17. Critical Contingency
Flynn
I refuse to focus on Beth. My tunnel vision is all for Holt and the desire to punch his face in. It was bad enough he showed up today, but then dragging my past in with him? In front of Jackie and her co-workers? I’m not letting that slide.
“I can’t even believe you, man,” I say, stepping into Holt’s face.
He steps back, hands up. “Get a hold of yourself, Flynn. I didn’t fucking invite her.”
Holt saying ‘fuck’ makes me pause mid-shove. My brother hates cursing.
“I haven’t seen her since I tossed her out of my bed,” he continues.
I can see and hear people milling about, in more of a hurry than usual, but my mind isn’t processing it. I’m having a hard time understanding Holt right now. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I slept with her one time, Flynn. One time . I haven’t seen her since.”
He looks so fucking earnest I can’t help but believe him, which oddly makes me more mad, as I’d been looking forward to releasing some of this pent-up anger.
A small hand rests on my arm and I turn, expecting Jackie. Instead, Trish is there, eyes wide.
“Rose. I need help with Rose.” She tugs me back toward the stairs where Rose is currently rolling around on the ground, beating on both Beth and Pam. If she’d had a rope I have no doubt my sister would’ve had them hog-tied by now.
“Jesus,” I mutter, striding over and lifting Rose off the pile by her armpits.
“Let me go! I’m not finished with these bitches yet.” Rose twists in my grasp, wrenching my shoulder.
“Calm down, Rose.” I glance down at the torn dress and bloody nose on Beth and the swollen eye on Pam. “Relax, sis. You won.”
Rose’s breath is coming fast and her eyes are still glued to Beth. “Damn straight I did.”
“Like fuck.” Beth scrambles to get up. When she finally manages, she’s listing—one of her heels has snapped off in the fight. “Your sister needs her head examined.”
Rose lunges again. “I’m going?—”
I pivot, turning my back on Beth. This creates a barrier for Rose, and also keeps me from giving Beth a moment more of my time. Rose wipes her nose on her arm, leaving a smear of blood.
“What the heck, Rose?” Holt joins the group, stepping up to our sister.
“Don’t start with me. Someone needs to take a stand against this waste of a human, and I’m not real keen on your way of doing it,” Rose snaps at Holt, who visibly flinches.
“This one,” Rose continues, jerking her thumb over my shoulder at Pam, “thought she’d get payback for Flynn rejecting her ass at my party.
She called the bitch from hell over there and told her where he was.
Once they got a glance at Jackie they decided to have a little fun with her. ”
“Wait, what?” I glance at Pam, who has the decency to flush and look at her feet, embarrassed. A glance at Beth shows her looking far too pleased with herself for having just had her ass handed to her. “Jackie?”
“Oh, is that her name? The unfortunate one with the glasses?” Beth snickers. “You used to have standards, Flynn.”
A band tightens across my chest at the thought of this venomous woman spreading her poison on Jackie. “Yeah, and they were a lot fucking lower than they are now, Beth.” The smile leaves her face fast, but the pull in my chest remains.
“She cornered Jackie,” Rose whispers to me. “At the bar.”
“What? What do you mean?” The band tightens.
Rose’s usual cheerful demeanor is gone, in its place a serious, intense girl I’m not used to dealing with.
“I saw her, Flynn. I saw Jackie when she came out with the beer. Beth was right behind her.” She tries stepping closer to Beth, who shrinks back.
Louder, she asks, “What’d you say? I swear to God I’ll hit you so hard I’ll knock the Botox right out of you if you don’t tell me what you said to Jackie. Stop messing with my family.”
“Family?” Beth snorts. “Please, that girl will never be a West.” She smirks. “Besides, I didn’t say much .”
Rose lunges, and I let her go, too dazed to be much help.
But both Holt and Trish step in front of Rose, Trish drawing everyone’s attention by saying, “She left. Jackie left.”
“What?” Rose spins, scanning the much thinned-out crowd.
“Didn’t you guys hear the sirens? The bar just turned off the speakers, along with the astronaut Skype session.” We all turn to the now blank screen, the feed dead. “Something happened on the station.” Trish addresses me. “She looked for you, but you were, uh… occupied.”
The weight sinks heavier on my chest. I look at the few faces left in the crowd, hoping to see Jackie’s. But it’s clear Trish is right; Jackie isn’t there. In fact, no one from NASA remains on the bar’s porch. Just my messed-up family and two unholy bitches.
