AMERICA ONE (31 page)

Gently, without taking his eyes off his objective, he maneuvered himself with his jetpack towards the second craft still in the cargo hold of the shuttle. VIN went through his checks. “OK, Jonesy, I’m opening
Astermine
’s outer hatch.”

All the docking ports of Ryan’s spacecraft had their outer hatches flush with the outer skin of the craft until extended. They had to withstand all the elements and pressures atmospheric and space travel would bear on them. Every control of every part of every machine was interactive throughout all the spacecraft and could even be operated from Ground Control if necessary.

Each docking port had two hatches with a six- by three-foot space between them. A single spacewalker, or cargo, could fit in the inner hatch. The inner hatch went through a dozen checks before the outer hatch could be opened by either the person inside the hatch or by someone else in any of the spacecraft flight decks.

VIN did not have a second to look around, nor did he want to. This floating stuff was hard to get used to; the jet pack on his back moved him in any direction he wanted, and the rope connected to the shuttle was his safety cord. He didn’t want to look anywhere other than at the spacecraft’s hatch. He grabbed onto the handhold by the hatch and released the cord, which was pulled back towards the shuttle’s docking port with a motor activated by Jonesy, and for a split second he was holding on by one hand. He entered the spacecraft’s tube feet first, began the checks to close and seal the outer hatch, and started the inner hatch checks, which opened automatically once air had been allowed into the port, and it was safe. The hatch into the spacecraft opened to allow him in.

Within an hour, and with Jonesy’s telling him distances and angles, VIN had
Astermine One
out of the shuttle’s cargo hold and connected with one of the space station’s docking ports, the same type of docking port he had just entered. He went through check after check;
Astermine
’s outer hatch, now working in unison with the external hatch of the space station, opened.

Since air and pressure from his craft was filling the longer inner area of the tube to the inner hatch of the space station, he entered the tube,
Astermine
’s inner hatch closed and sealed itself behind him. Then he allowed himself to float through the tube towards the space station’s inner hatch. After more checks it opened; the bright green safety lights suddenly went orange inside the docking port he was in as he floated into a dark space station.

“Jonesy, I’m in. Lights in the tube are now orange, not red, so the air is better than space in here. It is pitch black in here. I’m in the command module…switching on my helmet light as we rehearsed… OK… the second docking ports is on the outer ninety degree side wall of this command module ten feet from where I am now. I can clearly see it. I’m floating over to the docking port the shuttle was use now.”

As planned, Ryan built all his spacecraft with Russian-made Soyuz “probe and drogue” docking mechanisms. This station used the same system and so was one of the docking ports on the International Space Station.

It was a simple system of docking two sealed thick metal rings together; both spacecraft hatches were inside the outer ring of thick metal, which sealed the mechanisms from the outside.

“I can see the shuttle’s docking port through one of the portals,” VIN said.

The shuttle had already been placed in an inverted position to his docking port by Jonesy to get the shuttle’s roof in line with the Russian space station’s docking port. Just like VIN had done with the spacecraft, Jonesy was peering through a small see-through periscope-type instrument in the middle of the port’s outer hatch to match it onto a red dot the same size on the other outer hatch. He had the shuttle-thruster controls on a wireless device in his hands. Jonesy looked through the hole, pushed a couple of the thruster buttons blindly, not taking his eye from the red dot, and asked VIN the distance to go.

“Ten feet….9….8…..6…..4 feet, Jonesy.”

The pilot pressed another button, the opposite side thruster whooshed for a split second and VIN continued.

“Three feet, 2.5…2 feet…1 foot. You are one foot away from the outer hatch.”

“At least we are close enough so the Space Station shouldn’t see us, if they just happen to glance our way,”
replied Jonesy.
“I’m turning off the Cloaking Device. It’s starting to drive me crazy.”

“Good idea” replied VIN “it might make this Russian ‘beer can’ disappear and somebody out there might notice,” suggested VIN.

“Good thinking kid, it is off. We are hidden as best we can be. I have one more foot to go, that’s it.”

