Gravity. Part 8

"That's almost seven hundred pounds. You can fit a lot of research experiments ina""

"I know how much three hundred kilos is. It's not mucha""

"So we make up for it by more frequent launches. You can almost think of it as an airplane to s.p.a.ce."

"In facta"in fact, we've already got NASA's interest!" Casper interjected with a note of desperation. "This is just the kind of system they might purchase for quick hops to the s.p.a.ce station."

Lucas's eyebrow shot up. "NASA is interested?"

"Well, we have something of an inside track."

s.h.i.t, Casper, thought Sullivan. Don't go there.

"Show them the newspaper, Sully."

"What?"

"Los Angeles Times. Second page." Sullivan looked down at the L. A. Times that Bridget had thrust in his hand. He turned to the second page and saw the article, "NASA Launches Astronaut Replacement." Next to it was a photograph of JSC high-muck-a-mucks at a press conference. He recognized the homely guy with the big ears and the bad haircut. It was Gordon Obie.

Casper s.n.a.t.c.hed the paper and showed it to their visitors. "See this man here, standing next to Leroy Cornell? That's the of Flight Crew Operations. Mr. Obie's brother." The two visitors, obviously impressed, turned and looked at Sullivan.

"Well?" said Casper. "Would you gentlemen care to talk business?

"We might as well tell you this up front," said Lucas. "Mr. Rashad and I have already taken a look at what other aeros.p.a.ce companies have in development. We've looked over the Kelly Astroliner, the Roton, the Kistler K-1. We were impressed by all them, especially the K-1. But we figured we should give your company a chance to make a pitch as well." Your little company.

f.u.c.k this, thought Sullivan. He hated begging for money, hated getting down on his knees before stuffed shirts. This was a campaign. His head ached, his stomach was growling, and these two suits had wasted his time.

"Tell us why we should bet on your horse," said Lucas. "What makes Apogee our best choice?"

"Frankly, gentlemen, I don't think we are your best choice," Sullivan answered bluntly. And he turned and walked away.

"Uha"excuse me," said Casper, and he went chasing after his partner.

"Sully!" he whispered. "What the h.e.l.l are you doing?"

"These guys aren't interested in us. You heard them. They love the K-1. They want big rockets. To match their d.i.c.ks."

"Don't screw this up! Go back and talk to them."

"Why? They're not writing us any checks."

"We lose them, we lose everything."

"We've already lost."

"No. No, you can sell this to them. All you have to do is tell the truth. Tell them what we really believe. Because you know and I know we've got the best."

Sullivan rubbed his eyes. The aspirin was wearing off, and his head pounded. He was sick of begging. He was an engineer and a pilot, and he'd happily spend the rest of his life with his hands blackened by engine grease. But it would not happen, not without new investors. Not without new cash. He turned and walked back to the visitors. To his surprise, both men seemed to regard him with wary respect. Perhaps because he had told the truth.

"Okay," said Sullivan, emboldened by the fact he had nothing to lose. He might as well go down like a man. "Here's the deal. We can back up everything we've said with one simple demonstration. Are the other companies ready to launch at the drop of a hat? No, they are not. They need preparation time," he sneered. "Months and months of it. But we can launch anytime. All we need to do is load this baby onto its booster and we can shoot her up to low earth orbit. h.e.l.l, we can send her up to hotdog the s.p.a.ce station. So give us a date. Tell us when you want liftoff, and we'll do it." Casper turned as white as aa"well, a ghost. And not a friendly one.

Sullivan had just taken them so far out on a limb they were clawing at thin air. Apogee II hadn't been tested yet. She had sitting in this hangar for over fourteen months, gathering dust while they scrounged for money. On this, her maiden voyage, wanted to launch her all the way to orbit?

"In fact, I'm so confident she'll pa.s.s muster," said Sullivan, raising the stakes even higher, "I'll ride in the pilot's seat myself."

Casper clutched his stomach. "Uha that's just a figure of speech, gentlemen. She can be flown perfectly well unmanneda""

"But there's no real drama in that," said Sullivan. "Let me take her up. It'll make it more interesting for everyone. What do you say?"

I say you're outta yourf.u.c.king mind, Casper's eyes told him.

