Space Station Down, page 14
Now that the ISS was decreasing in altitude her old worry about where the software patch might originate from evaporated into thin air. Getting the fix and regaining control of the ISS was now top priority. She just hoped that whoever jury-rigged the patch would at least test it on the virtual software platform NASA used to simulate the ISS’s operating system. She didn’t want to have any bugs in the patch show up that would make matters worse. She didn’t think she’d get a second chance to try it again.
She knew there was still an open mike to the MCC, and she’d never say it out loud, but if the station really did deorbit and she wasn’t shot down, Kimberly knew she’d burn up from the heat during reentry. Either option was a hell of a way to go, literally.
The next seventy-two hours might be her last.
Instead of moping about it and wringing her hands, though, the thought made her even more determined to stop the SOBs who were threatening the lives of thousands, if not millions of people.
Including her own.
FLASHBACK: KIMBERLY AND SCOTT
With nothing to do except wait for the software patch from the ground to reach her, Kimberly gave in to the need for sleep that was overwhelming her. Her entire body ached, the wound on her hip throbbed sullenly, and her eyes felt heavier with each passing moment.
Get a few minutes of sleep, she told herself. You don’t want to screw up everything by making a mistake because you’re sleep-deprived.
She didn’t feel altogether secure in the JPM. The hatch that led to the vestibule was firmly held in place by tons of air pressure, she knew, but still the thought of the two murderous terrorists on the loose in the ISS made her jittery.
Reluctantly, she wriggled against the bags of supplies and equipment held against the module’s wall by the webbing of bungee cords. But it wasn’t the terrorists that she thought of. It was Scott, and the last night of their marriage.…
Kimberly remembered lying on her side of the bed, warm and sticky after their bout of lovemaking. Despite his massive ego and macho attitudes, Scott was a passionate, attentive lover.
He had turned over on his side of the bed and murmured drowsily, “G’night, Kim.”
“Kimberly,” she’d said. Was he doing this on purpose? He didn’t respect her as a scientist and certainly not as a fellow astronaut. And just because it was announced she’d be the new ISS commander—a position he’d recently filled—didn’t give him the right to take it out on her.
“Huh?”
“My name is Kimberly. I don’t like being called Kim. You know that.”
Turning back toward her, he said, “Kim, Kimberly, Kablooey. What’s the difference?”
She propped herself up on an elbow. “I want to be called by my correct name. Kimberly.”
She heard him puff out a weary sigh. “G’night. Kim.”
“Kimberly!”
“Aw, don’t make such a big deal about it.”
Anger rising inside her, she asked, “How would you like being called Scotty?”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“Beam me up, Scotty. Captain Kirk’s looking for you.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“No, you are. I want to be called by my proper name. Is that too much to ask?”
“I like Kim. It’s cuter.”
“I don’t like it. I don’t want to be reduced to a Kewpie doll.”
“Kewpie doll? Good lord!” In the darkened bedroom, she heard the irritation in Scott’s voice. “Just go to sleep, will you? I’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
“And I don’t?” she snapped.
“Come off it, for chrissakes.”
“You’re an insensitive macho gorilla.”
“And you’ve been reading too much feminist crap.”
“I have a right to be called by my correct name!”
“You’re a spoiled brat. What you need is a good spanking.”
Kimberly threw the covers off her naked body and got out of bed. It was the last straw; the jerk’s ego was so big he couldn’t think of anyone but himself. He couldn’t stand to know that his wife—a scientist of all people, and not even a pilot—was just as competent as he was, and was commanding the ISS. But he’d never admit it.
“Scott, if you can’t call me by my real name, if it’s too much to ask you to come down from that high-and-mighty throne you’re always perched on…” She hesitated, and then plowed ahead, “We might as well put an end to this right here and now.”
With that, Kimberly marched to the bathroom, flicked on the lights, and began pulling her cosmetics from the drawers.…
Half-asleep in the bungee-cord jail of the JPM, she told herself, That was stupid. You overreacted. But then she thought, What’s done is done. You can’t undo it.
That didn’t make her feel any better.
DAY THREE
NASA HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C.
Scott Robinson walked briskly down the carpeted hallway and turned into the Administrator’s suite. The Chief of Staff’s door was open and Scott headed for Mini’s office when Simone’s Executive Assistant stood up and hurried to the Administrator’s door.
“They’re all in here.”
“Thanks.” Scott veered toward the frosted door that had an old blue NASA meatball emblem painted on it. “Who else is in there with them?”
As he opened the door, the Executive Assistant half-whispered, “Public Affairs, Legislative Liaison—and they’ve flown in Sophia Flores, the acting PAO from Johnson, to make sure we’re all on the same page.”
Scott grunted as the man held the door open for him. A long-time NASA employee, Patricia’s EA seemed to know everyone in the Headquarters building, as well as any arcane facet about the nation’s space program, both the manned spaceflight side and the science programs.
As the EA closed the door behind him Patricia motioned for Scott to join the four others seated around her table. He lifted an eyebrow as he recognized Sophia, the acting PAO from JSC—it was the “Voice of NASA” who narrated the Soyuz docking. At first he’d thought she’d deserted her post, but he’d later learned that, lucky for the senior PAO, the quick-thinking young lady had saved the man’s life.
