Skyfall

41

GET 28:54

As soon as the President had left the Cabinet room, the Secretary of State leaned over to speak to Dillwater.

“Come on, Simon, I'll buy you a cup of coffee,” he said.

“I've had a good deal already, Dr. Schlocter, thank you.”

“Well a drink then, I don't think I have seen you have anything other than coffee all the time we have been in here.”

“I rarely drink spirits, but, yes, a small sherry perhaps.”

They walked past the table laden with sandwiches and coffee to the small portable bar which had been rolled in a few hours earlier. Bandin had felt in need of a few more large bourbons and had, he thought, covered this up by encouraging the others to drink as well. Schlocter poured out a Tio Pepe with a steady hand, then a vodka on the rocks with a twist of lemon peel for himself. He handed the sherry to Dillwater and raised his own glass.

“To a successful rescue mission,” he said.

“Yes, I will drink to that. But to very little else.”

“The President is a very occupied man, Simon, with more problems than you can perhaps understand.”

“Ever the peacemaker, Dr. Schlocter, are you not? But I am afraid there is little you can accomplish this time. I tendered my resignation to go into effect the instant those people are back on the ground. Or dead. Both the President and General Bannerman knew that the shuttle was available for a rescue mission — yet they did nothing until their hand was forced.”

He looked pointedly at Schlocter. “Did you know about it as well?”

“No, I did not, I am relieved to say. If I had I might have been as divided in mind and as concerned as the President was.”

“You will make me cry in a moment, Dr. Schlocter.”

“I appreciate the reasons for your irony, Simon, and I won't argue with them. But you should remember that the President has the larger job of being leader of this great nation, of guiding its destiny in war and peace. As long as there was even a slim chance that the engines could be started to lift Prometheus out of orbit he did not dare jeopardize our national security by canceling the PEEKABOO operation. The fate of a few sacrificed for the greater need of the many. The cleft stick that many statesmen are forced into.”

Dillwater looked into his empty sherry glass, then put it back onto the bar. The only signs of fatigue he had, after all these hours, were the tightened lines around his eyes. He drew himself up and spoke quietly and quickly so only Schlocter could near him.

“I come from a class and background in America, Dr. Schlocter, that has almost vanished. I was taught early not to use profanity and low language and I have followed that course through life because I found it the most agreeable way. However there are exceptions. What you say about President Bandin is the pure quill well-refined and first grade absolute bullshit. The man is a political opportunist who will sacrifice anything, anyone, to guarantee his re-election. Morally he makes Mr. Nixon look like a choir boy.”

Schlocter nodded seriously, listening to the words as though they were some highly refined argument.

“Yet you took a position in his administration? Knowing what you did about — shall we say — his moral drawbacks?”

“I did. He needed me as a member of what is called the Liberal East Coast Establishment to get him some votes. I felt that NASA was important enough on its own to justify my aid.”

“Then what has changed?” Schlocter drove home the points of his arguments with slow shakes of his forefinger. “The President is the same person you always knew he was. And NASA and the Prometheus Project are even more badly in need of your expertise and aid than they were when you first joined.”

“My mind is made up. I have resigned. I cannot beany part of a government that that man is the head of.”

“Think again, if you please. I have been talking to Moscow and we are agreed that Prometheus must go on, whatever happens now. Too much has been invested, the need for energy is too great — “

“And Bandin needs re-election too badly.”

“Precisely. You are probably the only person who can see the project through to completion.” He raised his hand before Dillwater could speak. “Do not answer now, please. Think about it. I will talk to you again, later. Now, I believe, yes — isn't that your phone that is ringing?”

Dillwater moved swiftly to it and seized it up.

“Simon Dillwater speaking.”

“Flax here. A progress report to date. About an hour to go to takeoff of the Space Shuttle. The countdown going well there. The solar storm it's… getting worse. “

“What does that mean in time?”

“No one seems to know exactly. Solar activity will lift up the top of the atmosphere. How much and how fast is still a guess. But soon. It could be before rendezvous, or just after it.”

“Not very heartening news.” Dillwater realized he was holding the phone so hard that his finger hurt; he forced himself to relax. “You have kept the crew of Prometheus informed, I take it?”

