Skyfall

13

GET 00:35

The blast jammed Patrick into his couch, blurring his vision for an instant. He shook his head and when he could see again there were lights, red lights, everywhere before him on the panels. Voices hammered in his ears, from Mission Control and on the intercom; Nadya was calling out to him.

He ignored them all, scarcely aware of the intruding sounds. The instruments. Engine. Automatic shutdown, now manual shutdown. Pumps, fuel, safety interlock. And they were spinning. The Earth swam into the ports ahead then slipped out of sight. He looked at the GET and timed the rotation, lying motionless until it appeared again. Then he threw the switch that cut off the intercom, stilling the voices that cried out to him, calling over to Nadya at the same time.

“Hold the question until I contact Mission Control.” He flipped one more switch. “Mission Control, do you read me?”

“Yes, listen, we have…”

“Condition report follows. We have had a malfunction in the core body engines. No readings at all from number three, may have been an explosion. Others shut down. Fuel flow shut off. Fuel reserves remaining at eleven percent. We are tumbling in orbit, one rotation every twelve seconds. Give me an orbit and status report. Over.”

“Orbit follows, perigee eighty-four point six three miles. Orbiting time eighty-eight minutes. We have an indication for lowered cabin pressure. Do you have a reading?”

“Reading positive, seven point three pounds. You may have an instrumentation failure. Do we cancel tumbling?”

“Negative, repeat negative.” There was emotion in Flax's voice for the first time. “We want to determine extent of damage first.”

Patrick flicked on the intercom. “Did everyone hear that?”

“I heard it, but I didn't understand it,” Coretta said.

“We've had an engine malfunction,” Patrick said. “We don't know the extent of the trouble yet. As you know, the plug nozzle engine of the core body is really four separate quadrants that fire together. One of these is out of action, no readouts from it at all. I'd guess it's had a major malfunction…”

“Do you mean it blew up?” Ely asked.

“Yes, I suppose it might be that. In any case we've three good engines…”

“You think we've three engines.”

“Ely, shut up for a moment. We don't know yet just what we have or don't have. Find out first, panic later. We still have plenty of fuel for maneuvering and we're in orbit. The only problem facing us immediately is that we're tumbling. I'm going to correct that as soon as I've permission from Mission Control.”

“You say we're in orbit,” the Colonel said slowly. “Might I ask what kind of orbit that is?”

Patrick hesitated. “I don't really know. I'll get the data as soon as I can. Roughly though, we're about a hundred and forty kilometers high and orbiting the Earth once every eighty-eight minutes.”

“Eighty-five miles isn't very high,” Ely said.

“Sounds pretty high to me,” Coretta broke in.

“High enough.” Patrick fought to keep the tension from his voice. “Up here we are above most of the atmosphere, ninety-nine percent of it. I'm getting back to Mission Control.”

Five more minutes went by before Mission Control was certain that the computer had digested all the available information. “All right, Prometheus,” Flax said. “Permission to stabilize. Suggest minimum fuel expenditure.”

“I am aware of that necessity, Mission Control. Maneuver begins.”

This bit of flying by the wire was uncalled for in their flight plan. The fuel he was using now would be needed to stabilize the ship in the correct final orbit. But they would never reach that orbit if he didn't stop the tumbling. He would have to use minimum fuel and hope there would be enough left when he needed it. A touch on the controls slowed the rotation. But not enough.

“You will need more,” Nadya said.

“How well I know that.” His face was grim. “Here goes.”

With short blasts on the maneuvering jets the tumbling through space slowed bit by bit until it finally stopped. The Earth, his only reference point, moved slowly into view in the ports ahead, the horizon sensors finally settling it into fixed position bisecting the window.

“Fuel reserves in maneuvering jets at seventy-one percent. That was wonderful, Patrick.”

