In contrast, they were baby-stepping Dean through the easiest possible assignments. Jo cringed as she watched Dean attempt to manipulate a control panel. They were walking him through the procedure for opening the auxiliary cargo bay doors, and he was making a hash of it. His tasks were all redundant anyway, leading him to wonder why they were even bothering. But then what sort of shape would they be in if he were called upon to take action? His awkward motions were bad enough here on the ground. He’d be a hot mess once they reached zero-g if he couldn’t get his act together quick.
He wondered if he could request some time in a dive tank, try and get a feel for things that way. Doubtful, as they were more pressed for time than any of the higher ups had been willing to acknowledge. Mystery debriefing to pre-flight countdown in forty-eight hours, give or take, and picking up speed every step of the way. Dean sighed and turned back to the control panel, determined to master this one, simple task, even if it killed him.
* * *
“Sir, the Russians are going ahead with it!”
“Christ. Seriously? They’ll never get near the thing without Eckert’s calculations!”
“Apparently they think they can, sir.”
“Get me the feed in here,” the president snapped, “I don’t have time to screw around with it dammit. We’ve got our own launch to worry about.”
“Yessir. But—”
“What? What is it?”
“Some of the techs were wondering if we should shut off the feed to the training center, sir.”
The crew. This was a quandary. Did they need to know, for the mission’s sake? Or would seeing the disaster unfold be too much for them?
There was no easy answer. He sighed heavily, ordered his techs to ‘shut it off’, then steeled himself. His crew didn’t need to see such carnage, but he did, as tragically uncomfortable as he knew it was going to be.
The president’s technicians manipulated satellite images, zooming in on the hurtling rocket. Identical feeds crackled to life on the monitors throughout the command center, affording them a birds eye view of Russia’s folly. Given the briefings they’d received from Dean, there was no doubt as to what was to come.
The live feed proved a sickening testament to Dean Eckert’s calculated assumptions. As critical failures mounted, one after the other, Eckert himself could well have narrated the crisis by reading off his own research notes.
When the SST Vtoroy Shans executed its escape maneuver, there was a slim glimmer of hope. The spacecraft appeared to push through the barrier, momentarily at least, holding shape and maintaining integrity. There were a few smiles, as hope outweighed negativity for the moment. Nobody wanted them to fail, and certainly not to perish in the attempt. But the optimism was as short-lived as the Vtoroy Shans herself, billowing smoke and breaking into pieces in the vacuum mere moments after initial indications of success.
There was silence in the mountain for over a minute, enough time for the wreckage to spread out, each piece ripped further apart by the extra-orbital gravimetric shear. SST news reporters, excitedly chattering just moments ago, had gone as silent as those in Cheyanne. There was nothing left to say.
“Continue with the preparations,” Webster said to his staff. He then turned to the nearest aid and said in a quieter voice, “I need you to get me Specialist Denisova on the line. Patch her in to my private office as soon as you can.” The rest of the crew could be spared for a time, but the former cosmonaut would need to know she’d just lost friends.
45.
Twice-a-day meal breaks were the only times for the crew to get acquainted, but they made good use of it. Dean was interested to learn that of the nine crew members only four were American by birth. The Japanese payload specialist Ruka Saito was also American, naturalized. Then there was the Tajik woman Larisa, Kashani from Pakistan, and the Canadian technician, Andrea Price. Saito, a self-described smart ass, loved to joke that Canada ‘wasn’t a real country’. His fondness for all things red white and blue rubbed the foreigners the wrong way at times, but his heart seemed in the right place. In any case, Price could take it, and she gave as good as she got.
“If not for the fact that poor Pakistan has no astronaut to speak of, Ms. Maple Leaf hockey fanatic here’d be lowest on the totem pole.”
“I’ll thank you to know,” Kashani interjected, a little wild in the eyes, “that Namira Salim is a Pakistani who’s not only been to space, but has explored both poles as well.” He gave Saito a withering glare and added, “In case you want to mix in a few facts next time…”
Saito whistled a merry tune, trying to brush it off, but he was unusually quiet for the rest of the day. Dean could sympathize. He knew what it was like to be awkward among confident types. Still, it would’ve been easier to befriend him if he’d knock off the offensive stuff. Dean considered speaking up, but there was precious little time to waste on niceties. He had enough on his plate. Saito would have to find his own way.
First thing the next morning, Saito showed up for calisthenics right back where he started, even more obnoxious than before. Applauding sarcastically at Price for overshooting her mark, he laughed as she rolled over and picked herself up. “What’s that, Canadian rodeo? You try out for the mounties with a routine like that?”
