Rocket Dawn

by Richard Tongue

  Antonova smiled, then said, “You knew this was coming.”

  “Sure, but I didn’t expect them to make such a big deal of it. I guess the Randy Bishop’s decided that our little expedition is doomed to failure. You realize he isn’t going to lift a single finger to help us out, right?”

  “Of course not. It is not in his interests to do so.” She paused, then asked, “Who have they picked?”

  Fishing his phone from his pocket, Knox logged onto the local network and flicked through the screens, saying, “Siegel and Imoto for Mission Specialists. Good, solid team. Good engineers.”

  “Then they have brought the Japanese Space Agency into the loop?”

  With a smile, Knox shook his head, and said, “Imoto was born in Brooklyn. Pilot’s Ronnie Washington. Second flight for her, used to be a test pilot.” He flicked through the text, and said, “Might have known.”

  “Who is the commander?”

  “Colonel William Beck. Likes to call himself Wild Bill, though I don’t think he ever convinced anyone else to call him that. He’s a recruiting poster type, like a walking NASA Action Man, right down to saving potted slogans when you pull the string in his back. Bishop’s an old friend of his, back from their Air Force days, and that’s about the only reason he ever got a flight. Two trips to Gateway, and he was alternate on the first Altair landing. Didn’t progress to a crew.”

  “Why? I thought NASA had a regular rotation.”

  “New Chief Astronaut. He managed to come up with a lot of supposedly prestigious assignments to keep him out of the way. Last I heard Beck was planning to go back to the Air Force, get his star. I guess that’s all postponed for a while, and frankly, I think our country is a safer place for that.”

  Antonova looked at him, then said, “It upsets you, doesn’t it? Not working for NASA anymore.”

  “Maybe.” He sighed, then added, “I was one of those space cadet kids. Growing up in Kodiak, I spent all my time looking at the stars, reading bad science-fiction, watching anything I could find on the space program. My parents were both Army, met up during Gulf Two. So was my grandmother, and back a couple of generations before that. That’s why I ended up going to the Point rather than the Air Force Academy.”

  “An unusual career path.”

  With a smile, Knox said, “Don’t knock the Point, Major. Besides, I was always going right into the Space Force, anyway. I had it all planned out. I did five years in the Space Force, made it to Captain, then applied for NASA. Got in on the second try. Nobody gets in first time.” He grinned, then said, “I remember when I first pinned on those astronaut wings. I felt ten feet tall, more.” With another sigh, he continued, “Then the politics kicked in. Too much politics. Too much hardware built because it’s manufactured in some Congressman’s district.”

  “You got to the moon, though,” she replied. “That’s more than I ever did.”

  “Hell, NASA was good to me, but when I got back from Altair Nine, I knew that I’d never get to go up again. Too many astronauts, not enough flights. It was either CosmoTech or the Space Force, and the Space Force made me a better offer. Bird Colonel, special assignments.” He paused, then added, “Besides, turns out I missed it more than I thought. I did a few Space Force liaison jobs when I was with NASA, kept myself in the loop.”

  “You would have flown in space again for CosmoTech.”

  “Sure. Earth orbit, to the Commercial Space Station. Maybe a satellite servicing operation. Kat, I walked on the moon. I got to look up and see the Earth so small, small enough that I could blot it out with a raised finger. I went where nobody had ever been before, where perhaps they will never go again. I had a taste of the wonders of the universe, and damn it all, I wanted more.” He shook his head, then said, “I’d have hung on for Mars, or Venus, but the Randy Bishop made it clear that just wasn’t going to happen. Too ambitious, apparently. Maybe in ten years. Or twenty, Or never, at this rate. We could have landed on Mars ten years after the last Apollo mission if we’d really wanted to.”

  “Hell, you got lucky, Slick,” another voice said, as a grey-haired woman walked into the bar. “At least you got selected. Some of us had to get out there the hard way.”

