Skyfall

21

GET 05:45

Academician A. A. Tsander was an old man and well aware of it. He looked the picture of the frail octogenarian, with his wispy white beard and crown of floating hair. Never a large man, he had been bent by age so that he walked now with a perpetual stoop that forced him to bend his head back to look up at people. Yet he was neither as weak nor as frail as he appeared, as many had discovered through the years. Reaching his now exalted rank in the Academy of Sciences had taken a good deal of scientific skill — as well as a wicked talent for political infighting. He was liberally endowed with both, but he was eighty-three and knew it, so he husbanded his energy for the times it would be needed.

He was asleep now, lying on his back on the leather couch in his office, his long white fingers laced together on his chest. His breathing was so unnoticeable that he could have been a corpse. Yet, deeply asleep as he was, his eyes opened instantly when the doorknob turned silently and a beam of light came into the room.

“What time is it? “he asked.

“Almost midnight, Academician. The American colonel is here, you asked that you…”

“Of course. I will be down.” Three hours' sleep, more than enough preparation for what was sure to be a long night ahead. He poured some water into the basin from the jug, bathed his face and hands then dried them. Then he lighted a papirossi, one of the thin cigarettes he favored, more paper than tobacco, shoved the rest of the package in his pocket and went out. The halls in the office floors were dark and quiet and he walked through them slowly, gathering strength. He had a feeling he would need it.

Inside the Ground Command Control Center there was light and sound in direct contrast to the dark halls and tiny bulbs in the rest of the building. Here was the beating heart of Kapus-tin Yar, the central command to which all inputs fed, from which radiated all commands. Standing at the rear of the great room, Colonel O'Brian was very happy to be there. This entire area had been Top Secret for generations, mentioned only in CIA reports, and then in only general terms. GCCT in KY — the Soviets were as fond as alphabet names as the Americans were — the center of ICBM and satellite launches. Well the ICBM controls were gone now, where he didn't care, though the CIA probably knew. What was left were the satellite controls which were now being used to land the Prometheus boosters. And, since this was a joint Soviet-American project, it was necessary to have liaison and at least one observer here.

How the Soviets had wriggled and twisted over that one! How responsibility had been passed higher and higher, until the Communist Party Central Committee had finally inherited the buck, since it had nowhere else to go. Back, after a long time, had come a reluctant yes. Arriving, the very next day, was Colonel O'Brian who had been waiting for years for just this opportunity.

It had been a bit of a letdown, most of the Soviet secrecy being just bad habit as always. There wasn't anything done here that wasn't done in Houston. Only better. Yet it was interesting to see how they did it because it told him a lot about the operation of their ICBMs. O'Brian was not a cold warrior, but he was still in the Army and the more he learned the better it was for his side. He was the new kind of officer, with degrees in mathematics and physics. But he was still an officer. He held the briefcase under his arm and looked around at the now familiar consoles and general bustle. Not the world's most modern setup, but it worked, it worked very well indeed.

“Are those the promised figures?” a deep chesty voice asked in Russian.

“They are indeed, sir,” O'Brian answered in the same language, completely fluent. He turned and saluted the massive form of Lieutenant-General V. F. Bykovsky, the man in charge of it all. Bykovsky returned the salute with an airy wave of his hand, looking relaxed and a little dull. O'Brian was not fooled in the slightest. The general was chairman of CEUS, an outgrowth of ICIC–Commission for Exploration and Utilization of Space of the Permanent Interdepartmental Commission on Interplanetary Communications. This made him top man of all Soviet space activities, responsible only to the Central Committee. A very big man indeed. O'Brian opened his case and took out a thick ream of paper. “All of the latest orbital data, observed up to an hour ago, calculated for the next three orbits,” he said.

“Very good,” General Bykovsky said, holding out his hand.

“Not very good, but excellent,” Academician Tsander said, coming up behind them. “We will need them to refine our own orbit.”

He came only as high as the shoulders of the two big military officers — but height was not what counted here. Responsibility was. The booster landings were his responsibility. The papers were his. He glanced through them as he shuffled away, muttering to himself.

“What do you plan to do with the core body booster?” O'Brian asked casually. Bykovsky's lips smiled slightly at the question; his narrow Tartar eyes did not.

“Why land it of course, Colonel. Isn't that what we are here to do?”

“Absolutely, General. But you are surely aware that there have been some troubles with ignition. The more excitable sections of the world press are beginning to kick up a stink about possible impact landings.”

Tsander reappeared, cigarette dangling from his lips, white hair floating behind him. The file of papers under his arm was far thicker now. “Gentleman, we must talk,” he said. “Could we use your office, Valery Fyodorovich?”

