Acid Sky

by Mark Anson

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘Well, if they’ve found anything, maybe they don’t want to let us know.’

  ‘You mean they’re trying to lull us into a false sense of security?’

  ‘Yes. Exactly that. They want us to think that there’s nothing untoward coming up in the initial findings report.’

  ‘Well, if they did have any concerns, why conceal them? Why not raise them?’

  Donaldson turned his chair back to his desk. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Sir, I was with the investigation team every day they were here, and I saw every piece of data and evidence that they gathered. The data alone went back months. They took copies of all our maintenance records, and I mean all. There isn’t anything else that they could gather.’ The Frigate outside had vanished from sight, and Shaffer turned away from the window. ‘With respect sir, I think you’re looking for problems where there aren’t any.’

  ‘In this job, you have to!’ The captain slammed his hand down on the desk, glaring back at him. ‘You know USAC’s attitude over any accident. If there’s even the slightest suspicion that procedures weren’t followed – followed to the letter – or if some additional action wasn’t taken that should have been, then that’s it for the commanding officer.’ He waved his hand dismissively. ‘And anyone else that they feel like replacing, while they’re at it.’

  ‘There is nothing more to find,’ Shaffer said flatly, coming back round to sit down. He faced the captain across the desk. ‘They took everything. Anything factual would be in the report. The rest … is down there, beyond anyone’s reach.’ He jabbed a finger towards the planet’s surface.

  ‘I hope you’re right.’

  ‘I am.’ Shaffer’s voice was emphatic.

  Donaldson stared long and hard at the younger man. He knew that on the face of it, Shaffer was right. But Donaldson’s long experience with USAC Command fed the uncertainties in his mind. Finally he sat back in his seat. ‘Okay. That’s all.’

  ‘If that’s it, sir, there’s something you can help me with.’

  ‘Oh?’ The captain raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Donahue.’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘I want her reassigned.’

  ‘What?’ Donaldson’s voice was incredulous.

  ‘I want her reassigned. She’s been asking questions about my people.’

  Donaldson glared angrily back at Shaffer. Who the hell did he think he was, asking him to reassign one of his own officers! But if the medical officer was going around asking questions, they had to be careful. ‘What sort of things has she been asking?’ he asked sharply.

  ‘Questions about things that she doesn’t need to know about. What my people do is none of her business.’

  The expression on Donaldson’s face was unreadable. He said slowly: ‘I can’t request one of my officers – especially one in the Medical Corps – to be reassigned without good reason.’

  ‘If you need one, I’ll find one.’

  ‘Do you think she’s found anything?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I’m sure as hell not going to sit on my ass and wait to find out.’

  Donaldson sat silent for a long moment, then gave the smallest of nods. Sensing that there was no more to be said, Shaffer got up to leave. He got as far as the door before Donaldson said: ‘Wait.’

  Shaffer stopped and turned round.

  ‘Donahue. She’s very well connected in the Medical Corps. Whatever you find – whatever you do – go carefully. I can’t protect you if she goes over my head.’

  ‘Sir.’

  When Shaffer had gone, closing the door behind him, the captain sat for a long time, thinking. The request for Donahue to be reassigned was ridiculous, but if she had found something … His sense of unease, which had been briefly assuaged by Shaffer’s assertions, returned to trouble him, and he picked up the report again, flicked through it. It was the usual stuff for a factual report – descriptions of the accident, the aircraft, maintenance records, landing aids in use, weather conditions, details of the pilot and her experience.

  As he turned the pages, he came across the biographical information on the pilot, and found himself staring at a full-length photograph of Keller. She was in her dress uniform, seated for a portrait shot, with a US flag in the background. Her eyes looked back at him from the page. She looked young, bold and beautiful.

