“Any sign of movement from our Chinese counterpart?”
Olga punched up the rear camera and brought the image up on their screen. “Nothing different. The man seems to be on vacation down there. Hasn’t left his lander from what we can tell. No heat traces anywhere near their craft. They are having him sit tight for now.”
“I wonder if they know something we don’t,” Yuri said.
“Like what?” Olga asked.
“Maybe they registered something that we missed when they attempted to land and they aborted, having their lander touchdown farther downrange.”
“All right, but then what? Sit and do nothing?”
“Well, it looked like the craft suffered some type of structural failure. He may be stranded down there, unable to take off again,” Yuri said.
“That would explain a lot. The FLIR did seem to show the craft on its side, or at least tilting heavily. It would appear that we aren’t the only ones having problems here.”
“Agreed. Get the latest data packet ready and let’s see what they want us to do up here.”
“Affirmative,” Olga replied, readying their communications packet.
Vostochny Cosmodrome
Siberia, Russia
In the near future, Day 47
* * *
“Understood. Yes, fine. Have him call me in the morning, then, when he awakens. Yes, we’ll be sure to do that. Thank you. Goodbye.” Vlad hung up the phone and looked up at his team in their ad hoc control center room at the Vostochny space base.
“Well?” Alex asked from his seat near the window, taking a sip of coffee from his cup nearby.
“Minister Osnokov will be fine. He’s still heavily sedated, but they will bring him in the morning so he can join us on our next command meeting,” Vlad said, getting up and walking over to the large windows overlooking the base’s main complex, the launch towers visible in the far distance.
Several large tanks were moving past the building, taking up positions at the edge of the base’s perimeter. “I see that our military at least is still functioning,” Alex said, watching as well from his perch near the glass windows.
“How long will they be here?” Irina asked, also looking out the windows at the large military presence that started a couple of days earlier.
“As long as it takes,” Vlad answered, pulling himself away from the window and taking a seat facing their main display panel, pushing his own coffee cup away. “The Gordust wants confirmation of their orders now that we’ve had no movement on the surface for over three hours. Moscow has set up a new command and control center at the Kremlin, and we’ll be working with them for the foreseeable future. What I want to know right now is if there is any reason why we can’t have the Gordust continue to orbit?”
“I’ve said this before,” Yosef said, looking around the table, “the cooling systems can handle the current load as long as it doesn’t exceed fifty degrees inside.” He twirled his cup around, moving it from side to side almost absentmindedly.
“What happens after that?” Irina asked, taking a bit of unusual interest in their operations, and Vlad gave her a sidelong glance.
“Well,” Yosef continued, “the same thing that probably happened to Zvesda. Systems will start to fail based on how fragile or robust their individual components are and how effective their individual cooling systems function.”
“We need to find a cause,” Vlad said, also looking around the table at his team. “I can’t speak for what Moscow had in mind with our cosmonauts on the surface, but it appears their mission resulted in catastrophic failure. If we’re to avoid the same fate a second time, we need to know what we’re dealing with.”
“Will we have a second chance?” Alex asked. “From our latest report, the Chinese are already on the surface and the Americans are almost to the moon. We have no lander ready.”
Vlad looked across the landscape at the launch tower where a newly erected Energia rocket stood ready for fueling. It only lacked a specific payload, and they had none. It wasn’t like a fully functioning lunar lander could be built from scratch in only a few days, much less weeks. They had not planned on having their one and only lander stranded on the surface of the moon. “I don’t know, Aleksey. Perhaps Moscow has a plan, but for now we celebrate our current successes,” Vlad said.
The landings on the moon were broadcast nationwide, indeed worldwide, and the video was repeated over and over on state channels as experts chimed in its historical significance. Only recently did the announcers explain that the lander was experiencing communication difficulties even though the entire mission command teams in both Moscow and Vostochny now knew the fate of their cosmonauts.
Yosef took a sip of his coffee and frowned. “Cold coffee doesn’t sit well with me.”
“I’ll heat it up for you,” Irina said, taking his cup and walking to the break room just off the main observation room where Vlad had dined with Dmitry weeks earlier.
“Should we run another scan of the cooling systems?” Alex asked.
“No, I told you, they are not the problem, and the Gordust has also checked them twice. It isn’t a lack of cooling, but rather something actively heating our craft,” Yosef said.
Vlad got up and walked to the window, looking out again. After a few seconds, he sat down at the table, putting his chin in his hands after setting his elbows on the table. The men sat in silence for a moment, lost in contemplation of their current dilemma.
The silence was broken by a lone tone of an electronic bell indicating that Irina had finished heating Yosef’s coffee. Her clacking of high heels could be heard as she approached and became visible as she entered the room, approaching Yosef from behind and gently placing the cup of reheated coffee in front of the man.
The cup steamed, and Vlad sat upright, looking at Yosef and then Alex in turn as both the other men stared at the cup of coffee.
It was Alex who broke the silence. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, eyes finally looking away from the coffee and directly at Vlad.
