Red Horizon: The Truth of Discovery (Discovery Series Book 2)

by Salvador Mercer

  Jules could hear Tom and Sanchez working out a solution to brace the arc welder in, or near, the combustion chamber in order to allow the lone rocket to ignite when the fuel flow pumps were activated. “It won’t latch on,” Sanchez said.

  “What about bracing it with the flex bar?” Tom asked. “Perhaps use the throat of the rocket to lock it into place?”

  “Working on it now,” Jose said.

  Jules watched as her crew came inside, including Jake, who asked if he should stay in the airlock. “Negative. Get inside now,” Jules ordered. “Come on, Sanchez, less than two minutes. Let’s move.”

  There was an agonizing pause as the man struggled to secure his welder near the rocket motor. “It won’t secure. It keeps coming loose. A little gravity right now would do the trick.”

  “Can you place the welder in the actual combustion chamber?” Jules asked.

  “I can,” Sanchez said, “but I think that’s not a good idea according to Tom.”

  “What does Max say?” Jules asked.

  “Too many variables to calculate,” Marge said, skipping the formal communications. “Tom is not advising. It can float out before you ignite, or it can interfere with the fuel flow, which would be fatal.”

  Tom jumped in. “Also, we’ve had to weld the vector fins to starboard and seal the valve flow regulator in order to get this engine online. It will burn full thrust one time only, and then it’s burned out.”

  Jules understood that this meant the two-part burn maneuver was out of the question. She didn’t know what had damaged the engines, but it was bad enough that NASA was basically ordering the engine to burn out, basically scuttling their ship in an effort to save their lives. “Is Craig online?”

  “Jules, this is Craig. I copy you.”

  “Did you run this through the sim?” Jules asked.

  “Affirm, Jules, we got through four of five tries using the telemetry sent to us. That’s the best we could come up with down here.”

  “What if we delay the burn?”

  “Jules, we didn’t run the sim with a delay, but Max has it at only fifty-fifty with a thirty second delay, and you’re down to twenty-two percent if you go a full minute.”

  “I’ll take fifty, then. I’m going EVA. Sanchez, get ready to pilot. I’ll meet you in the airlock,” Jules said, unstrapping herself from her seat.

  There was an awkward pause, and then Sanchez spoke. “Tom, what’s our time?”

  Marge’s voice came over the radio. “Time to optimum burn is fifty seconds.”

  Another short pause, and then Sanchez spoke, his voice calm and in control. “Roger that, Houston. I’m going to open the flow valves manually from here. Jules, you need to be strapped in and execute the burn on my mark.”

  “I’m the commander here, Jose. You meet me in the airlock. That’s an order.” Jules started to move to the cockpit door, and what she heard next chilled her soul.

  “Not today, Jules. I’m going to ignite on time, and you better have the fuel motors flowing when I do.”

  The threat was understood by everyone. Copilot Sanchez would ignite the fuel mixture manually and destroy the entire ship if the fuel flow didn’t vent the volatile mixture out of the exhaust port. “Don’t you dare, Sanchez. We can do this together.”

  “Too late, Jules. Trust me on this. Get ready; we’re going in thirty seconds. Valves opening now.” Sanchez sounded calm. “Tom, you’ll pass along to my mom what we talked about last year?”

  Tom’s voice came over the radio. “I will, son.”

  Jules was torn but stayed at the door for a second longer to look at the timer on her console. It was down to twenty-two seconds. “Damn you, Sanchez,” she said, moving back to her seat. “I won’t execute the burn.”

  There was a long pause as the timer went down to ten seconds. Finally Jose spoke, calling her bluff. “Yes, you will, Jules. You’re hardcore to the bone. Just see to it that we get to Mars first.”

  “Damn it, Houston. Are we going to allow this?” Jules vented on the open mike.

  The response was heartbreaking as Tom came over the radio. “It’s his call, Jules. Don’t waste it.”

  Another voice came over Tom’s mike before it was cut out. “Tom, are you al—?”

