Stormhaven Rising (Atlas and the Winds Book 1) (26 page)

Cole shook his head.

“Why not? I can give you what you want, if you’ll just give us some time.” Shapiro tried to sound genuine.

“Let me sum it up for you,” Cole said, leaning forward and putting his palms flat on the table. “That asteroid is closing on the Earth at thirty miles a second. Since I sat down at this table it’s covered several hundred thousand miles. It’s not going to wait around for some bureaucratic bullshit to play out."

Cole pushed himself up from the table, pacing the same area of floor that Shapiro had just vacated. “If it were a matter of convenience, or if we were doing this for the profit, we’d take it through channels. But at 108,000 miles per hour, we don’t have that luxury. We simply cannot afford to jump through your hoops.”

“I can assure you the asteroid shouldn’t factor into your considerations,” Shapiro said.”We plan to stop it.”

“It doesn’t matter what you’re planning to do. Only an idiot puts all his money on a single roll of the dice.” Cole headed toward the door. “We’re done for now."

Tom stood to follow him. “I think you need to consider the gravity of this negotiation, Mr. Shapiro,” Tom said. “If you’re not willing to make some concessions, then we’re going to have a lot more to deal with than just keeping a lid on things."

They both disappeared, leaving Douglas fuming and feeling helpless. DeMarko spoke up for the first time since Colton had arrived, “That’s not really encouraging.”

“I don’t even know why we’re trying. They’ve already shown they’re going to do whatever they damn-well please.” Shapiro pushed away from the table, fighting an urge to chase them down and drag them bodily back. He knew it was pointless.

“I thought talking
was
the plan,” DeMarko said.

“It was, but that is a two way thing. This wasn’t even a conversation.” He paced around the room again. “I don’t think it’s going to do us any good to keep up the pretense. They know what we’re doing and they keep shaking us out of our box anyway.”

“It’s called de-framing,” DeMarko said.

“I know,” he said, staring out the front door of the tent and watching the little vehicle rise and bank quickly back to the community.

“You know why they aren’t going to give an inch?” DeMarko offered. “It’s because they think they’re backed into a corner."

“Yeah and the bitch of it is, that it’s not even us that has them cornered. It’s that damned asteroid.”

***

Cape Canaveral, Florida:

The space shuttle had evolved a long way from its original incarnation. As a hybrid aircraft and orbiter, it had been designed to address the mission requirements of NASA’s new “Grand Vision.” It might have been the Orion Crew Exploration Vehicle that took humanity back to the moon, but the fleet of shuttles had become the cornerstone of NASA’s space capability.

Having evolved from an early private manned concept, the redesigned shuttles were a two-stage aircraft, consisting of a carrier drop ship and an orbiter. The two vehicles nested together during launch and split apart once they’d reached halfway to space. It wasn’t a new idea, but it was an elegant and economical design. It was far and away the most versatile launch vehicle ever built, and if all went well it would prove to be the most reliable as well.

For the last week, the entire Cape had been a zoo of engineers, technicians, and military personnel, but somehow they’d managed to get it organized. Now, the culmination of their efforts sat on the end of the runway, looking for its moment. The tow-out had been done in the predawn darkness, and the support vehicles had withdrawn behind the concrete barricades.

The engineers, most of whom hadn’t slept in days, paced in the gallery over the Launch Control Center, waiting and chewing their nails. Individually, they’d come to grips with the idea that they’d broken every safety rule in the book to pull it off. The silence hung between them, dividing each into their own personal hell, and locking them in with the demons of doubt and fear. This was the moment of reconciliation. Make-or-break in a race against destiny.

Joshua Lange sat in the seat normally occupied by the Launch Control Officer, every bit as nervous as the engineers. This was probably the most important flight in NASA’s history, and he’d volunteered to be the link to the pilots until the shuttle was safely away, and they transferred command to Mission Control in Houston.

This position was always filled by a qualified astronaut, and even though he still was technically on the roster, he hadn’t been on the floor during a launch in years. But since this was as close as he could get to the crew, he wanted to be the one who would be the first to hear the roar of their success, or the silence of their failure.

Like everyone else in the Launch Center, he sat staring at the clock, feeling the reality of his life in the sweeping of the second hand. Finite moments measured in the pounding of his heart.

“Launch Control, we’re at ten seconds and counting. Initiating pre-ignition sequence.” Marching through the process, Warren McDermott’s voice showed no concern.

“Roger,
Liberty
carrier. You’re live on all telemetry. Confirm, clear for roll,” Joshua replied, realizing that his voice also held no indication of his anxiety.

Deep in the belly of the drop ship, pumps started pressurizing the oxidizer for the hybrid SRBs that would carry them to almost Mach-seven. The clock marched onward while the monitor on the wall showed the flash of the first four engines’ ignition.

The brakes unlocked and the huge double aircraft started rolling toward the morning sky.

“
Liberty
carrier, you are go for outbound commit.” Joshua acknowledged, confirming that the shuttle was on its way toward the point of no return.

A thick wall of white smoke billowed from under the wings and the fire from the boosters lashed toward the concrete wall behind the runway. The shuttle carrier hurled itself forward. The nose rotated up, struggling to lift itself and the orbiter strapped to its back, into the air.

Five seconds after ignition and almost half-way to the end of the 15,000 foot runway, the rear wheels broke free from the pavement. The vehicle roared skyward in a steady climb.

“Confirm gear up and ready to go to MaxQ,” Joshua intoned, trying to remember to breathe while he relived his own launches in his mind. He knew they were already feeling five-and-a-half G crushing them into their seats.

“Roger Control, we are gear up and confirm go on MaxQ. Beginning preprogrammed alignment maneuver,” McDermott replied.

