'No.' She sighed. 'Only Jack.' There was a silence.
'I think -- I think what I want most now -- '
'Yes?' said Todd.
'I'd like to go to sleep. That's all. Just go to sleep.' He cleared his throat. 'Of course. You get some rest. I'll be here if you need me.' He closed with a soft, 'Good night, ISS. Good night, Houston, she thought. And she took off her headset and let it float away into the gloom.
The convoy of black sedans braked to a stop in front of Apogee Engineering, tires churning up a massive cloud of dust. Jared Profitt stepped out of the lead car and gazed up at the building. looked like an airplane hangar, windowless and bleakly industrial, its rooftop studded with satellite equipment.
He nodded to General Gregorian. 'Secure the building.' Barely a minute later, Gregorian's men gave the all-secure signal, and Profitt stepped into the building.
Inside, he found a ragtag group of men and women herded into a tense and angry circle. He immediately recognized two of the faces, Director of Flight Crew Operations Gordon Obie and shuttle Flight Director Randy Carpenter. So NASA was here, as he'd suspected, and this featureless building in the middle of the desert had been turned into a rebel Mission Control.
Unlike the Flight Control Room at NASA, this was clearly a shoestring operation. The floor was bare concrete. Spaghetti tangles of wires and cables were strung everywhere. A grotesquely overweight cat picked its way among a pile of discarded electronic equipment.
Profitt walked over to the flight consoles and saw the data streaming in. 'What's the orbiter's status?' he asked.
One of Gregorian's men, a flight controller from U.S. Space Command, said, 'It's already completed its Ti- burn, sir, and it's now moving up the R-bar. It could rendezvous with ISS within forty-five minutes.'
'Halt the approach.'
'No!' said Gordon Obie. He broke away from the group and stepped forward. 'Don't do this. You don't understand -- '
'There can be no evacuation of station crew,' said Profitt.
'It's not an evacuation!'
'Then what's it doing up there? It's clearly about to rendezvous with ISS.'
'No, it's not. It can't. It has no docking system, no way of connecting with the station. There's no chance of cross-contamination.'
'You haven't answered my question, Mr. Obie. What is Apogee II doing up there?' Gordon hesitated. 'It's going through a near-approach sequence, that's all. It's a test of Apogee's rendezvous capabilities.'
'Sir,' said the flight controller from Space Command. 'I'm seeing a major anomaly here.' Profitt's gaze shot back to the console. 'What anomaly?'
'The cabin atmospheric pressure. It's down to eight psi. It should be at fourteen point seven. Either the orbiter has a air leak, or they've purposely allowed it to depressurize.'
'How long has it been that low?' Quickly the flight controller typed on the keyboard, and a graph appeared, a plot of the cabin pressure over time.
'According to their computers, the cabin was maintained at fourteen point seven for the first twelve hours after launch. Then around thirty-six hours ago, it was depressurized to ten point two, where it held steady until an hour ago.' Suddenly his chin jerked up. 'Sir, I what they're doing! This appears to be a prebreathe protocol.'
'Protocol for what?'
'An EVA. A spacewalk.' He looked at Profitt. 'I think someone's aboard that orbiter.' Profitt turned to face Gordon Obie. 'Who's aboard? Who did you send up?' Gordon could see there was no longer any point in holding back the truth. He said, in quiet defeat, 'It's Jack McCallum. Emma Watson's husband.
'So it's a rescue mission,' said Profitt. 'How was it supposed to work? He goes EVA, and then what?'
'The SAFER jet pack. The Orlan-M suit he's wearing is equipped with one. He uses it to propel himself from Apogee II to the station. Enters via the ISS airlock.'
'And he retrieves his wife and brings her home.'
'No. That wasn't the plan. Look, he understands -- we all understand -- why she can't come home. The reason Jack went up was to deliver the Ranavirus.'
'And if the virus doesn't work?'
'That's the gamble.'
'He's exposing himself to ISS. We'd never let him come home.'
'He wasn't planning to come home! The orbiter was going to return without him.' Gordon paused, his gaze fixed on Profitt's.
'It's a one-way trip, and Jack knows it. He accepted the conditions. It's his wife dying up there! He won't -- he can't -- let her die alone.'
Stunned, Profitt fell silent. He looked at the flight console, monitors streaming with data. As the seconds ticked by, he of his own wife, Amy, dying in Bethesda Hospital. Remembered his frantic sprint through the Denver airport to catch the next flight home to her, and remembered his despair as he'd arrived breathless at the gate to see the plane pulling away. He thought of the desperation that must be driving McCallum, the anguish of being so heartbreakingly close to his goal, only to see it drift out of reach. And he thought, This will bring no harm to anyone here on earth. To anyone but McCallum. He has made his choice, with full knowledge of the consequences. What right do I have to stop him?
He said, to the Space Command flight controller, 'Return control of the console to Apogee. Let them resume their mission.'
'Sir?'
'I said, let the orbiter continue its approach.' There was a moment of stunned silence. Then the Apogee controllers scrambled back into their seats.
'Mr. Obie,' said Profitt, turning to look at Gordon. 'You do understand that we'll be monitoring every move McCallum makes. I am not your enemy. But I'm charged with protecting the greater good, and I'll do what's necessary. If I see any indication you to bring either of those people home, I will order Apogee II destroyed.'
Gordon Obie nodded. 'It's what I'd expect you to do.'
'Then we both know where we stand.' Profitt took a deep breath and turned to face the row of consoles. 'Now. Go ahead and get that man to his wife.' Jack hung poised at the edge of eternity.
No amount of EVA training in the WET-F pool could have prepared him for this visceral punch of fear, for the paralysis that seized him as he stared into the emptiness of space. He had swung open the hatch leading into the open payload bay, and his first view, through the bay's gaping clamshell doors, was of the earth, a dizzying drop below. He could not see ISS, she was floating above him, out of view. To reach her, he would have to swim down past those payload doors and circle around to the opposite side of Apogee II. But first, he had to force himself to ignore every instinct that now screaming at him to retreat back into the air lock.
'Emma,' he said, and the sound of her name was like a murmured prayer.
He took a breath and prepared to release his grip on the hatchway, to surrender himself to the heavens.
'Apogee II, this is Capcom Houston. Apogee -- Jack -- please respond.' The transmission over his comm unit caught Jack by surprise.
He had not expected any contact from the ground. The fact Houston was openly hailing him by name meant all secrecy had been shattered.
'Apogee, we urgently request you respond.' He remained silent, uncertain if he should confirm his presence in orbit.
'Jack, we have been advised that the White House will not interfere with your mission. Provided you understand one essential fact, This is a one-way trip.' Capcom paused and then said quietly, 'If you board ISS, you can't leave it again. You can't come home.
'This is Apogee II,' Jack finally answered. 'Message received and understood.'
'And you still plan to proceed? Think about it.'
'What the hell do you think I came up here for? The fucking view?'
