Starfire (54 page)

A
SHORT
TIME
LATER

From about a mile away, all Boomer and Ernesto could see was a dense cloud of white gas, as if a cumulus cloud had broken free of Earth's atmosphere and decided to float around in Earth's orbit. “Still can't see anything, Armstrong,” Boomer reported. “Just a very large cloud of frozen fuel, oxidizer, and debris.”

“Copy,” Kai replied. “Get as close as you can, but mind the fuel and oxidizer—don't get close enough to ignite it. Even one spark of static electricity in that mess could set it off.”

“Roger.”

It took several minutes to close the gap, but the cloud still obscured the scene. “I'm about fifty yards away,” Boomer said. “This is about as close as I dare get. I can't make anything out. Ernesto, you see anything in there?”

“Negative,” Ernesto said. “It's a pretty dense—
Wait!
I see it! I see the Midnight!
It looks like the right wing and part of the tail have been torn off, but the fuselage and cockpit look intact!”

“Thank God,” Boomer said. “I'm going over there to take a look.” He unstrapped and went back to the airlock. For a long-exposure spacewalk, in addition to wearing the EEAS for more protection against micrometeors and debris and for better temperature control, Boomer put on a lightweight unpressurized space suit resembling coveralls, then donned a large backpacklike device called a Primary Life Support System, or PLSS, and plugged his EEAS and environmental umbilicals into it. The backpack contained oxygen, power, carbon-dioxide scrubbers, environmental controls, communications gear, and a device called a “SAFER,” or Simplified Aid For EVA Rescue, which was a smaller version of the Manned Maneuvering Unit device, which allowed tethered and untethered astronauts to move unassisted in space. SAFER was only supposed to be used in an emergency, in order to return an untethered astronaut to the spacecraft—well, this was definitely an emergency. “How do you hear, Ernesto?” he radioed.

“Loud and clear, Boomer.”

“Cockpit hatch is secure,” Boomer said after checking the readouts. “Depressurizing the airlock now.” A few minutes later: “Opening cargo-bay hatch.” He unlocked and opened the hatch and stepped inside the cargo bay, secured himself with a tether, then closed and sealed the hatch behind him.

The cargo bay was still mostly full, because they were carrying all of the supplies for the International Space Station and still had some untransferred supplies for Armstrong. Boomer brought out a one-hundred-yard length of cargo strap used for transferring items to a space station, made sure the end of the strap was secure to the spaceplane, attached the strap to a clip on his backpack harness, and unhooked himself from the cargo-bay tether. “Leaving cargo bay,” he reported, then maneuvered himself up and out of the cargo bay and headed for the Midnight spaceplane, the cargo strap unreeling itself behind him.

A few minutes later he entered the fuel-oxidizer cloud—thankfully the jets on SAFER used inert gases for propulsion, so there was no danger of creating an explosion—and he could clearly see the spaceplane. The damage looked worse from up close, but the fuselage and cockpit looked intact. “I'm about twenty yards from Midnight,” Boomer reported. “I'm going in.” Using tiny puffs from SAFER, he moved in toward Midnight's cockpit . . .

. . . and through the cockpit canopy windows, he saw Jessica Faulkner and Vice President Ann Page, still seated, upright, and strapped in, heads bowed as if napping in an airliner seat, but not moving. “I see Gonzo and the vice president,” Boomer said. “They're strapped in and upright. I can't see if their eyes are open.” He took out a flashlight and tapped gently on the Midnight's cockpit canopies—no response. “Their suits look undamaged, and I can see LEDs on their suits' status panels—hot damn, they might be—”

And just then, Vice President Ann Page raised her head, then her right hand, as if waving.
“The vice president is alive!”
Boomer said. “I think she's waving at me!” He realized it could just be the motion of the spacecraft, but he had to cling to any drop of hope he possibly could. “Gonzo's still not moving, but the vice president is conscious! Power is out. The airlock hatch and cockpit look secure—no sign of damage or decompression. We've got to get them back to station.”

He floated above Midnight to look at the cargo bay. “The right side of the fuselage at the wing attach point looks badly damaged.” He maneuvered himself around to the right side of the cargo bay. “Shit,” he murmured a few moments later. “Looks like the passenger module was breached. Stand by. I'll see if I can check the passengers.”

