by T I WADE
“Tell your daughter that I need Allen Saunders and Michael Pitt to fly SB-I, and bring a few bottles along for the ride. It’s certainly going to be a long ride home.”
“Thank you for volunteering, Mr. Jones,” replied Ryan smiling.
“Oh! That’s what you call being given orders” joked Jonesy back, and the entire crew knew the new plan, and relaxed.
Chapter 11
Return to Earth
As planned, 90 percent of SB-III’s fuel aboard was split three ways between the other shuttles.
Six hours after the radio message SB-V, with VIN and Mars spacewalking outside, nosed up to within 30 feet above Jonesy’s cockpit. The father and son refueling team had already been outside for 15 minutes and had taken a 40-foot refueling hose with.
“It is beautiful up here spacewalking,” Mars told the crew as they floated in deep space at 49,000 knots, and the red planet in all its glory could be seen beginning to look further away.
“You can’t believe how pretty the red planet looks from out here,” VIN told the crew listening in.
“Mind that American space shark,” stated Vitalily from The Martian Club Retreat, nearly 58,000 thousand miles below the two spacewalkers.
“Yes, I heard the space shark has a real taste for anybody named Jones,” joked Max Von Braun from the new “Mattville”.
“Glad we are Noble fellows then,” joked VIN screwing the hose to the fuel connection under SB-V’s right wing.
“Mattville? What’s wrong with you guys down there,” quipped Jonesy not being done out of a few sarcastic remarks. “Lunar take your bird up another 6 feet girl, you are too close. Max, Mattville for heaven’s sake. It sounds like a two-bit hick town in Kansas, or Mississippi. Even Maxville, or Rooville has a better ring to it, or even Little Washington? That would make Joanne right at home. I got it, how about a fancy name like “Washington on Mars”. That would bring all the rich snobs to visit and set up homes.”
“Thank you Mr. Jones smiled Ryan. When Jonesy really got going he was hard to stop. Lunar have you cleared the 6 feet from SB-III yet?”
“Done,” replied Lunar. “VIN, how does it look from your angle?”
“Looks perfect Lunar, jet packing down to Jonesy now,” was the reply.
“Max, at least you didn’t call it Vodkaville, or even Marscow, like Vitalily, Igor or Boris might have asked for,” continued Jonesy cracking up in a happy mood while looking up through the cockpit window and waving at his partner.
“Shut up partner, keep your Cessna steady, I’m incoming and about to attach the hose now,” ordered VIN, and seconds later the refueling began.
“There goes all my fuel. Remember, I wanted my wife and a bottle of something in payment for all this liquid hydrogen being stolen by my best friend of all people,” added Jonesy.
Maggie spacewalked over to Jonesy from the other shuttle, helped by Mars and his jetpack ten minutes later.
The refueling had gone as planned with the three shuttles taking their allocations of fuel from Jonesy’s shuttle suggested by the scientists down in Nevada.
SB-III burned first, and slowly moved forward at a slight angle away from the rest of the pack still in close formation, and only 100 feet apart. Many watched and waved through the cockpit windows as Jonesy and Maggie slowly accelerated as they changed direction. To Maggie, if she was going to be stranded in space, it would only be with her husband.
Jonesy completed his 17 minute burn, separate to the others and the lone shuttle headed away 10.15 degrees to starboard from the others. Earth was going to pass by in front of SB-III in a couple of months’ time, from left to right if they didn’t get a visit from Santa Claus.
Saturn gave the usual Jones-style reassuring verbal jokes as SB-III floated away in front of them on the radar screen.
An hour later and with Jonesy out sight, and a hundred miles off their directional path the three shuttles began a much longer 55-minute burn, which would get them up to their cruising speed to reach Earth, still 29 days late.
Nobody ever found out if there was illegal goods in the canister of emergency rations and water, which headed over on a short cord behind Maggie, but extremely bad singing could be heard from somewhere in space two days later when the pair was already 47,000 miles behind, and on a different angle of trajectory to the shuttles in formation.
