Дальше (Farther)
“Following the light of the Sun, we left the Old World.” –Christopher Columbus
Image Credit: ESA
7 August 1978
Johnson Space Center
Houston, TX
29° 33’ 47” N 95° 05’ 28” W
Tom Wheaton had listened to mind-numbing lectures from aeronautical engineers about the controlled chaos that takes place inside an F-1 engine bell during peak acceleration. They could go on for hours about thermal loads and shock waves. It was impressive and yet boring. But all the numbers and equations in the world could not quantify the bedlam of a press conference at the height of a debacle. The swirl of reporters beckoned with raised hands and raised voices. Everyone wanted to know what NASA thought about this Russian success.
“Tom! Tom! Is NASA monitoring their progress?” asked a reporter from the Houston Chronicle.
“We’ve instructed all of our centers to take in whatever information they are able to gather. Please understand that I can’t speak to exactly what that information will entail.”
The young man from the Chicago Tribune was next, “Is there any chance of a landing?”
“No, the Soviet ship is not outfitted with any sort of landing craft. Nor do we believe that the Soviet Union, or any other nation for that matter, has the ability to land men on Venus and then recover them.”
“Ben Shaffer, New York Herald. Do we know what they are planning to do in when they arrive? How long they are staying?”
“Our engineers are looking into the available data to determine the capability of the ship. Soviet statements have confirmed that they will be launching robotic probes and they will return to Earth after a stay of about 33 days.”
From the Los Angeles Times, “Is NASA formulating a response to this mission?”
He tried not to sigh but failed. It was exasperating to immediately talk about a comeback when the other team had just scored, “The actions of Russian space missions do not have any effect on the long-term plans of NASA. The agency has outlined an ambitious mission schedule for the next decade and deviating from those plans because of a single mission would be reactionary and unwise.”
That was about as restrained as he could be. He’d been trying hard not to use the word “stunt.” He tightened his grip on the podium and nodded to a reporter on his right.
“Does the deployment of nuclear rocket technology by the Russians indicate a heightened tension between the space agencies?”
“No. Apollo hardware has been pushed into lunar orbit on nuclear rockets since 1973. This technology is not unheard of, nor is it proprietary. The Soviet mission has no military application and no impact on American spaceflight operations.”
The New York Times was next: “Does this flight represent the start of the second leg of the Space Race?”
There it was. That was the one he had been waiting for. And now that it was here, he still didn’t know what to say.
He could feel his tone shift and skirt with defensiveness, “Ah, that’s hard to say. The Space Race, such as it was, was never an official NASA policy. Now, this flight seems to indicate a leap in Soviet space capabilities. We’ll know more about that as the flight progresses. I know there is a certain element of the public that would prefer we have an angry response to this. Let me say this: This is not 1957. This flight does not represent a threat to Americans on Earth or in space. Peaceful exploration is a mandate of this agency and we will not condemn the actions of anyone who shares that goal. We have every good wish for the safe return of the cosmonauts and we will continue on, as we have been instructed to: to discover, build, and thrive in outer space.”
The room went quiet. Wheaton exhaled and loosened the white-knuckle grip on the podium.
A feeble hand went up from a reporter at the end of the second row.
“Yes?”
“Do we know when the Soviet ship will arrive at Venus?”
“January.”
4 January 1979
Дальше
Hyperbolic Orbit Approaching Venus
Mission Day 151
There was a soft tone, similar to a note played on a recorder that woke Yuri from his slumber. It had awoken him at the same time every day for the last 4 months now. He sometimes wondered if his body would awaken without the tone being played at all. He didn’t broach the topic with Flite Control.
Another day in the void, for the pride of the Motherland. The Soviet hammer had been thrown farther than any American astronaut had yet dared. And she followed the path of a sickle in her transfer orbit. Clearly, the physics of the universe favored the Soviet. The Americans put stars on their flag, but Mother Russia had the wisdom to put the tools of progress on her flag. With her sons now the farthest traveling souls in history, the Soviet system could be proclaimed, once again, as the best for the world at large.
