“I suppose,” Abernathy said, checking his restraints. “Are you coming as well?”
Tracker chuckled. “I’d love to,” he said. “Still… seven only, don’t you know?”
He finished checking the straps and left before Abernathy could formulate a reply. Shrugging, he pulled on his helmet and checked the links between Thunderbird and mission control.
“Thunderbird, this is mission control, we read green,” Tempest’s voice said. “Confirm.”
Abernathy ran a practiced eye down the list of tell-tales. “Everything reads green, mission control,” he said. “We are green to go.”
“We really have to get over this space opera nonsense,” Tempest muttered. “Thunderbird, you may launch when ready.”
Abernathy took a breath and tapped the launch button. Thunderbird shuddered slightly as the main engines fired, slowly rising from the launch pad and heading upwards. Abernathy glanced out of the portal, seeing the spaceport vanishing into the distance, replaced by a cloudy blue sky.
“We confirm, you have passed zone one,” Tempest said. “Telemetry reads good, Thunderbird.”
“Acknowledged,” Abernathy said. Zone one was the danger zone; the zone where a malfunction could kill them all. Any higher and the parachutes would bring them down. “Increasing boost… now!”
The weight on his chest grew as the spacecraft rose into the atmosphere, heading higher and higher with every second. The sky darkened and the stars came out, but he was too weighed down to notice. The pressure grew and grew… then the tiny manoeuvring boosters fired, tipping the SSTO into Low Earth Orbit.
“My God,” Abernathy breathed, as he stared down at the planet. For the moment, there was no sign of Hitler, or Stalin, or the stubborn Japanese; there was just peace.
“We confirm LEO injection,” Tempest said. The radio signal flickered a little as it was relayed through a satellite. “Confirm course change to rendezvous with Hamilton.”
Abernathy paused long enough to check everything. Three different sets of computers were working on the puzzle, confirming that the speed of the SSTO was just enough to catch up with the space station, without colliding with it, or making rendezvous impossible.
“Confirmed,” he said. “Docking with Hamilton in…”
He fell silent. Ahead of him, he could see it, a silver and gold construction, hanging above the Earth. Ten massive cylinders, joined end to end, covered with solar panels and tiny objects, gliding above the Earth. A handful of similar cylinders floated near to it; fuel supplies, he guessed.
“Thunderbird, this is Hamilton,” a new voice said. “Confirm slaving of navigation computer to Hamilton.”
Abernathy tapped the final instruction into his panel and carefully removed his hands from the controls. He’d heard about endless arguments between pilots and designers over that feature… and knew how dangerous it would be to send the SSTO on an unplanned course change.
“Confirmed,” he said finally. He heard the tremor in his own voice. “Confirm slaving sequence initiated.”
“Another flyboy,” the female voice said. “Don’t worry, we haven’t pronged any of you yet.”
“What?” Abernathy asked, as Hamilton grew in the portal, and then vanished as the boosters fired. He felt a quick spurt of panic, then realised as Earth appeared below them that the SSTO had rotated to present its airlock to Hamilton. A tiny tremor ran through the shuttle… and then it stopped.
“Confirm docking,” the voice said. “Confirm airlock attachment. Welcome to Hamilton, leave your biases about movement at home.”
“What did that mean?” Lynn asked, as he unstrapped himself. Abernathy smiled as the American rose out of his seat… and kept heading up. “Good God!”
“We’re in zero-gee,” Abernathy reminded him, not without a touch of malice. Daniels would have reacted much better. “Come on; let’s go and meet the neighbours.”
The woman’s name was Caroline Salamander and she was the space station’s commander. Abernathy took a certain amount of pleasure in watching the American’s reaction to discovering that she was the commander, rather than a glorified secretary.
“Welcome to RSF Hamilton,” she said, ignoring the American’s palpitations. “We’re a fairly tight-knit community, so I imagine that you know us all already. Captain Abernathy, you are going to be working on the MSV; Captain Shuddery will take Thunderbird down to the surface.”
“Thank you,” Abernathy said, who’d been wondering exactly what he was going to be doing. The Ministry had had a whole series of tasks planned, but he hadn’t been told what he would be doing. He’d known that it was a distinct possibility that he might just be sent down at once… and the relief in knowing that it would not be so was glorious.
“Three of the cylinders are habitable space,” Caroline said. Her voice was firm and hard. “Two of them are male dormitories; one of them is the female dorm. I should note, now that we have three available women, that while fraternisation is not frowned upon, we expect you to keep it discreet. If you cause trouble, you’re on the first flight downstairs, understand?”
They nodded. Abernathy smiled; Caroline didn’t seem to think that she was available.
“Of the other cylinders, two of them are for repairing satellites, one of them is for fabrication, one for the MSVs to dock and unload supply pods, and the rest are military,” Caroline continued. “While the ultimate purpose of this base is to serve as a base for lunar and LEO colonisation, we are a military base for the moment; we serve as a reconnaissance platform and we repair military satellites. Eventually, we may graduate to space-based weapons as well.”
She looked around their faces. “Although it is deemed unlikely that the enemy can get at us up here,” she said, “I will brook no laxity in security procedures. Except in emergencies, we will dot every last ‘I’ and cross every last ‘T,’ just to avoid problems. As part of them, you will each spend at least an hour exercising on the equipment on the habitat modules.” Abernathy gaped at her. “Yes, that is a security precaution,” she said.
She smiled. “I’ll give you the tour now,” she said. “Any questions?”
“When are we going to the Moon?” Abernathy asked. “We could do it by refuelling an SSTO and just leaving LEO for the trip.”
Caroline smiled again. “Sooner than you think,” she said. “Sooner than you think.”
“Might I ask you, Major, why you saw fit to dump a trained pilot and substitute a half-trained American?”
Major John Dashwood sighed. The Finance Committee was the only real oversight the Ministry of Space got – the astronauts were deemed old enough to understand the risks without any EU rules – and it was determined to ensure that Dashwood didn’t overspend. Given the requirements to keep the American economy going, the Ministry of Space pumped a vast amount of dollars back into America – after receiving them as part of a complicated tax system.
He shook his head as Ronald Tilley, MP for Margate, continued his rant. Prime Minister Hanover had packed the Committee with his supporters, but not all of them agreed with all the requirements for the Ministry of Space. They had to spend money – money that was worthless in Britain anyway – to make money… and not all of them understood that.
“Might I remind you, Major, that Captain Jack Daniels was trained by us for the SSTO flights, including the planned lunar shuttle,” Tilley continued. “Instead, a great big American will be in Hamilton, watching all of our plans and…”