The docking module is a shaft sticking out of the bottom of the station. Two Soyuz capsules are berthed on either side as escape modules — the same kind that served as an emergency lifeboat on the International Space Station. In fact, the Soyuz modules were the workhorse of manned spaceflight for decades for the US and Russia.
Until Elon Musk and Vin Amin came along, NASA wasn't too proud of the fact that after the Shuttle program shut down, if you were an American astronaut that actually wanted to go into space, it was going to be onboard a Russian space taxi.
On the flip side for me, it turned out that learning to fly a MiG gave me an upper hand in iCosmos astronaut training. Being able to understand all the switches on the spacecraft of necessity for the last two decades was a definite plus — along with my ability to not have to pee every twenty minutes.
The K1 fills the sky in front of the Unicorn. Bennet's display shows the camera view of the nose coming in to the docking ring as a computer voice calls out the distance in centimeters.
There's an occasional burst from our docking rockets as they make fine adjustments to our approach. When we finally touch the collar, it's softer than a knock at the door.
A metal ring clamps shut and there's a tiny jostle as our ship is mated to the connector.
"Unicorn 22, this is K1. We have hard lock. Prepare for atmospheric equalization and to power down."
Before we can open the hatch and slap our comrades high fives, we have to make sure air pressure is equal on both sides. Otherwise, we could pop our eardrums, or worse, shoot out of the docking ring like a champagne cork while our hatch is wide open.
Fun times.
We put on our helmets just in case.
The air begins to hiss as we equalize with the K1 and Bennet powers us down. This is to prevent us from short circuiting the K1's electrical system until their electrician has a chance to make sure our power feeds aren't acting erratically. In space there's no way to ground an electric current. If you have stray voltage, it'll find a path, no matter what.
All the lights go out for a moment.
"Dixon," whispers Bennet. "I need to know right now, can I count on you?"
"Yeah, sure." This is a little odd.
"Listen to me very closely. I need you to do everything I or Peterson says. If you do that, it will all be fine."
I get the sudden realization that he's not talking about shaking hands through the airlock.
"What's going on?"
"Just listen. If anything should happen to Peterson or me, I want you to load up the reentry profile she prepared."
Peterson leans in and taps me on the shoulder. "Be a good boy and stay on the Unicorn. Everything will be okay."
"He'll be good," says Bennet.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
This has to do with the gun.
"What are you two up to?" I whisper.
"Need to know basis. Robbie was supposed to be in your chair. Until that retard screwed things up."
"I think I need to know."
"You can't know. Do you trust me?"
"In this exact moment? You're freaking me out."
"Do you trust me?"
Hell of a question to ask after the gun, pulling me off the pilot seat and whispering to me in the dark.
This is Bennet, an American hero. I've relied on him countless times underwater, dangling from parachute cords and sitting inside smoke-filled capsules simulating onboard fire.
"Yeah, Bennet, I trust you."
"You're a good man. If it gets dirty, you have to bug out. Got it?"
Dirty? What the hell? "What about the heat shield sensor problem?"
"There is no problem. I can't give you specifics. It's better that you don't know. I just need to know that if Peterson or I tell you to launch that you'll do that."
"You mean without you guys?"
"Exactly."
"You mean leave you on the K1?"
"You won't be leaving us. We'll already be dead."
"What the hell?"
He puts his hand on my shoulder just like the first time he shoved me out of an airplane. "This is bigger than us. A lot more is at stake. Can I count on you?"
"Affirmative." What else could I say?
7
Border Patrol
I'm clenching my fists inside my gloves as the hatch swings open. Bennet's little pep talk has completely put me on edge. Now that the Russians are coming I'm about to jump off the cliff of anxiety mountain.
A round Slavic face pokes into the airlock and announces, "The American astronauts will please remain seated while Commander Yablokov conducts his inspection."
Bennet, back in his seat after opening the hatch, replies, "Permission to come aboard."
I notice that no permission was requested and as Yablokov drifts into the compartment he barely even acknowledges Bennet.
Yablokov somehow manages to look even more Russian than the guy who announced his entrance. Compact, with a shaved head, even though he's not in his military uniform, he still wears it somehow.
I guess Bennet and Peterson are the same way. There's a composure they possess that sets them apart from slack yoga boys like myself.
Yablokov rests a hand on the bar above the display consoles in front of Bennet and me, and fixes eyes on Peterson. "You are Lieutenant Peterson?"
"Retired," she replies.
She spent ten years in the Air Force. The last five on a NASA detail. She's only 31, it's weird to think of her as "retired."
Yablokov nods then turns his gaze to me. "You are not Robert Carlyle."
"No, sir. I'm David Dixon."
"Why are you here?" he asks.
While I'm pretty sure he means why am I filling in for Robbie, it kind of feels like a question about the reason for my existence.
"Carlyle had a training accident. I'm his replacement."
Yablokov fixes me with a stare. It's an intimidating, unflinching gaze — like he's waiting for me to confess something. Bennet is also watching me out of the corner of my vision.
I notice his hand is casually floating in the air a few inches above the thigh pocket that holds his gun.
I can't get Poe's Tell-Tale Heart out of my mind.
The gun is calling out to me. My whole world centers around the pistol. I catch myself stealing a sideways glance at the pocket. I try to make it seem like I'm looking at Bennet for instructions.
As a kid, I had a friend who did magic tricks. Whenever he tried to hide something in his hand, that whole side of his body would go stiff. He assumed that because he knew it was there, the whole world knew. When the only clue we had was his weird body language.
Right now, I'm sure my body language says, "Commander Bennet has a goddamn gun in his pocket!"
Deep breath. Yablokov is still staring. What would a less scared version of myself do?
Smile, David. The best I can do is a slightly smug grin.
"You are not military," says Yablokov.
This sounds like an on-the-spot assessment and not him recalling some fact from my profile he just looked over before drifting in.
"No sir. They didn't want me."
"I can understand why."
Damn. I just got zinged in space.
"Your face," he says, "you wear everything on it. Your first mission into space, your ship malfunctions and now you have to come to the scary Russians for help. Do not be afraid. Everything will be made okay."
He gives me what may be a smile, but looks more like something you'd do in the frozen wastes of Siberia to prevent your mouth from freezing.
Yablokov pulls himself over to Bennet. "Commander, you were given instructions by Roscosmos? I expect you will follow them? I hold you personally responsible for the actions of your crew."
"Affirmative," says Bennet. He's trying not to show how much this chafes him to have the Russian treat him like a lost tourist.
Yablokov slides over to the space between Bennet's seat and the wall of the capsule. For a split second I think he's going to pat him down.