“How much maneuvering prop will we have by then?” Wade asked with some concern.
“We figure about twenty-four percent. Plenty.”
“Seems like awfully low reserves.”
“We’re a bit off the map here, aren’t we?” Ryan observed. “No worries. Once we start down, that’s it. There’s not much we could do even with full tanks. The real flying starts back down in the atmosphere.”
“And that’ll be somewhere around Anchorage?”
“Farther south, actually. We’ll be down to around two-hundred thousand feet off southern Oregon. That’s when I’ll set us up for best lift-to-drag, and we glide down to Edwards. If our energy state’s too low, we’ll land short at Moses Lake,” he said, pointing out the field in eastern Washington on a chart.
“Just like that, huh?”
“Hey man, I just make it look easy.”
79
Austral Clipper
“Final approach in three minutes,” Becker reported. “Station is holding for your all-clear. Manipulator arm is ready to disengage.”
“Copy, three minutes,” Ryan answered before killing his outside microphone. “Showtime, Wade.”
Wade moved back to the cabin, turning on the main deck lights as he’d been shown. He unclasped a pressurized container which held the maintenance logs, and gently pushed it along to the pulley lanyards. “Coming your way,” he said, pulling the cable across. It was their final piece of insurance in case Austral Clipper’s re-entry failed. No matter what, some evidence would eventually make it back to Earth.
“Got it,” answered Becker. “Securing your materials in the airlock now.”
Satisfied, Wade radioed back up to Hunter in the cockpit. “They’ve got it. We’re clear.”
“Roger that. Button us up, Wade.”
Making sure his feet were tightly in the flooring, Wade reached up to the side panel and silently pulled the door shut. He could feel the shudder through his feet as the locks engaged. “Cabin door’s secured.”
“Get back up here,” Ryan almost barked. “I need you strapped in fast.”
Wade pushed off through the hatch, gently bouncing once off the ceiling before stopping himself at the cockpit door. “Fast enough?” he asked.
“Not bad. You’re getting the hang of it.”
“Just in time to never to do this again,” Wade said, pulling himself across to his seat.
“Are you kidding? This is where the fun starts. Saddle up.”
…
Denver
“501 reports all outboard indicators are green, L1 door is secure. Ready to push back,” Penny said, smiling at the absurd analogy. They weren’t exactly taxiing away from a jet bridge at JFK.
Grant tugged his chin in a last bout of momentary hesitation. “You’re the pilot here. What would you do?”
“I’d go for it. But I’m crazy like that.”
He smiled for what felt like the first time in days. “Well, then, the ‘ayes’ have it. Tell them ‘cleared to proceed’”.
…
ISS
“Renee, I’ll take it from here if you don’t mind,” Poole said, moving over to the armature controls. He began pulling Max away from the Clipper.
“Wait a minute,” Watson exclaimed. “What are they doing out there?” From her grandstand seat in the cupola, she saw Max drifting back to them alone on the arm. The Clipper was closed up and apparently under power.
“I said I’ll take it from here.”
“Are those idiots trying to fly that thing back?” she demanded. “With your blessing? Does Houston know this?”
“Not their spaceplane, now is it?”
“But they’re at our station, and have been ordered to secure it in orbit!” she stammered. “Those maniacs are a danger to all of us, and you’re going along with it?”
“As expedition commander, I’ve determined that vessel is a safety hazard. You’re relieved, Doctor,” he said forcefully. “Good day.”
…
Austral Clipper
They felt the arm release just as Penny’s voice filled their headsets once more. “501, this is Denver, you’re go for retro burn as soon as you’re out of their safe zone.”
Hunter impatiently gestured for Wade to activate his microphone. “I’m flying, you’re talking, remember?” he instructed. “Welcome to Polaris, nugget.”
Wade reached down to the rocker switch on his umbilical. “Ah, Denver, 501 copies. We’re moving now.”
