by Ben Bova
“That’s probably Ted applying the brakes to stop our rotation,” he explained to her.
Benson went to the intercom microphone on the passageway bulkhead. “Listen up, people. Ted’s despinning the ship. We’re going to be in microgravity for a while.”
Maybe a long while, he added silently.
Another wobble, and then one heavy, prolonged lurch. Benson leaned against the bulkhead for support. After what seemed like an eternity, he felt himself drifting away from the bulkhead, his arms floating up toward chest level. For the first time since their trans-Mars injection burn, they were effectively weightless.
“Ted’s stopped the rotation,” he said into the intercom. “We’re back in zero gee. Anything that’s not tied down or Velcroed in place is going to be floating around.”
Microgravity was not a welcome sensation. The crew had become accustomed to a pleasant one-third gee, Benson included.
Benson felt his stomach rising up into his throat. His sinuses felt stuffy and everything went woozy when he turned his head. He knew that the rest of the crew was experiencing the same disconcerting sensations.
Free fall. The name said it all. Benson felt as if he were dropping from a great height, and there was no bottom to the chasm he was falling through. Like being on a roller coaster as it reached the top of its climb and started racing downslope at a dizzying speed, the feelings produced by free fall were exhilarating and nauseating at the same time. And it never stopped. It was only a matter of time before someone upchucked.
Not me, Benson resolved. Especially not wearing this damned mask.
July 21, 2035
Earth Departure Plus 98 Days
22:15 Universal Time
The Galley
Once the leaks had been repaired and normal atmospheric pressure restored to the habitation module, the crew used the safety belts of the galley seats to strap themselves down. They no longer needed their air masks.
They were slowly getting acclimatized to weightlessness again; only Hi McPherson had succumbed to space sickness, and that hadn’t happened until he’d taken off his mask. Fortunately, Catherine Clermont had been close enough to pull out one of the sickness bags that had been stashed at convenient locations throughout the module and handed it to Hi just in time.
Even Mikhail Prokhorov joined them in the galley, sporting an egg-sized bluish lump on his forehead.
“Good thick Russian head,” he joked weakly as he strapped himself down. Then he added, “I wish I had good thick Russian stomach, too. I feel full of butterflies.”
Benson had considered standing to talk to them, as usual, but thought better of it. The sight of him hovering off the floor—or, worse still, floating across the galley—might start an unpleasant round of upchucking. The thought of the noise and smell almost made him heave.
So he remained strapped into his chair, all eyes on him, as he sketched out the ship’s condition.
“It looks like we were hit by something, probably a meteoroid, not a large one, but big enough to nearly sever the central truss that connects us to the propulsion system and the propellant tankage. The shrapnel produced when the object struck peppered the ship and did a significant amount of damage.”
He paused. They were all waiting for better news, he knew, but he had to tell them the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
“The air leaks were minor, really, and they’ve been patched. To keep the ship from flying apart, Ted slowed our rotation to zero.”
“And our gravity along with it,” quipped Amanda Lynn.
Benson flashed a quick grin at her. “It’s either zero gravity or the ship breaks apart. The truss seems to be holding together now, but it’s back to zero gee countermeasures for us from here on out.”
“All the way to Mars?” Prokhorov asked.
“And back again,” said Benson, mentally adding, If we get that far.
A few groans and mutters from the crew. Zero gee counter-measures meant four hours a day of vigorous exercise on the treadmills and weight machines to keep muscle tone and bone mass from deteriorating.
“We’ve got a water leak in the main bladder,” he went on. “It’ll have to be patched before we lose too much. We’ve also got a propellant leak in one of the TEI tanks. That’s going to be a bitch to repair. We’re venting hydrogen at a rate that’ll leave the tank empty; that means a one-way trip to Mars if we don’t fix it soon. I’ve asked mission control for a repair plan; they’re looking at the engineering telemetry and working it out. Somebody’s going to have to go EVA to fix both leaks.”
