”

  Kizim sounded quite irritated. How would he react to a change of plan?

  “No, comrade. The radiators next to the solar panels—they’re directed at the sun together with the solar surfaces, correct?”

  “That’s right.”

  “It would be better if we attached Re... the instrument to the back of them.”

  “But you can’t drill into the radiators, it’ll destroy them.”

  “That’s not what I want to do. We’ll secure the instrument with a few wires. They won’t affect the function of the heat exchanger, will they?”

  “That’s... true.”

  Kizim hesitated. Come on, pull yourself together. Of course the Salyut 7 commander had to look out for his station, but Sasha’s suggestion wouldn’t endanger it.

  “Mayak 1 to TUP. Did you hear Jupiter 3’s suggestion?”

  “Yes, we’re just going through it. Give us five minutes.”

  “Understood. We’ll enjoy the view in the meantime. Mayak 1 out.”

  Sasha spun around slowly until he was looking directly at the sun. He just had to look upward slightly. It looked like it had just risen above the Earth. The sun glowed a pure white. The helmet visor dimmed automatically, but that didn’t turn the sun’s light yellow—more of an orange or red. It also looked noticeably smaller from up there. The Earth was gigantic by comparison. It was hard to believe that little sun could hold the Earth in its orbit, but it did.

  Above him a ball of rock hung on the invisible cord of the sun’s gravity. The ball had a millimeter-thin shell offering billions of creatures livable conditions in the form of breathable air, arable soil, and water. Humans were only one of many species. They thought of themselves as rational, but perpetually threatened each other.

  Did people always have thoughts like these when they were floating on the outside of a space station? Probably. They took up a lot of space in the memoirs of the cosmonauts that he’d read. He’d always thought of that as corny, but it turned out to be true. He could feel it himself now. Sasha felt glad there hadn’t been a spacesuit in Katya’s size.

  “TsUP here. Jupiter 3, your plan is approved. We don’t expect any problems if you attach the object to the side of the radiator facing away from the sun.”

  “Fine,” said Kizim. “But don’t you dare damage my station. It’s my home for the next few months.”

  “No, Mayak 1, I’ll make sure I don’t, that’s a promise. But I need wire.”

  “Jupiter 1, did you hear that?” asked Kizim.

  “You could have thought of that! You won’t find any wire in the transport bay,” replied Malyshev. “But we have some in the workshop.”

  “Then please bring us some.”

  “I’d be glad to, Leonid, but I’ll have to climb into an Orlan first.”

  “Oh, sorry, of course, there’s a vacuum in the transfer bay. Then we’ll have to close the airlock briefly, let some air in, and you can put the wire into it.”

  “Understood, Mayak 1.”

  Kizim drifted quickly over to the hatch and closed it. If anything unforeseen happened, they were on their own. They wouldn’t be able to open the hatch until after Malyshev gave the all clear.

  “TsUP here. What are you doing? We can see a pressure increase in the airlock even though you’re still outside.”

  “Mayak 1 is placing some wire in the transfer bay for us, so we had to close the airlock briefly.”

  “Are you out of your mind? That goes against safety regulations. You don’t have a safe haven. What if the station has to make an evasive maneuver while you’re out there?”

  “Easy now. It’s only for a few minutes. I made the decision in my capacity as captain.”

  Thank you, Leonid. Surely nothing would happen. Nevertheless, the reproach from mission control made him nervous. If Salyut 7 had to correct its orbit to avoid another object, the station wouldn’t throw them off. They were connected with safety lines. But what if a tiny asteroid crossed their paths—a deadly shot—or trash from another space mission?

  Sasha pointed at the solar panel that loomed up above them in the middle of the hull. “We could get under cover, Mayak 1. We’ll be slightly safer from impacts there.”

  “Yes, do that, good idea. I’ll wait here at the hatch.”

  Should he ask him to join him? Sasha was standing in the shelter of the large solar panel and feeling guilty. He was safe there, but Leonid could still get hit by the space trash that was drifting around in orbit with them. Hadn’t a metal object recently impacted Salyut 6?