Today would be a momentous day for the men aboard Дальше and those that had worked to send them here. The coming hours would show the power, ingenuity, and perseverance of a nation and a species that would never be defeated by a challenge.
Yuri gave a silent nod to Georgi as they floated out from their respective quarters. At this point, they’d both gotten used to a stoic silence. Their work did not require a great deal of communication. Each man had a couple of racks of experiments they were responsible for and after so many months of training and flight, there was very little to talk about these days. Breakfast was a silent affair with a minimum of fuss. They each knew the contents of the other man’s day. Such was the lot of men who were never more than a few meters apart.
Yuri exited the module’s rudimentary shower and pulled on his flight suit. He checked the ship’s clock and noted that he was a few minutes ahead of schedule. He knew exactly how he would spend those minutes. With a giddy joy that he hadn’t felt since departing Earth, he floated to the window and took in the view.
The ancients had known. Truly, this planet’s name was deserved. The elegant goddess of love, dangerous, yet enticing. Like any woman of mystery, she held her secrets behind a beautiful façade. In this case, trading paint and powder for carbon dioxide with a bit of sulphuric acid. From the approach angle, all Yuri could really see was a golden crescent, growing more brilliant and larger with each passing day. With the fires of the Sun beyond, the scene was primal and cosmic. He could feel his place in the universe and understand with just a glance, his transition in planetary space.
Today that transition would end. For the first time, men would orbit a planet that was not their own.
They ate hardy and took some exercise. The Priboy’s water recycling was performing adequately, though there was a bit of an aftertaste. The luxuries of life aboard the ship were nothing to be scoffed at. Yuri even had time to enjoy a shower, crude though it was before they had to make preparations for orbital insertion.
He pulled on his Velcro shoes and stuck himself to the floor of the ship. The feeling of weightlessness did not cease in the slightest, but it provided a certain comfort to orient oneself in a normal fashion. Despite the fact that they could be comfortable sleeping or working on the “ceiling” of the ship, both men had quickly settled into operating at a normal attitude. They considered it a kindness to their shipmate not to deliberately disorient the other man by suddenly appearing upside down or sideways.
Securing themselves in the Soyuz was somewhat ridiculous. If the nuclear engine were to fail, they would be just as dead in any part of the Дальше as they would in the Soyuz or even outside in space suits. The Дальше’s lead shielding could protect them from solar radiation, but in the event of a reactor failure, the ship would offer them as much defense as a decent raincoat. Moving to the Soyuz on the other side of the vessel would have no effect.
Still, with faithful devotion to the motherland, both cosmonauts strapped themselves in to their contoured seats for the insertion burn.
With Flite Control several minutes away by radio, they would be more or less on their own for time-sensitive components of the flight schedule. Their handlers on Earth were acutely aware that they could not affect the outcome, but that did not stop them from making their presence felt.
It was tempting to roll one’s eyes as the radio transmissions, sent several minutes ago, announced the countdown to the injection burn. Flite Control had tried so hard to time things perfectly, but due to human error or transmission lag, the voice from Earth was behind by nearly two full seconds as the countdown approached zero.
The sudden acceleration was the only way that Yuri and Georgi knew that the motor had begun to fire. The engine was essentially silent and all they could really do was to monitor the gauges and hope for the best. In the event of a problem, even shutting the engine down was not seen as a viable solution. From their current trajectory, an early shut down would only mean that they would be flung out into the solar system on an unplanned course, likely ending up in a permanent and useless solar orbit, or worse.
Resolutely, they watched the clock count off the seconds until the end of the burn.
The comfort of weightlessness resumed as the Дальше fulfilled her preprogrammed course. They emerged from the Soyuz with eager, bounding leaps and made straight for the largest of the portholes.
Orbital insertion, by the nature of the mechanics, had to be performed on the dayside of Venus and so, for the first time, they saw the yellow-white beauty spread out before their eyes. This was not an image on a screen, or a grainy print in a magazine. With awe, they looked out on a world that was not meant for men.
White bands swirled and stretched to the horizon, big fluffy patches of clouds that would spell death for anyone who tried to breathe them in. Yellow haze engulfed much of the horizon, but not everything was obscured.
