With the ISS out of contact, procedure dictated that they go for the manual glide landing at Kennedy. Yet it wasn't ideal, and only added to the unspoken tension filling the tight spaces aboard the Ares. Per standard landing protocol, all four of them donned their fireproof pressure suits as a precaution for such a dangerous reentry.
No one said it, and no one had to; decorum was maintained just as it had been for the entire mission. In the two-plus months leading up to their arrival back to Earth, the crew still had been unable to reacquire vocal contact with Mission Control. Whatever the problem was, each passing day had made it more likely that it was on the ship, not in Houston. Regardless, the time for fixes had almost run out; it would just have to be sorted out on the ground. Their priority now was getting there.
"Final systems check is complete, Houston," Chris reported. "Preparing to engage manual reentry sequence. Fire stabilizers."
At these words, Terry flipped a switch from his seat just behind Chris. The young pilot's short, lean body was complemented by a black crew cut and eyes that were always bright.
Chris grabbed a pair of handles that moved like joysticks. His movements corresponded with tiny thrusters designed to expel just enough thrust to affect the ship's orientation. With practiced movements, he used the controls to null the rotation of the ship, angling its nose straight toward Earth. The blue planet filled the window.
The four of them took a moment to right themselves now that the gravity provided by the ship's turning was gone. It was notoriously hard to determine up or down in zero gravity, and the strange internal sensations it caused could wreak havoc on the human body's sense of balance, even for trained astronauts.
Trisha, in her seat beside Chris up front, moved to switch off the VOX button.
"No, leave it on," Burke ordered, wistfully cocking an eyebrow. "It's the last time we'll ever use it."
She didn't reply, returning to her console.
"You know, Trish . . " Terry called from his second-row seat, a little too loudly. They all knew this tone of voice; it was Terry's way of trying to relieve tension during an awkward silence. "If Paul didn't wait for you back home, I'll be happy to track him down and kick his-"
"I appreciate the sentiment, Terry," Trisha interrupted him. Her jaw had jutted out before he was halfway through with his sentence. This had always been her least favorite subject to discuss on the mission. "Right now, all I'm focused on is getting us home safely," she replied in a professional tone, her head lingering a little closer to the VOX control.
Terry leaned over to Owen, who was beside him in the ship's second row of seats. "I really don't think he waited," he whispered.
Owen's eyebrows lifted marginally as he considered the notion. The specialist's large frame was offset by unruffled African features, a dark bald head, prescription glasses that covered his eyes, and an even-keeled expression that rarely betrayed emotion. "Statistically speaking, it is improbable that a male of breeding age would suppress his hormonal drive for more than two years. But then, I'm not telling you anything you don't already know, am I, Terry?"
Trisha snorted.
Terry ignored him, pressing on. "Tell us again, Trish, about how Paul asked you to marry him the night before we left for Mars, and you said ... what was it again?"
Trisha cleared her throat in a pointed sort of way, but Terry didn't seem to notice. "It was something like `Not now' or Ask me again when I get back,' wasn't it? I love that story," he said with fondness.
"Terry .. " Chris began.
"No, seriously!" Terry defended himself. "It's romantic! Like an old movie. Like Gone With the Wind or Titanic."
"Weren't both of those about doomed romances?" Trisha asked without looking at him.
"Oh, sorry, yeah ..." Terry replied, his enthusiasm squashed. "What about you, Commander?" Terry piped up again while he checked over his own console. The title of commander was honorary; no one could remember if it had been started by the press or by the crew. All NASA astronauts were considered civilians, regardless of any past military experience, but it seemed fitting for such a historic mission. Even though Chris commanded the mission, he didn't encourage the title's use.
"Beech's got his wife and kid," Terry continued. "Trisha .s future happiness is, well, pretty much dangling by a thread-sorry, Trish. And the various and sundry affections I'll be receiving go without saying." He smiled, relishing the thought. "But I don't remember you ever mentioning anything you're looking forward to getting back to, Chris."
