Andrew Morgan - Vessel

Aleks’ brain ticked through an internal checklist practiced for such a situation. The telephone-book-like emergency-procedures manual was on his desk, ready, but he didn’t need it.

‘Progress M Eighteen M, do not attempt to board the ISS,’ Aleks said. ‘Isolate the breach and report. Your suits have two hours’ life support, so take your time and be thorough. Please confirm.’

‘The breach is on the other side of the descent module hatch, so I think we’re okay.’

‘Progress, please check the hatch for breaks in the seal.’

‘Copy, TsUP, I’ll go check.’ Gardner’s voice could have been that of a frightened boy.

As Aleks waited, he adjusted the firm-fitting headset, running over the possible scenarios in his mind. The decisions had been left to him, since Bales had abandoned his role as Flight Director and left Mission Control, mobile phone pressed to his ear. A worried look had been passed around the room, mirrored from face to face as his absence became apparent.

‘TsUP, are you still there?’ said Gardner. ‘I’ve found a hairline fracture — it’s on the inner face of the descent module hatch, about four inches long, forty-five degrees anti-clockwise from the hinge. How long have we got?’

The rigid tension in Aleks’ shoulders hardened; this was the response he’d hoped not to hear. The ever-changing odds of survival just went down.

‘Copy, Progress. My readings show the pressure in the module at a quarter of an atmosphere. I need you to increase the pressure in the orbital module to point five atmospheres.’

‘Copy.’

Aleks waited as Gardner negotiated his way to the module’s atmospheric controls to do as he had requested. He looked behind him to the double doors, but there was still no sign of Bales returning.

‘TsUP, pressure now at half an atmosphere and holding.’

This was good news: the module could hold pressure, if at least for a while. That bought them time, as the two-hour life-support in the suits could be preserved a little longer.

‘Progress, bring pressure up to one atmosphere,’ Aleks said. ‘Do it slowly.’

‘Copy, TsUP.’

From his own readout, Aleks could see the pressure continue to rise. He held his breath as the blinking red pressure warning light extinguished. The needle continued to climb, passing the three-quarter mark and topping out at one atmosphere, a hundred percent.

‘TsUP, pressure seems stable,’ Gardner said, confirming Aleks’ readout.

‘Okay, Progress, hang tight. We’re looking at getting you inside the ISS as soon as possible.’

‘Copy, TsUP. Don’t take too long.’

Aleks glanced at the pressure readouts again, which now read at ninety-nine percent. He watched them for a minute, and they dropped yet another percent. A quick sum in his head told him the remaining oxygen in the O2 tanks would last just over an hour and a half before Gardner and Fisher were reliant on their suits again. He moved his finger from the external broadcast button to the internal one.

‘All stations, CAPCOM. I need a procedure for external entry through the MRM One hatch, and fast.’

‘Copy, CAPCOM.’

‘Copy.’

‘Copy, CAPCOM.’

The chorus of confirmations filed one by one through Aleks’ headset, and although the steadfast allegiance of the mission team ran as a trickle of confidence in his chest, it had become a knot of sickness by the time it reached his stomach. He knew almost for certain that there was no way to open the MRM One hatch from the outside. It could only be opened from within. Russian and American minds fused as they scoured procedural manuals and diagrams, hunting for the elusive answer. The pressure readout slid a few percentage points more.

‘TsUP, are you there? We’re losing pressure up here,’ Gardner said, breaking Aleks from his thoughts. He sounded more than a little worried.

‘Were still here, Progress,’ Aleks responded, looking up from his desk to see if any of the huddles of bowed heads were looking over for his attention. None were. ‘Give us a few more minutes.’

The digital display counting mission time seemed to have wound into overdrive, each second ticking by another step closer to what seemed an inevitability. Aleks swallowed the thought away and pressed the internal broadcast button once again.

‘All stations: has anyone got anything? Anyone close?’

The stinging silence in his ears gave him his answer, until a light illuminated on his switchboard.

‘CAPCOM, flight dynamics.’

‘Go ahead, FIDO.’

‘There’s no possible way of opening the hatch without compromising the structural and atmospheric integrity of the station’ — Aleks’ heart sank — ‘but we do think there’s another way in.’

‘Where?’ Aleks asked.

‘In through Quest.’

An uncomfortable hotness settled over Aleks’ brow. There had to be a better way than this. There had to be. But he knew there wasn’t. He scratched at the grey prickle of stubble forming on his chin, glancing over his shoulder in the hope that Bales would return. He didn’t.

‘Quest,’ he repeated, turning back to his desk.

‘Affirmative, CAPCOM. An EVA would be required from Progress to the Quest airlock. The distance is about forty metres.’

‘A spacewalk? What are the odds of survival?’

‘In those suits, about forty percent.’

That was better than the odds of staying put.

‘Thanks for meeting me,’ Sean said, offering a hand as he shouldered his tatty duffel bag. Lev Ryumin grasped it with both of his own and gave it a firm, singular shake.

‘Mr Jacob, it’s a pleasure to meet you.’

‘Please, call me Sean.’

The two men wandered through the long, straight expanse of corridor that overlooked banks of parked aircraft and, beyond that, Sheremetyevo airport’s main runway. The tall panes of glass that separated them from the view ticked with falling rain.

‘Can we get a coffee?’ Sean asked, pointing to a concession that looked to sell it.

‘Of course,’ Lev said. ‘How do you like it?’

‘Er — black please. It was a rough flight.’

Lev ordered drinks for the pair of them and they sat down at a bench in a quiet corner, away from the noise of the other airport-goers. Sean emptied two sachets of sugar into his coffee while Lev stirred his own, watching him. Sean could tell Lev was unsure about him.

‘I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me,’ Sean said, blowing steam from his cup. ‘I think you’ll be interested in what I’ve been able to uncover so far.’

‘Go on,’ Lev said.

‘I think there’s something up there. Something big. Well, not physically big perhaps, but something amazing. Something… alien.’ He took a swig of coffee, watching Lev to see how he reacted. His emotionless expression remained steady.

‘That’s a bold assumption. Do you have proof?’

Sean shrugged. ‘All the pieces fit. Heavy NASA involvement, a sudden mission change, loss of contact—’

‘What makes you think there’s been a loss of contact?’

‘Come on, it’s been weeks without a peep from the station.’

‘We could be using encrypted channels.’

‘And why would they be encrypted?’ Sean said, grinning. ‘Hiding something… extra-terrestrial?’

Lev folded his arms. He looked impressed. ‘You’re clever — perhaps too clever. I would be careful who you share this information with. I’m sure there are many who would go a long way in keeping you silent.’

‘So why are you here?’ Sean said, leaning in close, eyes fixed on Lev’s. ‘Why are you helping me?’

The questions seemed to catch Lev off guard. ‘That’s — that’s not important,’ he said.