The Death of the Universe: Rebirth: Hard Science Fiction (Big Rip Book 3)

by Brandon Q Morris

  The soldier had, at some point, started pacing back and forth in front of the door.

  “Please,” Sasha said, and Komikov passed him the bottle. He unscrewed the cap and smelled the contents. Then he took a swig. The stuff burned. That was definitely more than the permitted 45 percent.

  “Me, too, please,” said Yekaterina.

  He put the cap back on and passed her the bottle. Now could actually be the right moment to clear up the messy family situation once and for all. The soldier had lit a cigarette. Even if he heard something, he wouldn’t be able to make sense of it. The smoke smelled like particularly cheap tobacco.

  “Tell me, Colonel General, since we’re all here together...” he began.

  “Yes?”

  “What was it like back in Leningrad?”

  He felt Yekaterina’s eyes on him. She was watching him but said nothing. She was probably wondering where this was going. He had to get his father to confess everything to her. Katya would be very upset, but at least she wouldn’t blame him. Komikov had to take responsibility.

  “In Leningrad? That was a long time ago. Back then I think I was still an optimistic captain, fresh out of the officer’s academy. But it was a boring time. I’ve never had so much time for my own personal affairs as I had then.”

  Obviously Komikov didn’t understand him—or didn’t want to.

  “And privately, if you don’t mind me asking? Were you doing well? A handsome soldier with a good income, who was hardly ever home... There must have been a lot of offers?”

  Komikov scrutinized him. Sasha returned his gaze.

  “It was a good time, even—”

  “Zarya to Fueling, there’s a problem with the RG-1,” came a voice from the speaker. Zarya was the call sign of the control station in Tyuratam.

  “Fueling here. We reported completion an hour ago.”

  “Yes, but the pressure in the block B tank is slowly decreasing.”

  “How slowly, Zarya?”

  “About 0.3 percent per hour.”

  “That’s far below the tolerance. It’s colder today than usual. That makes the volume of gaseous kerosene in the tank drop.”

  “But shouldn’t the pressure stabilize at a low level?”

  “Not necessarily, Zarya. The oxygen tanking has only just been completed, and the first and second stages have cooled down.”

  “Understood, Fueling. Commencing launch sequence. Eight minutes to go. Zarya out.”

  Komikov stood in front of the screen, staring at the rocket. He leaned forward and pressed his nose to the glass. “Come here,” he said. “Can you see that?” He pointed with his index finger to a spot on the first stage of the rocket.

  “What do you mean, Colonel General?” asked Sasha.

  Komikov tapped the glass again. “Can you see the hose that’s hanging down from block B? Those idiots have forgotten to remove the hose on the RG-1 tank.”

  Sasha could make out a light-colored spot on the bottom stage. Indeed, something was hanging there.

  “Is that a problem?” asked Yekaterina.

  “A problem? If that hose catches on the struts of the tower during launch, it’ll be ripped out, taking the tank cap with it. The kerosene will spray out. It has a combustion temperature of just over 40 degrees. You know what that means.”

  A fireball. The rocket would turn into a damned fireball somewhere above the launch ramp, and their beautiful measuring device would rain from the sky in drops of liquid metal.

  “What a shit show,” said Sasha. “So where are the fueling people?”

  “Retreated to safety, of course, presumably a few kilometers away,” said the colonel general. “A rocket is going to launch here in three minutes.”

  “Two minutes remaining,” said the voice from the speaker.

  “Well, that’s our experiment done for. I’m glad we didn’t manage to swap out the measuring device,” said Yekaterina.

  “You tried to? Really?”

  “Yes, Comrade Colonel General. But the Gagarin documentary film crew got in the way.”

  “Respect. That’s what I call dedication. It’s a shame that’s so rare these days. In Gagarin’s day it was different.”

  “Yeah, everything was better in the old days,” said Sasha in a resigned voice.

  “Can’t we let the control station know?” asked Yekaterina. “They need to abort the launch.”

