by Robert Graf
“When's the news conference?"
Jeanette glanced at her console. "Supposed to be 09:30 in Washington, so in a few minutes. Flight's going to have it live on a screen up front, the audio will be local to each station."
"Toffler gone back for it?"
"No. I saw him an hour or so past. The Director is running the PR side." Jeanette sighed. "It's going to be a circus here. I've talked with old-timers who remembered the Challenger and Columbia disasters. It was not fun."
Another detail Ann hadn't thought through. What if the Director mentioned the EntComs' freak ability? No, he couldn't be that naive, and maybe he didn't know. She prayed he would keep quiet, otherwise...That got her to thinking: how many people did know? There's Ian and whoever he told, Isaac and the Curia, Jon and his latest, Farid and his brother and friend, a bunch of NASA folk, the Jove Explorer crew, Pratt Whitney people. And who have they told?
She had a sudden premonition the press conference would be the trigger. The sole communication to the ship was by EntComs. She couldn’t imagine the pressure NASA would be under to allow interviews with the crew. "Director, why can't I ask this question? What do you mean it won't transmit? What's wrong with your EntComs?"
"God help us," she muttered under her breath.
"What's that, Dr. Grey?"
"Please, call me Ann."
"Sorry, habits are hard to break."
Must be the environment. "I was praying for a safe return."
"Yes," Jeanette said, a solemn expression on her round face. "We all are."
"What about the weather? It didn't sound good."
"Not to worry. Houston doesn't get many real bad storms this time of year. Anyway the Space Center's got backup generators for the backup generators. We'll be fine."
Ann hoped she was right.
The left-side screen lit up with NASA's red-white-blue logo. "Here we go," Jeanette announced. The background noise increased as other stations switched to the conference. The logo vanished, replaced by the image of Director Cormany, his tall, angular frame in a dark blue suit and tie, standing behind a podium in NASA's headquarters. Ann watched as the camera panned the audience. Not an empty seat in the place; a phalanx of image recorders lined up across the back wall pointed to the podium.
He thanked everyone for attending, then described the current situation. He didn't elaborate beyond stating there was an accident with one fatality, and a fix was underway. An image of the Jove Explorer, identical to the one in front of her, shown on the screen behind the Director, its location marked by a yellow circle. Next he asked for questions.
A stout woman stood. “Helen Stamper, CNN. Director Cormany, what are the chances of their safe return?"
"Excellent. The Pratt Whitney engineers are finalizing a plan to restart one engine. Once it’s working they'll reverse course and return to the moon base."
"How soon will that occur?"
"Hopefully today. We will keep everyone updated on our website. Next?”
A neatly-dressed, thin-faced man stood. "Krausse from NBC. How long can they survive without the engines, and how do you communicate with the ship? My sources tell me that without engines there is no radio communication."
"They have sufficient supplies for several weeks. Communication is by the EntCom system which requires little power."
"If no engines, how is life-support kept going?"
"Backup systems can last for weeks. Next?"
A short, fat, turban-wearing man stood. "Gupta Singh of the India Times. What was the cause of the failure, and when can we interview the crew?"
Ann straightened up.
The Director sipped from a glass of water. "We don't know the exact cause of the failure other than it was in a fuel line in the electromagnetic field generator system. There will be no interviews until we have the ship turned and on its way back."
"What about family, friends?"
"Personal messages will be allowed when feasible. You must appreciate that with a single communication system we must reserve it for critical information."
It went on from there. Ann tuned out the audio and concentrated on the tiny lights in the immense blackness on the screen. She had a horrible vision of watching the last message from the last survivor on the ship scrolling across the EntCom screen: "Air is gone. Tell Mary I love her."
"Please, God, don't let it happen," she whispered.
The Director's image vanished from the big screen, replaced by NASA's logo; the screen blanked. Murmurs grew into an audible clamor before receding as stations resumed their tasks.
"What did you think, Ann?"
"He handled it well. He came across as confident but not overconfident, and he had answers for everything. He was well briefed."
