“What was that?”
“Fire warning!” Ryan shouted, and reached for his suit umbilical. He tore it from the socket and shut off the master oxygen feed. “Get your suit on internal O2!”
Wade suspected it came from the melted control surfaces in back and nervously looked around for any signs of smoke. “We’re clean up here. Is that what I think it is?”
“Probably the flap seals. Looks like we’re on fire back there.”
“I suddenly feel a lot better about setting this down in water.”
…
Thin cirrus clouds spread high above the coastal mountains of British Columbia and Washington. Between them, the immense Strait of Juan de Fuca glimmered calmly in the afternoon sun, dotted with container ships steaming up and down the seaway.
A sharp
boom-boom
ruptured the tranquil vista, rumbling across the water as a dark, delta-winged shape suddenly burst from the overcast. It began a snaking turn, trailing smoke as it approached the water, finally swooping around in a broad arc to head west, back up the strait and into the wind.
“Maybe we should’ve called the harbormaster?” Wade said nervously as Ryan kept the steadily growing bay centered in the windshield. He was concerned about the line of ships ahead as they grew bigger by the second.
“We’re subsonic. Throw out the canards,” Ryan said, hoping those wings hadn’t somehow melted into the nose.
Wade hesitated, searching the unfamiliar panel for the right control.
“There,” Ryan said, hurriedly pointing at a white paddle. Wade thumbed it upward, and the two small wings unfolded from their slots. “There we go,” he said, feeling the extra lift. He gently pushed down as the nose pitched up in response to the air slipping across them.
“I’ll need altitude and speed callouts from here on. Give me altitude in tens once we get below a hundred feet.”
The Olympic Mountains slipped past on their left. Silent and imposing, they were now well below its mist-shrouded peaks. The water seemed to reach out for them as they glided steadily downward, Ryan easing the nose back to bleed off airspeed. He wanted to be as slow as possible without dropping out the sky entirely. Water could appear deceptively forgiving, but at over one hundred fifty knots it would only be slightly more resilient than dirt.
“Okay, I’ve done
this
before, at least,” Wade said as he pressed his face against the side window, gauging the seas. “Winds north-northwest, seas look to be about three feet,” he guessed. “Not bad.”
“We’ll see,” Ryan said tensely. “Got to hit this just right.”
“Has this ever actually worked?” Wade asked, again looking over his shoulder for any telltale wisps of smoke.
“Not something they ever got around to in flight test,” he said quickly. “You’ll just have to rely on my superior piloting skills.”
“Quit trying to impress me with your rapier wit,” Wade replied nervously. The waves were close now. “Just don’t drown us.”
The spaceplane whistled as it sliced through the air, approaching the water below as slowly as they dared without stalling into a crash. The wind slipping across its broad lifting-body surface was the only sound.
Lumbering, ocean-going ships began turning away. Ryan gently tweaked the yoke and rudders, making small adjustments to align them with the swells and avoid the big container vessels. Wade was amused by one cruise ship, its decks crowded with retirees headed for Alaska excitedly gesturing at what must have been a remarkable sight.
“We’re putting on a real show,” he said. “Sixty feet, one-forty knots. Thirty feet…twenty.” They were dropping fast now.
Before he could make the next callout, a wave caught their tail just aft of the inlet ramps. The sudden drag caught Ryan by surprise, and he fought the urge to overcorrect.
Hold it steady
, he told himself.
Just pick a point and aim straight for it.
Hopping over another swell, the big inlet ramps sliced into the water again and pulled against the Clipper as if they’d opened a drag chute, its blunt nose finally settling down into the water with a soggy
smack
. The sudden stop threw both men hard against their straps.
They sat there in silent disbelief, waiting for the sea to come rushing in any minute from some unknown crack in the hull. They both stared cautiously at the emergency escape hatch above their heads as the nose occasionally dipped beneath a swell.
But the water never came. The plane bobbed serenely…absurdly, he thought, as if it were perfectly natural for a spaceplane to be floating among cruise liners and cargo ships.
They erupted in shouts and laughter, punching each other hard on the arms. They rushed to unlock their helmets and cavalierly tossed them to the deck behind.
“Splashdown!” Ryan exclaimed. “Denver, this is 501, how copy?”
…
Penny’s voice sounded a full octave higher in her excitement. “We see you, Ryan. You guys were all over the news down here, we watched the whole thing. How’s she holding up?”
They rocked gently atop the waves, and could hear water lapping at the hull just beyond the windshield. The fire alarm had blessedly silenced itself; maybe the water had solved their problem.
“We’re not taking on water, if that’s what you mean,” he answered. “We’re going to open the emergency egress, though. Some fresh air would be nice right now.”
“Go right ahead, gents. Looks like a nice day out there.”
Grabbing the crash axe, Ryan reached for the emergency hatch and began chipping away at the repair caulk they had borrowed from the space station. It had been the most likely source of the leak that killed Tom, and could have done the same to them in even worse fashion had it breached during re-entry.
“Aw, screw it,” he said, tiring of the manual labor: “fire in the hole!” He yanked hard on a recessed yellow handle, and the hatch went sailing into the air with a
bang
. Cool air wafted in, laden with the scent of seawater. Through the opening they could hear the blasts of ship’s horns hailing them and a thrum of helicopters overhead.
Ryan helped Wade up through the small opening, then clambered out of the hatch and waved at the approaching flotilla as a Coast Guard launch swept ahead. They each unzipped their pressure suits and lay atop the Clipper as it bobbed along gentle waves. Clouds of steam billowed up from the rear of the plane.
“Now what?” Wade asked, taking a deep breath.