“And the estimate was that we wouldn't need more than fifty to correct orbit. There's still a ball game.” He turned on the radio. “Hello Mission Control. Tumbling has been canceled and we are stable in orbit. Do you have a condition report on the core body engines yet?”

“Negative, Prometheus, But we have been running the programs through the computer and need more input before we will have them finalized. Are you ready for instructions?”

“Go ahead, Flax, but make it fast. I don't like this orbit and I want us out of it soonest.”

“Confirm. Activate your P20 to C64 and let us have a reading…”

While Patrick was testing the circuits and feeding the results to the computer, Nadya turned on the intercom and told the rest of the crew what was happening.

“Can we unstrap, Nadya?” Gregor asked. “Perhaps stretch a bit, move about. It is becoming claustrophobic in here.” There was a thin edge of tension in his voice, not quite panic yet, but the edge was there. The most exhaustive tests in the world are still just tests; space flight is the ultimate test and one that cannot always be completely prepared for. Nadya was aware of the difference in Gregor's voice and thought it best to ignore it for as long as possible.

“Please don't, Gregor. We may fire again at any moment and we will have to do it at the exact instant ordered by the computer programming. We could be badly hurt if we weren't strapped in.”

“And the food, Nadenka?” the Colonel asked. “You must hear my stomach grumbling up there.”

“Is that what it was, Volodya! I thought it was the rockets firing on their own.” Someone chuckled at her joke; no one really laughed. “The same goes for you, I'm afraid. As soon as we're in orbit we can do what we want.”

“But we're in orbit right now,” Coretta broke in. “Couldn't we stay here longer, what difference does it make? I'm sorry to be such an idiot.”

“We are in a low orbit,” Nadya told her. “Just on top of the atmosphere. And we were never intended to be in this orbit at all.”

“What would happen if we did stay here?” Coretta asked.

What indeed, Nadya thought. Is it a decaying orbit? How long will it last? They might need to know the answers very soon. But she pushed her fears aside and kept her voice calm. “Nothing much. If we stayed in this orbit we would just whistle around the world every eight-eight minutes. But we'll be out of it soon. Hold on, Patrick's signaling….”

“Commander here. The computer has digested all the info we have for it and produced what we think is an answer. One of the engines is definitely out of order and we have bypassed it and blocked it. We'll fire on the two opposing engines, two and four. Number one engine will be cut out as well so we'll have balanced thrust….”

“Will we get the proper thrust out of two?” Ely asked.

“Of course, Dr. Bron. We needed the full thrust of the four engines for lift-off, along with the thrust of the boosters. Now that we are in Earth orbit we will fire at lower thrust for a longer time and still get the same result.”

“No need to be clever, Patrick.” Ely was angry, his armor of cool cynicism penetrated for the first time. “I know as much about orbital mechanics as you do. I was talking about programming for the reduced thrust to get the correct final orbit. A program of this kind might take hours or even days to prepare.”

“I'm sorry, Ely, I shouldn't have said that. I'm damned tired, as we all are. You're perfectly right, of course. But one of the preparations in the past year was preparing programs for almost any eventuality. This was one of them — Mission Control is coming through now.”

Patrick killed the intercom and took the instructions from Mission Control. There was little he could do except watch because the computer was in control again. Readings and observations from Prometheus were coded by its own computer and radioed back to Earth. Either a relay station on the ground or one of the comsats would pick up the signal and bounce it on. Once the information had been digested the coded message would be sent back to the shipboard computer which would follow instructions.

“You will have ignition at 01:07:00,” Mission Control said.

“Roger. Check your straps, everyone, and get ready. The engines will fire in about two minutes, at 01:07 on your GET clock.”

The seconds ticked away, going too fast yet seeming to take an eternity. This had to be it. Seconds to go, three more, two, one…

He was ready, his body prepared for the thrust. But nothing, absolutely nothing happened.

“Come in, Mission Control. We do not have ignition.”

“Nothing at all?” There was unconcealed worry in Flax's voice.