Chris cast a momentary glance to Trisha at his side. She didn't return the look, too busy fussing over her controls, readying for reentry. He turned his gaze straight ahead, pushing all other thoughts aside.
"Mr. Beechum, prepare to uncouple the command module," said Burke authoritatively.
Owen had opened his mouth to respond an affirmative, when Terry pointed excitedly at the forward windows.
"Hey, what the-!" he shouted.
Everyone looked up to let their eyes gaze out the windows into ...
Nothing.
The entire view was black. No Earth, no stars, no anything.
Chris' breath caught in his throat. There, out beyond the nose of their ship, something seemed to be swirling, churning in the darkness.
"What ... what's going on?" stammered Terry.
Owen said nothing. Trisha sat with her mouth agape. Chris felt his mind go as empty and blank as the darkness into which he stared. He couldn't take his eyes from the windows. It was utterly void; the stars had vanished.
"Beech?" asked Chris, hoping for an opinion, an analysis, anything.
Owen hesitated, which in and of itself was alarming. "Well, I uh ... Commander, stars can't just disappear," he said slowly. "With the simplest answer most often being the right one-there must be a problem with the windows."
Terry didn't hesitate. "Right, so who threw a big space blanket over the ship, then?"
Chris was about to tell Terry to stow the jokes when the onboard lights flickered out and every monitor and console on the ship went dead. There was only darkness. Both within the ship and without. It was thick and stifling. There was a pregnant moment of stillness as everyone held their breath, waiting.
Waiting for what they knew all too well could come next. A bang. The ship spiraling off course. The sound of oxygen being sucked out into space.
"Helmets on!" barked Chris, his voice the only thing audible in the bottomless night. "Report!"
All instrumentation is down," Trisha replied, and he could hear her flicking switches and pressing buttons like mad. "Navigation ... non-responsive. Going for full system restart!" she yelled, her fingers expertly clicking the controls in the dark.
"Internal lights," said Chris.
Their space suits had helmets equipped with bright internal lighting which, once lit, illuminated their faces so at least they could see one another. The suits operated off of their own energy source and so were unaffected by whatever had caused the ship to lose power. The glow the four helmets gave off was enough to give them a bit of orientation within the cabin.
"Try the emergency batteries, Beech. Terry, make sure the cabin's secure."
Terry looked up from his console and froze. "What?"
Even Trisha had stopped what she was doing and glanced at Chris.
There was no reason to assume the command module wouldn't be secure; it had been pressure-locked before the four of them fastened themselves into their seats. Standard procedure. But Chris didn't care. There was no reason to assume the stars might disappear from the sky either. The rule book had just been tossed out the window, and his military instincts were taking over now. Whatever was happening, they were fighting for their lives; ensuring their survival was his top priority.
"You heard me!" Chris shouted, his hands clenching the armrests of his chair. "Lock it down, double time!"
If the amazement and shock of seeing the entire planet and star field disappear hadn't clued in Burke's three teammates that things
had just changed in a drastic and dire way, his tone of voice jolted them into remembering that this wasn't part of the mission. This wasn't part of any mission.
Terry didn't question him again. Instead, the youngest member of the crew deftly unbuckled the elaborate straps from his seat and floated to the back of the cabin. There, he checked the two hatches leading to the rest of the ship that were on both sides of the rear wall. Next he pushed off, drifting carefully in the dark over to his right, where the main exterior hatch was located.
As Terry worked, Chris leaned into the VOX control. "Houston, this is the Ares! We are declaring an emergency! Repeat, Houston, this is Ares declaring an emergency! And I really hope you can hear us down there! We have lost all power to the ship. We have a possible collision-"
Terry had just double-checked the main hatch when the Ares lurched sideways, groaned with a shudder, and then jolted forward. Without warning, they were moving at tremendous speed. It felt as if the ship had been launched from a slingshot; Chris, Owen, and Trisha were mashed into the backs of their seats while Terry went flying into the back wall.
