Space Hoax

26 GUESS WHO?

Peter was slammed hard against his seatbelt, jarring him to consciousness. With the eerie silence surrounding him and his lungs aching for air, he was confused at first as to where he was. He was momentarily blinded by the sunlight glinting through his window while there was darkness outside. He took in a big dose of oxygen. Out of the corner of his eye, he was stunned to see Viktor working the controls. Wondering what the hell his dead partner was doing next to him, he quickly jerked his head to get a better look. He let out a big sigh when he saw the wires coming out from the side of the dummy’s flight suit, reminding him where he was. Good, I’m not dead. He grinned at the arms dangling out in front of the dummy due to the force pulling them forward; giving the impression the fake astronaut was working the control panel. Suddenly the ship shook. Peter instinctively looked at the monitor. He quickly surmised they had just experienced MECO, Main Engine Cut Off, which probably woke him. The tremble he felt was the engine separating as they coasted on the verge of space.

Mission Control called out over his headset, “Stage separation is confirmed.”

Peter squinted hard at the dummy, which still looked like it was busy flying the ship. “Good job saving us from that pogo problem.”

Before the dummy could answer, they were both flung hard backward into their seats as the second stage fired.

Mission Control piped up with their status. “Second stage firing, avionics systems are performing nominally. Altitude is eighty-nine miles.”

Peter figured he must have blacked out during the pogo problem. He fought to keep his head steady while studying the monitor. Though the flight looked to be back on course, he was sure the trouble they encountered would probably prevent NASA from approving the rocket for manned flights, at least from this test.

The rocket started to roll and the colorful ball of Earth outside started to come into view. His eyes once again widened in awe, never tiring of the magnificent sight.

Soon they were going through SECO, Second Engine Cut Off. The rocket handled the operation flawlessly before releasing the second stage. Peter was now floating in his seat and the ride felt as smooth as glass. He looked over at the dummy to see its arms levitating. “Good job, partner.” He tried to do the Galileo fist bump with one of his hands to celebrate making it into space, but instead chuckled at their comical exchange. “You screwed it up just like Viktor.”

“SIR, A ROCKET just launched from Cape Canaveral.”

A gut feeling told Kuang that Peter Novak was on board. His keen eyes challenged his assistant. “Was it a NASA rocket?”

“No, sir. It belongs to the same commercial company that helped the American get to the moon.”

Kuang jolted upright in his chair. “That’s even worse. I’m sure Novak is on that rocket, planning to sabotage our operation.”

Ming took a moment as if trying to choose the right words to soothe his boss. “Sir, that company has been scheduled for over a month to do this test for NASA. They are trying to get their rocket man-rated. It’s flying unmanned.”

Kuang slammed his fist down hard on his desk, causing Ming to take a step back. “Bullshit, he’s there.”

“Sir, MSS has been abreast of the situation. They have asked us to closely monitor all communications associated with the flight to determine if it is manned.”

Kuang was livid. “He’s there. I know it. You inform me immediately if there is any indication a human might be on that spacecraft. If there is, we have no choice but to detonate that bomb. We cannot chance our plan being discovered, we must make sure we erase all evidence.”

“Yes, sir.”

SMALL POCKETS OF sweat had been pooling on Peter’s face ever since he manually took over control of his spacecraft earlier than planned. His action surprised the hell out of mission control, and the way they stumble through their latest announcement made it obvious they were probably freaking out back in California. He wasn’t scheduled to take the reins until fifty meters out, but he had no choice. He needed the extra distance to get reacquainted with the controls and to position Galileo perfectly to pick off the antenna.

Peter was fully suited up in the Skylab spacesuit minus his helmet, allowing him to listen to mission control. He had an oxygen mask strapped to his face as he breathed in pure oxygen, preparing his body for the upcoming spacewalk. After searching through the sea of darkness, he eventually was able to locate his target, which was a small glimmer in a higher orbit. Mission control had done a good job aligning the plane of Galileo’s orbit with Iris’s, but now Peter had to synch the two, which would require every ounce of his piloting skills. Different from when he flew Galileo for a short jaunt to dock with the space station, this time he had to tackle the science of orbital mechanics. His knowledge on the subject would be tested. He needed to synchronize his orbit with Iris’s so the ships would eventually meet at the same place at the same time, and at a manageable relative speed.