Aboard Armstrong Space Station, Brad McLanahan held his breath. He knew Sondra was on that spaceplane and had switched to the passenger module to allow the vice president to ride in the cockpit.

“Brad,” Jodie radioed from Cal Poly—no one on the Project Starfire team had left their station since Stacy Anne Barbeau's explosive accusations. “I heard everything. Wasn't . . . wasn't your friend Sondra . . . ?”

“Yes,” Brad said.

“Prayers,” Jodie breathed.

Boomer was able to look through the breach in the hull and passenger module. “There's not enough room for me to get into the module,” he said. He shined his flashlight at Sondra and the Secret Service agent. “They are unconscious, but I see indicator lights on their suits' status panel, and their visors are down and appear locked. We—”

And at that moment, as Boomer swept his flashlight's beam across her helmet visor, Sondra raised her head. Her eyes were open and wide with fear.
“Holy shit, Sondra's alive!”
Boomer shouted. “The Secret Service agent is not moving, but as far as I can tell, her suit is intact! We might have four survivors here!”

“Excellent!” Kai radioed. He and the rest of the crew had been watching Boomer's progress on video and audio streamed back from cameras mounted on Boomer's PLSS. “Get back here on the double. We'll widen the breach to get into the passenger module, and then we can recover the passengers and then gain access to the cockpit through the airlock.”

“Roger.” Boomer made his way to the front of the Midnight spaceplane, found a Reaction Control System nozzle on the nose, and hooked the cargo strap securely inside it. He then hooked a ring on his backpack harness to the strap and propelled himself back to the S-29 Shadow spaceplane, zip-lining down the strap. In minutes he was through the Shadow's airlock, set the PLSS in its cradle to recharge and refill, and made his way back into the Shadow's cockpit.

“Nice job, comandante,” Ernesto said after Boomer had strapped in. They exchanged a fist bump. “Do you think we can get them out and transfer them to station, boss?”

“Not sure,” Boomer said, taking a few moments to let his breathing and heartbeat start to return to normal. “The passenger module is definitely breached, but the cockpit looked intact. I saw LEDs on their suits, but I couldn't tell if they were warning lights or what. We might be able to get messages to the vice president on how to open the airlock or cockpit canopies, and then we hope they can survive the transfer. Let's get back to station.”

It took them a half hour of careful maneuvering to tow the crippled S-19 Midnight spaceplane back to Armstrong Space Station. Crewmembers were already standing by with more cargo straps and cutters, and the remote manipulator arms were extended as far as they could to do whatever was necessary. Boomer docked the S-29 with the station.

“Good job, Boomer,” Kai radioed as he studied the images of the stricken S-19 Midnight and the crewmembers working on gaining access to the passenger module. “I've ordered the S-29 refueled and as much cargo as possible unloaded. We can use one of the airlocks as a hyperbaric chamber. I'm going to have you and your MC stay with the spaceplane. We've got about three hours before we arrive at the next DB, so if you need to get out and use the ‘wicks,' do it now.” Ernesto waved a hand, signaling that's what he wanted. The “wicks,” or WCS, was the Waste Containment System, or space toilet, on Armstrong Space Station.

“Roger,” Boomer said. “Which duck blind are we coming up on?”

“The worst one,” Kai said. “Delta Bravo-One. Downtown. Right up the middle.” Boomer was very familiar with which ones they were: Moscow and St. Petersburg. They had overlapping kill circles from multiple antisatellite sites that extended coverage from the Barents Sea to the Gulf of Azov. “With the Russian Orbital Section detached and not having our own maneuvering module, we can't reposition station for a less dangerous orbit.”

“Ernesto is clearing off to use the ‘wicks,' ” Boomer announced as Ernesto began unstrapping. “I want to supervise the refueling. I need someone in the seat to watch for faults.”

“We're running low on spaceplane crewmembers, Boomer,” Kai said. He turned to station manager Trevor Shale. “Trev, want to suit up and—”

“Send Brad McLanahan,” Boomer said. “He's not busy. Hell, he's practically a spaceplane pilot already.”

Brad had been silent ever since the S-19 Midnight had been hit by the Russian ASAT, watching out a window at the workers surrounding the Midnight and hoping to catch a glimpse of Sondra, but he brightened when he heard his name. “You bet I will!” he said excitedly on intercom.

