Burnout: the mystery of Space Shuttle STS-281 (14 page)

"I know," Johnson's demeanor softened, before he turned toward the door. "Keep me posted, all right?"

"We will," Brown verified.

* * * *

"…So that's it?" Blake summarized. "A phone call, a visit from an old friend, and Anders vanishes in the middle of the night?"

"Affirmative," the Officer of the Day replied stiffly.

"And you don't know who the ‘old friend' was."

"Negative." If anything, the OD became even more stiff and unyielding.

I swear
, Blake thought to himself, annoyed,
this bloke has a ramrod for a spine. That, or a poker up his ass.

"Because?" Blake pressed.

"Bad cell connection, it would appear." The officer's reply was terse and clipped.

"So you got a bad transcript of the conversation, because it broke up?" Blake verified.

"Roger that," the OD answered.

"Hmm…" Blake leaned back in his chair and pondered this latest development. He decided to play a hunch. "Get me the dossier on Emmett Murphy."

"Murphy's dead."

"Dead?!" Blake responded, startled.

"Dead," the officer repeated with satisfaction. "His nose was getting much too big."

"What happened?" Blake asked, struggling to hide the shock.

"Let's just say…" the OD said evasively, "said nose got put out of joint. Permanently."

Bloody hell
, Blake thought, horrified.
What the blazes have I gotten myself into? This was supposed to be the astronomer's dream, not a murderous nightmare.
What he said was, "Just get me that dossier."

The Officer of the Day shrugged. "Whatever. You're wasting your time, but if that's what you want…" He leaned out the door. "Conrad, Blake needs something. Go get File 24601."

"Yes, sir!"

* * * *

Several long hours later, Anders turned the RV off road and began navigating up a small valley. "Been planning this a little while," he told Crash, "but your arrival kind of speeded things up." He didn't mention that he'd had a bit of long-distance help.

"Where the hell are we?"

"Backside of nowhere," Anders' grin was full of mischief. "As soon as we cross that rise ahead, we'll be in Cibolo National Forest--officially. But… well, let's just say we made our own back door."

"You really have been planning this, haven't you?" Crash asked, startled.

"Yes. What's more, after a couple little projects of… mine, this little baby we're ridin' in is the closest thing we can get to a stealth vehicle. It can go anywhere that the axles and body can fit. Nobody can tell what's inside from outside. If all the windows are shut, you can't even hear what's going on inside without some damn special equipment. Good thing, too, after what happened at your place."

"So they don't even know I'm here…" Hope began to blossom in Murphy's eyes.

"Hope not. Provided they weren't watching from orbit."

"So that's why we ditched the truck," Crash realized.

"Literally," Anders agreed. "Sorry about your neighbors' property, but in that ravine, with the infrared camo--and a hell of a lot of dirt and rock--over it, it would take those blokes a long time to find it. Here we are." Anders maneuvered the RV into the shelter of an overhang; the valley they had entered had become more and more steep-walled and narrow, and was now a canyon. "We have everything we need, at least for a little while. Fire up that generator, Crash, mate, and let's get the computer cranking. We can get the RV set up, and catch up on other stuff while we're about it. Dunno about you, but I wouldn't mind a brief change of topic. Something lighter, say."

"What he said," Crash agreed, relieved.

By an hour after sunrise, the two men had everything set up, and had the scoop on each other's lives, including Anders' engagement and Crash's book sales. Anders re-launched the code-breaker program, booting the internal wireless network that Jones and Brown had installed, so he could keep tabs on the program's progress with his laptop as well as the PC. Then he turned to Crash with deep concern.

"You look all done in, mate. When was the last time you got some sleep?"

"Uhhh…" Crash looked blank for a moment, trying to think and finding his brain had disengaged. "Lessee… last night… and then guarding the ranch while Gayle slept… and… uh…" Suddenly it all caught up with him. Murphy felt as if a semi truck had run over him. Fully loaded. His shoulders slumped in exhaustion.

"Uh-huh," Anders answered, knowing. "You get the bunk, I'll fold down the sofa in here."