“At the same time?”
“Hopefully. We don’t have much time to spare.”
Benson tried to read the expressions on their faces as they stared at him, waiting for him to continue. He saw fear, but not panic. They had problems to solve and they looked to Bee to lead them to the solutions.
Jabbing a finger at Nomura, he said, “Taki, you’ll need to get two of us ready to go outside in the next couple of hours. It’s going to be Amanda and me. We’ve all trained for EVA and I need the rest of you at your stations keeping up with what the ship’s doing while we’re outside.”
Connover’s brows knit. “Bee, no offense to Amanda, but I’m the best one to go out with you for this.”
“I’m sure Amanda won’t take offense and you shouldn’t either. I need you inside to handle any emergencies that might pop up. We don’t know what other systems might have taken a hit and we can’t afford to have both of us outside if something comes up.”
Before Connover could object, Benson added, “Beside, mission regs say that both astronauts should not go EVA at the same time unless it’s absolutely unavoidable.”
Amanda Lynn glanced at Connover, then turned back to Benson. “Hey, I’ll do my best,” she said, in a tone that was half assurance, half defensive.
“I know you will, Amanda,” Benson said. “That’s why I want you out there with me.” Looking at Gonzalez, he went on, “We’ve also lost our backup communications antenna. Virginia, I’m leaving that problem to you. I expect some ideas from you once we’ve fixed these more pressing problems. Any questions?”
Prokhorov raised his hand.
“Mikhail?”
“Once you fix the leaks, are we turning around for home? I’m no hero. It’s time to go home.”
Benson had expected that question to come up, sooner or later. They all knew the answer, or they should have known it. But it was the mission commander’s responsibility to confirm the bad news.
“We can’t turn around now. We don’t have enough fuel. If this had happened two weeks ago we could have done it, but we’re past the point of no return now. We’ve got to coast on out to Mars and let the planet’s gravity turn us.”
“You mean we’re going ahead with the mission?” McPherson asked. He seemed actually happy at the prospect.
“That, I don’t know, Hi. We’ll have to dip into Mars’ atmosphere and aerobrake into orbit. Whether we go down to the surface or head back to Earth immediately depends on a lot of factors that we just don’t have enough information to decide on as yet.”
Catherine Clermont murmured, “We just have to stay alive.”
Benson nodded. “Right. Our first priority is to stay alive. That’s why we need to get moving on those repairs. We also need to make sure there isn’t anything else about to go wrong before we have a chance to batten down the hatches. Any more questions?”
The seven of them looked around at each other. No one spoke.
“All right, then. Amanda, you and I get together with Taki for EVA prep. The rest of you get to your stations.”
July 21, 2035
Earth Departure Plus 98 Days
03:00 Universal Time
New York City
Standing in the mockup of the Arrow, Steven Treadway put on his most somber expression as the director pointed his finger at him.
“This is Steven Treadway, reporting to you from our studio in New York. The n
ews from space is grim this evening. The Mars-bound spacecraft Arrow has been hit and severely damaged by an errant meteoroid, a tiny piece of rock that has put the lives of the eight men and women aboard that ship in grave peril.”
Treadway walked toward the wall of the habitat and, at least as it appeared to the viewers, he walked right through it and into deep space. For Treadway, the walk was simply toward an opening in the side of the mockup; the special effects wizards were taking care of the rest. Viewers now saw Treadway walking beside the Arrow’s badly mangled truss, viewing an image enhanced from one originally taken by a hand-held camera pointed through the aft window of the spacecraft’s habitation module.
“Normally, as the Arrow’s imbedded reporter, I would be with the crew through our virtual reality link. But at this moment, I’m keeping my presence low-key, while the spacecraft’s valiant crew struggles to repair the damage to their ship.”
CGI animation then showed a rock striking the Arrow’s central truss, with debris flying everywhere, seeming to fly right through the reporter standing beside the ship. A sound track added a crunching noise—a feat of imagination, since sound cannot be propagated in the vacuum of space.
