John Nance - Orbit

Anyway, where was I?

Oh yes. Growing up in my ideal family. At least I thought they were ideal, and I loved my folks, both of whom are gone now. Dad was an executive with a big mining company and an upright, reliable, serious, and dedicated father, who defined life as a series of challenges a man met with responsibility for those who depended on him. But I guess when he was programmed as a child, someone forgot to include the concept of fun and self.

The symbol for new e-mail pops up in the right-hand corner of his screen and Alastair opens a window to read it while still watching the evolving narrative.

To: Alastair

From: Becky

Message: Hey, blockhead! Guess what? There is a private spacecraft in trouble right now on orbit, and there are two men aboard, an astronaut named Bill and a passenger named Kip Dawson. Don’t you ever watch the telly? You’re too cynical, you know that? Ever consider this might be real?

Alastair triggers the reply button.

You’re kidding, right? This could be real ?

He sends it back through cyberspace to Becky wondering what she’s doing on her computer at two in the afternoon in London, but before she can reply a host of other e-mails start snapping in from his friends, all apparently tuning in and reacting to the strange narrative.

If this is real, he thinks, the guy says no one can hear him on the radios. Do the space officials know about this?

He sits back, suddenly uncertain, as if he’s just witnessed a momentous adult event like a serious crime or terrible accident and he should be the one to alert the authorities.

He wonders how upset his dad would be if he tapped on their bedroom door now and asked for help.

No, not a good idea.

Maybe he can handle it himself, but he’s getting a really creepy feeling.

Dammit!

Diana is already coming through the door when Richard spots the bottle of tawny port he’s left on his desk. He’s not a teetotaler, but he abhors the idea of anyone thinking he needs to drink to get through even a day like this.

But she’s already spotted it and gone straight to the bottle, lifting it to examine the label.

“Good brand. Can I mooch some?”

“Be my guest. I was just, ah…”

Her hand is out, accompanying her shaking head.

“No explanation needed, Richard. Frankly, I’d worry about you if you weren’t drinking.” She pours an inch into a tumbler as she hands him his glass, then raises hers in a quick toast. “To NORAD and NASA and God knows who took care of that object.”

“I know.”

“So… who did?”

He’s shaking his head. “They won’t tell me, other than to say that the threat has been terminated and we would be best advised to never mention it.”

“Hookay. I’ll drink to that.”

“Still doesn’t get them back down.”

“No, but it sure solves the immediate problem.”

Richard looks at her, calculating whether to remind her that a few hours ago she’d found a positive side to a quick ending. No point, he concludes. It would sound like a slap, and she was only doing her best. Putting the best face on anything up to and including disaster is what she does.

His cell rings and Richard keys it on, a strange look crossing his face as he asks the caller to hold and raises his eyes to Diana.

“I hate to ask you…”

“But you need some privacy. No problem. I’ll be down the hall.”

She picks up the bottle of port and shoots him a questioning look.

“May I?”

“Please.”

“Good stuff,” she says on the way out.

Richard pulls the phone back to his ear. “Go ahead, Vasily.”

“Well, my friend, it has been a busy last few hours, no?”

A cascade of caution stops his response. Do the Russians know what the Air Force just did?

“Which, ah, nightmare of mine are you referring to?”

There is a chuckle on the other end. “That NASA has decided to get the shuttle ready to go up and do what you’ve retained us to do, Richard. I had a long talk with John Kent. I believe this would be STS193.”

“They’ll never make it in time. At least, I don’t think they will.”

“We don’t think so either, but you know what happens when NASA has a blowtorch to their ass. They usually move. In fact, in my humble experience, that’s the only way to get NASA to move fast.”

“But… you’re still going to try, right?”

“Of course. But things have changed. Now it has become a political matter and a matter of Russian honor.”

“Excuse me?”

“Our president, Andrei Kosachyov, has become involved, and when he discovered that NASA was going to try and probably fail, and that we were getting ready to do this for you for a price, he directed us to cancel the charge and be the ones to pluck your people back as a humanitarian gesture.”

“Really?” Richard replies, thinking of his two million dollars now in a Moscow bank. “Without charge?”

There is a pause and then brief unrestrained laughter. “Yes, Richard, without charge, and your deposit is already being wired back to you. Good for you, no? Bad for me. No commission.”

“Hey, I can take care of that.”

“No charge means no charge, but we are on schedule now. I thought you needed to know.”

“Thank you, Vasily!”

“Oh, one other thing. The Japanese Space Agency’s Hiragawa just called me. He said the Chinese are about to make a similar decision to help.”

“You’re kidding?”

“No. It may get crowded up there.”

“Well, aren’t you guys going to coordinate?”

“If coordinate means defer to them, the answer is no. We have our orders. We will get your people. This is no time for the Chinese to be messing around.”

People first, Ronald Porter thinks to himself, smiling. It’s the reason he came aboard as Chief of Staff, jumping political parties for a man who keeps earning his respect.

The President doesn’t notice Ron’s smile. He’s talking to one of his Secret Service agents whose wife has just been diagnosed with Parkinson’s, comforting him as best he can.

They’re passing over Bolling Air Force Base on the east bank of the Potomac as the President turns his attention back to why Ron has decided to hop aboard a routine Air Force One flight to New York.

“So how is the Commerce Committee going to vote?” the President asks.

“That’s… they’re with us. But there’s something else we need to discuss.” He hands the President a one-page summary of an intelligence report less than an hour old.

“What’s this, Ron? The Russians?”

“Our buddies in Moscow have decided to ride to the rescue and go after the ASA spacecraft.”

“A special launch?”

“Actually, they’re moving up a scheduled ISS resupply mission.”

“Don’t they know we’re going to send the shuttle?”

“They don’t believe we can.”

“Well, hell, Ron, get someone on the phone to set them straight. Have Shear make the call.”

“It all started with Kosachyov a few hours ago. He’s determined to be the white knight. So, should we stand down?”

“Cancel our effort?”

“Yes. I talked to Shear. He heartily advises it.”

“I’m sure he does. I had to order him to get cracking.”

“He may have a solid point.”

“About safety?”

“Safety and cost. As he says, we only have two shuttles left, and when you push something on an emergency basis, you cut corners and take additional risks.”