“Houston, Lightning here. We have another problem.”
“Lightning, say again,” Kessler heard Hunter say.
“Ah, we have another problem, Houston. A critical one, I might add. We just lost two fuel cells.”
Silence. Kessler sighed. Houston had put him on hold to prevent him from hearing their reactions. The radio came back on. Hunter’s voice was calm.
“Lightning, Houston. We have just received confirmation from the CIA that the orbiter has been sabotaged.”
“Nice of them to tell us after we’re up here.”
“It looks as if they’ve just figured it out.”
“Any ideas on what else has been sabotaged?”
“Ah, negative, Lightning.All we know is that someone is trying to destroy the orbiter.”
Kessler shook his head. “Hell, that’s just fucking great! And in the meantime we just sit up here and wait for something else to blow?”
“We’re running a computer simulation to determine the best course of action. In the meantime the CIA and FBI are going at it full blast. All we can do down here is try to get you guys back home safe. Status of third cell?”
“I just brought it on line but it won’t be enough to handle the entire life-support system. The cell is working at one-hundred-ten-percent capacity. I’m gonna have to unplug something soon to relieve the load. It’s a priority call.”
“Roger, Lightning, we copy. We have two Rockwell engineers with us in the room. Their suggestion is to disconnect the food, water, and wastewater subsystem, and see the effect of that on the loading.”
“Just a moment.” Kessler switched off the automatic life-support system which kept all three subsystem on line, and switched to a manual. That way he could select the subsystem he preferred to maintain operational. “It’s done, Houston. Cell operating at ninety-eight-percent capacity. I’ve also noticed a decrease in the oxygen content in the crew module. I’m afraid that even with the food, water, and wastewater subsystem off there isn’t enough power to maintain a proper oxygen level, and even if there was enough power, remember that we just lost two oxygen tanks. Pretty soon there’s not going to be much oxygen left for the system to circulate.”
“Lightning, our simulation confirms your suspicion. If our data is correct, it shows that you have less than twenty hours before the oxygen content drops to a hazardous level.”
Kessler inhaled deeply and stared at the Earth slowly rotating overhead. Their situation was critical. In twenty hours they would have to suit up and rely on the oxygen inside their space suits. The life-support system backpacks came with a seven-hour supply of oxygen. Kessler estimated they each had used less than an hour’s worth during the EVA. Damn! In less than twenty-six hours they were going to be out of air. They were stuck, marooned, their hopes for an early Earth re-entry dashed. Even though he could route the remaining helium and propellant from the right OMS tanks to the RCS primary jets to slow down the orbiter enough to achieve re-entry, Lightning would incinerate the moment it reached the upper layers of the atmosphere, since the payload bay doors were open and there were at least a dozen thermal tiles missing.
“Roger, Houston. Twenty hours, plus the six-hour supply in the PLSS backpacks.”
“Don’t forget the three rescue balls, Michael. There’s a two-hour supply in each.”
Kessler nodded slightly. Hunter was referring to the personal rescue enclosures, or rescue balls. Since there were only two space suits on board an orbiter flight, in the event of an emergency the rest of the crew — which in Kessler’s case was none — would use the rescue balls. The problem with that, he reflected, was that the balls were zipped shut from the outside by another crew member. With Jones still unconscious, it meant that Kessler had to rely only on suits and Jones on the rescue balls. Even if Jones was awake, he decided, one of them still had to use the suits.
“I’m aware of that, Houston. In any case, it looks like thirty hours max. Any way we can close the payload bay doors with one fuel cell?”
“Stand by, Lightning.”
Kessler kept his eye on the oxygen level. Still within the normal range, but not for long. The only good news in the whole situation, he reflected, was that it was just Jones and him, and not six or seven occupants like so many other shuttle missions. Under those conditions, they would have been lucky to get more than ten hours’ worth of oxygen.
“Ah, negative, Lightning. A minimum of two fuel cells is required.”
“Great. Any news on whether or not I can fill that gaps left by a dozen tiles with the tile repair kit?”
“Bad news on that front also, Lightning.The kit doesn’t have enough epoxy foam to fill all the holes.”
“Well, Houston? Can’t close the payload bay doors and can’t repair the tiles. What’s next?”
“Hang in there, Lightning. We’ll figure a way out of this one. In the meantime, try to keep still and relax to conserve oxygen. It’s preferable that you even sleep. You will consume less oxygen that way. Also, shut off all lights and redundant systems to give the life-support system more juice. Perhaps you can last a few more hours than calculated. We will contact you in five hours.”
“Copy, Houston. Over ‘n’ out.”
Kessler switch off most of the crew compartment’s lights and all payload bay floodlights. Lightning was engulfed by the cold darkness of space. Kessler remained on his flight seat just staring at the Earth. Only his steady breathing disturbed the total silence in the flight deck, and that would cease soon unless NASA got very creative, but how? How can they possibly help us out? Even if they somehow figure out a way to close the payload bay doors, the missing thermal tiles will do us in during re-entry.
The problem went beyond the fact that Lightning’s underside had several spots where its internal, all-aluminum skin was exposed. Those unprotected spots by themselves would account for some internal damage, but probably not enough to destroy the orbiter. Kessler’s primary concern with the missing tiles was that the exposed aluminum would reach extremely high temperatures during the critical twenty-minute re-entry. The melting heat would propagate across the aluminum skin and cause adjacent tiles to become loose and eventually fall off. The process would degenerate into a massive tile loss and inevitable orbiter burnout.
Kessler rubbed his eyes and sighed. There had to be a way out of this one.
In the Oval Office, the President sat on his leather swivel chair and watched Carlton Stice across his desk working the phone to get all concerned parties on the line. The latest news from Lightning was distressing. The two astronauts literally were going to die from asphyxiation.
The President got up and drove a fist into his palm, startling Stice. Then he grunted and turned to the windows facing the south grounds. There must be something NASA could do. Something, but what?
“I think I have them on the line, sir.” Stice said.
The President signaled him to press the speaker box. He did
“Tom, can you hear me?” the President asked as he sat back down on his chair.