“Light ‘em up,” said Hunter, releasing his shades. As Wade did the same, their windows were once more filled by the Station’s gleaming lattice framework and massive solar wings. The Earth began to turn indigo, dappled with the random sparkles of city lights far below. Nightside was coming up quickly.
Switching on the remaining systems, Ryan lit the rotating beacon on top of the Clipper, its cyclic red flashing was a universal signal that they were under power and ready to move. With that, he tapped the thrusters to move them safely clear. Wisps of icy vapor spat from the nose and tail as the cold gas jets fired.
“501 is clear,” Wade reported over the company channel over the muffled bang of the thrusters.
“Now you’re getting the hang of it,” Ryan said. “You’ll make a good FO yet.” Twisting to his left, he tossed off a crisp salute to Simon Poole, who watched from his perch in the cupola not twenty meters away.
“Godspeed, Polaris. Clear skies and calm seas,” they heard his voice call as he returned the gesture.
“Thanks, skipper,” Ryan answered respectfully. “We appreciate your hospitality. Take good care of our crewmates back there.”
“Will do, Mr. Hunter. You’re all right for a jarhead.”
…
Houston
Donald Abbot stormed into the mission control center, his face crimson. Bledsoe trailed a few steps behind, alternately appearing perplexed or amused; Audrey couldn’t tell which.
“What exactly is going on up there?” he demanded.
Audrey looked up at the video feed from Station. It clearly showed the Clipper buttoned up, running lights blinking away with two space-suited pilots barely discernible in the fully-lit cockpit. Still attached to the ATV, they were slowly drifting away. She looked back at the Center director, who now stood menacingly before her.
“Prox ops,” she answered nonchalantly. “We do that a lot around here.”
“I can see that,” Abbot sneered. “Care to explain why it’s under power with men on board?”
“Sure—the men need to be onboard to fly it,” she offered. Looking past him to Bledsoe, she searched for some reaction from her boss. So far, his face might as well have been carved in stone for all the emotion it gave away.
Oh well. I’m committed now, she thought. Penny had better be hiring.
“Fly it,” he said, nonplussed. “Fly it where?”
“Home, of course,” she answered. “Or at least somewhere in the States. Retro burn is coming up in…two minutes forty seconds,” she said, theatrically checking her watch.
Abbot laughed. “That’s insane! We were supposed to de-orbit it with the old ATV and drop both of them in the Pacific. Now we’re just going to stand back and watch those glory-hounds play hero? What were you thinking?”
By now most of the other flight controllers had cautiously turned to watch, much as they feared Abbot’s wrath.
“Wasn’t my idea,” Audrey asserted. “It was theirs. I just helped confirm the track, atmospherics, heat transfer…” Now she could see Bledsoe suppressing a grin.
“Get out of my control center. Now,” Abbot said icily. “You’re done here.”
“I figured as much, Dr. Abbot. But if you are removing a flight director from an active shift, I believe the Mission Operations director has to agree with that call,” she said, looking past him again at Bledsoe.
Abbot turned to face him down, even though Bledsoe stood a full head taller. “Well, Ronald? Do you concur with my decision?” he demanded.
Bledsoe ignored him momentarily. “Audrey, what has the ISS expedition commander said about this operation?”
She stood now, facing them both. “Commander Poole was briefed by the Polaris crew onboard; I listened in on a three-way comm between them and Denver. He concurs, with one caveat,” she said, studiously reading from her log. “Specifically, that ‘those knuckle-dragging rocket-jockeys don’t damage my station, or so help me I’ll find a yardarm to hang ‘em both from.’ Otherwise, he’s cool with it.”
Bledsoe stifled a laugh. He knew Poole well, and could easily picture the old salt saying just that. Audrey had likely cleaned it up a little. “In that case, the flight director and expedition commander both concur with the operational plan. And since that spaceplane is not government property, I can find no reason to remove Miss Wilkes from her post. So no, I do not concur, Dr. Abbot.”
