Skyfall

Control they had relaxed as well; there were more smiles than frowns. Flax had the victory cigar out and was chewing on it still unlit.

All was going according to plan.

“Shutdown,” Patrick said quietly as the engines cut off. “How is our orbit now, Mission Control?”

“Four balls, Prometheus. We have a one in the last digit, just one away from five balls. “

A good orbit with a.00001 error from the ideal predicted orbit. Patrick stretched and unlocked his belt, talking to the crew.

“We are coasting now but please do not leave your couches. I am coming down for eyeball contact.”

He pushed away from the couch and floated towards the bulkhead. “I'm going to cheer up the troops, Nadya, will you take the con?”

“Nyet prahblem, vas ponyal.”

As the opening of the hatch swam towards him, Patrick grabbed the edge to brake his motion. His feet came up slowly and brushed the wall, slowing his body to a stop. Head first he pulled himself in, floating towards the couches.

“A most dramatic entry, Commander,” Coretta said, fighting the urge to draw aside as he floated headfirst towards her. “When do we get to try that?”

“As soon as we're in final orbit. How is everything here?”

He bent his arms as he floated to her couch, slowing and stopping. He tested her straps. She nodded and smiled.

“I'm fine now — but what was that shaking around about?”

“The pogoing?”

“If that's what you call it. Like a pogo stick?”

“That's right. As the tank empties pressure waves in the fuel line will sometimes surge backwards and forwards and cause the engines to set up a motion something like” a pogo stick. There are pressurization and systems dampers to stop it.”

“It was shaking the fillings out of my teeth.”

“Everyone else all right?” Patrick asked, looking around.

There was a moment's hesitation, then Gregor spoke slowly.

“I regret the free fall, the shaking, caught me by surprise. I had… my stomach… a small accident.” He was almost blushing. “But there is the plastic bag, it is all right now.”

“Happens to all of us,” Patrick said. “Hazard of the profession. Are you over it?”

“Yes, finished. I am most sorry.”

“Don't be. When we are back on solid ground I'll tell you some real good Air Force whoopsie stories.”

“Spare us now, will you, Patrick.” Ely spoke above the top edge of his book, a novel with a title in French.

“Of course. Here's the situation.” They were listening closely now, even Ely. “We're about a hundred and thirty kilometers high and still climbing. Our boosters are gone but the core vehicle still has fuel. It will fire one more time for orbit insertion before staging. After this, as soon as Mission Control is happy about the orbit, the core vehicle will be detached and we will be on our own. That will be when Ely does his thing.”

“An honest job at last,” Ely said. “I'm tired of being a passenger and look forward to the moment when Dr. Bron and his magic atomic rocket engine have a chance to perform. Though small, and without the kiloton thrust of the monsters we have dropped behind us, it is true-blue and with a heart of gold and will puff and toot and lift us up into the perfect orbit in the ideal position.”

“May it do just that. Any questions? Colonel?”

“When do we eat?”

“A good question. With all the holds we had I'm feeling hungry myself. I'd say break out the food packs now if I thought we had time. You have the tubes there so drink some lemonade if you want to keep the hunger pangs away. As soon as we get into the low orbit we'll eat. Then Ely can get to work on his engine.”

Patrick pulled himself back up into the flight cabin and buckled in once again. “How's our time?” he asked.

“About three minutes to firing,” Nadya said, looking at the GET.

“Good. I'll take it.”

Flipping up the safety lid, Patrick held his finger over the engine firing button. The computer counted down on the GET and, at the precise second, he pressed down just in case the signal from the computer did not activate it precisely.

The pumps whirred, the engine fired.

It worked at full thrust for exactly three seconds. Then it exploded.

13

GET 00:35

The blast jammed Patrick into his couch, blurring his vision for an instant. He shook his head and when he could see again there were lights, red lights, everywhere before him on the panels. Voices hammered in his ears, from Mission Control and on the intercom; Nadya was calling out to him.

He ignored them all, scarcely aware of the intruding sounds. The instruments. Engine. Automatic shutdown, now manual shutdown. Pumps, fuel, safety interlock. And they were spinning. The Earth swam into the ports ahead then slipped out of sight. He looked at the GET and timed the rotation, lying motionless until it appeared again. Then he threw the switch that cut off the intercom, stilling the voices that cried out to him, calling over to Nadya at the same time.

“Hold the question until I contact Mission Control.” He flipped one more switch. “Mission Control, do you read me?”

“Yes, listen, we have…”