I text the GF when I land in Charleston to tell her I’m safe, and then text Alvarez to see if there’s anything I need to know about checking in for prototype. He texts back and invites me over for Sunday dinner. His wife’s cooking and Lucia’s little hugs? How could I refuse?
Alvarez clues me in and forwards me the email he got. Yeah, I should have gotten something so I track down Martin’s contact info from Miss Peters and he sends me the info he was given. Turns out I need to report bright and early Monday to start spinning up to be in the super accelerated program by the following Monday. His schedule also shows all the way through a muster date at the Canaveral space port mid January. Looks like we’re doing Genesis training in low Earth orbit (which is super effing cool).
There are three space stations in low Earth orbit. ISS Mark 3 is the most widely referenced, but the US and China spent two decades sweeping old debris into the atmosphere and dumping modules to start their own projects. The US Orbital Habitat (USOH) is a gyroscope-shaped habitat that is publicly a generational study on a mid-gravity biome. And Americans just call the last one the Chinese Space Station. I suppose they could be sending us to Moon Station 1, as it’s only a 3-day trip, but that doesn’t make it easier to get on the Copernicus afterward.
The other accelerated programmers get permission to use our HUD glass to study as long as we leave the devices in the facility during training and have it erased when we leave. And then, it’s just a slog of info for yet another week. More class training and tutoring and studying ensues, and when month two rolls around, we’re in the mock engine room. Month three sees us in a permanently parked submarine standing watches, and I swear that the hardest part about all of this is keeping effort going when my interest had long departed.
I’d told myself before even starting prototype that I wasn’t aiming for the best at this school, just for enough to pass and move on to my destiny as a space Sailor. Martin and my accelerated compatriots from a previous class are looking pretty frayed, where I was trying to save that level of exhaustion for Genesis. I want to punch out a high score in that program.
I muse about all of this while I’m being talked to by yet another Senior Chief—this one being a bottle blond with dark brown eyebrows.
“What in the gods name do you have to be smug about MM3 Mercer?” Senior Chief Woods demands.
“You keep saying ‘mediocre’ this and ‘disappointment’ that, but I passed your program in half the time it should have taken. And I dare say that I’m in a better mental state for the next six months of study than my classmates.”
“This result will look terrible if you wash out of the Copernicus program.”
“And yet, I imagine I’d be placed on a submarine or a carrier no matter how it looks. What is this about Senior?”
“It’s about your shitty attitude Mercer. You’ve been . . . “
A triple knock sounds on the door as a Martin walks in. “Oh good, Mercer. Watch Lieutenant is pissed! You should have been in his office ten minutes ago.”
I come to attention and execute an about face.
“I haven’t dismissed you Mercer.” Senior shouts.
“Sorry Chief, O-3 beats E-8.” I hear steps behind me as though she’s about to stop me, but I jog out the door and shut it behind me. “Thanks Martin.”
He nods and leads me to the LT’s office.
“Mercer, if I didn’t know better, I’d have thought you’d failed.” Lt. James Conroy says.
“Sorry Sir, I have a reputation with the Goat Locker in Charleston it seems.”
“That’s dangerous for junior enlisted, MM3. Never mind that though. I’ve signed all of your evaluations and authorized your follow-on orders to Cape Canaveral. There, you’ll be under the care of NASA’s fight training team. After that, I neither know nor care what happens to you. The fifteen of you have been a blight and solidly ruined my Christmas and New Years plans. Martin, Jensen, pass these out then get out of my office. Oh, and anyone with families on base, contact YN1 Yolen and your Ombudsman.”
MM3 Martin and ET3 Jensen hand out Certificates and Evaluations, and Orders, respectfully, before we all file out of the LT’s office. How does a lieutenant get so bitter so quickly? No matter, got certified, going to space. TO SPACE!
