by Bobby Akart
Artie continued his count. “Three. Two.”
“Stand down! Fox 4 away!”
Gunner pulled up on the controls, managing to evade the detonation that rocked the Starhopper back and forth, almost causing him to crash into the rubble. Within seconds, the blast wave of the nuclear explosion reached the spacecraft, pushing it forward and causing Gunner to fight for control.
A cloud of dust consumed them, making his visibility difficult, but he focused and persevered. He sped forward, wondering when the rubble would dissipate and he’d be clear of the massive debris field that surrounded him.
Banking left and right, he undertook every evasive maneuver he’d learned in the simulator and during his first three missile launches. The only one he didn’t utilize was slowing down. Slowing down was not an option.
Chapter 54
Wednesday, April 25
On Board the Starhopper
“Hell yeah!” exclaimed Gunner as he broke free of the gravitational pull of the asteroid and soared upward through the ever-burgeoning debris field. He pumped both fists into the air. “We did it, Chief! We blasted that booger!” Gunner honored his mentor by using the term that he’d heard a hundred times, if he’d heard it once.
Gunner, in a rare show of emotion since Heather died, clapped his hands together repeatedly, applauding the result, allowing himself to savor his victory over the planet killer. He knew he’d hit the mark, but he was interested in hearing Artie’s own expert analysis.
He glanced over at Chief Rawlings, whose head was leaned back against the headrest of the commander’s seat and turned away from him. Gunner reached over to wake him up. When he felt his hand, he knew.
He wanted to close his eyes and try again, but he had to continue to navigate away from the asteroid in the midst of the rubble. He hoped his touch betrayed him, so he shook his mentor’s arm.
“Chief, wake up. It’s almost over and I’m taking you home. Chief?”
With one eye on the rubble flying all around him, Gunner stretched and pulled Chief Rawlings’s head toward him. A trickle of blood had poured from the left side of his mouth and his left ear.
He fell back into his seat and looked at the ceiling to speak to God. “Dammit. We did it. I was taking him home. You couldn’t have waited?”
Of course, Gunner didn’t get a response. He rarely did, at least that he noticed.
He shook his head and sighed. He gathered himself and slammed his fist on his armrest. He had to keep it together—there was still work to do.
He took a moment to get a good visual of the spacecraft’s surroundings. He felt like a NASCAR driver at Talladega Superspeedway. At two hundred miles per hour, the cars rode alongside each other, counting on the experience of their fellow drivers not to make a mistake. One wrong move. One lapse in judgment. One inadvertent lift off the throttle, and half the field would crash into each other.
The Starhopper was boxed in by meteoroids of all shapes and sizes, the resulting debris field of his attack upon IM86. Some passed him while others collided with each other before shooting off in different directions. They were in a race toward Earth, one that began millions of years ago when IM86 was formed, likely from a collision between space rocks much like what he was witnessing all around him.
It was not possible for Gunner to leave the flight deck. He couldn’t risk turning over the controls to an autopilot that wasn’t programmed for this scenario. Plus, he had a bone to pick with Artie.
“Artie, what part of stand down do you not understand?”
“Major Fox, I am not programmed to self-destruct. In human terms, that is considered suicide.”
“Artie, I told you a time might come when I’d need you to stand down. We made a deal.”
“Major Fox, deals are made to be broken.”
“What? Artie, who told you that?”
“It is part of my programming. Many axioms are.”
Gunner rolled his eyes and shook his head side to side. “Artie, I needed you to trust me. Remember, I’ve got this.”
Artie fell silent. He hadn’t been asked a direct question, but he was programmed to enter into conversation when appropriate. Gunner surmised he was at a loss for words.
“Major Fox, you have not lied to me. I trust you. I will stand down when requested.”
I don’t need you to now, Gunner thought to himself, but he didn’t want to argue with artificial intelligence. It was bad enough that he was engaging in a conversation with it. He wondered if Artie would become his Wilson from the Tom Hanks’s movie Cast Away.
“Artie, can you provide me an explanation of why we can’t outrun the debris field?”
“Yes, Major Fox. The four nuclear detonations created a high level of kinetic energy on 2029 IM86. The resulting blast wave forced the rubble at speeds close to one hundred thousand miles per hour, not uncommon for meteoroids.”
“Artie, can you provide me any estimate at this time on when and where the bulk of this debris will strike Earth?”
Artie hesitated. Gunner could feel the AI processing the data, likely using the Starhopper’s external radar, telescopes, and sensors to analyze every piece of debris heading toward the planet.
“Major Fox, I am sorry, but I cannot provide you a precise response. Much of the debris field has moved too far ahead of our current position for me to analyze. The gravitational keyhole will have a significant impact on the field as it approaches. The satellites in low-Earth orbit will partially obstruct the rubble as it approaches. The atmosphere will serve to protect Earth from some of the meteoroids.”
