Space Station Down Page 3

  Suddenly, a commotion broke out behind the VIPs, and several of the gapers turned to congregate around something behind them. A few of the people who turned away squatted down on their haunches; someone must have fainted.

  Underneath the overlook, two mission controllers pointed at the front of the control center. Sophia turned as the oversized display blinked and the words Transmission Terminated scrolled across the screen. The closed NASA-TV link had been severed from the ISS, and CAPCOM was standing on his console, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention.

  Sophia glanced back at the overlook; people still milled around in shock, attending to whoever had fainted. She ripped the headphones from her head. Someone had to clear the viewing area!

  She squeezed her way past a crowd of mission controllers and exited the MCC. Sprinting up the stairs, she entered the overlook and saw a group of VIPs clustered around someone lying on the floor. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know,” someone said. “He was fine just a minute ago.”

  She pushed through the gaggle of people and recognized the senior PAO. He wasn’t moving.

  Did he have a heart attack? No one in the group was helping, so there were obviously no medical personnel in the room. She pointed at the man who had answered her. “You—call 911 on that red phone by the door. And you—” she pointed at another person. “Bring me that AED on the wall.” The woman she’d pointed to hesitated, as if she hadn’t understood what Sophia had meant. “The automated external defibrillator, now!”

  She squatted down by the side of the senior PAO and held her ear to his mouth and nostrils; she couldn’t detect any breathing and she couldn’t find a pulse. She looked up as a woman handed her the portable AED. Opening the case, Sophia felt a flush of anger when she saw a solid red X on the battery indicator. It was dead. She didn’t have time to replace the battery.

  Straightening her arms and interlocking her hands, she immediately started CPR. She spoke while she worked. “Everyone! Step away from the window! Exit the overlook and go down the stairs, then line up against the wall in the hallway. If you see another AED, then bring it to me. Otherwise, direct the emergency personnel up here when they arrive. But most importantly stay out of the way! Understand?”

  The VIPs looked at one another, taken aback by such terse orders given by someone so young.

  She raised her voice. “Does everyone understand?”

  They murmured and started to file out of the overlook, not making eye contact with her.

  The man who had called 911 said, “They’re on their way.” He hesitated, and then started to join the people filing out.

  “Wait,” Sophia said, nodding for him to join her. “Stay here. I’m going to need some help.”

  “Right.”

  Sophia directed her full attention to pushing against the senior PAO’s chest. She hoped that nothing else bad would happen today, but she had a dreadful feeling that events would only cascade and become worse … much worse.

  JOHNSON SPACE CENTER, ISS CONTROL CENTER, HOUSTON, TEXAS

  Scott glanced at the clock. Only four minutes had passed since he’d cut the live feed from the ISS to the public media. They’re probably screaming bloody murder right now, and wondering if they’d really seen that on the ISS, some 250 miles above the Earth. Scott bet that some TV execs might think the NASA feed had been hacked by jokers.

  He ran his fingers over the touchscreen and set up a link with the Administrator’s office at NASA Headquarters back in Washington, D.C. The phone was picked up on the first ring.

  “Mike Mott.”

  “Mini, Basher,” Scott said, using their old fighter pilot handles. His nickname had stuck with him, as had Mini’s. An ex-Marine Corps pilot, Mini Mott was just barely tall enough to qualify for flight training. And even though he had failed to enter the astronaut corps, he had been picked by Patricia Simone to be her executive officer at NASA Headquarters. His buzz-cut thatch of light brown hair was well-known throughout the agency. Small but deadly was the word about Mini Mott.

  “We just heard,” said Mini. “Trying to get ahold of the Administrator now. How about you? Do you have contact with the station? How are our folks?”

  “Don’t know. We’re out of communication. All links and relays to the ISS are down.”

  “What about NASA TV?”

  “I severed the live feed to the public right after Vasilev’s murder.”

  “Good call.”

  “Someone on the ISS took down everything else; probably Farid.”

  “So we don’t know if anyone else was killed, right?”

  “Roger that.” Scott pulled in a deep breath, trying to calm down. “Where’s the Administrator?”