  “Five seconds, four . . . three . . .” A flight controller’s voice came over the radio. Jules’ hand reached for the primary ignition button after she flipped the protective covering and armed it. Was he really going to do it? Was she?

  “Damn it, Jules. Punch it . . . NOW!” Sanchez practically screamed, and the countdown timer hit zero. Sanchez had called her bluff. Commander Julie Monroe hit the primary rocket ignition button, executing the burn.

  “No, Sanchez, no,” Jules whispered as the ship rocketed forward. “Man down,” Jules finished. The airwaves were silent.

  Chapter 2

  Soviet Union

  Minister of Space Command’s Office

  Kremlin, Moscow, Russia

  In the near future, Year 4, Day 2

  The Second Soviet Union flag flew in the breeze outside the Kremlin, and Vladimir Berdenko watched it as he waited to see his old mentor, Dmitry Osnakov. The old man had survived the bombing of their main space control center four years ago, though it had crippled him, literally.

  The last few years had been a whirlwind of activity for him and his government. The rise of the second soviet empire was not expected, yet not a big surprise either, considering current events and where the world was headed to. The space race, and the discovery of the alien artifact, had also changed the trajectory of world events in a considerable way.

  The door opened, and Elena stood to its side, her skirt flowing over her long legs, and she wore a silk low-cut blouse that beckoned to Vlad’s male senses. “The minister will see you now.”

  Vlad could see that the old man was loyal to her as she was to him, and he promoted her when he took his new position as Minister of the Interior. “Thank you, Elena.” Vlad smiled as he passed through the doorway.

  “Ah, Vlad, good to see you,” Dmitry said, waving him over to a seat near the window. The old man sat in a wheelchair opposite a small table. “Chai, Elena, please.”

  “Tea, Mr. Berdenko?” Elena asked.

  Vlad saw Dmitry frown. He wouldn’t approve of drinking alone, so Vlad sighed and nodded. “Yes, please. One sugar only, though.”

  Elena nodded, and Vlad sat down, listening to the tip-tapping of her heels across the hardwood floor. When the door shut, he noticed his old mentor returned his gaze to him. “You still don’t approve?” Dmitry asked.

  Vlad smiled, setting his briefcase down against the wall and scooting his chair closer to the table before answering. “You’re getting too old for pleasantries like that. How do you feel?”

  “I feel fine,” Dmitry answered. “Who’s getting too old, eh? She makes a good cup of tea, and her presence lifts my spirit.”

  “That’s not all she lifts,” Vlad said, almost inaudibly.

  Dmitry laughed. “No need to be crass with an old man. Allow me my small indulgences.”

  “Of course,” Vlad said. “You didn’t bring me out here again for nothing. Is there a problem with the launch of the Krasnaya Zvesda?”

  “No, no, of course not.” Dmitry waved a hand at him. “The Red Star will launch on schedule. No, I summoned you for two reasons.”

  Elena entered the room and walked over to the men, taking her time and setting out the tea cups on saucers with two small spoons and placing a small bowl of sugar cubes and a small metal flask with cream between the two men. She plopped two cubes in Dmitry’s cup and one in Vlad’s. With a smile, she nodded at the men and left as leisurely as she arrived, without a word being spoken.

  Vlad raised a brow. “Quiet woman.”

  “Efficient,” Dmitry corrected. “Trust me, though, she can talk if she wants to.”

  “Yes, well, you were saying . . .” Vlad prompted, picking up a small spoon and stirring his tea as the sugar cube dissolve
d.

  Dmitry took his time, adding some cream and stirring before taking a sip and placing it back down on the table, a look of approval on his face. “Perfect. All right, down to business as usual with you. My old position has been vacant for some time now. You’ve done a great job of filling in. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” Vlad nodded, sipping his tea now as well. It was very hot.

  “So, I’ve run the idea of you doing it full time by both the premier and the central committee. They’ve agreed almost unanimously.”

  “That is not necessary.” Vlad waved a hand in front of him. “I’m content with my current duties and locale. No need to bring me to Moscow.” Vlad had a dislike for the metropolis and was content to work in Siberia despite the extreme weather.