VIN, sitting in SB-V and listening to the horrible noise, somebody might make when being eaten by a space shark, mentioned to the others that he had heard this type of pain before: on the first and second asteroid mining expeditions.
The three shuttles exited Jonesy’s radar three days later, but the radio communications were still clear.
Max reported in from the new base; the pressure had equalized and the crew were unpacking all the canisters and the new home was already looking better.
Vitalily complained that Mattville hadn’t been called a Russian name, like Jonesy had suggested, and said his base’s changes were running according to plan.
Mr. and Mrs. Jones reported that they were watching movies and floating popcorn at each other to catch with their mouths, something nobody was really interested in hearing, and Nevada was as usual hot and dry, stated Dr. Geiger in his report to Ryan,
Dr. Geiger told Ryan that the country was getting better each day, and that Ryan must contact the Chinese Prime Minister when he returned. Martin Brusk had been contacted and would meet Ryan when he got back. Martin had good news for Ryan. Captain Pete was working on his shield project, a few breakthroughs had been made, and Pluto Katherine reported that they had good reserves of liquid hydrogen on base again.
Life aboard the three shuttles went back to exercise, sleep, eat and more exercise. Nobody was looking forward to going through the harshness of Earth gravity again. It got worse each time they returned, or was it age?
Jonesy and Maggie were alone in SB-III, and enjoying their private time together, and by the time Allen Saunders and Michel Pitt launched from the Nevada base with their third load of hydrogen fuel for the Orbital Build Station two weeks later, the lonely shuttle, SB-III was a million miles behind the other three.
At the build platform, where America Two was moored, as well as half of America Three, there was enough fuel in SB-I’s rear cargo bay to refuel SB-III, and return both flights to Earth.
“SB-I to SB-III and SB-V, do you all copy over?” asked Allen Saunders a few days later as he and Michael Pitt released the shuttle from its docking station on the platform and readied the craft to orbit the blue planet and then head to their destination, 122 days away.
“SB-V to SB-I, this is Lunar, on course, on time, and nothing much to see out here. Dad is fine, so is Mom and your Shelley is currently co-pilot, and Hillary is also ready to say hi” stated Lunar’s voice over SB-I’s speakers thirteen minutes later.
“Six minutes outgoing delay, a minute to reply, six minute incoming delay,” stated Michael to Allen in the co-pilot’s seat setting the rear thrusters for a 20 minute burn for their first orbit.
“They are getting closer. We should hear back from Jonesy in two minutes,” replied Allen Saunders.
Allen was correct, except that Jonesy was 20 seconds faster than expected. Jonesy was getting closer albeit much slower than the other three shuttles.
For the next hour, and through the delays Allen and Michael chatted with their daughters, who bought them up to date on their journey home. Since the radio transmissions were totally open for anybody to hear, the crew were careful in what was said.
“Martin Brusk to Ryan Richmond,” interrupted a voice into the Saunders’s family conversation, and everybody became silent to listen in.
“SB-V to Martin Brusk, this is Lunar, wait one, until my father can get to the mic. He is just getting off the exercise bike, over,” Allen and Michael heard a quarter of an hour later. A few minutes later Ryan came over the air.
“Hi Martin, this is Ryan.”
The hard part of any radio conversation was the audience waitin
g many minutes to get a reply from the other side. As Allen and Michael drew away from Astermine’s Orbital Build Station they waited.
Allen was nearly as brown as Michael. He had been fishing with Bob Mathews off the Australian coast up to 24 hours before launch when the call had come in that several of the crew were getting a ride in SB-I across the planet from Nevada to the island, where Michael was to pick up Allen.
Allen had been ready, and was already close to shore when they saw the shuttle begin its vertical drop into the island from high above.
Michael, his father African American was naturally darker than Allen. Michael had been teaching the third generation kids simulator flight instead of having a vacation.
Ex-General Allen Saunders had literally smelled of fish when Bob and the girls dropped him and his wife Jamie off at the pier, and with shouts and waves to the shore personnel watching, headed straight back out to sea.
