by Andrew Mayne
Before this period, the most expensive part of a rocket launch was the cost of the rocket itself – even the Space Shuttle. Its side boosters were dumped into the salty ocean making them more costly to reuse than just buying new ones – although you'd never know that from the magic of government contractor accounting. The main tank burned up on reentry and the shuttle itself had to have the engines rebuilt after every launch and the tiles resurfaced. All of this added up to a billion-dollar price tag per launch.
The contractors who worked on the shuttle and its successor, the SLS, really didn't have much interest in solving the problem they were paid handsomely to solve – that was until the upstarts came along and changed the game.
Now the single biggest cost to getting into space is fuel. It takes roughly the same amount of fuel to put the Unicorn and its payload into orbit as it does to send a 727 around the world.
On the bigger rockets they're using to send materials to the US/iCosmos station, the cost per pound is much less.
All of which leads to the current state of affairs where rocket launches are cool, but they're no big deal, to the point that while security is extremely tight around the iCosmos facility – it's still located on an Air Force base – this isn't anything like an Apollo launch of yesteryear.
After thousands of launches, we have a humongous data-set that tells the AI that supervises the launch what's going on at any given time. While there's somebody with their finger over an abort button, it's mostly ceremonial.
In the old days the abort button was just a trigger to make the thing explode. Now there are a dozen different scenarios, from exploding the first two sections after the crew section ejects, to a slightly more graceful abort that splits the sections apart and allows them to all land back on the pad.
While this hasn't made us complacent, everything has become more routine, like commercial air travel. There are ground crews to inspect the engines and fuselage and checks and balances in place to make sure they did their job.
The biggest variable now is the payload. While you can predict what kind of stress an engine will go through and the wear on related systems, if someone stowed a cylinder of acetylene gas in the cargo section and used a valve that wasn't rated for the degree of vibration you'll encounter on take off, your perfectly fine rocket will explode because someone goofed.
Every rocket has a launch supervisor and a payload master. For my mission, the supervisor was Renata. The payload master was an engineer named Greene, who supervised all the things loaded into the Unicorn and made sure the variables wouldn't cause the whole thing to crash.
We've already got an insider with iCosmos who will change the launch profile for the upper stage, making it possible for us to get the DarkStar into a trajectory that will bring it to the K1 without it looking like we're trying to actually aim for the Russian space station.
The most difficult part about getting Prescott into space is going to be on the ground – getting the iCosmos payload master to sign off on the fake-Unicorn capsule.
Markov's trick for that is to get an Air Force payload master to commandeer the launch while not letting it be publicly known that's what's going on.
As Laney and I try to cram everything else we can into Prescott's über-man brain, our Russian strategist is working diligently to make sure that when we load our payload onto the truck and drive it up the road, through the iCosmos security gate and into the assembly building, nobody pops the hatch and spots a Navy SEAL hiding inside our mystery rocket.
The obvious solution would be to ask our CEO, Vin Amin, the man who has the keys, permission to do this, but he's an unpredictable risk. If he says "no" and goes public, we're screwed. If he says "Let me think about," and asks one of his government contacts, we run the risk of Silverback finding out and the K1 going boom.
He's already dealing with the fallout of my shenanigans.
We're in a classic ask for forgiveness later scenario. He'll either love us or hate us. Right now we have to make sure we don't get caught.
60
MISSION STATEMENT
WHILE I HELP fill Prescott's head, people begin to file into the hangar as Markov and Admiral Jessup call in favors. There are eight Navy and Air Force personnel who have clearly worked together before. It's a testament to the amount of trust they have for the two men that they're ready to jump in and get to work without a lot of questions.
Jessup walks each one by me, says something to the effect, "You've never met this man before," and they give me a nod then go about their business setting up an impromptu tracking station in the control room and making sure the DarkStar and its shell are flightworthy.
The manuals are tossed back and forth between us as we try to make sure all the systems are up and running.
Few of them were the original members of the Space Ops crew and the exact specifications are a complete mystery. For all we know, turning the thing on could cause it to blow up.
Prescott puts on the suit and starts to drill, running through the switches and referring to the manual. I want to point things out to him, but know better. If Bennet taught me anything, it's when to back away and let the student teach himself .
"You want me to give you twenty?" I ask Prescott.
"That'd be great," he replies, running a finger down a line of text.
I look over at Laney as she confers with some techs about the spacesuit radio equipment. She might possibly be the most informed person here.
The authority she's been given is a testament to how dire the situation is and the confidence Markov has in her. I think it's well-placed.
The back door raises to let the carryall truck inside. I use the opportunity to step outside and get a breath of night air.
The Cape has always been a special place for me. The launchpads and buildings are spread out between mangroves and serene bays. It's an odd mixture of nature and technology, the past and future.
To the north, the gleaming complexes for NASA, iCosmos, SpaceX and others are brightly lit. I can spot two BFRs, "Big Fucking Rockets," standing on the launchpad waiting to fly into space. Each one weighs more than a battleship and is half as tall as the Empire State Building.