  “How? There’s no voice communication from here.”

  “The cameras?”

  “They don’t transmit sound, only pictures.”

  “We could stand in front of them and make signals,” suggested Yekaterina.

  “Then they’ll just think we’re mad,” said Komikov. “No, I know what needs to be done. I need to remove the hose. No one’s as close as I am.”

  “You want to go and handle a rocket that’s about to launch? After forbidding us to modify the probe?”

  “It’s how it has to be. Anyway, I have enough time. It’s just a few meters away.”

  “I’ll go,” said Sasha.

  “Not a chance. I’m doing this. That’s an order.”

  Should he insist? Komikov seemed to be afraid for him. That was nice, because it showed he did mean something to him.

  “We’ve got no time to lose,” said the general. He let his thick jacket fall to the floor, walked to the door, and turned the wheel. “See you soon!”

  He’d never see him again. Suddenly Sasha was incredibly sad. He hadn’t even had time to say goodbye.

  “Look at him run,” said Yekaterina, pulling him over to the glass pane. “Komikov is still in excellent shape.”

  It took the colonel general less than 20 seconds to cover the distance. He had to stand on tiptoe to reach the hose. The tank connector on the bottom stage was very high. The tank crew would typically attach the hose from a vehicle. But Komikov managed it. He clung to the outside of the tank and opened the closure by hand. Zarya must realize by now that something wasn’t right.

  “Zarya, there’s a man on the bottom stage,” said a voice coming from the speaker.

  “We can see it, security.”

  “Shall we bring him down?”

  “No action necessary. He’s already on his way back. If we abort now we’ll have to restart the whole system. Right before the jubilee.”

  “Understood.”

  The controller was afraid that the subsequent launches would be delayed, including the Soyuz launch with the Indian cosmonaut on board, which the whole world would be watching. If he aborted, he’d be held responsible, that much was obvious.

  But what about Komikov? Why wasn’t he coming back? He’d thrown the hose to the ground and was standing on the ground next to the rocket. But he seemed to be unhappy about something. He looked up at the tank opening. It must be something to do with the closure. Had pulling out the hose caused the tank to open? Unfortunately he couldn’t make out enough detail to be sure.

  “Shit, are you seeing this Katya?”

  “He needs to hurry!” said Yekaterina. “The rocket’s about to launch!”

  “Twenty seconds remaining, final launch sequence,” said the cold voice from the speaker.

  “Abort! Abort!” cried Sasha.

  The soldier had jumped up too and was working on the door. Was he going to run to the control station?

  “You won’t make it,” cried Sasha.

  The soldier ignored him. “We have to open the door for the general,” he said, “or he doesn’t stand a chance.”

  And what if the propulsion unit exploded? The armored door would protect them here in the bunker, but only if it was closed. He looked at Katya, who signaled with a nod that she understood. Sasha allowed the soldier to open the door.

  “He’s running!” cried Yekaterina.

  Komikov appeared to have realized there was nothing more he could do. He was running toward the bunker. The ground was already shaking, as the thrusters were igniting before the actual launch. They needed to build up enough power to li
ft the rocket, which was still supported by the launch tower. Gray smoke rose up. Sasha heard a low boom as she observed flames shooting out of the thrusters. Komikov was nowhere to be seen, but he had to make it.

  A jet of flame. It shot out the side of the kerosene tank. Sasha imagined he could see it coming straight out of the tank opening. But the considerable flame covered everything. And then KABOOM!, followed by nothing but heat and smoke. The rocket was gone.

  “Shut the door,” screamed Sasha.

  The soldier was quicker. He was just beginning to turn the locking wheel when the shock wave reached the bunker. The heavy steel door flew off its hinges. It threw the soldier as though he was made of paper. Sasha didn’t see what happened to him, because a hard wall of air flung him upright through the room, until he was stopped by the back wall with the recessed window.