Chris knew the sickening crunch he'd heard was the young pilot slamming against the bulkhead.
"Terry!" Trisha shouted over the roar. Along with the speed, the sounds both inside and outside of the ship were escalating-sounds of rattling hardware and the ship's turbulence hitting atmosphere. Chris' eyes darted to his right; Trisha was barely able to move her head far enough around to look behind, clenching her every muscle against the rising g-forces. "Terry, sound off!"
All was silent behind them.
Chris turned likewise in his seat to see the dark silhouette of the young pilot up against the back wall, still pinned there by the g-forces.
"Permission to leave my station-" Owen began, and Chris saw that Trisha had fingered the clasp of her seat belt already.
"Denied, both of you!" Chris shouted back over the noise of the out-of-control ship.
"He's hurt!" Trisha cried.
"Keep your seats, that's an order!" Chris thundered, uttering a phrase never heard among the informal chatter observed by astronauts. "You'll just end up pinned alongside him, and I need you both doing your jobs!"
Trisha glanced, just once, back at her teammate and then nodded, seeming to right herself internally. Chris was in charge. She faced forward again in her seat and focused on her station.
"If this is reentry, if that's what we're feeling ... then we're too steep!" Owen called out. His eyes were closed, deep in concentration, and Chris knew he was basing his assertion on nothing but the sensations they were feeling and what he could remember of their position and velocity before everything went dark. "Possibly severely."
Chris' visor light flickered and went out. He looked to his left and saw Trisha's do the same. Light was fully extinguished again, consumed by the black nothingness.
He fought to suppress his own rising fear, trying to concentrate on the mission, his people, his years of training. But this was a nightmare scenario, and there were no instincts to rely on. Not for this. It was like spontaneous blindness. He could still hear the terrible, nonstop roar of the ship ... still feel the increasing gravity pressing him into his seat ... still sense the unnatural vibrations of the Ares caused by its hurtling through space faster than it was ever designed to move.
And what about Terry? Was he unconscious? Dead?
As the ship continued to accelerate, the vibrations gave way to full-on shuddering. There was another sharp jerk, and the ship's bolts and panels and tiles rattled against the concussion. The noise level rose to an unbearable metallic monotone.
Something else caught Chris' attention amid the chaos, and he smelled it before he felt it. The scent of hot steel entered his nose at the same moment he realized his hair was wet and sticking to his head, his entire body covered in sweat. His suit's automatic temperature regulator would have compensated for any drastic change in climate had it been powered, but even still, it had insulation to protect against harsh environments. For this kind of heat to be reaching him this fast, coupled with the burning stench ...
Dim lights blinked to life around them.
"Emergency batteries are online!" shouted Owen over the din.
It wasn't much, illuminating the cabin with something about as strong as candlelight. Chris looked back over his shoulder at his mission specialist. Surprisingly, Owen seemed to have maintained his ever-present calm in spite of their circumstances. He wasn't even sweating as much as Chris was. Chris stole a quick glance at Trisha, who seemed to be sweating even more, but she had already sprung to life, fighting the g-forces to pore over her console.
"Give me a full systems check!" Chris called out.
"It's running now," Owen replied, his voice magnified to reach out over the racket. "02 at forty percent capacity. Power's down to twenty-two ..."
Owen continued to rattle off numbers, but Chris' mind drifted to the empty space straight ahead, beyond the windows. Because even though they were soaring at an incredible rate, even though the ship was about to shake itself apart, and even though the temperature was rising dangerously fast, it was what was outside of the ship that disturbed him most. Earth should've been there. Right there. Or millions of stars had the ship been knocked off course. Or ... something.
But there was nothing. Not even in the black of space between planets had he encountered such darkness. It was as if they'd been swallowed....
Then something flashed in the forward window.
Chris blinked.
It was murky, and only lasted a second. But it was right there, just past the nose of the ship. Something like nothing he had ever seen before. Enormous. Imposing. The darkest shade of blue imaginable. Moving, swirling, very slowly. Like smoke passing before his eyes in a blur.
