Amplitude Page 6

  Randy had found five people to send into the chamber, but he had no spacesuits in which to send them.

  A few frantic phone calls later, he had found a cache of serviceable spacesuits. The neutral buoyancy training facility had a few, and guess how many they had?

  Yep, five!

  Five goddamn spacesuits that weren’t even onsite.

  The pool was at the annex over on Ellington Field, a good fifteen-minute drive from Johnson Space Center. He'd texted the astronaut candidates with instructions to head to the facility. They were to grab those training suits and hightail it back to Chamber A. There was a van at the pool that they could use to change into their suits on their way to the chamber. As he’d done with Rourke, Randy had instructed them to stop for no one.

  They'd each responded in the affirmative. Some had joked that it sounded like another ass-can initiation ritual.

  Randy had decided to let them think that. They'd be motivated to take part, to outdo their predecessors.

  Presently, he scanned the streets around the vacuum chamber facility. The astronaut candidates still hadn’t arrived. Shaking his head, he walked back into the building. After passing through a narrow corridor, he entered the expansive room that contained the actual vacuum chamber. Its wide, round door stood fully open. Inside, several technicians were still fiddling with the device that currently occupied a large portion of the chamber.

  Grinding his teeth, Randy ran up to the opening. “Goddammit! I told you to get that thing out of here!”

  All of the personnel jumped and turned toward him.

  Randy shook his head. “And why in the hell did you put on your bunny suits?”

  The closest tech shrugged. “Sir, we have to wear our cleanroom suits. This is the James Webb Space Telescope. It can’t be exposed to any—”

  “I said to get it out of here. Not in an hour! I needed it out ten minutes ago!”

  “But Director, this is a billion-dollar—”

  “It’s a billion-dollar paperweight now, and it’s in my way!”

  Shaking his head, Randy turned and scanned the area outside the chamber. Spotting something that he thought might help, he turned and ran toward it. Randy jumped behind its steering wheel and soon had the electric vehicle moving. He turned it toward the chamber in time to see four of the astronaut candidates emerge from the long corridor in their spacesuits. They each held a helmet under an arm.

  Yanking the wheel to the right, Randy brought the vehicle to a skidding stop in front of the small group. “Wing Commander Bingham, why are there only four of you? Where’s Johnston?”

  All four ass-cans stood transfixed, mutely staring at him. Then, with evident confusion, they looked past Randy at the technicians working in the chamber.

  Wing Commander Chance Bingham, a British pilot from the Royal Air Force, served as the senior candidate. The tall, thin man looked from the chamber and regarded Randy with a cocked eyebrow. “Sir? … What are you doing?”

  “Chance! Focus. Where is Johnston?”

  Wing Commander Bingham blinked and then shook his head. “I don’t know, sir. We can’t reach him. Something’s amiss with the phone lines, and he’s not answering our texts.” The man paused and then pointed toward the front of the building. “But we brought his suit. It’s out in the lorry.”

  “Lorry? You mean truck?”

  Chance nodded. “Yes, right.”

  Randy frowned. “Okay, you four will have to do for now.” He pointed at some nearby scaffolding. “I want all of you to grab that and roll it into the chamber.”

  The two men and two women looked at him, their evident confusion deepening.

  Sighing, Randy shook his head. “I really don’t have time to explain right now. I just need you to trust me. I’ll give you all the details once you’re in the chamber. But we have to get the vacuum cycle running now.” His eyes lost focus as he stared through the candidates. “Otherwise, all this will be for nothing.”

  Wing Commander Bingham was craning his neck to look inside the chamber. He regarded Randy with knitted brows. “Okay, sir, but I don’t think there’s room in the chamber for the scaffolding. Not with the telescope in there.” He paused and then a grin spread across his face. “Are you taking the piss, sir?”

  “Taking the piss?”

  The man rolled his eyes. “Bloody yanks … Is this some kind of joke, a prank you pull on ass-cans?”