Jeanette nodded. "I'll bet he had little sleep. You watch. The nay-sayers will be clamoring to end funding for manned space flight. It happens every time there's a hiccup."
Ann agreed. She'd had the same experience with tenured faculty when she was a post-doc. "You're probably right, the billions spent on this project will give opponents plenty of ammunition. And an election coming up." She selected a national news feed on her tablet, plugged in her earbuds and leaned back. It promised to be another long day.
Several messages from the ship builders, a consortium of Boeing and Grumman-Lockheed, and a few from Pratt Whitney kept her and Jeanette occupied up to lunch time. She found no problems and presumed they were screening according to her notes or were just lucky. A few from the Jove Explorer failed, but after retries were received intact. She made a note to have engineering build a pre-transmission module to do the 'rules' screening automatically. There was nothing to be done about errors of fact. She smiled to herself. Wouldn't Farid just love that?
"I'm off to lunch. What about you?" she asked Jeanette.
"I'll wait 'till you get back. Flight will act as CAPCOM while I eat. Don't take long."
"Right," she said, getting up. "I'll be quick as I can."
The cafeteria wasn't crowded, she had a beef sandwich and coffee in minutes. A table in the corner full of trays and cups beckoned her. She pushed the mess into a corner, sat down and ate her meal. The wall clock showed 12:35. A quick pit stop and back to FR.
"Your turn," she told Jeanette.
"Flight, I'm on lunch break," Jeanette said and removed her headset. "Back in a few."
Several minutes after Jeanette returned Flight Control made a general announcement: "At 14:00 hours local, Jove Explorer will attempt to restart one engine."
She glanced at her tablet: 13:20. She felt stupid, she'd never asked how they synchronized their efforts. "Aren't you and the ship running on UTC?" she asked.
"Right, and Houston local time. The ship has three cesium clocks. Even at maximum velocity we can ignore relativistic effects. Right now we're roughly in line with the ship so time lag is about ten minutes, of course zero with your EntComs."
Another thing she hadn't considered. "Were the clocks affected by the accident?"
"Thank the Lord, no. They have an independent power supply."
Precisely at 14:00 a message flashed on the EntCom monitor: "Beginning ignition sequence." She was startled to see it repeated in large letters on the wall screen next to the ship's location. There was absolute silence. Minutes passed.
"Ignition successful, beginning turn," flashed on the wall screen.
The room erupted in shouts, loud whistles and clapping. Jeanette hugged Ann. "They did it!"
Ann returned the hug, laughing in relief. She had to hold back tears. “Thank God.” She smiled to herself; getting awful religious these last few days.
"Yes, Flight, will do," Jeanette said. She rapidly typed "Well done" and sent it.
"What's next?" Ann asked.
"They're turning the ship back toward the moon. Hopefully the radio systems will come back on line so the engineers and crew can talk directly. I'll monitor but won't participate, though I have to alert the radio telescopes."
"How long
will that take?"
"I'm not sure, hours I'd guess." She held up her hand. "Flight wants a word." She handed Ann the headset.
"Yes?"
"I expect they'll get the RF system operational, so you can take a break, but leave your phone code with CAPCOM."
"Thank you."
"Thank you, Dr. Grey."
She handed the headset back and told Jeanette her code. "Is there somewhere I can get better clothes, say a business suit?"
"Yes. Go back to the front lobby, and ask for directions to the shop near Cafeteria 11. It has some decent outfits. I sometimes get clothes there when I have to say at the Center."
"Great. See you later."
She had no trouble finding the shop, Eleanor's. The wind had picked up and the gray overcast threatened rain. The worst of it was the humidity; she wasn't used to it and didn't plan to stay long enough to get acclimated. She silently thanked whoever had invented air-conditioning. To her delight the shop had several pants-suits that fit her. She chose a light charcoal gray that offset her blonde hair. She purchased a sheer bra and panties in light blue, a present for Alex. At the last minute she added a lightweight jacket and charged everything to her Global credit card. Should she return to FCR? She decided to walk to the Astronaut quarters and try to relax, maybe even take a nap.