As soon as I get out of the LT’s office I bounce around like a lunatic. I’m going to space bitches! I skip my happy ass to the lockers and change into my Navy standard cammo, or Battle Dress Uniform. They used to be shades of blue, but when the Seals, EOD, and other special unit designators like the Guacaflage (avocado and brown) better (and works better in their deployed environments), and the Navy didn’t have a tactical reason for blue, they switched to the Guacaflage. Now the whole Navy looks like old guacamole in field uniforms. We still have black and tans, dress whites and other unreasonable combinations because the Navy likes tradition and clothes.
As soon as I get my phone back I text.
P: Katie! I’m going to space!
K: Thank the Universe. You were worried about someone trying to block you.
P: Do I get to see you in Florida?
K: Maybe when we get on the capsule, but I’ve already done the flight training.
P: Are you still in FL?
K: Yes. But the Navy put me up with 3 other women. And no, I haven’t slept or made out with them.
P: I wasn’t going to ask, but thank you. Guess that means I’ll probably be in a full hotel room also.
K: Yeah, okay. You basically picture me having to swat suitors off like flies.
P: Am I wrong though? You’re brilliant and stunning.
K: You are because I apparently have resting bitch face and people tell me my glare is intimidating.
Aww, it super is. My vampiress is so sexy.
P: I’m so excited to see you!
K: Keep it in your pants Mercer, O’Connell out.
Ugh, that’s one way to ditch a text convo. Dork.
I drop my notice and orders to my apartment’s management company, then arrange for my scooter to get sold. Don’t need the scooter in space. This ain’t no Futurama. Though I would totally get behind a Scootie Sr. space program.
Katie is right, we really don’t have time once I get to Florida: I’m at the NASA facilities all week. We get dinner the day I arrive and the day before with both board the space bus and not a single opportunity for involved sexual contact. I really, really need to bang my girlfriend. Every time I say so, she smirks at me with the freaking tooth and I melt in my seat. Stupid sexy vampiress.
“Service members and Instructors. A reminder, you are wearing compression suits with visor and emergency air. This will keep you alive for a brief decompression event, not for continued exposure to space and solar radiation. Stay seated. Your module and harness have a 15-star crash rating.” People chuckle at this for some reason. “Two pilots will maintain control throughout your transit to ISS mark 3. In the event they need assistance, two engineers will be delegated various system tasks such as emergency fuel jettison and similar procedures. Any questions will be answered or ignored during your 90 minutes of sitting on the launch pad with the pilots. Thank you.”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
I snort at that. Passing the buck to the pilots. Good job flight engineer. Way to delegate.
Getting onboard the personnel module was tedious and awkward. There were 9 rows of seats with chubby mini ladders between each row. The pilots got in first and the next row passed back the mini-ladder in their row, and so on. As we sat we put on our 5-point harness, hooked our toes into a bike-like stirrup, and plugged into life-support and comms. Our compression suit visors were fitted with HUD displays, further convincing me that these suits were the coolest tech I’ve been shown so far. I opted for the inteli-type and responsive feedback glove variant. I got used to the HUD glass, so sue me.
I hear a thump and a series of mechanical interlocks as the light fades from indirect natural to full artificial.
/Running Cabin Diagnostics. Pressure check . . . . . SAT/
The number of checks pulse by on my HUD in white, when a green message shows up.
/Designating Engineering Assist Agents . . . . . PENDING/
/US Sailor MERCER. Comrade Sailor Baiul. . . . QUALIFIED/
WAIT! Hold the freaking bus.
/Canaveral, this is Mercer, how qualified over/
/Mercer, Canaveral. Aux fuel and thrust systems associated with GENESIS over/
Ugh, now I remember. We used there thrusters to test a back pressure theory for the Annihilation drive.
/Copy Canaveral. Thanks for Clarification. Out/
A fuel systems diagram of the third stage displays before me. That is a lot of trust they put into a rando with rocketry experience. Pfft. That’s a statement I need to put on the internet. I start cycling the hydrazine because I know it has a tendency to freeze when it expands and the pumps give off heat. No idea if they fixed that occasional issue, but better safe. Plus Katie’s onboard.