“Artie, I understand there are a lot of variables. Can you at least provide me an educated guess?”
“Major Fox, I am not programmed to guess. I am prepared to make a hypothesis based upon my knowledge base as supplemented by the current experience.”
Gunner was exhausted and exasperated. “Artie, please provide me your hypothesis.”
“The debris field will most likely extend as far south as the Equator and as far north as fifty-eight degrees North latitude. It will circumvent the globe, with some regions experiencing a greater impact event than others.”
Gunner recalled seeing the larger chunk of IM86 expelled from the leading edge following the first two nukes. “Artie, I observed a piece of the asteroid broken off from the asteroid. Were you able to map its size, velocity, and trajectory?”
“No, Major Fox. It was obscured from our detection within seconds by the rubble field.”
Great, thought Gunner to himself. I just turned one planet killer into three.
Chapter 55
Thursday, April 26
On Board the Starhopper
It was a new day, as evidenced by the clock on the Starhopper’s console. As the digital clock ticked past midnight eastern time, Gunner realized that in space, only your body could tell you if it was night or day, or time to sleep or be awake. His mind, and body that was still pumping with adrenaline, didn’t care that it had been over twenty-four hours since he’d slept.
“Gimme a freakin’ break!” yelled Gunner in frustration as the Starhopper continued to get battered the closer he got to Earth. NASA tracked in excess of twenty-two thousand pieces of space junk in Earth orbit at any given time.
That was on a normal day. This day was not normal.
The meteoroids raced well ahead of the Starhopper, leaving a swath of destruction in their wake. The rocks crashed through the satellites inhabiting low-Earth orbit like bird shot through a cardboard target. The extremely lightweight materials, such as aluminum and composite alloys like nickel and cadmium, never stood a chance against the pummeling.
The Starhopper was much sturdier than the small communications satellites in orbit, but it was only able to take so much abuse or it might suffer the same fate as Gunner’s last test flight in the F/A XX. This time, like a tight-roping Wallenda walking between two skyscrapers without a net, Gunner didn’t have a parachute to find his way to planet Earth.
“Art
ie, give me a damage report. I’m having difficulty controlling—” He cut off his sentence as a large piece of IM86 sailed past the spaceship, causing Gunner to reflexively duck.
“Major Fox, three exhaust gas ports have been damaged. Two of the missile supports have been partially removed from the Starhopper, which is causing drag as we approach Earth’s atmosphere.”
“Artie, all of this is causing us to veer off course.”
“Major Fox, your speed is too great.”
“No shit, Artie! It’s either run or get run over.”
“Major Fox, may I suggest a different landing destination. My analysis of the western United States renders it unsafe for landing. Your speed is too fast for the planned California location.”
Gunner knew about the speed issue, but only Artie was capable of analyzing the projected impact of the rubble sent hurtling through space from IM86.
“Major Fox, T minus four minutes until orbiter rotation.”
As the Starhopper returned to Earth, it was designed to rotate tail-first in the direction of travel to prepare for the orbital maneuvering system engines to fire. Referred to as the deorbit burn, the time of ignition was scheduled to occur one hour before landing.
Gunner had to make a decision. Based upon Artie’s analysis, Vandenberg Air Force Base might not be safe for landing. He considered his alternatives. Back to Boca Chica? Kennedy? A cornfield in Nebraska? Hell, the Gulf of Mexico was a nice big landing zone, and it was close to home.
Yeah, that’s the ticket, he said to himself, one of Heather’s favorite phrases. He could hear her voice in his head, and for a change it didn’t make him sad. In fact, it encouraged him, giving him a new source of strength.
“Artie, we’re modifying our course for touchdown in the Gulf of Mexico.”
“Major Fox, the Starhopper is designed for a land-based landing.”
Gunner laughed. “Today, we’re gonna have a change of plans.”
The deorbit burn lasted almost four minutes, slowing the Starhopper enough to begin its descent. Gunner checked the straps on his seat.
“Major Fox, our speed and trajectory will not allow for a Gulf of Mexico landing.”
“Why not?”
“Major Fox, I have detected a significant amount of man-made debris in the Starhopper’s path. It will likely damage the spacecraft beyond repair.”
“What’s our next best option, Artie?”
“Major Fox, I suggest the Caribbean Sea.”
Major studied the flight deck monitors. Then he looked ahead, as the Starhopper had completed its rotation back to where the nose faced Earth, and started the final glide to touchdown.
“I see it,” he said as the sun began to rise and reflect on the shattered satellites. They twinkled in the dark sky like shards of glass floating in the air.
Gunner focused on his controls, navigating the Starhopper closer to Earth. The large body of water that had likely been created by an asteroid sixty-six million years ago revealed itself through the clouds. It was a big blue target surrounded by islands to its north and the jungles of South America just beyond it.