Treadway allowed himself a tight smile. “Fortunately, only one member of the crew was hurt from the collision, and that was a minimal injury. Mikhail Prokhorov, the Russian meteorologist, suffered a blow to his head when the meteoroid struck, but he is mostly recovered now.”
The screen went back to the view of the damaged truss.
“The condition of the ship is uncertain,” Treadway went on. “The central truss connecting the crew’s habitat to the nuclear propulsion system took the brunt of the meteoroid strike, and has been nearly severed. From the reports we’ve received, if the crew hadn’t quickly stopped the ship’s rotation, the Arrow might have broken apart and the crew would have been stranded halfway between Earth and Mars. We’re told the ship is leaking water and fuel, and there might be damage to other systems that has not yet been fully assessed.”
The screen showed an old video clip of an astronaut getting into an EVA suit, assisted by a trio of technicians.
“Mission commander Bee Benson and biologist Amanda Lynn are now preparing to go outside in their spacesuits to fully assess the damage and try to repair the water and fuel leaks. This will be the first time humans have performed an EVA so far from home.”
The camera tightening on Treadway’s dead-serious face, he said, “Even though the Arrow is still speeding toward Mars at several thousand miles per hour, Benson and Lynn will appear motionless as they exit the relative safety of the ship, since they are traveling at the same velocity. For safety reasons, they won’t be allowed to use the new Space Maneuvering Units, or SMUs, that are so commonly used during spacewalks at several of Earth’s orbiting space stations. Mission Control is insisting that they remain tethered to the vehicle at all times, just in case something happens during the EVA and they have to be pulled back inside the ship. Not using the SMUs also gives them an additional four hours they can spend outside the ship. The SMUs themselves are rather large, limiting the size of the astronauts’ oxygen tanks to providing them with only a two hour supply.
“To prepare for this crucial spacewalk, Benson and Lynn are now wearing respirators and pre-breathing pure oxygen. Due to the critical nature of their spacewalk, they are not going through the customary twenty-four-hour preparation for EVA that has been standard astronaut protocol since the days of the Apollo program.
“Instead, Benson and Lynn are going through an abbreviated protocol that will allow them to go outside the ship in less than three hours.”
The screen showed a clip of two astronauts working in spacesuits outside a space station in Earth orbit.
Treadway continued, “Going from the pressurized cabin of the Arrow to the vacuum of space is not as simple as putting on a spacesuit and opening a hatch. Without pre-breathing low-pressure oxygen and taking the proper precautions, the astronauts could succumb to the bends and even die. First observed in deep-sea divers, the bends is caused by the human body going from normal air pressure to the much lower pressure of a diving suit or a spacesuit. Nitrogen bubbles form in the bloodstream, causing severe pain, debilitation and even death. Fortunately the crew is trained in how to prevent this, and they’re taking those steps now.”
Turning part-way toward the big wall screen, so that he stood in profile against the image of the battered Arrow, Treadway said fervently, “Good luck, Commander Benson and Amanda Lynn. Good luck to all of the crippled Arrow’s gallant crew.”
He turned back to face the TV camera for a closeup. “Steven Treadway reporting.”
July 22, 2035
Earth Departure Plus 99 Days
03:40 Universal Time
Extravehicular Activity
Like most space missions, the Arrow ran on Universal Time, so it was already past three a.m. on July 22 when Benson and Lynn emerged from the main airlock, trailing long flexible tethers.
Bee yawned inside his bubble helmet, thinking, Maybe we should have waited and got a night’s sleep before doing this. Then he immediately answered himself, Right. Like you could sleep.
As he moved carefully hand over hand across the grips that studded Arrow’s exterior, Benson surveyed the damage the ship had suffered. The ship’s exterior lights illuminated its massive frame and modules clearly.
