Space Hoax

19 THE CHANGE

Kuang sat directly across from the MSS man in the empty conference room, done with the small talk. He was anxious to learn the latest on bombing the International Space Station. His impatience must have been obvious since Lin Wu started discussing the subject he was summoned for without waiting for the superior officer to formally introduce it.

Lin spoke with force in his voice. “So far the operation has proceeded as planned. The commercial rocket is on the launch pad in Nevada and scheduled to lift off on Friday. We’ve confirmed the bomb is operational and secured on board.”

Kuang reached over to a small tea tray between the two men. He took hold of the handle of his favorite Yixing clay pot and calmly poured some of the steaming-hot liquid into one of the two purple cups, expecting the taste to be perfect. He first offered the drink to Lin, who politely refused. As Kuang slid the small cup in front of himself, he took in the pleasant green tea aroma as he narrowed his stare on Lin. “Do we have a detailed breakdown of their flight plan?”

“Yes. You will be pleased to learn they are doing a spacewalk prior to rendezvousing with the space station. This historic feat will definitely grab the world’s attention, perfect for our operation to get maximum exposure. Such an embarrassing accident at the ISS witnessed by millions would indubitably set all the rest of the world’s space programs back years, propelling China into the position of the top country in space.”

Kuang crinkled his forehead at the thought of the private company doing a spacewalk, a feat that took his team over a decade to accomplish. He would hate for China to be upstaged by the young firm. He ran his finger around the rim of his cup. “Why are they doing the spacewalk before flying to the ISS?”

Lin’s demeanor stayed steady. “Not sure, but we feel it’s beneficial for our mission.”

Kuang forcefully shook his head, fighting back the impulse to snap at the young man’s shortsightedness. The MSS obviously had no idea how difficult it was to venture out into the harsh environment of space. “It’s too risky. If any problems happen during that spacewalk, it will prevent them from flying near enough to the ISS. I want it rescheduled so it happens after they rendezvous with the station. We cannot chance anything stopping us from achieving our objective. I want you to insist our man changes this immediately.”

Lin’s smug look wilted as he leaned forward against the conference table. He inclined his upper body. “I will personally pass on your request at once.”

Kuang carefully took a sip of the hot tea as he peered at the man over his cup. He was starting to question if the MSS was handling the operation correctly. “How long do they plan on being at the International Space Station?”

“We have been assured they will park by the station for at least twenty-four hours, allowing your agency plenty of time to verify their coordinates before taking control of the ship.”

Kuang warily set the cup down, making sure not to spill. “How close will they get?”

Lin looked at his notes before answering. “Fifty meters.”

Kuang clenched his fist. “Is that close enough?”

“Yes. Once your team starts firing the thrusters, the crew will be confused momentarily. By the time they figure out what is happening, it will be too late to regain control, especially as we counteract any corrections they make.”

“And the MSS will detonate the bomb before impact?”

“Yes, sir, seconds before.”

THE AIR CONDITIONER was running full blast in Peter’s home as he sat comfortably on a bar stool. Anya was barefoot in a pair of tight, white jeans and a loose, blue blouse as she meticulously worked the pots on a stainless steel stove in front of him. His fiancée had been working all day in the kitchen preparing a traditional Russian meal. It was Saturday night, his last evening home before transferring over to the spaceport in Nevada. She wanted to cook him something special as a send off. They had finished the first course, which was a cold soup called Okroshka. She couldn’t wait for him to try the sour milk-based soup that she grew up loving. Though it really wasn’t his thing, he politely endured the bitter flavor as he complimented her on its taste.

Anya was soaking what looked like dumplings in a pot of boiling water. When he had come home from work earlier in the day he had watched her painstakingly hand-making the little pastries, filling each with what looked like minced meat. He was pleased when she had ordered him out of the kitchen after he asked if he could help. Before leaving, he jokingly dotted flour on her nose as he gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek.

He was now starting to feel guilty as he lightly drummed his fingers on the granite countertop while she eagerly worked in front of him. “There must be something I can do to help?”

A smile was playing at both sides of her mouth as she gave him an endearing look. “You just relax and enjoy yourself.”

