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

by Brandon Q Morris

  “Roger that. Thank you, Zarya.”

  For a few minutes Sasha experienced something that seemed like silence. But it wasn’t. The deep vibration that had held them in its talons was over. Now he slowly began to notice all the other sounds—the groaning of the air circulation, the humming of the relays waiting for switching commands, the beeping of the acoustic status signals, the whirring of the ventilators. He listened to the sounds that were new to him and tried to locate their sources. That might prove useful. After all, it would be good if he noticed, for example, if the air circulation stopped working.

  “Are we allowed?” asked Sharma, pointing at his belt.

  “In principle, yes,” said Malyshev. “But you can see how cramped it is in here. So please, only one at a time at the porthole.”

  “May I go first?” asked Sharma. The Indian seemed nice.

  “Sure. We’ve pretty much got a whole day.”

  Sharma opened his helmet and unbuckled his belt. Then he pushed himself off and floated up. The porthole was directly above them opposite the entrance hatch. Sharma moved elegantly, evidence that he’d already had a chance to train in zero gravity. Sasha would be happy if he could manage it even half as cleanly.

  Sharma was apparently awestruck by the view. A continuous stream of words came out of him. Sasha couldn’t understand a single one—he must have been speaking Hindi. After 10 minutes the Indian turned around and beckoned him.

  “It might be best if I wait till you’re in your seat again.”

  “Of course. I’ll come down. It’s amazing. Or have you already seen it?”

  “No. I mean, yes.” He was Gennadi Strekalov. “Before. It’s not my first flight.”

  Sharma dismissed his comment with a strange gesture, then floated back to his seat. “So, your turn,” he said.

  Shit. Now everyone was looking at him. They’d realize he had no experience in zero gravity. But hadn’t he trained underwater? Here in the capsule it was obvious which way was up and which way was down. He undid his belt. Very slowly. Sometimes you had to go slow to be fast. Hadn’t Beregovoy told him that more than once?

  He gave himself a tiny shove. His body counteracted the movement with a small amount of inertia that he had to control. Nothing more. He slowly floated upward. But his legs were in the wrong position. They were extended out in front of him. If he was unlucky, he might set off some switch with them. But without bracing himself he couldn’t change his position. He gripped the backrest, pulled himself back, and pulled his legs in toward his body.

  Then he tried again. It worked. The instrument panels were out of reach of his legs. He arrived at the porthole, where a little moisture had condensed. They should check the air circulation. He pressed his face against the cool pane and looked outside.

  Sharma was right. Everything he’d said in Hindi was true. Sasha knew it instinctively. Human language had its limits when it came to expressing amazement. Nothing was as magnificently grandiose as the world that he now saw below him, the Blue Planet. White clouds above blue oceans reflecting the sun, the green—with a slight blue tinge—of the land masses.

  This was the planet that harbored the Kazakh desert and the Siberian forests. It was so diverse, and from up here it seemed to fit together so harmoniously. Everything belonged to everyone. Everything was connected to everything else. The divisions into nations or continents was utterly meaningless. His finger couldn’t lead a life separate from his body.

  Every human should be able to fly into space. After that, there’d be no more wars. Sasha gently shoved himself off from the porthole and sailed back down. He shouldn’t overdose. This view was dangerous. It could turn him into a total pacifist. And he had a mission to fulfil, which just might help socialism make its final breakthrough.

  “Amazing, right?” Sharma said to him in Russian.

  “Yeah, it really is.”

  “Can I ask you something? I mean, off the record.”

  “You can ask.”

  “I realize you’re not Gennadi. I met him quite a few times during training.”

  “Unfortunately I can’t say anything about that.”

  “I realize that. It must be something vital to make such a secret of it.”

  “I couldn’t say. But yes, it looks that way.”

  “Is it something to do with the military?”

  “Military? No, it’s not that. It’s about research.”

  “Oh, I’m glad. I think space should be used peacefully.”