“Report to the airlock—someone will help you into an ACES,” Kai said. “You'll have to be fully suited up and on oxygen. There's no time to get you into an LCVG.” The LCVG, or Liquid Cooling and Ventilation Garment, was a formfitting suit with water tubes running through it that absorbed heat from the body. “Trev, help Brad get to the airlock.” Trevor led Brad to the hatch leading to the storage and processing module. Because he would not be wearing an LCVG, it was relatively quick and simple to don an ACES suit, gloves, and boots, and in just a few minutes Brad was on his way to the tunnel connecting the S-29 Shadow spaceplane to the station.

On the way into the docked spaceplane, Brad passed Ernesto Hermosillo heading to the Galaxy module. “Hey, good news about Sondra, man,” Ernesto said, giving Brad a fist bump. “I hope she'll be all right. We'll know soon, amigo.”

“
Gracias,
Ernesto,” Brad said.

A technician helped Brad through the docking tunnel, and Brad made his way through the airlock and into the cockpit. Boomer handed him his umbilicals. “Hello, Brad,” Boomer said on intercom. “Everything that can be done for Sondra and the others is being done. My guess is that she and the Secret Service agent will have to spend the night in an airlock pressurized with pure oxygen. They might be out for a while, but if they made it through the attack with their suits intact, they should pull out of it.”

“Thanks, Boomer,” Brad said.

“Thanks for doing this, Brad,” Boomer said. “This is nothing but a simple babysitting job, but the regs—which I myself wrote—say that one person has to be behind the controls of an S-29 during space refueling, wearing a space suit and on oxygen. The Black Stallion and Midnight spaceplanes require both crewmembers because they're not as automated as the Shadow. I want to supervise the refueling and maybe hit the head, and Ernesto is heading to the ‘wicks' now, so that's why you're here.

“The Shadow is highly automated, so it will tell you verbally and on this screen what's going on,” Boomer continued, pointing at the large multifunction display in the middle of the instrument panel. Checklist items appeared in yellow, then several sublines of computer actions, with a yellow line turning green, and finally the end result, with a little yellow button on the touch-screen display asking if the computer could continue. “If something does happen, it'll notify you and wait for an acknowledgment, which you do by pressing the soft key that appears. Most of the time it'll just fix the problem itself, notify you that it's fixed, and wait for an acknowledgment. If it can't fix it itself, it'll let you know. Just tell me if that happens and I'll get the techs working on it. Like I said, you're babysitting, except the ‘baby' is smarter and bigger than you. Any questions?”

“Nope.”

“Good. I'll be able to hear the computer if it announces anything. I won't be far away. Just call if—”

And at that moment they heard, “Armstrong, this is Midnight One, how do you hear?”

“Gonzo?”
Kai shouted. “Is that you?”

“Yes,” Gonzo said. Her voice was hoarse and labored, as if she were trying to talk with a large weight on her chest. “If you can hear me, report in. Miss Vice President?”

“I . . . I can hear you . . . Gonzo.” The vice president responded with the same low, hoarse voice and slow cadence. “I . . . I can't breathe very well.”

“Help is coming, ma'am,” Gonzo said. “Agent Clarkson.” No response. “Agent Clarkson?” Still no word. “Sondra?”

“Loud . . . and . . . and clear,” Sondra replied weakly. Brad took a deep breath, the first in many tense moments. “I'll . . . I'll try to check on Clarkson.”

“We have power to the Midnight,” Trevor reported. “We'll check the spacecraft's hull status, then figure out if we can do a pressurized tunnel transfer or we'll have to spacewalk them. Their breathing suggests their space suits might not be receiving oxygen from the spaceplane, so we'll have to hurry to see if we can—”

“Command, Surveillance, I detect multiple rocket launches!”
Christine Rayhill shouted on all-stations intercom. “One launch from Plesetsk, one from Baikonur! Computing launch track now . . . stand by . . .
now detecting a second launch from Baikonur,
repeat, two launches from . . .
now detecting a rocket launch from Xichang,
Command, that's four rockets lifting . . .
now detecting a fifth rocket,
this one from Wenchang spaceport on Hainan Island. That's five rockets launching! No prenotifications of any launches.”