The Best of Bova: Volume 1 (42 page)

Swinging from handhold to handhold along the length of the lab, he made his way back toward the airlock.

“Okay, it’s finished. How’s Linda doing?”

Jill answered, “She’s all set.”

“Send her out.”

She came out slowly, uncertain wavering feet sliding out first from the bulbous airlock. It reminded Kinsman of a film he had seen of a whale giving birth.

“Welcome to the real world,” he said when her head cleared the airlock hatch.

She turned to answer him and he heard her gasp and he knew that now he liked her.

“It’s . . . it’s . . .”

“Staggering,” Kinsman suggested. “And look at you—no hands.” She was floating freely, pressure-suit laden with camera gear, umbilical line flexing easily behind her. Kinsman couldn’t see her face through the tinted visor, but he could hear the awe in her voice, even in her breathing.

“I’ve never seen anything so absolutely overwhelming . . .” And then, suddenly, she was all business, reaching for a camera, snapping away at the Earth and stars and distant moon, rapidfire. She moved too fast and started to tumble. Kinsman jetted over and steadied her, holding her by the shoulders.

“Hey, take it easy. They’re not going away. You’ve got lots of time.”

“I want to get some shots of you, and the lab. Can you get over by the pod and go through some of the motions of your work on it?”

Kinsman posed for her, answered her questions, rescued a camera when she fumbled it out of her hands and couldn’t reach it as it drifted away from her.

“Judging distances gets a little whacky out here,” he said, handing the camera back to her.

Jill called them twice and ordered them back inside. “Chet, you’re already fifteen minutes over the limit!”

“There’s plenty slop in the schedule; we can stay out a while longer.”

“You’re going to get her exhausted.”

“I really feel fine,” Linda said, her voice lyrical.

“How much more film do you have?” Kinsman asked her. She peered at the camera. “Six more shots.”

“Okay, we’ll be in when the film runs out, Jill.”

“You’re going to be in darkness in another five minutes!”

Turning to Linda, who was floating upside-down with the cloud-laced Earth behind her, he said, “Save your film for the sunset, then shoot like hell when it comes.”

“The sunset? What’ll I focus on?”

“You’ll know when it happens. Just watch.”

It came fast, but Linda was equal to it. As the lab swung in its orbit toward the Earth’s night shadow, the sun dropped to the horizon and shot off a spectacular few moments of the purest reds and oranges and finally a heart-catching blue. Kinsman watched in silence, hearing Linda’s breath going faster and faster as she worked the camera.

Then they were in darkness. Kinsman flicked on his helmet lamp. Linda was just hanging there, camera still in hand.

“It’s . . . impossible to describe.” Her voice sounded empty, drained. “If I hadn’t seen it . . . if I didn’t get it on film, I don’t think I’d be able to convince myself that I wasn’t dreaming.”

Jill’s voice rasped in his earphones. “Chet, get inside! This is against every safety reg, being outside in the dark.”

He looked over toward the lab. Lights were visible along its length and the ports were lighted from within. Otherwise, he could barely make it out, even though it was only a few meters away.

“Okay, okay. Turn on the airlock-light so we can see the hatch.” Linda was still bubbling about the view outside, long after they had pulled off their pressure suits and eaten sandwiches and cookies.

“Have you ever been out there?” she asked Jill.

Perched on the biology bench’s edge, near the mice colony, Jill nodded curtly. “Twice.”

“Isn’t it spectacular? I hope the pictures come out; some of the settings on the camera . . .”

“They’ll be all right,” Jill said. “And if they’re not, we’ve got a backlog of photos you can use.”

“Oh, but they wouldn’t have the shots of Chet working on the power pod.”

Jill shrugged. “Aren’t you going to take more photos in here? If you want to get some pictures of real space veterans, you ought to snap the mice here. They’ve been up for months now, living fine and raising families. And they don’t make such a fuss about it, either.”

“Well, some of us do exciting things,” Kinsman said, “and some of us tend mice.”

Jill glowered at him.

Glancing at his wristwatch, Kinsman said, “Ladies, it’s my sack time. I’ve had a trying day: mechanic, tourist guide, and cover boy for
Photo Day.
Work, work, work.”

He glided past Linda with a smile, kept it for Jill as he went by her. She was still glaring.