  “Jupiter 1 here,” announced Malyshev. “The wire is floating right next to the hatch.”

  “Thanks, Yuri,” Kizim replied.

  The commander bent over, opened the hatch, and pulled out a small container. Sasha was about to start moving toward him, but Kizim waved him back. Instead, he brought his arms close to his body, flung them with momentum out in front of him again, and threw the object to Sasha.

  Sasha panicked. What if he didn’t catch it? At school he’d always hated ball games. He’d always been the first one to be eliminated in dodgeball. The package came toward him as though in slow motion. He just had to stay calm. Kizim had aimed well—the commander knew what he was doing. Sasha planted his legs wide. He waited with open arms for what was coming to him. He closed his arms around the object and brought it to his chest and held it against his suit.

  Done. He’d received something that looked like a shoebox. Sasha examined it. It could be pushed in at the front. He reached in and pulled out a roll of wire. That could work. He pulled in the instrument, which was still attached to the end of its safety cable, and began using lengths of wire to install it on the back of the radiator. For its power supply, he guided the integrated cable to the solar panel right next to it. There was a data bus connection on the base of the radiator. Perfect.

  “Jupiter 3 here,” he announced. “Operation complete.”

  “Then get your ass in here, and let’s hope it was worth it,” said Kizim.

  Sasha hoped so, too. But Leonid would probably never find out.

  April 11, 1984, Salyut 7

  “Hatch sealed,” announced Malyshev.

  He drifted down into his seat. Everything looked exactly like it had on the outbound journey, but something felt... different. Was it because they were sitting in Soyuz T-10 instead of Soyuz T-11? They were returning to Earth using the ship the Mayak crew had arrived in, leaving the fresh spaceship for the long-term crew.

  “Jupiter 1 reporting we are ready for uncoupling,” said Malyshev.

  “TsUP confirming. Wait for our signal.”

  Sasha wiggled his toes. The Sokol pressure suit was downright comfortable compared to the Orlan space suit. If only it would sit straight! He imagined himself talking shop with colleagues in the future. Was the shoulder padding in your Orlan too hard as well? Did you sometimes hit your chin on the glass in the Sokol?

  But that would remain a fantasy. No one could know he’d taken someone else’s place. The flight to Salyut 7 would go down in history as Strekalov’s fourth space flight—maybe even setting a new record? He hadn’t been following the space race with the U.S.A. closely enough recently.

  “Mission control here. Prepare for uncoupling.”

  “Mayak wishes Jupiter a safe journey,” said Kizim, the Salyut 7 commander.

  “Thank you. All the best,” replied Malyshev.

  “Attention, Jupiter, decoupling in three, two, one, now.”

  Malyshev pressed a button. Something rattled outside and Sasha was gently pushed back in his seat. The journey home had begun.

  The noise increased. The normally life-giving atmosphere attempted to halt and destroy the Soyuz capsule that was penetrating it, as though it was swatting at a pesky insect. A 1000-degree sheet of plasma had formed in front of their bow. Slowly but surely it burned and melted the capsule’s heat shield. The braking f
orce, currently 3.6 g, sat squarely on Sasha’s chest. They had no communication with the TsUP anymore. Every antenna had long since been torn off the capsule, which was nearing the Earth at an incredible pace.

  Hopefully it wasn’t a bad omen that they were in Soyuz T-10. The last time a spacecraft with that name had launched, it had exploded. The cosmonauts were barely able to escape.

  A powerful jolt went through him.

  “The main chute,” the commander commented.

  Only 15 more minutes. Sharma whistled a tune—quite a feat at 3 g.

  “Stop that,” ordered Malyshev. “Whistling brings bad luck.”