  The glass! He hoped it wouldn’t be smashed! But it held. His body no longer had any bones or muscles, causing him to collapse like a serving of kasha. He lay on the floor and all he could see was the narrow window. A uniformed body was flung against it, full of burn holes, and with the right boot missing. Or was the whole lower leg gone?

  What were you doing out there, Komikov? Why didn’t you come inside, Father? He lost consciousness. He couldn’t hold onto it. Where was Katya? I love you, Katya. He formed the shape of the words with his mouth, but no sound came out of his throat...

  It was quiet, quieter than it had ever been.

  March 27, 1984, Tyuratam

  “Good morning, sleepyhead!”

  It was Valya who’d woken him. “He’s awake!” she cried, as if that was something special.

  Sasha looked down at the covers and saw that the blanket was white and perfectly clean. A cold white neon tube hung from the ceiling. Who’d stolen the onion braids and the strings of mushrooms? He lifted his arm. An IV needle was sticking out of it, with tubing attached to a bag.

  Then everything came back to him. The explosion. Komikov in his burned uniform. He had to...

  “We were worried about you,” remarked Valya.

  “Am I in the hospital? How did you get in here?”

  “I know the station nurses,” she said. “He’s awake!” she called again.

  The door opened. Yekaterina came in. He beamed, he couldn’t help it. She was beautiful, even with the bandage on her head.

  “What happened to you?” he asked, pointing at her head.

  “Just a cut. The shock wave knocked me around a bit.”

  He touched his own head. It seemed to be all right. He wasn’t wearing a bandage. He was just unshaven. Sasha moved his arms and legs. They responded. Good.

  “You’re talking!” said Valya.

  “Of course. Nice to see you both.”

  Nice to see you, Katya, was what he wanted to say. But that would have really hurt the dezhurnaya’s feelings.

  “Thanks,” said Valya. “It was touch and go. You were unconscious. The doctors couldn’t find anything physically wrong, but that actually had them even more worried.”

  “Maybe I was just exhausted. Yesterday was a tiring day.”

  He really needed to speak to his father. Komikov had to bring his daughter up to speed on the situation. In the end he might die without... Komikov. A man in a burned uniform had lain in front of the window.

  “What happened to the colonel general?” he asked.

  “Comrade Komikov has burns and a lot of internal injuries,” Valya explained. “He needs to stay in the hospital for at least a couple of weeks, and whether he’ll ever be fit for duty again is in the hands of fate.”

  “He saved himself by jumping into the pit in front of the bunker window,” said Yekaterina. “He was incredibly lucky. He must have run right through the fire and smoke and still managed to find his way back to the bunker.”

  “Komikov’s a hero,” said Sasha.

  “Not everyone sees it that way,” said Yekaterina. “Some think he was right to act, even though he failed in the end, and others say he’s responsible for the explosion of the Molniya rocket carrying Prognoz-9b.”

  “But there was a fuel hose hanging off it! I saw it myself!”

  “You might have to testify to that in his trial. But I think he has influential friends who’ll protect him from being attacked. It depends upon who’s responsible for the accident.”

  “Fueling. They left the hose behind,” said Sasha.

  “They claim nothing would have happened if Komikov hadn’t acted against regulations and removed the hose.”

  “They won’t get away with that, though, will they?”

  “I hope not, Sasha. It depends on who has more important friends.”

  “And the soldier who was with us in the bunker?”

  “He’s lying in the ward below, in orthopedics. The shock wave broke his leg.”

  “Then we were all lucky,” said Sasha.

  “Lucky considering the circumstances. Except the measuring instrument. Unfortunately that’s no longer traceable.”

  “We’ll have to build a new one. Oh, no, we already have another exemplar!” Sasha rubbed his hands.

  “That was the last launch-ready Molniya in the hangar,” replied Katya. “A replacement won’t arrive for at least three months.”

  “Shit, the Americans will have beaten us to it by then.”

  “Maybe, Sasha, but there’s nothing we can do about it.”

