by Bobby Akart
Cam knelt down next to Karlov and revealed the atomizer. “Do you know what this is?”
The man shook his head violently side to side.
“A-234. Do you know what that is?”
Now Karlov was nodding vigorously up and down, his eyes pleading for mercy. Bear reached into his pocket and revealed a syringe. He showed it to Karlov as Cam continued the threat.
“We have questions for you, and all we want are answers. Understand?”
He nodded his willingness to cooperate.
“My friend will release his hand to allow you to speak. If you scream, he will inject you with a lethal dose of nerve agent that will kill you in minutes. If you cooperate, we will tie you up until someone finds you. Will you answer our questions?”
His eyes grew big and he nodded his head vigorously.
“Good,” continued Cam. Then she got to the crux of the matter. “Three years ago, you were a project manager assigned to the International Space Station. Yes?”
“Da.”
“Do you remember the incident when the communications were terminated for nine hours?”
“Da. I don’t understand the importance of—”
Cam began to snarl at her captive. “During the communications blackout, an American astronaut died. Do you remember?”
Karlov grew suddenly nervous. He began to struggle, causing Bear to clamp his hand down on his mouth again, and both American operatives shoved their tools of death into the face of the Russian.
Beads of sweat poured off the man’s forehead as he began to tremble. His eyes darted in all directions until Cam grabbed him by the jawline and hissed, “Answer my questions or die. Your choice!”
Karlov exhaled, and his body went limp. He closed his eyes momentarily and slowly nodded his head. Cam and Bear had interrogated many people over the years, and this was the telltale sign of their target giving up the fight.
Now, for the answers.
Chapter 26
Thursday, April 19
Building 9
Johnson Space Center
Houston, Texas
Gunner had a sleepless night despite having been mentally drained by the false accusations leveled against him the day before. Someone had attempted to set him up, not just for the purposes of removing him from the mission, but also for a myriad of minor drug charges. Possession of marijuana and associated paraphernalia in a federal government facility was much more complicated than elsewhere.
Between the events of the prior day and the building anticipation of his launch into space, Gunner was beginning to have doubts as to whether he would be ready. He needed to clear his head, so, before dawn, he slipped outside into the humid Texas morning and went for a run around the Johnson Space Center.
So as not to alarm Chief Rawlings, Gunner scribbled a note for his host, who’d been assigned a small two-room bungalow that was provided to visiting dignitaries. The two men debated who’d sleep on the couch that evening, an argument won by Gunner via subterfuge. The two men enjoyed a couple of beers, and when Chief Rawlings went to use the bathroom, Gunner pretended to fall asleep on the couch. He’d slept in worse places.
The run felt good and it served to clear his head. He was determined to thwart whoever was responsible for planting the contraband in his room. He was also glad that he’d found an air-conditioning duct in the men’s restroom down the hall in which to hide his satellite radio. Call it a hunch, but Gunner did not feel completely secure in his surroundings in Building 9.
He really needed to focus on his final day of training. Working with Chief Rawlings was an amazing experience, but he wouldn’t have his crutch, his mentor, to lean on while on the mission. He’d be working with astronauts who might not necessarily like him very much, and foreign crewmates from Russia and the European Space Agency.
After a fleet-footed thirty-minute run, sweat poured out of him. Invigorated by the exercise, he reentered the bungalow and found Chief Rawlings ready to go.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that without asking me first,” said the chief as he lifted a box off the floor and set it on the kitchen island. “There are restricted areas here, and the last thing I need is to have you hauled into the pokey again.”
Gunner laughed. “I wasn’t in the pokey, and truthfully, they treated me pretty well, if you consider the silent treatment a good thing.”
Chief Rawlings patted the top of the box and smiled. “I’ve got something for you.”
An official navy blue set of coveralls was folded neatly inside the box. The first thing Gunner noticed was the official patch worn by astronaut candidates.
“Res gesta per excellentiam,” mumbled Gunner, reading the Latin inscription aloud.