  “What do you mean, the hard way?” Knox replied with a smile, waving her over. “Major Antonova, meet the most experienced astronaut in history, Commander Bridget Murphy. You’re on, what, sixteen launches now?”

  “Eighteen,” she said with a smile. “Someone has to haul the mail.” She turned to Antonova, and added, “Pleasure to meet you, Major. Hopefully between us we’ll add a bit of class to this mission. Though with the Kamikaze Cowboy on the roster, I don’t know how much hope of that we can really have.” Maxwell walked over with two foaming glasses of beer, carefully placing them on the table, and sat down next to her.

  “Hey, I resent that remark. I always make it home.”

  “Didn’t you see the pictures of him riding the James Webb during his last mission?”

  “Only way to get at the forward inspection hatch. Damn thing wasn’t designed for humans to get near it.”

  “Maybe one day we’ll get a space telescope into orbit in one piece,” Knox quipped.

  “The Soviet Union never had that problem,” Antonova replied. “You are to be our pilot, Commander?”

  She shrugged, and replied, “It’ll make a change from always going up to the Commercial Space Station and that. I was meant to ride the rocket up to Gateway, but I guess I’ll get another chance to do that some other time. This is a lot more fun.” She turned to Knox, and said, “We’ve worked together before, so you know how I operate. When we get out of orbit, out into infinity, you’re the boss. When it comes to flying the capsule, I’m in charge. I’ve ridden those beasts often enough that I can fly them in my sleep. You can’t.”

  “Hey, Murph, I’m not going to step on any toes. Just get us to the asteroid. We’ll do the rest.”

  Cracking a smile, she replied, “Well, I was kinda hoping to get out for a look while we’re there. It’s been a long time since I’ve done any EVA.” Gesturing at the desert, in the direction of Dry Wells, she added, “We’ve got the whole training set-up, practice pool, centrifuge, the works. The General’s been planning to move our entire operation out here. I think he’d rather be out of the Cape, somewhere where the land is cheap…”

  “And less likely to be underwater in fifty years,” Knox interrupted. “Or twenty. Sooner or later CosmoTech is going to own the best spaceport in the country. Maybe the continent.”

  “The Government will just let this happen?” Antonova asked.

  “Too many people like things the way they are to admit that they will ever change,” Maxwell replied. “Take it from me.” He took a deep drink of his beer, and said, “So, NASA holds a press conference in Washington to introduce its crew for a mission that will probably never fly, and the actual crew meets in a fake Western bar. Typical.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll get all the bright lights and fame you want when we get back to Earth. Probably before.” Knox smirked, then just said, “I just wish I could see Beck’s face when he finds out we’ve beaten him to the asteroid by six months. Something to savor.” Looking around, he continued, “Our best calculations suggest that there are optimal launch windows approximately every two weeks. The European Space Agency is almost certainly planning its shot for the seventh. The longer we manage to keep this mission quiet, the better our chances. We’re going for the sixth, all being well.”

  “Which means that we’ve got three months to prepare for a mission that has never been flown before,” Murphy replied. “I don’t like it, Tom, I don’t like it a bit. We usually spend that long preparing rookies for a one-week stay on Station. The training period for Wyvern certification is twelve months, and almost everyone in that program starts out as a space veteran.” Gesturing at Knox, she added, “You spent, what, three years training for the moon?”

  “Just about,” Knox replied. “Look, I didn’t say that this i
s going to be easy. We’re going to have to work like hell to be ready in time, and we’re going to be doing a lot of thinking on our feet. I’ve had a look at the training schedule they’ve prepared for us, and it’ll be tough. Lots of time in the pool practicing EVA, simulated run-throughs, geology and astrochemistry lectures, the works.”

  “Geology?” Murphy asked. “Really?”

  “Not much point going out there if we don’t know what we’re looking for. Unless you want to tempt them to send up a geologist instead of one of us?” Maxwell replied. “I’ve been waiting for a second mission too damned long to let my seat go without a fight. If I have to spend a few nights listening to some lectures, that’s fine with me.”

