The young pilot appeared busy. He must be reviewing the burn times for the rendezvous, thought Satomura. He looked at Vladimir’s face more closely. There was something there that unsettled him. At first he could not place it. His appearance, for the most part, appeared normal; a casual observer would not give him a second thought, other, perhaps, than to think that this was a man bent on his work. That was it, thought Satomura. There was an intensity there that he had never seen in Vladimir before. As Satomura pondered its possible significance, he glanced out the window and suddenly realized that this would be his last glimpse of the Martian surface. With only a few seconds remaining, he attempted to take in every detail and stamp what he saw indelibly into his memory. A sense of sadness and regret came over him. He did not want to leave. He felt as if his work had just begun. He knew that he was too old ever to return to Mars and that even if he were not, the radiation he had received from the solar flare on the outbound leg had put an end to his career as an astronaut.
“Thirty seconds to ignition,” Tatiana announced. Komarov’s attention was focused entirely on the instrument panel before him and the master arm that ignited the ascent engine. It only had two positions—ON and OFF—and it was his responsibility to make the go, no-go decision. The ascent engine was powered by a mixture of fluorine/oxygen and methane and produced thirty-five thousand pounds of thrust. To reduce the likelihood of a malfunction, the engineers had kept the engine simple. This, however, did not alleviate Komarov’s concern, for he had seen firsthand the sand that had managed to work its way into the plug nozzle. They had removed what they could, and he hoped it was sufficient. The
Gagarin
would have to obtain a speed of 17,500 kilometers per hour to reach low-Mars orbit. If the engine fired, that wouldn’t be a problem. It would then ignite again to put the lander in the same orbit as the
Druzhba
. These thoughts and their contingencies and the actions he would have to take raced through Komarov’s mind as he prepared himself for the piloting of the
Gagarin
.
“Mode control auto,” Tatiana said.
Komarov held his breath as he threw the switch.
“Master arm on.” To a stranger’s ear the tension in his voice would have gone unnoticed, but Satomura jerked around to examine his commander.
“Nine,” Tatiana began, “eight . . . seven . . . six . . . five . . . engine arm ascent . . . go!”
They braced themselves for the initial g impact. When the launch clock reached zero seconds remaining, the only sound heard was that of the environmental-control system circulating oxygen. They did not feel any vibrations or hear any rumblings. The
Gagarin
remained deathly silent on the surface. Tatiana dropped her head into her hands.
“The engines have failed to ignite,” Komarov said calmly. Satomura unstrapped his safety harness and stood up, stretching his limbs as if they had been confined by iron shackles. He saw that Komarov was entering commands to shut down the launch sequence. Tatiana had her head cradled in her arms. There was nothing here for him to do.
“I will be in the lab if you require me,” he said.
Komarov spun rapidly around and raised a hand as if he were going to order him to stay, but before he spoke his stern expression melted into gloom, and his hand dropped weakly to his side. The futility of his efforts had struck him. His head sank slowly into his shoulders as he nodded his acknowledgment.
C
arter eased himself into the pilot’s seat and gave Nelson a thumbs-up. Behind him and to his left was an empty chair. He gazed at it momentarily, then turned away to look out the small window. The sky was still dark with yellow clouds. The global dust storm had not yet passed. But he was not all that concerned, since the wind speed was well below the abort thresh-old. He scanned the instrument panel as he chewed a stick of gum, which he had placed in his mouth prior to locking down his helmet.
The launch checklist appeared on the monitor. He read each item out loud, and Nelson responded with a sharp: “Check.” When they had finished fifteen minutes later, Carter instructed the computer to initiate the launch sequence. He allowed himself to relax. His remaining responsibility prior to the actual launch was to arm the engines. The computer would handle the rest.