“Of course,” Bykovsky said, pointing the way, knowing full well what the Academician had in mind. His office was wired and bugged and every word would be recorded for later study. There could be no secret arrangements, or later accusations of secret arrangements of anything discussed there. It was no accident that Tsander had reached his advanced age and high degree without coming to harm.

“Be seated, gentlemen, vodka of course.”

Tsander waved it away with his hand but O'Brian. accepted with pleasure. He knew just how much of this white lightning he could drink to keep sharp, and never had a drop more. It was Polish vodka, flavored with the buffalo grass, the kind he enjoyed.

“Zdarorvya!” Bykovsky said and then downed the small glasses which he instantly refilled. “What is the matter under discussion, Academician?”

“You know perfectly well what it is. Landing that last booster. What I want to know from you, now, is do we do it unilaterally or is Colonel O'Brian to be represented in the discussions?”

Bykovsky sighed inwardly as he downed another vodka, thinking of all the microphones in this room and all of the ears that would be listening to this conversation soon. It was a good thing that he had considered this possible contingency ever since the trouble had begun, and a number of phone calls had resulted finally in a decision from above. He was covered.

“The answer is obvious,” he said. (Hours of continuous phoning — obvious!) “Of course this is a joint project in every way. The orbital figures the Colonel has brought will be invaluable. But naturally he has no responsibility in the actual landing of the booster. Is that satisfactory?”

That way they can have their cake and eat it too, O'Brian thought, sipping the next vodka and showing no expression at all. If the landing is faultless — then they did it alone. If there's trouble the responsibility is shared and they can blame the US figures for the trouble if need be. The Soviet mind. It made Pentagon politics look like cat's cradle. Finally, he nodded his head.

“Then it is decided,” Tsander said with finality. “Here is our problem. Earlier attempts to obtain ignition on the core body were not successful. It appears that engine three is in difficulty and it has been isolated. Engine one has, we hope, also been isolated to obtain balanced thrust with the two remaining, opposed engines. Yet these would not fire at all.”

“What about the attitude engines?” O'Brian asked.

They nave not been tested yet, nor will they until decision has been reached as to how we are to proceed. A big concern is also the remaining fuel in the booster. It is approximately twenty-four percent of total capacity.”

“That would be — how much?” Bykovsky asked.

O'Brian had been tapping quickly on his calculator. “About six hundred thousand kilos,” he said. “Hydrogen and oxygen. The most explosive chemical combination that can be used for fuel.”

“I'm aware of that,” Bykovsky said tonelessly. “Please go on, Tsander.”

“I said the fuel was a big concern, but not one that should worry us unduly. A good percentage will be used in the landing and my people assure me that the balance represents no threat. It will boil off harmlessly after landing. If we can fire the engines and bring the booster in under control. Please take note of that //. We must be prepared for the fact that we may not be able to fire the engines under precise control.”

O'Brian nodded. “Yes, you may be asking a lot of a control system that has failed twice and now appears to be inoperative,” O'Brian said.

“Perhaps. But we have programmed around the earlier difficulty and should have direct digital control of the firing now. You must realize that our only other choice is to do nothing so that in a few hours the orbit will terminate and the booster will be destroyed.”

“Will it?” O'Brian asked quietly.

“Ah, yes, Colonel,” Tsander said, blinking at him through deceptively mild eyes. “You are of course referring to the press reports. Rubbish written by people with no knowledge of physics or orbits or science at all. This booster would be incapable of supporting its own weight if it were not pressurized. It is a tin can with the thinnest of walls — that now contains a good deal of high explosive as you pointed out. It would burn nicely in the atmosphere, quite spectacularly I assure you. But it is also a very expensive machine and the heart of the Prometheus Program is our ability to reuse the boosters. Without this capacity we would never succeed. We would also like to examine the engines and circuitry to discover what the difficulties were, so they will not be repeated.”

“All good reasons,” O'Brian said, nodding. “But I also bet you would not like to be responsible for blowing a great big hole in the landscape somewhere and maybe taking some citizens out at the same time.”

Tsander finished lighting a fresh cigarette and nodded benevolently. “Spoken in your straightforward American way. Yes, that is the crux of the matter. Wouldn't you agree, General?”

“Of course,” Bykovsky said. He paced the floor like a caged bear, hands behind his back, thinking hard. “It comes down then to two possible courses of action. We do nothing and watch the booster burn up, with the very remote possibility that there might be an impact afterwards. Or we attempt ignition and bring it down under control. Isn't there a third possibility — that if we do have ignition we just send the thing into a higher orbit for future consideration?”

