A surge of enthusiasm racing through him, Scott burst out, “That’s great news! There’s a Falcon 9 with a Dragon capsule sitting on Pad 39A at the Cape, due to resupply the ISS next month. You can use that for the rescue flight and move the resupply mission to Boeing’s Starliner. Patricia has the authority to accelerate the Falcon schedule to launch in three days, and since the Dragon capsule can carry at least four astronauts—”
“It’s an unmanned SpaceX capsule on that Falcon 9, Basher,” Mini interrupted coldly. “Not rated for humans.”
“Then send the Boeing Starliner instead. It’s on the adjacent pad!”
“Forget it. It’s only carrying supplies. Hasn’t been certified for humans yet.”
“But the Dragon has. I rode it my last trip to the station—”
“Not this one. The one on the pad would have to be reconfigured, and even if it could, in addition to launching in three days it would still take another few additional days to reach the ISS. We don’t have the time!”
His voice ratcheting a notch higher, Scott countered, “It takes a few days to reach the ISS because of our mother-loving, risk-averse, two-hour launch window.” He glared at his friend as Mini pulled himself up to his full five-foot, five-inch height, but continued, “You know as well as I do that the Russians routinely pull off ten-second launch windows all the time with their Soyuz, and go direct to rendezvous with the station, without changing orbits. Their ships take only a few hours to reach the ISS, not a few friggin’ days, like ours!”
“And how many Vostok and Soyuz rockets didn’t make it off the launch pad, or blew up after they did? We’ve already lost crew on the ISS because of those terrorists. If we lose that Falcon 9 trying to hit a ten-second launch window it’s another four astronauts killed—not to mention the fifty-million-dollar launcher. How do we explain that to the dead astronauts’ families, let alone the American public? And if they fail, forget about that Starliner ever launching; the space program will be over.”
Pounding on the desktop, Scott insisted, “Dammit, Mini, we only saw Vasilev being murdered. Robert, Al, and Kimberly may well still be alive, trying to survive but unable to communicate. The terrorists may be dead themselves. Besides, the surviving crew may need medical attention. We just don’t know, and that’s the whole point! How do we explain it to their families if the ISS is shot down without us attempting a rescue?”
Scott realized he was panting as if he’d run a hundred-yard dash. His hands were balled into fists. Mini was glaring at him, his thin face drawn and pale.
“Mini, we’ve got to try. Or you might as well tell the astronaut corps that their lives don’t matter, and the President isn’t even thinking about us.”
In a low voice Mini replied, “The President is thinking about three hundred and fifty million Americans by bringing down the ISS. That will prevent the panicking, the rioting, and who knows how many deaths.”
“But what if Robert, Al, and Kim are still alive?”
Mini closed his eyes briefly. Then, “Okay, what if Robbie, Rat, and Kimberly are still alive, and the ISS isn’t shot down. How are you going to rescue them if your Falcon 9 blows up on the pad trying to make your ten-second window?”
“Then you simultaneously launch Boeing’s Starliner. It’s scheduled to the ISS in two months, anyway. It’s on another pad, so there’s no reason why you can’t launch them at the same time. The point is, you never give up, you never give in!”
Before Mini could respond, Scott pressed on, “You never gave up as a Marine, so don’t start doing it now. The Associate Administrator for Exploration and Ops will back you, but he has to know it’s NASA’s top priority. I damned well know that Patricia Simone will think it’s a priority: this could have been her up there a few years ago, and not Kimberly. But Patricia’s not here and NASA needs a kick in the butt to get the ball rolling and start reconfiguring that Dragon to carry humans. And you’re the one to do it, Mini! So start doing your job, Marine!”
The two of them stared at each other from opposite sides of the desk. At last Mini’s hard glare relaxed and he muttered, “Semper Fi, Basher.”
As he reached for the phone he grinned. “You’re right. The AA for Explo and Ops is going to have a cow.”
“He’ll know it’s the right thing to do,” Scott insisted. “And if you don’t lead the way it’ll set the whole astronaut corps against Headquarters. Might cause a rift that’ll last forever.”
Mini pointed the telephone receiver at Scott. “Okay. All right. But the instant the ISS starts descending in altitude we’re calling this rescue off. Because I guarantee you, when I was on active duty one thing I learned was that when the military was told to accomplish a mission they didn’t screw around. Once the Secretary of Defense gives the order to execute their damned Burnt Haunt option and shoot down the station, nothing’s going to stop them. Nothing. And the last thing we want is for four astronauts in a Dragon capsule to be in the way. Because as far as the military is concerned, they’d be nothing more than collateral damage. Understand, Colonel?”
Nodding wearily, Scott said softly, “I understand.” It felt sort of strange to be addressed by his military title. Since he’d been assigned to the astronaut corps, nobody made a point that many of the astronauts were on active military duty. But here, both at the NSC meeting and now in Mini’s office, the honorific seemed to have elevated his status even higher than usual.
Now that he’d succeeded in getting Headquarters to launch a rescue mission, Scott’s next goal was to get himself manifested on that launch. Although he’d recently trained on the Boeing Starliner mock-up before being pulled in as CAPCOM for the ISS, he still considered himself the most qualified of any astronaut to fly the rescue mission on SpaceX’s Dragon.
He was also the last astronaut to have served on the ISS, prior to the current mission, and he’d had more experience in space than anyone in the active astronaut corps. But all those credentials paled when compared with his real reason for wanting to be on this rescue flight. Kimberly may be his ex-wife but she was still one of the best astronauts and all-around competent people he’d ever known. And for some stupid reason he’d done everything in his ego-driven life to push her away.
Besides that, he realized with something of a jolt, he still loved her.
No one had a better reason for vengeance than he did.
JAPANESE MODULE (JPM)
Once again Farid had beaten her to the punch. He’d stymied Kimberly’s efforts to regain control of the ISS by throwing up roadblocks below the Linux level, the operating system running the computer’s graphical interface. It was hard for her to admit it, but the Kazakhstani’s systems knowledge of the ISS interfaces was superb, probably even better than the interface designers’. Which meant that Kimberly didn’t have much time before they’d discover she had changed the operating state for the propellant pressure valves from ON to OFF so that they couldn’t operate the thrusters.
So if I’m going to circumvent the bastard’s efforts to use the thrusters, Kimberly told herself, I’ll have to use the Portable Computer System in ways he wouldn’t expect. Or as Scott would say, I’ll have to use the PCS for intelligent preparation of the battlefield. This is a war, she realized; she was going into battle against the two terrorists.