He rested his head against the back of his helmet. He wondered what the Russians were doing and what he would do if he were in their situation. The ascent engine for the
Shepard
was of a different design. It used a different fuel mixture. Nitrogen tetroxide and hydrazine, which burned on contact, eliminating the need for an igniter. Diagnostics performed by the
Druzhba
computer had revealed it was the igniter that had failed. The Russian Space Agency believed that the hard landing might have cracked the insulation that protected the ignition system, and that dust from the local storm shorted the circuitry. The crew would have to dismantle the engine to know for certain, and they did not possess the proper tools or equipment to do that. It was not something that they could fix. Carter then thought of their second trip to the cave. They had managed to capture one of the cephalopod-like creatures in a pressurized container. Satomura had said that it probably would not live for more than a few days. The pressurized container was strapped down inside the airlock.
Carter was stirred from his thoughts by the computer as it announced the commencement of the final sequence. He sat up straight and strapped the safety belt across his waist. A quick glance out the window revealed that the weather conditions had not changed. He watched the monitor as the computer displayed the launch sequence activities.
“Verify rendezvous radar circuit breakers are pulled,” Nelson requested.
“Radar rendezvous switch in APP,” Carter replied. “The circuits are pulled.”
“Abort to abort stage reset.”
“Roger, push-button reset.” Carter glanced out the window. The wind speed was holding steady at twenty-three kilometers per hour. “Switching to upper-stage batteries.”
“Updating guidance telemetry.”
“Guidance telemetry received. Mode control is computer-assist. Deadband minimum.”
In bright blue characters the computer flashed ONE MINUTE REMAINING across the upper half of the launch screen. The NOGO light was flashing at him from a bright red window. He closed the window.
“Master arm on,” Carter said as he armed the engines for ignition.
“Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . . seven . . . six . . . five . . . engine arm ascent . . . go!”
Carter felt his seat shake as the ascent engine exploded. A smaller set of explosions simultaneously severed the nuts and bolts and hoses that connected the upper and lower stages of the Martian excursion module. The half g Carter felt as the lander started to leave the surface sent an exhilarating rush of adrenaline through his system.
“We have liftoff,” he announced. He was watching the artificial horizon displayed by the attitude indicator. If something went wrong, he could assume manual control. He glanced over at the time. Thirty seconds. It took six minutes to reach low-Mars orbit. He could feel the lander shake as the powerful engines propelled them upward. At two minutes and ten seconds, he glanced out the window. They had already flown through the dust clouds, and the sky was a bright pink. He allowed himself to relax.
“The
Shepard
should be in low-Mars orbit in three minutes,” he announced calmly.
“Congratulations,
Shepard
,” Endicott said. “Now I know what to expect when my heart stops beating.”
Carter looked out the window at the departing planet with relief. He was unable to make out the Tharsis volcanoes, or the Valles Marineris canyon, or even the formidable peak of Olympus Mons. The dust was much too thick. He wondered where under the turbulent shroud the Russians were, but the thought quickly strayed. He turned his eyes away from the surface, away from the Russians, and looked up at the thin pink sky. It was rapidly dissipating. It possessed the consistency of a light mist. One by one, stars poked through the mist and flickered like distant candles. Pink vapors faded into ebony, and a band of sparkling beacons appeared before him. It was the Milky Way. The sight sent a warm and pleasing shiver through his body. He was suddenly possessed with an overwhelming desire to return to Earth.
“You’re three-point-seven meters off course,” Endicott said. “Computer is calculating new trajectory.”
“RCS engines at eighty-seven percent. Enough gas left over to do a couple spins around the block.”
“Burn sequence coded. Primary burn in seven seconds. Twenty-six minutes to rendezvous.”
“Roger,” replied Carter. “Good to be back.”
“N
ot now,” Komarov said tiredly. His thick eyebrows drooped over his eyes like the branches of an old willow tree. He was reviewing the output from the diagnostic tests of the backup lander. Vladimir had boarded the supply ship earlier that morning and had just finished executing the test. There appeared to be a problem with one of the computer chips that interfaced with the reaction-control system.
“I know they left it up to you,” Tatiana said.
“I said, not now. We must make preparations.”
“He is not fit to fly.”
