Shattered Legacy
Page 28
“Thanks. I thought I’d let you -”
Then, without warning, the loss of blood overwhelmed Tyler. His eyes rolled back into his head and his legs buckled. Lynn rushed over and caught him with one arm just before he hit the ground.
“Easy,” she said, heaving him back up and wrapping his arm over her shoulders to take his weight.
“I’m all right.” He grunted. He took another few steps with her before dizziness made him slip to his knees. With Lynn’s help, he pushed himself to his feet.
As they started to move away, Merrick called out in hoarse voice, “Samson!”
They kept walking.
“Samson Tyler! Look at me!”
They paused as Tyler looked back. Merrick’s eyes were wide as she jerked against her restraints. “This isn’t over! You hear me?”
Tyler shrugged Lynn aside. Slowly, he shuffled back, one step at a time. Then he leaned down until their faces were inches from each other. “You destroyed my home,” he said in a low, hoarse voice. “You messed with people I care about. You forced me to sabotage my own career. You’re damn right this isn’t over.”
Merrick’s lips curled into a grin. “Imagine what I would have done if I didn’t like you.”
Tyler turned and limped away. He heard Merrick say something else, but her voice faded into the background as his vision grew dark around the edges. He started to feel disconnected from reality. Then something nagged at him. Although he knew what he wanted to say, the words just wouldn’t come out right.
He frowned and started to turn back around. “Wait... We can't leave her,” managed to slip from his lips. “Can’t let her go…”
“She's not going anywhere.” Lynn moved in to support him. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”
***
The orbiter screamed through the atmosphere on a twenty-two degree glidescope at a rate of five thousand feet per minute. Schwartz desperately used the flight controls and the speed brake to maintain what little control he had over the spacecraft. The Naiad was shuddering so badly, they feared it was going to break apart before touchdown.
“Naiad, the autoland system is not available. Over.”
“Copy that,” McManus radioed back through gritted teeth. Autoland would have allowed the capability for Ground Control to electronically acquire and guide the orbiter to a hands-free landing. “We're taking her in manually.” He looked over at his pilot. “Are we prepared for an emergency eject?”
Staring straight ahead, hands clutching the controls, Schwartz nodded. “Standing by.”
It was almost a dead stick, but not quite, and as long as there was still a chance, they were not about to abandon ship. Through the cockpit windows they could see the main landing strip, the Vehicle Assembly Building, and the Control Tower in the distance.
Twenty miles to go.
They were coming down too fast and at a bad angle. The emergency chute was offline, and even if it were operational, it would barely do a thing. They were going to hit the ground hard, and there was no guarantee that the landing gear or the orbiter itself would hold up to the impact.
***
Noah Gettleman stood in grim silence on the upper control deck. Arms crossed over his chest, he stared ahead, watching the descending spacecraft through the observation window. Against the bright sky, the small dark speck slowly grew over the horizon.
Jack Kroft came up behind Gettleman, placed a hand on his shoulder, and watched with him.
The phones were still ringing. People were still talking. Some sat behind their desks, while others stood in the aisles. They all braced for disaster.
Tightening his jaw, the senior flight director turned his attention back to the window. The orbiter was almost there, skimming the runway so close that it looked as if it could land at any moment. In the corner of the main monitor, the big red numbers ticked away.
The Naiad was three meters from the ground.
Two.
One.
Touchdown.
***
In the stairwell leading to the connecting tunnel, Tyler almost collapsed again, but Lynn forced him to his feet.
“This way,” she ordered as they began making their way down the flight of stairs.
Tyler cocked his head to one side. “Do you hear something?”
Suddenly, a deafening roar overcame them. The ground shuddered violently, pitching them both down onto the concrete landing.
Then the lights flickered out, and the two huddled in darkness as the world around them exploded.
***
The Naiad had struck the reinforced runway surface at a speed of nearly two hundred miles per hour. The mere fact that they had even made it to the ground was a testament to Elliot Schwartz's piloting skills. But everything fell apart in those last few seconds. The flight angle, combined with the additional speed of the craft, caused the initial impact to fall entirely on the front landing strut, which instantly splintered under the weight of the two-hundred ton orbiter. The nose of the craft dug into the runway as momentum carried it forward and sideways.
Less than a second later, both sets of rear landing wheels slammed into the runway and collapsed. Then the Naiad briefly bounced into the air before slamming back down. A deafening roar thundered as the orbiter, flat on its belly, skidded out of control, twisting back and forth, throwing up sheets of sparks, despite the thick layer of foam that coated the runway.
The craft careened from the runway as the engines exploded in a massive fireball. Still racing out of control, the Naiad skidded and bounced over the mile-wide buffer zone, gouging a path through the sand before plowing into the Vehicle Assembly Building. Steel and aluminum struts sprayed into the air as the orbiter sideswiped the massive building, picking through two security stations and demolishing a smaller maintenance shed along the way.
