“Don’t like the view?” Ryan asked.
“Lost my sunglasses,” Tom said. “Already got a headache, and this light is killing me.”
Ryan could see he looked tired. “How much sleep did you get?” he asked, stealing a glance at his wristwatch.
“Not enough. I’ve been up since yesterday.” It had been a long time ago, indeed.
“Then you need some rest, skipper. Why don’t you go find a quiet corner back in the cabin? We’re not going to get anything done by killing ourselves.”
“That’s what we’re trying to avoid, remember?”
He couldn’t find much about that to argue with. “Your call, but we should put ourselves on some kind of rotating watch up here.”
“And you should be glad I’m not one of those old-school graybeards who don’t take well to copilot ‘suggestions’.”
“I am eternally grateful, sir, for crew resource management techniques, sir. It’s kept my butt out of many slings for many years.”
Tom laughed, finally. It had been realized a long time ago that if the other members of a flight crew didn’t feel like they could speak freely, then any problems were much more likely to spin out of control. A couple of notorious accidents had in fact been attributed to authoritarian command pilots. The days of the grizzled old Captain of the Ship were long since gone. Probably for the best, he thought, but it had sure made for a lot of smart-aleck young FO’s. “Well, at least you’re good for something other than raising the gear and working the flap handle.”
Ryan was searching for just the right retort when they were both distracted by the view through the big forward windscreen. The moon drifted above Earth’s rim, rising through the thin haze of the atmosphere and into the blackness. Ryan stared at it in fascination.
“You’ve never seen that before?” Tom asked.
“Only once. You know how fast these hops usually go. We’re so heads-down, there’s no time to take in the scenery.”
Within minutes the moon was in full view and directly ahead. “Never thought I’d make it up here like this,” Tom observed. “How about you?”
Ryan thought back on his final year of active duty at the Naval Flight Test Center in Maryland, when the Marines had seriously considered purchasing a squadron’s worth of Clippers to support a global rapid-strike force. The ability to drop a platoon of Marines and equipment anywhere in the world within hours had been compelling, but not enough for the Corps to carve a few billion out of its budget once the Air Force had stepped in with a blank check.
“I thought there’d be a good chance for a while,” he said. “They got my hopes up when they sent us to play with the old shuttle simulators. Then I figured out how low the probability was of it actually happening.”
“I thought you guys were all math geniuses. You didn’t see the odds of that one coming?”
Ryan shook his head. He’d held on to bitterness over it for a long time. “That’s how it goes…hope gets in the way of reality. We were drinking the Kool-Aid long before they sent us down to Houston.”
Tom thought about that, having toyed with the idea of becoming an astronaut long ago. “Don’t beat yourself up. I saw how you could get sucked in by the idea, especially when they were making all that noise about going back to the Moon.”
“Oh yeah,” Ryan grumbled. “I had grand plans to space-drop Marines over a combat zone, maybe command the first mission to an asteroid. That would’ve been even cooler than the Moon.”
“I always saw you as a Captain Kirk type.”
“Is that a compliment or an insult?”
“Not sure. Depends on which episode we’re talking about. Does it matter?”
“Guess not. But I always liked the leather jacket and silk scarf image better.”
Tom laughed at that. “I knew some old hands at Edwards and you’d better believe they had a few stories. Some of the legends weren’t all they were made out to be.”
“Almost forgot you did research flying there. SR-71’s, right?”
“Yep, flew the Blackbird until they finally pulled the plug…I hated to see that one go away.”
“No deep-black stuff?” Ryan teased. “No double-secret Aurora project? The word at Pax River was that you guys always got the good toys.”
Tom smiled at the irony. Aurora—the storied top-secret replacement for the vaunted SR-71—had been a persistent subject of wild rumors for decades. Now, here they were, stranded in the only ship that had ever come close to doing what that phantom spaceplane was fabled for. “No secret-squirrel programs,” he replied. “Are you kidding? They don’t let real people fly any of the hot stuff anymore. Everything’s scaled down and automated…if you’re lucky you get to fly it from a console in a control van.”
“And if you’re not lucky, it’s a pre-fab autonomous robot,” Ryan snorted.
“Easier to let the computers fly it,” Tom agreed. They sat in silence and watched the moon climb past as they drifted towards central Asia.
“You’ve still managed to plant your butt in some nice equipment,” Ryan finally said. “Those Reno racers are nothing to sneeze at.”
Years ago, Tom had found his way into racing hotrod WWII fighters at the National Air Races in Reno, Nevada. Already fast airplanes, famous rides like the Mustang and Corsair had been turned into stupendous racers. Speeds topping five hundred miles per hour, flown within a hundred feet of the desert floor, were typical.
“Funny you should mention that, too—this was the first year we missed it.”
“That explains a lot,” Ryan said. “When you were off the schedule last month I just assumed you were at the races.” It wasn’t mentioned in the company newsletters either, he realized. He watched as Tom stared into the void, his thoughts again elsewhere. Something tugged at his mind, but maybe it was best not to pry. Whatever had happened, it was clearly an unpleasant subject.