Below they could see mountains and ridges. There were channels which cut deep swaths across the surface, though they had never held water. The summit of a volcano was easily seen and it was not long before both men reached for their own cameras. The exterior cameras of Дальше would take in much more than they ever could, but it felt like a moral prerogative to take an individual responsibility for preserving this moment.
The time for this first viewing passed far too quickly. They had barely begun to take it all in when the interruption came.
The demanding tone of the alarm system sounded through the ship’s living space. Yuri looked at the clock and nodded to his comrade. Georgi could stay and watch, he would handle the duty of reporting in. At the time, Georgi thought of it as a kindness that Yuri would deny himself this view just to say a few words to Flite Control which confirmed their arrival. In retrospect, he realized that these words would eventually be heard by everyone back on Earth.
“Flite Control, this is the Дальше. We have arrived safely. Orbit achieved. Glory to the Motherland. We have been welcomed into the glowing warmth of Venus.”
15 January 1979
Дальше
Low Venus Orbit
Mission Day 162
Georgi had worried that even the beauty of Venus would not be sufficient to hold his attention for an entire month, but the fear had been unjustified. With the halfway point approaching, he still found himself, as ever, glued to the window whenever he had some free time. Yuri had similar feelings.
On this particular orbit, however, there would be no chance of losing interest, or of casual viewing. This was a workday.
“Flite Control, Дальше. We are five minutes from probe launch.”
The probe launch took place during the transition from night to day. The thick atmosphere would slow the probe much more than a standard Earth re-entry, therefore they had a shorter time between release and entry interface.
A shudder pulsed through the vessel’s superstructure as the ball and ring of the lander separated from the mothership. This was the second probe that they had released, with one more to go.
Yuri and Georgi gathered around the displays, scanning the data for any signs of trouble. While there was little that could be done, they were not powerless. Part of the point of putting men into orbit was to allow them to make adjustments and monitor the situation more closely. The shorter relay to Дальше meant that the probe’s resources could be focused in other areas.
The gyroscope was where they kept their focus. The first probe had developed a nasty tumble prior to entry and Georgi had gotten it stabilized, but just barely.
This time things were running much more smoothly.
“Entry!”
“Power readings nominal. Sensors are functioning.”
“Radiators are managing, but not by much. We’re going to get overheating. Can we adjust the angle?”
“Nyet, we don’t have the fuel.”
“Acknowledged. Looks like it’s peaking.”
“Parachute deployment in two minutes.”
The fiery ionization period had passed and the probe sank into the lower reaches of Venus, like an old man slipping into a warm bath. With a jolt, the parachute fluttered above it and slowed the descent, letting the sensors take in more and more data about the harsh chemical soup that surrounded the probe. Venus was giving up more of her secrets with each passing kilometer.
“Deploy the airbrakes.”
Metal arms spread from the sphere, catching the sulfuric haze and clawing against the thickening atmosphere. The probe slowed further and discarded the parachute that had gotten it this far.
“Fifty kilometers to surface. Power readings are still nominal.”
On a black and green screen, they read off numbers and verified the flow of information into the ship’s data stores. When they came around the planet and had a line of sight with Earth, the data would be relayed and they would have a chance to hear advice from experts at the Flite Center. From there, they would have one more chance to send instructions to the probe.
The hellscape that roiled beneath their vessel did its best to crush any invader like a tin can. The weather of Venus was rivaled only by the Russian Winter in its ability to repel any foreign incursions. The snowball of a probe that they had tossed into hell would have a very short life expectancy, but it was talkative.
With great excitement, they saw the image monitor illuminate. The small screen filled with a black and white image of an alien landscape. They saw small round rocks in the foreground and large hills on the horizon. The swirl of heavy cloud cover occupied the top of the image. Their little probe had reached the surface and had even managed to avoid imploding. Another commendation for the engineers that had brought them this far.
The atmospheric sensors now had a complete log of pressure, temperature and to some extent, chemical composition, from the upper traces of the atmosphere, all the way to the surface. The raw numbers would make their way dutifully back to Earth and, it was hoped, would someday allow for a more robust ship with heretofore unheard of technology to return to this place and make a much more elaborate survey.