We live in an incredible age. People like Laney get it, so do some of the general public. But I think they're still in that early phase like the internet in the 1990s.
Yes, they know space is an industry now. Sure, they may know of someone who is peripherally involved. But they don't realize how big things are going to get.
If you look in the right direction you can see the US/iCosmos station as it flies by. Every other week a BFR launches with more hardware for it. When it's finished, the K1, the ISS and all the other space stations before will seem like tiny preludes to the future.
The US/iC will rotate in space, giving it artificial gravity. I think the moment people on Earth realize there are people walking around, behaving very much like life down here, yet in space, they'll begin to understand what it's all about.
The US/iC is just the first of many stations being planned. Smaller ones, bigger than the K1 and the ISS, are already coming online. There's even talk by the Chinese to build something even more massive than the US/iC – an actual city in space.
Then there are the spacecraft being built in orbit – ships for going beyond our orbit, to the Moon and the outer planets.
It's an exciting time to be alive.
"It'd be a shame to lose all this," says Laney as she manages to sneak up behind me on her crutches.
"Yeah, I was just thinking about that. This EMP would be bad."
"Technically it's an NMP, a nuclear magnetic pulse, but yeah." She nods to the people in the hangar. "There's a good team in there. Captain Baylor, she's smart. She'll be handling operations."
"With your advice, I hope." I seriously mean that.
"Oh, yeah. They're too short-staffed to kick me out. Let's just hope we can pull it off."
"You're a real trooper. A couple hours ago you had no idea wh
at you were going to get pulled into."
She lets out a laugh. "Are you kidding? This is the kind of thing every space geek dreams about. Well, that and aliens coming down and asking me to go for a joyride. Heck, it's good to be part of something."
I take a look at the people going over equipment, inspecting the DarkStar and planning Prescott's mission. "Yeah. I'm just glad I don't have to be in hiding anymore. At least not here. Not in front of them."
"It must have been hell," says Laney.
"You have no idea. I'm just glad..."
"You don't have to run anymore?"
"Well, I'm worried what will happen if the crazy Russians set off the nuke. That's for sure. But it's nice to stand still for a moment."
I'm still worried that at any moment we're going to be raided by a bunch of soldiers descending from Black Hawks. At least I won't be alone.
Markov joins us outside. "There they are. The fugitive and his accomplice. Have you told everything we need to tell our Space Commando?"
"I'm letting him go over a few things without me breathing down his neck," I reply.
"And he is ready?"
"He'll have to be. There's only so much you can teach someone in this short amount of time. It took me years to get into space."
"Indeed," says Markov. He turns back around and returns to the hangar.
"I guess I should see if there's anything else I can tell Captain Awesome."
61
ASSEMBLY
BEFORE WE LOAD the DarkStar onto the carryall truck, Admiral Jessup takes a stand on the flatbed to address us.
"I'll keep this short. We need to have this craft loaded onto here and taken up the road in twenty minutes. We're all used to working in gray zones. Trust me, this isn't gray. I have the authority to act on clear and present dangers – but Congress and the President have the ability to retroactively take that authority back." Jessup points a finger at me. "This man risked everything to bring us valuable information. He's not an officer, not a soldier. He's a private citizen who acted above the call of duty and because of that, even right now he's still in harm's way."
I get a few nods of approval, but I feel like an imposter.
Jessup continues his non-speech speech. "If this goes wrong, hell if it goes right, they can prosecute me and all of you. Now is the time to find something else to do if you're uncomfortable with that."
Predictably, nobody raises a hand or bows out. He chose these men and women wisely.
I look over and see Prescott flipping through the manuals on the bench. We're about to suit him up and load him inside the craft for the two hour wait to the launchpad.
For a guy about to be shot into space, then fired from a missile, he doesn't seem too worried.
God, I wish I had more time to teach him what I can.
I'm sure Bennet felt that way every time he sent one of us chimps into space. That's why he and Peterson took the responsibility of getting onboard the K1 themselves. Some things you can't leave to others.
"After we load the craft, we'll take a six person team to the assembly bay. They're expecting an emergency payload." Jessup points to a female Air Force officer with short black hair, "Captain Baylor will be in charge from the moment we leave this facility. She's supervised load-ins before and knows the right things to say. We need to keep the iCosmos ground crew, with the exception of the payload master, away from the spacecraft.
"We don't know who has ears in iCosmos, but even the most sincere person could tell someone who has been compromised and the mission will be a bust. And I don't need to paint a picture for you of the consequences of that. A high altitude nuclear magnetic burst would be devastating, no matter where it occurs. Let's just leave it at that."
A Naval lieutenant raises his hand. "Admiral, what happens if they don't want to give us access to the launch vehicle?"
"Are you asking what happens if they figure out what we're up to? We leave. There's no way we can take this thing up without their help. To be honest, if there is a problem, it'll appear clerical. We just say that we got the wrong information and turn back around." He points to Prescott, "The real stakes are for him. He's got to go up in that thing and pull off a miracle."