Peter’s radio crackled. “Galileo is on course to rendezvous with EarthOrbit’s spacecraft in ten minutes and counting.” He was relieved mission control regained their composure, a sign they had accepted that he had taken control of the spacecraft. Since their radio transmission was being monitored, Peter hoped SpaceQuest made the planned public announcement that they were flying their spacecraft toward EarthOrbit’s to prove their rendezvous capability. He didn’t want China getting nervous, thinking a rescue was underway.

Peter turned on the Docking HUD, the Heads Up Display, and set its frequency to tune into Iris’s transponder. Soon HUD was receiving information from the distant ship. Two vital pieces of information were now on his screen: Iris’s range and range rate. The display had computer imagery of what was beyond his window with a green, dotted box highlighting his target, which at the moment was only a tiny dot on his screen. It also kept him advised of his relative velocity versus the ship he was chasing. Currently, it was 120 meters/second, meaning he was traveling that much faster than his target. I’ve got to slow this thing down. Ultimately, relative velocity needed to be at a manageable two meters/second to give him his best shot at ramming into the round antenna.

The ex-NASA astronaut was frantically wrestling with the challenges of moving his ship in space. Every adjustment seemed to affect two other variables. When he fired thrusters to reduce his speed, his orbit changed, which in turned changed his altitude and relative speed. When he corrected his altitude, his speed was affected. It was a vicious cycle that typically required a team of physicists with computers to correct. But he was on his own to deal with the science. He wondered if he bit off more than he could chew, especially since there would be no practice rounds. He had one shot at getting this right. It was as if he was down to his last ball at a carnival game, and standing next to him was the pretty girl he was trying to impress, and next to her was his rival with a cocky smirk. His pulse raced as he continuously manipulated the controls. If there was ever a time he needed his old partner, this was it. Viktor was a wizard when it came to orbital mechanics.

Peter eventually had Galileo pointed at Iris before he fired the main thrusters for the final time, periodically applying his rotational thrusters to keep the nose of his ship aligned with the velocity vector on his display. In propelling his ship forward, he was actually slowing it down as it increased its orbit altitude. He had to constantly remind himself to breathe as he directed his attention to his monitors, occasionally looking out his window. When he reached the two hundred meter mark, he took in a big gulp of oxygen. He finally had a good view of his target; it was time to fly more like a pilot than a navigator. He turned his focus toward the images outside, flying more by instinct and feel.

The approach alert system started playing pinging sounds, increasing in frequency as he got closer to his target. Peter blurted out to the dummy, “Hey, earn your paycheck and read off the delta distance with Iris.” Once again, no response.

Galileo was now too close to Iris to use its powerful main thrusters, so Peter operated the linear thrusters to help guide the ship straight in. His target swelled in size. Luckily, he didn’t have to make any changes on his approach. His ship would be coming up from behind and under Iris, preventing Jesse or Blake from seeing it and determining it was manned. Anticipation grew as he studied the antenna hanging down under the ship. It seemed to tease him, daring him to pick it off. Piece of cake.

As he stared at the spacecraft positioned ominously above him, a sudden realization hit him. What if Jesse decided to rotate his ship to get a visual, creating the insurmountable task of trying to hit a moving target? He was already doing a first in space, purposely attempting to crash into a target on a spacecraft that was steady in flight. Trying to hit one doing a maneuver would take a miracle, and he was sure he was out of those. Plus, Jesse would undoubtedly detect Galileo was manned and broadcast his findings on the radio. Even if Peter dimmed the cabin lights, there would still be shadows from the glow of the display. Regrettably, he couldn’t just simply shut the shades since he needed to keep an eye on the antenna.

His one glimmer of hope was EarthOrbit’s mission control informing Jesse the unmanned spacecraft approaching was a SpaceQuest ship just trying to show off. Because of Iris’s tight fuel supply and its aggressive mission objectives, Peter was confident Jesse would be ordered not to waste fuel to get a visual. The question was, would he follow that order? If he, himself, was the commander, his curiosity would get the better of him. But Jesse was an ex-Navy SEAL, and one doesn’t get selected to such an elite task force by disobeying orders.

After a few tense minutes flying, Peter popped the switch to overload Iris’s backup radio with static noise. He was sixty meters out from his target. He took one last look at his display. His relative velocity was five meters/second. He was still coming in hot. He looked out to get a quick visual. The ship was angled just right so he quickly pushed a button to kill his rotation. He did a few taps on his reverse thruster and his heart started pounding. His full concentration was now through his window. It was time to see how good a pilot he was.