Twelve hours later, and after cleaning up, he was piloting the shuttle into orbit.
“Hi Ryan,” came the response from Martin Brusk 30 minutes later. “Glad to hear you are still exercising up there. First things first. You will have video feed on your next flight. We have designed a system in California which will zip video feed with a radio message in both directions. Time to receiver is still the same: the speed of light at 186,000 miles a second, but we will have HD sound and visuals from now on. Our planet is getting its act together finally after 30 years of down time. If you remember our recent conversation about plasma power, our friend Franklin’s company has come up with the goods. I gave them products built by me, and they sort of mated their hardware to mine. Your credit is good with me, so I have 20 new thrusters under production for you. I will not say anymore, other than their specifications are 5 percent better on power and economy than we first thought. I have contacted our friends in Australia and Canada to design fusion power system output to match each individual unit. They will run completely separate from each other, can be individually controlled, and will use the same connected wireless control software. I believe one backup fusion power unit per four thrusters is necessary addition to the system. Weight is half a ton per system, so not a real problem to lift them up to your build station. I would feel better with the system I’m designing you for you to have backup a gazillion miles in space. Cost is only ten million per four thruster system. We want you to test the first unit off the production line here in California in about eight months.
“Lastly, remember your old Gulfstream jet I was playing around with? It is now totally rebuilt and I believe can take a family of four into a LSO orbit for about a week. Unfortunately, I don’t have a heat shield to solve the reentry heat, so need your help on that one. Otherwise, I am on good terms with most countries. There isn’t one war, or disturbance down here at the moment, but I’m sure things will change. How long can Homo sapiens stay peaceful? Remember our friend from Asia? His son is ready for your return and the boy is extremely keen to begin his training, and so are several others from around the world. With your help, I want to build a privately funded International Astronaut Training School, either here in California, or at your base in the neighboring state. Tell ex-President Dithers Roo that Washington is in good shape, thanks to her and the current President, and Vice President Penelope Pitt. I look forward to your return. Your daughter and Dr. Geiger kindly gave me your ETA and I’ll be glad to wheel you across the tarmac on that day. Over and out, Martin Brusk.”
It was a long message, but it filled the crew with hope. Their home planet was at peace, production was going forward, and they all looked forward to returning home, apart for the gravity.
Jonesy and Maggie heard the same message a minute after Ryan, and weren’t that happy that they had to wait an extra two months to reach Earth. Jonesy was happy about the new thrusters, and hoped he would be home to be a part of some of the tests before they retired and went fishing.
Joanne Dithers Roo and the entire crew on Mars received the message a minute after Jonesy and Maggie, and she was pleased that things in her old home city were going well. She felt a little homesick, but had promised to stand beside her husband on the red planet.
Within three days, Allen and Michael, now back at home in the aging but still reliable shuttle SB-I, could see earth receding behind them on their radar monitor, and got down to doing what the rest of the Astermine crew in space were doing; exercise, eat, sleep, and more exercise.
“SB-I to Mr. and Mrs. Jones, we see you on radar at 405,000 miles. Are you still alive out there?” asked Michael Pitt as the tiny blip of light showing the other shuttle began to low green on the very edge of their monitor.
Maggie had called into Base Nevada the day before, and told everybody that they were fine, and on vacation.
Long-term flying and doing very little in space did different things to different people, and many just switched off and contemplated life. Many knew Jonesy was one of them, until a light bulb went on in his head several hours later, and he used the intercom only the two craft in range could hear.
“Michael, Allen, Jonesy here, I hope you have a few Christmas presents for us. Christmas passed a couple of weeks ago, and Santa forgot to stop by, over.” Surprisingly, and with Maggie smiling, they received back a well-rehearsed song.
“A dozen new movies, eleven bars of chocolate, ten packs of dried fruit, nine frozen packs of smoked fish, eight packs of Australian chewie toffee, seven pouches of frozen limes, a six-pack of beer, five bottles of a special green cocktail mix, four bottles of bourbon, three bottles of something Russian, two bottles of tequila, a bottle of French Champagne for the New Year you missed, and a partridge in a pear tree,” sang the two incoming astronauts, badly, and who had especially purchased Jonesy’s and Maggie’s special desires. Both men had spent weeks rehearsing their song aboard ship.
