Finally succumbing to the stress, a ten-foot square chunk of aluminum skin from the starboard payload bay door abruptly sheered off, producing an ear-splitting bang. A super-sonic projectile, it was blown backward, averting a catastrophic collision as it missed Discovery’s vertical stabilizer by inches.
Carver jumped out of his skin. “Damn, we’re breaking up!” he shouted, instinctively pulling back on the stick to level off.
The lead F-16 regained its position in front of the shuttle and gave Carver a rapid wing wag. He toggled the mic. “F-16, the shuttle’s breaking up—if we don’t slow down she’s gonna fly apart!” The jet responded with another wag, and resumed a slightly less severe descent.
They were flying over barren-looking desert landscape now, passing through 20,000 feet, enveloped by a bright afternoon sky. Situated between the southern limit of the Sierra Nevada mountain range and north of the Angeles National Forest, Edwards Air Force Base occupied a remote area on the west side of the Mojave Desert. Although the small town of Rosalind was only 10 miles to the west, Edwards’ location on a dry lake bed was lonely and desolate.
At 15,000 feet, the lead F-16 took position on Discovery’s port side, the second jet remained off starboard. Now burdened with controlling his own descent, Carver swallowed hard.
Then, he saw it directly ahead. Thin brown parallel lines in the desert landscape—darker than the surrounding terrain, crisscrossed by smaller lines: the runway complex of Edward Air Force Base. Unsure of himself, he did his best to track the F-16s as they guided him through a long descending arc on final approach to Edwards. The trio straightened in tandem, aligning with the longest runway. Carver could make out a faint “15” inscribed on the ground, marking the beginning of the runway surface. He manipulated the control stick to center the runway within the heads-up display window.
Despite the absence of weather, there was plenty of turbulence as waves of hot air wafted up from the sun-baked surface of the rocky terrain.
Discovery was shedding altitude fast now. Reminiscent of a 1980’s video game, Carver adjusted the control stick left and right, forward and backward, overcompensating in a harried attempt to keep the shuttle lined up with runway one five. He was sure his Air Force escorts and everyone watching from the ground would be laughing hysterically, were the situation less dire. He was equally sure Discovery stood a good chance of ending up as a pile of rubble.
At 5,000 feet above ground level, it became obvious he was going to over-shoot most of the runway. It was too late to circle around again as, unlike powered aircraft, there were no “missed approaches” during space shuttle landings. He had one chance to land safely, or crash. The fate of four lives were quite literally in his hands.
Forced again to increase Discovery’s descent, he pushed the control stick forward. They were still traveling at over 350 knots, fifty percent faster than nominal, and now with a steeper glide path, gaining even more speed.
1,000 feet. He was out of time and could no longer continue the steep descent. He pulled the control stick back to pre-flare the shuttle, and flipped switches to lower the landing gear. The F-16’s moved above Discovery, giving her a wider berth.
Carver was still over-correcting. Controllers at Edwards, Mission Control in Houston and Flight Ops in Florida all nervously watched their monitors, gasping as the shuttle drifted above, then left, then right of the expected glide path.
Discovery was still 600 feet above ground level as it passed over the runway boundary. Carver swore again—he was way long. The shuttle’s ground speed was down to 280 knots, but still 80 more than what was considered safe. Despite 7 miles of runway, he was sure they were too high and going too fast to touch down with enough room to stop. In a desperate attempt to set the wheels down before flying past half the runway, he delayed full flaring. If he waited too long, Discovery would slam nose-gear first into the runway, instead of a gentler main-gear touchdown.
With the shuttle now just meters above the surface, the strobe of broken black lines demarking the runway center flashed by. Just a few seconds more. The F-16’s pulled up out of Carver’s view.
Now! He pulled back on the control stick to lift Discovery’s nose to flare the craft. But he had pulled back too much. The whoop-whoop of stall warning alarm blared inside the Flight deck.
Panicked, he pushed the stick forward. The shuttle dropped like a rock.
The main gear slammed into the runway surface with such force that the right axle and shock strut buckled, blowing out one of the paired tires. The nose gear rammed the runway surface a split second later, but the wheel assembly held. Carver jerked the stick back, briefly bouncing the nose gear off the runway before it settled back and contacted the surface again.
With all wheels down the blown main gear tire pulled the shuttle hard right. Carver leaned hard with his left leg on the rudder pedal, straightening out just in time to avoid shooting off the runway surface.
The shuttle’s drag chute automatically deployed from the rear of the craft, causing a noticeable amount of deceleration as it filled with air.
Slamming and bouncing across the runway at over 200 knots, the combination of stresses were finally more than the damaged payload bay door could bear as another large piece sheared off and flew backwards, snagging the chute and ripping it from the shroud lines. The parachute was rendered useless as the frayed ends whipped around behind the shuttles rudder.
Discovery was now a runaway freight train barreling down the lakebed runway. Carver was practically standing on the foot brakes with every ounce of leg strength he could muster in a desperate attempt to slow down.
Emergency vehicles were in hot pursuit.
