Orbit

“You know,” Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker said carefully, “It occurs to me that we do this sort of thing quite a lot, and I’m getting really tired of it. How many times have we redirected an astroid now? It has to be the least useful thing A.C.R.O.N.Y.M has ever done, they don’t ever hit the earth-“ Kareem almost interjected something about stopping them “-so I don’t see why we have to drag ourselves into space and get them. 

“I understand why we’re stopping them. I don’t understand why the hell we have to sit up in orbit while we’re waiting for the shuttle to recover the astroid. I don’t understand either, why A.C.R.O.N.Y.M. Wants the stupid things anyways; they’re just hunks of space rock-“ Conrad almost mentioned something about platinum “-With bits of satellite stuck to them.”                                                                                                             

“We’re trying to retrieve the bits of satellite.” Said a voice that Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker recognized and disliked incredibly. The puppet walked out from behind Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker’s left shoulder. “We need them to rebuild-“ Cough “-Our surveillance network. 

“Right.” Kareem said. “Let’s go.”

The launch was cancelled exactly 3.3456 minutes after that. 

Jonathan Griggs woke the crew and dragged them out of simulation. He led them downstairs and into the galley, for some reason. Emily complained, but Conrad just took her by the hand, told her she was being pouty, got hit in the face, and pushed through the galley doors after the rapidly striding engineer. Griggs wasted no time, he spread a map out on one of the tables, and there, set out in blue and green, was the earth. There was an arc hurtling past the earth. The arc wasn’t labeled. 

“You’re kidding.” Kareem said. 

“Regrettably, no.” Griggs said. 

The puppet was standing behind Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker’s left shoulder, just like she had been in simulation.

“Yay! Asteroid!” Emily said sarcastically. 

“We just want to redirect it.” The puppet said, “Just slow it down enough to capture it in orbit. The satellites are still functioning, but they’re"-- 

--"Waylaid.” Griggs finished. If Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker didn’t know that Griggs never smiled, she’d swear he was smiling.  

“We’re going to space.” Reyes said. “Outside of a simulator and outside of the atmosphere.” 

“We all know what space is.” Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker snapped. Her heart wasn’t functioning ‘nominally.’ Words like explosive decompression and asphyxiation were beginning to swim forward through her thoughts. Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker had been very good with words when she was in high school; she wondered why they were rebelling suddenly. 

“Space.” Conrad said, pulling Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker from the brink of a tirade. 

Kareem and Emily nodded sincerely. 

Then Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker decided to ask a very important question that she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer to: “What are we flying?” 

The Saturn V has stripes down the side. Thick black stripes. It weighs 6.5 million pounds, and the first stage produces 34,000 newtons of thrust. The Saturn V is very big, very expensive, and very white. It’s also very safe, considering the majority of its mass is highly combustible. It has provisions for saving the crew in the event of  rapid unplanned disassembly (Astronaut-speak for conflagration and horrible death) and is far, far less likely to dismember its crew than the Phoenix IV is. 

The Phoenix IV costs very little. It’s not very tall, certainly not nearly as tall as the Saturn V. It’s not painted white; it has rust patches on the sides instead because the fuel tanks aren’t quite…sealed. Of the nineteen Phoenix launches, four have completed their scheduled mission, six have detonated on ignition, two have turned into something akin to hash browns while reentering, five have run out of fuel half-way to orbit, three have killed their crew with electrical accidents and cabin leaks, and the remaining two must have decided that the slaughter of their passengers wasn’t enough, because they tore free of their mountings, and fell straight through the roof of the haplessly placed mission control building. The Phoenix IV is a willfully violent rocket. On average, six people die per launch. 

Hammerhead missiles have only achieved a rate of three casualties per launch. 

Unfortunately for Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker and her crew, most governments would rather save money on their space programs than classify the Phoenix IV a weapon. 

Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker stared at the ramshackle monstrosity sitting on its trailer in the hanger bay and thought, with some hesitation: “I’ve seen dinner trays that looked more like spacecraft.” She thought so out loud. 

“It looks like an inside out sock.” Conrad said.

“We’re flying in that.” Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker said. 

“Don’t you mean we're dying in that?”

“No.” 

“Alright then.” 

It took a very long time for the ground crew to drive the Phoenix out to the launch pad, but it took longer for Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker to stop pacing and swearing and praying to the gods of a number of religions. She hadn’t felt this anxious since her wedding. Kareem set a hand on her shoulder, partially to calm her, partially to stop her from walking into the path of a fueling trolly.

“Don’t worry, I’ll have the controls. I haven’t messed up a simulation in months.” 