  Sharma fell silent. Sasha made an effort to breathe evenly despite the strain. The parachute hardly reduced the force. But then it became calm. There seemed to be a strong wind swinging the capsule back and forth. Sasha felt nausea rising. That would be just great, having to throw up right before landing. He moved his head inside the helmet to push his nose into a sponge with embedded smelling salts. It helped.

  A fist-like force slammed him in the back. The retro rockets brought the capsule down from 300 km/h to a little under 30.

  Impact—they were back on Mother Earth!

  The capsule tipped over and was dragged a few meters across the ground.

  His journey had ended.

  April 12, 1984, Tyuratam

  Their return didn’t go the way he’d imagined. They were separated as soon as they landed. Malyshev and Sharma were taken to the Star City to be introduced to the international press along with Strekalov, who’d remained on Earth. And he was lying alone in the hospital, completely isolated, with a guard posted at the door. He pushed aside the swiveling tray on which he’d been served an unidentifiable midday meal.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Vkhoditye, come in!”

  The door opened. A doctor came in, the same one who’d already visited him the previous evening and again that morning. “Excuse the disturbance again, comrade.”

  “You’re not disturbing me, doctor, I’m bored to death. When am I allowed out of here?”

  “I don’t know. Officially, you’re in quarantine.”

  “Officially? What does that mean?”

  “There’s no medical reason to keep you here. But nevertheless, it’s been ordered from on high. There seem to be certain rumors about the most recent space flight to Salyut 7, which they’re trying to counteract.”

  “Salyut 7? No idea what you’re talking about,” said Sasha.

  So something had leaked out after all. Had the camera caught him incidentally, or had one of the crew talked to the wrong people? He probably had to stay here so no one could question him.

  “I don’t know much about it, either,” said the doctor. “How are you? Are you doing the exercises I showed you? Even a week in zero gravity has an effect on the musculature and skeleton.”

  “I don’t have anything else to do. Could you at least have a few things sent from my bungalow? And what about visitors?”

  “I can’t allow visitors—quarantine, you understand. But regarding the things from your quarters, that should be manageable. Write down what you need and give the list to the soldier outside your door.”

  “I don’t have anything to write with.”

  “Oh, sorry, here.” The doctor pulled a pencil and a sheet of paper from the inside pocket of his coat. The paper was dog-eared.

  “Thank you, doctor.”

  “As soon as I hear anything regarding your stay here, I’ll let you know.”

  He looked out the barred window at a gray field covered in remnants of snow. Behind it was a forest. It was already casting long shadows. How long would it take them to get a few books from his bungalow? The soldier had acted as though he didn’t know anything about it when he’d given him the list. Hopefully he hadn’t just pocketed it. He didn’t have a single thing he could use to motivate the man.

  Forest.

  No forest.

  Forest.

  No forest.

  He was doing squats, even though he didn’t feel any less fit after having been in space.

  Forest.

  No forest.

  Forest.

  The sound of his heartbeat grew louder in his ears. Something was happening out in the corridor—two people, speaking loudly. One voice belonged to his guardian soldier, and he recognized the other one but couldn’t place it. He pressed his ear against the door to eavesdrop, but no one said anything else. Instead, the door opened suddenly and almost knocked him over. He staggered back against the bed.

  “Oh, sorry, were you eavesdropping?” asked the dezhurnaya. In her left hand she had a Dederon shopping bag bulging with book-shaped objects. She cradled an oval clay pot in her right arm.

  A sergeant he recognized came into the room behind her. “I had to use my powers of persuasion,” she said, setting the bag on the floor.

  Sasha smiled. “Well, this is a nice surprise,” he said.

  “Come here, boy!” said the dezhurnaya. She wrapped her left arm around him and pressed him to her bosom.

  She smelled of garlic, juniper, and Makhorka tobacco, just like home. Tears welled up in his eyes. Not now! He sniveled like a little boy. If only the sergeant wasn’t there.

  “It’s all right,” said the dezhurnaya, stroking his head. “Here, take my handkerchief.”

  Sasha sniffed back the tears, and swallowed. The handkerchief didn’t look very clean, but he still wiped away his tears with it.