“Possible, but self-defeating. If we do that we admit some possibility of danger, admit as well that we cannot control our own machines and shoot them out into space when they give us trouble.”

“Things that we do not want to admit, Academician. Therefore we really have only two choices. Do nothing and watch it burn. Do something and perhaps bring it back intact. Or, if we fail, watch it burn in any case.”

“My thoughts exactly, General,” Tsander said. “Inaction destroys the booster. Action may also destroy it — or it may be brought back for a soft landing which would be invaluable.”

“Then the answer seems obvious, wouldn't you say so, Colonel?” The General turned to face O'Brian, his head tilted slightly as though waiting expectantly for an answer.

“I would be tempted to agree,” O'Brian said slowly. “Either way the booster burns up, though one way may get it back. I cannot advise you, since obviously I am just an observer here, but you seem to have a decision on your hands.”

Tsander's eyes opened wide as he considered O'Brian's comments. “I love the unqualified qualification of your unqualified remarks,” he said dryly. “If you leave the military you have endless possibilities in politics, Colonel.”

O'Brian made a slight bow and smiled. Then it was all seriousness again.

“Time is running out, General,” Tsander said. “Do we have a decision I can act on?”

“It seems to me that the decision has been forced upon us.

We must do what we can do to bring the booster down intact. Begin retrieval program.”

There was little to be added. Tsander looked on while the others downed a last vodka, then they returned to the Ground Command Control Center. O'Brian had an office here, specially constructed for his liaison work. It was in one corner, glassed in, with readouts from most of the consoles that were grouped outside. He had a staff of six, all sergeants, and one of them was on duty here at all times. Discipline was very loose and Sergeant Silverstein just gave him a thumbs-up when he entered — and instantly typed the fact of his presence into the teletype at which he sat. It chattered back in return.

“They have been eagerly awaiting your presence, Colonel,” Silverstein said. “Washington and Houston want to know soonest status Soviet opinion re orbital soft landing capacity core body booster.”

“You mean they want to know what's going to happen to the damn thing?”

“That's about the size of it.”

“Report that attempt is now being made for complete soft landing retrieval through orbital accelerating and braking. Details follow.”

“Roger.”

The teletype hammered again while O'Brian plugged into the communication circuits. The computer outside was in direct contact with the smaller computer aboard the booster, asking questions and getting answers. The attitude of the booster was most important; which way the nose was pointing, up or down, at the stars or at the Earth, was the first consideration. Since the faulted staging from Prometheus the core body had turned and was no longer in the correct attitude for acceleration into a new orbit. The maneuvering rockets would have to be fired to adjust the attitude. This would be the first test of their ability to control the great rocket, hurtling along in orbit eighty-five miles above their heads.

“Begin program,” Academician Tsander said calmly, when everything possible had been done.

“Rolling.”

It took some minutes for all of the data to be correlated and when it had been there was jubilation in the high chamber.

“The Russkies seem happy, Colonel,” Silverstein said.

“They're halfway home, Sergeant, you can report that orbital maneuver appears to be successful. Booster in correct attitude for firing of main rockets. If they fire — and don't send that last.”

“Gotcha, sir.”

This was the big burn and almost two hours passed before the program and responses appeared to be satisfactory. The faulty engine and its opposed engine should be shut down now. The original failure should have been bypassed. The fault that had prevented firing from Prometheus should have been corrected. It should fire correctly.

There are an awful lot of shoulds here, O'Brian thought, and was very glad indeed that this was not his decision. He poured coffee from the thermos and watched the countdown clock as it was set in motion. Here it goes, he thought, here it goes.

The count reached zero and the radio signal flashed out to the waiting receiver in the booster above. Unseen switches were thrown, the report of the monitors sent back instantly.

“We have ignition!”

There was controlled jubilation. A big success, for they had started the engines when the Prometheus team could not. So much for American engineering. These were Soviet boosters and they took well to Soviet control.

Then a needle snapped over, then another. The computer readout chattered and columns of figures appeared on the blank pages.

“There is trouble.”

“Firing has become erratic.”

“Shutdown!”

“Firing continues. Firing cannot be terminated.”

O'Brian spun about and shouted to Silverstein.

“Top priority. Ignition trouble on booster. Erratic firing. It appears to be out of control. More follows.”

“Is this bad, sir?” Silverstein asked, his fingers busy on the keys while he spoke.

“It's not very good, that's for certain. Just how bad it is we're going to find out very soon.”