Perhaps one day, the Motherland would even send cosmonauts down into the furnace to walk amongst the sulfur and stones.
Yuri pitied the poor fools who would make such a journey. Venus’s beauty was only skin deep. Under her clouds, there was nothing to soothe the souls of men.
27 January 1979
CF-103 Constellation
Orbital Inclination: 50°
Altitude: 272 mi
“Everybody doing okay back there?” Conrad asked, looking over his shoulder at the lone passenger on the
Constellation’s main deck.
Joe Allen gave a friendly middle finger to the two aviators in front of him. The interior of
Constellation felt pretty empty with his lone seat behind the slightly elevated flight deck. The rest of the cabin felt downright spacious with no other crew on board. The main deck could accommodate 6 seats in an emergency. From now on, most flights would have at least 3 mission specialists. But for
Constellation’s third flight, Joe Allen was alone, sitting behind Conrad and Gordon as they flew their lone passenger to
Skylab.
The RCS pulsed with a muffled thump as Dick Gordon got
Constellation aligned. This was the first time that the ship had docked with the space station, and he focused on doing it right.
“You happy with the sighting, Pete?” Gordon asked, looking out of the cockpit windows at
Skylab, a few hundred yards away.
“Eh, happyish. Nothing like flight-testing an unproven system,” Conrad said from the right-hand seat.
“That’s why they send test pilots,” replied the flight commander.
“Fair enough. We’re ready to flip our lid,” said Conrad
“Houston,
Constellation. We are opening the nose bay now. Stand by,” said Gordon.
Above him, between the two seats on the flight deck, Gordon opened a cover that revealed a single switch. He pulled the toggle back and the three astronauts heard the whirr of motors starting. Allen could see nothing from his seat which was behind and slightly below the cockpit. From their stations, Conrad and Gordon could barely see the nose of their ship flipping down to reveal Constellation’s forward docking port.
With a delivery to
Skylab,
Constellation would fulfill one of the missions she was designed for. The ability to deliver crews and supplies to an orbiting laboratory was one of the first demands when the Clipper system was in development. While Cargo Clippers would handle many of the heavy payloads, the interior of Constellation was roomy enough to serve as a miniature space station in its own right.
For this flight, Gordon, Conrad and Allen would outfit Skylab with new experiment racks, top off food supplies and empty the station of trash and equipment which had completed its period of usefulness.
As they closed with the UDB, Gordon kept a careful watch on the target reticle while Conrad called out the range. The UDB’s docking target had been designed to work with Clipper’s docking port and cockpit, but this was the first time they’d been brought together in space.
“Fifteen feet, Dick,” Conrad called.
“Here we go,” Gordon said. He trimmed the velocity with the RCS and
Constellation slowly drifted into its connection to
Skylab.
“That’s it!” Conrad said, as they heard the click of the latches meeting.
“Let’s retract,” Gordon said and Conrad threw the switch on the central panel.
With a series of chugging clanks the docking ports came together and locked into place.
“Houston, we have hard dock with
Skylab,” reported Gordon.
“Hey, how are Vance and Bob doing?”
30 January 1979
Apollo – R
Orbital Inclination: 50°
Altitude: 272 mi
They’d had to rewire a few switches and panels, but in the end, it hadn’t been a problem to fly a CSM with only 2 pilots.
Technically, this had been the backup capsule for Apollo 15, but it hadn’t left the factory until last year. Originally, the last of the Apollos had been scheduled for the Air and Space Museum in DC, destined to serve as a display to compliment LEM-25 which would be unveiled later this year. Instead, NASA had found a need for it.
With
Skylab now a reliable platform for low-orbit research, it would be helpful to have astronauts occupy the station for longer than the 2-3 week duration of the Clippers. It would be far too dangerous to leave crews on the station without a ride home, and leaving a Clipper permanently docked with the space station was not a viable option. There was no need to design an escape craft for
Skylab when an Apollo could serve the purpose, therefore, CSM-119 had been outfitted with two extra seats in the lower equipment bay, stripped of extraneous equipment and put into service as Skylab’s lifeboat-in-residence.
