Perigee (27 page)

“Most likely it would be someone with a grudge against the company. There’s always the possibility that we have a crackpot on our hands, but not likely. Not based on the amount of forethought that had to go into this. From what you’ve told me, Mr. Hammond, this had to be planned well ahead of time.”

“And they just waited for the right opportunity?” Hammond asked, completing the thought.

“Assuming it was an individual actor—yes, I believe so, sir. Someone with deep technical knowledge, plus motive and opportunity. But it would help if we knew exactly which components were tampered with.”

Doug Davis, the QC manager, was still almost too stunned to speak. But he couldn’t deny the logic - this was an unimaginable situation. It couldn’t have happened just by accident…could it? He lifted a tablet from his briefcase and pulled up
Austral Clipper
’s history. “I can venture a few guesses, Mr. Hammond.”

“Art, please. Both of you. We’re going to be working very closely until we get to the bottom of this, gentlemen.”

“Of course, sir…um, Art. There’s a possibility this was a hard fault, some critical-path component that just rolled over and died.”

“But you don’t believe that,” Hammond interjected. He’d already looked at that himself, but needed to hear it from an objective source. And he purposefully hadn’t shared the troubling information he’d received from Will Gardner about the nasty surprise he’d found in the Block II model. It was better for these men to reach their own conclusions first.

Davis paused as he thought through the implications. “No, I don’t,” he finally sighed. “Too many redundant systems involved. If the propellant valve solenoids failed, for example, they should’ve been able to shut off the oxidizer feeds. But they couldn’t, as you pointed out.”

“Now you know why I brought you guys up here,” Hammond said. “Shuttles were the same way, on purpose. Complex as hell, but it was really just a lot of fancy plumbing.”

Davis couldn’t escape the logic. As he mentally worked his way through the probable causes, sabotage made more sense. “I see your point. Just off the top of my head, there should’ve been two or three ways to shut those motors down. It’s not rocket science.”

Hammond smiled at the unintentional pun. “I’m thinking somebody was monkeying around with the FADEC module.”

“FADEC?” asked Posey. “Sorry, but I’m going to need a dictionary to keep up with this. Remember, I’m just the security guy.”

“Fair enough,” Hammond said. “It means Full-Authority Digital Engine Control. It keeps the pilots from having to fine-tune too many different systems to optimize power. They push a lever or punch in the desired power setting, and the computers do the rest. It’s been the best way to manage big jet engines for a long time; but this combined-cycle rocket is a whole new breed of cat. It’s a real juggling act.”

“So computer-controlled throttles are even more important on these things?”

“Absolutely,” the QC man answered for Hammond. “Pilots have a tough time hand-flying these birds when they fail.”

That caught Posey’s attention. “You said ‘when’ they fail? So that’s common?”

“More than we’d like,” Hammond said, looking to Davis. “What’s the failure rate on those logic boards?”

“I don’t even have to dig up the stats for that one,” he grumbled, holding up the electronic records. “We’re looking at one in twelve just this year.”

“I take it that’s high,” Posey said.

“Oh yeah,” Davis replied. “For a system like this, it’s unacceptable. Sorry Mr. Hammond,” he said, then corrected himself. “Art.”

Hammond shrugged it off. “Don’t blame me; I wasn’t the dumbass who designed it. We didn’t build those control boards, son.”

Posey removed a notepad from his suit pocket. “Who did?”

51

Austral Clipper

“Two kilometers, closing at three,” Penny’s steady voice filled their headsets as they waited for contact.

“Looks about right,” Ryan said, eyeballing the TCAS. “Watch your pitch inputs, something this long will tumble away from you easy.”

Gentry delicately worked the controls with his fingertips. “I’m still worried about translation,” he said. “Makes me nervous any time we have to jury-rig systems.” On Penny’s advice, they had re-configured the pitch control jets on each end of the ship to fire simultaneously in either direction. Instead of working in opposition to pitch the nose up or down, they would now be able to push the ship forward and backward. They’d need it to keep contact with the tug.