  “First have something decent to eat,” said his visitor, indicating the pot. “Can you take it from me?”

  Sasha put the lukewarm pot on the tray.

  “And here are the books you requested.”

  He picked up the shopping bag, unpacked the books, and then returned the bag to her.

  “One question,” he said.

  “Yes, boy?”

  He suddenly felt 20 years younger. The dezhurnaya seemed to have adopted him. Or was it just pity?

  “Can Yekaterina visit me, too? I mean, your friend here,” he indicated the sergeant, “got you both in here, which is strictly forbidden. Do you think you can do it again?”

  The sergeant nodded.

  But the dezhurnaya shook her head. “Volodya here hasn’t been kept entirely up to date, you understand...”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Yekaterina can’t come here. It’s not possible.”

  “Why?”

  And why was this normally straightforward woman suddenly beating around the bush?

  “Did something happen to her? Did she have an accident? Is she sick?”

  “No, don’t worry. As far as I know she’s well.”

  “As far as you know? But she reports to you twice a day, doesn’t she?”

  “No, boy. While you were away, Komikov issued new orders. At least that’s what Katya told me. She’s been transferred.”

  “Where to?” He felt cold. A transfer could mean permanent separation. Without a propusk, travel pass, he couldn’t simply go to Moscow or Leningrad.

  “To Akademgorodok. She left the day before yesterday. She’ll have arrived by now.”

  Akademgorodok, the academic mini city, was an artificial city built in the 1960s south of Novosibirsk. It had a good reputation among scientists but also a huge disadvantage—it was in Siberia.

  “Siberia! Couldn’t they have sent her to an institute in Moscow?”

  “I don’t have the answer to that,” said the dezhurnaya. “But I imagine everything your type are doing there is top secret, so...” she faltered. “Perhaps that’s easier to guarantee in Siberia.”

  She was probably right. Still, Moscow was a big city, and Akademgorodok was deeply provincial. And who knew whether Komikov had the same plans for him? Or if he simply wanted to shunt one of them out of the way?

  Sasha sat down. “Well that’s news,” he said. “I think I need time to let it sink in. Have you heard from Komikov?”

  “He’s probably still lying
in the hospital, organizing everything from there.”

  “My friend Misha told me Komikov’s entire staff has moved into his room,” said the sergeant. “The doctors are quite irritated.”

  “Then Komikov is only a few feet away. Volodya, can you take me to him?”

  “Give me a minute,” replied the sergeant. “I need to clear it with the comrade at the door.”

  Three minutes later the sergeant came back. He put a finger to his lips conspiratorially.

  “The soldier has agreed, if we leave a hostage here. He thinks that means you won’t dare escape, Sasha.”

  “Hostage?”

  “He means Valya.”

  The dezhurnaya nodded. “I can spare a few minutes. Off you go then.”

  Wonderful. If you knew the right people, everything was possible—even leaving quarantine.

  The sergeant led him through a door bearing the words ‘Emergency exit. Keep closed.’ They went down a narrow, unlit staircase. The sergeant stopped in front of another door. “You need to stand up straight. You can’t show any insecurity.”

  That kind of warning made it so much easier. He did up the top button of his shirt. “Let’s go,” he said.

  They entered a corridor teeming with military personnel. Doctors and nurses were having a hard time getting through—no wonder they were irritated. But at least no one paid them any attention. The sergeant led him purposefully along the corridor, as though the sergeant was his superior. Then he opened a door and they were standing in Komikov’s room.

  The colonel general was still bandaged almost entirely from head to toe. He was discussing something with a lieutenant. But when the door opened, he immediately looked up to see who’d entered. Komikov recognized him, but didn’t let it show.

  “Comrade Lieutenant, I’m sorry, but I have to interrupt our conversation briefly. Do you might waiting outside for a moment?”

  “Of course.”

  The man left and closed the door.

  Komikov smiled. “It’s nice of you to visit your old father, son.”