Komarov was staring fixedly at the terminal, and he was determined not to turn around. He did not respond to her remark.
“I said, he is not fit to fly.”
“I think differently.”
“Bullshit, you think differently. What the hell has gotten into you? Carter is the better pilot.”
“How many times do we have to go over this?”
Tatiana could see that Komarov was getting angry and in a way it pleased her. She was finally getting a reaction out of him.
“Why must it be Vladimir?” she persisted.
“Vladimir is perfectly capable of flying the lander.”
“He is half-mad with jealousy. There is no telling what he might do. They gave you a choice. You know what that means. They don’t think he is up to it.”
“I said I disagree.”
“What is it? Are you afraid that Carter might actually rescue you? The great Dmitri Fyodorivich Komarov rescued by an American.”
Komarov spun around to confront her, his face contorted with fury. He was ugly when he was angry, and as she looked at his expression she wondered what she had ever seen in him. She could tell that he hated her at that moment, and it did not bother her. Any love that she might have felt for him was gone. She blamed him for their predicament, and she wanted him to know that she blamed him. That it was his fault. If it hadn’t been for his goddamned ego, they would be safely aboard the
Druzhba
. He should have aborted the landing as soon as the descent tanks had run dry.
“If we can’t determine the problem with the lander,” he said, “then it doesn’t really matter who flies it, does it?”
“What is it that you are afraid of?”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s Carter, isn’t it?”
“No it’s not,” he yelled, and stood up.
She took a step back, because she thought that he might hit her. He had never hit her before, and she had never heard that he had hit a woman, but she was scared for a moment because his muscles were tightening in such a way that he looked as if he were preparing to hit her. She did not say anything.
“The descent is controlled by the computer. It doesn’t matter who flies the damn lander. A goddamn monkey could fly it.”
“Yes, but Vladimir could decide to do something irrational. He could decide to commit suicide. He is not in his right mind. There is no telling what he might do.”
“Don’t you think I’ve considered that?”
“No I don’t.”
“Look, it’s not that simple. There are many different factors that I must take into account. I wasn’t given as much of a choice as you might think.”
“What do you mean?” Tatiana said, calming down somewhat, seeing that he wasn’t going to hit her and that he was about to tell her something that she had not been privy to.
“We must think of the New Republic. It is a matter of national prestige.”
“I am not going to die for national prestige.”
“No one is going to die. I told you a goddamn monkey could fly the thing.”
“Yes, but a monkey is not going to do something stupid, like take control and crash the lander on purpose.”
“You need to calm down.”
“We’re talking about our lives here. How can you stand there and pretend that this doesn’t matter? I tell you, Vladimir is not right.”
“I said, you need to calm down.”
“And you need to come to your senses. I’m sure as hell not going to let your goddamn pride be the cause of our deaths.”
“Look, if Carter flies the lander, the lander has to dock at two ships. That is an unnecessary complication. It introduces an additional risk. You’ve got to admit at least that.”
“I’ve taken that into account,” Tatiana replied indignantly. She gathered her breath and was about to continue, but Komarov held up his hand to stop her.
“Look, I’ve talked to Takashi. I think he may have a valid point. Vladimir is more likely to behave irrationally if we don’t let him fly the lander. He is in the
Druzhba
all by himself. If we provoke him, he might do something that we’d all regret.”
“Takashi said that?” Tatiana asked, wanting to consider every aspect. She told herself that her primary concern was their safety, and what Satomura had said did seem to make sense. She had seen how Vladimir reacted lately when they did things that disturbed him, and this would certainly disturb him. But she was not yet ready to accept that having Vladimir fly the lander was the safer course. It also annoyed her that Komarov might actually be right.
“Yes he did,” Komarov replied.
“What did Takashi say he might do?”
“He didn’t actually go into details. But the possibilities should be obvious. Vladimir could do a number of things. He could permanently disable the backup lander, which would leave us stranded on the surface. Or if he is feeling suicidal, he could just take the lander and fly her out into space. God knows where. He could even crash her into the planet.”