  “Candidate, does this look like a joke?” Randy released the brake and guided the vehicle toward the vacuum chamber. The wheels bumped as it rolled over the lower door seal.

  One of the cleanroom suit-clad technicians moved to stand between the vehicle and the telescope, hands held up and gesticulating wildly for him to stop.

  Randy waved the man aside. “Move, jackass!”

  At the last moment, the idiot jumped out of the way.

  The massive, heavy-duty forklift slammed into the James Webb Space Telescope with a tremendous crash. Several of its polished beryllium mirrors crumpled under the impact. Randy didn’t stop the vehicle until he had pushed the thing against the far wall.

  He could hear people shouting behind him.

  After several failed attempts, Randy found the lever that tilted the forklift’s tines back. Then he pulled another handle, and the forks lifted the space telescope off the ground.

  The beep-beep-beep of the reverse alarm echoed surreally through the metal cavern. As he backed the vehicle out of the chamber, the technicians and astronauts, now mute, stared at him with open mouths.

  The ruined telescope trailed components. Shattered equipment and tangled wiring dragged along the metal floor of the chamber emitting a loud screech.

  Randy slowed the forklift as he passed through the exit. He didn’t want to damage the door seal. A moment later, he unceremoniously dropped the junked, billion-dollar space telescope onto the facility’s concrete floor.

  Randy jumped down from the large vehicle and ran over to the scaffolding. He started unlocking its wheels.

  Looking up, Randy waved for the awestruck audience to join him. He employed the command voice that he’d developed during his thirty-plus years as a Marine officer. “Move it! We’re running out of time!”

  Careful not to drop the helmet pinned under his left elbow, Wing Commander Bingham held up his hands, palms facing out. He looked from the crumpled telescope and back at Randy. “Bugger that, sir. I’ll have no part of it.” Behind him, the other three astronaut candidates were similarly shaking their heads as they each backed away from him.

  Randy sighed. He closed his eyes for a moment and then nodded. “Listen. I promise you, I haven’t lost it. There’s something happening, something that’s going to hit us before too long.”

  The stocky Asian candidate, Rachel, he thought, began to nod. She spoke with a barely perceptible accent. “Chance, he’s talking about that thing in Europe.”

  The four of them stopped backpedaling as they exchanged nervous glances.

  Wing Commander Bingham glanced at Rachel. Then the color drained from the British man’s face. “Blimey … I thought that was nothing.” He looked at Randy. “What is it?”

  “I can tell you it’s not an aurora. It’s some kind of wave … a light wave that’s knocking out communications. It’s not slowing, and it doesn’t appear to be losing any of its energy.” He hesitated and then shook his head. “But beyond that, we don’t know much,” he lied.

  The senior astronaut candidate eyed Randy warily. “What are you not telling us, Director?”

  “Listen, Chance. We’re not exactly sure what it’s doing to the people in its wake. We haven’t been able to contact anyone.”

  “What about Britain?”

  Randy shook his head. “We haven’t been able to raise anyone there either.”

  Bingham opened his mouth to speak, but Randy held up a hand. “Like I said, we don’t know what the light is doing, but we do have some damned solid intel that if you’re in the chamber when the light passes, you won
’t be affected.” He pointed toward the chamber. “That’s why I need you four in there when it gets here. Afterward, you can come out and help the rest of us, but if you’re still out here when it hits … Well, I don’t know what happens then.”

  Wing Commander Bingham’s eyes darkened, and the muscles in his square jaw worked. He fixed Randy with a cold stare. His voice lowered, taking on a menacing tone. “What about our families? Mine is here in Houston.”

  Looking at the man, Randy nodded toward Chamber A. Lowering his voice, he matched the man’s tone. “If you want a chance to help your family, you’ll get in there.”

  The commander opened his mouth to say something else but then thought better of it.

  Randy looked at the other three candidates. “I’ll explain more once you're inside the chamber, but first, we have to get this scaffolding and you four in there with the door closed. We have to start the vacuum cycle ASAP.”

  Major Rachel Lee looked from Randy to Wing Commander Bingham. “Come on, Chance. What if he’s right?”