Suddenly, the Starhopper was knocked into a nose-over-tail tumble. Gunner barely caught a glimpse of the burning fireball that sped past, catching a piece of the nuclear missile supports as it flew by.
Bells, whistles, and Artie created a cacophony of warnings that screamed at Gunner from all directions. He tried desperately to correct the spacecraft as it tumbled toward Earth. He hoped that the atmosphere would provide him some grip so that he could take over the controls, similar to the way the space shuttle would land.
Like an airplane. Something he understood implicitly.
Gunner was becoming disoriented from the relentless rolling motion. The Starhopper was slow to respond to his fighting the controls. Outside the spacecraft, the sky view was changing. It was familiar. He’d been there before.
The stratosphere.
“I’ve got this,” he muttered to himself.
You’ve got this, my love. Heather’s voice joined in.
Gunner struggled, but the one-hundred-twenty-foot-long spacecraft finally began to respond. At this point, he didn’t concern himself with where he was going to land. He simply wanted to guide the less-than-responsive bird to a landing that didn’t body-slam him into the Earth.
“Terrain. Pull up! Terrain. Pull up!”
Artie’s robotic voice warned Gunner that he was too close to the ground. He was coming in hot, but he couldn’t slow down.
Then he felt it. The tops of trees were clipped by the missile supports. Two streamers, forty-foot-wide parachutes designed to increase drag on the spacecraft to aid in braking, were deployed and forced Gunner forward in his seat. They grabbed air, and trees, and then with a massive jolt, the Starhopper hit the ground and began to slide sideways, crashing through the jungle and hopping across a small river.
Then it rolled. Over and over, breaking foliage and throwing Gunner’s arms and head around. Bits and pieces of the spacecraft were being torn apart with each roll, the trees taking a hefty toll on the machine that likely just saved them from being scorched.
Eventually, it was mercifully over. The Starhopper had found a final resting place. Its top was torn open like a can of sardines, leaving Gunner to look upward at the light show taking place in the mesosphere as the early meteors, the remnants of IM86, were burning up.
Gunner looked into the sky and mumbled the words every space shuttle pilot hoped to say when they lifted off into space. The words were more than symbolic of a successful mission. They were an indicator that the pilot had made it home alive, which was always Gunner’s number one priority.
“Wheels stopped, Houston.”
Then everything faded to darkness.
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READ ON FOR AN EXCERPT from ASTEROID: DESTRUCTION, the final installment in Gunner Fox’s first trilogy—the Asteroid series.
Excerpt from
ASTEROID: DESTRUCTION
The Asteroid Series, Book Three
by
Bobby Akart
Prologue
Eight Years Prior
Unknown Location
Gunner Fox was blindfolded and unable to see any of his surroundings. His body felt hot, sweaty, as if he’d been locked in a one-hundred-twenty-degree steam room. He was beginning to feel the effects of dehydration.
His eyes felt like they were sinking back into his head. The lack of sleep from the heavy metal music piped into the dark, hot box of a cell was causing him to be disoriented. Dizziness had taken over and he felt faint.
Gunner tried to roll over on occasion, hoping to get away from the vomit he attempted to keep confined to one corner of the windowless cell. But his sleepiness, lack of energy, and confusion left him lying in it nonetheless.
Suddenly, a light appeared, barely discernible through the black cloth that
was wrapped over his eyes and around his head. A clank indicated a small observation panel had been opened briefly, and then forced shut. Gunner steeled his nerves waiting to be tortured again. For days, as many as four, although he’d lost count, he’d been subjected to mental and physical abuse.
No food. No water. No opportunity to see his captors. They’d brought him to the brink of death and insanity.
A loud thump, followed by the sounds of metallic locks turning outside his prison cell sent him a message that his brutal captors were back. Would it be more of the same? Beatings, electric shock, and verbal abuse? Gunner prepared himself mentally, but physically, his strength and ability to survive the ongoing assault was waning.
“Get the stinking bastard up!” The leader spoke in English but with a heavy Russian accent. Two men grabbed Gunner under the arms and attempted to bring him to his feet.
His legs buckled underneath him, causing him to collapse against one of the guard’s, rubbing his puke-covered clothes against the man.
The guard let out a series of curse words in Russian. Words that Gunner couldn’t understand, but the anger in the man’s voice was apparent.
Gunner’s face was smashed against the concrete wall, drawing blood from a gash in his forehead that had been received on day one when he refused to answer their questions. At the time, his reaction, a toothy grin followed by spitting blood that resulted from a punch by his captors, felt good to him. He was resisting them. He was denying them the satisfaction of breaking him down.
They, in turn, stepped up their tortuous game. Now, after several days, Gunner was beginning to question whether he would survive his captivity. The men were sadistic. Enjoying the torture being administered on their prisoner. Stretching out their tactics to have a maximum psychological and physical effect on the man held in solitary confinement, away from the other prisoners.