"‘Kay." Without protest, Murphy stumbled back into the comfortable bedroom with its restful, soothing blue decor.

Moments later, while Anders was wrestling his "bed" into position, cursing under his breath, he heard a soft snore.

"Heh," he chuckled to himself, "no wonder they call him ‘Crash.'"

* * * *

A full fifteen hours later, an exhausted Murphy, still sleeping soundly, was awakened by an unwelcome hand shaking his shoulder. "Crash! Wake up! It's Mike! Wake up, Crash! We've got it!"

Crash rolled over and sat up, digging the heels of both hands into his eyes. "Mnh… got what?" he slurred, confused.

"The translation! We've translated the signal!"

"WHAT?!" Crash snapped wide awake, leaping from the bed in his shorts. "Show me!"

"Come on! In here!" And Anders disappeared through the door of the little bedroom.

Chapter 12

Crash bent over the laptop monitor, staring at the window Anders indicated, and read the cryptic message on the screen:

…control. Planetary survey now complete… affirmative… sectors cocoa four through foxtrot one oh… expected transmission time ten point four orbital periods…

"That clinches it," Anders remarked, satisfied. "A transmission time of ten and a half years means they must be from… elsewhere."

"I dunno," Crash drawled, deep in consideration. "I dunno…"

"What is it?" Anders wondered, looking at his friend curiously.

"It's the phonetic alphabet," Crash pointed out. "Aside from the idea that aliens shouldn't have cocoa, it happens to sound an awful lot like an old one that isn't used anymore."

"Did you use it?"

"Nope. Somebody I know did, though." Crash's expression was grim.

"Let me guess," Anders said, inspiration striking. "Same guy as the ‘Area 51' patch."

"Yup." Murphy's jaw tensed in anger.

There was a long silence as the two men stared at each other.

"Crash, do you suppose this bloke you know… would he…?" Anders hesitated.

"Work for the aliens?" Crash finished for him.

"…Yes."

Crash paused in thought, trying to remember what he knew of the man in question. "I wouldn't have thought so, Mike, just on patriotic principles. But this guy always was more about ego than anything else."

"So it would depend on what kind of deal they offered him, I guess," Anders hazarded.

"Yeah, I'd say so," Murphy said dourly.

"So on top of the aliens, we've got human traitors selling out their own kind." Anders sighed, feeling overwhelmed.

"Probably," Crash agreed, subdued.

"Son of a bitch."

"Exactly."

Both men chuckled, but there was no humor in the sound.

"Mike, you've got other signal data, right?" Crash followed up.

"Yeah," Anders shrugged. "This was just the first one."

"Sic the computer onto the rest of it. Let's see what pops out," Crash suggested. "Meantime I'm gonna go through what data I've got left after they burned everything they could get their hands on."

"Gotcha." Anders sat down at the laptop.

"Oh, and Mike?" Crash turned, halfway to the bedroom.

"Yeah?"

"See if you can pinpoint the transmission's origin. Coordinates. Orbital elements. Whatever you can get. I'd love to know what orbit our… ‘LGM'… is in."

"On it."

* * * *

Anders was still hunched over the keyboard a full hour later, intent on coaxing as much information out of his precious data as he could, when a fully clothed Crash appeared in the bedroom doorway, an odd, distressed expression on his face and a sheaf of papers in his hand. "Mike?" he asked, voice hoarse, "you got an audio CD player?"

"Sure," Anders shrugged, "driver's console. What's up?"

"Dub of the flight recorder came in from D.C. before I had to get the hell out," he waved the CD case in his hand. "It's… well. Just listen."

Crash strode to the front of the RV, turned on the radio, pulled a CD from his pocket and inserted it. The flight recorder transcript dub began playing. Anders stopped his work, turning to Crash as he realized what he was hearing.

* * * *

CDR: Houston, this is Atlantis. APU prestart complete.

CapCom: We copy, Atlantis. APU prestart complete.

PLT: Jet, you got the deorbit program loaded?