“Couldn’t make it this year…personal issue,” he answered hesitantly. “Arthur won’t trust anybody else with his baby, so we sat this one out.”
That was surprising. “Hammond would rather forfeit? He must trust you even more than I thought.” Their racer, a restored Grumman Bearcat named ‘Fraidy Cat, was Hammond’s pride and joy. It was also the catalyst that had brought the two men together, back in the early days when the Clippers were still just an idea tucked away in his office.
Tom smiled at the irony. “Think Art will still trust me after this mess?”
“You get us down, skipper, and I guarantee it,” Ryan said. “And let me know if he ever decides that beast needs a backup pilot.”
Before Tom could answer, a yellow flash on the radio panel caught their attention. “Company’s calling. Hope they have some good news,” he said, picking up the microphone switch. “Denver ops, this is 501, answering your SELCAL ping.”
“We have some good news for you, 501.”
Both were surprised at the coincidence, and at hearing Penny through the static.
“Is that Stratton I hear down there? You guys must have given up all hope,” said Tom, some wit finally back in his tired voice.
“You take the prize, old fart. Think of me as your guardian angel until this is all over.”
“And how long will that be? I’m not sure we can put up with your nagging.”
“Not as long as you think,” she replied, and explained their plan.
Both pilots exchanged dubious looks before Ryan revealed his skepticism with a low whistle. “Sporty,” he said. “But what other choice do we have?”
…
Castle Rock, Colorado
Elise Gentry had given up on sleeping and was staring forlornly at the night sky beyond their bedroom window. Already fitful enough, rest had become impossible with her husband unimaginably stranded up there. The news coverage brought back bad memories of his Air Force service: too many times he’d flown away on combat deployments, leaving her with tantalizing glimpses of similar airplanes on the news. Once in a great while she’d recognize his
squadron’s markings and run to the TV, hoping to catch a peek. Round-the-clock news coverage had made it nearly impossible to pull away and get on with her life. After a time, she’d learned the best way to get through those times was to keep it turned off.
She couldn’t stop puttering around the loft, flipping through some favorite books, unconsciously searching for a touch of him in his favorite part of their house. Fly-fishing rods and antique rifles adorned the walls, along with a few select pictures taken alongside his favorite aircraft over the years. She again found herself absent-mindedly gazing at the distant mountains when the phone startled her.
The late hour made her hesitate to answer despite being wide awake. Looking at the caller ID, she saw that it came from the company. It couldn’t be the employee-assistance team, she thought. Those people were trained counselors, brought out to console family members after an accident. They wouldn’t be calling this late, would they?
Unless it was something really bad…
She picked up the receiver with trepidation. Please Lord, not yet. I’m not ready.
“Hello,” she said with forced composure.
“Elise? It’s Art Hammond.”
That relieved her…sort of. The really bad news would usually be delivered by a family friend. Stop it, she reprimanded herself. If it was that bad, they’d be here in person. Right?
Maybe. She’d learned that the business world often didn’t share the same conviction as the military had shown in that regard. It all depended on who made the call.
“How are you doing?” He asked kindly. The line had been silent for too long.
“Sorry, Arthur…I’m fine. Just a little flustered. I was afraid you’d be somebody with, well, bad news.”
It was a relief to hear him laugh on the other line. “Not at all. But there’s a lot to tell you, so you might want to have a seat. Take notes, too, if that makes you feel better,” he said, knowing she would want to hear exactly what would be going on. The PR staff had badgered him to keep the details close, but he’d made it abundantly clear that wasn’t going to happen. These are our people, he’d said. They deserve to know exactly what we’re doing with their families.
Still expecting the worst, she settled into Tom’s favorite worn leather chair and waited. “What’s going to happen?”
“We’re going to go get them.”
31
Moses Lake, Washington
Penny stretched and stifled a yawn as she clambered down the Gulfstream’s air stairs. She’d at least managed to steal a few hours of sleep in the crew lounge before they’d left Denver ninety minutes earlier. Sleeping on the plane was impossible, as she’d spent the trip talking through the mission plan with Will Gardner and Frank Kirby. A tense phone call with her husband back in Houston hadn’t made things any easier.
They hopped down the stairs behind her as ground crewmen in orange jumpsuits began unloading their gear from the plane’s cargo hold. It was a cool, crisp morning. Just beyond the Cascades, Moses Lake airfield sat at the edge of Washington’s eastern plains and was shielded from most of the incessant Pacific Northwest rain. Boeing had long found it to be an ideal flight test airfield, as did Hammond Aerospace.
Sunlight gleamed off the giant hangar, hiding the Block II Clipper in the shadows within. As they walked across the ramp towards it, their eyes adjusted to the light and the plane came in to view.
It had the same wedge shape and stubby wings, but with a smaller fuselage, the penalty for being able to reach orbit. This would only carry twelve passengers and much less cargo, but unlike older launch vehicles, almost all of it would return to fly again. Expendable fuel tanks bulged out from beneath the wings and almost seamlessly blended into the plane’s underside. Their polished aluminum skin shone brightly against the jet-black thermal protection surface. They would soon be coated in frost once they were filled with super-cold liquid oxygen. Atop the plane, just behind the fuselage, were two more bulges that housed the orbital Clipper’s powerful engines, two in each nacelle.
