Dale Brown - Executive Intent

“Thank God,” he said aloud. “Hang in there, Jeff. If we’re still alive, we’ve still got work to do.”

Boomer thought of waiting to activate the distress beacon until Stud Two was on its way to this orbit, but just in case the CO 2scrubbers didn’t work and he was rendered unconscious, he decided to activate his beacon and use Jeff’s as a backup. Another quick pull of a tab, and the beacon was on. It was meant for use after ejection when on the ground, but supposedly it would work just as well in space. He made sure his Electronic Elastomeric Activity Suit was on battery power-that was one thing McCallum didn’t have to worry about; Jeff’s suit was fully inflated. The survival kits had emergency oxygen bottles that would refresh the air in the suits for a few hours after the CO 2scrubbers were saturated-rescue was imperative after that.

There was nothing left to do but float. “Hey, Jeff,” he radioed over to McCallum, hoping he was listening while still unconscious, “I’m surprised that I’m so damned calm. Here we are, adrift orbiting around planet Earth and, if not rescued in time, our lifeless bodies will eventually become meteorites. I’m not scared. In fact, I’m relaxed and kind of enjoying the view. I know help is on the way, and our equipment is actually working as advertised. We’re good for now.”

He kept on talking, telling stories, doing imaginary interviews about this experience with beautiful and adoring news anchors, telling Jeff which landmarks he was able to see on Earth, and even remarking that he thought he saw Armstrong Space Station whiz by. “I waved my arms, but I guess they couldn’t see me,” Boomer deadpanned.

Sometime later, he began wondering if he had made the right decision by abandoning the Black Stallion-but at that instant he noticed a bright flash of light off in the distance. “That blast surely did her in,” he radioed. “You did good protecting us, old girl. Hope to see you when you reenter.”

“Are you talking to me, Boomer?” he heard a voice ask.

“Jeff!” Boomer raised the dark visor on McCallum’s helmet and was relieved beyond words to see his eyes open. “You’re awake! How do you feel?”

“Like my head’s ready to explode,” McCallum said weakly. He looked around. “Where are we?”

“Adrift,” Boomer replied.

“What?”

“Easy, Jeff, easy,” Boomer said. “We abandoned the Stud a little more than an hour ago. Kingfisher-Eight exploded and creamed the ship. I think the Stud just blew.”

“My God,” McCallum breathed. Boomer didn’t need to check his respiration blinker to know McCallum was on the verge of panicking. “Are we going to die out here? Are we going to freeze to death?”

“Relax, bro,” Boomer said. “We’re more likely to overheat. In space, there’s no air to radiate heat away from our bodies, so it all gets trapped inside our suits. Relax. They’re on their way to get us.”

“We have no air?”

“Just what was in our suits when I disconnected us from the ship,” Boomer said. “The survival kits have emergency bottles, and if you need it I can hook you up. But the C-oh-two scrubbers will remove the carbon dioxide for hours.”

“Then what?”

“We’ll be rescued before then, Jeff, don’t worry,” Boomer said, hoping he sounded convincing enough. “The general launched Stud Two after us, and we have a locator beacon going. Another hour or two and we should be headed back to the station.”

“This is insane. We’re going to die out here!” McCallum cried. Just as Boomer heard him beginning to hyperventilate, McCallum reached up to the locking mechanism of his helmet. “I can’t breathe, man, help me get this damned thing off!”

“Jeff, no!” Boomer shouted, pulling McCallum’s hands away from his helmet latches-watching carefully to be sure McCallum didn’t reach for his gear, like a panicked swimmer pulling a lifeguard under. “Jeff, listen to me, listen! We’re going to be okay. We’re safe inside our suits, we’re not going to freeze to death, and we have plenty of air. You’ve got to relax! We’re going to make it!”

“Why did you do this to me, Noble?” McCallum screamed. “Why did you push me out of the ship?”

“It was going to explode. I had to-”

“Things don’t explode in outer space, you idiot!” McCallum shouted. “How can something explode without air? You killed me, you stupid jerk!”

“Relax, McCallum, relax!” Boomer said in as calm a voice as he could muster. “We’re going to be okay-”

“I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe!” McCallum gasped. Boomer was having a tough time keeping his hands away from his helmet lock-fortunately, the lock was very hard to remove with gloves on. “Help me, Boomer, help me, I’m dying…!”

“No, you’re not, Jeff, you’re okay, just hang on!” Boomer shouted. “Calm down! We’ve practiced this a hundred times. Stay calm and we’ll wait for rescue together.”

“That’s with a full EMU setup, Boomer, not a simple suit without an air supply!” McCallum shouted. “I’ve got no air! I’ve got to get out of this thing! I can’t breathe!”

“They’re on their way, Jeff, just stay calm and relax! Stop struggling! Breathe steady, man, you’re hyperventilating! Stay-”

McCallum’s hands suddenly left his helmet collar lock and pushed right at Boomer’s helmet, sending him spinning away head over heels…and it was only then that, because he was unconscious until just a few moments ago, he realized that in the emergency evacuation of the Black Stallion he had broken the first and most important rule of extravehicular activities: “Make Before Break,” or always attach a tether to something before releasing it…

…he had never secured McCallum to himself.

“Jeff!” he shouted. “Hold on! I’ll be right back to you!” He fumbled around, finally retrieved the Handheld Maneuvering Unit, and used short spurts of nitrogen to stop his tumbling. It took him several long moments to get his bearings. He remembered Earth was “underneath” him, not above him, so he reoriented himself, then used more short bursts to look around for McCallum.

“Jeff, can you see me? Use your strobe or your helmet lights to help me find you!” He heard heavy, rapid breathing sounds, and he prayed McCallum might pass out from hyperventilating. Just then, he saw him, only ten yards away. His hands were no longer trying to work the helmet lock-it appeared as if he was checking his suit’s monitor on his left wrist. “I see you, Jeff!” he radioed, raising the HMU to start his way over to him. “Hang-”

But then he realized what McCallum was doing…because moments later McCallum had stripped off his left protective outer glove and was now working the ring latch on his left suit glove! “Jeff, stop what you’re doing! Stop! Hold on, Jeff, I’ll be right over!”

“I can’t get my helmet off, Boomer!” McCallum shouted. “It won’t come off! I can’t breathe! If I get this damned glove off, it’ll be easier to take the helmet off!”

“Hold on, Jeff! I’m almost there!” Boomer hit the HMU thruster. If he hit him, he might be able to distract him enough. He had to be perfect, but there was no time to aim…

“I’ll get it,” McCallum said in a high, squeaky, strained voice, almost like a child’s. “If I can take these damned gloves off, I can get it.” The helmet ring latch was really designed to be operated by a helper, although the wearer himself could do it with a little patience and practice, but the glove’s ring latch was designed to be operated inside of an air lock by the wearer, and was therefore easier to operate with space-suit gloves on. Before Boomer could reach him, McCallum had opened the locking mechanism and…