Discovery’s speed was down to 150 knots and slowing, but Carver could see the uneven, rocky terrain beyond the end of the runway rapidly approaching. His expletives were broadcast on an open frequency, heard by both military and civilian monitors, including national media which had been continuously broadcasting shuttle radio transmissions all day.
Back in Mission Control, Ben Davis grimaced.
The shuttle’s ground speed had slowed to 50 knots as it rolled over the large “33” denoting the opposite runway designation, crashed through a boundary fence and off the smooth runway surface.
The nose gear sheared off as it plowed into a gravel overrun area, skidding on its underside. The shuttle finally came to rest amidst an enormous cloud of dust and gravel that completely obscured the craft.
After a few tense moments the dust settled enough to reveal the space shuttle, still intact.
Unrestrained cheers erupted everywhere. Everyone at Edwards, Johnson and Kennedy Space Centers, the media, and most of the nation, high-fived, hugged and cried and marveled at the incredible outcome.
Emergency vehicles finally caught up to the scene and hurriedly began fire control procedures.
The F-16 escorts buzzed the tower at Edwards, barrel-rolling as they flew over Discovery.
Mentally and physically exhausted, drenched in sweat, Carver slumped in his seat and exhaled deeply. Thank you, God.
Epilogue
Washington, D.C.
Medical personnel evacuated Discovery’s crew within thirty minutes of the crash landing. Incredibly, the entire crew survived. Mission Specialist Michele Ikiro had sustained a severe concussion, but would make a full recovery. Pilot Diego Ramirez would require a series of orthopedic surgeries to repair multiple fractures to both legs, months of physical therapy, and the assistance of a cane to walk again. His flying days were over.
Commander Mark Reynolds suffered the most serious injury, the loss of atmosphere inside his suit while drifting in space causing partial brain damage. Eventually he would regain all his faculties, needing speech therapy to overcome mild paralysis on the left side of his face. He faced a promising career authoring several books and speech-making on the university circuit.
Dr. Franklin Carver sustained no permanent injury other than a complete loss of anonymity. Cre
dited with saving Discovery and her crew, he was hailed a hero and awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom, despite his protestations. He attempted a return to seclusion at his newly acquired Rocky Mountain cabin, but media hounds and Hollywood movie producers tracked him down and would not leave him alone. Eventually he grew a beard and moved to an isolated hamlet in Utah. But not before a series of briefings with NASA, as well as Congressional hearings, both public and secret, as various subcommittees and special examiners conducted accident investigations. Everyone was clamoring to find out what happened during the mission and why it went wrong.
To his credit, at least in the eyes of NASA Deputy Director Benson Davis, Carver did not divulge the extra-terrestrial element of either E.S.S.E.’s or Discovery’s missions. The myriad investigations and analyses eventually ended, concluding that a satellite malfunction caused the collision with the shuttle, with credit given to NASA’s operational and emergency procedures for the successful conclusion of the final space shuttle mission.
On the day the official inquiry concluded, and Congress released Carver from further obligation to appear, he met with Davis on a park bench in the National Mall, the U.S. Capitol providing a fitting backdrop.
Their decades-long feud concluded, they regarded each other with mutual camaraderie engendered from their shared experience.
After brief small talk, Davis asked the burning question. “Now that the microscope has turned off, tell me—what the hell really happened up there?”
Carver shook his head. “I don’t have a damn clue. One minute I was climbing aboard Essie, and then...I’m not sure if it was a dream, or real.”
Despite their past rift, Davis could read Carver well. “You saw something, didn’t you?”
Carver shifted uncomfortably as Davis stared at him.
“I’ve seen the mission tapes a dozen times. You were frozen up there for five or six seconds. What happened?”
“Five seconds? It seemed much longer than that.”
“What do you mean?”
Davis was a pit bull and would not stop until he got answers. Carver felt compelled to confide in him.
“Ben, what I’m about to tell you is confidential, understood? I mean top secret. If you reveal any part of this conversation, I’ll deny everything. You can’t tell a soul, not even your wife.”
“Wow, you’re really rattled. What’s going on?” Davis could see the apprehension in Carver’s face. “Frank, you have my word, anything you say stays between the two of us.”
Carver sighed. “We were not alone up there. All these years I thought you were a fool. But you were right. There was an extra-terrestrial being, an actual alien species, with Essie. I communicated with it.”
“What?! You talked to it?”
“No. It wasn’t verbal. Only thoughts, impressions—telepathy, perhaps. It was a sentient life form, intelligent. I believe more advanced than us. It came here in response to Essie’s signal.”
“This is incredible! There was nothing on the mission tapes. What did it say?” Davis was about to jump out of his skin.
“Don’t get too excited. I think it was a scout, sent here to check us out. But it wasn’t very impressed with us. Humans, I mean. It called us primitive and violent.”
“Jesus. Why haven’t you said anything? We have to brief the President.”
“Absolutely not! You gave me your word. This creature, there was no aggression. But I’m not so sure about its superiors, it called them the ‘Elders’. It warned me not to reveal their existence.”
“They could be a threat. We need to be prepared.”