Her phone's chirp awoke her from a doze. Wrapped in the robe, she sat up in the overstuffed chair and stretched. The bedside clock showed 17:15. The chirping continued. "Just a minute." She picked it up. No visual. "Yes?"
"Dr. Grey, this is Flight. Please return to FCR. There will be a car in front in a few minutes."
Her stomach tightened. Trouble. "What's wrong?"
"Not now, Dr. Grey. I'll explain when you get here." The connection closed.
How did he know where she was? She snorted. Simple deduction, where else? She changed into her new pant-suit and hurried out the door to await the car.
The threatening rain had arrived, driven by a hard wind. She blessed her foresight for purchasing the jacket. The driver said nothing, concentrating on the wet road through the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers. At building 30 the driver had to maneuver around several press satellite vans with their huge antennas before letting her out. She weaved her way inside through the throng of reporters, stopping to show her badge to uniformed guards before hurrying to FCR and the CAPCOM consoles. Young Ray Martinez had the duty. He motioned to her to sit and continued talking into his headset.
Ann glanced at the EntCom screen and froze. Oh, shit! Not again. "Engine failed, RF out, some injuries, more to follow." She stared at the screen showing the Jove's location; she couldn't tell if it had moved.
Ray removed his headset and handed it to her. "Flight wants a word."
She placed the headset on, "This is Ann. Grey."
"Dr. Grey, as you can see we've had a repeat of the earlier engine failure in exactly the same components. What isn't well known is there can be no repair. The ship manufacturer and Pratt Whitney have an experimental craft at the moonbase that may be capable of ferrying a spare part, but that will take days, and it has its own risks. Why am I telling you this? You need the background to understand messages. This is not to be discussed outside FCR."
Her worst nightmare had come true. "What can I do?"
"What you've been doing," he paused, "and pray. Let me talk to CAPCOM."
She removed the headset and gave it back to Ray. Never had she felt so helpless. What must the others be feeling, and the poor crew! She couldn't imagine.
Ann ate dinner in the cafeteria, she wasn’t hungry, but if she didn't eat she'd be no use to anyone. The mood was somber, no loud talk, just quiet subdued conversation. She got up to leave.
"Dr. Grey, could you spare a moment?"
She turned to see Director Toffler, his unflappable expression replaced by deep worry lines and dark smudges under his eyes. "If Flight doesn't mind?"
"I've cleared it with him. I want to follow up on yesterday's discussion with the Pratt Whitney people. If you would..."
She followed him to the now familiar conference room. This time only Toffler, VP Drummond, a grey-haired sixtyish man in a dark blue suit, and she were present. She sat a chair away from Toffler and regarded the stranger who studied her with an appraising expression. Good thing she'd changed.
"This is Lawrence Hampton, CEO of Pratt Whitney. He has a few questions that only you can answer and appealed to me for help. This isn't a formal hearing, but the consequences could be grave for both of us."
Hampton’s grey eyes bore into hers. "Dr. Grey, let me first say I'm impressed with the EntCom. It's simply amazing, maybe too amazing. When Drummond informed me of the apparent problem with our quality assurance and testing, I was frankly incredulous. It was beyond belief that such a mistake could have been made. Let me be candid. I was furious that we had essentially been accused of incompetence at best or even worse, negligence. Skipping the details, we, my corporation, are faced with a contradiction..."
With sudden clarity the pieces fell together. "Your logs and engineers verified everything worked as specified, yet the EntComs say otherwise, and you want me to explain. It's simple. You, your corporation, has been lied to."
She turned to Toffler. "You must have concluded by now that your ship was sabotaged. Duplicate failures of identical components is not coincidence."
Toffler paled. "How can you make such an outrageous claim?"
"Flight briefed me earlier."
"That it was sabotage? I don't believe you."
She shook her head. "No, just the duplicate failure."
