The Antiterrorist: A Jake Corby Sci-Fi Thriller (Mysterious Events Book 2) (7 page)

What?
I frowned and turned to McGraw.

“It’s non-intuitive, I know.” McGraw stood up. “You’d think that if they were moving away from the ISS, they’d simply continue to do so. But here’s why it doesn’t happen that way: They are in orbit around Earth. Apparently they were flung away at a right angle to the path of the ISS, parallel to the surface of the earth. That means they were just put into a different orbit. That orbit will intersect the orbit of the ISS on the other side of the earth.”

McGraw held his arms out in front of him. “Think of holding two hula-hoops together out in front of you, with your hands at nine o’clock and three o’clock. Then change the angle of one.” He pushed his thumbs forward. “They still touch at two points, where your hands are. Those are the two intersecting orbits.”

Understanding astrophysics, one hula-hoop at a time.

“Oh, no way,” Hallstrom said. “I’m not sure I get it, but wouldn’t it be an incredible coincidence that the orbits would intersect exactly?”

I raised my eyebrows and grinned. Good question for a non-science guy.

McGraw nodded, “Yes, it is. But if they were flung out just right … we’ll see.”

One of Obama’s cabinet members asked, “Can’t they just move the ISS or change the orbit of Dragon?”

“Normally, yes.” McGraw fiddled with the top button of his shirt. “But the ISS is out of control, and until Ray and Catherine are inside Dragon, they don’t want to move it. Remember, this thing can only be controlled from the ground.”

After an agonizing thirty minutes, Catherine’s voice came out of the speakers. “Houston, I’m about forty meters from Dragon.”

“Catherine, you are go for SAFER engagement.”

We heard nothing for twenty seconds. I held my breath.

Catherine said, “Houston, I’m getting no joy on my thrusters. I think I panicked at the start and used them too much.”

“Houston, I’m going to go get her,” Ray said.

Now, this was heroics. He was leaving his lifeboat with no guarantee he’d ever return. I guess he’d made no promises to his pregnant wife. Or his four kids.

“Copy, Ray. Can you see her?”

“Negative, but I can see when she occludes the stars. Soon it will be too late. And she can see me.”

I leaned forward and squinted at the feed from his helmet cam. Stars filled the screen, nothing else.

“Roger, Ray. There’s a tether stowed in—”

“Negative, Houston, I don’t have time. I’ve left Dragon.”

“Wait, Ray—”

“Too late, Houston,” he said.

Catherine’s voice was calm and professional. “Ray, looking good. Come a little to your left.”

“Roger.”

“That’s perfect, keep coming,” Catherine said.

“Okay, Catherine, I can see your helmet light now.”

Soon Ray’s light shone off Catherine’s spacesuit. He slowed and then gripped her right hand with his left.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Catherine said.

“I was in the neighborhood … Houston, we’re together now. I’m moving behind her and we’ll start back to Dragon.”

“Well done, guys. Keep an eye on your GN2 pressure, but we’d like you to move back as fast as—”

“Whoa!” Catherine and Ray shouted.

“Say status, please.”

Ray said, “Houston, we just caught sight of the station, and it’s spinning right toward us.”

In the view from Ray’s helmet cam, the ISS, now in daylight, was spinning like a huge propeller. Most of the components had been flung off, but the main truss and a few modules were intact.

“Ray, what is your ETA for Dragon?”

“Houston, I don’t think we’ll make it.”

Ray’s camera showed Dragon with the ISS in the background. To me it looked like Dragon would pass safely by, but the astronauts were headed toward the center of the spinning fan. In all the vastness of space these three objects, traveling at 17,000 MPH, were all going to get damned close to one another.

I’m not a sissy, but I decided that if they flew into that monster, I would close my eyes. Okay, maybe I am a sissy.

“Houston, using my thrusters to avoid the station. I’m low on propellant.”

“Copy, Ray.”

The camera view shifted wildly as Ray maneuvered. The spinning mess approached like an evil machine hellbent on destroying the vulnerable astronaut pair. I pressed my foot against the floor trying to put on the brakes.

The end of the truss got so close that I imagined a whooshing sound. Dragon passed on one side of the station and the astronauts on the other. Way too close for comfort, but they made it. I let out my breath.

“Houston, my propellant pressure is low, I’m not sure we can make it back to Dragon.”

“Copy, Ray. We’ll move it to you if we have to.”

“Copy, Houston. I’ll use minimal thrust.”

The capsule gradually increased in size. Like the minute hand of a clock, you couldn’t see it move, but after a while it would be in a new position. I leaned forward in my seat, trying to get to it sooner. It made me want to get out and push.
C’mon, c’mon.

Ray’s arm reached out as the capsule moved closer, and then, bang, he grabbed a handhold. I jumped up and cheered, along with everyone else.

Within a minute both astronauts were inside with the hatch closed. They were nothing more than cargo now. All flight was controlled from Houston, and the astronauts had no view of the outside world.

I looked around the room. Each person had other important duties—well, except me, I guess—but no one had been able to resist being here for the action.

We heard Ray’s voice once more.

“Houston, this is Ray on Dragon’s comm system. Do you read me?”