Prescott nods then goes back to the manual.
While Jessup supervises the loading of the DarkStar, I go over to Prescott to see if there's anything else I can help him with.
"You got this," I tell him.
"Thanks. I appreciate that. The fact that you're still alive is a testament to your training."
"Hah. No. I'm just really good at running away from trouble. You're the poor son of a bitch who has to run into it." I think about what he's about to do. "Don't cut the DarkStar loose and don't think this is a one-way trip. You're a hell of a lot smarter than I am and I made it back."
"Well, let's just see how things go," he replies.
Man, this guy is convinced that he won't make it back. I mean, I get it, that's the whole point of commandos and special forces types. They're the ones you send in who you know are going to act selflessly.
Back in the iCosmos locker room there's a wall of astronauts – the folks who made it into space starting with Yuri Gagarin and all the way through to the last astronauts onboard an iCosmos flight.
I was looking forward to seeing my name up there, but now realize that I have no place in a line-up with Yuri, John Glenn and Armstrong. Sure, Bennet and Peterson belong in that special category, but I was a guy flying something that had become routine.
Although technically, what I do share with Yuri Gagarin is the fact that neither one of us actually landed in our spacecraft. We both ejected before we hit the ground. He was acting bravely because he knew what he was doing. I was just acting out of self-preservation.
"Are you ready, Captain Prescott?" asks Jessup.
"Yes, sir." Prescott sets the manual down and walks over to the spacesuit. "Help me with this, Dixon?"
"Did you pee first?"
"Twice."
Laney is watching us from off to the side, double-checking the manuals and not hiding her anxiety.
Jessup and Markov come over to give Prescott some last minute notes.
I open the back panel of the suit so Prescott can slide inside. He stops and takes something out of his thermal pocket and hands it to me.
"Take my picture for my kid?" he asks.
"Yeah, sure."
Prescott stands in front of the spaceship and gives a thumbs up as I take the shot.
"Could you hold onto my phone until I get back?" he says as he slides his head through the neck section.
"Of course." I put it into my pocket and check the status lights.
I know he's not ready.
He's willing, but he's not ready.
Damnit, David.
"When was the last time you had a cardiogram?" I ask, looking over his chest panel.
"Never."
"Never?" I reply, trying to sound shocked. "But you haven't done any scuba diving in the past year, have you?"
"I was doing training in Coronado three weeks ago."
Markov steps over using his canes. "Is there a problem, Mr. Dixon?"
"Yeah...um...we don't let someone fly without a cardiogram if they've been doing diving at depth within the last six months. There can be serious heart problems."
"I'll be fine," says Prescott. "I'm sure lots of people go up now with tickers less healthy than mine.
"Uh...I mean it won't kill you...but there's a higher chance of blacking out. It's okay for a passenger, but not a pilot."
I catch Laney watching me. She's about to say something, but I glare at her.
"Can we get a doctor in here to do a test?" asks Prescott.
I shake my head. "There isn't time. They have to stress test you on a treadmill."
I don't have to do this...
"This presents a problem, Mr. Dixon," says Markov. "And what do you propose for a solution?"
"Well..."
Say it.
&nb
sp; You came up with this whole bullshit story because you can't let this man go through this.
My mouth speaks before my brain can think."I'll have to go."
"Are you sure?" asks Markov.
No. "Yes. I think Prescott could pull it off, but there are too many variables."
"I got this," Prescott says.
I know his pride is at play here. "I know. But the heart thing..." I grab the sides of his helmet and start to unhook it.
Prescott looks at Jessup. "Admiral?"
"I agree with Dixon. We can't take the risk."
Prescott reluctantly nods and lets me help him out of the suit.
As he unstraps the gas mask and other equipment from his chest, Laney walks over and uses a free hand to help hold the suit. She leans in and whispers into my ear, "AFI eleven."
62
SECURITY PROTOCOLS
AS I SIT inside the cramped cockpit of the DarkStar, waiting for the carryall to make its way down the road to iCosmos, I contemplate my most recent life choice.
All I had to do was let Captain Awesome get into the spaceship and let him do the thing he was trained for. But no, me and my fat mouth.
Was it the fact that he has a kid? Or is it that I knew all along sending him up when there was a perfectly disposable astronaut standing by who already knew what all the knobs did?
What difference does it make? I couldn't let him take my place.
But the thing that gets me is that I know this was Markov's plan all along. I'd be angry at him for manipulating me if I wasn't so upset at myself for allowing it to get that far.
I should have bravely volunteered to do this thing instead of contemplating hiding out in his cabana until the whole thing blew over or blew up.
Even Laney, recruited less than a day ago, was ready to jump right in. Hell, if she thought we'd have taken her seriously, she would have jumped at the chance to be in this tiny seat with a control panel inches from her nose.
"How we doing?" I ask into my radio.
"We're almost at the iCosmos gate," says Prescott.
