Will Parker delivered a stiff salute against his mirrored, faceless visor.
“Gotcha, Skipper. Negative radio. Ground is with us by Guam… Flight? You got the video?”
“Affirmative, Jack. We’re at 07 plus 23. With you another 5. We do not see Karpov’s umbilical.”
“Yeh. He lost it. Went out to pry Will from the target. Think the AC saturated out there. We had no joy on separation of the grapple fixture. When Karpov pushed Will off the target, they pranged into our starboard wing, just beyond the deployed door. I dumped the PDP to get the arm out there.”
“Roger that, Jack. We concur with the PDP jettison.”
“And we’re negative reception on the AC, Flight.”
“Copy.” Guam was only 100 miles east of Endeavor’s ground track at 07 hours 23 minutes. “Ask Will the status of Major Karpov. We have Kaliningrad on the line here.”
“Skipper? Is Karpov alive?” Enright watched the two pilots in the monitor screen. The Russian floated in a ball in Parker’s lap, touching the wing. Karpov’s gloved hands pressed against his suit’s belly inlet where the tether had been torn loose.
Parker gave a slow thumbs-up sign.
“Copy, alive, Will… You got that Soyuz?”
“Yes. Thank you. The suit inlet valve automatically seals when the hose is disconnected. He should have maybe five minutes of oxygen trapped in the suit. You must get the Major inside immediately.” The voice of Uri Ruslanovich was anxious.
“We have lots of room, Doctor… Did you catch that, Will?”
Enright saw another thumbs-up on his monitor screen.
“Can you move, Will?”
Enright’s question was answered by Parker’s left hand, which moved the left hand controller on his MMU backpack. As Parker slowly climbed upward from the vertical wing, Karpov appeared to hug the American’s neck. The legs of the Soviet pilot trailed limply.
“Two in motion, Colorado.”
“We’re watching it, Jack. So is the Soviet center. Do you see any wing damage?”
Enright had not thought about the wing. As Parker and Karpov ascended to the level of the bay sill, Enright focused the zoom lens past them toward the wing. In his monitor, he saw a foot-wide section of the wing which was black in the midst of the otherwise white glass tiles. The dark area was bare skin covered only by the heat-resistant glue which holds the tiles in place. Perhaps a dozen tiles, each the size of a bar of soap, were missing.
“You see that, Flight?”
“Affirmative, Jack.”
“Goin’ back to Will on the CCTV.”
“Copy.”
Enright cranked the arm slowly around until the distant, elbow section camera found Parker’s backside in the forward bay close to the closed airlock hatch. Because Enright had been watching the wing in the monitor, he missed the two fliers when they drifted under his rear windows.
“Goin’ downstairs, Flight. I’m leaving DAP in loop B.”
“Roger on the autopilot. Plug in at earliest opportunity in the mid-deck, Jack. After we lose you in 2 minutes, we’ll be with you by California in 16 minutes. Before you leave the flightdeck, advise if grapple fixture is still on the target.”
“That’s affirmative, Colorado. Target still real tight in gravity gradient. No motion of any kind.”
“Good news, Jack. Go below and get Will and Alexi inside. Moscow indicates no more than one minute of breathable air in Karpov’s suit.”
Enright pulled his plugs. He left the remote-arm television trained on the airlock hatch so the ground could watch. As he swam toward the floor hatchway, his pounding and swollen head felt dizzy and congested. He ached for sleep. When the thin pilot’s stocking feet followed his sweat-soaked body into the square hole behind the left front seat, Mother held the bridge. Outside, Parker’s ten-million-dollar manned maneuvering unit floated up past the rear windows of the flightdeck. No pilot was attached to the MMU as it tumbled slowly out of the bay.
Enright executed a slow somersault in the bright middeck. He floated beside the large airlock can as he plugged his communications plug into a ceiling jack.
“With you from below, Flight.”
“Copy, Jack. Our video has the airlock hatch closing. Both the AC and the Major are inside. No apparent movement from Major Karpov that we could see from here. LOS in 2 minutes this station.”
“Understand… Will?”
Enright squinted and he blinked his blurry eyes to focus upon a control panel on the outside of the airlock. The air-pressure meter slowly climbed past five pounds, halfway to mid-deck pressure.
“Here, buddy.” Parker’s voice was mainly air, heavy with fatigue and pain.
“One beautiful sound, Will!.. You got a copy, Colorado?”
“Sweet music, Jack. He must be plugged into the intercom. We hear him.”
“Ah yeh, Flight. Comin’ to you by hardwire. I’ll crack my visor when I get to niner pounds. Karpov is out of it just now.”
“Hear you, Skip,” Enright acknowledged as the pressure meter pointer showed seven pounds per square inch in the airlock. Soyuz was silent.
“You with us, Soyuz?”
“Yes, Yakov. The Major is time-critical on air by now.”
“Working on it, Doctor… Wilclass="underline" You’re up to 8 point 7 psi.”
“Uh huh. Gettin’ Karpov’s helmet now… Ah, ask ’im if it’s a left or right twist as I look at it?”
“Anti-clockwise,” a Russian voice interrupted from Soyuz.
“ ’Kay, I hear him… And helmet is off the Major… He’s out, Jack. Breathin’ though. Barely… He’s definitely cyanotic.”
“Nine and a half, Will.”
“ ’Kay… Upper torso waistring open here. Climbing the wall now.” Parker panted over the intercom as he floated to the wall-bracket housing for his PLSS backpack and the upper half of his EMU suit. “… Okay, Jack. Upper torso stowed… And… I’m free!”
Inside the five-foot-wide airlock, Parker’s PLSS backpack was locked to the wall. The AC eased himself downward and out of the upper torso of the EMU. He had not bothered to remove his inner bubble helmet which remained attached to the suit. When he raised his arms to slide out of the suit, the pain in his shoulders was blinding. Since the suit carried his communications cable, the AC was disconnected from the intercom when he slid weightlessly from the upper torso. He still wore the massive EMU lower torso and his soft Snoopy headgear around his wet and wasted face.
“Will? You’re at 10 point 1… Will? Will?”
Enright’s voice rose in pitch. He felt faint and his face throbbed like a broken ankle.
“Easy, Jack.” The Colonel was plugged in again as he wrestled in the airlock with his heavy pants. He labored to avoid floating into the unconscious Karpov who dozed bare-headed upside down.
“Endeavor?” A Russian voice pleaded over the audio electronics.
“Stand by, Uri,” Enright said softly as he tried to keep his eyes open inside his facial bandages.
“Thirty seconds,” the ground called as Shuttle approached the northeast limit of Guam’s radio range 780 nautical miles west of Wake Island.
“Comin’ out, Jack.”
As the airlock hatch opened with a slight pop close to the mid-deck floor, Enright’s feet were well off the deck. He was close to losing consciousness and his dry mouth was full of tongue.
Karpov’s tranquil face emerged slowly across the floor from the open hatch. His lips were blue and deep creases contorted his wet, ashen face where the cheek pads of his helmet had pressed tightly.
“Major Karpov is out of the airlock,” Enright radioed. He felt as if someone else’s lips had moved inside his gauze mask soaked with penicillin and cold sweat.
“Understand, Jack. Guam is losing you at 07 plus 28. Next network contact by GDX in 16. Advise when…”