“The old man sure didn’t have this in mind, did he?” Ryan said. “I’ll check the breakers again if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Do that. We’ll only get one whack at this.”

Ryan pushed away for the breaker panel along the rear bulkhead and checked it against a schematic on his tablet. “Forward jets all tied to system B, aft to system A. It’s all good,” he said, “assuming Denver configured this right in the sim.” He then looked down at the engine controls. “Exhaust vanes on number two set to manual.”

The exhaust nozzles could change diameter, opening and closing like a metallic flower, which optimized thrust up through the higher altitudes until they were in rocket mode. It was one of the plane’s strongest components, and they would use it as a docking collar for the transfer vehicle. Once the tug made contact, they would manually close the vanes tightly around its docking probe and gently push backwards. It was crude and would probably wreck both the engine and the tug, but it would hopefully get the job done. It had to.

Not that anyone cared about liability at this point, though it hadn’t stopped a midlevel ESA bureaucrat from demanding payment for damages. “You must understand this is not covered by your flight risk insurance,” he’d explained officiously to Art Hammond, only to be answered with a blue streak of uniquely American invective. “We’ll discuss this
after
you get our people up to that bucket of bolts,” Hammond had exclaimed before slamming down the receiver.

“One kilometer, closing at two,” Penny calmly intoned. Knowing they needed as little drama as possible, she was showing her best radio manners. “All rates from now on will be in meters…point eight, closing at sixteen….closing at twelve...” With less than a half-mile separating them, the ATV had slowed down to a crawl. “Attitude looks good,” she said. “You’re rock-steady in their crosshairs.”

“Thanks,” Tom replied. “Don’t want you thinking I have a bad attitude.”

“Nobody likes a smartass in prox-ops. Your nugget didn’t tell you that?” she said, using an old slur for new pilots. Ryan’s one stint in the Shuttle simulators practically made him a veteran in this situation.

“Did I ever tell you how much I respect you senior citizens?” Ryan broke in. “I bask in your sagacious wisdom. Now if you’ll excuse us, I have to finish helping the Captain hold docking stations.”

“For which we’re all eternally grateful,” Wade interjected. “Now can you two hotshots get on with saving our skins?”

Ryan turned in his seat to face him. “Don’t worry, pal, we’re on it. Just take good notes, we’ll show you how it’s done.”

“Okay, knock it off up there,” Penny said seriously. “And ‘sagacious’ is way too big a word for a jarhead.” They were becoming too giddy for their own good. “Tom, that sucker’s going to come up quicker than you think. And you’ll feel it.”

Gentry looked over at his copilot and switched off the hot mic. “She’s not kidding, is she?”

Ryan shrugged his shoulders. “Beats me…I’m a nugget, remember? If you trust the sims, it’ll probably thump us good. We’ll know it’s there. Just thumb that trim paddle real gentle-like. Put too much spank on it and we’ll kick that tug right back out our rear end.”

“Point four, closing at eight,” her voice came back. “We can see your nozzles clear as day now, Tom. It’s in the bulls-eye.”

“Copy that…just waiting for their handshake.”

“Won’t have to wait long…point two clicks, closing at four…closing at three.”

Ryan’s eyes were locked on the TCAS. The diamond shape representing the tug was almost on top of them, now blinking an angry red as a horn sounded. “Resolution advisory,” he said, and reached down to disable the alarm that warned them of what it saw as an impending collision. “Master caution off.”

“One hundred meters, closing at two. Still right down the middle, boys.”

Behind them, the ATV’s thrusters spat again. Gingerly approaching the rear of the Clipper, ground controllers would get the final approach dead-center and let their tug drift into the engine. There was a slight overhang from the ship’s vertical stabilizers, which prevented the tug from firing its thrusters once they were in close. Otherwise it risked pushing against them like wind blowing a leaf.