He sensed he was about twenty meters out while he worked to point the Whipple shield perfectly toward the three-foot round dish sticking roughly four feet off the Iris. Come on, Peter, don’t screw this up. His heart pounded wildly as he held both gloved hands steady on the controls, making minute corrections.

At ten meters out, he was impressed his ship was still right on target. Damn, Peter, good job. The looming shadow from the spacecraft above began to creep over his ship, but Peter’s attention never wavered from the antenna. Come on, baby. The front of his ship was going to block his view moments before impact, preventing him from seeing the hit. When he lost sight, he pushed himself tightly into his seat, preparing for the strike. He hoped for the best. A firm jolt confirmed he hit something. Sure hope I got that sucker.

Peter nervously waited out the next few seconds, confirming no further bumps or scrapes followed as the ship went into a slow spin. Relieved he cleared Iris with no further impacts, he swiftly started wrestling with the spacecraft to stop the rotation. He flashed a big grin when the metal dish flew past his window. He exuberantly raised his clinched gloved hand. That’s what I’m talking about. See-ya!

He was sure his friends were completely bewildered why another American ship just crashed into theirs, taking out their communication link to Earth. Peter hustled to maneuver Galileo into the right position with its window across from Iris’s. Once positioned, he promptly unhooked his seatbelt and snatched a flashlight, pen, and notepad. He peered out at the shiny spaceship floating eerily outside and saw a face staring back. He couldn’t make out whether it was Jesse or Blake. Peter first waved, but got no response. He quickly turned on the flashlight and pointed it toward the ship, sending an SOS first to get their attention. He was certain both men knew the international signal for an emergency. He kept repeating the message. Soon the head disappeared before reappearing, this time with a shining flashlight.

Peter set the notepad on his lap as he prepared to write down the coded message received. He adjusted his oxygen mask as he looked back out to see flashes of light already coming his way. He quickly wiped the beads of sweat off his forehead before calmly writing each letter down. It was obvious he was a little rusty as he struggled to interpret some of the quick flashes. He did the best he could. Once the message looked to be repeating, he looked at his notepad and chuckled at what was being asked. “Who the hell are you?” He was sure he was communicating with the straightforward commander.

Part of him wanted to jokingly respond, “Guess Who?” But he couldn’t waste time. Instead he was about to shock the hell out of both men. He started sending the signal, “Peter Novak. Bomb on Iris. Evacuate ASAP.”

After sending the message, Peter saw erratic movements happening inside. Then two faces peered back at him. They sent a response. “Your room number in Nevada?”

Peter was momentarily confused by the question. What the hell is he asking? He looked, but neither face budged. I guess they want proof it’s me. He quickly flashed his room number at the spaceport, “4.”

Flashes instantly returned. “How much time?”

Peter heaved a deep sigh. “Unknown. Evacuate ASAP. Have oxygen pack for Blake. Do not inform MC.”

One face disappeared as the other answered back. “Roger. Radio jammed.”

Peter responded. “Urgent. Tell MC nothing. Enemy listening. Radio will clear.”

“Roger. Keep MC in dark.” The head vanished.

Peter was sure the men were putting on their suits. He cut the transmission jamming their radio so Jesse could inform mission control all was okay. It was time for him to prepare to save his friends. He just hoped China wasn’t getting an itchy finger with a spaceship floating next to Iris.

KUANG RAN BOTH hands deep through his hair. Ming informed him the two American spacecraft were currently side by side in orbit. Kuang was convinced a rescue attempt was currently underway. He angrily snatched his phone.

“Who are you calling, sir?”

Kuang punched in Lin’s number. “MSS. We need to detonate that bomb now.”

Kuang stayed hunched over as he clutched the receiver tightly to his ear. He stared directly at his assistant director while impatiently waiting for an answer.

“Hello?”

Kuang broke eye contact with Ming as he looked straight across the room “Lin, its Kuang. I’ve just been informed the American ship is parked next to the Iris spacecraft. I insist we destroy Iris immediately. We cannot afford a rescue or any chance of our operation being discovered. We must erase the evidence at once.”

“Yes,” said Lin. “I just learned of this situation. I agree with your assessment. However, I need the director’s approval.”

Kuang clenched his jaw. “I’ll call him.”

“Sir, let me take care of this. I’ll walk over to his office directly. I’m sure he’ll agree with us.”

Kuang’s palms began to sweat. “You must insist we strike now.”

“I understand.”