  “Three months,” Murphy said, shaking her head. “At least we’re not going to be wasting any time on press junkets. Last time I took up a new capsule, I did a twenty-city tour the month before launch. Crazy.”

  Taking a deep drink of his beer, Knox replied, “We cut down to the essentials. This is the most experienced crews I’ve ever been a part of, and I include Altair Nine in that. Between us, we’ve got more than three years in space, two of us have already left Earth orbit once, all of us have EVA training. That gives us a hell of a good foundation to build on, right from the start.” He took another drink, then added, “I never thought I’d get to do this again. I never thought I’d ever get to leave Earth, still less take part in the first mission to an asteroid. I figure all of you probably feel the same way.”

  “Damn right,” Maxwell said, taking another nacho chip and dunking it into the salsa.

  “And you all know just what is at stake if we can pull this off. Not just in terms of national security, either, but a nice big kick in the butt for the space program in general.”

  “Yeah,” Murphy replied. “Don’t worry, Tom, I’m just a grouch. I see a lot of too-early mornings in my near future.” She looked out of the window, and said, “This is pretty much going to be our last day off for a while, right?”

  “Probably.”

  “I’m not going to waste it sitting in some bar. Elko’s not far. There’s this casino up there where they really know how to show people a good time.”

  “So we are sitting in a bar. Just a different one,” Antonova replied.

  “Yeah, but they’ve got live music, slots, the works.”

  “What the hell,” Knox said. “I’m in. As long as we get an early night. It’s going to be a long, long month.”

  Chapter 9

  The spaceport was in two clusters. The new buildings, the vast support structure that had been constructed by CosmoTech over the last seven years, rising from the bleak desert sands and pointing at the stars. Hangars, office buildings, tourist centers, even a hotel. Baker had ambitions to transform the site into a major attraction, had visions of hundreds of thousands of people making their way into the wastes of Nevada to watch rockets carrying the next generation of astronauts to the moon, to the planets beyond.

  The inner cluster was older, dating back before even the idea of rocketry had truly formed in the minds of the engineers that would one day build a space program. Experimental aircraft had been launched here, a place well away from prying eyes or any risk of injury or destruction, and later, it was rumored that even Robert Goddard had once used this area for some of his test flights, the first liquid-fueled rockets launched from American soil. There was history here, history in every battered patch of earth and tough, resilient clump of grass.

  The heart of the spaceport was the oldest building of all, though it had been thoroughly restored and upgraded by CosmoTech when they’d moved in. After the Second World War, captured German rockets had been launched from here, touching the very edge of space itself before returning back to the desert from whence they came. Their battered remains were visible for miles around, none of the engineers bothering to retrieve all of their debris, instead leaving them for future generations to wonder over. Though every shack and farm for miles around had its own piece of the Space Race, there for children to puzzle at as they grew up in the wilderness.

  Knox walked towards the launch pad, Antonova by his side, turning right into the vehicle assembly building, the monolithic structure where the rockets were assembled for launch. Simply building that cavernous structure had been the work of years, had cost tens of millions to complete, but it was finally ready for use, and as the two of them turned around the corner, they looked inside to see their rocket, lying on its side, resting on the gargantuan cradle that would soon be tugging it to the launch pad, a mile distant, ready to be raised to the vertical and launched into space. Knox glanced at Antonova, whose eyes ran over the familiar lines of the launcher, a strange mixture of sadness and anticipation on her face.

  “Strange,” she said. “It’s like watching your dreams made real. We planned these things, designed this launcher, but we never had a chance to actually build one. Now I’m going to be riding one into the sky.”

  “Colonel, Major,” Baker said, striding towards them from a side office. “I wondered how long you’d be. We’ve got the ten-cent tour ready for you if you want it, but I think I know what you’re actually here to see, so we might as well get with it. The capsule’s over in the corner. We’ve finished our final tests, so we’re just getting ready to stack the beast in the next couple of days.”