It was as if he’d decided to take it up a notch, daring the rest to challenge him. They responded by ignoring him, until halfway through the routine, in the middle of aerial work.
“Hey Denisova!” he called up to the Russian, who was a full five meters off the floor. She turned to see what he wanted, breaking her concentration such that she let go of the safety and hit the wall.
“Whoops,” Saito said, smiling. The team had gone dangerously quiet, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Not a good day to be a socialist, eh? Your KGB buds better not hear about that slip-up, you won’t be allowed back in red square for the holiday—”
Denisova was down the rope in seconds, flying so quick that friction smoke billowed out from her safety gloves. When she hit the floor, she squared up and took three large steps forward, then slapped Saito across the face. The crack of her assault echoed across the gymnasium, and Price took in a sharp breath that was half-shock, half-amusement.
“That,” Denisova said, staring him down with fiery eyes, “is for insulting my friend Andrea yesterday. As for what you just did to me, I’m willing to forget it as long as you never cross me again. Agreed?” She stuck out a hand.
Saito, his own hand planted on his struck cheek, let go long enough to slowly reach out and accept the handshake. His face bore a welt from eye to jaw, so bright it almost appeared to be glowing.
“Agreed,” he said weakly.
“Back to it!” the commander called out. It struck Dean, how he hadn’t interfered the whole time. Not when Saito took things too far over dinner, and not once all morning. Nor when Denisova took matters into her own hands. Dean probably would’ve handled it differently, and likely for the worse. He thought it was the smartest bit of leadership he’d ever seen. I could learn a lot from him.
* * *
Shane, taking his turn in the simulator, overrode the normal mode and jumped straight to disaster scenarios. These were the types of situations he’d need to be ready for. Even flying a prototype such as this, he was as familiar with spacefaring vehicles as anyone—they didn’t differ all that much, not where it mattered. He could handle any routine concerns without a second thought.
He adjusted the program to damage his craft in relation to unknown phenomena, although there was only so far he could go with that. Unknown was just that…he couldn’t know what might happen when this anomaly started bearing down on his ship. Gravimetric shear would surely play a role, though, so he factored that into every simulation. Not as a direct impact on the ship, that would only matter to some future salvage crew. He was working to avoid having his ship ripped apart mid-flight, so he added gravimetric obstacles into his path, then flew around, over and under them. It was easy enough to accomplish
in a simulation, but he had no ready method for identifying the things in space, nor could he predict how the effect might behave in zero-g. So many X-factors. Christ knows what I’ll do here! He was relieved when the program finished with the odd stuff and began throwing ordinary problems at him, like space rocks and spent fuel.
He was interrupted by a banging at the door. Normally he’d have chewed out anyone intruding in such a way, but at this frustrating juncture, the distraction was actually welcomed. When he opened the hatch and saw Jo’s face, he actually smiled. Seeing her gave him a great sense of relief, though he wasn’t entirely comfortable in making it known.
“Sorry,” she said, popping her head in. “Guess you were busy shooting up asteroids or something?”
He knew better than to encourage her, so he ignored the comment and stepped aside to make room. There was just barely space enough for two.
“Want to take her for a spin?” he asked, motioning for her to take over the controls. It wasn’t an easy program to master, but she’d shown her prowess with everything else she touched. He didn’t doubt her ability to handle something so complex.
She waved off the invitation. “Naw, I’ll leave that to you. I just came to let you know they’re initiating the count soon. That’s not official, by the way.”
Of course it wasn’t. But she was a spy, and had her ways. Shane thought it amusing that she would be privy to something so critical when even he, the damned pilot for God’s sake, had no clue.
It suddenly occurred to him that she didn’t need to come tell him this. There would surely be an announcement soon enough. She wanted to see him. Wish him well. He could tell that much from body language alone. Feeling much the same, he realized how glad he was for what they’d shared. With what was coming next, it was nice to know he was traveling with friends. Even as the thought crossed his mind though, he questioned it. Was that all they were to each other? Just friends?
“I’ll wrap this up in a minute or two,” he said, casting aside the ill-timed thoughts. “You all squared away?”
She nodded. There wasn’t much more to do now that they were so close, so the tension was ramping up as the moment drew near. Soon, they would be in an entirely different realm, and on a mission dear to all of them. The pressure would be enormous. It was enormous already, really, though until a few minutes ago they’d been too busy to think much about it.
“I’m glad to have you along, Jo.”
She gave him a grin-laugh and looked away. He’d actually managed to embarrass her. Stop the presses.