"Dr. Grey. You're accusing Pratt Whitney of sabotage?" demanded Hampton, his face flushed with anger.
She'd gone too far, yet she trusted her instincts. "What if you send replacements with the same flaws? Unless you follow the manufacture process from beginning to end, and I mean the components do not get out of your sight, you have no guarantee of success." She had another insight. "What about the engine in that experimental ship? Has it been checked?"
The CEO hesitated. "Drummond, what about it?"
"I'll get right on it," the VP answered and hurriedly left.
"Mr. Hampton, who makes these things?" Ann asked.
"A company we've dealt with for years, they're totally reliable."
She didn't bother with a reply. Why was she pointing these things out? These people weren't stupid. So what was going on? Denial? No, be charitable, the EntComs' ability defies reality.
Toffler shifted his gaze from her to the CEO and frowned. "Duplicate components failed in the same manner?"
"That's what Dr. Grey says, we've not been informed," Hampton replied angrily.
"If Flight told her, it's so." He swung his gaze to Ann and back to the CEO. "I'm inclined to entertain the possibility of sabotage. To think otherwise, well you know the liability clauses as well as I. I'll inform the Director of our discussion, and he will decide what to do. Meanwhile I want those components' integrity absolutely verified. I'm going to assign one of my staff to physically follow their manufacture. You will make sure that happens. Understood?"
Ann watched, fascinated. She'd judged Toffler as a run-of-the-mill bureaucrat. It was like seeing her favorite teddy bear, if she had one, suddenly stand eight feet tall and bare its fangs and claws.
The CEO's face registered surprise before reverting to a bland expression. "I'll see to it." He turned back to Ann. "My VP told me about the, how can I describe it, God-like ability of your system. That she would even consider the possibility is almost as astonishing as the claim itself. So, make me believe it."
Arrogant prick. Ann could see herself repeating the same explanation over and over, an eternal torture, and she was sick of it. She gazed at Toffler with a plaintive expression.
He gave a slight nod. "Mr. Hampton, NASA accepts the claim, not based on Dr. Grey, but on our own tests. We can delve into it after our ship and crew return safely. That is priority one. To maximize our chances you will impleme
nt whatever it takes to guarantee any replacement components as I instructed. We will determine if sabotage was indeed the cause, but that cannot divert us from our first priority." He stood. "We're finished here. Dr. Grey you may return to CAPCOM."
The CEO opened his mouth to protest, instead he stood. "Agreed. The ship is first, and we will get it back." With that comment he left the room.
Ann needed to make amends. "Director, maybe you shouldn't include me in these discussions. I'm not in a very good mood these days and tend to be less than circumspect. I'm not backing away from anything I've said, but the attacks on my lab and CEO and now this have me strung out."
He regarded her from a too-tired face. "Don't apologize; we're all under a lot of stress. Isn't there anyone else who can help, maybe your husband?"
"My security chief can't locate him. I need to check in to the office, hopefully he's been located."
Toffler regarded her with a concerned expression. "I'll have you taken back to your quarters. If we need you, we'll come get you. I must insist you keep the sabotage idea to yourself."
"Certainly," she replied, thankful for the reprieve. She returned to CAPCOM to get her coat. “Goodnight,” she told Ray and returned to the lobby to find her driver.
[Thursday, San Francisco]
Ian MacDougal watched NASA's news conference on his tablet. He could have watched it on TV at home, but he was too edgy and wanted to get an early start. When it finished he killed the window and sat, brooding. The image of the tiny white dot in the utter blackness was a stark reminder of just how remote the Jove Explorer was. Hooper should be pleased with the publicity, but that didn't help him. He couldn't locate Ann's husband, so he had his IT guru try to track him through the undisclosed, probably illegal, app he'd had installed on certain company phones. Hooper had one and so did Ann. He'd need to put one on Patel's if he was going to be CEO for more than a few days.
His phone buzzed "MacDougal here."
A man’s narrow, weak-chinned face appeared. "This is Howard Lipsom in Engineering. I can't locate one of my senior engineers."