“Yes sir. They know everything we do as soon as we get the information. They are proceeding with the HOOPSNAKE project.”

“What? But I thought…”

“That it had been abandoned? No, sir. They feel that the threat of impact is a real one. And the chances of their being taken off before atmosphere contact only a fair possibility. Therefore they are initiating the HOOPSNAKE program just in case.”

“We should never have asked them,” Dillwater whispered, pounding his fist on the table as he spoke.

“I didn't hear that last---”

“Nothing. Please keep me informed of everything.”

Eighty-five miles high, Prometheus hurtled in its steady course. The great globe of the Earth below moved slowly by. They were over the Panama Canal now, but clouds and storms obscured any clear view. Beyond the blue of Earth the stars shone clearly in great profusion, the moon a clear disc, the sun a burning presence that could not be faced directly. Gregor kept his back to it, looking outward at the incredible vision of space as seen from space. He was the pendant spectator, the godlike eye, the vision apart from the world of his birth. Separated by space was the warmth, the water, the air of the planet, a bit of which he carried with him, just a few centimeters thick, the only barrier between himself and the deadly vacuum of space. Looking at the Earth like this he felt distant, yet so much a part of it, could see it more clearly than he ever could from the ground.

“Feeling rested, Gregor?” Patrick's voice echoed inside his helmet, drawing him back.

“Yes, much better really, just tired and hot there for a moment.”“

“You've done a lot.”

“Not everything.” He turned and looked at the jagged metal at the base of the ship. “The supports have been cut away so I can get close to the orifice. I've cut into the trumpet mounting and managed to fit in the jack so I levered it aside to get access to the thrust chamber. All that's left is to get inside the chamber and knock the light bulb out of the way.”

“How do you plan to do that?”

“I have a steel rod I cut loose. That should do the job.”

“Good luck.”

Coretta and Nadya spoke as well and he nodded, half listening but did not answer. This was the last challenge. He held the bar in his left hand, he had no way to tie it down securely, which made moving about difficult. The line he had clipped to the ship prevented much movement, and he saw no way to unclip it, move, then reclip it with one hand. He opened the fastening and let it float free. On the base of Prometheus here Coretta could not see him so she would not know what he had done. And she did hold the other end of the nylon safety line. She could reel him in to safety if he did move free of the ship. He did not intend to. There were handholds enough here among the braces and pipes.

Handgrip by handgrip he worked up to the thrust chamber he wanted. The two-meter-high trumpet mouths of the other chambers were on all sides of him, the other pipes and gear beneath his clutching hand. When his head was over the open mouth of the chamber he stopped, held on firmly until all movement had been damped, then clipped back onto the ship. The opening was like a black O-shaped mouth before him. The extension light was on the left side of the AMU. With precise motions he transferred the steel rod and groped for the light. It flicked on and cast a disc of light onto the dark metal, lit only by Earthlight. He found the mouth of the chamber, aimed the light and gasped.

He had not expected this. Instead of the soot-lined cavity or the burned mouth of a rocket, here was a three-meter-long chamber like Aladdin's cave. It was smooth lined, shining with reflected light, filled up the center with a delicate crystal structure. This was the tube everyone had referred to so disparagingly as the light bulb. It was more like a crystal chest of diamonds, glinting and glowing with gem like sparkle as the bright light played across its surface. As he moved the light shadows and illumination changed and the colors flowed and merged.

“Will you be able to break it up there?” Patrick asked, his voice coming from a great distance.

Gregor sighed and forced himself to return to the reality of the situation. This was no cathedral to the glories of the gods of science. It was a demolition site.

“Yes, I should be able to,” he said.

With the light in his left hand he pushed the steel rod slowly through the opening, down its full length until it hit against the quartz and rebounded. Now the shadow of his arm and the rod changed the illumination even more and the colors and lights sparkled and spun.

For one moment more he looked at it — then struck out.

