“T-minus twenty seconds and counting. T-minus fifteen, fourteen, thirteen … T-minus ten …”
The monstrous lift-off rockets beneath Pegasus had begun to fire. The spacecraft rumbled and seemed to tremble in eager anticipation of its launch.
“T-minus five … We have gone for main engine start. …”
A thunderous roar found Blaine’s ears. Those in the observation area saw a blinding spout of orange and yellow flames burst out from the shuttle’s base, intermixed with a rush of erupting steam.
“Main engines and solid rocket boosters firing!” a voice said inside Blaine’s helmet.
The ground shook and threatened to break open. A quake of heat rolled across the miles of empty land surrounding the launch pad.
“We have lift-off!” a voice bellowed.
Pegasus rose patiently into the air, seemingly unburdened by all the frantic activity that had preceded her rise. The majesty and glamour of the event was totally lost on McCracken. His entire frame felt as if it had been squeezed into a crate a third its size. There was pressure from both above and below, seeming to compress his head closer and closer to his toes. He tried to scream, but he couldn’t find his voice. He knew he was breathing, but the action felt separate from himself. He was convinced he was choking to death, and he would have groped for his throat had he been able to free his arms from the rests. Finally he gave up and forced his shoulders back against his suit as far as they would go. He was vaguely conscious of a slight smoothing of Pegasus’s track and of words being exchanged rapidly in his headset.
“Pegasus, this is Houston Cap-Com,” came the voice of NASA’s capsule communicator. “You’re flying a few degrees higher than your planned trajectory. Should be no problem, but expect a slightly higher release altitude for SRBs and SSMEs.”
“Roger, Houston,” said Petersen.
A little over two minutes later Blaine heard the Houston Cap-Com announce that the SRBs had been released from the shuttle. This left Pegasus to be carried up by the thrust of its three main engines. McCracken was more relaxed now, breathing easier, but still he felt disjointed, as if he were riding some dizzying amusement ride he couldn’t get off. Three minutes into the flight, Pegasus was traveling at 6,200 feet per second. At six minutes that pace had more than doubled. McCracken’s heart was pounding at twice its normal rate. Through a side window he watched the earth shrinking away.
Less than a minute later the shuttle’s nose angled down to increase velocity. When its tip came up again, its speed had risen to more than 16,000 feet per second.
It was nine minutes into the flight when Blaine felt something buckle, as if someone had applied the brakes briefly.
“Houston, we have main engine cutoff,” Petersen reported.
Blaine felt his stomach make a determined leap for his throat, until a sudden shift in the shuttle’s trajectory forced it to drop for his feet.
“Pegasus, this is Houston. Propellant tank is away. Good work with the wheel, Captain.”
“That’s a roger, Houston. Thanks for your help.”
The sensation Blaine had felt had been an evasive maneuver enacted by the flight computers to steer Pegasus away from the free-falling tank.
He could have used some Dramamine after all.
“What is your altitude, Pegasus?”
“Houston, we read altitude at one oh five miles and climbing. Twin orbital maneuvering engines burning now. Climbing toward one seven five nautical-mile orbit.”
“Roger, Pegasus. We show all systems go. You’ll be passing out of range of our Bermuda tracking station in seconds. We’ll catch up with you over Madrid.”
“Si, señor,” said Petersen.
“What’s happening now?” Blaine asked the commander a few minutes later.
“To begin with, we’ve achieved initial orbit. But we’re still climbing and the orbit will change slightly as we do. Eventually it’ll become elliptical for maximum maneuverability once we reach our cruising altitude and proceed on our intercept heading.” Petersen adjusted his headset. “Here’s the strategy. We’re going to assume the same orbit Adventurer did when it ran into this thing. Since we’ve got the advantage of knowing exactly where it’s gonna be at eight o’clock, thanks to you, the flight computers will time our course to insure that we meet up with the bastard somewhere over the Pacific before it begins its pass over the country. Things happen pretty fast at seventeen thousand miles per hour, but we’ve got a few minutes to play with.”
McCracken’s eyes wandered over the endless rows of gauges, dials, and cathode-ray tube displays on the cockpit’s front and sides. “Yeah, but how well can you control this bus once the time comes?”
“You mean in manual?” When Blaine nodded, Petersen went on. “I’ll spare you the details, but because of its military nature, Pegasus was built to handle like a goddamn Ferrari.”
“So you’ll be able to maneuver once we meet up with our friend.”
“I’ll be able to take you wherever you want to go.”
“You already are, Captain.”
Chapter 34
The minutes passed into agonizingly long hours. Cabin pressure had stabilized, allowing Blaine to remove his confining helmet long before. Still, comfort was a thing not to be found. His motions felt slow and elongated, the fun of being able to float buoyantly at whim totally lost upon him. He had to admit, though, that the view was spectacular. Petersen acted as tour guide for much of the trip’s duration by pointing out various countries and bodies of water as Pegasus passed above them.
They were into their fifth orbit, cruising comfortably toward the mid-Pacific, when Captain Petersen steadied his headset.
“Houston, this is Pegasus. We have reached our cruising altitude of one seventy-five nautical miles and are proceeding on intercept course with Comet X-ray. Final engine burns complete. Cap-Com, she’s riding smooth.”
“Roger, Pegasus.”
“Houston, we should be in the vicinity of Comet X-ray in minutes now. Do your instruments show anything?”
“Negative, Pegasus. All boards and monitoring stations look clear. The sky’s all yours.”
“That’s a roger.”
Because the transmission was open, the true purpose of the shuttle’s mission was being cloaked in seemingly mundane talk. Comet X-ray was their private name for the intruder satellite they were seeking. Petersen held no illusions about Houston’s response to his query, though. He had read all the reports on Adventurer’s destruction in detail and memorized the final transmissions. There had been no warning in that case either. The killer machine had appeared out of nowhere.
“Houston, we will maintain present heading in attempt to sight Comet X-Ray. We will check in every minute. Repeat, every minute.”
“Roger, Pegasus.”
“Give us a buzz if you catch wind of anything down there, Cap-Com.”
It was 7:50 eastern standard time when Pegasus passed over Wake Island. Petersen was steering manually now, simply holding the shuttle on its preprogrammed heading.
“Houston,” said Petersen, “this is Pegasus. I’m going to raise us a mite higher to slow our orbit and give Comet X-ray a fair chance to catch up.”
“Roger, Pegasus.”