  “Politics aren’t my thing,” said Sasha.

  “I understand. But thanks for answering my question. If you need help at all, feel free to ask me.”

  “Thanks for the offer.”

  April 4, 1984, Salyut 7

  “Corrective maneuver successful. Commencing approach. All values within the prescribed parameters.”

  “Good.”

  Malyshev was looking ahead, bent over the displays in front of him. They were all buckled into their seats again. A small juniper branch that the commander had attached to the wall next to the hatch was turning slowly to the left, like the hand on a clock, as the space ship’s thrusters fired to match their orbit to that of Salyut 7. Inertia and gravity were two strange forces, so easy to confuse, and yet with such different origins—and then again, not really.

  “Thirty kilometers remaining,” said Malyshev.

  “Approach orbit reached,” reported the TsUP ground station.

  “Hello Mayaks, get ready for visitors, the family is coming,” said Malyshev.

  “Welcome Yuri, we look forward to it,” said a male voice.

  That must be Kizim, the Salyut 7 commander. The crew’s call sign was Mayak. Now they were slowly creeping around the space station. They’d couple at the rear near the thrusters. The front coupling site was already occupied by Soyuz T-10, which the space station crew had used to get up here.

  “Twenty-five kilometers,” said Malyshev. “Activate Igla.”

  “Igla activated,” confirmed the TUP.

  “Igla working,” said Kizim from the space station.

  Igla, needle, was the automatic coupling system. Using special antennae on the outer hull of the capsule and the space station, it independently determined their position and course. Sasha’s left side was briefly pressed back into his seat. Igla must have fired the corrective thrusters. Even though the autopilot was now steering them right up to the coupling site, Malyshev didn’t look at all relaxed. Shouldn’t Igla, such a masterpiece of socialist engineering, command more trust?

  “Looks good,” said Kizim.

  “I don’t trust that thing,” replied Malyshev.

  “Isn’t it tried and true technology?” asked Sasha.

  “With Soyuz 15 it was off by about 20 kilometers.”

  “But Kizim sounds very relaxed.”

  “For good reason. He’s sitting in the station and that’s the passive part. Igla’s controlling our thrusters.”

  Sasha leaned back. It was best to not stick his nose in when the pros were at work. He’d already talked too much.

  The closer they came to the station, the more the three-way exchange between Malyshev, Kizim, and the TsUP intensified. They checked and commented on every one of Igla’s maneuvers. The commander continuously checked the measurements visually. That was reassuring. Trust is good, control is better. As a passenger, he had to keep his comments to himself, even when he thought Igla was oversteering the Soyuz capsule sometimes. But that was probably because he didn’t know enough about orbital mechanics. Braking to overtake—that sounded like a contradiction, even when he was able to confirm it with calculations.

  The excitement was reaching a crescendo. Malyshev’s hands hovered close over the controls, probably so he could abort at the last second. All was quiet.

  Then Sasha felt his belt tighten again, probably for the last time. He’d made it! It was unreal.

  “Contact,” said Malyshev.

  Salyut 7 and the TsUP confirmed.

  “El
ectrical connection established,” said Kizim from the other side.

  “Pressure normal,” said Malyshev. “I’ll see to the hatch.”

  The commander floated upward. The junction to the space station was directly above their heads. Malyshev cranked open the hatch and cool air rushed into the capsule. The commander disappeared through the dark hole. Sharma followed him and gave a short groan. Then it was Sasha’s turn. His joints ached. It was just after eight thirty. The 24 hours on that seat had taken more of a toll than he’d expected. But what he wanted now, more than anything, was to get rid of the diaper.

  Once he’d crossed the cargo bay the station lay before him. Four arms pulled him out of the Soyuz. Kizim, Solovyov, Atkov, he still didn’t know who was who. Where could he dispose of the diaper?

  “TsUP congratulates you on the coupling,” came a voice from the speakers.