  “You won’t have to work here. We’ve decentralized and built a new space command center in one of the most secure locations of the empire.” Dmitry smiled.

  “Wait a second,” Vlad said. “You said almost unanimously. What does that mean?”

  “We’ll get to that next,” Dmitry said. “I need you to do this for me, Vlad. I can’t run the entire domestic economy as well as the space program. You’re the perfect fit. You took over and brought the alien secrets back to Moscow. The order of Hero’s Medal of the Second Soviet Union was awarded to you for a good reason, and it’s well deserved.”

  Vlad remembered the homecoming ceremony. It had been celebratory, but then came the second revolution, and things were less stable than they had been until the dust settled and the communist party was reinstated over the country. Then, nearly a year later, the entire crew, as well as Vlad and his engineering team, were awarded the first Hero’s medals for their service. “I appreciate the award and the position, but I can’t say I approve of everything we’ve done to date. We should be doing this more for the exploration of space and the advancement of the human race, not just ideology.”

  “Yes.” Dmitry’s face lost his smile for a second, and he sipped his tea quietly for a moment before resuming. “That brings us to the second issue. I hate to say this, Vlad, but the new director of the KGB is against your appointment. He claims to have evidence that your department is leaking top-secret information to the Americans.”

  Vlad nearly dropped his tea cup and wisely put it down, taking a moment to catch his breath and assess if his old mentor was joking or not. The look on Dmitry’s face was stern and serious, a look he had seen before. “Preposterous,” Vlad exclaimed. “That is false, and I hope that the director will present this evidence before making such charges.”

  “We shall see,” Dmitry said, relaxing a bit and looking intently at his protégé. “The important thing right now is to ensure the success of our country and keep the recent discovery out of the hands of our enemies, particularly the Chinese.”

  “You have the evidence, then?” Vlad asked, not about himself but about the bomb attack four years earlier.

  “We finally do. The Chechen rebels were financed and commanded by a certain businessman from Hong Kong through an intermediary in Pakistan. We can tie them directly to the Chinese government now.”

  “Proof?” Vlad pressed.

  “Yes,” Dmitry said. “A few days under pressure and the contacts broke—”

  Vlad interrupted. “Bozhe moi, Dmitry. Haven’t we discussed the ineffectiveness of torture?”

  “We had ways to collaborate their statements.”

  “I’d keep a healthy distance from our KGB director,” Vlad cautioned.

  Dmitry softened his tone and expression. “Look, Vlad. I understand how you feel, but the realities are that the West is weak. They have turned inward from their role in leading the world and now are bullied by petty governments, jihadists, and large global corporations. It is our time now to lead the world. Look how quickly the eastern governments fell once we revolted and reinstated our rightful government by, and for, the people.”

  “I saw many who died for that revolution,” Vlad said bitterly.

  “Sacrifice is necessary sometimes for rightful progress,” Dmitry countered. “Vlad, I will insulate you and your staff from the nightmare of the bureaucrats, but I need you to succeed. The Union needs you to win this race. Do you understand?”

  “I do, and at what cost?”

  “At any cost. We already have spilled blood in the pursuit of this knowledge. The winner will have technological advances that can’t be overcome. We must ensure that the Second Soviet Union has this for the people. It is the only way for humanity to survive.”

  “You sound too dramatic,” Vlad said, leaning back and pondering his boss’s words. “You’re sure you want someone as pragmatic as me to be leading our space operations?”

  “I do, and so does most of the central committee and all but one of the ministers. Will you accept?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Now, Vlad, don’t talk like that between friends. It pains me to see you this way. By doing this, we will demonstrate your complete loyalty to the Union.”

  Vlad nodded and then looked out the window at the red flag flying proudly above the Kremlin walls. The hammer and the sickle were gold in color, crossed in the upper left corner near the pole mast, and two gold stars stood in contrast to the one that used to adorn it prior to nineteen ninety. The second star represented the second revolution. Finally, Vlad returned his attention to his mentor, who was waiting patiently. “Fine, we are in agreement, but only because I have the utmost trust and confidence in our space department. They deserve the best if they are going to risk their lives yet again in the name of humanity. Oh, and one more thing. Despite the sovietization of our satellite states, I wish to keep the department named Ruscosmos.”