“You don’t think it could be that simple, do you?” Vlad voiced his thought as he stood completely upright.
“Bozhe moi. God help us,” Yosef said, taking his cup and feeling the heat.
Vlad looked at Irina. “Get our coms back up with the Gordust and get the Kremlin on the line immediately.”
“What? Why? Did something happen?” she asked, her face a look of confusion.
“We know what’s causing the heating of the Gordust and most likely the failure of the lander on the surface. We need to warn them immediately,” Vlad said.
Yosef pushed his steaming coffee away from him in disgust, and no one drank more that day.
27 America Returns
Apollo 21
On approach to the Moon
In the near future, Day 47
* * *
“Roger, Houston, over and out,” Julie Monroe said, switching off the communications channel and looking at Craig as the moon loomed in front of them, nearly fully lit and breathtakingly awesome to behold.
“Well, that’s just freaking great,” Craig complained, looking forward at his Heads-Up-Display, or HUD. “I guess it’ll prevent me from having to get that surgery.”
“What are you talking about?” Julie asked, continuing to look at her companion.
“Well, I’ll just fry my nuts out here and become sterile, no need to get a vasectomy. It’s not like we wanted more kids, but I’d prefer to have kept the family jewels intact a bit longer.”
Julie chuckled, realizing that there wasn’t anything mission related to worry about, though Craig’s face refused to convey a smile or any other indication that he was joking or speaking lightheartedly about the subject. “That’s just one issue, Craig. We still need to work out the ballistic trajectory once we loop across the South Pole. Besides, at least they had the courtesy to ask us if we wanted to continue with the mission profile or abort.”
“Hardly a legitimate question, Jul
ie,” Craig shot back, finally looking at her and taking his eyes from the HUD where their navigation data was being projected. “What else were we supposed to say? No, sorry, we’ll just loop around the moon and tuck our tails and run home? Just let the entire nation down?”
“They would have understood if we made that decision,” Julie said, her voice calmer and softer. “I mean, it’s not like every day that you find yourself being chased by a nuclear warhead.”
“Oh yeah, and that’s another thing. What good is this blasted piece of alien technology if it starts a bloody, global, thermonuclear war?” Craig asked.
Julie looked back at her radar scope and then up at her own HUD before responding. “That’s above our paygrade. Let’s just focus on the mission. Can you fly this thing to the surface or not?”
“I’ll take us there just fine,” Craig said. “You just make sure to get us in and out before that warhead arrives.”
Julie clicked on the systems status screen and checked yet again the power levels for their lunar rover. “I hope this thing operates at its maximum speed.”
“I’m not worried about our rover,” Craig said, disdain never leaving his voice. “I’m worried that the warhead will be accelerating and our mission window will shrink with us learning about this too late.”
“Yes, that would definitely rain on our parade,” Julie said, satisfied that the rover would be operational when they landed. “Have you compensated for the adjusted flight profile?”
Craig looked his readings out and nodded. “Yeah, we can burn enough to land closer and lengthen our temporal window, though the radiation levels will be higher than I’d like. Probably roast my balls but good before we land.
Julie knew that Craig was referring to the exposed piloting position on the lander once they approached the site. The lander wasn’t designed to have extensive shielding since it wasn’t supposed to approach the alien device this closely. They saved the weight of the shielding and used it for more fuel and a more robust rover package. Now they were being asked to land much closer and risk a much higher rate of radiation until they could land and be somewhat shielded by the lip of the crater near the device.
“Well, it’s not like I’m wanting this kind of exposure either, Craig,” Julie commented. “It will, however, shorten our mission time and allow us to land and return with something of a safety margin.”
“If you can ever have a safety margin when an impending atomic blast is imminent. Get the mini-sats ready for launch,” Craig said.
“They’re ready and on auto release once we reach the insertion point,” Julie said.
“Good, I’m glad our engineers rigged something up to keep us in communications while on the far side,” Craig said.
“Agreed. Are we ready for orbital insertion burn?” Julie asked, all back to business-like.
“We’re ready. Run the systems check and inform Houston. Let’s get this over with,” Craig responded.
NASA Space Center
Houston, Texas
In the near future, Day 47
* * *
“We’ve received acknowledgement that all systems are a go for lunar orbital insertion,” Lisa said from her console back in NASA’s control center. “Also, the mini communications satellites have detached and commenced their insertion burns as well.”
Rock nodded and watched the timer countdown from its display on the main screen. They would only have one shot at the proper insertion and then separation of the lander as they looped around the South Pole. Being off by even a fraction of a degree could translate to over a hundred miles off target once they came back around.
The news that both small communication satellites had also detached and successfully started their own orbital insertion burns was comforting for Rock. He had both Tom and Jeff working overtime to get the mini-birds ready as part of his mission support so that they could stay in touch with the landing team even while on the dark side of the moon.
Tom winked at Rock when he looked his way. Rock knew Tom was also pleased at the result.
Rock keyed his mike. “Are the insertion tracks on target, Tom?”
