Novitskiy came a little closer, and as he did, Sally could see that it wasn’t fear in his eyes after all, but sadness. ‘They’re not coming.’
What was left of Sally’s anger fell away, leaving her hollow. ‘What?’
‘There is no rescue vehicle. Progress was our only chance.’
‘But — why?’
Novitskiy took a deep breath, as if preparing himself for something. ‘Because of Gardner.’
Chapter 15
Aleks felt sick. He had woken up that morning after a few measly hours’ sleep with fever, nausea — the full works. But he still turned up for his shift. At his station, he drained his fifth cup of water to dampen his dry throat, but the churning feeling all the way from his oesophagus to his bowels persisted. He wasn’t actually sick, however — he knew that for sure. He felt terrible because he knew he was about to risk all he had ever worked for. His job was his life and his family, replacing what life and family he ever had outside of these walls. It was everything to him, and there was a strong chance he was about to throw it all away.
The minutes had stretched to hours, everything and everyone passing by as if in slow motion. He filled his cup again at the water cooler, returned to his desk and waited. The days since his meeting with Sean had gone by as a blur. He had put off what he needed to do until he thought the time was right, and today was that day because Bales was not here. The man himself had told him about a week ago that he would be attending a meeting off site. When he’d first heard the news, Aleks looked forward to Bales’ absence for his own reasons, but after his meeting with Sean he realised it was a chance that offered so much more. He downed his cup of water in one go.
‘CAPCOM to all stations,’ he said into his mic. ‘I’m handing over. I’ll be back in five.’
‘Copy, CAPCOM,’ came the plethora of responses. A NASA lad twenty years his junior appeared beside him to cover his post.
‘Thanks,’ Aleks said to him. ‘My bladder’s not what it used to be.’ He forced a laugh, regretting it as soon as he heard it. His replacement didn’t seem to suspect anything, or at least his polite smile didn’t suggest so.
‘No problem, sir,’ he said.
Aleks fought the urge to run as he left Mission Control, and even the breeze as the double doors swung shut behind him seemed to push him onward. He turned a corner, heading in the direction of the toilets, and as he neared them he checked over his shoulder and kept on walking. He exited the corridor into a dank concrete stairwell and started climbing. The stairs were meant for use as a fire escape, so he didn’t expect to meet anyone on his way. With each step grinding at his hips, two floors up and one more to go, he wished he had stopped off at the toilets after all, his bladder ripe and ready to burst. Too late now — onwards and upwards. A tingle of adrenaline spurred his steps and he skipped the last few a pair at a time, pausing just inside the door to catch his breath. Nearly there. Taking a last deep lungful to calm his nerves, he burst through into the empty corridor and resumed marching. Not this door, not this one, a couple more — he stopped outside a door that looked no different to the others, apart from its number. He entered.
Inside was a meeting room, seldom used because of its compact size. Two small desks filled the space, one of which bore an old computer. He sat down, and the dust that puffed from the chair’s padding confirmed how long it was since anyone had been here. He clicked the mouse and the computer came to life; a barrage of update warnings lit up the screen which at first he mistook for some kind of alarm. Don’t be ridiculous, he thought, heart racing. Bales has no idea what I’m doing. He inserted Lev’s key card into the appropriate slot, opened the RFSA’s intranet page and navigated to the secure log in. Two empty boxes appeared, a cursor flashing in the first. His heart skipped again, his confidence in Bales’ ignorance wearing paper-thin.
Retrieving Sean’s hand-scrawled note from his pocket, he turned it over to read the login details and punched them in key by key. He hit return and waited, the stale air of the room feeling warmer and closer by the second. A loading bar appeared and when it reached completion, the screen went black. Aleks’ heart sank. But then it lit up again with an unfamiliar window that was emblazoned with the US Department of Defence logo. The page read: Bales, Major John R. Below that, a series of options presented themselves. Aleks clicked Mailbox and waited. The screen refreshed and a list of messages appeared. The inbox count was 2,438. Scrolling through, scanning the subject lines, he looked for something useful in among the weekly reports and general communications.
Footsteps and two muted voices plodded past and he stopped scrolling, hovering the cursor over the close button, skin prickling with horrible anticipation. The footsteps receded and he continued to browse. And there it was. Marked as confidential, it was the order for the RFSA to step down and re-assign Bales as Flight Director for the International Space Station. It was sent by Bales himself, and the response was a disgruntled but non-resistant acceptance. Aleks scrolled on. There was another message, confirming Gardner’s place on board Progress M Eighteen M. The email chain started seven years earlier with a simple message from Gardner that read: He’s here.
What the hell? There were more messages, recounting details of Sally’s flight to Russia, technical requirements for launch, training schedules and shift patterns at the Baikonur Cosmodrome. It was all very strange Bales getting so involved in the intricacies of the mission, to be engaging on such a front-line level, but yet he had sent confidential emails stipulating all sorts, right down to the specification of the Progress conversion —
Aleks clapped a hand to his mouth. Taking his mobile phone from his pocket, he fumbled out a text message, but before he could finish, the door burst open. As quick as a flash, he clicked off the page and yanked out the key card, then looked to the open doorway to see none other than John Bales himself. His expression was grim. With Bales was the young NASA guy who’d covered his post, his expression also grim.
‘What are you doing, Aleks?’ Bales said, watching him from the doorway.
‘I — nothing,’ Aleks said, slipping his phone into his pocket, trying hard to reduce the tremor in his voice.
Bales strode towards him, looking at the blank desktop on the computer screen. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked again.
Aleks’ mind raced, thinking hard for a way out. There was only one thing for it. ‘I was… I was looking at pornography. I came here for a bit a of privacy.’
This off-the-cuff excuse seemed to take Bales by surprise, and he recoiled, as if in embarrassment at disturbing Aleks at such a personal moment. But it didn’t last long. Bales leaned across Aleks to take control of the mouse, which he steered towards the RFSA intranet icon. He clicked it. The home page opened and he clicked the button to log in. The screen refreshed and Aleks’ heart sunk: in the username box, Bales’ details had been remembered, and they burned in bright, digital letters as clear as day. The game was up. Bales stood tall, triumphant, and gestured to the security guards that had also appeared in the doorway.
‘Take him,’ he said, and left the room.