“That’s right,” interjected Chief Rawlings. “Achieve through excellence. It’s the standard for what we do here at NASA. For me, those words represent my commitment to a belief, a frame of mind, that I have the qualities useful to pursue our mission to develop space and reach for the stars.”
It was an emotional moment as Chief Rawlings seemed to tear up as he explained the purpose of his life’s work. He subconsciously touched his right shoulder and ran his fingers over his own Mission Operations patch.
For Gunner, it was a rite of passage. Until that moment, he was still an Air Force pilot tasked with flying an experimental aircraft. The reality was setting in that, albeit for a short period of time, he was an astronaut, like Heather.
The emotional moment got to him as well. He’d graduated from the khakis and polo shirt he’d been wearing since his arrival. He removed his sweat-soaked shorts and tee shirt, then pulled on the coveralls, zipping it up to a near perfect fit.
“I feel like one of the team now.”
“You certainly look the part,” said Chief Rawlings, with a laugh. “Before we head into the office, so to speak, we need to talk about your team. I have to make a decision this morning that will leave a lot of folks butt-hurt.”
Gunner exhaled. He knew that there was some animosity among the regular astronauts as it pertained to him. For one thing, they’d lost eleven of their friends barely a week ago in a tragic ending to a mission designed to save humanity. In a way, being on this flight and diverting IM86 was a form of revenge for those lives lost. But, also, Gunner was an outsider who hadn’t paid his dues. Becoming an astronaut was a long, arduous process, and Gunner had taken all the shortcuts to go to the head of the class.
“How are you gonna deal with it?” asked Gunner.
“Well, for one thing, I’m going to pick a team that compliments you and your limited capabilities, but who can also work together without emotional baggage.”
“Works for me. The Starhopper allows for a crew of eight. I understand that the nuclear payload requires us to bring along Russians and European astronauts. Is it gonna be an equal number of four and four?”
“Yes. Three Russians and a Frenchman who are already at the lunar outpost. They are qualified in every manner except they’ve never trained on the Starhopper. They’ll get their opportunity to view the spacecraft and get oriented on Sunday.”
“If they know nothing about the Starhopper, why do we even need them on board?”
“Stupid politics. It was the only way to get the United Nations to sign off on us sending nukes into space. They’ll sit there, observe, and—”
Then Gunner became suddenly unemotional and his demeanor stony. “They do realize we might not make it home, right? Face it, Chief. This is practically a suicide mission.”
Chief Rawlings rolled his head on his shoulders and closed his eyes. This eventuality had never been discussed between them. Gunner had to prepare himself for the worst-case scenario.
“Gunner, if you recognize it, then that’s all that matters to me. That said, choosing a crew makes my job all the more difficult. I have to call upon three astronauts from this list, potentially signing their death warrants.”
Gunner walked over to his mentor and patted him on the back. It had been an emotional m
orning for the retired astronaut, who himself had cheated death on one mission.
“Let me look at the list with you. I can at least give you the benefit of my observations.”
“Okay, we’ll pick three primary members of the crew, and a single backup who doubles as the commander of the Starship tomorrow.”
Gunner studied the names and then looked up at Chief Rawlings. “Wait, we’ve got six seats on tomorrow’s launch. This count leaves the Starship short a man.”
“That’s me,” said Chief Rawlings curtly. “I’m gonna be with you all the way until you lift off from the lunar surface, chirping in your ear and keeping your head on straight.”
“Do I have a choice?” asked Gunner with a chuckle.
“Nope.”
Chapter 27
Friday, April 20
Gunner’s Residence
Dog Island
Florida Panhandle
“Rise and shine, Major Mills! You too, Staff Sergeant Barrett!” Pop announced his arrival at dawn with a combination of vocal revelry and the aroma of iced cinnamon breakfast rolls. Cam groaned, Bear growled, and Howard simply stretched and nuzzled into Gunner’s empty bed.
