Cris Jolliff

Page 1 Page 2 Page 3 Page 4 Page 5 Page 6 Page 7 Page 8 Page 9 Page 10 Page 11

The captain whirled in her chair and glared at Pavel. I was surprised by the intensity of her gaze.

“Okay, you old salt. Out with it. Where is there another reentry vehicle?” Old salt was a sailor reference to someone who’d been at sea so long he’d begun to soak up salt. I snickered in spite of so recently feeling doomed. Nervous laughs came from the others, as well.

“I only wanted to say—how do you say?—once upon time—there was another reentry vehicle. Maybe isn’t working. Maybe isn’t there anymore.” Juliette, Zagovich, and I were beginning to climb from our chairs. It was as if we had agreed unspoken that we might be able to beat something out of poor old Pavel, just to get him to spill his story without being so bloody evasive.

I have decided for myself that once a person begins to feel the effects of age, he becomes inured to the irritation that his own taciturn ramblings create in the younger generations. Even the normally stoic captain was making a show of aggravation, good-natured though it was. Our spirits had been elevated quite a bit by that brief conversation with the New Zealanders.

We all circled around Pavel as though we were small children, and this was Pavel’s Story Hour, on the BBC. Pavel was to tell us a grand story about the fabled “extra vehicle” and we would all live happily ever after.

“Old Chinese Missile Satellite,” was all he said. Grumbles and moans of dissent were immediately expressed by the gathered group.

“Hear me over.” Out, I though. Hear me out. Who cares?

“Just tell us, you bloody reprobate. Stop teasing us. There’s no satellite full of missiles in space. That’s science fiction, old boy.” I couldn’t believe what he was telling us.

“The Chinese were developing ASAT—anti satellite—systems as early as 2000, but those systems were all unmanned. No reentry vehicle would be required.” The Commander had certainly done his homework. Those early anti-satellite programs had involved tiny anti-satellite probes launched from a “mother” satellite. The practice was very innovative for its time, but was later overcast by cheap and highly effective ASAT microwave directors that could cook a neighboring satellite in orbit and leave no debris or physical evidence of the origin of the failure.

“This satellite, manned. I have seen this with my own eyes, on spacewalk. Saw the reentry vehicle facing space, cannot photograph from earth. Sits in high orbit, like we are now, so no other space vehicles have seen him. Come, you see.” With that, he pushed past us and started for his berthing compartment. We gave chase.

Moments later, gathered around his fastidiously neat yet still somehow dingy berth, he produced a small packet of old 35mm photographs. He had to have carried the film down and returned with it himself. No way to develop old-fashioned celluloid photos here. Everything was digital these days anyway. The photos’ backings all had a yellowish patina, as though they might be rather old. They were immaculately preserved, otherwise, and the photographs themselves were truly startling. Sure enough, there was an enormous bell-shaped Shenzhou-style re-entry vehicle. The massive three-ton craft was originally designed for just a single passenger. To my surprise, the photograph didn’t show any signs of wear or aging on the old model.

“Just how old are these photographs, Pavel?” I asked, looking over to him. He had taken the opportunity while we pored over the photographs to release his flask from its current hiding spot somewhere on his person. He passed it around quietly as we pointed and commented on details of interest in the photos.

“How did you get so close, Pavel?” asked Juliette. This question, Pavel chose to answer.

“Nikon 35 millimeter with telephoto lens, times twenty magnification. I shot him during close flyby working on NASA station in—2004. First spacewalk. I never show them to anyone before.”

“Bullshit,” came the quick reply from Captain Jackson. She looked up from the photos, “this has got to be bullshit! These pictures can’t be real. You’re just jerking my chain, Pavel, and I don’t appreciate it.” She pushed the photos to him, and began to float herself out of the cramped and overcrowded berth.

“We can go see in person, comrade Captain.” She stopped herself at the hatch. “You approve?” he was very smug. He was often in a good humor, and was excellent at staying poker-faced, but he seldom let a joke go this far. I was convinced he was if it might be possible that he was actually telling the truth.

“If you’re just screwing with us, Pavel, leave it out. We can’t take the constant up-down of emotions, man.” I tried to implore him to break off his bad joke.

“We will take a closer look,” surprisingly Zagovich said this more like a demand than a request. The Captain looked at him, then at Pavel, and reluctantly agreed.

“Fine.” She thought for just a moment as she stared at a spot on the bulkhead, and then to all of us, “Mr. Kosov, find your satellite. Mr. Brown, fuel and preflight the capsule. We’re going on a road trip.” Then to Zagovich, “We’re not doing this half-assed. I want a thorough inspection on this old bucket—if it actually exists.” As she turned to leave the berth once and for all, I could see the corners of her mouth turned up for the first time in weeks.

Page 1 Page 2 Page 3 Page 4 Page 5 Page 6 Page 7 Page 8 Page 9 Page 10 Page 11