Theoretically, a CSM could be flown to orbit and even achieve rendezvous with
Skylab without a crew aboard. In a pinch, a crew already aboard the space station could then take control of the Apollo and dock it to Skylab’s UDB. But everyone on the ground remembered the near disaster that had resulted from the initial installation of the UDB itself. Remote controlled operations needed to become much more reliable before they could be entrusted with a mission as essential as this. Therefore, Vance Brand and Robert Overmyer had gotten the call.
“Houston, this is Apollo-R, we have hard dock,” Brand reported.
“Good deal, Vance. Glad to have you with us,” said Dick Gordon, from the other side of the airlock.
“We’ve got your takeout here. Who ordered the Kung-Pow Chicken?” Overmyer joked.
“That’s mine,” said Conrad, “And you guys had better not have eaten my eggroll!”
“Give us a bit to secure this baby. We’ll let you know when we’re decent,” Brand said.
“Roger that,” said Gordon.
Gordon poked his head out of the UDB module into
Skylab’s main chamber, “Hey, Pete. You got the poster?”
Conrad grinned and held up the rolled up paper. It was secured with a bit of duct tape and Conrad sent it spiraling towards his friend from the far side of the station.
Gordon caught the paper cylinder and winked. Then he went back in to the docking module and carefully taped it to the bulkhead, knowing it would be the first thing Brand and Overmyer would see when they opened the hatch.
Ten minutes later the crew of Apollo-R emerged from the CSM.
“Very funny guys,” said Brand.
“We’ll take the advice though,” replied Overmyer.
“You guys are gonna love
Constellation,” said Allen, “A smooth ride all the way home.”
6 February 1979
Дальше
Low Venus Orbit
Mission Day 184
Over a long voyage, any spacecraft will develop a certain level of dinginess. It’s an inevitable byproduct of housing human beings in an enclosed space.
You can sterilize a spacecraft, but not a man. Put two men in a steel cylinder for months on end and they will spawn a vast progeny of bacteria, dust and possibly a few mold spores. It makes no difference whether that spacecraft is orbiting the Earth, landing on the Moon, or surveying the enigmatic wonder of Venus.
One of the objectives of the flight was to take readings of the Venusian atmosphere. Astronomical observations and the Venera probes had given some data on the subject, but there was a lot left to learn. Calculating the drag on the ship had been used to determine density at high altitudes. For atmospheric composition, small collectors had been fitted onto a few hardpoints on the hull. Cameras were programmed to aim at the edge of the atmosphere during nightside passes and viewing sunlight through the haze allowed for spectroscopic surveys. The cameras would record until Дальше was well on its way back to Earth.
In mission planning for Дальше, there was a discussion about whether to allow for an engine shutdown during the Trans-Earth burn. The thinking being that a nervous cosmonaut might have an instinct to turn off the nuclear motor prematurely in the event of an anomalous reading from the reactor. If the burn ended prematurely, then it would be difficult for the spacecraft to reach a solar apogee that would meet Earth’s orbit. At that point, you would likely have two cosmonauts floating endlessly in a useless solar orbit.
The idea did not get past the planning stage. It would have been abhorrent to the cosmonaut corps to not allow for full control of any aspect of a mission.
“Flite Control, this is the Дальше. We will be passing over to the daylight side in three minutes. We are fully prepared for the return burn. We will be contacting you again after we emerge from the other side of the planet. Many thanks to all of our comrades back on Earth,” Yuri said.
He didn’t bother listening for a reply. By the time Earth got that message, they would be past the horizon and over to the day side. He pulled off the headset and pushed away from the radio. Georgi was already in the Soyuz and Yuri pushed off the wall to join him.
It was time to go home.
7 February 1979
White House Situation Room
Washington, DC
38° 53′ 52″ N 77° 02′ 11″ W
Chris Kraft had been to the White House many times, but never in the Situation Room. It was an eerie feeling. The room itself was fairly nondescript, but he was sure that there was a hidden panel or switch or something that, if pressed at the wrong time, might accidentally start World War III. He kept his hands at his sides as the President and chief of staff came into the room.