“We read you, Dragon. Congratulations. Stand by for trunk jettison. We’ll perform the deorbit burn in ten minutes. It should be clear sailing from here on in.”

“Copy, Houston. Thank you. Any word on the Canadarm?”

“Dragon, ah, we don’t expect that to be a problem.”

The president turned to McGraw. “What do you think, Seth?”

He grimaced and sucked in some air. “They may be sparing Catherine and Ray from worry. I’m concerned about it. We’ll just have to wait and see.” He looked at his watch. “We have thirty minutes until the entry interface, when they hit the atmosphere, so those of you who want a break, now’s the time. Come back at three.”

Introvert that I am, I needed a break from all the people. Security didn’t let us wander far, but I sat in a chair in a corner of the Navy Mess. I would have called Mary, but White House rules prohibited the use of cell phones. I closed my eyes and meditated, and no one bothered me.

* * *

We reconvened at three, and the blackout began. This was the period during which the heat of reentry ionized the air around the capsule, preventing communications. It’s been that way since the first space flights in the sixties. I’d have thought they could find a way around that, but what do I know?

If the Canadarm fragment caused the capsule to tumble, we’d never hear from them. Someone might see the fiery debris, as we did eight years ago when the Columbia burned up, but this was taking place over the relatively deserted Pacific, well off the coast of San Diego.

The engineers expected the blackout to last three minutes. The deadline passed and no one spoke. They’d overcome so many crises … could it really end here? I held my breath.

At three-minutes-twenty we heard it. “Houston, this is Dragon. We are okay, Joe.”

I cheered, and Hallstrom slapped me on the back.

But the joy was short-lived. The chase plane gave us great video of drogue chutes streaming out behind the capsule, but when the three main chutes popped out, only one opened. The others flopped and scalloped.
Would they help at all?

I turned to McGraw, who shrugged. Apparently he didn’t know whether one was enough. It had to be.

The capsule smashed into the ocean. We had a high-def view. A tremendous splash spread out and Dragon disappeared below the surface for several seconds.

“Dragon, do you copy?”

The copters dropped recovery divers. They put flotation around Dragon, opened the hatch, and looked in. That’s all that happened.
Where was the happy all-okay wave?
The diver spent two minutes with his butt sticking out of the hatch. Years ago a Soyuz capsule had made it back to Earth, but when they opened it they found only dead cosmonauts inside. Would this be the same? No. The diver came out and flashed a thumbs up.

We burst out with applause and cheers. One of the screens showed a view of Times Square, packed with a cheering mass as if it were New Year’s Eve. President Obama went around the room shaking hands. He thanked me personally for locating the satellite killer and clapped me on the shoulder.

* * *

Just a few days later, after a delicious Christmas dinner at Hallstrom’s home in a snowy D.C., Mary and I sipped coffee in the Oval Office.
I could get used to this.

We were joined by the Obamas, Dane Hallstrom, and the returning heroes, Catherine and Ray.

Catherine gave me a wonderful hug. I’d had a crush on her since I watched her tour of ISS. I told her that the wildly flowing hair was a good look for her, and here’s what she did: She popped into a handstand right there in the Oval Office, shook out her hair, and said, “How’s that?” What a woman. I guess her muscles had recovered.

Ray gave me a man hug, and we compared injuries. His forehead stitches were like mine and he’d cracked some ribs. When the chutes had deployed, three of the lines snagged in the Canadarm remnant. That’s why two parachutes failed to open. The diver delayed giving the thumbs-up because the violent splashdown had knocked Ray unconscious and there was a lot of blood in the cockpit. The engineers had packed that thing full of padding, like one of those high-school science projects in which students try to keep an egg in a box from breaking, but it wasn’t quite enough for the violent landing.

Everyone thanked me, saying that Ray and Catherine wouldn’t be alive today had I not located the evil ray gun.

Aw, shucks.

President Obama thanked Mary for letting the government borrow me.

“And, Jake,” he said. “I have a special present for you.” He wore a huge smile. He reached behind his historic desk and pulled out a framed photograph with a bow on it.

The White House photographer had caught my moment of infamy in the Situation Room perfectly. Several faces shared a look of horror as my hotel breakfast flew in an arc toward President Obama. His eyes were wide, and he’d jerked his head back. His arms pushed against the table in what would be a futile attempt to avoid the incoming fusillade.

I clapped a hand over my eyes. “No, no. This won’t get out on the internet, right?”

Obama laughed. “No, Jake, I have personally classified this photograph as top secret.”

Mary held it out in front of her and smiled at me. “Our son or daughter will love this.”

I frowned and blinked at her for a few seconds. “You mean …”

Mary nodded.

Look out, world. More Corbys on the way.

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I learned so much from my critique partners on CritiqueCircle.com. Special thanks to Amaruska, Bizmuth, Lauraeve, Ratrilyn, Sjrichards, Huzcotoq, Jeff Tanyard, De-paine, Bgood, Rxd01, Jaramsli, and others.

Thanks also to Lena Macy, Gail Summerville, Carol Macy, Calen Nakash, and others who helped me review my work.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Al Macy writes because he has stories to tell. In school he was the class clown and always the first volunteer for show and tell. His teachers would say “Al has a lot of imagination.” Then they'd roll their eyes.