EMERGENCE (43 page)

Waited another five minutes; circularized orbit again, using all but last whiff of nitrogen. Then looked around with earnestness not unmixed with, distinct from, panic . . . .

And there it was (I'll be damned!) no more than couple hundred yards away!

Resumed breathing.

And, in retrospect, diagnosed problem: Vehicle dead black, nonreflective; visible only through occultation under best of conditions. Spot over which hung on Earth's equator approaching sunrise line; bomb almost between me, Sol; background glare obscured.

Then took first good look at bomb:
huge
thing—carbon copy of
Hale;
lacked only cockpit, cargo bay doors, etc. But where shuttle essentially friendly looking, bomb
not
(visceral reaction; don't ask why). Harris correct: ominous-looking beast. Hung in void looking like modern Charon's ferry.

Used up last puff of nitrogen from current MMU; kicked loose, mounted third. Lined up thrust axis on bomb, used five percent of remaining reaction mass accelerating. Two-mile-per-hour approach speed ample: Still two and a half hours to bomb's departure; no point losing head, rushing. Would feel foolish during final seconds if, when so close to success, lost head, hurried; built up too much speed, split helmet on hull.

Braked to relative stop only yards from nose. Then realized hadn't faintest idea where on monster access hatch actually located—training involved only cutaway sectional mock-up; drawings studied encompassed only specifics of own job. Engineering logic suggested had to be somewhere near bow, of course. Just matter of jetting around, finding it.

But now learned how limited MMU skills really were. Operation heretofore limited to straight-line thrusting; examining bomb carrier involved full range of maneuvering operations: yaw, pitch, twist, start, stop—and damned thing insisted on doing what I
told
it to do instead of what I
wanted
it to do. Frustrating in extreme.

Finally managed to stabilize self. Checked MMU status: about 50 percent gone; mostly wasted curing pilot-induced tumbling. Transferred to final MMU, left equipment bundle parked against what would be belly on
Hale;
set out to reconnoiter solo—maneuvering much more easily.

Drifted gently back along starboard side to wing's leading edge without encountering hatch. Checked motion; moved toward topsides, headed back toward nose. Still nothing.

Eventually found hatch almost exactly where
Hale's
crew hatch located: short distance up from belly, back from nose on portside.

Returned for equipment; maneuvered cautiously, with only occasional miscue, back to hatch.

Studied locking mechanism. Appeared similar to that on drawings, mock-up. Operation proved identical.

But not easiest gismo to operate under weightless conditions: Breathing pretty hard, faceplate partially fogged, by time got it open.

Parked MMU; secured with wire tie to latch handle. Drew self, equipment in through opening. Switched on flashlight.

Looking around produced sense of
déjà vu:
What could see of interior corresponded perfectly to training aids.

Headed for inner shell access hatch. Wriggled amongst, between structural pieces without difficulty (one aspect of task made easier by zero gee). Located, unlatched, swung open.

Wedged toolbox in convenient angle between trusses adjacent to hatch. Unstrapped PLSS from back, squirmed through 9-by-14-inch opening, trailing life-support lines.

Drew PLSS close to hatch; pulled entire coil of life-support lines through with me. Reached back, retrieved toolbox.

Maneuvered through complex of structural members to detonator, carefully paying out lines en route, watching for, avoiding, tendency to kink.

Studied exterior components; verified everything as represented on drawings, mock-up. Opened toolbox, set to work.

Actual warhead defusing anticlimactic. After week of intensive training amidst ever-mounting tension, operation proved simplicity itself: Snipped wires in correct order, undid four bolts, removed one plate; planted feet on bulkhead on either side of detonator, gripped shaft firmly; triggered hysterical strength, pulled, twisted, pulled again. Ta-dah.

Retained grip as shaft slid free; preferred not having 150 pounds of high-explosive bouncing around inside closed compartment with me.

Hour and half remained before deorbit burn.

Returned to hatch, carefully gathering life-support lines as retraced route amongst structural members. Brought toolbox, detonator shaft.

Squeezed back through hatch, resecured. Remounted PLSS on EMU back; coiled lines neatly, resecured to belt.

First act upon returning to outer hatch: Pitched detonator shaft into space.
Hard.

Then reeled in MMU; snuggled between armrests, closed latches. With briefcase terminals tied to belt in front, set off for electrical umbilicus hatch, some 15 feet forward.

Prevailed upon MMU to halt inches away after brief, seesaw discussion. Got hatch open without difficulty. Scrutinized multiple-prong socket, identified computer port.

Unshipped briefcase, opened (keyboard in one half, LCD display in other). Unfolded solar-cell array, positioned in direct sunlight. Deployed extension arms; snapped into appropriate EMU belt/shoulder fastenings to hold terminal in proper waist-level typing position.

Flipped main switch to
on
; waited while baby mainframe disk spun up to operating speed, read/write head deployed. Queried system as to state of health, spirits; received affirmative reply (bulky EMU gloves no advantage on standard keyboard).

Unwound coaxial cable from pouch at belt; inserted plug firmly into port, wiggled. Felt click as seated even through gloves. Plugged other end into terminal.

Offered cheery "good morning" to IVN. (no kidding; acronym derived from actual Russian name [three guesses how pronounced]); waited, holding breath.

And waited.