He stood, flummoxed, Bledsoe and Audrey both staring at him expectantly.
“Very well,” he sighed. “But you know perfectly well I can remove you from flight director status as soon as you come off shift—and I will do so.”
“Figured that, too,” she said, having a tug from her ever-present water bottle. “But if you’ll excuse me, we have a little work to do. That retro burn’s coming up any second.”
“You can report to security and turn in your badge at the end of your shift,” Abbot said, spinning on his heels and stalking away.
Audrey called on him just as he reached the door.
“Oh, Dr. Abbot? One more thing, sir.”
He turned, exasperated. “And what would that be, Miss Wilkes?”
“Quit staring at my boobs.”
The control center exploded in laughter. The color flushed from Abbot’s face, swiftly turning white as a sheet. Collecting himself, he slammed the double doors closed as he left the room.
Audrey turned to face her controllers. “All right boys, since this is our last dance together, let’s make it one to remember. Not much we can do once they get moving, but it’s going to be hairy for the next couple minutes. Stay frosty.”
80
Austral Clipper
“ATV is still go for retro burn,” Max Becker confirmed from his position at the airlock. The Clipper was now almost a mile away, well clear of the station’s delicate structure. It appeared ghostly in the reflective light of the moon, now in full earthshine.
“So are we,” answered Ryan. “Time hack at thirty seconds…” he said as the flight computer ticked down. “…and—hack. Twenty-nine and counting.”
“Copy 501,” Penny interjected. “We show same. Glad to hear some things are still working up there.”
“Roger that, Denver. Nineteen and counting.”
“I’ll take it at ten,” Penny told them. “Twelve, and…ten. Nine, eight, seven…”
At zero, Becker fired the tug’s orbital maneuvering thrusters at full power. For thirty-eight seconds, it would be just enough to decelerate them into re-entry.
“OMS burning, one hundred percent,” Max reported. As before, they could feel the engines rumble through the ship.
“Copy that,” Wade reported. “How’re our velocities looking?”
“Far as I can tell, right on the money,” Ryan said. “We have to rely on the controllers back home for most of that.”
As if reading his mind, Penny called up from Denver. “Houston reports ATV tracking is on target. We show same. Your velocities are right down the middle. Confirm alpha holding at two point six.”
He checked their nose-up attitude. “Denver, 501 confirms two-six, holding steady. Don’t worry, I’m not about to screw this up.”
“That’s good. We were all worried about that down here.”
“Coming up on ATV shutdown,” Becker interrupted. “I will count from five…four, three, two, one…shutdown.”
And just like that, the big OMS thrusters stopped. The brief push of deceleration gone, they again floated back up into their straps.
“Tighten up, Wade,” Ryan said as he tugged at his own harness. “We could be in for a wild ride.”
“Now you tell me? You’re full of surprises.”
Ryan ignored him, his attention now firmly on his flight displays as he turned them nose-first. “Retro burn looks good, no residuals. We’re headed downhill. Altitude seven hundred eight thousand; down at two hundred.”
“Copy,” Penny answered. “We still project your first skip in ten minutes. Coming up on ATV release. Three, two, one…release.”
Wade pulled the nozzle controls and felt…nothing. “Indicators show the petals retracted, Ryan,” he said cautiously.
“Um, Max?” Ryan called over the EVA frequency.
“ATV appears to still be attached, Polaris,” he answered quickly.
“We show same. The unit is still hard-docked,” Penny called with alarm.
Ryan swore under his breath and quickly pulsed the reaction thrusters, but could still feel the tug’s effect on their handling. “Roger that, Denver. We’re still dragging that beast.” He jockeyed the thrusters once more in an attempt to shake it loose. “Things just got interesting.”
“Watch it up there,” Penny cautioned. “I’m eyeballing your attitude display—don’t get too loose with that thing hanging in the breeze.”
“So what happened?” Ryan asked.