It was a slow motion ballet of destruction, independent of gravity and air pressure. When the steel struck the quartz fractured, particles and fragments moving out in all directions. The opening was about half a meter wide and Gregor had his arm in as far as it would go now, his body writhing slowly in reaction as his arm and the bar moved back and forth. When he finally looked in again the destruction was complete; only glittering fragments filled the chamber. He pulled out the rod and hurtled it from him, out into space, getting smaller and smaller until it vanished, still in orbit trailing behind Prometheus, though invisible now.

“It is done,” Gregor said, really speaking to himself though the others heard.

“Come on in, then,” Patrick said. “Right now if you're done.”

There was a strain, a touch of tension in his voice and Gregor heard it. He shrugged. Why not? There was tension enough for all of them. But had something new happened? His mind was on this, not what he was doing. He undipped his short safety line, pushed off towards the side of the ship, reached for a stanchion.

And missed.

Horrified, he watched the base slide by next to him, just out of reach, then the burnished side of Prometheus moved into view, the projecting hatch a good fifty meters away with the shining globe of Coretta's helmet protruding from it.

“You shouldn't be that far from the ship,” she said.

“Not ort purpose. I'm afraid I lost my hold.”

“I'll pull you in…”

“STOP!” Patrick shouted. “Don't do anything yet. There is no danger as long as the safety line is still attached. Is it, Coretta?”

“Secure both ends.”

“All right — describe to me exactly what you see, where Gregoris.”

“Well, he's just come into view now. Floating straight out away from the ship it looks.”

“How fast?”

“I don't know. It took maybe one, two seconds for all of him to come into view.”

“Good, very good.” Patrick guessed at Gregor's speed, the distance he had to go, then made a quick calculation. “Pull in the line slowly, until it's straight, just the slightest tension. When it's taut then pull in a yard more very slowly, take about three seconds to do it. Remember, it's not a matter of hauling him in, just starting him in the right direction. He can't get lost as long as the line is attached. The worst thing you can do is to get him moving too fast, slam him to the ship and the end of his arc.”

“There — it's done,” Coretta said.

“That's great. Now keep the rope as short as you can without exerting any more pull on him, just reel it in as he moves closer.”

It was frightening, though safe, Gregor had to keep telling himself that. But he was still moving away from the ship, though up along its length at the same time. Very logical, he must remember that, a simple problem in mechanics. He had originally imparted a motion away from the ship, Coretta had added a motion along its length. His direction now was a vector of those two forces, moving still away from the hatch, but along the ship towards it all the time. An interesting problem — abstractedly. Not so interesting when he was the weight at the end of the string.

Patrick strained to imagine what was happening, having only Coretta's description to guide him.

“Closer, “she said.

“Wait until he is even with the hatch — then stop taking in any more line. That will start him in an arc towards the ship. But do it gently or he'll speed up and slam into the hull. That is what we must watch out for.”

“Right — here goes.”

There was a gentle tug on the line on his belt — then Gregor found himself moving towards the hull again. He put out his arms, bent his elbows when he struck in slow motion, and absorbed the shock. Before he rebounded he grabbed an anchor ring nearby.

“Done it!” he gasped, victoriously.

“Come on in,” Patrick ordered, as tired as the others with the strain. He waited until Gregor was back at the hatch, securing the AMU, climbing inside, before he spoke again.

“Put some extra lashing on the AMU, then close the hatch,” he said.

“Why, what reason,” he asked. It was Nadya who answered him, speaking in quiet Russian.

“We talked to Mission Control while you were outside. There is a prediction now, about the atmosphere. They have an eighty percent estimate that we may impact at next perigee, in about ten minutes.”

“But that is one orbit too soon! On the next orbit the Space Shuttle will be here, we'll be taken off!” He looked around at the others, their faces dimly seen through the filters on their helmets.

“We know,” Nadya said simply. “Perhaps our luck has run out. A few more minutes will tell.”

Gregor started for the hatch. “I must go back, finish the HOOPSNAKE program.”

“No time,” Patrick said. “It will take too long. Let's see if we ride this out, then we can decide. What is the GET?”

“33:23,”Coretta said.

“Six minutes more. Then sixty-five after that if the Shuttle is launched on schedule.”

They could only wait then. For Patrick and Nadya it was harder to wait in the darkness.