“We were flying something more than a scrapheap in simulation.” 

“I was trying to avoid saying that, Cypris, and you know it.” 

Conrad stepped over. “Where’s Emily?” 

“She’s changing the rocket.” Reyes said. 

“We’re dying in that.” Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker agreed. 

Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker tried her best to keep her eyes closed on the walk to the launchpad and the elevator ride up to the command module so that she wouldn’t remember anything about the trip later. She wished she could do the same once she had actually climbed inside the command module, but it would be difficult enough to fly with her eyes open, even if Kareem wasn’t flying and she wasn’t just reading out telemetry and velocity. 

Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker sat (lay) down in the cracked leather chair at the back (bottom) of the command pod. Her breathing was slow and steady now; something like breathing was. It took a moment for her to realize that she was hyperventilating and it was only the fuel rushing carelessly into the rocket (bomb) beneath her that was making a regular sound. The other crew members climbed in beside (above) her. Already, Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker could feel a hundred sensations she’d already been made to remember feeling, but it was real now; terribly, frighteningly real. It was the first time she’d smelled rocket fuel mixed with coolant; the first time she’d tensed her fingers over a ignition (detonation) lever that was ready and willing to start a chemical reaction (explosion) powerful enough to chuck her into space (kill her); it was the first time Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker tugged a helmet over her head and was greeted by tension in the voices of the control operators. 

Emily nodded to her and grinned. Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker realized that Jonathan Griggs was giving a countdown and the rocket was hissing and shuddering underneath her. 

“Ignition.” Someone said. Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker threw the lever forward; acceleration threw her backward; gag reflex sent lunch upward. 

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Kareem kept saying while he hauled on the controls and the command pod shuddered and bucked. “Control, control is non-responsive!” The window tore away from the roof of the command pod and fluttered away, and Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker was very glad she was wearing a spacesuit. The sky was bright blue. No. Not the sky: Water. Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker had never seen sky that blue, it must have been water; they were about to die. 

Cypris started sweating and swearing and staring at the fuel gauges. Emily started taking apart the fusebox while Reyes shouted telemetry to Kareem (Cypris’s job). Conrad started yelling at Emily, but Cypris couldn’t hear him over the blood rushing through her brain. 

A pause. Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker had time to think: Is it over? Before Kareem fired the second stage and the jolting and tearing began all over again. Emily unscrewed a large chunk of wiring and handed it to Conrad, who shouted: “She’s taking the ship apart!” 

“The ship’s taking itself apart,” Emily replied. “So many redundant systems!” 

“Those are backups!” 

“No, they’re redundant: And they’re drawing power away from reaction control!” 

“You’re going to kill us!” 

“Phoenix, this is control, what’s your status?” 

“We are going to die.” Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker said calmly. “My engineer is trying to persuade my mechanic that taking the ship apart is a good idea, my mathematician is actually surprisingly fine, and- Oh.” 

The shaking stopped. The third stage kicked forward, but not so hard. 

“Second stage away.” Kareem reported. 

“Status nominal.” Emily announced. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re crazy.” Conrad said. “You’re actually sitting in a pile of wiring, and you’re saying things are nominal? What the hell does that even mean? Why couldn’t you just say we’re not currently in great danger of dying horribly?” 

“Cutting the engines.” Kareem said, shaking vigorously. 

“Guys, shut up and look.” Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker said. 

The door had pulled away from the command pod like the top of a sardine tin. It was hanging, twisted, from the side. Through it, the stars stretched endlessly. It was like staring into layer after layer of barely visible curtain. The stars were glowing, and the moon as well. The sun had a different quality, and everyone’s faces seemed to be thoroughly suffused with it. For a short time, there was silence, and Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker felt properly reverent. That was, of course, before she remembered that they were still going to die. 

“The parachute failed.” She said, and swallowed. 

“Phoenix? Do you read?” 

“We read. Our parachute’s dead.” 

“You don’t have a spare.” 

“I’m too aware of that. Why the hell would you send us up in this thing?”

“I can fix the chute.” Conrad said, before Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker could start panicking in earnest. “I’ll need time though.” 

“We have time.” Reyes said. “It’ll be two days before we reach the asteroid.” 

“XRD56F7T789” Jonathan Griggs corrected. 

“The asteroid.” Kareem agreed. 

“We’re in orbit.” Emily pointed out. 

“We’re proper astronauts.” Conrad said. 

“You two are incorrigible.” 

“You can’t spell that.” 

“Probably not.” 

“Earth is really pretty.” 

“Yeah.”

“Making the final maneuver burn.”

“Control? The door sucks.”

“Affirmative.”