Vessel

by Andrew J. Morgan

  Gardner stretched out again to get a glimpse at the optical viewfinder.

  'Range about two zero zero. Adjusting pitch, one degree.'

  With a gentle nudge, he thumbed the left-hand joystick. Sally watched, dumbfounded by fright, afraid even to speak in case it made a bad situation worse. She wanted to shut her eyes until it was all over, but they stayed wide open, locked in place.

  Range one hundred metres, one zero zero. Pitch, one degree.'

  'Copy. We're still receiving telemetry. We concur adjustment of pitch, one degree.'

  'Range eighty metres. Visual on docking target.'

  'Copy.'

  'Seventy metres.'

  Sally's temperature-controlled suit was feeling stuffy, her breath fogging in fast-shrinking patches on the inside of her bulbous glass visor. She looked at the ambience controls on her side of the console, but she dared not move to adjust them. Her skin itched with trepidation and sweat.

  'Fifty metres. Roll, one degree,' Gardner said.

  'Negative, negative — do not roll one degree. Telemetry suggests to hold.'

  'The telemetry is wrong. Rolling one degree.'

  A sideways nudge of the right joystick confirmed Gardner's intentions.

  'Forty metres, pitch one degree.'

  He gave a joystick a nudge, quite a big one.

  'Shit … pitch two degrees.'

  'Take your time, Gardner.'

  Gardner nudged the stick again, this time without radio confirmation.

  'Come on …' he whispered, just loud enough to be picked up by his mic. 'Twenty metres. Docking target off by four degrees. Pitch one degree, roll two degrees. Reverse thrust, one second.'

  'Do you have alignment on the docking target?'

  Gardner prodded the left joystick again.

  'Gardner, do you have alignment?'

  'Almost … ten metres … five … come on …'

  A convulsion of screaming metal jerked Sally's head forward, throwing her into her harness. The capsule lights flickered, dimmed, then reignited, while a brace of flashing red buttons on the console blared for attention. A whoosh of fast-moving air built to a deafening roar of gale-force extremes, billowing up the loose sheets of paper tucked away in the footwell compartment.

  'We've got to get out of here!' screamed Gardner, already clawing at his harness. Sally felt for her own, remembering what she'd been told: twist and pull. Time seemed to slow and the rushing wind became distant, the lone pulsing of her heart the only thing that stayed clear. With a shaking hand, she managed to grasp the locking mechanism. Her fingers seemed numb through her glove. As she rotated the buckle, she felt a click. She pulled. The straps fell, taken by the rushing air and slapped across her chest.

  'Progress M Eighteen M, we're detecting depressurisation. What's going on?' Aleks' said, just audible above the rushing wind.

  Neither Sally nor Gardner responded as both fought their way past bulging payload bags to the sealed egress hatch at the front of the tiny module. Gardner got there first. He grabbed the slender locking bars and heaved them anti-clockwise, turning them to their stop and swinging the hatch open. He pushed his way through, gliding along in an awkward ball; Sally followed.

  'Gardner, Fisher — do you copy?'

  As Sally left the descent module and entered the front most orbital module — the last between them and the ISS — the thunderous wind increased in tenacity, and she could feel the powerful suction pull at her as she negotiated the narrow hatch.

  'Seal's blown on the descent module hatch,' she heard Gardner shout as he tumbled into the far side of the spherical orbital module. Unable to stop her own momentum, Sally crashed into Gardner’s back, sending him bouncing away. He grappled for a handhold, drawing himself along to the open hatch.

  'Come and give me a hand — we need to seal this thing!' he bellowed and Sally did as she was told, pulling herself hand over hand to help Gardner heave the hatch shut.

  'Just a bit more!' Gardner shouted. As they strained, the rushing wind quietened as the hatch clunked shut, the last molecules of gas escaping as they slid the locking mechanism home. In the sudden quiet, Sally's heart beat loud as a drum. Gardner's face was greased with sweat.

  'The hatch seems to be holding,' he gasped between breaths. 'The breach must be on the other side. Let's get to the station before it fails on this side, too.'