“Copy,
Liberty
carrier. You are over the threshold.”

The shuttle and the drop ship were accelerating through Mach-one just past the end of the runway. They were clear to begin the gradual banking maneuver that would put them in line with their eventual orbital trajectory. The nose of the vehicle arced up to thirty-five degrees while the pilot ignited the second set of HSRBs and added more oxidizer to the engines.

The exhaust exploded back, the flame doubling its length as the carrier leapt toward the sky.

“We show you 3.6 miles downrange and at one-five-thousand feet.”

“Copy, Control. We are transonic and five-by on the corridor.” The engineers in the gallery started breathing. If the main engines were to fail, the ship could jettison and both the orbiter and carrier would be able to glide safely back to the runway.

Joshua sat watching the display, unwilling to relax until the entire operation was over. Not because he was particularly pessimistic but because, with the exception of Don Cramer, he was the only one in Launch Control who knew what was riding on this launch.

Approaching Mach-seven, the next critical hurdle came when the scramjet engine ignited, and the SRB oxidizer pumps shut down. The knots in Lange’s shoulders begin to ease a little. “
Liberty
carrier, you are go for separation maneuver."

“Roger Control, we confirm. Preparing to unload orbiter in ten seconds.” One hundred miles out to sea, and almost two hundred thousand feet above the Earth the carrier ship pulled a diving swoop and then arced steeply toward the sky.

“Carrier to
Liberty
, it’s over to you. Have a good flight Mike.” The voice of McDermott said clearly even though he was being crushed by almost eight G.

“Copy, carrier, thanks for the lift.” There was a sudden roaring noise as the shuttle’s engines fired and the two vehicles split apart. One rising on new wings of fire, the other plummeting like a stone to keep from being incinerated in the rocket-wash.

The
Liberty
was outbound under its own power, and over half-way to orbit. “Capcom Houston,” Joshua announced, “this is Launch Control. The
Liberty
is on nominal orbital insertion. The bird is yours."

The hard part was over, at least until he had to tell those boys in the gallery that they were going to be doing it all over again next week.

***

Changing Fates

ISS Alpha:

Susan Winslow watched the
Reliant
hang five-hundred meters from the station. The Trans–Lunar Shuttle maneuvered slowly toward the Docking Module, the small attitude control jets creating a translucent cloud of expanding vapor as it lined up on the station. She could see the high-gain antenna retracting from its deployed position, while the rhythmic flashing of the marker lights cast blue-white shadows through the thinning fog of exhaust.

It was not an attractive vehicle like the shuttle, but it was a practical design. The entire structure of the TLS was nothing more than eight main engines, with fuel tanks and plumbing arrayed as needed behind a small spherical Command Module. Nothing was wasted on aesthetic features, but somehow it all fit together to create a feeling of purpose. In space it was graceful, and starkly elegant.

Susan floated alone in the Observation Module. Even though this was the first time she’d been aboard the station during a docking, she knew it was odd for no one else to be there watching. She understood the resentment they all felt, so it wasn’t surprising that the idea of welcoming a new vehicle to the station had died a bitter death.

“Susan Winslow, report to docking,” Scott’s voice echoed across the intercom, but this time as she pushed her way through the station she could feel real anger from the other astronauts.

Pulling herself through the pressure bulkhead, she arrived in time to hear the scrape of the alignment probe sliding into the receiver and the heavy rhythmic groan of the flange clamps ratcheting the TLS into hard-capture. There was a subtle vibration in the module as she waited for the crawlway to equalize, and the hatch to swing open.

Scott slid into the compartment behind her, pushing her bag of personal effects into the cylindrical tunnel without waiting for the pilot to enter the station. “Here you go,” he said.

“Thanks Commander,” a voice came through the crawlway, muffled and distant but still audibly sarcastic.

“Sorry Susan, but we’ve got a problem brewing and they decided you weren’t going to be able to stay around any longer than necessary.” He smiled at her and pointed toward the
Reliant
.

“What do you mean by that?” she refused to move until he answered.

“The political situation is coming apart. They just told me that the ESA and JAXA aren’t going to be involved in the mission.” He looked back toward the main part of the station and then added, “Joshua suggested that we might be facing a mutiny if they can’t get this under control.”

“Bullshit. That won’t happen. They’d have no way home.” She shook her head.

“They don’t need to Susan. They can keep supplies coming up here long enough to dust off those unused Japanese crew capsules and get them into service."

“But that’d mean you’d ... “ She let the thought die unspoken.

“Right. Just get out of here before someone catches on.” He grabbed her arm, spinning her toward the shuttle. “Good luck. I hope we don’t need you to do what you’re going to be doing."

She stopped at the hatch and turned back to face him. “Do you really think that they might try it?”

“Probably not, but it’s bad,” he said.

“Really?” She shook her head, amazed that they’d even be worried about mutiny.

“Yeah really. He pointed down the tube and said, “Now scoot. Sergei is going to be back in about twenty minutes with the tug and a load of supplies. You need to be clear before he enters the restricted control zone."

“Ok, I’m moving,” she said. “Good luck to you, too.”

Before she’d cleared the tunnel Scott was closing the hatch behind her, and she wondered if that might be the last time she’d see him. Forcing the thought from her mind, she pulled herself into the
Reliant
’
s
Command Module, trying to face her new assignment without letting fear take root.

“Where to ma’am?” the pilot asked, smiling.

She pushed her bag through the open hole to the lower deck and smiled at him. “How about once around the block?”

“Will do,” he said, punching the request for release into the console. The groaning sound she’d heard before, played out again, and she could feel the motion by a slight shift of her position within the TLS.