Andrew Morgan - Vessel

The last week of training had become just a few short days, and the expedition to the International Space Station — to actual space — was hanging over Sally as an ominous shadow. Her stomach lurched every time it crossed her mind, but her stubborn refusal to give up and run away — a trait that seemed as much a burden as it was a benefit sometimes — kept her pinned to Russian soil. Even sitting cold and naked on an uncomfortable bed in the mission doctor’s room could not deter her. Velcro ripped as the doctor finished reading her blood pressure and removed the inflatable armband.

‘That all looks good…’ the doctor muttered to herself, noting the results on her computer. Turning back to Sally, she looked atop her thin-rimmed glasses, her deep-set eyes hard, but friendly.

‘Are you on any medication?’ she asked, to which Sally shook her head.

‘Do you have any history in your family of mental illness?’

Again, Sally shook her head.

‘Do you have any history in your family of strokes?’

A shake of the head.

‘Diabetes?’

‘No,’ Sally said.

‘Heart disease?’

‘I don’t think so.’

The doctor stared back at her.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Actually, I think my great-uncle might have died of heart disease,’ Sally said. ‘But I can’t really remember.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘Does this mean I can’t go?’

The hardness faded a fraction. ‘No, that’s all fine. You can go.’

Word that SETI expert Sally Fisher had joined the team in Korolyov had seeped through to the global media, and the dissipated interest reignited into a roaring flame of excitement that caught the ear of journalist Sean Jacob. Although he did not know that Fisher was to join the crew of the ISS, or that communication with the ISS had ceased, he had noticed the tell-tale marker of a re-scheduled mission when the plumes of hot smoke had failed to leave Kazakhstan two-and-a-half weeks before. Despite NASA sticking to a shortly-worded press release about the recent solar storms, his speculation ran wild, and the more NASA dug in its heels, the more he suspected something was up.

‘I’m telling you, that rocket’s taking a crew up with it,’ Sean Jacob said, satellite phone pressed to his ear. He waited for a response over the rising desert wind, binoculars trained onto the uppermost module of the Soyuz craft standing tall in the open landscape.

‘How can you be sure?’ the reply came.

Sean lowered his binoculars and retreated back into his camouflaged tent, where the wind noise died down.

‘The Progress module is now a Soyuz module. It’s obvious.’

‘How obvious?’

‘Bloody obvious. One has a stonking great launch escape system sprouting out the top of it and the other doesn’t.’

‘Alright, alright — I get your point. So they’re sending a crew. Why do I care?’

‘This is supposed to be a resupply mission.’

‘So?’

‘So they don’t spend millions sending a crew up without reason, do they?’

‘Get to the point, Sean.’

Sean sighed, not quite sure if he was battling disinterest or ineptitude.

‘It’s simple — NASA have flown a UFO expert to the other side of the planet and now they’re sending up a crew. She’s going with them. There’s something up there.’

‘That’s a bit of an assumption.’

‘Then why didn’t they just phone her?’

The tent flapped as a strong gust blew through. Sean checked the phone to make sure the signal was still strong.

‘I suppose you’re right,’ the response came. ‘Note down your findings and get them sent over to me right away. And keep digging — when we find out what’s going on here, this story will go straight to press, front page.’

‘Will do.’

‘I want you to meet Robert Gardner,’ Bales said, introducing a smart, keen-eyed gentleman to a nervous Sally Fisher.

‘Hi ma’am,’ Gardner said in a strong, Virginian accent, holding out a hand. Sally hesitated, took it, and they shook.

‘Robert here will be piloting you to the International Space Station. He’s a superb astronaut, and we’re very lucky to have him.’

Gardner grinned, straight white teeth beaming underneath tanned cheeks. ‘You’re too kind, John. I’m just thankful you brought me along for the ride.’

Bales ushered the pair into the corridor and they wandered along, Bales taking the lead.

‘What do you think of Kazakhstan?’ Bales asked Sally.

‘It’s okay,’ Sally said. When they’d arrived at the Baikonur Cosmodrome, it was deserted; now it was full of staff busying themselves in preparation for tomorrow’s launch.

Bales led them into a large room at the end of the corridor, a space similar to the Mission Control room in Korolyov — except instead of three large screens, there was a single window. A huge window. Outside, a wide expanse of dusty-grey desert filled the view, impossibly blue skies resting atop a horizon that seemed to stretch to infinity. In the middle of the window, at the end of a narrow road, a tube, flared at the bottom, pinched at the top, stood tall.

‘It’s a beauty, isn’t it?’ Gardner grinned, hands on hips, taught arms flexing under his navy blue polo shirt. Sally nodded, not wanting to be rude. To her, the rocket seemed spindly and delicate, an ugly thing.

‘Please, take a seat,’ Bales offered, gesturing to an empty row of chairs. They sat, and Bales took out his touch pad.

‘Gardner has been fully briefed in his role to transport you to the ISS. He will also serve to assist you in your duties and protect you if—’

‘Wait,’ Sally said, sitting up in her chair, ‘ protect me?’

Bales looked to Gardner and back to Sally. ‘We haven’t had any kind of communication with the crew of the ISS for weeks now. Chances are the solar storm disabled the antennae array and that everything else is fine, but we need to be certain that you remain unharmed. The ISS can be a lonely, claustrophobic place, and it may have had an adverse effect on some of the crew. It’s just a precaution — there’s no need to worry.’

Sally relaxed a fraction, but nevertheless she found it hard to continue concentrating on what Bales was saying, her mind conjuring up all sorts of dire scenarios that involved her inevitable death.

‘The current crew are a good crew, but they are not the right crew for this mission. You, Sally, are the right crew for this mission. The ISS is endowed with some of the world’s best research facilities, and your primary focus — your only focus — is to make contact with UV One.’

Sally felt a million miles out of her depth, an imposter in a world that did not belong to her, or her to it. She swallowed the lump back down her throat and nodded.

‘I know this seems complicated, but you’ll do just great. There’s no need to rush into anything — in fact we want you to take your time, plan your methodology and do things slowly. You’ll be returning to us in seven weeks. That’ll give you plenty of time, and it’ll probably be over before you know it.’ He slapped his knees and stood. ‘Well,’ he said, his tune cheerful, ‘I suggest you get plenty of rest this evening. I’ll send someone to fetch you at zero eight hundred hours tomorrow morning.’ He gave a nod and left the room.

Sally looked at Gardner, who was staring out the window at Soyuz.

‘Have you been to space before?’ she asked him. He looked back at her, all teeth.

‘Yes ma’am, I have.’

‘Please, call me Sally. How many times?’

‘Twice: TMA Four and TMA Eight.’

‘What’s it like?’