  “So soon?” Antonova asked. “We’re not launching for months…”

  Baker shrugged, then replied, “Doesn’t seem much point leaving it to sit out there on the floor. We won’t be fueling the launcher until the last minute, but the beauty of this set-up is that we can get everything pretty close to launch ready whenever we want. Gives us more time for testing, more chance to work through any bugs, run a few simulations using the actual flight software.” He looked at the rocket, and said, “Beauty, ain’t she. The Nova Two, one of the biggest rockets every built. Based on good old-fashioned Russian engineering, right back to Korolev.”

  “Beautiful,” Knox said, a smile on his face.

  The three of them walked the length of the cavernous building, past a cluster of engineers still working on mating the pieces of the rocket together, slowly guiding them into position. Others were gathered around a large monitor, the beginnings of an argument erupting over one of the systems checks, and Baker smiled as they walked past them, shaking his head.

  “Mark of a good engineering team. They actually give a damn. Anyone who doesn’t ends up leaving quick.”

  “How many people do you have working here?” Antonova asked.

  “This building? Nine hundred and ten, normal staff, with another three hundred right now temporarily assigned from other facilities. We’re hustling as fast as we can without compromising safety. If you mean the whole spaceport, a hair under ten thousand. We’ll be going up to fifteen thousand by the time the spaceport becomes fully operational.” At the look on their faces, he added, “Most of them in client-facing jobs. Restaurant staff, tour guides, that sort of thing. Nothing we need for operational work. We can’t really bring anyone else in at the moment anyway.” Gesturing vaguely to the west, he said, “There’s an old mining town about twenty miles away that’s in the process of rapid expansion. Houses for the people who are going to be working here. Right now they have to come in a good, fifty, eighty miles every day. By the time we’re finished, they’ll be a monorail, the whole works.”

  With a smile on his face, Knox replied, “You’ve really got the bug, don’t you, General.”

  “Does it show?”

  “Pretty well.” Looking around the building, he added, “Cape Kennedy in the desert.”

  “Cape Kennedy is sinking into the muck. Thirty years from now, this will be America’s spaceport.”

  “Here,” he said, gesturing at the far side of the building, where a conical capsule rested, a long cylinder underneath it that made it look like nothing more than a huge mushroom, gleaming under the lights. The trio walked reverently towards it, Knox climbing up a stepladder to peer inside, at th
e four couches lined up before a long, complicated control panel, the docking hatch at the end, the living module at the bottom, portholes and instruments scattered around. Everything they would need for an extended mission.

  “No airlock?” he asked.

  “Not normally needed, but we’re putting that in the support module. I can’t show you that, it’s down at the Cape, but it’s just a long tube loaded with consumables and equipment. You’re going to have to eat your way through it, basically. The Wyvern doesn’t have all the systems for extended flight, but it doesn’t really need them. You can carry enough water, oxygen, food for forty-five days, and you should be home well before then.” He paused, and said, “Technically, I suppose you aren’t going to have an airlock at all, really, but you won’t need one.”

  “I do not understand,” Antonova replied.

  “Glovebox-design. Four spacesuits, and to put them on, you just climb in through the backpack, lock it down, and away you go. Much less risk of contamination, and you don’t need to go through pre-breathing. You can be out of the ship in twenty minutes once you get used to it. There’s a thin fairing that protects the suits from micrometeorites, dust, anything like that, and each one has a series of attitude jets you can use to move around. We’ll make sure you have plenty of practice. They’re setting up the training pool for you now. It should be ready tomorrow.”

  “All of this is so familiar,” Antonova said, shaking her head. “I rode on the first flight of this capsule, when it was the Federatsiya, ten years ago. There are some changes, I see, but…” She paused, looked at Baker, and continued, “It brings back a great many memories, General. Not all of them happy ones.”

  Nodding, he said, “I understand completely, Major. I can’t imagine how you must feel, and I understand why you wouldn’t work for us before, but look around you. It’s all here. Everything you worked for, everything you built. It’s got a corporate logo on the side, rather than your flag, but is that really so very important?”