The Georgia farmer sat at the end of the table and looked weary. It was clear he did not like this room any more than Kraft. The men around the table stood, as though automatically as he entered the room. He gave a politely dismissive wave of his hand to get them all back in their chairs.
“Who do we have from NASA here this morning?” asked the President.
Kraft raised his hand slightly, “Sir, Christopher Kraft. I’m from…”
“Oh yes, Mister Kraft. It’s good to see you again, sir,” said Carter.
Kraft was surprised, but not easily flustered, “And you as well, Mister President.”
“I was very sorry to hear of this tragedy. I understand you had met these lost astronauts. Please accept my condolences and extend them to the rest of your agency.”
“I appreciate that, sir. So will the astronaut corps.”
“Can you tell us what happened?”
“We know that the Soviet vessel had completed its mission in Venus orbit. It was preparing to fire its engine to return to Earth…”
“This is the nuclear engine?” asked the President.
“Yes, sir. It was only to be used a few times during the mission. It had to perform this burn and one more when the ship reached Earth. The ship had to move behind Venus in order to make the burn at the proper position. When the ship emerged from the other side, there had been a massive failure of some sort. A cloud of hot debris emerged along with the main part of the structure. This would indicate a problem during the burn itself.
“And I understand that their nuclear engine is similar to our Zeus program?”
“Similar, sir, but not the same. Our Zeus engines have an unblemished record.”
“Of course. Clearly the Soviets can no longer say the same for theirs.”
“We’re still trying to determine the nature of the malfunction. At this point, it would be premature to say with any certainty that it was the engine. It’s still possible that this was a structural fault with the ship or that there was an external factor that affected the ship at the time of the burn.”
“But your early assessment is that the engine blew up. Is that not correct?”
Kraft was too old to blush, but he had to show his cards, “That does seem to be the most likely scenario at this time. The more data we access, the more we’ll be able to say.”
Carter turned to face a man on the other side of the table, “Director Turner, are we doing everything we can to get NASA the data it needs?”
Stansfield Turner nodded, “We’re looking through all our incoming SIGINT. Anything related to space activity is being shown to appropriate personnel.”
“We’re thankful for that Admiral Turner,” said Kraft.
Carter nodded and steepled his fingertips, “Mr. Kraft, does NASA have any concerns about the use of our nuclear engines going forward?”
“No, sir. We continue to have high confidence in all of our hardware.”
The President had a strange look on his face, “Mister Kraft, are we sure that the astronauts aboard this vessel are indeed lost?”
“Sir?”
“I understand that we see debris around the ship. Is it possible they are still alive inside?”
“That is possible, but the radiation that would have been released during an engine failure would not be survivable for long.”
Carter nodded, closed his eyes and mumbled a short prayer.
“Does this cloud of radioactive debris pose any threat to Earth? Will the wreckage make it this far?”
“We’re still assessing the trajectory. That will become more clear in the coming days as we are able to track the wreckage as it moves away from Venus.”
“Very well. If it does appear to be headed for Earth, we will need to know what dangers may be faced.”
“That will be unlikely, but we will try to prepare for every eventuality, sir,” Kraft said.
“And I understand we have our own men in orbit at this time. Is that true?”
“Yes, sir. We have five astronauts onboard the Skylab space station. They’re due to return to Earth later this week.”
“And they’re in no danger?”
“Not from the events of yesterday,” Kraft said.
Carter understood, “Yes, of course. Have they been informed about the Soviet failure?”
“No, sir. We plan to tell them when they’re safely on the ground.”
10 February 1979
Pe-Te's Cajun Barbeque House
Clear Lake, TX
29° 35' 40.6"N 95° 10' 24.3"W
There is a long tradition among aviators. When an experimental aircraft goes down, ending the lives of its crew, those that face the same risks seek each other out for reflection and analysis. The staples of the tradition involve a quiet table, alcohol, and conversation.
Deke and Scott had met them at Ellington. They’d just gotten back from Kennedy and the debriefings could wait until morning. With a ragged weariness, they trudged across Highway 3 and walked into PeTe’s.
