Sitting in the cramped control compartment of the shuttlecraft, Brad recalled from his childhood history lessons that the first astronauts, almost three hundred years ago, were sometimes referred to as “Spam in a can.” They were not actually piloting their spacecraft; they sat squeezed into the tight compartment while men on the ground controlled the flight.
“Spam in a can,” Brad muttered to himself. He was a passenger, not a flyer. This mission to Gamma’s surface was completely automated. If human piloting was required, the controllers aboard the starship would do it, remotely. He had memorized the functions of the displays on the control panel in front of him, but he had no way of manipulating them, except for the cameras that provided him outside views.
So he sat strapped firmly into the seat, in his biosuit, its helmet stowed safely in a rack to his left, watching, listening, feeling the little shuttlecraft coming to life.
“Internal power on,” came the disembodied voice of one of the controllers.
“Life support on.”
A gurgling sound. “Pumps on.”
A low moaning noise, swiftly ratcheting up to a shrill whine. “Propulsion system on.”
A crisper, more authoritative voice called out, “All systems active.”
“All systems in the green,” came the response.
The synthesized voice of the countdown clock, “Separation in five seconds … four…”
Brad realized he was biting his lip. Deliberately, he opened his mouth and gulped in the cabin’s canned air.
“… one. Separation sequence initiated.”
Brad felt a quiver, a shudder. The shuttlecraft was being nudged away from the starship.
“Good luck, Dr. MacDaniels.”
He had to swallow twice before he could answer, “Thanks.”
“Separation successful.”
“Main propulsion drive engagement in ten seconds.”
Brad thought he should say something, make some sort of statement; this was an historic moment, after all. At least it was supposed to be.
Running the tip of his tongue across his lips, he realized what he wanted to say. “Felicia, I’ll see you in six months.”
Not for history. For her.
“Main propulsion drive engaged.”
Brad felt a push against his back: gentle but insistent.
“You’re on your way, Dr. MacDee!”
The display screen in the center of the control panel showed the Odysseus moving away. Within seconds Brad could see the entire bulk of the mammoth starship. It was dwindling, faster and faster, getting smaller and smaller.
“Life support?” one of the controllers asked.
“All systems green.”
“Life support, Dr. MacDaniels?”
“Everything normal,” he reported.
Silence, except for the hum of the propulsion system. The display screen was peppered with stars now; Odysseus looked like a toy.
He tapped the external camera control button on the armrest of his chair with a gloved finger.
Planet Gamma filled the screen: a rich green from pole to pole, except for bony fingers of gray-brown rock mountains and a few glittering seas sprinkled here and there. Clean white clouds seemed to hug the landscape, like oversized sheep grazing in the meadows.
“Atmospheric entry in one minute,” came the controller’s voice.
Brad nodded tensely. This was the crucial time. Diving into the atmosphere at hypersonic speed, the shuttlecraft would briefly become a blazing meteor. The magnetic heat shield should hold the blistering ionized air safely away from the craft’s hull. If it failed, the craft would break up, burn up, and plunge to a fiery impact on the surface. With Brad in it.
* * *
Felicia watched the shuttlecraft’s flight from the wall screens of the auditorium. More than half the staff was there, some sitting at the tables scattered across the floor, most of them standing.
The screens showed the big green planet and a tiny thin streak of red racing across it.
That’s Brad, she told herself. That’s his ship. He’s in the midst of that burning-hot air.
“He’ll be all right.”
Felicia whirled around to see Gregory Nyerere standing beside her, his eyes fixed on the screen.
The overhead speakers were relaying the flight controller’s calm, almost bored recitation. “Approaching maximum temperature. Max temperature. Max pressure. Conditions nominal.”
“Nominal,” Nyerere murmured. “Looks like the inside of hell to me.”
* * *
The shuttlecraft was bouncing and shuddering so badly that Brad’s vision blurred momentarily. The roaring outside the ship’s skin was scary, like a monster trying to get inside and devour him. It wouldn’t stop. Squinting at the clock display on the control panel, Brad saw that this had been going on for less than two minutes. But it seemed like an eternity of jouncing, shaking, bellowing, screeching as the inferno clasped him in its grip.
He tasted blood in his mouth and realized he had bit the inside of his cheek. Thankful that he was firmly buckled into his seat, Brad squeezed his eyes shut.
And the torment started to ease away. Opening his eyes, Brad saw the green surface of the planet hurtling up to greet him.
We’re through entry, he exulted. Going subsonic now.
Gigantic trees were reaching up to snare him. A winding river flashed past.
“Initiating landing sequence,” came the laconic voice of the flight controller.
On the display screen the trees swept past and Brad saw a broad swath of green meadow approaching. The shuttlecraft lurched—retrorockets, Brad knew. A roar of air told him that the landing gear had been extended. Then a bump, a thump, and he could feel the craft bouncing along on the grassy, uneven ground.
It lurched to a stop. Everything became quiet.
“We’re down!” he called.
“Copy you down, Dr. MacDee. Everything looks good from here. All systems nominal.”
Brad stared at the central display screen. He saw a meadow that looked almost like Earth, although there were no animals grazing on the grass. The sky was blue, with a few whitish puffs of clouds, but the blue seemed different, somehow off-color.
And there was a moon visible. No, wait, Brad said to himself. Gamma has no moon. That’s Beta. It’s approaching, coming nearer.
Brad unbuckled his safety harness, whacked his head when he got up from the chair, and—cursing as he rubbed his forehead—started for the hatch.
He was reaching for the hatch’s handle when he remembered that he didn’t have his helmet on.