“It’s all you now,” Ryan said, checking his watch. “Contact in…forty seconds.”

…

Denver

“Fifty meters, closing at point five...thirty meters,” Penny called, and turned to notice Charlie’s questioning stare. She answered him with a silent thumbs-up. He turned back to his own console, still not convinced this would work.

The Clipper filled the docking camera’s field of view as the tug’s floodlights shone straight down the center nozzle.

It grew steadily larger…then a shadow suddenly closed in from above. “Underneath your body flap,” she said. “Hold on.”

…

Austral Clipper

Tom saw Ryan’s hand hovering over the center engine control. “I’m on it, skipper,” he said, looking from the corner of his eye.

“Two meters,” Penny reported with a hint of excitement. Almost as she said it, they felt an alarming jolt from the tug’s impact. A grinding
clang
rattled up from behind them.

“Contact!” Tom exclaimed, smoothly thumbing the nose trim down to translate backward. He hadn’t expected to feel so surprised.

Ryan slammed up the nozzle controls and watched the display to see if it worked. “Capture,” he said, almost questioning his verdict. They couldn’t be sure just yet. The vanes had closed, but if they had translated backwards too hard the ATV might already be tumbling away from them.

All three men exchanged hopeful looks and waited. “Sure feels like we grabbed hold of
something
,” Tom said hopefully.

The empty hiss filling their headsets seemed to last forever. “Toulouse confirms capture,” Penny finally reported with evident relief. “They’re staring straight up your tailpipe, boys.”

“Great job!” Ryan exulted, punching him in the shoulder. “That was some flying! You should feel like a real astronaut now, skipper.”

Tom closed his eyes, rolled his neck, and exhaled deeply. He wished he could lie back against the headrest; a fruitless gesture in zero-G but he had yet to fully get his space legs. He’d rarely left the flight deck since the beginning of their ordeal. “I had a good instructor,” he finally said. “Thanks for talking me through it.”

“Uncle Sugar spent a lot of money on me in Houston, you know. Never thought I’d actually get to put any of it to work.”

“Everything happens for a reason. That time wasn’t wasted.”

“I’m just the nugget FO,” Ryan demurred. “I only work the gear and flap handles, remember?”

“We’re not out of the woods yet,” he said. “It’ll be time for you and Marcy to do the real work soon enough. Just hope I don’t crash us into our lifeboat out there,” he said, looking toward the horizon around which their safe port awaited.

“Eh, it’s big. They won’t notice a little bump.”

52

ISS

Simon Poole likewise had not expected to be this surprised. “You’re kidding—we actually got it?”

“Affirmative,” Max replied crisply. “You doubted our vehicle?”

“Not at all,” he laughed, “not at all.” He startled the German by thumping him on the back. If his feet hadn’t been restrained, Max probably would have bounced his head off the console. “Send our regards to your folks back home. Guess we need to get serious about prepping for visitors.”

He pushed away from a bulkhead and dove across the control module, straight through towards the common area. “All hands, prepare to receive boarders,” he bellowed, feeling like an old sailor again.

…

Denver

Penny leaned back and tugged off her headset. Grant hovered over her shoulder. “What do you think?”

She rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palms. “I don’t know, Charlie. Not like they’ve got idiot lights that shout ‘capture’ at them.”

“You get a look at the specs on that ATV before this?” he asked. The Europeans had started flying them a couple of years before she’d quit NASA.

“Got a briefing once but that was about it. I wasn’t interested in getting a slot on the station, so there wasn’t much need.”

They’d had precious little time to see for themselves, and had to trust the two space agencies. Both had nearly buried them with demands for information, though Penny had expected it...neither group cared much for last-minute improvising. “The mechanical engineers think our nozzle vanes will hold okay,” Grant finally said, “but I’ll feel better when they’re holed up on that cattle car.”