Beers were imbibed. Barbeque was served. They took a big round table at the back and for a long time sat in silence, thinking about reactors and Hohmann transfers.
Deke spoke first, “For the record, I was the one who said we should wait to tell you. That was my call. I didn’t want you thinking about that all the way home.”
Gordon nodded, ever the commander, “Yeah. We kind of figured that, Deke. No harm, no foul.”
“I’d have done the same,” Conrad chimed in.
Joe Allen broached the topic, “Deke, did we get any of the telemetry?”
“Not much,” Slayton said. “We know they were done with their mission. They were set to make the burn to come home. From the orbits, you have to burn on the dayside. They went around just fine and when they came out from the other side...”
“Had to be an issue with their NERVA,” Gordon said.
There was a silent nod of agreement around the table.
“There’s gonna be a lot of talk about should we be playing around with this stuff,” said Scott Keller.
“There’s talk about that right now,” Conrad replied.
“The anti-nuke crowd is gonna have a field day,” said Overmyer
“Actually, it’s not been too bad so far,” said Scott Keller. “Mostly there’s just talk about the risks in general. A few stories about Russian safety standards.”
“And a few stories about ours?” Allen asked.
Keller nodded.
“We need the nukes. It’s the key for basically all of the ‘80s,” Allen said.
They all nodded.
“Any word on the Zeuses?” Conrad asked.
“They’re moving around
Liberty’s schedule. We want to get Zeus II up before it becomes a thing,” Slayton said.
“No chance of recovering Zeus I?” Conrad asked.
Allen shook his head, “It’s halfway to Jupiter now.”
“Right, right,” Gordon said.
“We used it to push the heavy Voyagers out,” Allen said.
“You think Congress is gonna try to take it away?” Gordon said, looking at Deke.
The senior astronaut shook his head, “I think they’ll be willing to let us do what we need to do. This was a Russian screw-up, not ours. I think it’ll play better if our NERVA’s are safe and theirs aren’t. Good for the country.”
At that, there was the sound of a booming handclap from a couple of tables over.
The muted TV over the bar was showing images of Yuri and Georgi and a solemn ceremony in Moscow. It was clear this was a memorial service of some sort.
A large, hairy, tattooed man in a leather jacket sat at the next table, nursing a large beer and looking at the news with much enjoyment.
“They really screwed that up ‘eh?” said the biker. He nudged a waitress who passed by his table, “The Reds couldn’t do what we did. They aren’t as good as we are. And that’s why we always win. That’s why those godless bastards are scattered all over right now. Let ‘em burn, I say.”
The astronauts shared a collective eye-roll. It wasn’t so much the man’s ignorance as the lack of respect. Dead men deserved better. Even dead opponents.
Joe Allen turned to face the bulky Texan with the bad attitude, but Slayton put a hand over his arm.
“You’re not gonna do any good paying attention to that,” Slayton said.
Dick Gordon didn’t hear any of that though. He was already out of his chair. He got between the man and the TV. Slayton started to cut him off, but Conrad said, “He’ll be fine,” and Deke decided to let it go. He turned to watch the fireworks.
Gordon was as much a cold warrior as any man in the room, but he was not a man who was quick to anger. Astronauts were patient and Gordon was no exception.
“Friend, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk like that. Those men were pilots, not soldiers. They weren’t attacking anything.”
Big fella got to his feet, tossing a greasy fork down on the table, “They were reds. We want ‘em all dead,” he pointed at the screen, “That’s two down.”
Gordon was incensed, “
That could have just as easily been me or my friends up there, and we’d have been just as dead. You think just because the other side had a bad day that we had a good one? You think that two dead astronauts does anybody any good? Nobody wins on things like this. They got knocked down. We didn’t get taller.”
He started to walk away. Deke breathed a sigh of relief. There would be no bar fight for him to explain to the brass.
The man moved back towards his chair, “Yeah, whatever. They sent people way out there and all they got back was a couple of crispy critters.”
Slayton sighed.
Eh, what the hell… he hadn’t gotten in a decent bar fight since Edwards.
)