The orbiter twisted one last time, straightening itself as metal and concrete debris rained down, kicking up plumes in the earth. A massive yellow-and-crimson inferno enveloped the downed spacecraft as the orbiter came to a final rest inside the VAB.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
For the second time that morning, the Control Tower fell silent. For an instant, every person in the room remained in stunned disbelief, staring at the echoing carnage. And then, suddenly and collectively, they were back to work. Shouts were ordered. People were running. Disaster protocols were implemented.
Flames consumed the better part of the Vehicle Assembly Building as emergency vehicles converged and sprayed pitifully small streams of foam and water into the massive blaze. Dark smoke billowed in great clouds, shadowing the wreckage. Twisted steel girders fingered out from smaller fires that erupted through the building’s superstructure. Fortunately, the main fuel tanks on the opposite end of the building had not ruptured. That was about the only thing that could have made the disaster worse.
As echoes of secondary explosions sounded through the Control Tower, Agency Director Jack Kroft stumbled back a step and collapsed into a nearby chair. His hands went to his face.
Absolute shock still gripped Dr. Noah Gettleman. He heard nothing and felt a detached emptiness as he stared through the observation windows at the rising smoke. He had just lost his crew, his friends, his ship.
One moment they were about to land. Now they were gone.
From somewhere came the sound of someone calling his name. Gettleman’s lips moved in reply, but no words came from his mouth. His eyes were still fixed on the horrible scene. He slowly shook his head. He had experienced this moment countless times over the years. And as bad as those nightmares were, the reality of the moment was infinitely worse.
He was numb.
“Sir, you have a phone call.”
Gettleman turned his head and stared blankly at the station tech. “We’re in lockdown,” he replied.
The tech added quietly, “It's Sinclair Dorian.”
Gettleman glanced up as he heard voices coming over the public address system. He looked over at his desk.
On his telephone - which was finally working - the red light of his private line was blinking. He walked over and stared at the phone, feeling a sharp burning in his stomach and the base of his throat. He felt like he was about to vomit but managed somehow to keep down his bile. Then he took a deep breath and picked up the receiver.
“Hello, Mr. Dorian.”
“Who is this?” the voice on the line demanded.
“This is Senior Flight Director Noah Gettleman.”
“I've been trying to reach you people for the last hour! What’s going on there?”
“We just had an … incident.”
“An incident? Goddamn it, man, I just watched my spaceship blow up on national television!”
Gettleman tried very hard to keep his voice even. A sharp pain lanced through his gut. “Sir, we are still assessing the damage. Now is not the time -”
“What happened to the astronauts?”
“We’re not sure yet.”
“Well, tell me something!” Dorian demanded. “This is outrage -”
“Just a moment, sir.”
Gettleman pushed a button and put Sinclair Dorian on hold. The red light on the phone blinked angrily.
He turned to the nearest aide. “What happened to the astronauts?”
“We’re reporting a complete vehicle failure, sir. We don’t have any word from -”
“Did they eject? We should be able to detect the transponder.”
“There’s nothing, sir. The control module did not separate.”
Gettleman lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.
He reached again for the phone, but before he picked up, he looked over and saw Jack Kroft still slumped in his chair, his eyes glazed over in shock. Gettleman gestured to him. The agency director slowly stood and shuffled over.
“Mr. Dorian?” Gettleman said as he picked up the phone and took the line off hold.
“- know what the hell is going -”
Gettleman turned to Kroft and shoved the receiver into his hands. “It’s for you,” he said to the surprised director.
Gettleman turned back to his desk, picked up his bottle of antacids, and walked to the edge of the platform. Until there was something to report, his people were trained to follow emergency procedures. He popped a handful of tablets and chewed.
The control module of the orbiter was designed to double as an emergency lifeboat. Although the pod was the most structurally sound component of the orbiter, he could hardly believe that the astronauts could have survived through all that destruction.
But maybe they did. Maybe they beat the odds.
“Is there anything?” he asked, looking out over the room.
The communications tech looked back and slowly shook his head.
Gettleman’s mouth tightened as he blinked back tears. He stared out at the smoking wreckage, refusing to acknowledge the full horror of the moment. He wouldn’t break down here, he promised himself. Maybe they were still alive, just waiting to be rescued. He shook his head, knowing that he needed to head up that rescue. He was still considering best-case scenarios when Jack Kroft hung up the telephone. His expression was grim as he came up to Gettleman.
“Noah,” he said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s get to work.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Behind the half of the Vehicle Assembly Building that still remained standing, a small utility door slowly creaked open - only a little at first, and then all the way. Two figures stumbled out, blinking in the sunlight and coughing uncontrollably, their bodies powdered with white dust. They looked around. From where they stood, the area looked fine. The Mission Control Tower and the administration building stood in the distance. The only hint of trouble came from the flashing lights of emergency vehicles rushing across the compound.