  “Scheduled to be in a cabinet meeting, briefing the cabinet on the implications of the cut in our budget.”

  “Crappy timing.”

  “Deaths are crappy timing. We’re trying to pull her out now and get the word to her, but the White House staffers are being their usual pricks.”

  Scott’s mind raced. “I’ll stay on the line if you need me. We’re doing everything we can to get back in contact with the station.”

  “Well tell everyone to try harder—” Suddenly it sounded as if Mini was holding a hand over the speaker, muffling it. Seconds passed, then, “Basher, we’re patching you in to the cabinet meeting. One of the President’s aides just whispered the news to him and all hell’s breaking loose. You’ll be going over the speakers to the President’s cabinet. Tell them what you saw, what the status is, and what you’re doing to help. Can you handle it?”

  “Copy that,” Scott said, leaning back in his chair. He kept his eyes glued to the monitors at the front of the room displaying the status of the ISS’s systems. He may not be able to communicate with the ISS, but from here he’d be instantly able to relay any changes in the ISS, from the onboard sensors to even a change in altitude.

  He blinked. Change in altitude. Now why did that cross his mind?

  “Basher, Mini. Stand by one. We’re patching you through to the White House communications agency.”

  The line chirped and suddenly sounded tinny, as though its digital signal was somehow being analyzed and encrypted.

  “Lieutenant Colonel Robinson?”

  Scott straightened in his chair. “Speaking.”

  “Sir, the President of the United States.”

  JAPANESE MODULE (JPM)

  Carefully grasping the wrenches and screwdriver, Kimberly flew out of the JPM. Once in Node 2, she took a hard right and headed for the opposite end of the station by grabbing the hatchway’s inner handrail, changing her linear momentum to angular. The Klaxon still wailed throughout the ISS, and as she rounded the corner she didn’t see anything at the far Russian end. Her field of view to the Russian SM module, roughly a hundred yards away, was constricted by both the size of each successive module’s hatch, as well as her path as she propelled herself to the aft side of the ISS.

  She soared into the U.S. lab, taking care not to hit the metal vestibule opening. Holding the makeshift weapons in front of her, she exited the aft end of the lab within seconds and thrust her hands down, causing her legs to rotate in the opposite direction. As she passed into Node 1 she kicked out, hitting the vestibule, which shot her toward the Joint Airlock entrance, like banking a pool ball off the side of the table.

  She flew into the airlock, where Alexi Lashin and Viktor Oloff, the two remaining Russian cosmonauts, and Robert Stafford, her American colleague, had been preparing the EVA suits. They quickly grabbed handholds and pulled themselves out of her way as she zoomed in. Careful not to hit her wrenches or screwdriver, Stafford reached out and clutched her by the arm as she shot by, twirling her around and stopping her in the middle of the module instead of allowing her to whiz past and crash into the hatch.

  One of the bulky EVA suits was rocking in its cradle, looking as though someone had been in the process of donning it. Four of the three dozen RTGs stored in MRM-1 were lashed together, floating near the outside hatch. Oloff swam to the vestibule and poked his head out, looking down the long series of interconnecting modules.

  “Get back in here,” Kimberly snapped. “Now.”

  Viktor jerked his head back inside the Joint Airlock. Pushing against the metal vestibule edge, he slowly floated back into the module and twisted around to look at her, his darkly stubbled face looking puzzled.

  Robert’s pale blue eyes were also perplexed as he steadied her. “What’s going on? We heard the alarm—”

  “You weren’t watching the docking?”

  Hanging upside down relative to Kimberly, Alexi shook his shaved head. “Nyet. We were helping Robert into his suit. We’re moving the RTGs outside the station.”

  “Here.” Kimberly shoved the tools at the three men. With quizzical looks on their faces they took the makeshift weapons, but instead of peppering her with questions, their cosmonaut and astronaut training kicked into high gear and they waited for Kimberly to explain, understanding that instead of wasting time asking questions, Kimberly would quickly bring them up to speed.

  She glided to the module’s vestibule, which opened to Node 1, and peeked outside. Quickly pulling back, she spoke in a hurried half whisper, briefing them on what had happened.