Mini nodded toward the large TV monitor on the opposite side of the room. It showed a CNN reporter standing with other newscasters outside the Johnson Space Center, in Texas’s baking heat. Nearby, a crowd of people milled around disconsolately, carrying signs protesting the lack of information about the ISS and demanding that NASA release details about the astronauts.
A stream of text flowed beneath the picture, identifying the spokesperson being interviewed as the webmaster for Heavens-above.com, an amateur website dedicated to providing customized predictions of satellite locations and other astronomical data.
“They’ve discovered the station is descending.” Simone kept her eyes on the TV screen as she spoke. “What’s the status of that software patch?”
“The NSA’s thrown everything they have on it,” Scott said as he slid onto an empty chair. “Our Failure Investigation Team at Johnson has given them a copy of the ISS software operating system and you’ll be the first to know when they have the update.”
Simone swung her amber eyes to Scott. “I want to be the second to know. Kimberly’s the first. She should get access to the patch as soon as it’s complete.”
“Copy that,” said Scott.
“Good. We’ve generated a news release to try to quell these protests—”
“Is that a good idea?” Scott asked. “The White House is pretty hard-over about not releasing any information.”
“And they’re also pretty hard-over about killing our astronauts,” Patricia snapped. “The public now knows the station is descending at a much higher rate than you’d expect from atmospheric drag. The media is also rebroadcasting last month’s Russian launch of those RTGs to the station—and what could happen if the plutonium is released. We’ve got to do something; otherwise we’ll come across as the gang that couldn’t shoot straight.”
“Yes, ma’am. I understand. But you know the President is well aware of the consequences if the station continues to deorbit. I don’t agree either about having a total news blackout. We need to throw the public a bone, quiet things down before they get hysterical about impact. The Dragon mission may be our best chance to keep the nation from panicking.”
Scott sensed his pulse rate rising. He knew that he should bite his tongue and not say anything about Simone refusing to put him on the Dragon mission. That would be the best course of action. But he kept hearing his own motto: Never give up, never give in. And he knew he wasn’t about to start backing down now.
Simone asked, “Did you tell Kimberly what the President is considering? That he may take preemptive action and shoot down the ISS?”
“Chief Astronaut Tarantino told her before I could. But I think she’d already figured that out for herself,” Scott replied. “She’s no fool.”
Simone nodded and said, “I want to talk to her personally, whether or not that patch arrives in time. She deserves to know that it wasn’t an easy decision that her own nation may take out the ISS, much less there’s a very good chance that she’s going to die. I don’t want her hearing any wild rumors secondhand from her ham radio.”
“She can handle it,” Scott said. “She knows the risks. This isn’t some research job here on the ground.”
The head of Public Affairs cleared his throat. “This is probably a stupid question, but there are all these movies where astronauts are in danger and they end up surviving in their spacesuits, even making it to the ground—”
“That is a stupid question,” Mini growled, his face flushed. “You’d better know how to answer it, too, with a roomful of cameras on you. You’ll be asked it if it ever gets out that Kimberly’s still alive.”
“You mean when it gets out,” Scott said softly. He didn’t want to further embarrass the Public Affairs man from Headquarters; they were all on the same team, after all.
Sophia leaned over and said quietly to the man, “The EVA suits only carry enough oxygen for about eight and a half hours. And even if astronaut Hadid-Robinson did manage to get into one of the suits, the Dragon capsule couldn’t bring her inside. It doesn’t open up to vacuum; it needs to mate with a berthing port on the station. So an EVA suit wouldn’t help; no suit would help, much less survive reentry. Plus, she doesn’t have access to either a spacesuit or an airlock; she’s holed up in the JPM.”
Scott stared at Sophia. She’s good. What was her name? Sophia Flowers … Flores?
The young woman reddened. “My father worked at Johnson all my life.”
“I couldn’t have explained it better myself.” Scott thought for a moment. “Kimberly does have access to one of the second-generation suits we squirreled away in the JPM, but it doesn’t have its own air supply, it needs a hose to provide oxygen, so that’s useless as well.”
“Thanks,” the PA man said. “I … I guess I suspected as much.”
Simone turned to the head of Public Affairs. “Okay. Now what about the news release? What do you have?”
Seemingly glad to have attention moved away from his EVA question, the man slid a paper from a stack in front of each person at the table. “Per your direction, we wrote a press statement, but we kept our communications link to the ISS secret, so the terrorists don’t discover it exists. In addition, we recommend not revealing that Astronaut Hadid-Robinson is still alive and has barricaded herself away from the terrorists—”
“Excuse me.” The Legislative Liaison man held up a finger. “You don’t think that news would rally people around the astronaut, and NASA, as well? This could really have a positive impact for the station if we played this well, especially now that it’s out that the station is descending.”
“And it would give the terrorists a heads-up that she’s in contact with us,” Mini countered. “They’d cut the Japanese Ka-band in a New York second and we’d be out of contact.”