Chris spun to look at Trisha, hoping she'd seen it too. But she was still focused on her console. A glance at Owen revealed he hadn't seen it either.
Owen was still reciting system readings when Chris interrupted him, shouting above the clamor, "What about outside? Are you able to pick up anything in space?"
A pause as Owen checked. He shook his head. "External scanners are not responding, Commander. Given this heat we're feeling, which hopefully is from the ship reentering Earth's atmosphere, it's possible that those sensors have melted off. We expected that to happen upon reentry, you know."
The ship unexpectedly lurched sideways as if it had been blindsided by a moving object. The sudden motion was powerful and jarring enough that Terry's unconscious form was slung against the left wall of the command module like a rag doll, and the others were pinched and squeezed painfully by their seats' safety belts. The lurch was accompanied by a profound crack that they could feel, a loud wrenching of metal, and finally an ear-piercing whine, which remained ongoing. The ship started spinning in response.
"What was that?!" Trisha screamed.
"Felt like we lost an engine bell," he shouted.
"Correction!" Owen called out behind them, and there was no mistaking the sharp tone of alarm in his voice, because neither of them had heard it before. "Commander, I think the entire rear half of the ship just came apart!"
"Say again?"
"I'm reading no oxygen, no power, life support, or anything else past the lavatory! I think everything on the other side of the bathroom is just gone!"
Chris didn't have time to absorb this, to think through options. He just acted. "Prepare to undock the command module! Let's jettison whatever's left back there before power goes out again!"
At that moment, they were plunged into deep blackness once more. Each of them knew without needing confirmation that it would be the last time the ship's interior would ever see light. The Ares continued to spin, faster and faster, rotating like a rotisserie chicken. Chris swallowed repeatedly to avoid vomiting in his helmet -a dangerous proposition since his helmet was sealed. He could feel blood rushing to his head, and he hoped the others were faring better.
But then, it didn't r
eally matter at this point.
It was over. The mission. The ship. Their lives. All of it was dying, reaching the ultimate ending, and nothing would stop it. All they could do was try to hold on as long as possible.
The g-forces grew more powerful than ever, pressing Chris into his seat back, and threatening to thrust all three of them into unconsciousness. Chris felt a wave of weariness wash across him. It was a very inviting exhaustion, but he was too well trained to embrace it so easily.
He blinked the sweat back, holding tight to his armrests even as he realized the bolts and welds of his seat were slowly being shaken loose by the ship's catastrophic bucking, spinning, and trembling.
With the sound of the ship roaring around him, consoles about to melt, and his seat ready to rip free and send him flying, he called out, `Anybody still conscious?"
"Still with you" came Trisha's voice, though it was faint. He tried to look at her but couldn't escape the gravity enough to swivel his head. All he could do was stare forward into the blackness that still surrounded the ship.
Are we headed for home? Are we someplace else? Did something swallow its whole and that's why we can't see anything?
What is out there?
He felt heat radiating through the hands of his suit from where they touched the arms of his metal chair. He closed his eyes; the heat was making it hard to keep them open anyway.
Chris thought he should say something to his crew, but he didn't know what. Offer them some last gasp about "going down with the ship," or tell them what an honor it had been to serve with them? It had been an honor, but the words felt inadequate in his head.
And impossibly, even though he felt foolish for it, his thoughts were jumping so fast from thought to thought that he couldn't help arriving at how this disaster would forever tarnish the historic Mars mission, and NASA's reputation. He could hear the newscasters in his head: "The first manned mission to Mars ended in a horrific tragedy today, which throws into doubt the entire future of manned spaceflight. ..
There wasn't time to waste on such thoughts. These were about to become the last minutes or seconds of his life. He should use them for something more important, more personal. Something for his crew. Above all others, he felt he should at least say something to Trisha. But he couldn't conjure up any words, with the ship spiraling so violently around him, the noise, the heat, the pressure, the pain of being pressed deep enough into his seat to feel the metal framework inside.
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