“Roger that, Paul. Go for first-stage sep.” Then the stage-separation icon flashed and the Bitchin’ Betty chimed at him.
“Prepare for stage separation in five, four, three, two, one.”
Paul felt his pulse quicken in anticipation of the stage separation as he waited for the five explosions that would soon sever the bolts holding the two parts of Dreamscape together. This portion of the flight always scared the living daylights out of him. But he also knew that the technology for such accurate pyrotechnic timing was well understood. It always amazed him how it never sounded like five explosions at all. It simply went bang, and that was that.
Bang!
“We’ve got good separation,” he radioed to control.
“Copy that, Dreamscape. Scramjet separation is complete.”
“Now preparing for main-engine ignition in twenty seconds.” Gesling was nearing the point at which the powerful main rocket engines would fire, giving him the final acceleration needed to attain the seventeen thousand miles per hour required for orbit. Escape velocity was just that one stage away. Orbital altitude and velocity were one main rocket burn away.
“Roger that, Paul. Main burn in fifteen…ten…five, four, three, two, one.”
“We’ve got good burn on the main engine, and all systems are go.”
Never in the history of aerospace, or humanity for that matter, had a single spaceship flown an orbital mission, a month or so later flown around the Moon, and then just a few short days later flown back to orbit. The Dreamscape was truly being pushed to the limits of space-technology capabilities and reliabilities. Paul tried not to think about quality control, workmanship, parts and materials fatigue. After all, Dreamscape had been designed to fly with a rapid turnaround. Paul wasn’t quite sure if this was the type of rapid turnaround planned, especially while the rocket was fresh off its first mission and practically just out of the test-flight phase.
“Just fly the plane,” he told himself. The first and foremost thing all pilots trained themselves to do was to learn to fly the plane no matter what the instruments were saying or whatever else was going on around them. Fly the plane. He gripped the controls and swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing it back into his stomach. It amazed him that he still got that lump. He was now quite the space veteran. But flying in space on a screaming, highly volatile, explosive rocket engine was indeed scary. Paul had every right to be at least a little bit nervous. He also had every need to overcome that nervousness and do his job.
The first stage, then fully separated from the rocket-powered Dreamscape, began its glide back to the Nevada desert. Operated by onboard automatic pilot and with constant monitoring by engineers in the Space Excursions control room back at the launch site, the first stage was on target for a landing back at the location from which its voyage began. So far the Dreamscape was doing everything just right.
The acceleration from the main burn continuously pushed Paul back into the webbing that secured him to his seat. He could feel the skin on his cheekbones being pulled back toward his ears. He could hear his heartbeat and feel the kick to his abdomen as the Dreamscape’s engine engaged at a little over twenty thousand feet. The whine of the engines was only momentarily loud before the cabin’s active soundproofing kicked in and diminished it to something just short of a deafening dull roar. The sound may have diminished a bit, but the g-forces slamming Paul into the seat were far from over. At the moment he was feeling over five gravities and would endure it for a few moments more. Paul grunted against the crushing weight of his chest and forced himself to breathe through it.
He was on his way to orbit. Once he got there, he’d circularize his orbit and then crank his inclination up to match the International Space Station. Then he would chase the ISS until he docked with it. Upon docking with the space station, he’d offer the rescued astronauts a ride home. At least that was the plan with which he’d started.
Chapter 32
“Mercy I, this is mission control, copy?
“Mercy I, this is mission control, do you copy?
“Come on, guys, this is Houston, come in?”
Bill would have sworn he was having a bad dream. No, a nightmare would have been more like it. He’d been stranded outside a spaceship for hours, only to make it inside the thing just in time to go careening through the Earth’s atmosphere at over fifteen kilometers per second. The ship had shaken him to his bones. His teeth and jawbone ached from having clenched so tightly. Somewhere in there he had passed out. That had probably been for the best. He imagined that the ride may have even been worse after he’d passed out.
“Uh, roger…ahem…roger, Houston,” he said weakly. Bill shook his head and squinted his eyes as best he could in his suit. He reached up and tapped the control screen and brought up the ship diagnostics. Cabin pressure was good, so he popped his faceplate. Just doing that nearly exhausted him. He let his arms fall back down beside him, and they actually fell. He had a bit of a dizzy sensation also. “Uh-oh. That can’t be good.
“Houston, this is Mercy I, over.” Bill reached up and switched on the internal microphone. “Hey, anybody with me in here?”
“Zhi and myself are awake, Bill,” Hui answered. “Xu and Ming are alive but still out.”
“Tony?”
“Huh, what, hey?” Tony startled as he awoke.
“Easy, Tony.”
“Bill, I feel like I’m gonna throw up,” Tony said.
“Yeah, me, too. I think we’re spinning or tumbling. I’m trying to figure it out.” Bill carefully moved one hand and tapped the commands to bring up the flight-command suite. The digital direction gyroscopes, Global Positioning System, and attitude determination and control systems seemed to be all functional and online. The gyro was rolling counterclockwise. And that meant that the Orion was spinning like a top.
“Good to hear your voice, Bill,” mission control replied. “We need to assess the ship and telemetry data. We show an induced roll?”
“Roger that, Houston. We’re rolling pretty darn quickly. My guess is we’re pulling about three gees.” Bill worked his hands out of the gloves and did his best to stow the gloves out of the way without getting sick on himself. Then he eased his left hand around the stick.
“Copy that, Mercy I. We show your rate of spin to be conducive to a three point two one gravity load.”
“Why hasn’t the automated attitude control and stabilization system kicked in?” Tony asked.
“Good question, Tony.” Bill tapped the screen. “Holy crap. Uh, Houston, I’m looking at the boards for the attitude control and stabilization system, and it is all orange and red across the board. I’ve got alarms on the ACS PROP, Main Guidance Processing, and a P&P Alert on RP. Any advice there?”
“Copy that, Mercy I. Hold one for that.”
Bill considered just taking the manual controls and trying to straighten out the ship. The problem with that would be that if they had suffered some damage during the aerocapture maneuver, or Tony’s target practice, then putting power to the thrusters could start a fire, cause an explosion, or do nothing. They could withstand the merry-go-round for another minute or two. But not much longer than that.
“Hey, didn’t something like this happen to Neil Armstrong?” Tony asked.
“Gemini 8. Neil and David Scott docked with the Agena target vehicle, and apparently the attitude-control systems for the Gemini capsule and the Agena kept firing, and they couldn’t seem to get them to stop. They ended up aborting the mission and using the Gemini capsule’s reentry thrusters to straighten them out, if I recall. But I think they were spinning head over heels, not round and round like we are.” Bill squinted his eyes. The roll rate was getting worse. Maybe it just felt worse.