  “They killed Colonel Zel’dovich?” Alexi asked, his voice half an octave higher than normal.

  Kimberly nodded. “And Al. And Ivan.” Something inside her wanted to break down and cry, but Kimberly pushed the possibility aside. Not now. Not ever. At least not ’til we get the bastards.

  His face grim, Alexi gripped the wrench like a battle-ax and pushed off for the exit leading to Node 1.

  “Alexi, stop!” Kimberly ordered.

  He ignored her. He kept going until Viktor grab
bed him by the foot. Alexi tried to shake off his grip, but he rotated toward the hatch. Turning, he glared at Kimberly, his face white with fury.

  “We cannot allow those mad dogs to live,” Alexi said. “I will stop them.”

  “No, not alone,” said Kimberly. “You didn’t see them. They’re too well trained, extremely coordinated.”

  “The new one is tourist and unable to function in zero-gee. I kill him first.” Alexi was built like a weight lifter, his chest and arms bulging inside his flight suit.

  “And if you fail?” Kimberly challenged.

  “I will not fail,” Alexi muttered. He turned to go.

  Viktor said, “Listen to Kimberly. You are right, comrade, but we will stop them, not just you. We work together.” Turning to Kimberly, he asked, “You have plan?”

  “Yes, I do.” She moved up so she could keep an eye out the exit, to detect the intruders if they tried to surprise them. “They’ve cut off the comm links with Earth, so I imagine whatever they have planned, they’re going to see it to the finish. Like I said, they looked well trained, so we’ll have to surprise them, catch them off guard so we can stop them before they reach their goal, whatever it is.”

  “You mean we ambush them and then kill them,” said Viktor. “So we hide.”

  “That’s right,” Kimberly agreed. “Viktor, you and Alexi wait in Node 3, then rush out together to surprise them. Robert, you hit them from the side, coming from here. I may be the smallest on board, but I’m faster than any of you. I can draw them out, make them chase me to Node 1.”

  Robert followed her gaze out the exit and frowned. “But what if they catch up with you?”

  “They won’t. I’ll make sure of that. Farid’s still getting his space legs back, and like Alexi said, the new guy, Bakhet, the Qatari tourist—he’s still fumbling around, although that doesn’t make them any less dangerous.”

  Viktor asked, “So how will you do it? What you say, ‘Draw them out’?”

  “I bet they’re moving from aft to bow,” Kimberly replied. “Probably methodically searching the entire ISS, hunting us down, module by module. Which means they’ll be searching as a pair. So I’ll start working my way aft, down by the SM module. When they spot me I’ll shoot back here, toward Node 2. But I’ll stop in the U.S. lab and incite them. When they enter Node 1 that’s your signal to converge and spring the ambush.”

  “And kill them,” Alexi said grimly.

  Kimberly raised an eyebrow. “It would be nice to be able to question at least one of them, find out what they have in mind or if they’re just insane.” She hesitated. “But yes, after seeing what they’ve already done, I think our top priority is not just stopping them, but killing them.” She looked around. “Any questions?”

  The three men shook their heads.

  “All right, let’s go. Be sure to hide in your respective modules. As soon as they’re in Node 1, go for it. I’ll try to yell when they’re there, but don’t wait for me if you see them. I may not be able to give you a signal—I may be trying to survive myself.”

  “Right.” The two Russians pushed off, Alexi and Viktor across the module, to Node 3.

  Kimberly waited until they were out of sight, then started out. Robert grabbed her arm. “Good luck, kid.”

  “Thanks.”

  Following Kimberly to the hatch, Robert said, “Basher was serving as CAPCOM. Does he know what’s going on up here?”

  “He must have seen what I saw on the monitor, so hopefully he dropped NASA TV’s feed to the public; but one of those murderers must have cut our comm to Earth. So Scott probably doesn’t know we’re still alive. No one may know.”

  “So if we don’t succeed, then as far as NASA’s concerned we were taken out when those guys docked.”

  “Yeah.” Kimberly wanted to get started for the SM module, but Robert still clutched her arm.

  He asked, “If we don’t get them—if they kill us instead—what do you think those guys will do next?”