“Enjoy the view,” Ryan said, as the roar of an approaching helicopter grew louder. He stood tiredly, waving the orange garment over his head. “Any ditching you can swim away from is a good one.”
EPILOGUE
Denver, Colorado
January
Audrey Wilkes turned over the brand new Polaris ID badge in her hand, and contemplated the events that had brought her here. Waiting for her escort to arrive, she sat on a plush sofa in the reception area and pulled the collar of a new winter jacket close about her neck. The unfamiliar chill was hard to shake off.
It’s what,
seventy
in Houston today?
Before long, Arthur Hammond emerged. He appeared just as she’d seen him on the news: stocky but powerful, with a shock of hair and a meticulously knotted tie. “Audrey Wilkes…welcome aboard!” he said happily, and cast an amused stare at her wardrobe.
“What?” she asked.
“Always enjoy seeing you crackers acclimate to the weather out here,” he laughed. “Don’t worry, it’s Colorado—it’ll probably be in the eighties next week.”
“Just glad to be here and gainfully employed,” she said, gathering up her purse and laptop bag. “Where to first?” she asked. “New-hire brainwashing…I mean, orientation?”
“Not quite,” he said. “We’ll get to that later. We’ve got some business first. I talked you up to some people so you’d better behave yourself. They think you’re some kind of genius rocket scientist.”
“I prefer to stay anonymous and therefore exceed everyone’s low expectations,” she quipped.
“That might’ve worked for a cushy government job, but it won’t fly here,” he said. “I have a new project in the works to discuss with you. They think I’m nuts but maybe you can talk some sense into them,” he smiled.
They rounded a corner and entered the executive suite. Hammond waved at the receptionist as they strolled into his office.
Charlie Grant was standing by Hammond’s wall bookcase and bounded over. “Pleased to finally meet you,” he said, and led her to an open chair. Another man sat opposite her, but she was brushed past too quickly to greet him right away.
“You’ve met Mr. Poole, I imagine,” Grant said, finally stepping aside.
Her eyes widened. “
Simon?
You too?” she stammered, and regained her composure.
He laughed. “You think Abbot was going to let me hang around after that stunt we pulled up there? I’m just lucky he gave me a ride back down.”
“I suppose,” she agreed. The last few weeks had been such a whirlwind, she hadn’t had time to keep up with anyone back in Houston.
“Besides,” he added, “Hammond here has a pretty exciting idea. Right up my alley, too…a cruise line.”
Now she was confused. “You didn’t bring me in here to discuss ocean liners,” she pointed out suspiciously.
“Not at all, Audrey,” Hammond assured her. “Ever hear of Buzz Aldrin’s ‘lunar cycler’ idea?”
She raised her eyebrows and gave an appreciative smile. “I always wanted to shoot for the Moon.”
…
Castle Rock
April
Penny stooped to place a bouquet of roses onto the fresh sod. A chill spring gust blew in from the distant plains, their tall grass swirling as a scattering of trees lamely stood against the squall.
She kneeled quietly for several minutes, watching the petals flutter in the breeze. She unwittingly kept one hand over her mouth, whispering quietly while brushing loose hair from her eyes.
“Goodbye, Elise,” she whispered. “I’ll miss you both.”
The nondescript gravestone was simply marked “Gentry,” with Tom and Elise’s names carved into it. It appeared no different from any other in the expansive cemetery, which struck her as somehow not fair.
“You both deserve better,” she said. “If I could put a statue here, I’d do it. You saved us from ourselves.”
“No, they didn’t,” Joe Stratton said as he sidled up to his wife and slipped a hand around hers. “They just showed us how. ‘Teach a man to fish’, remember?”
…
Polaris Vindicated, Employees Sentenced
AeroSpace Weekly, July 20
FEDERAL COURTHOUSE, DENVER, CO
After a stunning turn of events, Federal prosecutors wrapped up one of the most rapidly unfolding and dramatic espionage cases in U.S. history this week. The conviction of Joseph Chen, 32, of Englewood, was the result of a months-long investigation after last October’s dramatic in-orbit rescue of the marooned Polaris Flight 501.
Prosecutors were aided by the swift confession and damning testimony of Leo Taggart, a former Polaris executive who was also implicated in the scheme. However, he stubbornly maintains his innocence against pending homicide charges.
The spy ring, which
AeroSpace Weekly
can now
reveal was run by the Chinese People’s Air Force, had been planted inside the U.S. almost a decade ago. As a young engineering student, Mr. Chen was originally used as a ‘cutout’ for relaying sensitive aerospace information by virtue of his position as an intern at the Hammond Aerospace plant in Long Beach, CA. As he was awarded increasingly trusted positions within the organization, Chen was eventually presented with the opportunity to sabotage at least two Polaris flights in order to forestall a pending contract with the U.S. Air Force. The People’s Air Force had reportedly been developing a similar spacecraft in secret during the same time period, and presumably sought to undermine U.S. superiority over space-based assets.
Chen’s sentencing for espionage, murder, and attempted murder will be held on August 1
st
. As part of his plea deal with prosecutors, Mr. Taggart will serve a minimum of fifteen years in Federal medium-security prison.
…
Reno, Nevada
One year later
“Fly low…Fly fast…Turn left…Repeat.”
Ryan Hunter repeated that mantra in his head as he prepared for another qualifying run in
‘Fraidy Cat
, Art Hammond’s prized Unlimited-class air racer. Taking Tom’s place had been a hard decision, but Hammond had been unusually encouraging.
As had his new crew chief.
“You about done down there?” he bellowed over the cascading noise of souped-up engines rumbling across Reno’s pit row. “I want to get flying.”