“You too, Shane. I know we can do it.”
“We have to,” he replied, giving her the most confident expression he could muster.
* * *
Commander Mansfield got his assignment direct from the president like everyone else, but there were two additional factors in his favor. He was trained for this mission in particular, on this very spacecraft. That was the first advantage. Something nobody else could boast, since it was an early stage test program, and he, the first research commander selected. Nobody expected the mission to go live so soon, so when it did so, he was the clear choice.
Second, and more importantly, he had under his command a man he’d worked with in the past. Someone he trusted and knew well. That man was Shane R. Douglas, and Mansfield was making his way to the simulator pod now to give him a proper welcome.
Mansfield held back when he saw Jo exit the simulator ahead of Shane. He didn’t want to add to what might come off as an awkward situation. She disappeared in the direction of the crew compartment as Shane stepped out, looking as frustrated as Mansfield had ever seen him. He gave the simulator console a quick, thankful pat.
“Still can’t compensate for the gravimetric shear, colonel?”
Shane’s head jerked upward, and for half a second he looked pissed, until recognition set in and his expression turned joyful. “Mansfield! You old son of a bitch, you made it!”
The commander’s own smile broadened. It was good to see his old friend. Having him along gave Mansfield a much needed lift, not only because of their close bond, but because he knew his friend was the best pilot he could hope for. With him along, their chances increased markedly.
“I thought I’d find you around here,” the commander said, nodding at the simulator pod, “though I doubt it’s doing you much good. Sucks not knowing what we’re up against.”
“We’ll get through it,” Shane said.
His confidence was contagious, and Mansfield gave him a pat on the shoulder. “I know we will. Listen, I’ll let you get back to it. I just wanted to check in, let you know I was here.”
“I appreciate it, Joseph,” Shane replied. Then he added, “See you up there,” casting his eyes off in the direction of the launch pad.
* * *
As painful and humiliating as the training sessions were for Dean Eckert, he was at least comfortable during one element of the process—the deployment of ‘the solution’. It was all his, as was the gravimetric theory that might wind up saving their lives, if he was right and they were lucky. “Think of the gravimetric phenomenon like a giant, unfocused tsunami,” he explained, taking easy control of the planning session, “it displaces air and land the same way a tsunami displaces water.”
Saito interrupted with a stupid comment, and not for the first time. “You sure it’s not ‘phenomena’?”
The commander shot him a glare, though from Saito’s look of surprised defensiveness, there was actually no sarcasm behind his comment.
“Whatever,” Shane said, “go ahead, Dean.”
Dean nodded and continued. “This displacement by the gravimetric phenomena,”—he looked to his Japanese colleague, but the other man averted his eyes, properly chastened—“is bad enough on Earth. But it also displaces vacuum just as easily. Maybe more so.”
“Wait, are you saying the effect will be just as bad up there?” Jo asked.
“No,” Dean replied, “I’m not saying that. What I’m saying is it’ll be considerably worse.”
The pronouncement sets the room on edge, and for a few moments the air was dead-still. The commander was the first to recover, thumbing through the briefing materials until he got to the section dealing with spacewalks. “Alright Doctor, take us through what we can expect. With as much detail as you can manage. I realize it won’t be pleasant.”
It most certainly was not pleasant. Dean spent the next five minutes detailing the presumptive effect on machinery and living tissue, in the kind of intricate detail that left no room for doubt. The odds of surviving contact up there were far worse than even the most extreme scenarios they’d seen play out here at home. And it was even less predictable in a vacuum. Plus, there was no stopping it up there. No amount of water or materials would divert its path.
“Okay,” Mansfield said, “we know what it does, now what do we do about it?” He looked around the room, making eye contact along the way so that everyone knew he expected their input. “Let’s hear some options, people.”
Dean gave the others time to chime in before offering his assessment. Not that he really expected anyone to come up with something he hadn’t considered, but there was a naive hope mixed in. A hope that he might have missed something, despite the long odds of that ever happening on a subject in which he was so well versed.
Unsurprisingly, the suggestions people put out ranged from wildly impractical to thoroughly ineffective. Dean had the unhappy task of shooting them down one by one. When they’d gone around the room and everyone had had their say, he made mention of the few possibilities that might actually work, along with the odds of success for each of them.
“Our best bet, all things considered, will be to map as we go, and then avoid those areas known to be contaminated.”
“That’s easier said than done,” Shane said, stating the obvious.
“I know,” Dean replied, “but it’s all we’ve got.”
Dark Alignment Page 29