“Yes, I was hoping you darlings would remember my Margaritas,” shouted Maggie back excitedly.
“Sounds like one of us should put one of our shuttles on autopilot, let it fly itself, and all get together for a party, life isn’t all that bad anymore,” added Jonesy.
“Not on my watch,” replied Allen. “But I’m sure one of us could come over at a time and we could have two parties.”
“Sounds even better,” replied Jonesy. “Allen put your pedal to the metal, and curve in to form up with us?”
“You are currently 378,000 miles out at our ten o’ clock. Your forward angle is 169.05 degrees to us. I’m going to hit the side thrusters for a change in angle in thirteen minutes at 300,000 miles. Michael has your forward speed, ours, and is setting up the maneuver in the computers as we speak, over.”
Exactly like Jonesy and VIN had curved in to fly next to the asteroid on their first mining flight, Michael and Allen did the same. Using side thrusters, their shuttle’s nose slowly turned the 169 degrees over several hours until they were on the same course as SB-III.
Been told by Jonesy that his shuttle still had several days of side thruster fuel left, they didn’t rush, and once the two craft were heading to where they would plant themselves in about 123 days, the two experienced astronauts were only about 2,000 miles behind SB-III.
“Not bad boys,” stated Jonesy as SB-I aligned itself 2,019 miles behind his shuttle. “Your forward speed is showing at 59,450 knots, a little too fast for our 56,550 knots, but throw out the anchor and bring her in on my starboard beam.”
“We have 85 percent full reverse thrusters on” replied Allen “and should be forming up on your starboard side in about an hour.”
“I’ll ice bucket the champagne for you guys.” Joked Michael Pitt. “Don’t tell me Jonesy your ship is completely dry?”
“Nearly my friend, very, very close to being a dry ship.”
“We’ve been saving a tot of good old vintage, 5 year-old Mars-made Russian vodka for each of us on your arrival,” added Maggie. “I bet ours tastes sweeter than the non-vintage potato liquor you guys have. A planetary tasting should be exciting. I’ve had t
o nearly break my husband’s neck not to steal it, and lost a few of my nails, over.”
Both men laughed. There was only one person in the world or the solar system who could control their Chief Astronaut.
Slowly the two craft closed to each other, and Allen’s shuttle could be seen floating in on the starboard side. Being an old fighter pilot, Allen brought his ship in close, and there was only twenty feet between the two shuttle wingtips when the reverse thrusters closed down.
“You look better than an old FedEx truck heading up the driveway with deliveries,” remarked Jonesy.
“I should think so with what we have aboard for you guys,” replied Michael Pitt.
“We need to refuel you first,” added Allen. “Your speed has been off slightly, and you are 16,780 miles behind the position we expected to meet you at.”
“I know, I know,” replied Jonesy already getting help from Maggie to climb into a suit. “It wasn’t for bad driving. I didn’t want to burn the rear thrusters in case they sucked up more fuel than we had anticipated. Our tanks are breathing fumes already, and once we have the jungle juice you guys brought, we can add a few seconds to the first burn. I’m heading out with the jetpack in 12 minutes. Who’s refueling hose are we using, who is coming to join me, and bring our canister full of goodies with you? Remember I like a full service gas station, and I want the windshield cleaned and the oil checked.”
“Yes Mr. Jones, Sir,” joked Michael Pit in a good attempt at a southern drawl, also getting help to suit up. “Whatever you want Mr. Chief Astronaut, Sir, but any more crap from you, and I will make you sign for your FedEx delivery, which is rather impossible in space.” Maggie smiled at that one.
Twenty minutes later, the two shuttles were in the usual refueling position, the one above the other 35 feet apart. It didn’t really matter who as above or below. With zero gravity the liquid fuel flowed in either direction pushed and pulled by two tiny electric motors.
