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“In nine days, NASA is launching an emergency satellite retrieval mission. We’ve run simulations of this, both in astronaut training and as part of our annual corps training.Everyastronaut is ready to launch an emergency mission, at all times.”
He couldn’t breathe. There wasn’t any air in the office. He needed a space suit, an oxygen tank. He was as untethered as an astronaut cut loose on a space walk, tumbling adrift.
“I’m commanding the retrieval mission, formerly Artemis 13. Now it’s classified DOD Emergency Rescue One, EMR-1. This mission will have two parts. First, two astronauts stationed on the Lunar Gateway will transit to the ISS. They’re launching in forty-eight hours. After rendezvousing at the ISS, they will perform a preliminary reconnaissance of the Soviet satellite, gathering information on its capabilities, its defenses, and its structure. EMR-1 will launch from Kennedy and also rendezvous at the ISS, at the same time the crew from the Lunar Gateway are conducting their reconnaissance flight. Both crews will return to the ISS for the next phase.”
“And what is the next phase?” Sarah’s voice was quiet.
“EMR-1 will launch to the Soviet satellite and park alongside her. We will then board in an EVA and assess the nuclear situation. After that, we access her onboard computer and reprogram her guidance systems to move her out into a graveyard orbit. And,” Mark said, inhaling deeply, “we need to pull those weapons off her. We need to get the rail gun neutralized and—if there are any—disarm any and all nuclear weapons on board.”
Sasha could barely hear Mark anymore. His voice warbled in and out, striking hammers inside Sasha’s skull. Rendezvous. Boarding. Reprogramming a Soviet satellite. Disarming nuclear warheads.
“Which brings me to why you both are here. This is the first mission briefing of EMR-1. Sarah, I’ll need your EOD and nuclear expertise. You did your thesis at the Naval Postgraduate School on the expanding scope of proliferation and asymmetrical deployment of nuclear assets. You also theorized possible future nuclear disarmament scenarios. One of those was in orbit.”
Sarah nodded.
“This might be the real deal. I need you in the NBL simulator as soon as we’re done here. The techs are working up some possible nuclear devices we might see. I need to know what’s possible from you.”
She nodded again. Her face had gone white, her lips as thin as a streaking comet.
“Sasha—” Mark swallowed. “I need a Russian. I need someone fluent in both the language and the tech. You’ve been elbows-deep in Roscosmos and the ISS, and you have memorized both the old tech from the Soviets and the Russian space systems from the 2000s. I need you on this. It’s not what I wanted your first flight to be, but…” Mark tried to smile. “You’re ready. I want you in my right seat.”
Sarah hissed, her eyes going wide as she stared at Sasha. Junior astronauts were never made pilots. Never. They were crew members, mission specialists helping the scientists. Maybe, in several years and after a few trips to the Lunar Gateway and a stint on the ISS, he could have qualified to be an Orion pilot. He could have sat right seat beside Mark, maybe even on that Mars mission Mark kept hinting at.
But riding pilot on his first flight into space?
“This mission will be extremely dangerous. We don’t know what we’ll face up there. We can’t predict everything we’ll see. But we can train like hell.Freedom, the next Orion capsule, has just been assembled on top of the core stage at the VAB at Kennedy. We’ve got five days here before we fly to Kennedy. We use those 120 hours to train for everything.” He finally smiled, just slightly. “I’m confident we can do this. Every astronaut here is exceptional. But you two are among the best.”
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Mission timetables had eighteen-to-twenty-four-month lead-ups. He was supposed to join a crew and slot into the training pipeline. Spend two years perfecting everything he’d learned, specialize into his mission role over the course of that period.
In two years, Sergey would be out of office.
In two years, when he launched, Sergey was supposed tobethere. They’d planned it. Sergey had promised.
But a Soviet satellite hung overhead, spinning closer to an orbit that would bring her across the United States, where she could potentially drop her deadly cargo right on Houston.
Sergey was already beside himself over the catastrophe, sleepless and frantic and trying to scrape the residue of the USSR for information on the officially nonexistent weapons platform, this secret satellite. How didno oneknow this was up there?
How was he going to tell Sergey he was launching?
Sasha’s eyes closed, and he pitched forward, his hands covering his face as images of Sergey played behind his eyelids. Sergey standing with Lindsey at Kennedy, watching his rocket ride a flame into the heavens. Sergey kissing him goodbye, the taste of him and the sight of his smile the last things in Sasha’s mind before he blasted off. Them, together.
Dreams he’d only allowed to unfurl for moments, hours, just days. Just three days.
They were supposed to do this together. If there was one thing he’d learned from the weekend—or from the past two years and Sergey’s unending, unwavering support—it was that they were supposed to do thistogether.
But in nine days, he was going to be rocketed as far from Sergey as he’d ever been.
His heart hammered, his chest hollow and aching, and that old, familiar feeling began to crawl back into Sasha’s soul.
Run.
Only this time it was different.Run back to Sergey.
* * *
15
Kremlin