Pop was relentless. He stood in the center of the large living space and shouted, “Come on, people! That means you too, Howard. Everybody, up and at ’em!”
Bear and Cam had returned from their mission just several hours before. The combination of jet lag, a stressful exit out of Crimea, and the lack of sleep made it difficult for Pop to accomplish his task.
It was a humid, breezy morning on the Gulf, as a storm front was scheduled to pass through the Panhandle later that morning. Pop had been watching the weather for two days, concerned that it might affect today’s launch.
Bear came stumbling down the stairs in his football sweats and no shoes. His size thirteen feet barely fit on the treads of the stairs as he lumbered to the main level of the Dog Island beach house.
“Staff Sergeant hungry Bear, present and accounted for, sir!”
Pop had started coffee, opting for a light roast, which was packed with caffeine. The longer coffee beans were roasted, the more caffeine was burned off. Pop suspected Cam and Bear would need the lift in order to be fully awake as Gunner lifted off.
“What time is launch?” Cam’s voice was muffled by the blanket pulled over her head.
“Eight. That’s less than two hours.”
“Huh? How about wake me when it’s less than two minutes,” she grumbled as she curled up deeper into the mess of pillows and blankets that surrounded her on the sofa. Out of respect for Gunner, she hadn’t slept in his bed last night, but she did borrow his pillows and duvet.
Bear decided to assist Pop with the wake-up call. He crouched down on one end of the sofa and began to lift it with his powerful forearms. Slowly, the sofa, with Cam in it, was being tilted upright.
“Bear,” she hissed from under the covers, “if you spill me out of this thing, I’m gonna kick your gonads into your throat. Do not doubt me on this!”
Bear let out a growl, his best impersonation of a grizzly. He continued to lift the end, causing Cam to slip toward the other side, with the next stop the white bleached-wood floor.
“That’s it!” shouted Cam as she emerged from under the covers and scrambled to gain her footing. Bear quickly dropped the sofa back into place and began to run for the kitchen, using the long table as a buffer between him and the crazed animal chasing him.
Cam picked up a plate and threatened to sling it at his head like a Frisbee. Bear ducked and covered his head, falling to his knees, as he was certain she’d do it.
The ruse worked, and Cam used her catlike reflexes to race around the table, playfully kicking her partner in the butt and thighs. To finish off the onslaught, she slapped him in the back of the head.
“I hate you,” she proclaimed as she marched off to the bathroom. Both Bear and Pop were out of breath from the melee, but managed to laugh at her feistiness.
“She’s always been like that,” said Pop, attempting to help the much larger Bear off the floor. “Boys would tease her when she was growing up, especially as a teen when she started to develop, if you know what I mean. I saw her bloody more than one nose when one of them got too touchy-feely.”
“I believe it,” said Bear as he took his first bite of Pop’s baked yummies. “She’s a brute. There’s no man who’ll ever tame that wildcat.”
Pop laughed. “Oh, I don’t know. When the right one comes along, she’ll allow him to tame her, or at least, she’ll pretend in the name of love.”
Cam returned and muscled Bear away from the cinnamon rolls. Pop encouraged them to go outside and enjoy the sunrise while he prepared a breakfast casserole recipe he’d been working on.
They each filled their coffee mugs, and Bear grabbed the entire tray of cinnamon rolls after Pop grabbed one. They made their way to their usual seats in the Adirondack chairs overlooking the Gulf of Mexico.
Cam glanced to the right and became pensive.
Bear immediately noticed her change. “Are you okay?”
She pointed to the two empty chairs to her right. “It will never be the same without both of them sitting there. Do you realize we’ve always sat in the same chairs, and Heather’s has been left empty?”
“Yeah, come to think about it, you’re right. Listen, I feel bad that we can’t tell Pop what we’ve learned. It’s not classified or anything like that.”
“Yeah, but the news will hurt him deeply, and today’s not the day. Plus, Ghost is right. Gunner, unfortunately, needs to be kept in the dark, too. He’s gonna need to have his wits about him every second of this mission. A slight mistake and, well, you know …” Cam’s voice trailed off as she set her chin on her fist. She stared at nothing in particular.