  Motivated by his own words, Gardner swum — with more grace than the tumble that brought him into the module — to the hatch that separated them from the ISS. He heaved the lever to the unlocked position and pulled the thick, round door open. Sally looked through the growing gap and was confused by the sight revealed to her. Another hatch, conical in shape and sporting a gleaming scar from the poorly aimed guide probe, stood between them and the safety of the station. Gardner reached out and touched it as if he didn't believe it was real.

  'I don't understand,' he said. 'Why haven't they let us in?'

  Chapter 9

  The last of the trailing smoke dissipated on the desert breeze as staff at the launch site and at Mission Control held their breath in unison. The usual celebration of a flight well done fizzled into nothing as speakers broadcast the on-going disaster in a disjointed, patchwork fashion, rushing wind distorting every shouted word from Progress M Eighteen M into an unrecognisable mush. Aleks had dialled the gain down a tad without even thinking about it; now the shouting had stopped and he was presented instead with empty silence.

  'Progress M Eighteen M, please respond,' he said, trying to maintain a steady voice. 'Progress, please respond'.

  'TsUP, Progress,' came Gardner's voice, and although it was strained with nerves, a shudder of relief flooded through Aleks. 'We've got a hull breach on the descent module hatch, pressure lost. No access to ISS, repeat, no access to ISS.'

  Aleks' brain ticked through an internal checklist practiced for such a situation. The telephone-book-like emergency-procedures manual was on his desk, ready, but he didn't need it.

  'Progress M Eighteen M, do not attempt to board the ISS,' Aleks said. 'Isolate the breach and report. Your suits have two hours' life support, so take your time and be thorough. Please confirm.'

  'The breach is on the other side of the descent module hatch, so I think we're okay.'

  'Progress, please check the hatch for breaks in the seal.'

  'Copy, TsUP, I'll go check.' Gardner's voice could have been that of a frightened boy.

  As Aleks waited, he adjusted the firm-fitting headset, running over the possible scenarios in his mind. The decisions had been left to him, since Bales had abandoned his role as Flight Director and left Mission Control, mobile phone pressed to his ear. A worried look had been passed around the room, mirrored from face to face as his absence became apparent.

  'TsUP, are you still there?' said Gardner. 'I've found a hairline fracture — it's on the inner face of the descent module hatch, about four inches long, forty-five degrees anti-clockwise from the hinge. How long have we got?'

  The rigid tension in Aleks' shoulders hardened; this was the response he'd hoped not to hear. The ever-changing odds of survival just went down.

  'Copy, Progress. My readings show the pressure in the module at a quarter of an atmosphere. I need you to increase the pressure in the orbital module to point five atmospheres.'

  'Copy.'

  Aleks waited as Gardner negotiated his way to the module's atmospheric controls to do as he had requested. He looked behind him to the double doors, but there was still no sign of Bales returning.

  'TsUP, pressure now at half an atmosphere and holding.'

  This was good news: the module could hold pressure, if at least for a while. That bought them time, as the two-hour life-support in the suits could be preserved a little longer.

  'Progress, bring pressure up to one atmosphere,' Aleks said. 'Do it slowly.'

  'Copy, TsUP.'

  From his own readout, Aleks could see the pressure continue to rise. He held his breath as the blinking red pressure wa
rning light extinguished. The needle continued to climb, passing the three-quarter mark and topping out at one atmosphere, a hundred percent.

  'TsUP, pressure seems stable,' Gardner said, confirming Aleks' readout.

  'Okay, Progress, hang tight. We're looking at getting you inside the ISS as soon as possible.'

  'Copy, TsUP. Don’t take too long.'

  Aleks glanced at the pressure readouts again, which now read at ninety-nine percent. He watched them for a minute, and they dropped yet another percent. A quick sum in his head told him the remaining oxygen in the O2 tanks would last just over an hour and a half before Gardner and Fisher were reliant on their suits again. He moved his finger from the external broadcast button to the internal one.

  'All stations, CAPCOM. I need a procedure for external entry through the MRM One hatch, and fast.'

  'Copy, CAPCOM.'

  'Copy.'

  'Copy, CAPCOM.'