…
Houston
“It won’t release?” Audrey asked. “Did it cold-weld in place or something?”
“Not sure, Flight,” the controller replied. They had looked at the metallurgy and didn’t think it likely. “Possibly the docking collar hung up on those exhaust vanes. There’s a lot of moving parts inside there.”
They won’t have time to figure that one out, she thought. Hopefully it would tear loose quickly—more important, cleanly—as they settled deeper into the atmosphere.
It had to.
81
Denver
“So we just let it descend with that pig attached?” Kirby demanded.
“Not much choice now, Frank,” Charlie replied. “They’re coming down no matter what.”
Penny joined them. “I’ll tell him to set angle of attack a degree lower. The added compression when they dip the nose should pull the tug loose.”
“We’ll lose Edwards though, won’t we?” Grant asked.
“Almost certain,” she said, “but they’ll still make Moses Lake.”
“Then that’s where we recover. Alert the standby go-team.”
…
Austral Clipper
The ship was rapidly descending back into the atmosphere now, their sink rate palpable even without looking at the flight displays. The wings and nose turned ruddy orange as they bit into the first tenuous wisps of atmosphere. Ryan began to feel a slight buffet through the control yoke.
It was unnerving. He’d flown plenty of re-entries in this machine, but never at orbital speeds. Normally they were exposed to more heat during their climbs out of the atmosphere than during the trip back down; trying this in a fully-loaded Clipper would’ve certainly been suicidal.
Even so, no one believed with absolute certainty that they would be able to survive a direct descent back into the atmosphere. Here, the skips would give them some margin as well. They would use the thickening air to absorb some of their energy and slow down a little. If he held the right pitch angle that energy would bounce them right back out of the stratosphere. They would coast back into space for a short time, allowing the ship to cool down. But it would not be permanent—the bounce wouldn’t give them enough speed to go back into orbit. They would come back down again, and if he flew it right they would make final entry across British Columbia and glide to a landing at Moses Lake. It depended on how long that tug decided to hold on.
They felt gravity building as the Clipper settled back into the atmosphere and the tug banged away behind them. Maybe it was just the exhaust vanes getting rattled, Ryan hoped. Outside, a pink glow began to envelop them. “We’re all-in now, Wade.�
�
Behind, the tug’s deceptively strong solar panels ripped away in flames. Golden insulation foil rapidly blistered, cooked, and was stripped away by the fiery slipstream. The rattling became a steady, intense vibration until the ATV finally tore free with a jolt. The drag separation threw them hard into their straps, and Ryan swore as he fought to compensate.
“Don’t overcorrect!” Penny’s voice warned through the static. They were rapidly losing radio contact in the ionizing air.
“Master alarm,” Ryan said as a shrill klaxon blared in the background. “Caution and warning panel’s lit up like a Christmas tree…number two vane actuators, center flap and starboard elevon seal actuators failed,” he recited. “Temperature sensors back there are gone, too. I think that tug ripped the elevon seals out.”
He steadied their descent and lifted the nose, though it was probably too late to stretch their range. The G-loading eased and their altimeter started ticking upward again as they bounced out of the thickening air.
“Okay, we’re out of the weeds for now,” he said. “G’s are settled at two-point-five, altitude four hundred thousand and climbing. Project we top out at five hundred.”
They continued sailing quietly into the sunrise, along a broad arc across Europe and Asia.
82
Denver
“Penny?”
“Working on it, Charlie!” she said, hurrying over to the maintenance controller’s station. “Looks like they tore out a couple of exhaust petals and damaged the ventral control seals.”
Not good, he thought. Superheated gases were certain to slip in past the damaged control seals. At least they were along the trailing edges, in back. But even if the ship wasn’t in immediate danger, some of their flight controls would be cooked. That would become a problem soon enough.
“They were cooling down, Charlie,” she offered. “But they bled a lot of energy on that first skip.”
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