CDR: Doin' that now, Pete. Won't be long now.

PLT: Yeah. It's been real.

CDR: Yep.

CapCom: Atlantis, Houston. You are go for deorbit burn.

CDR: Houston, Atlantis. Copy; go for deorbit burn… [Pause] Everybody ready?

Crew: [Chorus of] Yeah!

CDR: All right. Begin maneuver to burn attitude. Check DAP to Auto. ADI Att

to Inertial. ADI Error to Med. ADI Rate to Med. Let's do it… Houston, Atlantis. Maneuver to burn attitude complete.

CapCom: Atlantis, Houston. We show burn attitude.

CDR: Copy… Cue cards out. RCS/OMS heater… Forward RCS--Off. Left Pod

A, B--Off. Right Pod A, B--Off. OMS crossfeed lines A, B--Auto. Forward and aft RCS Jets 5--Off. Begin Single APU Start. Number one

APU fuel tank valve switch--Open … control switch… Hydraulic pressure indicator… green… Houston, this is Atlantis. We have single APU start.

CapCom: Roger, single APU start.

PLT: DAP to Auto.

CDR: Copy, DAP to Auto. Left and right OMS to GPC. Houston, Atlantis. OMS engines armed.

CapCom: Copy, Atlantis. OMS armed.

CDR: Executing deorbit burn command… now.

[Short pause]

Houston, Atlantis. Countdown to OMS burn. Deorbit TIG in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1… ignition.

CapCom: Copy ignition, Atlantis.

[Approximately 00:04:45 pause.]

CDR: Houston, Atlantis. Deorbit burn complete.

CapCom: Atlantis, Houston. Copy OMS burn complete.

CDR: RCS--check. OMS status--check.

PLT: DAP to Manual.

CDR: Copy DAP to Manual. Begin maneuver… Houston, this is Atlantis. We are in entry attitude.

CapCom: Atlantis, Houston. We confirm entry attitude.

PLT: Begin switch checks?

CDR: Roger. Cabin Relief A?

PLT: Enabled.

CDR: B?

PLT: Enabled.

CDR: Antiskid?

PLT: On.

CDR: Nosewheel steering?

PLT: On.

CDR: Entry mode?

PLT: Auto.

CDR: Speed brake?

PLT: Full forward.

CDR: SRB Sep?

PLT: Auto.

CDR: ET Sep?

PLT: Auto.

CDR: Air data?

PLT: Nav.

CDR: ADI error?

PLT: Med.

CDR: ADI rate?

PLT: Med.

CDR: HSI select mode?

PLT: Nav, one; nav, two.

CDR: Turn RHC to inhibit, panel--On.

PLT: Roger.

CDR: Radar altimeters one, two?

PLT: On.

CDR: MLS?

PLT: Three--On.

CDR: TACAN mode?

PLT: Three--GPC; ANT three--Auto.

CDR: Copy. Houston, Atlantis. Entry switch checklist complete.

CapCom: Houston copies. Entry switch checklist complete.

PLT: Beginning control surface prep.

CDR: Houston, this is Atlantis. RCS dump complete.

CapCom: Houston copies.

PLT: ADI shows roll of zero, pitch thirty, yaw zero.

CDR: Copy. Throttle switch?

PLT: Auto.

CDR: Pitch?

PLT: Auto.

CDR: Roll?

PLT: Auto.

CDR: Yaw?

PLT: Auto.

CDR: Body flip?

PLT: Manual.

[Nominal 5 minute pause]

CDR: Body flip switch to Auto. Houston, Atlantis. We are at entry interface.

Ready for LOS.

CapCom: Roger, Atlantis. We'll see you on the ground.

CDR: Copy… entering LOS… now. Okay, Pete, how we doin'?

PLT: Nominal… negative, negative! We have a red light! Control surfaces show locked in negative pitch! Damn, Jet, what the hell'd you do?!

CDR: Shit.

PLT: Gimbals are jammed.

CDR: Yeah.

PLT: Jet, we're comin' in too hot.