“Not a fart in the engine or a light on the board. Do you know what you are doing, Mission Control?”

“Affirmative, Prometheus. Look, Patrick, we're doing our best down here. They're running the program through again for bugs, then we'll give you a new time and you can fire manually from there.”

“Thank you, Flax, I appreciate your concern. I am sure your people are working hard and sweating and getting ulcers. But they have solid ground under their feet and are not whipping around orbit. Do you have the data on this orbit yet?”

“Negative…”

“Flax! Shut up and listen to me, closely. You are lying. Your computer has digested enough orbital data to belch out an answer by now.”

“Your height is…”

“I know how high and how goddamn fast we're going. What I want to know is this a decaying orbit? How long are we going to hang up here before we hit the atmosphere and start slowing and drop back?”

“We can't be certain.. ”

“HOW LONG, FLAX?!”

“All right, Patrick, just take it easy. We have a figure here, but just a rough estimate so far. As we refine it we'll feed you the latest info. As of now with a possible seventy percent reliability the best we can say is that you have about thirty-six hours.”

“One day?”

Nadya was staring at Patrick, eyes wide, for she had heard too. He nodded slowly at her but knew better than to try to smile. He thought for long seconds before he spoke.

“Listen to this, Flax. We have to boost out of this orbit or we're going to turn into one more shooting star and burn up when we hit the atmosphere at the end of a day. Get those engines running. If they don't fire you better start your boys on the next possibility right away. We will need some figures on the chances of getting out of this orbit using the nuclear engine alone. We will drop the core body and fire on our own. Do you read me?”

“Loud and clear, Pat. We've already considered the nuclear engines and are running a program on it. A re you ready to try firing again?”

“Roger.”

“I'll read you the countdown and fire on zero. Ten. . nine…”

Nothing happened this time either and Patrick stabbed down again and again on the button until his thumb hurt. “All right, what's next?” he shouted. “Are you going to fix those engines or do we separate?”

“Separation in a few minutes. We want to be sure you will have enough time for running up the nuclear engine before separation.”

“That would be a good idea, wouldn't it.” Patrick disconnected Mission Control with a savage flick of the switch, then talked to the crew.

“Did you all follow that? It should have all gone on intercom.”

“It did,” Coretta said. “But — I'm going to be a fool — what was it all about?”

“Simple,” Ely said. “If we do nothing we hit the atmosphere in a day's time and turn into one of those nice shooting stars that young lovers like to look at at night To prevent that we hope — I think hope is the right word — hope to use my engine which does not have the thrust and was not designed for this job. The only cheering note in this otherwise depressing situation is that I have been doing sums on my calculator. The computer will do a better job, but it looks like we will be able to get out of this orbit — but we had better get rid of that dead weight on our tail and start firing as soon as we can. I'm unstrapping and getting down to the engine now…”

“Hold it!” Patrick said. “On the couch until I say get up. I'll query them on this. Mission Control, do you read me?”

“Roger, Prometheus. You will have thrust for orbital maneuvers with the atomic engine. Burn should begin soonest. Prepare for staging separation.”

Ely laughed. “Just what I said, only a bit more pompous and long-winded. Tell them to blow the damn bolts or whatever so I can get out of bed and on with the job.”

“Separation.”

The explosive connections that held Prometheus to the booster behind it were felt only as slight thuds in the flight cabin. Patrick actuated the TV camera and relayed the signal back to Mission Control. They would take over control of the booster now and bring it back to Earth safely. If they could.

“Look at that!” Patrick choked out the words. “Mission Control, look at your screen. Do you see? The core body hasn't separated. It's attached to us at an angle. Maybe one of the connectors didn't blow. I don't know. But whatever happened that thing's still on our back. And while it's there we can't fire the nuclear engine. Do you hear me, Mission Control? You have to do something about that thing and goddamned quick. Because if you don't, this mission is going to end in the biggest fireball you've ever seen.”