  The others didn’t move. What was happening now? He really wanted to get out of the pressure suit.

  “Dear comrades in space!”

  It took him a moment to recognize the voice, Chernenko, the General Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. The old man wished them a successful week, especially their guest Rakesh Sharma, of course. After that the Indian President Giani Zail Singh and Prime Minister Indira Gandhi came on the line. It was strange. The whole world thought of this space flight as a propaganda mission.

  But only a small circle of insiders knew that it might actually change the world. And Chernenko definitely wasn’t one of them.

  April 5, 1984, Salyut 7

  It was a terrible night. He would rather have slept in his seat in the Soyuz capsule, but that wasn’t allowed. They had improvised berths that reminded him of huge baby beds, but his body missed the force that he’d felt since birth, which pressed him downward and gave him his sense of direction. Then there were the noises and the mixed smells of machine oil, sweat and mold. It took him a long time to get to sleep and then he kept waking up.

  “What’s on the schedule for today?” asked Kizim who, as the station commander, was now also their boss.

  “We have to start Rakesh’s experiments,” said Malyshev.

  “Sorry, but first I have to go out and install my measuring instrument,” said Sasha. The Relikt instrument needed as much time as possible to collect data. But he couldn’t explain the reasons to his crewmates.

  “I don’t know anything about that,” said Kizim.

  “It was a last-minute change,” explained Malyshev. “I think he’s probably right.”

  “Is that why Gennadi isn’t with you?”

  Malyshev nodded. Kizim turned 180 degrees and pressed a button. “TUP, please come in.”

  “Good morning, Mayak 1. What is it?”

  “I’m told we have to carry out an unplanned spacewalk.”

  “One moment, I’ll check that.”

  Apparently, even the comms man hadn’t been informed.

  “That’s right, Mayak 1. There’s a problem with one of the classified devices on the outer hull. The specialist needs to fix it. We expect you to support him as much as possible and provide him with a second man.”

  So he was a specialist. Apparently he didn’t have a name.

  “May I ask how much space travel experience our colleague has?” asked Kizim.

  “None. He’s only completed the specialist training.”

  “So I’m supposed to send an experienced cosmonaut outside together with the newbie?”

  “Exactly, Mayak 1.”

  “Despite the danger that poses for the crew member?”

  “That’s the order. Refusal to comply will not be tolerated.”

  “Fine, TUP, then I’ll do it myself. I can’t be responsible for anything else.”

  “Of course, Mayak 1.”

  Great! Kizim saw him as a danger and was sacrificing himself for his crew. This was going to be a nice excursion.

  The Orlan spacesuit was of a totally different caliber than the Sokol pressure suit they’d worn for the rocket flight. Just getting into it seemed almost impossible. Sasha was already wearing the special underclothes with the built-in cooling and heating system. Malyshev held the Orlan while Kizim folded the huge backpack with the life support out of the way.

  An oval hole opened up. That was where he got in. Sasha stepped feet-first into his new accommodation. The Orlan actually felt like a small house, or at least a tent. The bottom section was flexible. Sasha felt around with his feet and managed to slip into the boots that were attached to the pants. A little gravity would be very helpful right now. But then he’d probably need three assistants to hold up the 120-kilogram Orlan, and he’d have to be moved with a crane like the one at the hydrolab in the Star City.

  Kizim tested the comms. “Can you hear us? Are you all good?”

  Sasha was sweating—an after-effect of his workout. How did he operate the cooling? “I can hear you. Wait a minute, I’m still getting fully into position.” Now his fingers and feet were in the right places. Sasha turned his head. He didn’t have much freedom of movement. He’d never felt this cramped in the training suit at the hydrolab. “Okay, I’ve successfully moved into my new house.”

  “Very good, Jupiter 3, I’m closing the lever now.”

  Kizim depressed the lever on Sasha’s right side and pulled a strap over it to secure it against accidental opening. It became noticeably quieter as the world outside was muffled. The life support sealed the entry point so it was airtight.