  The chorus of confirmations filed one by one through Aleks' headset, and although the steadfast allegiance of the mission team ran as a trickle of confidence in his chest, it had become a knot of sickness by the time it reached his stomach. He knew almost for certain that there was no way to open the MRM One hatch from the outside. It could only be opened from within. Russian and American minds fused as they scoured procedural manuals and diagrams, hunting for the elusive answer. The pressure readout slid a few percentage points more.

  'TsUP, are you there? We're losing pressure up here,' Gardner said, breaking Aleks from his thoughts. He sounded more than a little worried.

  'Were still here, Progress,' Aleks responded, looking up from his desk to see if any of the huddles of bowed heads were looking over for his attention. None were. 'Give us a few more minutes.'

  The digital display counting mission time seemed to have wound into overdrive, each second ticking by another step closer to what seemed an inevitability. Aleks swallowed the thought away and pressed the internal broadcast button once again.

  'All stations: has anyone got anything? Anyone close?'

  The stinging silence in his ears gave him his answer, until a light illuminated on his switchboard.

  'CAPCOM, flight dynamics.'

  'Go ahead, FIDO.'

  'There's no possible way of opening the hatch without compromising the structural and atmospheric integrity of the station' — Aleks' heart sank — 'but we do think there's another way in.'

  'Where?' Aleks asked.

  'In through Quest.'

  An uncomfortable hotness settled over Aleks' brow. There had to be a better way than this. There had to be. But he knew there wasn't. He scratched at the grey prickle of stubble forming on his chin, glancing over his shoulder in the hope that Bales would return. He didn't.

  'Quest,' he repeated, turning back to his desk.

  'Affirmative, CAPCOM. An EVA would be required from Progress to the Quest airlock. The distance is about forty metres.'

  'A spacewalk? What are the odds of survival?'

  'In those suits, about forty percent.'

  That was better than the odds of staying put.

  * * *

  'Thanks for meeting me,' Sean said, offering a hand as he shouldered his tatty duffel bag. Lev Ryumin grasped it with both of his own and gave it a firm, singular shake.

  'Mr Jacob, it's a pleasure to meet you.'

  'Please, call me Sean.'

  The two men wandered through the long, straight expanse of corridor that overlooked banks of parked aircraft and, beyond that, Sheremetyevo airport's main runway. The tall panes of glass that separated them from the view ticked with falling rain.

  'Can we get a coffee?' Sean asked, pointing to a concession that looked to sell it.

  'Of course,' Lev said. 'How do you like it?'

  'Er — black please. It was a rough flight.'

  Lev ordered drinks for the pair of them and they sat down at a bench in a quiet corner, away from the noise of the other airport-goers. Sean emptied two sachets of sugar into his coffee while Lev stirred his own, watching him. Sean could tell Lev was unsure about him.

  'I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me,' Sean said, blowing steam from his cup. 'I think you'll be interested in what I've been able to uncover so far.'

  'Go on,' Lev said.

  'I think there's something up there. Something big. Well, not physically big perhaps, but something amazing. Something … alien.' He took a swig of coffee, watching Lev to see how he reacted. His emotionless expression remained steady.

  'That's a bold assumption. Do you have proof?'

  Sean shrugged. 'All the pieces fit. Heavy NASA involvement, a sudden mission change, loss of contact —'

  'What makes you think there's been a loss of contact?'

  'Come on, it's been weeks without a peep from the station.'

  'We could be using encrypted channels.'

  'And why would they be encrypted?' Sean said, grinning. 'Hiding something … extra-terrestrial?'

  Lev folded his arms. He looked impressed. 'You're clever — perhaps too clever. I would be careful who you share this information with. I'm sure there are many who would go a long way in keeping you silent.'

  'So why are you here?' Sean said, leaning in close, eyes fixed on Lev's. 'Why are you helping me?'

  The questions seemed to catch Lev off guard. 'That's — that's not important,' he said.

  Sean's stare remained unbroken. 'I think I can trust you, and you can certainly trust me. We both have our reasons, and as long as those reasons point towards the same end game, we can work together.'

  Lev nodded in agreement. Sean had given him no other choice. He leaned back, breaking the intense stare. 'I need to find a hotel. Know any good ones?'