The two businessmen exchanged looks, a few whispered words. Then Lucas said, "We'd be very interested in a demonstration. It will take us time to round up all our partners' travel schedules. So let's saya a month. Can you do it?"

They were calling his bluff. Sullivan merely laughed. "A month? No problem." He looked at Casper, who now had his eyes closed as though in pain.

"We'll be in touch," said Lucas, and turned toward the door.

"One last question, if I may," said Mr. Rashad. He pointed to the orbiter. "I notice the name on your prototype is Apogee II. Was there an Apogee I?" Casper and Sullivan looked at each other.

"Uh, yes," said Casper. "There wasa"

"And what happened to her?" Casper went mute.

What the h.e.l.l, thought Sullivan. Telling the truth seemed to work with these guys, he might as well do it again.

"She crashed and burned," he said. And walked out of the hangar.

Crashed and burned. That was the only way to describe what had happened on that cold, clear morning a year and a half ago. The morning his dreams had crashed and burned as well. Sitting at his battered desk in the company office, nursing his hangover with a cup of coffee, he couldn't help replaying every painful detail of day. The busload of NASA officials pulling up at the launch site.

His brother, Gordie, grinning with pride. The air of celebration among the dozen Apogee employees and the score of investors who had a.s.sembled under the tent for prelaunch coffee and doughnuts.

The countdown. The liftoff. Every one squinting up at the sky as Apogee I streaked toward the heavens and receded to a glinting pinpoint.

Then the flash of light, and it was all over.

Afterward, his brother had not said very much, barely a few words of condolence. But that's how it was with Gordon. All their lives, whenever Sullivan screwed upa"and it seemed to happen all too oftena"Gordon would just give that sad and disappointed shake of the head. Gordon was the older brother, the sober and reliable son who had distinguished himself as a shuttle commander.

Sullivan had never even made it into the astronaut corps.

Though he, too, was a pilot and an aeros.p.a.ce engineer, things seemed to go Sullivan's way. If he climbed into the c.o.c.kpit, that was precisely the moment a wire would short out or a line would rupture. He often thought the words Not My Fault should be tattooed on his forehead, because more often than not, it wasn't his fault when things went wrong. But Gordon didn't see it that way.

Things never went wrong for him. Gordon thought the concept of bad luck was an excuse to cover up incompetence.

"Why don't you call him?" said Bridget.

He looked up. She was standing by his desk, her arms crossed like a disapproving schoolteacher's. "Call who?" he asked.

"Your brother, who else? Tell him we're launching the second prototype. Invite him to watch. Maybe he'll bring the rest of NASA."

"I don't want anyone from NASA."

"Sully, if we impress them, we'll turn this company around."

"Like the last time, huh?"

"A fluke. We've fixed the problem."

"So maybe there'll be another fluke."

"You're gonna jinx us, you know that?" She shoved the phone in front of him. "Call Gordon. If we're gonna roll the dice, we might as well bet the whole house." He eyed the phone, thinking about Apogee I. About how a lifetime of dreams can be vaporized in an instant.

"Sully?"

"Forget it," he said. "My brother's got better things to do than hang out with losers." And he tossed the newspaper into the rubbish can.

July 26.

Aboard Atlantis

"Hey, Watson," Commander Vance called down to the middeck.

"Come up and take a look at your new home." Emma floated up the access ladder and emerged on the flight deck, right behind Vance's seat. At her first glimpse through the windows, she inhaled a sharp breath of wonder.

This was the closest she had ever come to the station. During her first mission, two and a half years ago, they had not docked with ISS, but had observed it only from a distance.

"Gorgeous, isn't she?" said Vance.

"She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," Emma said softly.

And she was. With her vast solar arrays fanning out from the ma.s.sive main truss, ISS looked like a majestic sailing ship through the heavens.

Built by sixteen different countries, the components had been delivered into s.p.a.ce on forty-five separate launches. It had taken five years to a.s.semble her, piece by piece, orbit. Far more than merely a marvel of engineering, she was a symbol of what man can achieve when he lays down his weapons and turns his gaze skyward.

"Now, that's a nice piece of real estate," said Vance. "I'd call that a view apartment."