“Yes, but—”
“Mini’s right,” Simone said flatly. “And we’d also be risking the only way of getting that software patch to her.” Turning to Public Affairs, she continued, “No mention of Kimberly. The release should be short and sweet: NASA doesn’t know what has happened, and we’re doing everything we can to raise the station to its proper altitude. That gives us, and the President, as much wiggle room as possible for keeping the rescue mission quiet, as well as ensuring that the link stays alive.” She nodded at Sophia. “Get back to Houston, as fast as you can.” She looked around the room. “And change of plans: All announcements will be done at JSC. They’ve got one hell of an acting PAO. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said the PA man, a bit sullenly, as he gathered up the sheets of the draft news release.
Simone turned to Scott. “Next topic. How much time do we have before the President executes Burnt Haunt?”
“The Aegis cruisers need to be in position, and they’re under sail, top speed. They left Pearl Harbor twelve hours after the President authorized the Joint Chiefs to pre-position the ships. I checked with the JCS just before heading over here and they estimate the cruisers will be in optimum range in three days.”
Simone looked back at the TV screen. It showed a heavyset man shaking a fist at the camera as a young woman tried to cover a sign that read: KILL NASA NOT ASTRONAUTS! THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE!
Shaking her head mournfully, Simone said, “We’re in a race against time. Burnt Haunt, the software patch for Kimberly to take back control of the ISS, and the rescue mission are all running on the same time scale. But which one gets in position first?” She turned back to the conference table, pulled in a breath, then went on, “Okay. Continue with the rescue mission until Burnt Haunt is executed. And in the meantime go ahead with that news release, generic as it is. At least the public should know that NASA is doing everything we can to reestablish communication with the station.”
“And hopefully keep them from panicking,” Scott said. “So we won’t force the President’s hand on Burnt Haunt.”
“Unless the press finds out that the station is descending and forces him to do it. He may decide to cut his losses and take out the ISS early, before the panic gets really out of hand. So we go on the assumption that once those Aegis cruisers are in place, the ISS is dead meat.”
“As well as Kimberly and the rest of the space program,” Scott muttered.
JAPANESE MODULE (JPM)
For what seemed like the hundredth time, Kimberly checked the solid-state data acquisition system, worrying that the mission control center had either forgotten to alert her that the software patch had come through, or that something had happened to the voice link and MCC couldn’t alert her that it had arrived.
The light on the solid-state hard drive gleamed a steady red, showing no activity. Frustrated, Kimberly once again pushed back to the middle of the JPM, trying to control her fear that the ISS was plunging to Earth.
Patience is a virtue, she told herself. And quickly added, Yeah, but I’m going to be tearing my hair out in another five minutes.
Get your mind off it, she thought. Focus on something else until the mother-loving patch comes through.
She looked over the bags stowed on the JPM walls in their various bungee-cord prisons, but nothing jumped out at her as a weapon she might use against the two terrorists. She mentally kicked herself for missing her chance when Farid had been using the toilet and Bakhet had been asleep.
By monitoring the electrical activity and nontraditional sensors located throughout the ISS she could tell that the two now seemed to be nearly inseparable, most likely having learned their lesson that if they were isolated she would pounce. So before she could engage them again, she had to figure out a way to separate them, move them apart so that she could take them out one by one.
So much for the Israeli Defense Force’s Krav Maga and the CIA’s assessment of how dangerous those guys were. The non-sport martial art was probably deadly enough in a normal Earth environment, but here on the ISS—where they had nowhere as much experience moving around in zero-gee as she did—their refined, lethal moves were of no use as long as she was barricaded safely inside the JPM, separated by the twelve tons of force tightly sealing her hatch.
But if the software patch didn’t arrive soon she knew she wouldn’t have the patience to stay holed up in the JPM while the station continued to descend in altitude. The sooner she could engage the forward thrusters to boost the ISS into a higher orbit, the better. She didn’t want to wait too much longer before she reacted.
She floated across to one of the bungee-cord prisons and started rummaging through the supplies cached inside it one more time. She’d already searched through everything in the module, but she had a nagging feeling that she might have overlooked something she could use to overpower the two.
MCC continued to offer suggestions over the voice link, and they certainly had some good ideas, but since they didn’t have real-time knowledge of exactly where everything was located in the ISS, their recommendations were useless. She would have been able to whip up three or four MacGyver-type devices to take out the terrorists if she only had access to the entire station. But for years the station’s astronauts and cosmonauts had been continuously moving supplies around and not relaying down to Earth what they’d done or where they’d stashed the equipment. Kimberly simply didn’t have access to the things she needed to construct a single, credible weapon. The bungee-corded bags and food pouches in the JPM were all that were available.
Be that as it may, she knew she still needed something to fight with. Even if the software patch came through right away, Kimberly knew she would eventually have to move out of the JPM. Even if NASA successfully launched the reconfigured Dragon with a few astronauts in it, when they got to the ISS she’d have to pull them in to a berthing port, using the robotic arm. She’d have to control it from the U.S. lab, since the cargo vessels couldn’t dock themselves automatically.
