David Palmer - Emergence

Brought along cushions, harnesses from Hale’s three remaining seats (had to disturb Harris, Kyril, briefly to remove). Cushions consist of several pieces per chair. Combined (sticking together with tape) into full-length, double-thick mattress; taped firmly to bulkhead between two stiffeners.

Combined various harness, toolbox components to construct semblance of body restraint over top of makeshift acceleration couch; anchored to structural members. Final product unlikely to pass FAA inspection; attachment strength not even close to that inherent in strap material itself. But harness created for limited purpose of keeping me from being dislodged from cushions by intermittent lateral RCS jostling during periods of major gees. If still conscious after reentry, can attempt to reposition self against forward bulkhead before touchdown.

If not…

Well, won’t have to worry about it then, will I.

Employed still more tape, wire, to tie four spare EMUs in place.

Toolbox disposal final chore: Once couch assembled, wormed across to infamous inner-shell access hatch, opened, pushed toolbox through, resecured.

Then unfastened PLSS from back; secured to adjacent bulkhead truss. Positioned self against couch. Fastened straps with trembling hands, lay head against intra-helmet pad, placed helmet firmly against cushions.

Glance at watch showed three minutes to deorbit burn — nothing like cutting it close…!

Closed eyes, breathed deeply, triggered relaxation sequence. Mentally reviewed physical condition: better than expected after events of day, including tapping hysterical strength twice (but only briefly; twisting Kyril’s neck over in hundredths of second, detonator shaft came out easily).

Hanging within web of straps, helmet touching cushions which in turn contacted bulkhead, became aware of activity within structure: thumps, clicks, beeps; taut, powerful humming; occasional muted bang accompanied by barely perceptible shove as RCS thrusters completed final preburn alignment. Background sounds conveyed impression of enormous, humorless, very hungry beast gathering to spring.

Countdown timer showed 57 seconds to go. Placed arms carefully under straps at sides. Began breathing deeply, rapidly as possible; wanted to hyperventilate, carry oxygen surplus into deorbit burn: No idea if breathing possible under ten gees.

Counted off seconds in head. Discovered internal clock needs adjustment: Heard APUs (or whatever Khraniteli call theirs) start up at minus 30 seconds; then detected heavy vibration, deep rumble at about minus 15 as main engines fired, built up to operating pressure…

And suddenly very glad hyperventilated: Had time for single final inhalation as gees mounted; then could not breathe. Or move. Or do anything else beyond wishing ghastly, crushing pressure would end.

Experimentally tried to move finger. Any finger. Could. Just. Didn’t try to move anything else.

Terrible ride seemed endless: Pressure, noise, vibration went on and on and on and…

Suddenly floated up against straps as compression of cushions, own tissues, released. Deorbit burn over… !

But quickly squelched rising jubilation: Gee forces least of worries.

And had work to do — most vital work of all: writing this record. Spent roughly last hour and quarter scribbling feverishly by light of now-dying flashlight, hurrying to finish before bomb completes dive, arrives at cometary orbit’s perigee where main engines cut in again.

Dragging heels at ten gees chops 320 feet per second from velocity each second. That’s 19,200 feet, three and a half miles per second, slower per minute. To stop ship entirely, drop into atmosphere without reentry-heat problems, would require braking for roughly minute and half. Very much doubt will happen that way.

However, preparations made (to extent possible): My spare EMU already inside Kyril’s EMU’s lower torso, lacking only helmet. Kyril’s unit’s lower torso already in spare adult EMU’s lower torso. Both adult suits’ upper torsos already assembled: helmets, gloves, etc.

Life-support lines from my spare’s remote PLSS lead in through small slits in adult torsos. Stripped PLSS from Kyril’s EMU: Of no benefit inside outer suit; any heat it extracts from interior only has to be removed second time by outer suit’s PLSS.

After final braking, before atmospheric contact, will place record inside my spare, install helmet; assemble Kyril’s around it, uninflated; then assemble adult spare around both. Pretty squishy, but fits (already tried it for practice).

Once record tucked inside innermost EMU, all three buttoned up, appropriate PLSSs activated, record should be safe (safe as anything likely to be under circumstances).

For own protection, have already donned Harris’s EMU over mine, helmet included. Lack only outer gloves, work of seconds (hard enough to write through one pair). Am ready to close up, grit teeth, at moment’s notice.

But perhaps better call halt, for moment anyway, compose self for engine braking. Getting caught unawares, with arm unsupported over body in writing position, could result in broken bones. Or worse.

Probably have few more comments after final burn — not because expect to have anything important to say, but helps keep mind from dwelling on atmospheric braking side effects.

Damned Khraniteli double-crossed me! Have to hurry now, Posterity — was no engine braking prior to reentry…!

(Or perhaps my fault? Could attempted retargeting have screwed up software?)

Whatever — was already wondering if braking sequence might be overdue, whether something amiss, when perceived first hint of returning gravity; detected faintest, shrill whining sound transmitted through hull, cushions, helmet — already entering upper atmosphere…!

Sure wish could ride out reentry inside inner shell with computer, detonator, other tender components; but adult suit won’t fit through hatch, and have no way of securing remote PLSS reliably. Would be in bad way if started bouncing around out here; could wreck internal workings, sever lines.

Damn… better hurry — starting to get warm in here!

Please, God — don’t let me burn…!

This isn’t funny anymore — not that it ever was…

Something is going on. Something spooky. Something downright eerie, in fact. Whatever it is, I think it may be coming to a head.

And I’m scared. I can tell Adam is, too.

Terry’s “launch soliloquy,” with Lisa’s related sudden upset, was bad enough. But this morning was crazy . And if it continues much longer, I’m positively going to lose my mind!

It started at exactly 5:30 A.M., just moments before we would have been getting up anyway to get an early start and take advantage of every minute of daylight. I was already awake, staring unhappily into the dark; worrying about Candy, wondering about Lisa and Terry, and about this creeping sense of foreboding that weighs increasingly upon all of us.

There was no warning; it’s a good thing I’ve got a sound heart or it would have stopped right then and there.

Simultaneous with Lisa’s inarticulate scream came Terry’s high, thin shriek: “Kyril — NO…! ”

Adam is not troubled by indecision: He was on his feet with the bedroom light on before the echoes died away, and he had the living room light on even as I sat up and looked around.

Lisa was sitting straight up in bed, trembling; eyes wide, empty, and horrified. Terry was on the floor, looking around with a confused, frightened expression.

Leaving Adam to retrieve him, I went immediately to Lisa and took her in my arms and held her. She gave no sign of knowing I was there. Her every muscle was rigid and trembling. She panted like a winded fawn and her heart raced wildly.