Jonesy tapped the port thruster button for a fraction of a second and seconds later VIN heard Jonesy swear. “Crap! I’m a fraction of an inch behind the damn dot, he touched the rear thruster button and the two craft gently connected. The shuttle’s computers immediately started the mating connection and slowly, three lights came on next to the still-closed inner hatch; red, orange and finally a green light shone.

“I have a connection,”
stated Jonesy.

For the next few minutes he worked the shuttle’s small thrusters, to slowly roll the shuttle and the larger Russian satellite over so that the shuttle faced away from earth and virtually out of site from the passing space station for the next month.

Jonesy checked the outer hatch, which showed a green light. He pushed a button on the shuttles control display, and the two outer hatches unlocked and swung open. The green light in the shuttle’s tube blinked on and off a couple of times and then turned to orange. Orange meant that the air was dangerous to breathe, not the right quantities of oxygen; red would have meant no oxygen at all. The space station’s inner hatch was still closed.

“It looks like the air isn’t good in there,”
said Jonesy.
“I think you need to return to the shuttle after we activate the station’s life support systems.”

Jonesy, still wearing his full suit and helmet, floated the nuclear battery into the docking port and gently pushed it towards the space station half a dozen feet away. He immediately closed the inner hatch and slowly the tube lights turned to green.

VIN then opened the station’s inner hatch, grabbed the floating battery and closed his hatch again. VIN moved it, strapped it down, and connected it to the space station’s systems.

Then he began checking the list he had gone over a dozen times back at the airfield. He turned on several old-looking computer switches on the main control board of the station’s command module, and their small lights began to brighten. He needed to wait, as a couple of very ancient black and white computer screens began to flicker, looking like they needed time to power up, so he decided to open the connecting inner hatch to the rest of the space station.

He carefully unscrewed the hatch’s opening wheel, much like he had seen in submarine movies, and orange lights could be seen everywhere as he entered a fifty-foot long pitch black hallway. The plan of the station he had studied back in Hangar One had shown that two three-man upright sleeping compartments would be through the closed hatches to his right, and a communal room would be on the other side of the closed hatch at the far end of the hallway.

VIN carefully looked at his smaller plan of the interior strapped to his right forearm. At this temperature the plastic diagram was beginning to shatter. He entered the hallway and the darkness was absolute where his narrow beam didn’t shine. “Minus 60 degrees on my temperature gauge, same as in the command module,” VIN stated. “That is Celsius, not Fahrenheit, Jonesy, its cold in here! Something must be working. We were told outer space is about minus 170 degrees or so. Isn’t that right?”

“That’s what we learned. You can’t roast marshmallows at that temperature. Even alcohol will freeze. Oh crap!”
Jonesy replied from the shuttle, realizing what he had just said.

“I’m going back into the control module,” said VIN. “I’m closing the hatch behind me. I’m sure something must be working to keep the temperature up.”

“Roger that,”
replied Jonesy.
“If I don’t hear from you in five minutes I’m coming to get you. I’m reading your telemetry from in here. Your inside suit readouts are all perfect, outside suit temperature shows minus 60 Celsius, as you stated. Your outside air sensors show your problem, 71% nitrogen, 5% oxygen, 3.04% carbon dioxide, and the air pressure is only 65 kPa (kilopascals). That’s the reason the lights are showing orange. The sensors should show 78% nitrogen, 21% oxygen, 0.5% carbon-dioxide, and air pressure should be at 101 kPa. There also seems to be a higher normality of radiation, twice the normal level, but not dangerous. I think that there must be a weakness in the outer walls, or we have let some radiation in during our connection. VIN, see if you can turn the systems up.”

VIN closed the metal hatch connecting into the rest of the space station. Inside the command module he now had four dull red lights glowing on the flight consol and two the two small computer screens showed nothing. The little area he could see looked much like the cockpit of their shuttle, but far older, and everything was in Russian. He leaned against one of the pilot seats and looked at the four dim red lights.

“Jonesy, can you hear me?” VIN asked.