Lined up on a hydraulic lift beside it were cases holding enough pressure suits and oxygen tanks for everyone aboard 501 with the tether equipment they’d need to bring them out.
They would launch from here and accelerate straight to orbit, matching 501’s track and catching up to it over the next several hours.
“Amazing,” Frank said as he surveyed the area. “These test weenies actually know how to make things happen.”
“Let’s hope so,” Penny said, checking her watch. She was decidedly less skeptical than Kirby, though that wasn’t saying much. “Three hours until we have to be wheels-up. They have all the pre-launch checks done?”
“Done,” Will said, checking his tablet as he headed towards a far corner of the hangar. “They loaded a last-minute software update, so I’ll go make sure that made it into the launch check. You just worry about pre-flight and I’ll see you guys at suit-up.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Frank said, looking at Penny. “Let’s do that together. I want two sets of eyeballs on every inch of this bird.”
…
Denver
Charlie Grant sat on the edge of his chair and gingerly sipped at a cup of stale coffee. He grimaced at the bitter taste and spat it into a trash can.
“I’ll put a fresh pot on for us,” he heard from behind. It was Hammond.
“You don’t have to do that,” Grant said. “You’re the boss.”
Hammond waved him off with a laugh. “Not in this room, I’m not. This is the only show in town right now and you’re running it. If making coffee makes me useful, I’m doing it.”
“In that case make it straight, no sugar,” he said. “We’ve been a little preoccupied.”
“Haven’t we all,” Hammond grumbled. “Everything going as planned?”
“So far,” Grant said. “It’s all by the numbers. Not that we had a lot of time to finesse this.”
…
Moses Lake
“Clipper Zero One Heavy, taxi to the runway and hold. Maglev rails are activated.”
Penny answered their clearance and carefully steered them onto the runway’s centerline. Two amber bars on the control panel lit up once they sensed alignment with magnetic rails embedded in the runway, similar to those used for high-speed trains. The floor rumbled beneath them as the big engines rattled the plane, even at idle.
“You guys ready?” she asked.
“All systems go,” Will said with mock bravado. “A-okay. Whatever. I can never get used to this Jedi mind trick.”
“Sucking the gear up while we’re still on the runway used to mean I’d be looking for a new job,” Frank huffed in agreement. But if they were going to make this work, they would need all the velocity they could get.
“Just keep telling yourself that’s how this thing was intended to fly,” Penny interjected. “We’re only limited by the speed of government,” she added caustically, then got back to business. The FAA was still balking at the idea of Polaris using this technique for passengers.
Just then, the amber bars flashed to green as departure control called back. “Polaris One heavy, maglev is active.”
“Copy that. We show good alignment,” she answered, and looked at Frank to confirm her own instruments. “You see two greens?”
“Green bars, positive lift. Squat switch disabled,” Frank said tensely. The squat switch sensed weight on the wheels and would ordinarily prevent what they were about to do. He kept one hand hovering over the gear handle while checking a status light on the overhead.
“All right then…gear up.”
“Hold on to your butts,” he said, unlocking the lever and slamming it up to the stops.
The plane settled briefly as its gear folded up into the wheel wells, and they halfway expected it to keep falling right onto the pavement. But it stopped quickly; after only a few feet they were safely hovering on a powerful magnetic cushion.
“What do you know? It worked,” Frank said with rel
ief. It would take a generation of new pilots to make a no-gear takeoff seem like a perfectly rational thing to do.
“Always a nice surprise,” Penny said, and called back to the tower. “Departure, we are still here.”
“Glad to hear we don’t need to call out the tow trucks, Polaris. Launch window is activated. Cleared for takeoff at your discretion, proceed direct to launch corridor Bravo Three. Contact center as soon as you’re airborne with call sign Rescue One. Good luck.”
“Copy direct to Bravo Three. And thanks,” Penny said. Grant had already made arrangements to keep interaction with air traffic control to a minimum. Most of their communications would need to be with their own people in Denver.
“Final launch checks complete,” Frank said. “Denver reports they’re go.”
A countdown timer synchronized with the control center ticked down the seconds. Their launch window placed them almost directly beneath 501’s orbit, and was timed carefully to minimize the fuel they’d need to catch up with the crippled spaceplane. They would start rolling just before it was due to pass overhead, allowing them to catch up after only a few orbits. If this chance was missed, the next pass would be several hundred miles farther downrange.
“Target’s above the horizon,” Will said while checking its plot against the countdown clock. “Right on time.”
“Faceplates down,” Penny ordered, “and check your O2 fittings.” Each of them reached up to seal the helmets of the full pressure suits they wore. “Stand by, gentlemen.”
The plane shuddered against the magnetic field as she steadily spun the engines up and Will finished their countdown. “Five…four…three…two…”
The clock reached zero and Penny shoved the throttles forward. The big engines quickly came to full power as the magnetic rails shot them down the runway, slamming them against their seats.
“We have liftoff,” Will said as he sucked in his breath. Despite the jolting start, it was a remarkably smooth ride, having no wheels to bump along the runway.
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