“Where’d she go?” I ask Trish.
“Mission Control, I think.” Trish frowns and looks out to the parking lot. “She left with Ian.”
Beth’s laugh hits my ears, but is immediately cut off when Rose’s fist connects with her face.
Jackie
The lead Flight Director, Sean, waves at the projection screen lit up with pictures of the station’s damaged panels and exposed wires.
“Okay, people, this is where we stand. Earlier, while most of you were cheersing and beersing with the crew, a failure alarm sounded.” He scans the room.
“The second EXT computer has been having syncing problems since early this morning. At first they were minor things like being non-responsive to basic commands. But during the video chat session at Boons the EXT suddenly stopped responding to thruster commands. If it gets worse, this threatens the whole station as well as the astronauts inside.”
It’s a mess of an emergency meeting. People are sweaty, smell of beer and probably one or two of the team is too intoxicated to be productive—but it’s all hands on deck.
“We can’t power-cycle the second EXT without the first being operational,” one of the CHRONUS members says.
“No shit.” Sean glares at the person. “The question is how do we fix it?”
There’s a pause before Gary from the International Space Station Program dares to come forward. “We have the astronauts working on building a new EXT on the station, but it isn’t operational without the materials from the Progress, and that isn’t scheduled to dock until after the beta period.”
One of the interns pushes through the door. “We have confirmed debris heading toward the station.”
“Jesus,” Sean mutters.
“How close is the debris you’re tracking?” I ask, my mind running through various scenarios and outcomes.
“Estimated impact in ten hours,” the intern says.
I nod. “Do we have a read on where it will impact?”
“It’s aimed dead center in the pizza box.”
The “pizza box” is an imaginary container NASA created.
It’s about a mile deep by thirty miles across and thirty miles long, with the vehicle in the center.
When predictions indicate that debris will pass close enough for concern, Mission Control centers in Houston and Moscow work together to develop a prudent course of action-- usually an evasive maneuver, or moving the onboard crew to the Soyuz spacecraft in case of impact or the need to evacuate.
Ian speaks up. “Can we move up the Progress launch?”
“Negative,” Gary says. “Due to the beta angle, the Progress can’t dock until next week.”
The beta angle determines the percentage of time the ISS spends in direct sunlight, absorbing solar energy. The beta angle of the space station’s orbit is a crucial consideration when determining when a shuttle can be safely launched to the ISS.
Everyone’s quiet.
My mind sharpens on the task ahead. “Start closing the hatches,” I tell Sean.
When faced with possible impact, closing the hatches between the different sections of the station helps preserve pressure and function to those sections not hit by whatever space junk is headed their way.
“Why start now?” Sean asks. “The EXT is our priority.”
“No, the crew is our priority.”
Sean looks like he might argue, then changes his mind and inclines his head for me to continue.
“I saw the crew when the alarm sounded. They’ve already been on alert since the EXT-1 went down.
They’re on edge. Give them something to do other than wait around to build a computer that can never be built.
Make them useful by starting emergency evac procedures a little early.
” I look around the room. “Meanwhile, we work on the EXT failure from here.”
“You’re right. Crew first,” Sean says. “But why not try and maneuver the ISS away from the debris first? Then start emergency procedures.”
“Because we can’t trust the EXT-2 to take our commands anymore. We don’t know if it will maneuver the station in time, but we can at least minimize damage of any impact and get the crew to safety.”
“When the hatches are closed, do you think they should hunker down in the Soyuz?” someone asks.
If the hatches are closed, the crew will be able to enter the Soyuz, the essential lifeboat of the station, and wait out the collision. If, after the collision, the pressure and life support are damaged, they can return to earth. Or if the EXT-2 fails completely.
“Maybe. But hopefully by then we have a plan in place to get the station back to functioning again,” I answer, my mind already moving on to solving that very problem.
“I’ll get the flight director on console to give the command to start closing the hatches.
Meanwhile, you all have thirty minutes to clean the fuck up and start brainstorming a work-around or a fix for this shit storm we’re in.
” Sean looks at the clock. “The countdown to evacuation starts now.” He picks up the phone to relay the information to those working in Mission Control.
I’m being ridiculous. And unprofessional. My usual focus has been damaged by a mean, life-size Barbie.