  Donaldson did not move for a long time, and then very slowly, he reached out his hand, and touched the image of her face in the picture.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Shortly before 14:00 that afternoon, Clare reported to the aircrew ready room, in the starboard lower corridor. She had already collected her flight equipment from the ship’s stores, and found an empty locker with her name on it waiting for her. The room would have been familiar to any naval pilot on Earth; the same rows of comfortable padded chairs, a raised area for presentations at the front, weather displays on the walls, and the inevitable notices and reminders pinned to boards. Nobody else was around. She was already wearing her flight suit, and she shoved the other items of equipment that she wouldn’t need on this flight into her locker.

  Shaffer breezed in after her, carrying his flight helmet. ‘Afternoon Foster, I see you’ve already made yourself at home. Got your helmet? Okay, just got to let people know – where we’re going …’ He punched the details of the flight into the operations log, and scribbled their names onto a whiteboard. ‘I’ll do the briefing once we’re aboard.’

  Clare followed him out of the ready room and across the corridor to the main airlock into the hangar. He stepped inside the airlock and Clare followed, pulling on her flight helmet. Shaffer helped her attach the reserve air bottle to her flight suit, and checked that the gauge was reading full.

  ‘I’m sure you know this already, but I need to remind you not to take your flight helmet off for any reason beyond this point. You can open the faceplate once we’re in the aircraft and it’s pressurised, but keep it closed at all other times. The main hangar’s always open to the atmosphere. Right, are we all okay?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Right, close up.’ Shaffer lowered his faceplate, and Clare followed. There was a brief hiss of air as the reserve air supply took over. She took a couple of deep breaths to check the airflow, and gave the okay sign to Shaffer.

  ‘Cycling airlock.’ Shaffer’s voice came from his helmet speaker as he operated the airlock controls, and the console showed the familiar progression of lights as the air emptied and was replaced by the Venusian atmosphere. Finally the status display glowed red, and Shaffer opened the inner door and they stepped out into the main hangar.

  It was cold out here after the warmth of the Langley’s corridors, and Clare shivered even in her insulated flight suit as the activity and noise of the main hangar surrounded her. Deck handlers swarmed everywhere, carrying power cables and chocks, peering inside opened engines, checking tyres and landing gear. The doors at the front of the hangar stood open, and the roar of air from the open elevator pit almost drowned out the whine and rattle of impact wrenches, squealing of tyres and the heavy clatter of hold-down chains. It could have been a scene from some aircraft carrier on Earth, except that everyone was wearing facemasks and breathing equipment, and this hangar was suspended sixty-one kilometres up in the sky.

  A Frigate aircraft rolled past, pulled by one of the deck tugs. She followed Shaffer as he ducked under its tail, and stepped over the maze of power cables and compressed air hoses that snaked across the hangar floor.

  ‘Here we are.’ He patted the side of another Frigate parked near the centre of the hangar. ‘Callsign Houseboat Zero Two. Come with me and we’ll do the walkround.’

  The aircraft was one of the eight Frigate 200s on board the Langley, and seemed tiny after the spaceplane. It was a high-wing design, with twin turbofan engines mounted in podded nacelles below the wings. The outer sections of the long wings were folded over the aircraft’s back to save space in the hangar.
Clare had flown a modified version of the aircraft on Earth, during her training for this posting, but it had been some months ago. She listened carefully as Shaffer went round, showing her all the things that Clare should be examining, as well as some unique aspects of its design.

  ‘We need very high levels of reliability here,’ he said, peering into the left engine. ‘Every critical system – engines, fuel, flying controls – has multiple redundant backups, and the aircraft has excellent gliding characteristics in the event of a total engine failure, so that you can make it back to the carrier. You can even jettison the engine pods in an emergency, to reduce weight and extend the glide range.’

  They inspected the engines, the flight controls, the landing gear, the arresting hook, and the condition of all the instrument ports, before Shaffer was satisfied. Finally, he ducked into the open boarding hatch and climbed aboard.

  The interior of the Frigate was designed to carry two flight crew and up to twelve passengers, or a tonne and a half of freight, in the cabin behind. In an emergency, jump seats could be pulled out that allowed an extra four passengers to be squeezed into the cramped cabin. Clare closed the hatch behind them and made her way past the front row of passenger seats into the cockpit. Shaffer had taken the right-hand seat, leaving the commander’s position for her. While she sat down and adjusted her seat, he selected the deck frequency and called the deck handlers:

  ‘Deck Ops, Houseboat Zero Two, radio check and clear power up.’