Pilot overrides me. Okies. Fine. You do you buddy. I check the flight trajectory and notice we’re on a dark-side approach. Stages one and two go off without a hitch. Pilot introduces a slow spin to match the stationary portion of the ISS and puts the port-side hydrazine mixing chamber in the dark for the entire second stage. Third stage immediately shows errors when it fires.
/Fuck your Pilot override./ I send to both pilots.
The port side hydrazine has a frozen plug and it won’t clear with O2 back pressure.
Red notices. /Engineering assist . . . . . ACTIVATED/
By now the pilots are trying to correct with thrusters and it’s really making things complicated as they continue to burn the rear rocket.
/Mercer activates Engineering Overide/
I quickly cut rear engines and then all thrust compensation. I get horrifically pinged by the Pilots at this point but I don’t care about 40 seconds of dead stick when we’re looking at 5 minutes until dead. Before the rear engine cools I bypass the backflow preventer to the port side fuel mixing chamber and heat the living shit out of it. I almost overpressure the O2 tank in my haste. The plug melts and I vent some liquid O2 to stabilize the chamber’s heat before returning system configuration to normal and releasing thruster control. Whomever let an untested engineer have that kind of control was fucking irresponsible.
I send a message and link a system prompt.
/Engine function within normal parameters. Re-ignite the 3rd stage engine? Yes|No /
The engine pops and shudders the space bus and the burn forces us all back into our seats. The hiss of the directional thrusters change our angle to get us back into the correct orbital strata.
/Flight path recovered. Pilots have engaged Auto Docking/
Lazy assholes. Not like I’d want them or whichever one of them caused that snafu to keep control. I wonder though.
/Canaveral, Mercer. Request recalc for follow-on mission vectors after auto-docking action/
/Copy Mercer. Wait./
Wait means that some office types have pulled the mechanical pencils from behind their ears and got to work. It also means that they likely won’t get back to me before we dock, so I pull the viewer up on my HUD and watch the auto-docking. They use three digital targets with a finding laser for each, pretty standard. The docking arms reach out and position us for a seal with the ISS m3’s docking and research module. This process takes an additional 30 minutes.
Once we’re nominally connected, Comrade Baiul is pinged to disengage and test the hatch per HUD parameters. They push some buttons and get a happy-sounding chime that makes me think we got it right. The hatch opens and Baiul transfers to the ISS hatch awaiting equalization. When the ISS hatch opens we are cleared to debark.
I get pinged to say behind in the zero G portion for a debrief with the two Pilots and Comrade Baiul. I have at least 10 minutes to wait on the pilots and mini-stairs, but Baiul is waiting for me and slides their visor back.
A Universe blessed Russian model pulls her nose plugs in a somehow dainty manner and then knocks on my visor. I repeat her actions without the dainty or the model.
“You save our lives, yes?” I nod, she nods. “Was smart thinking. Despite what Commander did. I stick by you, I think.” She pats my face twice and then slaps my ass. “Americans say ‘Good Game’ yes?” and she smiles at her apparent international relations.
I did not hate that interaction, and I immediately feel bad. Katie, I’m sorry, I’ve had impure thoughts.
“Your in engineering too Comrade Baiul?” I could have looked. I really could have data searched her.
“Yes. I am similar to one of your reactor chiefs? Yes, Senior Nuclear Technician Baiul. I will keep eye on you Mercer. Talk to Ship Commander perhaps.” She looks down the docking tunnel. “After debrief. Pilots come.”
She maneuvers e to the side by my hips so that we can stand at attention as they pass.
Navy Commander Nugent has a snarl on his face. He slides back his collar with one hand and grabs my collar with the other.
“You had best hope everything you did was necessary, Mercer.”
“You had best hope everything you did was necessary, Commander.” I spit back at him, knowing that he fucked up.
