Perigee (23 page)

Where would that O2 have gone
, he wondered.
Would it have stayed in the tanks, or would it have just vented overboard
? Tom must have realized how this might end up, and had made sure they’d isolated the cabin tanks from the engine supply so it at least didn’t burn up their breathable air. One more way he had bought them some time.

Tracing a finger along the schematics, he followed the system path. No, they could’ve been shut off if he’d been able to isolate the cabin tanks. So why didn’t they? He picked the phone back up and hit Grant’s speed-dial button. “Question…did Gentry say they tried shutting off the O2 flow to the mains?”

“I believe so. Got to think he tried—that’d be a stupid thing to miss. We’ll need to have another look at the telemetry to make sure.”

“Please do, and get back to me.” He hung up and leaned back into the sofa. This still wasn’t making any sense, he thought, and stared up at the ceiling. No way Tom would’ve missed such an obvious solution…so where did that leave them? It left them with simultaneous failures of independent, redundant systems, and haywire thrusters on the model that had nearly scattered Penny and her crew halfway across Canada. What were the odds of all that happening at once?

Pretty damned small
, he decided. He picked up the phone again and thumbed another speed dial.

“Security command post,” a low, even-tempered voice answered.

“This is Hammond. I need your watch supervisor up here in my office, ASAP. Have him grab the quality control manager on his way up.”

…

“Sure you don’t want a smoke?” Donner offered, flopping into a chair by the quality inspector’s desk. “Nobody here to bark about it,” he said with a conspiratorial look around the empty room. Of the eight cubicles on the open floor only one was occupied on the overnight shift.

“Come on Walt, you know I can’t,” the man protested. “Nobody can smoke in here, even before HR started their health crusade. Something stupid happens, and all these records go up in flames? Not on my watch, pal,” he declared, waving toward a wall of wide filing cabinets. Each was stuffed with repair and inspection reports for every plane in the fleet, going back to the day each one came from the factory.

“Suit yourself,” Donner said as he casually tossed the pack of cigs on the desk between them. He leaned back in the chair and stretched, looking toward the clock. “Going on midnight. Man, you never get used to the graveyard shift, let me tell you.”

“It helps if you’re already a night owl,” the inspector replied. “I’m usually up until two or three anyway.”

He looked it
, Donner thought. Single guy, probably not even thirty yet—still liked the nightlife a little too much for his own good.

“Yeah, it’s us married guys that get screwed. You don’t want to have to do this with kids.”

The younger man snorted. “Trust me, that’s not gonna happen anytime soon. Not in my plans, Walt.”

“That’s what they all say. Surprises happen.”

“Not to me. Not yet.”

Like I said
, Donner thought. The quality inspector must have been thinking the same thing. He stared off in contemplation of something, then back to the pack of cigarettes tossed on his desk. “Mind if I bum a smoke?” he finally asked.

“Thought you couldn’t do that in here,” Donner mocked.

“I’m going outside, smartass. Can you keep an eye on things here for a minute?” he asked. “That’s the one downside of night shift. Somebody’s got to be here all the time, so it’s pretty hard to get out for breaks.”

Donner stalled briefly for effect, then gave in with a sigh. “Go ahead, I’ll mind the store. Believe me, I know how it is.” In fact, he was counting on it.

The inspector locked his computer, gratefully snapped up the offered pack, and made for the door. “Owe you one, bro. Back in a few.”

“Take your time,” Donner said. “No hurry at all.” He was self-aware enough to know that Taggart had softened him up with a smoke, and was satisfied to see he could make the same ploy. The kid was smart to lock down his terminal before leaving. It would have made his task easier, but this was a minor annoyance.

Now alone, he leaned back in the chair and casually looked up and down the room. Each cabinet was arranged by tail number, so it didn’t take long to find his quarry. 501’s records were about ten feet away, right across from a copy machine, which brought a rare smile to his craggy face. This would be quick work.

43

Austral Clipper

At Tom’s instruction, Ryan had quickly assembled everyone in the forward cabin with Marcy dutifully hovering behind, keeping watch over her charges.

Each passenger glared at him, silently demanding some glimmer of hope. Time was their enemy now more than ever, practically and psychologically.

He returned their collective gaze with a disarming smile and casually asked, “How’s everyone doing, considering the circumstances?”

No one volunteered an answer. Marcy shot a nervous sideways glance at their passengers before Magrath finally spoke up. “How do you think we’re doing? I’m having trouble putting my finger on it, but scared witless comes to mind.”

“I can’t blame you,” Tom said after a moment. “But I really want to know…any space sickness or claustrophobia?”

Everyone shook their heads “no”.

“Good. Now, you all have a right to know exactly what’s going on. And there frankly hasn’t been that much to tell you,” he said. “We train for just about everything, but nothing like this.”

“That’s plainly obvious,” Magrath retorted. “Now, do you care to tell us how we ended up in this fix?”

Tom had had quite enough of being grilled by this man, especially considering that whatever arrangements he’d made with Art had surely gone down the tubes. Putting on a good face for the company had been flushed when their engines had decided to go off on a marathon run. “You were along for the ride with the rest of us, sir. ‘Why’ is a question we don’t have the ability to answer up here. But I’m sure it will become a captivating story for one of your media outlets.”

“Assuming they find my char-broiled laptop wherever we come down. But then, I’d welcome the warmth about now,” he said, nodding towards the nearest row of frosted-over windows.

“You’ll have plenty of time and resources to get warmed up and finish your business,” Tom assured him. “We’re taking a little side trip.”

That piqued his interest, and that of his traveling companions. In an utterly unfamiliar environment, none of them knew what to expect anymore.