“Loud and clear, kid,”
he replied.

“Do you have your satellite diagram? Mine is beginning to break up from the cold. Third dial to the left on the flight control center. It has a red light above the dial, it’s all in Russian.”

“Flight Module Heat Temperature Gauge. It should show the same temperature as your suit’s telemetry.”

“Affirmative, it is an old thermostat, round and the needle is pointing to minus 60,” responded VIN.

“Below the gauge is the control dial. Turn it to the right.”

“I turned it to the right; nothing happened,” replied VIN.

“OK, I forgot Step One; the Flight Module Master Control dial should be on the wall to your left. See it?”

“Affirmative,” replied VIN. “It’s also a round gauge with a needle. It is flickering at 5 percent power.

“Good, it must still be working. Slowly and carefully turn the dial underneath it to 20 percent power; gentle now, you don’t want the dial to come off in your hand or something,”
instructed Jonesy.

VIN turned the dial very slowly and suddenly there was a slight hum around him, the darkness dimmed, and the red light flickered and turned orange on the dash. “It’s working!” reported VIN excitedly. Now it is not only black and scary in here, its black, scary and something’s humming.”

“Occupied power settings should be set at 60 percent power for Human Sleep, it states here, and 75 percent power for Human Activity. Set the Master Control at 75 percent and see what happens,”
continued Jonesy.

VIN did, and suddenly the module around him lit up and he could see a neat, tidy, and very empty small command module, where half a dozen men could stand up if they stood close together. He could also see the two docking hatches both craft were connected to, one above his head, and the other on the side wall of the square-ish eight-foot high command station.

“I’m sure it will take hours to get her livable, but check out the module’s hatch and see if the module’s system is running the whole ship.”

VIN was pleasantly surprised to see light in the hallway where there had been pitch blackness before. He then checked his suit, and as he expected, the temperature hadn’t changed.

He went back into the command module and left the hatch open this time. He saw that two of the lights were now orange and two still red. He explained to Jonesy that the first red light was the fifth gauge from the left and Jonesy told him that it was the temperature light. Jonesy told him that he thought it alright for him to now turn on the nuclear battery in its position underneath the module’s main control panel.

Ten minutes later, VIN had the new battery operating, still in its twelve-inch thick lead case in the battery compartment. The module’s lighting system dials and many operating system lights, mostly still orange and red had certainly brightened up once the new power was being fed into the old system.

VIN checked his suit. The temperature had risen to a toasty minus 55 degrees and Jonesy checked the monitors on VIN’s suit. They showed that oxygen levels had risen slightly, but still half the amount the average human required.

All VIN needed to do before returning to the shuttle was to send a coded message to Ryan, which he did from the satellite’s antiquated Morse Code radio system. He was now well schooled on Morse Code and after the message was sent, he needed to wait for a response, so he inspected the rest of the ship.

The ship was tiny compared to normal ground accommodations, but up in space it was roomy enough for six people to live and work. Most of the storage compartments were empty. There were dozens of storage bins of all types, and VIN knew exactly what his partner was hoping he would look for. He found three unbroken bottles of frozen liquid, in a temperature-proof supply bin. The word “водка” was written on the sides of the bottles, and VIN had seen that word before, over Christmas, in the airfield bar; real Russian Vodka.

He headed back to the docking port connected to the shuttle and, once Jonesy had activated all the hatches, he floated into the shuttle and gave the bottle to his partner. There was no need to stay around to wait for the old craft to warm up. A good celebration was needed, some food and then sleep.

His job, on his first day in space, was finished. VIN had not even looked out at the vista while he completed his first spacewalk floating around outside. He was far too scared.

VIN and Jonesy had entered “The Final Frontier”.

A whole month!

Ryan was ecstatic when one of the Russian team shouted to him that the first message was received; his two men were safe in the Russian satellite.

The message stated that there was power, minimum temperatures, and oxygen. It looked like the space station was still fully functional, as his Russian scientists had promised, and that VIN had connected the nuclear battery with the one-pound of American plutonium-238.