On a good day. With a lot of luck.
But then again, Brad realized, any chance was better than none at all.
He turned away and limped on toward the nearest hangar door. Even with a regular dose of painkillers, his shoulder and knee still hurt like hell… but at least he’d been able to ditch the sling. Walking with a cane took some getting used to, though. Sky Masters had offered him a golf cart and assigned driver to get around the facility, but he’d turned them down. He figured it was better to sweat a little than to risk his knee stiffening up on him again.
After the deceptive early-morning tranquility outside, entering the vast building was a shock to his system. The hangar was a sea of bright lights, rapid, purposeful activity, and ear-shattering noise. Sky Masters and Scion ground crews surrounded three spaceplanes, readying them for flight. One was a comparatively small twin-engine S-9 Black Stallion. The others were the two Sky Masters S-29 Shadows — one still rigged up as an in-space refueling tanker. Scion’s armed S-29B spaceplane was back in its own secret Scion hangar in southwestern Utah, undergoing the same preparations, under Boomer’s watchful eye.
Nadia Rozek stood near one of the S-29s, following along while a crew chief ran a maintenance check on one of the big LPDRS engines. Brad crossed the huge hangar floor to join her. When she turned her head to greet him, a smile crossed her tired face. “You look better.” Then she reconsidered. “Or at least not quite so much like an old man tottering about in a daze.”
“Gee, thanks,” Brad said. “I think.”
“Nie ma za co,” she said with a slightly wider smile. “You’re welcome.”
Brad nodded up at the large spaceplane, which was the Shadow configured to carry cargo and passengers. Its bay doors were open and he could hear the shrill whine of drills and other power tools coming from inside. “How’s it going?”
“Very well,” Nadia told him. “The special payload modifications we require should be finished within the next few hours.”
That was good news. When the S-29s were designed, no one had ever imagined anything quite like what they were about to attempt. Modifying a standard spaceplane cargo bay to hold the complicated array of supports, webbing, and auxiliary power and communication leads necessary for this mission — especially in such a short amount of time — had been a difficult job.
“So our spaceplanes will be ready. But will they have anything to carry into orbit?” Nadia asked.
“Definitely,” Brad assured her. “I just checked in with Richter. His engineering and production crews are working around the clock. Whatever they can’t pull off the shelves, they’re fabricating on the fly. He’s mastered the art and science of large-scale, super-precise 3-D printing and has his machines spitting out parts at the speed of light. I think they’re actually enjoying the challenge.” He grinned, remembering the oddball collection of pieces and parts he’d seen strewn across lab benches and worktables. Crossing a high school robotics competition with a late-night party of drunken mad scientists might produce a similar jumble. “None of our new little birds are going to win awards for clean lines or elegant design… but they’ll fly all right.”
“On a one-way trip,” Nadia pointed out quietly.
“There is that,” Brad agreed. He shrugged. “It does simplify the design process.”
“And the rest of our equipment? What is its status?”
“Loading on an air force C-17 in Houston now,” he said. “Everything should be here by early afternoon.”
“So until then, we wait and worry… and train,” she said.
“Yep,” Brad said. “Which is mostly why I’m here now. My dad just uploaded a new variation on our attack plan. Constable’s configuring the simulators now. They should be ready for the three of us to try another run-through in about half an hour.”
Nadia sighed. “I will be there.” She put a gentle hand on his left arm. “But after that, I would like to spend some time with you. Only with you.” Her blue-gray eyes were serious. “Because we both know this mission is likely to be a one-way trip for more than just our little satellites.”
Brad suddenly wished with all his heart that he were a better liar… so that he could offer her a more optimistic assessment of their chances and be believed. But as it was, all he could do was give her a quick, silent nod.
“Energia-5VR guidance systems are configured,” one of the controllers reported.
From his station on the top tier of Vostochny’s control center, Yuri Klementiyev followed the progress of the automated launch sequence with a certain fatalistic calm. At this point, the computers aboard the huge rocket out on Pad 3 were fully in control. Short of ordering an emergency abort, there was nothing more he could do. Success or failure was now wholly in the hands of the gods of probability, physics, and fortune. Despite that, he was keenly aware that both Gennadiy Gryzlov and Colonel General Leonov were closely monitoring this operation from Moscow. It had been made clear to him that he would not survive any launch accident that destroyed the new reactor intended for Mars One.
Vostochny’s director closed his eyes. If he were a genuinely religious man, he could have passed the time with a litany of heartfelt, unspoken prayers. As it was, all he could do was await the outcome.
“All stages look good,” another controller said through his headset. “We are ready for flight.”
Klementiyev opened his eyes.
The base of Pad 3 disappeared in a cloud of brownish smoke and bright flames. “Zazhiganiye. Ignition,” his deputy announced. And then, seconds later, “Engines throttling up. Full power!”
Through the thickening smoke, Klementiyev saw the gantries holding the massive, twenty-five-hundred-ton rocket in place swing up and away. Unrestrained now, the Energia-5VR rose on a column of fire, climbing toward the heavens with rapidly increasing speed. “Podnyat’! Lift-off!”
Unable to sit idle any longer, he stood up — mentally urging the rocket onward as it roared higher, pierced a layer of low-lying cloud, and kept going. Nearly three minutes later, long-range tracking cameras captured the welcome sight of a perfect third-stage ignition. Mars One’s replacement fusion reactor was on its way safely into orbit.
Klementiyev breathed out, feeling as though an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Slowly, he took his seat again and turned his attention to the Soyuz-5 rockets waiting on Pads 7 and 9. “Status on the Elektrons?”
“Both are go for launch. Their flight computers and automated programs look solid. We are holding for ignition,” his deputy reported.
He nodded. If something had gone wrong with the Energia heavy-lift rocket, there would have been no point in sending its escorts into orbit. Now it was time to send the two armed spaceplanes and their cosmonaut pilots aloft. “Light the fires, Sergei,” he ordered. “Let’s give that reactor some company.”
A few short minutes later, both Soyuz-5 rockets blazed into the sky and headed toward space.
Orbiting high above the earth in geosynchronous orbit, America’s space-based infrared satellites detected all three launches from Vostochny. Within minutes, their reports were relayed to the White House and from there to the members of the Sky Masters — Scion assault force in Nevada and Utah.
The news triggered an immediate operational readiness conference.
Brad McLanahan looked around the table. Nadia and Peter Vasey were seated with him. His father, Martindale, and President Farrell were visible on one side of the conference room’s large LED screen, present via secure link from the Oval Office. Boomer and the five members of his S-29B Shadow crew looked out from the other side of the screen. They were being broadcast from their hangar at St. George.