Turned thoughts to safeguarding message. No idea how well Khraniteli protected computer, warhead, detonator, from reentry heat, but probably get pretty warm in there (forget taping to bulkhead). Well, surely easier to keep paper below mythic 451-degree flash point than to protect human, with far lower performance envelope. Could wrap message in EMU — maybe two EMUs, with PLSS thermostats turned down all the way. Three extra EMUs on hand now that Harris, Kyril had no need. Plus own spare -
Oh…! Realization came as almost physical shock.
(Stupidity getting to be habit.)
For solid week had been psyching self up to die. Had accepted necessity, inevitability.
But maybe didn’t have to…
Could ride down in bomb!
Have no clear memory of next few minutes. Suspect intensity of relief exceeded capacity for rational appreciation. Vaguely remember bounding around cabin, ricocheting off walls, ceiling, floor; shrieking, crying, laughing like mad thing. Next event of which have firm recollection is crouching on Kyril’s lap, gripping flight suit lapels, shaking him violently (albeit ineffectually, in zero gee), screaming into dead face, “We’ll beat you yet, you cold-blooded, censored son of a bowdlerized, unprintably expurgated deletion! We’ll wipe you out to the last man, woman, and grub! We’ll…”
(Had come long way from Candy Smith-Foster of yore — firmly resolved never to kill again.)
Didn’t so much regain control as run down. Spewed rage, hate, frustration at uncaring corpse until gone, leaving me limp, trembling, teary-eyed.
At which point coherent, thoughts again intruded. Unpleasant coherent thoughts. Whole string of unpleasant coherent thoughts which totaled even less pleasant sum: Chances for living through reentry slim to nonexistent. At best.
Odds steeper for own person than those facing message: For instance, had no idea what sort of gee forces might encounter en route. Missile’s cargo included computer, detonator mechanism, warhead, etc.; all potentially delicate, sensitive. But vehicle powered for ten gees — at what point did Khranitel engineers draw line, say, “Anything above this level is excessive stress”? Unanswerable question, of course. But likely well beyond what own designer considered acceptable.
In addition, original plans called for water landing. Own destination dry land. Unyielding dry land. Probably quite a bump.
However, above concern nowhere near as scary as reentry-heat question: Prospect of slowly burning to death not something can just shrug off.
Have seen it done.
(And will never forget: Two days after tenth birthday was riding in car with Daddy, returning from Oshkosh after TV show on which Daddy appeared as guest physician. Observed car accident on lonely stretch of highway around midnight: Drunk in Corvette wandered off road, bashed tree. Old Corvette; equipped with competition gas tank-36 gallons. Ruptured on impact, flooding interior with flaming contents. Victim staggered out, blazing from head to foot. Daddy doused with own car’s extinguisher. But victim already 80-percent third-degree case. Daddy ordered me to stay in car, call for help on CB. Did not want me to see burn damage close-up. But soon realized needed more hands; had to involve me. Will never forget that man: Charred, cracked skin. Cooked meat bleeding through raw, inches-wide, exploded deep blisters. Dangling flesh. Incinerated tissue. Scorched bones showing through barbecued muscles. High, thin, nonstop screaming. The smell.)
Now, if descent profile anything like NASA’s, dive from atmospheric interface at 400,000 feet to slowing below mach two at 60-, 70,000 feet takes about 15 minutes. Heat build-up inside vehicle progressive, implacable: Grows steadily hotter, hotter, hotter still, until imperceptible threshold crossed; discomfort suddenly becomes agony; blisters form, crisp, pop; tissues roast, char; own superheated greasy cooking smoke inside EMU sears lungs.
Quarter hour under those conditions could be very long time indeed…
No. Decision whether to risk burning to death not casually made.
Horsefeathers! — chopped off self-flagellation impatiently; issue never in doubt for second: While chance remained, no matter how slim, would go for it. Am constitutionally incapable of giving up.
Well, now that foolishness over, done with, were steps could take to improve chances; preparations above, beyond those necessary for originally planned bomb-disarming, -disposal EVA. And time to get to work regardless; just five hours to bomb’s scheduled deorbit burn.
Fell to, assembled gear in airlock: all three adult-size EMUs, both of mine; all four MMUs, both terminals, toolbox, etc. Strung everything together with wire (plenty available from communications panel); would tie into snug bundle once outside.
Retrieved binoculars from Harris’s dead hand; employed to scan darkness beyond cockpit windows. Bomb not easy visual target; but presently made out tiny, indistinct, deeper black spot against jet sky. Hale’s longitudinal axis still lined up on it.
Okay, knew bomb ahead of us in same orbit. Using shuttle, Earth, bomb as references, was oriented as to orbital plane, direction. Knew which way had to go — critical, because at first would be unable to resolve destination with naked eye, and binoculars useless while wearing helmet (though intended to take outside, have look-see; maybe helpful after all [try never to burn bridges unnecessarily, prematurely]).
Donning EMU took good half hour (mine more trouble than most, due to endless array of tiny bolts, washers, wing nuts holding waist sealing ring halves together), but finally checklist complete: suit airtight; PLSS operational, secured by straps to back, life-support lines neatly coiled at waist.
(Folded sleeping-station blanket into makeshift, multi-layered cushion; taped to inside of helmet at rear. Hoped would distribute pressure of head’s contact against Lexan bubble during anticipated heavy gees. Pad’s bulk left barely room for nose in front. Looked forward to accumulating many greasy nose prints before day over.)
Herded gear into airlock; closed, sealed inner door. Dumped air, opened outer hatch, exited gingerly, moving one handhold at a time, drawing equipment behind me with wire attached to utility belt.
Glanced at complicated watch on EMU’s wrist: Three and quarter hours remained before bomb commenced descent, according to countdown timer. My PLSS standard issue; good for seven hours with full-sized astronaut; hard to say how much own lesser consumption might affect duration.
(Likewise hard to say how long descent will take. Totally dependent upon how much straight-down acceleration incorporated in reentry program. If employs descent profile called for upon detection of approaching missiles, should be on ground roughly two hours after deorbit burn. But couldn’t know that. And if exceeds four, five hours, won’t matter much. Certainly not to me.)
Did best to ignore urgency, surroundings, scenery; focused on job at hand: Moved deliberately along hull’s upper rim, at cargo-bay door hinge, paralleling huge extra fuel tank. Paused at rear end of bay. Gathered equipment into bundle with additional wire loop; secured to belt in front on both sides.
Then backed into first MMU, shrugged between armrests, secured latches. Closed EMU glove around right-hand control handle. Ignored inner conviction that long fall awaited. Took deep breath, let go left hand; placed on control handle.