  March 29, 1984, Tyuratam

  They were driving down a two-lane asphalt road that was divided by a narrow grass median with alternating lights and flagpoles that had been hung with Gagarin motifs. Gray, three-story apartment blocks stood on both sides of the street. He didn’t know this part of town. There must be 5,000 people or more living here. What did they do all day?

  “Volodya, when will we be there?” asked Valentina.

  Volodya was the name of the sergeant who usually guarded Lab T4. The dezhurnaya had somehow convinced him to chauffeur them all to the hospital where Komikov was laid up, and which Sasha himself had left just yesterday—without any injuries! It was a miracle. At least, that was how Valya had described it after they told her about those minutes in the bunker.

  “It’s just up ahead,” said the sergeant, pointing at a three-story building.

  The hospital was barely distinguishable from the apartment buildings, but it had its own entrance where a blue sign with a red cross indicated that it was a medical facility.

  The car stopped under an awning. “I’ll wait over there,” said the sergeant, pointing ahead.

  “You don’t want to come in and keep us company?” asked Valya.

  “Not really. I hate hospitals.”

  They had to change clothes in order to be allowed to visit Komikov. They received long, white gowns, shoe covers, face masks, and white bonnets. Suddenly they all looked like doctors. Clothes really did make a person.

  A young woman led them through long, empty corridors. They didn’t see anyone else.

  “Why is it so quiet here?” asked Yekaterina.

  “Visitors are not actually permitted,” answered the young woman.

  “But we’re allowed in?”

  “Colonel General Komikov is our most important guest right now, and he asked to see you.”

  He hadn’t realized that, but it explained how they got permission so quickly. Sasha had suggested to Yekaterina that they visit because he wanted to prevent Komikov from taking his knowledge to the grave.

  The colonel general was in a separate area. Their guide rang a doorbell and the door opened with a buzz. An older man was waiting behind it. A white bulge in the chin-covering part of his face mask presumably hid a full beard. “What do you want?” asked the man fiercely.

  “Visitors for the colonel general,” replied their guide.

  The man rolled his eyes. “It’s much too early for that.”

  “But I have the order—”

  “It’s not your fault, Ninochka. It was Komikov’s wish, even though he’s too weak. I would have
forbidden it, but he doesn’t listen to anyone.”

  “If it’s not good for him, we’ll go,” said Yekaterina.

  “Are you insane? Then he’ll blame me. No, come in. I’m Doctor Gromyko.”

  Yekaterina hesitated, but the doctor beckoned energetically, so she pulled herself together and stepped through the door. Sasha and Valentina followed.

  “Thank you, Nina,” said Valentina, then she closed the door behind them.

  “Follow me,” said the doctor.

  The special ward consisted of only six or seven rooms at the end of the corridor. The doctor stopped at the second door. He stood on tiptoe to look through the small window in the center of the door.

  “Good, you can go in now,” he said. “You’ve got twenty minutes, then we have to turn him again.”

  The doctor opened the door and waved them in. Sasha was the last to enter the small room. A metal bed on the left held a man with the covers pulled up to his chin and with a bandage on his head. He was hardly recognizable as Komikov. His face was strangely bloated, presumably from the medication, and tubes ran under the covers from a machine with numerous flashing lights. Sasha tried not to imagine them disappearing into his father’s body. A half-filled urine bag was hanging at his side.

  “Now don’t look so horrified,” Komikov said, greeting them. “I’m still alive. At least be happy about that.”

  “How are you?” asked Yekaterina.

  “I’m floating in the clouds. Seriously. They’re giving me some powerful pain medication. It’s just the turning that’s difficult.”

  They were the only ones there, so he could be familiar with his father. “How long before you’re ready for action again?” asked Sasha.

  “Weeks, the doctors say. About thirty percent of my skin was burned. It was a close call.”

  “Do you regret it?” asked Yekaterina.

  “Ah, Katyusha, what sort of question is that? Of course I’m annoyed that I didn’t manage to save the mission. But I’d do it again in a heartbeat. There’s just one thing I’d do differently.”