"We're right on the R-bar," said shuttle pilot Dewitt. "Nice flying." Vance left the command seat and stationed himself at the flight deck's overhead window for visual approach as they neared the ISS docking module. This was the most delicate phase in the complicated process of rendezvous. Atlantis had been launched into lower orbit than ISS, and for the last two days she had been playing a game of catchup with the hurtling s.p.a.ce station. They approach her from below, using their RCS jets to fine-tune their position for docking. Emma could hear the whomp of the thrusters' firing now and felt the orbiter shudder.

"Look," said Dewitt. "There's that solar array that got dinged last month." He pointed to one of the solar panels, scarred by a gaping hole.

One of the inescapable perils of s.p.a.ce is the rain of meteorites and manmade debris. Even a tiny fragment can be a devastating missile when it's hurtling at thousands of miles per hour.

As they drew closer and the station filled the window, Emma felt such overwhelming awe and pride that tears suddenly flashed in her eyes.

Home, she thought. I'm coming home.

The air-lock hatch swung open, and a wide brown face grinned at them from the other end of the vestibule connecting Atlantis with ISS. "They brought oranges!" Luther Ames called out to his mates. "I can smell'em!"

"NASA home delivery service," deadpanned Commander Vance.

"Your groceries have arrived." Bearing a nylon sack of fresh fruit, Vance floated through Atlantis's air lock into the s.p.a.ce station.

It had been a perfect docking. With both s.p.a.cecrafts traveling at a speed of 17,500 miles per hour above the earth, Vance had approached ISS at the delicate rate of two inches per second, up Atlantis's docking module to the ISS port for a good, tight lock.

Now the hatches were open and Atlantis's crew floated one by one into the s.p.a.ce station to be greeted with handshakes and hugs, and the welcoming smiles of people who have not seen new faces in over a month.

The node was too small to hold thirteen people, and the crews quickly spilled into the adjoining modules.

Emma was the fifth to cross into the station. She popped out of the vestibule and inhaled a m?lange of scents, the slightly stale and meaty odors of humans confined too long in a closed s.p.a.ce.

Luther Ames, an old friend from astronaut training, was the first to greet her.

"Dr. Watson, I presume!" he boomed out, pulling her into a hug.

"Welcome aboard. The more ladies, the merrier."

"Hey, you know I'm no lady." He winked. "We'll keep that between us." Luther had always been larger than life, a man whose good cheer could fill a room.

Every one liked Luther because Luther liked everyone. Emma was glad to have him aboard.

Especially when she turned to look at her other station mates.

She shook hands first with Michael Griggs, the ISS commander, and found his greeting polite but almost military. Diana Estes, an Englishwoman sent up by the European s.p.a.ce Agency, was not much warmer. She smiled, but her eyes were a strange glacial blue. Cool and distant.

Emma turned next to the Russian, Nicolai Rudenko, who had been aboard ISS the longesta"almost five months. The module lights seemed to wash all the color from his face, turning it as gray as the gray-flecked stubble of his beard. As they shook hands, his gaze barely met hers. This man, she thought, needs to go home. He is depressed. Exhausted. Kenichi Hirai, the astronaut from NASDA, floated forward to greet her next. He, at least, had a smile on his face and a firm handshake. He stammered a greeting and quickly retreated.

By now the module had emptied out, the rest of the group dispersing to other parts of the station. She found herself alone with Bill Haning.

Debbie Haning had died three days ago. Atlantis would be bringing Bill home, not to his wife's bedside, but to her funeral.

Emma floated across to him. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I'm sorry." He merely nodded and looked away. "It's strange," he said. "We always thoughta"if something ever happeneda"it would happen to me. Because I'm the big hero in the family. The one who takes all the risks. It never occurred to us that she would be the one."

He took a deep breath. She saw that he was fighting to maintain his composure, and she knew this was not the time for words of sympathy.

Even a gentle touch might destroy his fragile control over his emotions.

"Well, Watson," he finally said. "I guess I should be the one to show you the ropes. Since you'll be taking on my load."

She nodded. "Whenever you're ready, Bill."

"Let's do it now. There's a lot to tell you. And not much time the changeover." Though Emma was familiar with the layout of the station, her first interior glimpse of the actual structure was a dizzying experience. The weightlessness of orbit meant there was no up or down, no floor or ceiling. Every surface was functional works.p.a.ce, and she turned too quickly in midair, she instantly lost all sense of direction.

That, and the twinges of nausea, made her move slowly, focusing her eyes on one spot as she turned.