  Lev paused for a moment, as if deciding if he liked Sean or not. His hard expression broke into a smile. 'There's the Novotel. It's just across the street.'

  It was a short walk to the Novotel through the late afternoon rain. Before long, Sean, key card in hand, opened the door to his modest room. He gestured for Lev to sit down at the table by the floor-to-ceiling window and then jumped on the bed, which sagged and bounced. 'Some habits die hard,' he said, grinning at a bemused Lev.

  He leaned over to his duffel bag, retrieving a notepad that was already half-filled with notes from his investigation so far.

  'You won't be putting my name down, right?' Lev asked, looking concerned.

  'Of course not.'

  'Okay. Good.'

  Sean shuffled the pillows around, getting himself comfortable. 'We can talk a little more openly now we're out of earshot,' he said. He thumped the pillow behind his back. 'God, why are hotel pillows always so damn thin?'

  Lev didn’t say anything.

  'Right then,' Sean continued. 'I might as well ask the big one: can you confirm the presence of an alien object in orbit around Earth?'

  Lev stiffened. 'I can't answer that.'

  Of course not. It probably wasn't in his nature to give away state secrets to men he'd just met. 'I thought you wouldn't. Still, no harm in asking.'

  Lev appeared to relax. 'If I told you that information,' he said, 'it would be obvious that I was the source. And I don't want that.'

  'That's fair enough. What can you tell me about John Bales then?'

  'I don't know anything about John Bales.'

  Sean didn't believe him. They way he sat so awkwardly made it clear he was lying. Sean made a mental note to press him on it, but not right now. He needed to earn his trust first. 'What about Robert Gardner? He's definitely NASA, trained by NASA, but beyond his last mission into space — TMA Eight — his files are blank. Well, there's some hokum about a deep-space exploration program in Europe that he supposedly consulted on, but I don't see any training records or mission prep logs or anything prior to the launch today. Not even a ticket for the simulator — nothing. Besides, no one goes to space after a break that long, with or without training.'

  Lev was nodding as though he knew something. 'TMA Eight.'

 
'Tell me about TMA Eight,' Sean said, pen poised ready.

  'Gardner was the commander. It was a routine mission, nothing exciting. Well, it shouldn’t have been.'

  'What happened? The files don't show anything out of the ordinary.'

  Lev looked as though he was digging up memories he'd rather forget.

  'There was a big cover-up. Budgets were being cut hard and the last thing the Russian space program needed was a disaster. I was CAPCOM at the time and I was sworn to secrecy. The whole team was.'

  Sean was scrawling at lightening pace. 'Does anyone outside of the TMA Eight mission crew know what happened?'

  'No. Just me. Bales too, most likely.'

  'So why was there a cover-up?'

  'Gardner panicked. Despite a clean psyche evaluation, he lost control of himself on the flight back from the station. He nearly ended three lives on that day, but he was lucky enough to have a crew who reacted in time to save them all. Why he's back in space, I don't know. He was chosen by Bales, not by us.'

  'So what exactly did Gardner do wrong?'

  Lev folded his arms, shaking his head as he recalled the memory.

  'He said he found god.'

  * * *

  'Why are they taking so long?' Sally said, pressed up tight against the capsule wall. The pressure gauge on the wall was in the orange zone, flitting just outside the red. It was horrible to watch the needle dip in and out like that.

  'They're thinking of something, don't worry,' Gardner replied, his own voice small. Between breaths, it was very quiet in there.

  'What if there's no way to get in, then what?'

  'There's always a way.'

  They both waited for the inevitable hiss of the radio, for the delivery of a message that hung in the balance between good and bad, life and death. When it came, it made Sally jump, her hands grasping at her chest.

  'Progress M Eighteen M, TsUP. Prepare to receive instructions.'

  'TsUP, Progress ready to receive instructions — go,' Gardner replied.

  'Progress M Eighteen M, you will not be able to access MRM One, repeat, you will not be able to access MRM One.'

  Although Sally didn't know for sure that the thick, curved hatch that stood between them and the station was MRM One, she was pretty certain it was, and a heavy ball of nausea grew in her stomach, micro gravity letting it slop and bounce against her insides. They were so close, yet so far.