A Step Beyond Read Free Page B

to make himself presentable. He knew that before the day was out he would be delivering a statement to the press.
    “Play back the video,” ordered Schebalin. There was no need to review the video again; the first time he saw it, he knew the deck was beyond repair. But it seemed so unreal, the charred cabin with floating wires and the blackened body and a breach in the hull the size of a man’s head. He watched it as he had watched tapes of the
Challenger
explosion, over and over again, his thoughts shifting between disbelief and curiosity. Perhaps there was something he could spot that might make a difference; that was his hope and the hope of the people who occasionally glanced up at him. Forty-seven hours, he thought, might very well turn out to be a blessing.
    He checked the clock on the wall. It was five o’clock; most of Russia was still in bed. Sipping from his coffee cup, he peered over the rim at Emil Levchenko.
    The disheveled scientist shuffled from one terminal to the next, shaking his head, obviously not pleased with the information his colleagues were providing him. He picked up a printout from one desk and, after a quick glance, threw it back down. He spoke with the scientist at the desk and could be heard throughout the control room as he raised his voice to instruct him to redo his calculations.
    Schebalin went to his office and closed the door. On his desk were several contingency plans. He sat down to review them, and was soon interrupted by a knock on his door. It was a propulsion specialist with an update. After several hours of reviewing contingency plans and listening to progress reports, he had learned nothing to give him hope. With a growing sense of defeat, he closed his eyes and prayed. It was an unusual act for him, for he didn’t believe in God. Then he wondered how Levchenko was coming along. If there was a solution, he felt certain that Levchenko would find it. The young scientist was the architect of the Mars mission, the driving force behind the reinvigorated Russian space program. Schebalin picked up the phone and called him to his office.
    When Levchenko appeared several minutes later, Schebalin motioned for him to take a seat on the other side of the desk. The scientist’s shirt was partially untucked and looked as if it had been slept in. He sat down and began bouncing the eraser of his pencil against his right knee. He smiled nervously at Schebalin.
    “Well?” Schebalin asked impatiently.
    “It can’t be done. The supply ship will never make it to them in time,” responded Levchenko.
    “Why not? The ships are supposed to be within two days of each other at all times.”
    “They are, assuming the
Volnost
can maneuver. But it can’t. Their current trajectories make it impossible for the supply ship to reach the
Volnost
in two days. We have run several simulations, and even with best-case coefficients it would take approximately four weeks to complete the rendezvous. Basically, the two-day dock required the
Volnost
to be maneuverable, not the supply ship. Additional time was also required to compensate for the deviation in course caused by the explosion. Twenty-seven days is the best I can do.”
    Schebalin had suspected the damage would be too great, but all the same he was taken aback by the number of days required to complete a rendezvous. The supply ship was to be no more than two days away. How could two days possibly stretch to twenty-seven? As though he could read Schebalin’s thoughts, Levchenko shoved his paperwork across the desk.
    “A contingency for this sort of accident was never developed. It was considered fatal. Frankly, they are lucky to be alive.”
    “I’m not so sure of that.”
    “You know what I mean,” Levchenko responded, hurt by Schebalin’s tone.
    “Sorry.” Schebalin took a deep breath, pushed his chair back, and looked up at the ceiling. “Well, then, we need a miracle.”
    “A miracle would be helpful,” responded Levchenko. “The damage