When he woke up again and went back into the main cabin, Jill was talking pleasantly with Linda as the two of them stood over the microscope and specimen rack of the biology bench.

Linda saw him first. “Oh, hi. Jill’s been showing me the spores she’s studying. And I photographed the mice. Maybe they’ll go on the cover instead of you.”

Kinsman grinned. “She’s been poisoning your mind against me.” But to himself he wondered,
What the hell has Jill been telling her about me?

Jill drifted over to the control desk, picked up the clipboard with the mission log on it and tossed it lightly toward Kinsman.

“Ground control says the power pod checks out all green,” she said. “You did a good job.”

“Thanks.” He caught the clipboard. “Whose turn in the sack is it?”

“Mine,” Jill answered.

“Okay. Anything special cooking?”

“No. Everything’s on schedule. Next data transmission comes up in twelve minutes. Kodiak station.”

Kinsman nodded. “Sleep tight.”

Once Jill had shut the curtain to the bunkroom, Kinsman carried the mission log to the control desk and sat down. Linda stayed at the biology bench, about three paces away.

He checked the instrument board with a quick glance, then turned to Linda. “Well, now do you know what I meant about this being a way of life?”

“I think so. It’s so different.”

“It’s the real thing. Complete freedom. Brave new world. After ten minutes of EVA, everything else is just toothpaste.”

“It was certainly exciting.”

“More than that. It’s
living
. Being on the ground is a drag, even flying a plane is dull now. This is where the fun is . . . out here in orbit and on the moon. It’s as close to heaven as anybody’s gotten.”

“You’re really serious?”

“Damned right. I’ve even been thinking of asking Murdock for a transfer to NASA duty. Air Force missions don’t include the moon, and I’d like to walk around on the new world, see the sights.”

She smiled at him. “I’m afraid I’m not that enthusiastic.”

“Well, think about it for a minute. Up here, you’re free. Really free, for the first time in your life. All the laws and rules and prejudices they’ve been dumping on you all your life, they’re all
down there.
Up here it’s a new start. You can be yourself and do your own thing . . . and nobody can tell you different.”

“As long as somebody provides you with air and food and water and . . .”

“That’s the physical end of it, sure. We’re living in a microcosm, courtesy of the aerospace industry and AFSC. But there’re no strings on us. The brass can’t make us follow their rules. We’re writing the rule books ourselves. For the first time since 1776, we’re writing new rules.”

Linda looked thoughtful now. Kinsman couldn’t tell if she was genuinely impressed by his line, or if she knew what he was trying to lead up to. He turned back to the control desk and studied the mission flight plan again.

He had carefully considered all the possible opportunities, and narrowed them down to two.
Both of them tomorrow, over the Indian Ocean. Forty to fifty minutes between ground stations, and Jill’s asleep both times.

“AF-9, this is Kodiak.”

He reached for the radio switch. “AF-9 here, Kodiak. Go ahead.”

“We are receiving your automatic data transmission loud and clear.”

“Roger Kodiak. Everything normal here; mission profile unchanged.”

“Okay, Niner. We have nothing new for you. Oh wait . . . Chet, Lew Regneson is here and he says he’s betting on you to uphold the Air Force’s honor. Keep ’em flying.”

Keeping his face as straight as possible, Kinsman answered, “Roger, Kodiak. Mission profile unchanged.”

“Good luck!”

Linda’s thoughtful expression had deepened. “What was that all about?”

He looked straight into those cool blue eyes and answered, “Damned if I know. Regneson’s one of the astronaut team; been assigned to Kodiak for the past six weeks. He must be going ice-happy. Thought it’d be best just to humor him.”

“Oh. I see.” But she looked unconvinced.

“Have you checked any of your pictures in the film processor?”

Shaking her head, Linda said, “No, I don’t want to risk them on your automatic equipment. I’ll process them myself when we get back.”

“Damned good equipment,” said Kinsman.

“I’m fussy.”

He shrugged and let it go.

“Chet?”

“What?”

“That power pod . . . what’s it for? Colonel Murdock got awfully coy when I asked him.”

“Nobody’s supposed to know until the announcement’s made in Washington . . . probably when we get back. I can’t tell you officially,” he grinned, “but generally reliable sources believe that it’s going to power a radar set that’ll be orbited next month. The radar will be part of our ABM warning system.”

“Antiballistic missile?”