  “I don’t know,” Kimberly said as she pulled free of Robert’s hand and started aft. “Maybe they’ll just kill themselves; maybe this is some sort of twisted suicide mission. In any case, let’s not let them get that far.”

  NODE 1

  Kimberly tried to get her breathing under control as she entered Node 1. Her heart was pounding wildly against her ribs; it seemed as though the thump-thump-thump could be heard throughout the ISS.

  There was no sign of Alexi or Viktor. They were already hidden, out of sight and hopefully ready for the ambush. She tried to steel herself, knowing that if either of the murderers still had the knife Farid had used on Ivan Vasilev, they’d probably use it as soon as they spotted her. Which meant that she couldn’t get too close, and she’d have to take evasive action so they’d never have a clean shot.

  She’d have to make sure that they’d miss. Otherwise it might be the last thing she’d ever do.

  Scott used to call it jinking, she remembered, when he told stories about trying to break the lock of a missile’s radar on his F-22 and he’d have to whip the fighter back and forth, slamming the stick as far as it would go and maxing out the gees.

  Now Kimberly knew she’d have to jink herself, careen from wall to wall off the sides of the modules as she tore back to Node 1 with the two murderers at her heels. Otherwise they’d find an open shot and she’d be as dead as Al Sweeting and the two Russians.

  Or would they try to rape her first? Kimberly shuddered at the thought.

  Panting, she looked down the long passageway of interconnected modules, from the closest—the Russian FGB—to the farthest, the SM. In the distance, a thick silver cylinder, one of the RTGs, dislodged from its mooring in MRM-2, tumbled slowly across her view. Behind her was the U.S. lab, where she’d be waiting while the guys sprang their ambush.

  Since they’d killed Al in the SM, that meant they were probably going through either the DC-1 or the MRM-2, she reasoned. She didn’t want to be trapped away from the guys, so she thought she’d barely venture into the FGB and hopefully flush them out there.

  She’d turn and hightail it back here. The distance wasn’t that far, barely thirty meters, but it was far enough for them to gain the advantage and kill her.

  Which is not going to happen, Kimberly told herself firmly.

  Now that her heart rate had slowed, she whispered loud enough for the guys in the modules at right angles to where she floated in Node 1 to hear her.

  “Heading out to the FGB. Wish me luck.”

  She floated backward, looking for a place to plant her foot and push off, when Alexi popped his bald head out of Node 3. The hotheaded idiot was showing himself, and if the two intruders spotted both Alexi and herself it wouldn’t take much for them to surmise that a trap was being set.

  “Alex,” she hissed. “Down.”

  At that instant the two intruders rotated into the Russian SM module from DC-1, located at the far, aft end of the ISS. They’d probably been searching the DC-1 module, located perpendicularly to the SM, and from the time they’d taken must have done a thorough job, trying to ferret out any crew member who might have been hiding. They really were being methodical, moving from aft to bow and leaving no compartment unsearched.

  Alexi spotted the two at the same time as Kimberly. Grasping the hatch with a massive hand, he swung out of the vestibule and kicked off after the intruders. His face contorted with rage, he bellowed something in Russian, holding the foot-long wrench in front of himself as he flew from Node 1 into the FGB.

  “Alexi! No!” Kimberly felt the words come out as a scream, terrified that by jumping the gun he would only get himself killed.

  She heard a commotion as Robert scrambled out of the Joint Airlock. Half a moment later Viktor shot out of Node 3; both men were holding their makeshift weapons out in front of them. They flew past Kimberly looking as if they’d been mainlining adrenaline.

  Robert’s eyes were wide, his face flushed. He twisted in the air and hesitated. “Where … where are they?”

  “There!” Viktor pointed his long wrench down the modules as he kicked off to join his Russian comrade.

  Without a word, Robert planted a booted foot on the wall and took off, following him.

  Kimberly didn’t know what she should do. She had to help the guys, but couldn’t think of anything right off that would target only the two intruders and wouldn’t affect all of them. She was certainly no match for them using another makeshift weapon, and if any of the big lunks didn’t keep on the offensive and instead tried to protect her, it might end up getting one of the guys hurt.