Skyfall

The nuclear engine countdown was almost finished when word of the disaster reached Prometheus, relayed from Mission Control. Flax had not mentioned the fate of the core booster until all of the facts were in, until the complete extent of the catastrophe was known. Then he had talked to Nadya, telling her what had happened in exact detail. She had called Patrick and Ely back from the nuclear engine control compartment so she could speak to them in person at the same time. When Major Gagarin, the first man ever to fly in space, had been in a plane crash his voice had been like hers. His engine had failed but he had stayed with his plane and flown it into the ground in order to miss the school and the houses below. His voice was calm and emotionless up until the instant of the crash. Nadya had been trained the same way.

They did not want to believe it, they had to believe it, but it still seemed so impossible.

“It couldn't have happened,” Ely said. “It just couldn't.”

“It did,” Patrick said, his quiet words cutting through the shocked silence. “It happened. But there's nothing we can do about it. It is just a fact we are going to have to live with. I don't know who's to blame — if anyone is to blame. It won't be easy but we are just going to have to put it out of our minds while we get on with the work here. Nadya, stay with the radio and give us reports of any developments. Ely and I are going to start the engine.” His eyes went to the GET readout and the others looked as well. “12:42. We're running out of time. We've less than twelve hours to build up speed and get out of this rotten orbit. If we don't the same thing could happen to us. And we would make a far bigger hole when we hit.”

In silence he pushed into the tube and back to the engine compartment, with Ely right behind him.

“I'll contact Mission Control,” Nadya said, shoving off from the couch towards the opening to the flight cabin. Her eyes were red, from fatigue not from tears, and her motions were slow.

“You should take a rest,” Coretta said. “Speaking as your doctor.”

“I know, thank you, but not right now. There is too much to do right now. It is checklist time for the air scrubbers to be examined. The fuel cells as well.”

“Can I help?”

“No. This is a particular job that either I or Patrick must do.” Then she was gone.

“It is always that way,” Gregor said. “Nothing for us to do — just wait. You are a physician, you have your work, but I am only a fifth wheel. I do nothing.” His face had sunk back into Slavic melancholy.

“You get gloomy too quickly,” Coretta said, moving over to him. “This trip has not been one of joy unrelieved, admittedly, but it's not that bad. Enjoy being a passenger while it lasts. When we get into orbit you're the only person who counts, the one this whole trip is about. The pilots are just cab drivers, and I'm here to make sure you don't get sniffles. As I remember this thing is called the Prometheus Project and it's supposed to put some kind of solar generator in orbit. And, with the Colonel gone, it looks to me like you're the only one who can do that.”

He wrung his large hands. “It will be difficult without Vladimir,” he said.

“Gregor, you are just going to have to snap out of this.” She was totally professional now. Opening the medical cabinet she took out a small tube of pills. On her way back to the couch she grabbed up a squeeze bottle of water as well.

“Take these,” she said, holding out two white capsules. “Wash them down with water, and I'll give you two more in six hours.”

“What are they?” he asked suspiciously.

“The pharmaceutical industry's answer to the rigors of the age of technology. Tranks. Tranquilizers. They file the thin edge of hysteria off life.”

“I do not take medicines, thank you. They are not needed.”

“Don't be afraid of these pills, Gregor. They are to help, not hurt.” She saw the signs of strain around his eyes and lips. “I feel in the need of a little tension-relieving myself.” She put the pills in her mouth, showed them to him on her tongue, then swallowed them with a mouthful of water. And took two more from the vial.

“Your turn now. No arguments.”

This time he took them without protest and she sighed with relief.

Ely, in the nuclear engine control station below, felt no relief at all. In fact, even in the controlled environment of the ship he was sweating. From tension, not from physical effort. The checkout was almost done, the preparation for starting up the nuclear engines almost finished.

“Ready to go, “he said.

“Begin,” Patrick said. “Is there anything I can do to help?”