“In about seven hours, a transfer vehicle—like a tugboat—from to the European Space Agency is going to rendezvous with us. Their ground controllers in France will match orbits and use the vehicle’s docking collar to secure it to one of our exhaust nozzles,” he said, making the process sound much more routine than it was likely to be. “Once they grab us, it has enough fuel to bring us to the International Space Station.”

There was relief all around, though Magrath remained decidedly skeptical. It was probably a natural inclination that had led him into the news business to begin with, but it would have to be tamed. They still had a long way to go and much to do.

“The space station?” Carson asked. “I see how we get there, but not how we get out. We can’t attach…dock, with it…right?”

“You’re right, we can’t,” Tom said. “But our cargo deck is a separate pressure vessel, so it can be used as an airlock.” He still looked confused. “Think of us as sitting in a big air bottle. The cargo deck is another bottle. See that door in back?” he asked, pointing to a bulky-looking hatch at the rear of the cabin. “It’s sealed off from here as another level of protection for you folks. We can open it up to space so they can bring in equipment to get you all out.”

“And your crew?” Magrath asked.

“We have two full pressure suits in the emergency stores locker.”

“That compartment doesn’t have redundant pressurization like the pax cabin, am I right?” Wade interrupted, recalling his own study of the spaceplane. “Those suits are for your loadmasters in case they need to tend to cargo. If someone was unprotected back there and you had a rapid-d…,” he said, using slang for sudden decompression, “
poof
. Lungs deflate, skin blisters…all kinds of nasty stuff.”

“You’re right,” Tom said. “That’s exactly what they’re for.”

“So then let me get this straight,” Magrath said. “There’s no radiation shielding?” Just keeping its wearer wrapped in a layer of pressurized air wasn’t enough; a real spacesuit had to keep them at a survivable temperature and protected against cosmic radiation.

“There’s no forecast solar activity. For no longer than this will take, we think they’ll be safe,” Tom explained.

“You
think
?”

“If someone has a better idea, we’d all love to hear it. But right now this looks like the only game in town,” he said. “You won’t be wearing them anyway. Once we get there, Ryan and Marcy will suit up, depressurize the bay, and open the main cargo door. An astronaut is going to spacewalk over with something called Personal Rescue Enclosures,” he said. “The PRE is kind of like a human hamster ball. Each one’s temperature-controlled, radiation-shielded, and carries an hour’s worth of breathable air. They’ll close us up, re-pressurize, and put the four of you in the balls. Once you’re ready, we’ll open back up and herd you out of here on a safety tether. There’ll be a station astronaut on either end of the line.”

“What about you?” Magrath asked. “How do you get out?”

The captain’s always the last one off, he thought, but wouldn’t say it. “I have to stay up in the flight deck. The tug won’t be able to control our position on its own…we’re too big. So they’re relying on us for station-keeping until they can grab us with their robot arm.”

“You didn’t really answer the question, Captain.”

“Our people figure we can safely manage two depress cycles. After the last cycle, Marcy will get out of her suit once you’re all safely aboard. The station astronauts will bring it back here to help me suit up.”

“That’ll take a while,” Wade protested. “You’ll be buttoned up here the whole time.”

“I realize that,” Tom said. “The cabin will be sealed off while I sit here and enjoy the view.”

Magrath asked the next most obvious question. “How long will we be up there? What’s the plan for getting us home?”

“Mr. Hammond’s negotiating a deal with SpaceX. They can have a Dragon crew capsule with extra seats ready to send up in about four weeks. That’ll be our ride home.”

Ryan chimed in for everyone’s benefit. “So we’ll all have a relaxing month or so up here in the finest accommodations Uncle Sam can offer, with our own personal limo service back down. Billionaires still pay big money for that privilege,” he said with a wink in Magrath’s direction. “Think you folks can handle that?”

His news was rewarded with smiles all around. It was by far the best news any of them had heard in days. Magrath, however, appeared unyielding as ever.

44

Denver

Leo Taggart stood by the wraparound windows in his corner office and watched the distant mountains change colors in the early sunrise. He was a practiced picture of calm. It was important to present the outward appearance of control, even if he was the only man in the room. It ran counter to the inner turmoil he felt; otherwise he’d have been pacing the floor like a nervous cat. There was much to do, with little time to do it. But it did no one any good to display stress in a tense situation, him least of all.

A firm knock on the door interrupted his concentration. Momentarily annoyed, he checked the phone on his desk. Of course, the secretary he shared with Hammond wasn’t in this early, so there was no one to screen or announce visitors. That arrangement would change soon enough. She’d just have to get used to it.

He had a pretty good idea of who it was, anyway, which was exactly why it paid to always project that in-control image. Ultimately, it was all that separated the leaders from the followers.

He strode across the room and smoothly opened the big walnut door. His expectation had been correct: “Hello Walter. Come in, please.” Nervously looking over his shoulder, Donner ducked inside. “That was quick…assuming you turned up something?”

Without a word, Donner handed over a thick manila folder filled with inspection forms.

He accepted it with a satisfied smile. “Did you have a chance to go through this?”

“There wasn’t time to go too deep. But it does go back all the way to delivery.”

Taggart carefully laid the folder on his desk and began flipping through it. “Copious enough. This covers everything done since delivery, you said?”

“That’s what I said.”

“And you got them without accessing the computer records?” It would have been quicker and easily discovered if anyone had bothered to look. That would have been helpful later, but right now it would have been a distraction.

Donner grew impatient. “Yeah, that’s right. I like paper better anyway.”

He looked up briefly and smiled again.
No doubt, you old dinosaur
. “Just checking, Walter. You understand I have to be certain. This isn’t my area of expertise,” he said, waving at the pile of records. “That’s why I needed to bring you into our little circle.”