CDR: I know, dammit! Help me here! Brazo, I need--

MS-2: On it.

MS-3: Guys, what's happening?

CDR: Hang loose, Carrie. You guys down there, tighten your straps and hold on. This one's gonna be rough.

[Master alarm sounds, then shuts off]

[loud thud]

PLT: Jet--

CDR: [tightly] Saw it.

[Audio begins to have banging and thumping in the background. A hissing sound becomes audible.]

CDR: Skin temp?

MS-2: Redline.

CDR: Shit.

MS-3: How ‘bout some A/C, guys? Gettin' hot down here.

[3 second pause]

PLT: Tell her, Jet.

CDR: [resigned] Gonna get hotter, Carrie. We've--

[master alarm]

Kill it!

[master alarm cuts off]

We've lost the control surfaces, everyone. We're coming in hot, nose down.

MS-3: We're gonna…?

CDR: Affirmative.

[loud bang]

PLT: Oh God. We just lost the starboard gear and wingtip.

[Sound of struggling with equipment]

PS-1: Jet, DO SOMETHING!

CDR: Piotr, I already have! Pete and I are fighting just to keep us stabilized! Don't you understand?! We have NO RIGHT WINGTIP!

[loud metallic screech]

HELL!

[very loud bumps and bangs]

MS-1: Hydraulic pressure just went to zero in the aft section.

PLT: God. The tail's gone.

CDR: That explains it. Bay doors'll be next.

[background sounds increasing in volume]

Uff. Gettin' rough. Guys, I… I'm sorry.

PLT: ‘S okay, Jet. ‘S okay. G'bye, buddy.

CDR: ‘Bye, Pete.

MS-3: Freddy, I love you.

PS-1: Dos vedanya, Magda.

MS-2: See ya on the other side, guys.

[murmurs of agreement]

PLT: Oh, damn! OoooOOOH SHIT!

[loud, tinkling crash]

PLT: Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!

[multiple screams]

[gradual fade to silence]

* * * *

The two men sat and stared at the silent player for long moments. Finally a scowling Crash punched the eject button, pulled out the CD, and turned to Anders.

Mike Anders stared back, wide-eyed, white-faced in horror. Then, with a wordless exclamation, he bolted for the RV's small toilet. Crash followed as Anders, dropping to his knees, violently purged his stomach.

When he was finished throwing up, Anders accepted the cup of cool water Crash handed him, rinsing his mouth out before sipping a bit to soothe his rebelling stomach. "You done with the technicolor yawns?" Crash finally asked, concerned for the scientist, and trying to hide it by using an "Oz-ism" he'd learned from Anders himself. Anders nodded slowly, trying to recover his composure.

"Oh, dear Lord," the scientist whispered, "that was… was horrific."

"No. It wasn't," Crash answered bluntly, eyes blazing. "And I am damn mad."

"What? Crash, that was the most awful thing I have--"

"Dammit, Mike, IT WASN'T THERE BEFORE!"

Anders stopped dead. "…Stepped in what?" he said, apropos of nothing in particular, the blank look on his face speaking to his total confusion. "Slow down, Crash, and start over. What wasn't there before?"

"Any of that last five minutes of tape. Only Christiansen at the HOSC knew it--and the way things have been going, he's probably dead by now, too--but I managed to listen to the whole tape, before the grand high mucky-mucks in Washington got their mitts on it. It just ended, Mike--right before re-entry. No damage, no alarms, no goodbyes, no screams. No nothing." He paused, remembering. "Except a ‘what the hell' in the background."

Anders stared at him, grim-faced with comprehension. "So this ‘dub' is a fake."

"Yep. At least the last several minutes."

The two men sat, pondering the implications of this revelation. Finally Anders looked up.

"Well, at least there's some good news," he pointed out.

"And just what the hell would that be?" Crash demanded, angry at the situation and trying hard not to take it out on Anders.

"Your crew is still alive, somewhere," Anders offered. "That, or our little green men have got seven of the best damn impressionists on--or off--the planet."