Lynn Anholt turned her attention to Samson Tyler, who she was still supporting with one arm. Together they started to make their way around the building, with Tyler limping badly.
Not until they cleared the intact side of the VAB did they realize what they had survived. Through the smoke and flames, they saw the huge swath of destruction that had raked the building. Twisted steel clawed from the ground. The skeletal remains of the Naiad sat enveloped in a roaring inferno. Fire teams were working from their yellow emergency trucks, shooting streams of foam onto the wreckage. Black plumes of smoke billowed angrily into the sky, driven by gusts of hot desert wind.
Tyler heard Lynn’s intake of breath and knew that she was thinking the same thing he was.
That could have been us.
It was a long walk back to the main compound. All around them, sirens blared and vehicles rushed about. Several helicopters flew in low from the west, roaring above them and kicking up more choking dust. Security personnel rushed past on foot and in vehicles, but no one stopped to help them.
Finally, they reached the administration building. They made their way across a parking lot toward the back entrance.
“Samson Tyler?”
Lynn released Tyler as a black Suburban pulled up beside them. Four FBI agents piled out and formed a semi-circle around him. Bloody and dusty, Tyler shifted on his feet, looking at each man in turn.
With a grim expression, he said, “You’re late.”
The Special Agent in Charge stepped forward and flashed a badge. “We've been ordered to take you in, Mr. Tyler. We have a warrant for your arrest.”
Another agent stepped forward, bearing handcuffs. He looked Tyler up and down.
The rumble in the distance shifted in pitch. Everyone turned as the blazing orbiter’s superstructure groaned and shifted within the remains of the Vehicle Assembly Building. A muffled explosion blew apart the cargo section, spraying debris over the area. They all stared at the carnage in silence, watching the inferno intensify and belch more smoke into the New Mexico sky.
The funeral pyre of the Naiad was an awesome, horrible sight.
Samson Tyler was the first to break the silence. “All right,” he said, slowly turning from the scene and offering out his hands. “Let's get this over with.”
The agents placed him in handcuffs and read him his rights. Then they left.
THE FOLLOWING MONDAY
(AP) Federal investigators and the NTSB are assisting Templar Enterprises in determining the cause of the Naiad disaster. Cleanup operations have already begun. Sorting through the wreckage will take several weeks. - The president called for a day of “prayer and reflection” for the families of the three astronauts killed in the crash. – Templar Enterprises has grounded its flight program until engineers determine the causes of the failure of the Naiad’s port engine and the subsequent explosion at the Thomas Dorian Space Center.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Still sore from his injuries, Samson Tyler winced under Teresa Keller’s embrace. After a long moment she released him, held him at arm's length, and looked him up and down. She examined his bruised face with a critical and sympathetic eye.
“Rough week?” she asked with a grim smile.
The two could not have looked more mismatched. Tyler was dressed in a gray business suit, his face looking like he went ten rounds with a prizefighter. Teresa was dressed in a white tank-top and shorts. For a long, awkward moment, the two said nothing.
Tyler opened his mouth to say something, but Teresa spoke first.
“Let’s walk,” she said. With the main branch of the New York Public Library ahead, they started along the colorful perennial border of Bryant Park. Tyler kept up with a slight limp. It was a warm morning, promising sunny skies for the day.
“So you went to New Mexico after all,” she said in a distinctly neutral voice.
“It was a last-minute decision.” He looked over at her. “You should have seen the place. It really was amazing.”
They fell silent again for a few moments. Then Teresa said, “I was home when I saw your press conference on television. You were nervous, weren’t you?”
“How did you know?”
“On the opposite end, yes.”
“My God. You could have been killed…”
“Along with our astronauts, yeah.”
“None of them survived?”
Tyler shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
“What happens to their families?”
“The company provides generous death benefits. Astronauts have additional life insurance coverage and a five-year salary continuation for spouses.”
“Hardly seems enough.”
“I know.”
They both fell silent as they continued walking. They passed the small tables of people drinking and eating, enjoying the morning.
“At least you’re returning my calls now,” Tyler said.
“Don’t get too excited, big boy. I only called you back so you’d stop clogging up my answering machine with all those rambling messages.”
“That’s the only reason?”
“Yep.” She looked at him and frowned. “So, that woman in the club that night…”
“Yeah. That was Merrick.”
“Right.” She glanced away and muttered, “The bitch.” She looked back. “What was she doing there, anyway? How did she know that you would be at that club?”
“I don’t know. There was no way Merrick could have known where I was that night unless my bodyguards tipped her off or she somehow tapped my phone.”
“Think your bodyguards were on the take?”
“I doubt it.”
“But you'll never know for sure.”
“Probably not.” He motioned toward an empty table. “Mind if we sit for a moment?”
He grunted as they sat, and he extended his wounded leg. Taking a deep breath, he gave Teresa a tight smile. “So I guess the question for us now is - where do we go from here?”