“Thanks for doing this, Brad,” Boomer said. “This is nothing but a simple babysitting job, but the regs—which I myself wrote—say that one person has to be behind the controls of an S-29 during space refueling, wearing a space suit and on oxygen. The Black Stallion and Midnight spaceplanes require both crewmembers because they’re not as automated as the Shadow. I want to supervise the refueling and maybe hit the head, and Ernesto is heading to the ‘wicks’ now, so that’s why you’re here.
“The Shadow is highly automated, so it will tell you verbally and on this screen what’s going on,” Boomer continued, pointing at the large multifunction display in the middle of the instrument panel. Checklist items appeared in yellow, then several sublines of computer actions, with a yellow line turning green, and finally the end result, with a little yellow button on the touch-screen display asking if the computer could continue. “If something does happen, it’ll notify you and wait for an acknowledgment, which you do by pressing the soft key that appears. Most of the time it’ll just fix the problem itself, notify you that it’s fixed, and wait for an acknowledgment. If it can’t fix it itself, it’ll let you know. Just tell me if that happens and I’ll get the techs working on it. Like I said, you’re babysitting, except the ‘baby’ is smarter and bigger than you. Any questions?”
“Nope.”
“Good. I’ll be able to hear the computer if it announces anything. I won’t be far away. Just call if—”
And at that moment they heard, “Armstrong, this is Midnight One, how do you hear?”
“Gonzo?” Kai shouted. “Is that you?”
“Yes,” Gonzo said. Her voice was hoarse and labored, as if she were trying to talk with a large weight on her chest. “If you can hear me, report in. Miss Vice President?”
“I . . . I can hear you . . . Gonzo.” The vice president responded with the same low, hoarse voice and slow cadence. “I . . . I can’t breathe very well.”
“Help is coming, ma’am,” Gonzo said. “Agent Clarkson.” No response. “Agent Clarkson?” Still no word. “Sondra?”
“Loud . . . and . . . and clear,” Sondra replied weakly. Brad took a deep breath, the first in many tense moments. “I’ll . . . I’ll try to check on Clarkson.”
“We have power to the Midnight,” Trevor reported. “We’ll check the spacecraft’s hull status, then figure out if we can do a pressurized tunnel transfer or we’ll have to spacewalk them. Their breathing suggests their space suits might not be receiving oxygen from the spaceplane, so we’ll have to hurry to see if we can—”
“Command, Surveillance, I detect multiple rocket launches!” Christine Rayhill shouted on all-stations intercom. “One launch from Plesetsk, one from Baikonur! Computing launch track now . . . stand by . . . now detecting a second launch from Baikonur, repeat, two launches from . . . now detecting a rocket launch from Xichang, Command, that’s four rockets lifting . . . now detecting a fifth rocket, this one from Wenchang spaceport on Hainan Island. That’s five rockets launching! No prenotifications of any launches.”
“Combat stations, crew,” Kai ordered on intercom. “All hands, man your combat stations.”
Aboard the Shadow spaceplane, Boomer zoomed through the airlock faster than Brad had ever seen anyone move in space, maneuvered himself into the pilot’s seat with incredible dexterity for someone who was in free fall, fastened his umbilicals, and started to strap in. “What do I do, Boomer?” Brad asked. “Do I get out and let Ernesto—”
“It’s too late,” Boomer said. “The outer airlock hatches are automatically sealed when we go into combat stations, in preparation for us detaching from station. They’ll terminate fueling and unloading cargo, and as soon as they do, we’ll be under way.”
“You mean, back into orbit?”
“Yep,” Boomer said, hurriedly getting strapped in and responding to notices by the computer. “We’re going flying, as fast as we can. There’s a paper checklist Velcro’d to the bulkhead by your right knee. Strap it on to your thigh. Follow along with the computer as it goes through each item. When it tells you to acknowledge, and you agree that it followed the steps correctly, go ahead and touch the button on the screen. If it goes out of order or you get an error message, tell me. It’ll adjust how fast it goes through each section depending on how fast you acknowledge each action, but it also knows we’re at combat stations, so it’ll try to go quickly. Check you umbilicals and oxygen and strap yourself down as tightly as you can—this may be a hairy ride.”
“It does not appear to be a ballistic-missile flight path,” surveillance officer Christine Rayhill reported, studying her two computer monitors. “First two missiles staging now . . . they look like they’re going orbital, Command, repeat, orbital flight paths.”
“Russian spaceplanes,” Valerie guessed. “A salvo of five nearly simultaneous launches.”
“What’s the status of Starfire?” Kai asked.
“Still working on it,” Henry Lathrop reported. “I don’t know how long it will be yet.”