Skyfall

As the door opened they could see another door just inches away, still damp from the disinfectant that had been sprayed on it. Patrick opened this door as well and they entered the hermetically sealed people carrier. There were large windows in the sides of the vehicle, which was really a large box carried on a flatbed truck.

There had been no windows in their quarantine quarters, part of the psychological adjustment to condition them to sealed-in living in space. They had talked with others on the phone, usually about technical matters. Or had made long-distance calls to their families at home. In their single-minded attention to their work they had forgotten how many people were involved with the project, how much the world Was interested in what was happening to them.

They found out now. People, people everywhere. Waving, shouting, pushing to get a glimpse of the astronauts, with the photographers in front clicking away and fighting to stay in position. The shouting was clearly heard, even through the insulated wall of the sealed carrier. Soldiers cleared a path for the vehicle which started slowly forward. The astronauts waved back, suddenly shocked speechless by the reality of what was happening.

This was the day.

This was the big one.

Slowly and carefully the truck moved forward and around a corner and away from the laboratory complex. At the end of the wide road Prometheus waited, white clouds coming from her venting ports, the hot sun gleaming from her metal flanks. Still looking more like a skyscraper than a structure designed to fly. The cluster of rockets was a hundred and fifty feet above the ground. And, up there, standing above the bullet snouts, was the single projectile form of Prometheus itself, now revealed fully with the removal of the VAB. Only the Launch Tower remained, connected to the spaceship and boosters by its Service Swing Arms.

With slow precision the truck backed up to the base of the tower and locked its brakes. Clamps were loosened at the same time and the carrier was rolled backwards onto the elevator and once more locked into place. Then it shuddered and began to rise slowly into the air.

“I'm a little shaky,” Coretta said.

“So am I,” Ely told her. “We all are, nothing else would be possible.” Endlessly, the metal flanks of the boosters flowed by outside. “I'll bet even our steel-nerved pilots have butterflies in the stomach at this time. Is that true, Nadya?”

“Of course, only a stupid person does not feel fear. But really, it is only the waiting that bothers you. Once a mission begins you're so busy there's no time for worry or fear or anything else.”

With a slight vibration the elevator eased to a stop. They had arrived. Technicians outside rolled the carrier forward. One of them was waving excitedly and pointing ahead.

“What's he trying to say?” Patrick asked, suddenly uneasy.

“Making like throwing switches and talking into something,” Ely said. “Wait a bit, he's writing on that piece of paper.”

The carrier locked against the wall of the spacecraft, the man finished writing and held up the paper. USE RADIO NOW it said. Patrick nodded agreement.

“What is it about?” Nadya asked, puzzled. Patrick shrugged.

“No way of knowing yet. We'll just jump ahead in the countdown and switch on the radio first. There's the light.”

With the green light on, the door could be opened once again. The wet metal of Prometheus was just outside. Patrick flipped up the cover on the controls and actuated them, stepping back as the hatch cover swung slowly towards him. He bent and led the way in.

“Nadya, close the hatch after the last one,” he said. “I'll get on the radio.”

He dropped onto the pilot's couch and turned the radio on.

“… peat. Kletenik here calling Prometheus. Do you hear me? Please come in, Prometheus. Repeat…”

“Hello, Launch Control, Prometheus here.”

“Major Winter, we are having some difficulties. I have been discussing this with higher authorities and with Mission Control in Houston. They wish to talk with you. I am patching you through.”

“Go ahead,” Patrick said calmly, not showing the sudden sharp worry he felt. “Can you read me, Mission Control?”

“Fine, Patrick, clear as a bell. Listen. . I haven't got the world's best news for you. I've been talking with Kletenik and I've been onto the White House. “

“What is it, Flax?”

“Trouble. You need a hold, a long hold, and we don't think you have enough time. It looks like we're going to have to scratch this mission and reschedule.“

10

“Tell him to get his ass up here. Now.”

Bandin slammed the receiver back onto the phone and reached for the cup of coffee. Afternoon in Russia, crack of dawn in Foggy Bottom, and he had had maybe an hour's sleep. He pulled his bathrobe more tightly around him and sipped the coffee. Like ice.

“Lucy!” he shouted, then remembered that the room was soundproofed. He stabbed the intercom button and her voice quavered in. “Yes.”

“Coffee. A goddamn pot of coffee.”