“You know what that means. We need creative solutions on overriding the blackout. We need innovative ways to contact the crew and let them know that we’re actively looking for solutions. The main thing is to keep focused on contacting our folks and figuring out what happened—by any means possible. Monitor the onboard sensors, the experiments, anything that may give us a clue as to what’s going on and what happened. Understand?”
The comm techs exchanged glances with one another; some turned to get back to their consoles. Others looked uncertain; they needed additional encouragement.
“All right,” Scott boomed. “Get on it. Help our folks. They’re depending on us. Now move it!”
The room was almost silent now, except for the sounds of the technicians returning to their consoles. Scott waited a few heartbeats, scanning the room until he was satisfied that everyone had a grip on their emotions.
Then he hopped down from the console and looked around the room for Flight. The rookie Flight Director was still sitting at his console; his face was flushed as his fingers slid across his touchscreen. It was his first time as flight director and the poor kid was shocked, numb. Scott realized he’d have to stay in charge, at least for the time being.
Scott felt his stomach tightening. It was always this way after a pressure situation, from his first F-22 flight and his first combat emergency, to being accepted for the astronaut corps. Even with his first flight in the manned version of SpaceX’s Dragon capsule to the ISS.
But this time he knew the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach wasn’t from the pep talk he’d just given; it was from wondering if Kimberly was still alive.
For as bad as things had gotten before the divorce, the one thing he realized after it was how big a jerk he’d been, bringing the whole fighter pilot, astronaut machismo pose into the marriage. You should have checked it at the door, asshole, he berated himself. For once he was single again and back on the street he realized how shallow he—and the lifestyle he’d led before he’d gotten married—had been. Especially since it took so long for him to accept that Kimberly now commanded the ISS, a position he’d recently had himself; it had shocked him to think that a scientist could ever have the same coolheaded, no-nonsense skills needed in pressure situations, but like it or not, his ex-wife was in the hot seat now, and there was nothing he could do to help her.
He walked to the Flight Director’s desk. The man had his head down, staring at his console, looking overwhelmed. Scott hesitated, and then put a hand on his shoulder. When he didn’t acknowledge, Scott leaned over and whispered, “Pull it together.”
Flight nodded, but still didn’t respond.
Scott returned to his monitor and put his headphones back on. He knew that the others in the room would be trying every channel, every data port, every other entry portal into the ISS, so his trying to call the station as CAPCOM wouldn’t make any difference at this point.
He needed to call the NASA Administrator right away. He knew he couldn’t trust that the Administrator had been told about the emergency just yet. He knew she was a busy lady and even though she was a former astronaut herself, Patricia Simone didn’t have enough time in her crowded schedule to be continuously watching NASA TV. He knew her staff should have gotten to her and immediately brought her up to speed on the situation, but he himself had to actively close the loop and make sure she’d heard.
JOHNSON SPACE CENTER, ISS CONTROL CENTER, HOUSTON, TEXAS
Sophia Flores bolted up from behind her Public Affairs Officer console, shocked as she and the mission controllers saw Farid cruelly twist Vasilev’s head. The young PAO gaped at the oversized screen, barely believing what she saw.
Blood foamed from Vasilev’s mouth as he and Farid floated out of the camera’s view—and Sophia kicked into high gear.
Her public affairs training overwhelmed her shock, crashing through the numbness brought on by the brutal attack. Her PAO classes had thrown scenario after scenario at her in realistic simulations with the press and in the mission control center, drilling her to expect the unexpected, so she’d remain calm and not frighten the public.
She immediately checked the NASA TV link being fed to the public. Good, it had been severed. JSC and HQ would clean up the public fallout.
And there would be incredible fallout with this … brutality broadcast all over the world.
Turning, she squinted up at the glass-enclosed viewing area that overlooked the floor of the control center. She saw hands pressed against the glass, mouths open in amazement. Sophia yelled up at the overlook and waved for the senior PAO accompanying the VIPs to get them out of the viewing area—now! No one moved or paid her any attention as an uproar reverberated throughout the control center.
She stood on her tiptoes and tried to see into the darkened overlook. Where in the world is the senior PAO?
Suddenly, a commotion broke out behind the VIPs, and several of the gapers turned to congregate around something behind them. A few of the people who turned away squatted down on their haunches; someone must have fainted.
Underneath the overlook, two mission controllers pointed at the front of the control center. Sophia turned as the oversized display blinked and the words Transmission Terminated scrolled across the screen. The closed NASA-TV link had been severed from the ISS, and CAPCOM was standing on his console, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention.
Sophia glanced back at the overlook; people still milled around in shock, attending to whoever had fainted. She ripped the headphones from her head. Someone had to clear the viewing area!
She squeezed her way past a crowd of mission controllers and exited the MCC. Sprinting up the stairs, she entered the overlook and saw a group of VIPs clustered around someone lying on the floor. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” someone said. “He was fine just a minute ago.”
She pushed through the gaggle of people and recognized the senior PAO. He wasn’t moving.
Did he have a heart attack? No one in the group was helping, so there were obviously no medical personnel in the room. She pointed at the man who had answered her. “You—call 911 on that red phone by the door. And you—” she pointed at another person. “Bring me that AED on the wall.” The woman she’d pointed to hesitated, as if she hadn’t understood what Sophia had meant. “The automated external defibrillator, now!”
She squatted down by the side of the senior PAO and held her ear to his mouth and nostrils; she couldn’t detect any breathing and she couldn’t find a pulse. She looked up as a woman handed her the portable AED. Opening the case, Sophia felt a flush of anger when she saw a solid red X on the battery indicator. It was dead. She didn’t have time to replace the battery.
Straightening her arms and interlocking her hands, she immediately started CPR. She spoke while she worked. “Everyone! Step away from the window! Exit the overlook and go down the stairs, then line up against the wall in the hallway. If you see another AED, then bring it to me. Otherwise, direct the emergency personnel up here when they arrive. But most importantly stay out of the way! Understand?”
The VIPs looked at one another, taken aback by such terse orders given by someone so young.
She raised her voice. “Does everyone understand?”