Andrew Morgan - Vessel

‘Do we still have contact with the ISS?’ Aleks asked.

‘Not at the moment,’ Lev said. ‘The radiation storm from the first flare is still passing. We estimate another half-hour before comms are restored. I wanted you here ready for the link up.’

Aleks nodded, turning to look back at the double doors. He could hear raised voices, and as a member of security exited, a fragment of the shouting slipped in through the swinging door.

‘Excuse me one moment,’ Lev said, heading for the door himself. It had barely swung shut behind him when Aleks heard Lev’s deep, authoritative bark adding to the muffled cacophony. The voices died down after a minute, and Lev returned looking furious. Bales followed him, his tanned face expressionless and cold below his colourless crew-cut hair. They marched over, and Aleks shot a puzzled expression at Lev when Bales wasn’t looking, but Lev either ignored it or didn’t see it. He sat down beside Aleks, but Bales continued to stand, looking around the room. Clearing his throat, he addressed everyone in a near-perfect Russian dialect, albeit one tainted with a slightly robotic accent:

‘Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention for a moment, please?’

He already had it.

‘My name is John Bales, and I have been sent by NASA to work closely with you all following the recent discovery of the unidentified vessel that we have code-named UV One . It has been decided in a joint negotiation between our two states that should the situation escalate to a point that our astronauts are in a state of immediate danger, our expertise and authority — NASA’s expertise and authority — will take command. That time—’

Hushed whispers rippled around the room.

‘That time,’ Bales repeated, raising his voice a fraction, ‘has come, and so I will duly take command of this operation.’

The flutter of whispers became open discontentment, some operators shaking their heads in disbelief.

‘It is for the safety of us, our astronauts and for the people of Earth,’ Bales said, scanning the room, ‘and I expect you all to continue doing your very best. That is all.’

He stood watching as everyone turned back to their stations. Aleks could tell by the look on his face that he was glad — no, worse than that, delighted — to be taking control of the mission.

‘Still nothing,’ Aleks said, after failing to reach the ISS yet again.

Bales chewed the stylus of his touch pad, thinking. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Keep trying, ten-minute intervals.’

Aleks made a note of the time for his next broadcast. Lev, who was sat alongside Bales, was staring into the distance.

‘If you’ll excuse me,’ Bales said, standing up, ‘I need to make a few phone calls.’

Without waiting for a response, he strode off, flicking through his touch pad as he walked. Just before he left the room altogether, he turned around and called: ‘Please be sure to inform me of any changes to the situation, okay?’

And then he was gone. Aleks, who watched him leave, turned to Lev as soon as the door swung shut.

‘Are you going to let him carry on like this?’ he said.

Lev, a faint veil of dejectedness hanging over him, shrugged. The expression aged him considerably, and the usual sharpness in his keen eyes seemed to have fizzled out.

‘What can I do?’ he said. ‘It’s not my call if the RFSA decides that this is the best course of action. Maybe it is for the best. Maybe the Americans are better trained at this than we are.’

Aleks snorted. ‘ No-one is trained for this and you know it.’

Lev looked blank for a moment, and before he could speak, a wiry-looking man with a floppy haircut appeared with a ream of printouts.

‘I’ve got some more readings on the radiation storm,’ the wiry man said, flicking his drooping side-parting with a twitch of his head, ‘and it looks like we should get an opportunity for communication with the ISS in the next few minutes. But,’ he continued, letting the ream spill onto the desk so he could point to a line that slashed up and down in quick succession, ‘it’ll only be for a minute or two at the most. After that, the next window could be hours, days — even weeks away.’

‘Thank you Pyotr,’ Lev said, acknowledging the man with a half-hearted smile. Pyotr dithered, looking unsure, then gathered up his printouts and returned to his station. Before Lev could even open his mouth, Aleks was already broadcasting, nudging his headset down to a more comfortable position on his head as he spoke.

‘RS0ISS, TsUP, please come back.’

He paused and waited for a few seconds before trying again.

‘RS0ISS, RS0ISS, how do you read?’

A loud burst of garbled static gave his heart a jolt, and he instinctively snatched at the gain controls to manage the harsh levels.

‘RS0ISS,’ Aleks repeated, desperate to hear a voice through the digital mess, ‘can you hear me? I repeat, can you hear me ?’

He held his breath as he waited, searching the soundscape for signs of life. There were nigh on a hundred people in the room, but at that moment it felt like it was him on his own, his world shrinking around him as he focussed his attention on his hearing. The radio hissed and crackled again, this time more quietly, and Aleks’ trained ear heard a voice hidden somewhere in the confused mass of sound.

‘I think I’ve got them,’ he said, hands darting from one control to the next to isolate the signal. ‘Negative copy RS0ISS,’ he said, his calm voice hiding the racing energy in his chest. ‘Please modulate your downlink on the DSKY using manual. I’m trying a connection through an alternate satellite.’

The static came through again; this time the voice was definite, but still not understandable.

‘I’ve almost got you, RS0ISS. Try again.’

The crackle died and Aleks waited, his thumb and index finger poised on the gain control.

‘TsUP, TsUP — RS0ISS, please confirm — signal,’ came Mikhail’s voice, laden with static and broken up into chunks, but clear enough to understand. Relief flooded through Aleks. He nodded to Lev and switched the main loudspeaker on.

‘RS0ISS, readability two, strength four — we’re reading you with some noise, but we can hear you clearly enough. Can you confirm your current situation?’

The intermittent replay came intertwined with the hiss of millions of radioactive particles as the solar storm thundered through the ISS at the speed of light:

‘The situation — okay — reading — levels of radiation.’

‘Copy, RS0ISS, remain inside your radiation protection compartments where possible and limit your exposure time. Anything to report on UV One?’

‘Negative — no change to — continue to maintain — aft.’

‘Okay, RS0ISS. Please cease all activity and remain inside your radiation protection compartments until further notice.’

‘—opy, TsUP.’

Then there was silence, and Aleks waited to see if Mikhail had anything more to add. He did.

‘TsUP, how long — we transfer — to Earth?’

Aleks was taken aback by this unexpected question. Looking to Lev, whose corrugated brow mirrored his own concern, he pushed the broadcast button.

‘You’ve got just over a week until Progress arrives with the resupply for the refit and return, and then another four weeks until the next team goes up on Soyuz TMA Eleven M and you come back.’

He released the button, frowned, and then pressed it again. ‘Is everything okay up there?’

The response came a little later than felt normal.

‘Yeah, yeah — think so. Just getting a little — up here. It feels close.’

There was a pause. Aleks thought Mikhail sounded anxious. Mikhail never sounded anxious.