“Oh yeah, boss. We’re five by five on my little birds. They’ll be exactly where we promised them, don’t you fret none,” Tom said, a smile across his face.
Rock nodded yet again and switched over to the main communications channel with a slight glance to the observatory room perched behind him and one floor up. He couldn’t see there well, but was sure that the vice president was watching them live even now. “Houston to Blackjack, you are a go for deceleration burn in t-minus twenty seconds.”
“Roger, Houston, Blackjack is ready for burn, countdown in t-minus fifteen seconds.” Rock recognized Craig’s voice.
“Normal two-point-five second lag, Richard,” Lisa said, coming across their semi-private communications channel.
“Copy that, Lisa, just keep the radar active and up to date. I want to know the minute anything looks funky,” Rock said.
The team watched, and heard, as Craig counted down, finally hitting the ignition commands on their console and firing their braking motors to insert the Apollo 21 craft into a lunar orbit.
The radar track showed them looping and disappearing from sight as they crossed the North Pole and downward behind the moon.
“Acquiring audio signal now,” Jack came across the main channel.
“Houston, this is Blackjack, communications check, over,” Julie’s voice asked as it was bounced from their ship to earth via the portside communications satellite that was on the far west side of the moon. Just before it went behind the moon in a highly elliptic orbit, the other mini satellite would pop out from its orbit and be within the line of sight of earth and the far side of the moon at the same time. The orbital dance of the two satellites would play out like this for the next twelve hours before the gap in their orbital speeds became noticeable, and they would experience increasing periods of communication’s blackouts.
“Read you loud and clear,” Jack said. “Data feed also arriving intact.” This last reference was to the digital feed of data from the Apollo 21 ship, which included radar determination of their altitude, speed, and other various onboard system statuses.
After twenty minutes the craft began to pass the equator and fly over the southern hemisphere of the moon. “Crossing equatorial plane now,” Julie’s voice said.
“Roger, Blackjack, flight data is nominal, trajectory optimal, all systems go.” Jack continued his readout every two minutes.
“This is where we see if our calculations are correct.” Marge’s voice came across Rock’s headset on the private channel.
“I’m sure we’ll do fine. How’s the track on the Chinese missile?” Rock asked.
Marge looked at her console and then back to Rock’s. “It’s on target, and most importantly, the ETA has remained the same, t-minus ten hours, fifty-two minutes. I think we can dial that one in now.”
“Roger that, keep an eye on it, though. You never know if it has a booster pack ready to give it a bit of a push as it gets closer,” Rock said.
“Will do,” Marge replied.
Nearly fifteen more minutes had passed and the Apollo crew had gone through their checklist with Houston. Jack was the lead communications technician for the mission, but they had verified it through Lisa.
“Houston, this is Blackjack, we are ready for detachment and zero v burn. Confirm the mark.”
Rock nodded at Jack, taking the lead now for the most critical part of the mission. “Roger, Blackjack, you are ready for detaching in t-minus one minute. Standby for landing burn.”
The latest time went down to zero, and the landing craft detached. Jack jumped in to update the communication’s status. “We have direct coms and video feed on you now, Blackjack.”
“Roger, Houston, we have successfully detached. Commencing burn in three, two, one, burn.” Craig’s voice counted down.
The picture on the monitor showed the lander burn, its ou
tward thruster first to lower it below the flight path of the orbiter so that when the powerful rocket motors initiated their burn and slowed the lander, the orbiter didn’t plow into it. Instead the feed showed the orbiter suddenly seem to accelerate and fly right over the lander and quickly out of sight.
“We are on track. Radar confirms altitude at plus seventy-eight miles and dropping,” Craig said.
“Keep them on radar,” Rock said, flipping his coms channel to the mission team. Everyone had heard his orders, and Jack and Marge nodded.
The sidebar on the main screen showed the lander falling until it reached an altitude of forty-seven miles and the relative velocity had literally come to zero on the lateral scale, but the ship was falling quickly.
“Gyro burn now, Houston,” Craig called out, indicating that their many positioning thrusters had turned the ship from a rear-first approach and tilted the bottom of the craft to a forty-five-degree angle facing to the west as the craft would use the very slight rotation of the moon to approach the alien device from the retrograde side, much the same as the Russian space ship station.
“Here’s where you earn your pay, Tom,” Rock said, flipping the team channel again. “Time to see if those vectored thrust motors work as you intended them.”
Rock noticed that Lisa actually looked back over her shoulder at Tom’s console, and he even caught Marge sneaking a glance out of the corner of her eye.
Rock saw Tom calmly hit his push-to-talk button. “No worries, Rock. We got twelve degrees of arc on the vertical thrust and just over six on the lateral ones. That old lady is right in the middle of her flight path; we won’t hardly have to use the vectored thrust.”
“We’ll see. Keep their path on radar and monitor for any changes. We only get one shot at this,” Rock said.
“Houston, this is Blackjack. That was one hell of a move—felt the G-forces but good up here. We are now on target for lateral approach. How do we look on your radar?” Craig asked, his voice sounding more than relieved.
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