(Not complaining about delay, mind you; understood IVN pretty busy with deorbit countdown, sundry prereentry chores. Probably didn't have lots of time to spare for small-talk.)

After about two minutes (during which debated wisdom of repeating access demand, but didn't for fear duplicate commands might confuse issue) IVN welcomed me in. Greeted appearance of primary menu with heartfelt relief.

(And unspoken prayer of thanks to Whomever arranged for
Khraniteli
to incorporate stolen American disk-operating-system virtually intact, retaining logically daisy-chained menus-within-menus-within-menus software format. Child could operate [child
thanks
You!].)

Selected
Ballistika.
Waited some more.

Just how much of IVN's capacity tied up in countdown activities increasingly apparent: Took almost four minutes to locate, display submenu. Took another three minutes to pull out
Koordinaty Prizemlenia
fill-in-blanks programming display.

Thought hard for moment, confirmed Vandenberg's figures in head; plugged in numbers, reached for
execute
key . . .

Stopped dead—horrified at how close had come to falling into trap.

Have known all along bomb intended for water landing. But to me, "water landing" conjures up images of old Mercury,
Gemini, Apollo
capsules splashing down in Pacific on parachutes. Assumption settled in quickly, took hold. Not even sight of winged behemoth penetrated hell-bent fixation, set off warning bells.

Obviously this vehicle designed for conventional shuttle-style approach: high-speed glide to flare-out, touchdown. Builders clearly intended vehicle's 120-ton momentum (multiplied by 200-plus-mile-per-hour touchdown velocity), together with new alloy's incredible strength, to add up to can't-miss, unmanned, midocean landing technique—rain or shine: Would punch through storm waves, if necessary, as if not there, deceleration remaining within design limits (at ten gees, after all, takes only
one second
to stop from
Hale's
215-mile-per-hour touchdown speed).

But Vandenberg not ocean. Dry-land Air Force base. Set into, amongst craggy coastal hills. Almost low mountains.

Now,
Khraniteli
copied almost everything else about NASA shuttles while designing, constructing bomb-carrier; probably copied good stuff from Terminal Area Energy Management system as well: IVN undoubtedly programmed to come in high, hot; feel for ground with radar altimeter; set up approach pattern, glide-slope calculated to touch down on precise point called for in
Koordinaty Prizemleniya
order blank.

But coordinates in
IFR Supplement
usually for given airfield's geographic center. Maybe high-speed touchdown (in whatever direction) at 34 degrees 44 minutes north longitude, 120 degrees 35 minutes west latitude, would place me middle of lovely, wide, two-, three-mile-long runway, with lots of room to dissipate speed . . .

Or maybe not—and doubt new material strong enough to withstand dissipating speed in mountainside (or if so, not apt to matter much to me; would be thin red film on forward bulkhead).

Realization came very close to triggering total panic as wondered what else had overlooked. But time growing steadily shorter; watch showed little better than hour remaining before deorbit burn.

Clamped down, blocked out emotions; refused to permit access to transaction. Forced brain to think—constructively; not wordless, nonstop, fearful keening that lurked just beyond fraying edges of control.

Willed mind's eye to recall, display tattered yellowish
IFR Supplement.
Mentally opened cover, began thumbing through, looking for familiar names, as had last week. Remembered seeing Oshkosh, Colorado Springs, Los Angeles, Chicago . . .

Edwards
Air
Force Base . . . !

Of course—original shuttle landing site! Perfect: miles and miles of flat, unobstructed desert in every direction . . .

If only could recall coordinates. Hadn't specifically noted at time; would have to reconstruct page from memory of peripheral observation.

Ought to be possible: Always have had good memory; almost eidetic at times. True, occasionally lose names, places, details, appointments, etc.; but only temporarily—have
always
been able to retrieve when necessary. Just matter of time . . .

Of which didn't have any!
frantic little voice shrieked inside head.

Bore down instantly, cut off emotional outburst; focused total attention on completing picture in head. Knew details in there somewhere,
had
to be; just matter of digging out—
dig
. . . !

I dug. And suddenly numbers stood out from page. Quickly, before doubts could blur outlines, copied figures into
Koordinaty Prizemlenia
menu: 34 degrees 54 minutes north longitude, 117 degrees 52 minutes west latitude.

Paused briefly; mentally tried for close-up to confirm. Nothing happened. Apparently best could do.

Okay. Took deep breath, stiffened resolve, pushed
execute.
IVN mulled instructions for endless minutes; finally responded with
Peremena Prinyata
(change accepted).

MMU operation while returning to hatch appreciably less smooth than on way out: Shaking hands, near emotional collapse, serious impediments to efficient operation.

But final details remained undone before deorbit burn. Among which, closing hatch—never intended to be operated from inside (naturally enough). Cycled exterior latch handle several times, peeking around edge, studying workings of bits, pieces on inside. Functions seemed obvious enough; didn't think getting closed, locked, would pose insurmountable problem. So pulled self in through opening.

Turned back, gave MMU hearty push; likewise with terminals—suspected would have trouble enough without large, heavy, unyielding objects bouncing around interior with me at Moment of Truth.

Swung hatch shut; employed tools (retained toolbox; would need during next several minutes) to secure latch. Then adjourned to preselected passenger area: lateral bulkhead just aft of warhead chamber, as near to hull's central axis as could find suitably flat surface close to struts, braces, trusses.

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.