Skyfall

“Condition report follows. We have had a malfunction in the core body engines. No readings at all from number three, may have been an explosion. Others shut down. Fuel flow shut off. Fuel reserves remaining at eleven percent. We are tumbling in orbit, one rotation every twelve seconds. Give me an orbit and status report. Over.”

“Orbit follows, perigee eighty-four point six three miles. Orbiting time eighty-eight minutes. We have an indication for lowered cabin pressure. Do you have a reading?”

“Reading positive, seven point three pounds. You may have an instrumentation failure. Do we cancel tumbling?”

“Negative, repeat negative.” There was emotion in Flax's voice for the first time. “We want to determine extent of damage first.”

Patrick flicked on the intercom. “Did everyone hear that?”

“I heard it, but I didn't understand it,” Coretta said.

“We've had an engine malfunction,” Patrick said. “We don't know the extent of the trouble yet. As you know, the plug nozzle engine of the core body is really four separate quadrants that fire together. One of these is out of action, no readouts from it at all. I'd guess it's had a major malfunction…”

“Do you mean it blew up?” Ely asked.

“Yes, I suppose it might be that. In any case we've three good engines…”

“You think we've three engines.”

“Ely, shut up for a moment. We don't know yet just what we have or don't have. Find out first, panic later. We still have plenty of fuel for maneuvering and we're in orbit. The only problem facing us immediately is that we're tumbling. I'm going to correct that as soon as I've permission from Mission Control.”

“You say we're in orbit,” the Colonel said slowly. “Might I ask what kind of orbit that is?”

Patrick hesitated. “I don't really know. I'll get the data as soon as I can. Roughly though, we're about a hundred and forty kilometers high and orbiting the Earth once every eighty-eight minutes.”

“Eighty-five miles isn't very high,” Ely said.

“Sounds pretty high to me,” Coretta broke in.

“High enough.” Patrick fought to keep the tension from his voice. “Up here we are above most of the atmosphere, ninety-nine percent of it. I'm getting back to Mission Control.”

Five more minutes went by before Mission Control was certain that the computer had digested all the available information. “All right, Prometheus,” Flax said. “Permission to stabilize. Suggest minimum fuel expenditure.”

“I am aware of that necessity, Mission Control. Maneuver begins.”

This bit of flying by the wire was uncalled for in their flight plan. The fuel he was using now would be needed to stabilize the ship in the correct final orbit. But they would never reach that orbit if he didn't stop the tumbling. He would have to use minimum fuel and hope there would be enough left when he needed it. A touch on the controls slowed the rotation. But not enough.

“You will need more,” Nadya said.

“How well I know that.” His face was grim. “Here goes.”

With short blasts on the maneuvering jets the tumbling through space slowed bit by bit until it finally stopped. The Earth, his only reference point, moved slowly into view in the ports ahead, the horizon sensors finally settling it into fixed position bisecting the window.

“Fuel reserves in maneuvering jets at seventy-one percent. That was wonderful, Patrick.”

“And the estimate was that we wouldn't need more than fifty to correct orbit. There's still a ball game.” He turned on the radio. “Hello Mission Control. Tumbling has been canceled and we are stable in orbit. Do you have a condition report on the core body engines yet?”

“Negative, Prometheus, But we have been running the programs through the computer and need more input before we will have them finalized. Are you ready for instructions?”

“Go ahead, Flax, but make it fast. I don't like this orbit and I want us out of it soonest.”

“Confirm. Activate your P20 to C64 and let us have a reading…”

While Patrick was testing the circuits and feeding the results to the computer, Nadya turned on the intercom and told the rest of the crew what was happening.

“Can we unstrap, Nadya?” Gregor asked. “Perhaps stretch a bit, move about. It is becoming claustrophobic in here.” There was a thin edge of tension in his voice, not quite panic yet, but the edge was there. The most exhaustive tests in the world are still just tests; space flight is the ultimate test and one that cannot always be completely prepared for. Nadya was aware of the difference in Gregor's voice and thought it best to ignore it for as long as possible.

“Please don't, Gregor. We may fire again at any moment and we will have to do it at the exact instant ordered by the computer programming. We could be badly hurt if we weren't strapped in.”

“And the food, Nadenka?” the Colonel asked. “You must hear my stomach grumbling up there.”

“Is that what it was, Volodya! I thought it was the rockets firing on their own.” Someone chuckled at her joke; no one really laughed. “The same goes for you, I'm afraid. As soon as we're in orbit we can do what we want.”