He definitely was enjoying himself. He wrapped his fingers around the bowl of his chilled wine glass and slowly brought the goblet to his mouth as he watched her turn around and reach for the plates in the upper cabinet. As he took in the wine’s aroma, he proudly admired the beautiful creature from behind. As the chilled liquid flowed over his lips, he realized once again what a lucky son-of-a-gun he was.

Soon the romantic couple sat comfortably across from each other at the dining room table, light jazz playing softly over the sound system. Peter had to block out the unpacked boxes scattered behind her, reminding him of the work he still had to do before they were fully moved in.

Peter lifted his glass for a toast. “Bon Appétit.”

Anya brushed her dark bangs from her eyes as she raised her glass and lightly tapped his, the soft chime echoing over the music. “I hope you like it.”

He took a sip of wine before looking down at the half-moon shaped dumplings neatly arranged on his plate. “So what is this dish called?”

She took a sip before answering. “It’s called Pelmeni. It’s one of my favorites. My grandmother used to make it all the time.”

“Does that mean anything in Russian?”

Her elbow rested on the table as she held the glass near her face. “It actually means ear-shaped bread in the Finnic language.”

Peter saw some dipping sauces. “So do I use my hands or fork?” He grinned. “I want to make sure I eat them the traditional way.”

She smiled. “Russians aren’t barbaric. We use forks.”

He set his glass down. “You know I didn’t mean that.”

She winked. “I know.”

Peter put his napkin in his lap before picking up his fork and stabbing one of the morsels. He dipped the small pastry in hot mustard before bringing it close to his lips. He stopped short of putting it in his mouth, feeling its warmth. He sat frozen, his eyes locked on her. She tilted her head before a sly grin signaled she understood he was being a gentleman, waiting for her to take the first bite. She promptly set her glass down, speared a dumpling and took a small taste.

Being given the green light, Peter set the whole dumpling on his tongue before closing his teeth gently onto the fork and pulling the food off. He slowly started to chew. Savory flavors and mustard spread across his palate. This is good. Anya stared with her hands clenched, obviously curious what he thought. The bite was too good to rush down, so he took his time chewing. Besides, he liked seeing her squirm. Once he had swallowed the last bit, he lifted his fork and slightly bowed. “That’s damn good. My compliments to the chef.”

Anya’s shoulders relaxed. “I’m so glad you like it.”

“To be honest, I really didn’t have high expectations.” Peter quickly speared another dumpling and dipped it in the same sauce. “But damn, this is good. So what’s in it? Something is giving it that spicy tang.”

“I can’t tell you. It’s my grandmother’s secret.”

Peter grabbed his glass with his free hand and did an imaginary toast. “Well, good job, Grandmother.”

The two proceeded to enjoy the dinner and had a pleasant conversation, never addressing the space mission around the corner. Soon, Anya’s face became serious. “So you’re sure you won’t be flying?”

“I’d say that’s a safe bet. Instead, I’ll be in town next week clearing up some of these unpacked boxes.” Peter pointed to the clutter behind her, before taking a sip of wine. “Jesse was officially put back on the prime crew yesterday, moving me to backup.” He swirled the remaining liquid around in his glass. “I just got checked out in my spacesuit today, which was cutting it close if I were flying. So as long as Jesse stays healthy, he’s the one and he is unquestionably the best man for the job.”

Her crystal-blue eyes stayed fixed on him. “So you’re going out there more as their boss?”

“Yes and no. Management still wants me doing all the same preflight activity as the guys in case Jesse has a relapse, which I’m positive won’t happen. They’re just being overly cautious.”

She pursed her lips. “Should I come out?”

“Na, we don’t want you missing any more work.”

She chewed her upper lip for a second. “And you’ll be back on Friday night?”

Peter decided this was a good time to tell her about the White House visit that Gavin had told him about earlier. Apparently the President wanted to present him with some medal on the following Sunday if he wasn’t in space. “Hopefully sooner. I would prefer to watch the launch from Mission Control, but they may want me there up until the last minute, and of course there could be delays. Regardless, I want to be home by next Sunday for a special meeting.”

Anya lifted an eyebrow. “What meeting is that?”

“How would you like to visit the White House with me and meet the President of the United States?”

Anya’s jaw dropped. “What? Are you kidding?”