  “Jupiter 3 ready to exit,” he announced.

  Sasha desperately gripped the edge of the hatch. His breathing was fast and shallow. He couldn’t bring himself to dive into the expanse. It was like that time on the 3-meter board at the pool, except that now he was supposed to dive into an abyss hundreds of kilometers deep. What had Beregovoy told him to do? He was supposed to close his eyes and imagine that the vast sphere of the Earth was above him. He tried it.

  “Are you coming, Jupiter 3?” Kizim asked from outside.

  “Jupiter 3, your pulse is too fast. Relax,” said TsUP mission control.

  He opened his eyes. He still felt like the Earth was below him. Try again. It has to work!

  “We don’t have forever,” said Kizim.

  Thanks, comrade. Sasha opened his eyes. The damned Earth still hadn’t moved. Maybe it was a little too much to expect to be able to flip an entire planet around with will power alone.

  “Jupiter 3, shall we abort?” asked the TUP.

  Abort? That was out of the question. He pictured himself climbing out of the Soyuz landing capsule, holding the Relikt instrument in his arms like a baby. Yekaterina saw him and was happy, but then she saw the device that he had failed to attach to the station. Screw that. The hole he was supposed to fall through was still just as bottomless. But he had no choice. He took a deep breath and pulled himself through the hatch before he had time to change his mind.

  Sasha was hanging upside down in space, but he didn’t fall. He simply remained in that position. He was a bat.

  “Along here,” said Kizim.

  Sasha turned to face him, and suddenly it worked. His crewmate was standing upright on the outer hull of the station. Sasha looked down at himself. His feet were down and his head was up. The Earth was hanging in the black sky far above them. He searched for the next bracket to hook his feet into.

  “The instrument,” said Malyshev.

  He’d completely forgotten why he was out there. He bent over the hatch and reached inside. They’d already attached the Relikt device to the ceiling of the transfer bay. Malyshev had called it an ‘instrument.’ Did he know what it was for? It probably wasn’t hard for someone with a little engineering experience to figure out. Whatever. There was nothing Sasha could do about it at this point.

  He released the bracket attaching it and pulled the instrument out of the airlock. His hand pulled with a little too much force because he had instinctively taken the weight of the object into account, but he could slow it down. It was a good t
hing his feet were firmly anchored—his trainer in the Star City had done a good job.

  “We need to be above the large workshop,” said Kizim.

  Sasha looked around him. The station looked like a bottle. They were standing on the neck—the narrowest part of the station—the transit section. After that came the smaller workshop section, to which the solar panels were attached, and then the wider part. Right down by the stern, just before Soyuz T-11 that they’d arrived in, was the most significant amount of available space. That was why they’d chosen this part of the station to install the Relikt instrument.

  Sasha followed his crewmate by pulling himself along the station horizontally. He gripped a protuberance with his right hand, pulled himself toward it, and anchored his feet again. It worked well, because he already knew the hand and footholds from his training. Every movement was exhausting because the suit was so stiff, but the resistance of the water that he’d become used to in the hydrolab was no longer there. He was actually making better progress in space than he had in the water.

  “Jupiter 3, everything okay?” asked mission control.

  “Everything’s great. How are my levels?”

  “Heart rate, blood pressure, temperature are all fine. Skin resistance is reduced, but not critical.”

  He was sweating. The salty sweat was an excellent electrical conductor. Handhold after handhold, he approached the area outside the large workshop.

  Kizim helped him up. “Here?” he asked. “If I can help you—”

  “Thanks, I’ve practiced this part often enough.”

  He attached the safety line to the instrument and pulled out his specialized tool. Then he hesitated. Here on the outside of the station the instrument was protected from radiation from the Earth’s atmosphere. But it would be exposed to the sun here, and it functioned more accurately when it was cold. Maybe they hadn’t planned this properly?