An hour later, the two pilots, Baiul and I are on a classified video group meeting with the Chief Naval Officer (4-star admiral in charge of Naval Operations), Director of NASA, a Russian Representative and Chinese representative. NASA prefaced the mission report before anyone asked questions.
“Mercer,” the fucking CNO says. Jesus. “You engaged in override activities before an emergency, and were later overridden by Commander Nugent. Explain.”
“Well, I queried Canaveral why I was designated as Engineering backup. They said I was qualified on their 3rd stage engine, which is true. So, knowing that the port-side hydrazine convection chamber has freezing issues, I started pumping to heat it. Maximum one percent power drain over launch window. No harm no fowl. I felt the override was stupid, but a Commander ordering me to stand down via override has me wait until an emergency is issued. It was. I took full control and corrected the issue within the emergency fuel capacity of the vehicle.”
“The module cannot complete the follow-on missions!” Commander Nugget shouts at me.
“Actually, it can.” NASA control chimed in and detailed the rather complicated plan to not sacrifice any mission by delays and narrowing some generous operating margins. Baiul and Flight Commander Zhao retired toward the ISS habitat.
“Commander, MM3, you will be further instructed via HUD video.”
“Aye aye Admiral.” We both report.
/CNO and Naval Reactors joining MM3 Mercer in Video Chat/
“Admirals, how may I serve the Navy?” Two blasted 4-stars on my effing Vid chat.
“Patrick tells me you have a conservative arrogance, but I have read the decline of your research career and it was . . . not pretty.”
“Yes Sir. It was definitely not pretty. I am humbled to have a chance to engage with the Hauptman-Mercer Drive again, but I cannot pretend I didn’t have a hand in inventing it, nor can I pretend that I wasn’t an absolute shit about it when I was in the research community. I have changed since then, but if people expect me to be cowed by position when my expertise can be leveraged to save lives or hundreds of millions, I will space myself to save the agony!”
I’m hyperventilating at this point and the CNO is on mute as he laughs. I can still see the bastard, but I have no idea what part of that he’s laughing at. Naval Reactors chimes in. “You’re not in trouble Mercer. In fact, we want you to keep open comms with our Aids. Captains Sawyer and Thompson will receive your texts at any hour if they are mission appropriate.”
Got it Sir, no meme sharing.
“Additionally, you are being promoted to MM2 effective immediately, with a follow-on promotion if you get assigned an LPO role by the Genesis Committee.”
My mouth moves, but I don’t have words. I try to say ‘Thank You’ but hell if I can.
“Additionally, we are co-opting an officer and an enlisted to stay close to the International leaders and you, Mercer, have already gained the respect of Comrade Ivanka Baiul. Keep up the good work and you’ll be judiciously rewarded.”
“I mean, if that’s an open offer Admiral, tech first and money second will always be my answer. Got any “in testing” suits or gear, and I will happily be a space guinea pig! Uh, Sir.”
Both admirals chuckle at that. I am so winning.
CNO chimes “We have some items we can send on the next re-supply. This is in lieu of any extra duty pay you would have been due until now”
I resist the urge to squeal in delight. The freaking Chief of Naval Operations has agreed to send me experimental space tech. Imma have a nerd-gasm in front of two Admirals. Hold it in Penny. Cross your legs if you have to.
“Gladly sir. Happy to be of service.”
“Be the #1 candidate, get close to a Chinese NCO. Don’t work against Commander Nugent.”
“Admirals, seriously? You want me to work with Commander Nugget? Give me engineering overrides and I’d consider it. He almost murdered people today gentlemen. It would take a lot for me to trust him again. Sirs.”
I get the 10k megawatt glare from the both of them before Naval Reactors replies. “Noted, Mercer. Your mission parameters for the next 6 months will be sent to you by Thompson and Sawyer. Admirals out.”
Okay, that’s a pretty fly exit. “Admirals out.” Eagle glasses on. Fireworks from the wings. Naval guns booming. Big boss exit.