“Nope. He wants to give me a medal. It will be a private presentation that won’t be made public.”

“Congratulations! It would be a thrill to meet the President.”

“Well let’s hope I don’t have to fly in space then.”

Anya put her hands together. “Believe me, that request is already in my prayers, regardless of any White House visit.”

He smiled. “Hopefully I get out of Nevada on Friday and you can make me these dumplings again.”

“They’re called Pelmeni and the soup was Okroshka.”

“I remembered the name, Okroshka. In fact I just like saying the word.” He slowly sounded out the word trying to add a Russian accent. “Ok-rosh-ka.” Peter then gave a modest shrug. “But since I love the Pelmeni, I can tell you the truth. I wasn’t a big fan of the soup.” He lifted both hands with a grin. “But I still love saying, Okroshka.”

“Really? You should have told me earlier. It wouldn’t have hurt my feelings.”

“I felt bad after you spent all day making all of this. I’m glad I enjoyed the main dish.”

Anya’s seductive smile teased Peter. “Who says that was the main dish?”

A big grin crossed Peter’s face as he shifted in his seat. “Oh, I thought you were going to be the dessert.” He playfully wiggled his eyebrows.

She lifted her glass. “Maybe with some whipped cream.”

“Mmmm, perfect.”

THE SCREECHING SOUND of Peter’s phone had rudely awakened him from a pleasant dream. Chris Riddick was calling, demanding Peter get to the office for an emergency meeting. Apparently, the old man wanted to speak to the crew about some new developments before they were to fly to the Nevada launch site. Though he should have gotten right out of bed when he hung up, he instead gave into Anya’s requests to stay. It’s Sunday; there won’t be any traffic. He rolled over and cuddled up to his lover’s warm body and easily fell back to sleep. Fortunately, Anya stayed awake and woke him a short time later.

Right before opening the door to Chris’s office, Peter glanced down at his watch. Damn it, I’m fifteen minutes late. He did a soft knock as he slowly opened the door.

Chris straightened up in his chair. “Oh, guess who decided to join us.”

Peter wanted to smack the asshole after that comment, but instead, took a deep breath and reminded himself his direct employer was SID. “Sorry I’m running late, I hit some unexpected traffic.” Blake and Jesse were both in casual clothes sitting across from Chris’s desk. They turned around to greet their boss. With no seat available, Peter grabbed one of the plush chairs from the sitting area and quickly dragged it over toward the men. Blake moved his chair over, giving Peter a spot between them. “Thanks, Blake.”

Chris leaned back in his chair. “We were going over the preflight procedures, but since we are on a tight schedule, I’m going to get right down to why this meeting was called.”

Getting a quick flash of Chris’s Rolex reminded Peter of when he snuck into the man’s office. He couldn’t contain his sly smirk as he looked down at the front of the desk, remembering when he was curled up on the floor on the other side just inches from Chris’s boots.

Chris’s voice was soft-spoken and intense. “We have made a change in the flight plan. We have decided to do Blake’s spacewalk after rendezvousing with the space station and cancel the second EVA.”

Peter jolted upright at hearing this surprising change. Though he was happy they were cancelling the second spacewalk, something seemed odd, especially considering Walter’s desire to get the world’s attention before visiting the station. He kept his cool. “Why the change?”

“It was a management decision. Our concern is if we have any issues during the spacewalk, we may have to scrub flying to the station, which is our main objective. First and foremost, this mission is to show NASA our capability to achieve a successful launch and being able to get into ISS’s orbit. We want to show NASA we can place a manned spacecraft within yards of the station and then return home safely. Basically, we want to do everything short of docking. Doing the spacewalk is more of a historic feat, but not a requirement of getting the NASA contract.”

Though Chris’s comments made sense, Peter was sure management must have thought about this before setting up the flight plan. Something must have come up to change their minds. Obviously Chris wasn’t going to elaborate on the reasoning. Showing he was a company man, Peter spoke up. “I agree with the change. I always felt the second spacewalk was a little too ambitious for our first manned mission anyway. This might be our only shot to show what we can do.”

“Exactly. So we have rescheduled your first broadcast to happen sometime when you’re next to the station.”

Peter scratched the back of his neck as he nodded. Something just didn’t feel right.