With a nod, Kinsman explained, “From orbit you can spot missile launches farther away, give the States a longer warning time.”

“So your brave new world is involved in war, too.”

“Sort of.” Kinsman frowned. “Radars won’t kill anybody, of course. They might save lives.”

“But this
is
a military satellite.”

“Unarmed. Two things this brave new world doesn’t have yet: death and love.”

“Men have died . . .”

“Not in orbit. On reentry. In ground or air accidents. No one’s died up here. And no one’s made love, either.”

Despite herself, it seemed to Kinsman, she smiled. “Have there been any chances for it?”

“Well, the Russians have had women cosmonauts. Jill’s been the first American female in orbit. You’re the second.”

She thought it over for a moment. “This isn’t exactly the bridal suite of the Waldorf . . . in fact, I’ve seen better motel rooms along the Jersey Turnpike.”

“Pioneers have to rough it.”

“I’m a photographer, Chet, not a pioneer.”

Kinsman hunched his shoulders and spread his hands helplessly, a motion that made him bob slightly on the chair. “Strike three, I’m out.”

“Better luck next time.”

“Thanks.” He returned his attention to the mission flight plan.
Next time will be in exactly sixteen hours, chickie.

When Jill came out of the sack it was Linda’s turn to sleep. Kinsman stayed at the control desk, sucking on a container of lukewarm coffee. All the panel lights were green. Jill was taking a blood specimen from one of the white mice.

“How’re they doing?”

Without looking up, she answered, “Fine. They’ve adapted to weightlessness beautifully. Calcium level’s evened off, muscle tone is good . . .”

“Then there’s hope for us two-legged types?”

Jill returned the mouse to the colony entrance and snapped the lid shut. It scampered through to rejoin its clan in the transparent plastic maze of tunnels.

“I can’t see any physical reason why humans can’t live in orbit indefinitely,” she answered.

Kinsman caught a slight but definite stress on the word
physical.
“You think there might be emotional problems over the long run?”

“Chet, I can see emotional problems on a three-day mission.” Jill forced the blood specimen into a stoppered test tube.

“What do you mean?”

“Come on,” she said, her face a mixture of disappointment and distaste. “It’s obvious what you’re trying to do. Your tail’s been wagging like a puppy’s whenever she’s in sight.”

“You haven’t been sleeping much, have you?”

“I haven’t been eavesdropping, if that’s what you mean. I’ve simply been watching you watching her. And some of the messages from the ground . . . is the whole Air Force in on this? How much money’s being bet?”

“I’m not involved in any betting. I’m just . . .”

“You’re just taking a risk on fouling up this mission and maybe killing the three of us, just to prove you’re Tarzan and she’s Jane.”

“Goddammit, Jill, now you sound like Murdock.”

The sour look on her face deepened. “Okay. You’re a big boy. If you want to play Tarzan while you’re on duty, that’s your business. I won’t get in your way. I’ll take a sleeping pill and stay in the sack.”

“You will?”

“That’s right. You can have your blonde Barbie doll, and good luck to you. But I’ll tell you this: she’s a phony. I’ve talked to her long enough to dig that. You’re trying to use her, but she’s using us, too. She was pumping me about the power pod while you were sleeping. She’s here for her own reasons, Chet, and if she plays along with you it won’t be for the romance and adventure of it all.”

My
God Almighty, Jill’s jealous!

It was tense and quiet when Linda returned from the bunkroom. The three of them worked separately: Jill fussing over the algae colony on the shelf above the biology bench; Kinsman methodically taking film from the observation cameras for return to Earth and reloading them; Linda efficiently clicking away at both of them.

Ground control called up to ask how things were going. Both Jill and Linda threw sharp glances at Kinsman. He replied merely:

“Following mission profile. All systems green.”

They shared a meal of pastes and squeeze-tubes together, still mostly in silence, and then it was Kinsman’s turn in the sack. But not before he checked the mission flight plan.
Jill goes in next, and we’ll have four hours alone, including a stretch over the Indian Ocean.

Once Jill retired, Kinsman immediately called Linda over to the control desk under the pretext of showing her the radar image of a Russian satellite.

“We’re coming close now.” They hunched side by side at the desk to peer at the orange-glowing radar screen, close enough for Kinsman to scent a hint of very feminine perfume. “Only a thousand kilometers away.”