  ‘One Four, read you five by five, clear power up.’

  ‘One Four.’ He glanced across at Clare. ‘You want to do this?’

  ‘Sure.’ Clare tried to remember the startup procedure from when she had trained back on Earth. Master switch – Shaffer had already turned that on. Ground power – selected. Pitot heat – on. And so on and so on, slowly bringing the aircraft to life and preparing it for flight. She wasn’t familiar with the pressurisation controls, as these were different from back on Earth, but Shaffer helped her through that, and after a few minutes he said that she could open her faceplate, as the air was now breathable.

  ‘Just make sure the hatch is locked before you open your helmet,’ he added, tapping the door control panel. ‘It has been known for deck handlers to try to open the hatch when the aircraft’s pressurised.’

  Clare nodded and unlatched her faceplate and slid it open. Shaffer’s manner was more abrupt than Hartigan’s had been, and she was nervous of making a mistake. He was very thorough, and it took them some time to get through the checklist. By the time he called for the tug to take them forwards on to the deck elevator, she felt confident that the Frigate was completely airworthy, and the checkout had reminded her where all the controls were. It all helped, and she relaxed somewhat.

  The aircraft quivered as the deck handlers attached the tow bar to the nose gear, and a few moments later, the deck handler signalled for the parking brake to be released, and the tug started to pull the Frigate forwards across the hangar floor towards the deck elevator. Stains from oil and hydraulic fluid leaks had run down the white walls of the elevator pit, and soot marks from engines gave it a dirty look.

  The patch of blue sky above the elevator pit came into view, and a deck handler disconnected the tug and signalled for the hold down clamps to be engaged. The clamps went in with a reassuring thump, locking the aircraft to the elevator. The roaring of air above the open elevator pit changed as the hangar doors closed behind them, altering the acoustics of the pit.

  They went through the engine start sequence, and once both engines were running, the deck handler walked away from the aircraft with a wave, and stepped off the edge of the elevator platform. Shaffer reached up to the overhead panel and operated the switch to spread the wings. They unfolded with a whine of actuators and he waited until they had locked in place. They went through the rest of the pre-takeoff checks while they were in the elevator pit, including checking all the controls for full and free movement. Shaffer took a good look all round, then called the tower:

  ‘Tower, Houseboat Zero Two, engines running, on internal power, request elevator raise.’

  ‘Houseboat Zero Two, raising elevator. Report ready for takeoff.’

  ‘Zero Two.’

  With a jerk, the elevator started to move upwards, and the light grew around them as the aircraft rose up to the flight deck. The deck spoiler that deflected the airflow over the elevator pit retracted as they drew close to the deck, and the noise of the wind erupted round them.

  The Frigate quivered in the gale as the elevator stopped and locked in place. In the small aircraft, Clare felt horribly exposed – the carrier’s deck and the expanse of blue sky seemed to stretch all around her, and she could feel the aircraft trying to fly, struggling against the grip of the hold down clamps.

  ‘Maintain a slight forward pressure on the stick,’ Shaffer reminded her.

  Clare pushed the stick forwards, and the Frigate stopped shaking and felt more secure.

  ‘Okay …’ Shaffer checked the instruments one last time, and glanced round the cockpit. ‘You ready?’

  ‘Sure.’ Clare gripped the stick with her left hand and placed her right hand on the thrust levers.

  ‘Zero Two, ready for takeoff.’

  ‘Houseboat Zero Two, clear takeoff. Straight ahead after takeoff heading two seven five, climb to six one five and left turn into circuit, stay in circuit, call when ready for descent.’

  Shaffer read the clearance back, and glanced over to Clare. ‘Okay, takeoff power.’