Benson could see a fine mist of water leaking from the bladder just under the habitat’s outer skin. He had no way of knowing how much water had already been lost, but losing any of the precious stuff was losing too much.
Hydrogen propellant was leaking from the Trans-Earth Injection tanks, propellant they would need when the time came to break free of Mars orbit and start the journey back to Earth. The TEI tanks were nearly three hundred feet from where he hovered, tethered to one of the handgrips, on the other side of the propellant tanks they would use to enter Mars orbit. Between Benson and the TEI tanks was the mangled section of the main truss.
“What a mess,” he muttered.
Amanda, hovering on her own tether a dozen feet from him, said in an awed voice, “The impact shattered the truss almost completely.”
“And some of the debris must’ve arced over and hit the water bladder and TEI tanks.”
“So what do you want me to do?” she asked.
“First things first,” he said. “Follow me.”
Carefully keeping his tether from snagging on any of the damaged truss sections, Benson crept hand-over-hand toward the water leak. Lynn followed close behind him. He could hear her breathing hard from the exertion.
He was already sweating inside the EVA suit.
“How’re you doing, Amanda?”
“Okay. Fine. I guess.”
He knew that although Amanda was a biologist and not an astronaut, she had been cross-trained for EVA work, just like the rest of the crew. She had done several spacewalks on the International Space Station.
She’ll be fine, he told himself. Still, he kept one eye on her. Don’t want to lose her, or get her hurt.
At last he reached the spot where the water was leaking. The hole wasn’t particularly large, but the water was spraying out like a fountain. The plume rose into the blackness of space, rather than the blue sky of Earth, water droplets immediately condensing into ice pellets and forming a contrail the swept outward as far as his eyes could see. Not good.
“Amanda, we need to stop the leak without letting the ice crystals cover our suits or, more importantly, our helmets. The last thing we can afford is to go blind out here.”
“How much water do you think we’ve already lost, Bee?”
“Hard to say. Too much, whatever it is. We’ll probably have to ration water for the rest of the trip, even if we can stop the leak now. So let’s get to it.”
Patching the water leak was surprisingly easy. Benson was able to position himself on the side opposite from the spray of spewing ice crystals out. Gripping the patch carefully in his
gloves, he pushed it directly into the stream. For a moment he was afraid that he’d misjudged and deflected the plume onto Amanda, but he got the hole covered and she smeared epoxy generously around the edges of the patch.
Smiling to himself, Benson remembered that the epoxy set much better in the vacuum of space than in air.
“That does it,” he said.
“Less than an hour,” Ted Connover’s voice sounded in his helmet earphones. “Good work, Bee.”
“Thanks. Taki—we’re going aft to take a look at the propellant leak. How’s our vitals?”
Nomura, inside the infirmary studying the readouts from their suit sensors, replied, “Vital signs all in the normal range, except for overheating a bit. Turn up your suit fans, Bee. You too, Amanda.”
Benson tapped the key on his wristpad and heard the fans whine a little higher.
“You’ve got a little more than five hours of oxygen supply,” Nomura went on. “You’re good to go.”
“Okay,” said Benson. “Amanda, you ready?”
“Ready.”
He looked aft along the handholds that ran down the truss toward the massive propellant tanks. The TMI tanks looked intact. No apparent damage. We’ll have the propellant we need to go into orbit around Mars, Benson knew. Good.
But the TEI tanks were leaking, too, even though he could not see an obvious plume spouting from them. The ship’s sensors reported they were losing propellant. Could the sensors be wrong? Benson wondered. Maybe the impact of the collision knocked them off.
Too good to be true, he thought. We’ll have to go down there and see what’s what. If we’ve lost as much as the sensors say, we might not have enough for the Trans-Earth Injection burn. We’ll be stranded at Mars.
Pushing those fears to the back of his mind, Benson looked at the mangled mess of broken crosspieces and twisted aluminum struts where the collision had occurred. Of the twelve crosspieces, only two remained undamaged. Furthermore, only two were holding the ship together.