“Okay, but what do you think happens next? I mean, Ghost said leave everything to him, but I feel like we need to do something ourselves.”
“I can’t disagree, but we need to make sure we get Gunner through this first. Plus, I’ve been thinking, you know, what if?”
“What if what?” asked Bear, confused.
“Well, I did some research on the laptop on the flight home. Bear, we have to be prepared in case this thing doesn’t work.”
“Gunner will make it happen, no worries.”
“I know he will, but even if he succeeds, the planet will still get pummeled with debris, some of which could be as large as a football stadium. Those space rocks will hit us at thirty thousand miles per hour even after they’re slowed by the atmosphere.”
Bear passed the plate of cinnamon rolls to Cam, but she declined, opting instead to sip her coffee. “It’s unpredictable, and therefore, we can’t hide from it. I hate to say it, but it’ll be pure luck to avoid being crushed by parts of the asteroid.”
“I don’t even think an underground bunker will shield anyone from the impact. The craters left are enormous. What about the water, though?”
“Tsunamis?” said Bear inquisitively.
“Seventy percent of the Earth is water. The Gulf of Mexico is shallow in comparison to the oceans. If a large piece hits offshore, a wall of water could wipe out Dog Island and everything on it.”
Bear glanced over his shoulder to confirm that Pop was still in the kitchen. He was standing over the stove, scrambling eggs for the casserole. “Do you think we need to move Pop?”
“All of us—Howard, Pop, and any of Gunner’s personal effects. We’ve got less than a week to get prepared.”
Bear stood and began to pace along the deck’s railing. He looked down to the sand. “If a tsunami hits, these pilings might hold, but it’s not worth the risk. Do you have a place in mind?”
“My folks left my sister and me a cabin near Delta, Alabama. It’s not that far from Cheaha Mountain just east of Birmingham. It’s desolate and, more importantly, it’s high enough to avoid tsunamis.”
“How far from Birmingham?” asked Bear.
“Eighty miles. We’ll be able to a
void people spilling out of the city when the madness takes over. Everybody is gonna panic. Don’t you think?”
Bear’s face turned serious. “They already are.”
Pop interrupted their conversation after he turned on the television. The sun was starting to make its way skyward, and the launch of the Starship was about to lift Gunner into the heavens.
“Hey, guys, launch time is getting closer.”
The Fox News reporter was providing their viewers an update as the Starship stood proudly on the alternative launchpad employed by SpaceX for this mission.
“Yesterday, a rocket carrying the critical payload for this mission, the Starhopper, left for the Moon. Aboard a Delta 4 super heavy-lift launch vehicle, part of NASA’s Space Launch System, was the Starhopper spacecraft that will be piloted by an eight-person crew consisting of a French male astronaut; two males and one female comprising the Russian cosmonaut crew; and three American astronauts, again two males and one female.”
“Hey, they’re showing Gunner’s picture!” shouted Pop, which prompted Cam and Bear to scramble out of their chairs. Gunner had only been introduced to the media yesterday after he’d been cleared of any wrongdoing. The matter had been kept private within the Johnson Space Center, and Gunner had been shielded from interviews during the entirety of his training.
The reporter continued. “The wildcard in this mission is Major Gunner Fox, a decorated Air Force combat pilot and respected test pilot of the nation’s newest experimental aircraft. Major Fox made news in recent weeks when he piloted the new F/A XX aircraft as it disintegrated miles above the Earth’s surface. Major Fox was forced to eject, and landed safely in the Gulf of Mexico, but not before he took a harrowing trip from near the stratosphere with nothing but a parachute to stop his fall.”
Pop suggested they all grab a plate and load up his breakfast casserole, which he’d just pulled out of the oven. Even Howard lumbered out of bed, hoping to have a bonus treat in his bowl in the form of a scrambled egg.