  The use of part of the word for Russia was generally frowned on by the new soviet bureaucrats, as the satellite states despised the forced russification that was imposed upon them. This, however, was something they could do. “Consider it done,” Dmitry said.

  “Agreed, then,” Vlad said.

  Dmitry smiled and sipped his tea again. “Let’s visit our last two heroes, shall we?”

  Vlad nodded and saw the top of Lenin’s tomb peaking above the walls of their fortress headquarters. There, lying in the Kremlin Wall Necropolis, next to the body of Yuri Gagarin, were cosmonauts Gregori Antov and Ivan Ivanova. They were recovered by the Americans, no matter what the premier said, and Vlad would not forget that.

  “Yes, let’s pay our respects to the fallen heroes of the Second Soviet Union.”

  *****

  Krasnaya Zvesda (Red Star)

  Earth-Moon Lagrange Point 1

  In the near future, Year 4, Day 4

  “Do you have any news on the Red Horizon?” Yuri Temshenko asked via the two-way radio to his flight controller at the Vostochny Cosmodrome.

  “Da, you won’t believe its delta. It boosted past Earth at over sixty-five thousand kilometers per hour.”

  “Don’t joke with me,” Yuri said. “Be serious. Will it make it to the crippled shuttle in time?”

  “I’m not making shutka,” the man said, his voice slightly exasperated, as there was a lag of a second in the round trip communications. “Radar tracking confirms the flyby. It was a record speed for any craft that large.”

  “They didn’t try to conceal it?” Yuri asked.

  “Of course they did. They wouldn’t have shown what it was capable of if not for their accident with their shuttle. Oh, and yes, they will intercept tomorrow easily.”

  Yuri sighed with relief. He was no friend of the Americans, per se, but he had a certain inexplicable fondness for Commander Monroe, and her welfare seemed of interest to him. The flight controller had only an inkling, however, and was happy to make small talk to pass the time at oh three hundred hours in the morning. “Thank you, Anton. Your information is most useful.”

  “You like that American commander, don’t you?”

  “Nonsense,” Yuri lied. “I’ve worked with her before and wish her well. No one deserves to die in
the black of the void.”

  “All right,” Anton said. “Is that Chinese satellite still orbiting LG1 with you?”

  “Where else would it be?” Yuri responded.

  “We’re running a pool down here on when Ruscosmos will kill the bird,” Anton said.

  Yuri paused for a moment. “You’re really thinking we’ll do that?”

  “That’s the bet. Time is running out, and almost half of us are out of the pool. I’m still in with one week.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on that.” Yuri searched for the right words. “I can’t see us provoking the Chinese that way.”

  “You’re insulated up there from day-to-day gossip. Remember, those bastards threw a nuke at your crew while they were on the surface. The Union will not be afraid to dish out some payback,” Anton said.

  Yuri thought the man sounded a bit too much like one of those American cowboys, or professional wrestlers, with such talk of bluster and bravado. Would his country risk war for something that couldn’t be prevented? The Earth-based radars would know the instant they boosted out of the system. “That was simply bad manners. I’m sure we’re above stooping to their level.”

  “Suit yourself. We simply need to know for the pool, so I am tasked with asking each day in one way or another.”

  “I’ll be sure to make it part of our daily reports,” Yuri joked.

  “Very well,” Anton said. “We’ve checked our systems for the shift; nothing to do except wait for the morning crew. Why are you still awake?”

  “Nerves, most likely. News is scarce these days, and the time for departure grows near. I guess you could say that I’m just restless.”

  “Understood . . . comrade.”

  Yuri winced when he heard the word. Tovarish, or comrade, was a term not used for decades . . . until now. Was it really worth it, the sacrifices, toil, and effort to obtain this alien technology at any cost? It was getting out of control. No, it was already out of control when the Chinese nuked the alien transmitter. The Americans were still working there, having returned before anyone else in an attempt to salvage anything from the alien device.