A long moment passed. “Negative. This is as close as I can safely get.”
“Then just sit tight,” she said.
“Copy. Maintaining radio silence.” A hesitation, then, “Good luck.”
Thank goodness Scott volunteered to leave her alone, she thought. She didn’t need his encouragement right now, or anything else that would interrupt her concentration. She’d want his assistance soon enough, when she’d need him to help guide the vessel the last few centimeters into the international docking adapter.
She realized she was breathing too rapidly: All she could hear in her helmet was her own panting breath. She tried to force herself to calm down, slow her heart rate. She knew she was pressed for time, but she couldn’t afford to make a mistake in her haste to dock the capsule, transfer the fuel, and then de-crimp the fuel line. Any error at this point was nonrecoverable. And now there was Scott’s life on the line as well as her own.
She started working her way down to the IDA, her back to the capsule. The ripped Kevlar of the Bigelow inflatable was to her right; the module retained its voluminous shape despite the rip she’d slashed into its white siding, which was clearly visible with Farid’s unmoving body behind it.
Reaching the IDA, she turned. Waiting patiently a meter from the Node 3 International Docking Adapter floated Scott’s white Boeing CST-100 capsule. Resembling an overgrown Apollo module, its curved, forward aero-shell had been ejected, showing a flat nose that angled out to a cylinder serving as its base; rectangular viewports were set around the capsule’s diameter, midway between the nose and the base.
Puffing, she stopped momentarily to glance inside Scott’s capsule. She caught a glimpse of him squinting through the thick viewport windows, looking as if he was trying to spot her. She knew that without any lights on her she was nearly impossible to see, especially against the black background of space. Once she moved closer he’d probably be able to make her out, but Scott was basically helpless inside the supply vessel, unable to come outside and join her in an EVA, not even able to assist her by moving the capsule closer to the station.
Holding firmly to one of the station’s handrails with one hand, Kimberly engaged the tether’s auto-retract as she positioned herself next to the Node 3 IDA. She didn’t need her safety line getting in her way. The International Docking Adapter’s opening was a large target, but she’d still have to make sure that whatever momentum she imparted to Scott’s massive capsule would be perpendicular to the module; otherwise she might cause the CST-100 to drift into the side of the IDA and perhaps recoil backward—or even damage the station.
Still holding tight to the handrail, she slowly swung out and grasped a handle on the Starliner’s flat nose. The distance looked short, but once she started pulling, Kimberly wished it was only three microns instead of three feet.
She spoke into her hot mike. “Starliner, Station. I’m in position. On my count I’ll start pulling you in. Keep me apprised of your motion.”
“Copy, Station. On your count.”
She stared straight ahead and drew in a breath. “Ready … ready … engage!” With one hand on the station’s handrail and the other on the capsule, she grunted, closing her eyes as she tried to bring her hands together like a weight lifter. She pulled her arms inward in the heaviest dumbbell fly she’d tried in her life. Her triceps and biceps felt as though they would pop.
Sweat broke out on her brow and her whole body started to tremble. Grunting with exertion, she felt incredibly warm, roasting, despite the water-cooling filaments in her suit gurgling away like a babbling brook. Her chest and arms flared with red-hot pain.
Still she kept on pulling, tugging, while counting to twenty under her breath. She drew in deep lungfuls of oxygen, gasping. She couldn’t tell if she’d made any progress at all.
Scott’s voice came over the link, high with enthusiasm. “We have motion, Station! Estimated approach velocity is … not quite a centimeter per second. And that’s a guess.”
Kimberly gasped, “How’s … the alignment?”
“Can’t tell yet. But at this rate Starliner should contact the alignment guides on the IDA in about two minutes.”
“Copy.” Kimberly drew in a deep, painful breath. “I’ll maintain position until you’re berthed, in case I need to make any alignment changes.”
Scott responded with two clicks of his microphone.
Still clasping the station’s handrail, Kimberly tried to change position as the Starliner inched toward the Node 3 IDA. It appeared to be barely moving. The docking port had plenty of wiggle room, though, and as long as the Starliner’s flat nose managed to enter its wide opening she wouldn’t have anything to worry about—except for attaching the fuel transfer hose, finishing the de-crimping, and re-boosting the station.
Oh yeah, she thought. And avoiding the incoming Chinese ASATs.
OUTSIDE NODE 3, INTERNATIONAL SPACE STATION
Scott’s voice interrupted Kimberly’s thoughts. “Ah, how far until contact?”
She immediately snapped alert. “Foot and a half, max.”
“You’ll need to apply some pressure on the nose, move it toward the JPM. I’m starting to yaw and come in at an angle. All I’ll need is a little nudge.”
“How far off are you?”
“Not much, but we’re running out of time.”
“Copy,” said Kimberly. “I’ll give the nose a tap, stop the yawing.”
“Roger that. Just keep your suit out of the way. The capsule may not be moving very fast, but it still has enough momentum to crush you if you get between the Starliner and the IDA.”
Kimberly didn’t reply as she pulled herself up to the station. Sore and aching, she could see the capsule’s flat nose slowly inching toward the IDA’s rim. But it would miss the dock entirely unless she changed its gradual yawing motion. She must have pulled it more off-axis than she thought. Its nose was slowly turning toward the left.
She saw that the nose was starting to inch beyond the port. She quickly leaned in to push it back and saw Scott staring through the viewport, looking worried.
“Kimberly! You’ll get hit—you don’t have enough room to escape!”
“Little astronaut, big capsule,” she said. Still hanging on to the station’s handrail with one hand, she extended her right hand directly in front of her, intending to nudge the Starliner’s nose. She pushed as hard as she could, trying not to slip against the station.
The capsule’s nose gradually swung back just before it cleared the International Docking Adapter’s port. Still gliding slowly, it appeared to be swallowed by the IDA’s yawning metal entrance.
“That’s it!” Scott exulted. “We’re in!”
Kimberly didn’t have time to celebrate. She immediately turned her attention away from Scott’s capsule and started back for the fuel transfer hose. Afterward, she’d find the best path to the FGB, so she could reach the access panel and the partially crimped fuel line.
“Don’t wait for me,” she said into her helmet mike. “After I connect the hose, start transferring the fuel. I’ve got to de-crimp the line. I’ll join you shortly.”