Carver shook his head at Davis. “Christ, this is ironic. That’s the argument I made against you building Essie in the first place. But this creature, it wasn’t malicious. It wasn’t supposed to contact me, only Essie. It referred to the satellite as ‘prime entity’. I think it was sent here to discover the source of the signal, but said it was not allowed to contact any other ‘entities’, which I assume meant us; humans. I promised to keep our meeting a secret. No threats were issued, but I got the impression these Elders were intolerant of primitive species and would not view our history of violence favorably. The alien emphasized the importance of ‘peaceful existence’ several times.”
“You got all of that in five seconds?”
“Well, like I said, it seemed a lot longer.” He shrugged. “When it first made contact, I was bombarded with thousands of images. I still can’t get them out of my head. I wake up nights with a migraine.”
“What the hell did it look like?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t get a good look at it. There was no light, just a black form against the stars. Like the photos you showed me in Houston.”
“Are you sure about all this? Is it possible this is all just a figment of your imagination?”
“I didn’t imagine Essie crashing into Discovery. The alien said goodbye and was gone in the blink of an eye. That same instant—wham!” Carver smacked his fist into the palm of his other hand.
“It wasn’t flying a ship?”
“No, I don’t think so. I saw no spacesuit or mechanical apparatus. I have no idea about its method of propulsion. Gravity perhaps. But some force sent Essie hurtling into Discovery as the alien departed. I’m certain the accident was unintentional.”
“Unbelievable. Reynolds doesn’t remember a damn thing. And the shuttle cameras didn’t pick up anything, nor did your helmet cams. I don’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse.”
“A blessing as far as I’m concerned. I damn well can’t prove any of this. But I’m certain that if word got out that we were visited by an alien race, one of two things would happen—I would be labeled a crackpot, or we would end up sending a probe or something to Alpha Centauri, which would probably provoke an unwanted, maybe even disastrous, response. This has to stay between us, right?”
Davis didn’t immediately answer as he mulled over Carver’s plea. “You’re sure they won’t attack us?”
“We can never know for sure, but I think this alien represented a benevolent, peaceful civilization. I don’t think they will be interested in us until we are more developed. The alien seemed...trustworthy. I’m not sure that makes any sense,” he admitted.
“One thing I know for sure, Ben. There’s intelligent, extra-terrestrial life out there, and I don’t think we should be afraid of it. The human race is sharing the galaxy with other intelligent life forms. Perhaps one day we can join their galactic community. But what I experienced up there impressed upon me that we need to stop fighting amongst ourselves and take care of this planet, or else we may find ourselves excluded and alone.”
Finally, Davis capitulated. “Alright. I think we’re gambling on their intentions, but you have my word that what you experienced up there will remain between you, me and your new friend.
“Thanks. I wouldn’t insist if I thought it unnecessary.”
“I’ve always believed that space-faring extra-terrestrials would be intelligent and benign. Aliens capable of interstellar travel would undoubtedly possess abilities superior to our own. If an advanced species wanted to defeat the human race, I believe it would have happened long ago.”
“What about all those alien myths and legends—the lost city of Atlantis, the ancient Mayans?” Carver asked.
“I don’t buy it. I think we’ve been ignored. My guess is aggression toward sentient beings is a uniquely human characteristic, bred by our evolutionary drive to dominate. By that measure we must appear quite barbaric to other worlds. I bet the reason extra-terrestrials haven’t made contact with us yet is not because they are waiting for the right time to conquer us, but because they fear we may try to conquer them. Would you invite a rabid dog over for afternoon tea?”
Carver chuckled. “So, what next?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve been in secret talks with the President’s science advisor and a handful of officials. We’re discussing a replacement for E.S.S.E. After what you’ve told me, maybe
I can come up with a better way to say ‘hello’, something more sophisticated than a bunch of numbers. Maybe I can arrange a phone call,” Davis quipped. Both men smiled.
Even though he had just burdened him with the biggest secret in human history, Davis again promised Carver he would not betray his confidence.
The two men shook hands sincerely, and walked away in opposite directions.
* * *
That night, jumbled images of alien worlds again woke Carver abruptly. As he lay awake in bed, heart pounding, he couldn’t shake the feeling his encounter with the mysterious alien would not be the last...
END
Read on for a preview of
Sentinel
the climactic sequel to The Last Shuttle
by Tom Glover
Available in ebook formats and paperback January 2014
Chapter 1
Summer, 2023
Kent, Washington D.C.
LIKE MOST MEN in their late sixties, NASA Administrator Benson Davis was a light sleeper. A thunderstorm had kept him awake for the past hour. He lay in bed propped up by two pillows, watching the distant flashes of light through his bedroom windows as the front slowly drifted off to the east. He was afforded an extra pillow due to the fact that his wife of 33 years, finally exhausted of playing second fiddle to NASA, had moved out three weeks ago.
Having kicked the habit after decades of smoking, he was fighting the urge to light up, his doctor’s ever-present voice in the back of his head warning the onset of emphysema if he didn’t quit cold turkey. A chain-smoker most of his adult life, he was pretty sure his body would have succumbed years ago if not for the exercise regimen he had maintained religiously since his youth.
“Answer. Audio only,” he coughed when the vidphone chimed. The Genesis logo he had designed years before appeared in front of him, which immediately grabbed his attention. He sat up.