  Clare pushed the thrust levers forward and held them there. There was a moment’s pause while the turbofans spooled up, then a rising whine as the engines gobbled in the air. The Frigate shook, straining against the hold down clamps.

  ‘Full power.’

  Shaffer reached forward and gripped a handrail on the side of the control console, and with his other hand retracted the wing spoilers and flicked on the landing lights, signalling that they were ready to go. There was a brief pause, then suddenly they were thrown back in their seats as the clamps released.

  The aircraft shot forward and upwards, and for a moment Clare was disoriented, then her training took over and she pushed the nose down to stay at the optimum climbout angle. The Frigate gathered speed quickly, and the end of the flight deck rushed past below them, leaving the aircraft suspended in the blue sky, with the cloud deck far below. She flicked her helmet sun visor down against the glare.

  ‘Positive climb,’ Shaffer reported, looking all around them for other aircraft.

  ‘Gear up.’

  Shaffer moved the landing gear selector to the UP position, and watched as the gear position indicators showed the gear in transit, then went out as it locked up and stowed. The roar of air outside lessened as the doors closed, and the Frigate accelerated into the climb. Clare held it there until they hit 61,500 metres, then reduced power and banked into a 180° left turn that took them back alongside the carrier on its port side.

  ‘Not like the simulator, is it?’ Shaffer said.

  ‘No sir.’ Clare had done this countless times in the simulator, and in a Frigate back on Earth from a fixed runway, but the sensations that washed over her now were utterly unexpected; seeing the carrier below her had made her realise just how small they were in this vast sky, and how vulnerable they were. There was nowhere else to land, and no sea to ditch in if they couldn’t make it back to the carrier.

  They flew two circuits round the carrier in a left-hand racetrack pattern, going through the landing drills until Clare felt confident, before Shaffer called the tower:

  ‘Tower, Zero Two, in circuit abeam, request descent and landing.’

  ‘Zero Two, clear descent, report when downwind.’

  ‘Zero Two.’ Shaffer looked across at Clare. ‘Okay, you take it from here, I’ll remind you at each stage.’

  Clare opened the speed brakes and reduced power, and took them into a descending left turn into the downwind leg.

  ‘That’s good. D
on’t forget the hook.’ Clare nodded and operated the control, and the arresting hook under the Frigate’s tail lowered, ready to catch the waiting wire.

  ‘Zero Two, downwind,’ Shaffer reported to the tower.

  ‘Zero Two, you are number one for landing. Report visual and fuel state.’

  ‘Zero Two, carrier in sight, fuel state is three decimal eight tonnes.’ Shaffer glanced across to Clare, watching as she descended towards two hundred metres above the carrier.

  ‘Landing checklist,’ she called. They ran through the items quickly, Shaffer reading out each item as it came up on one of the displays. As she confirmed the last item, her heart started to pound; the landing was very close now. Shaffer glanced out of the side window, watching their position relative to the carrier.

  ‘Get ready to turn – wait – now.’

  Clare pulled the stick over, and banked the Frigate into the final turn. She maintained the bank angle, keeping the rate of descent constant, and rounded out of the turn with the carrier dead ahead.

  ‘That’s very nice. Now just fly this altitude until you intercept the glideslope.’

  Clare didn’t respond; she was too focused on the carrier ahead and on scanning her instruments.

  ‘Got it.’ The flight display showed the glideslope capture. A quick glance forward and she could see the carrier coming closer.

  ‘Zero Two, you are on glideslope, your fuel state three decimal eight. Landing system lock, clear to land, release hook and hold for instructions when down.’

  ‘Zero Two.’ Shaffer released the transmit. ‘Call the ball when you’re established.’

  Clare nodded. She couldn’t see it yet, and the Frigate was pitching and heaving in the turbulent air behind the carrier, unlike the spaceplane, which had been rock steady all the way in. She found herself having to move the thrust levers constantly to keep on speed and on the glideslope. Then suddenly, she could see the ball, its orange eye looking back up the glideslope and into her own. She thumbed her transmit.

  ‘Zero Two, ball, fuel state three decimal seven, established.’