  Looking from her and then back outside toward the exit, Bingham finally nodded. “Okay.”

  A few moments later, the five of them, along with assistance from the still stunned technicians, finished wrestling the scaffolding into the chamber.

  Randy heard a door burst open behind him. Then a voice rang out. “Oh my God. What have you done?”

  Turning, he saw Rourke standing in the open hall door. The young man was staring at the crumpled mess of the telescope, a blue, rubber mat clutched in each of his hands.

  Looking at the intern, Randy tilted his head. “How tall are you?”

  Rourke blinked and looked at him. “What?”

  “It’s a simple enough question, son.”

  “Uh … five-nine …” He looked at the telescope and then back at Randy. “Wh-Why?”

  Giving Bingham a sideward glance, Randy tilted his head at Rourke. “Think he'll fit in the suit you brought for Johnston?”

  The commander gave Randy a double-take. “Yes, but so would you, Director.” Chance pointed to his spacesuit. “And you have experience with these bloody things, a lot more than we do, for that matter.”

  Randy shook his head and looked down at the ground. “No … that was a long time ago.” His eyes lost focus as he stared through the floor. “This is a job for younger people than me.” He shook his head and then looked at Bingham. “Besides, I have to coordinate things out here.”

  Before anyone could raise further protests, Randy pointed to the tall female astronaut candidate that was standing behind Rachel. “Monique, you and Doctor Andrew take Rourke outside and help him get into the spare suit. While you’re at it, bring the young man up to speed on what we’ve been talking about and our plan.”

  In spite of looking as if she, too, were in shock, the tall, dark woman put on a brave face. Monique nodded and then led an equally stunned Rourke from the chamber. Doctor Andrew gave Randy a nervous glance and then nodded and followed after the two.

  Watching the man go, he shook his head. Doctor Andrew looked as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a square-dancing contest. Hopefully the man’s nerves would settle down.

  Gesturing at the other two candidates, Randy pointed at the exit. “Go with them, and bring in the rest of those blue mats.”

  A short time later, they returned with armloads of blue foam rubber.

  Randy directed the candidates to line the floor of the chamber with the rubber mats. Along the way, he told them how the light wasn’t affecting anyone disconnected from the planet. Several times they had inquired as to how Randy had come across this information. He'd repeated that he would tell them everything he knew once the vacuum cycle had started.

  Randy rechecked his phone. Before the mobile networks had gridlocked, several calls had come: the President, the Joint Chiefs, various department heads. He'd rejected them all. It didn’t matter who. Johnston, the missing astronaut candidate, had finally gotten word to them that he was trapped behind impenetrable traffic, so Rourke was it. That left only two calls that mattered. One would come from Cleveland. The other … He eyed the idle screen of his smartphone. The other call should come from a location much closer than Cleveland.

  His wife and two children were on their way to the Space Center, but Randy couldn’t reach them. It had been a while since he'd been able to place a mobile call, and now his outgoing texts were failing as well.

  Randy shook his head. As he watched the crews work, he pulled out the wireless handset for his office landline. That phone still worked just fine, but it had no more luck reaching mobiles than had his smartphone. Still, he tried her number again and again got an ‘all circuits busy’ message.

  Sighing, Randy stared at the mute devices clutched in his hands. “Where are you, Betty?”

  In her last text, she had said that they were stuck in traffic. That had been twenty minutes ago.

  Randy closed his eyes. He had to believe that Angela was right, that this wasn’t the end of everything. He did believe it. Hell, he was betting everything on her claims: his career, his life, his family … all of it. He was all in. If not, he would've left right then, taken his four-by-four and gone to find his family, damn the consequences, but if there were the slightest possibility that his actions here could save Betty and the kids, then he’d do whatever it took to see it through.

  “We're done, sir.”

  Randy looked up from the two phones and saw Rourke staring at him. “What?”

  “We finished laying out the mats.”

  Nodding, Randy tucked away his phones and walked into the chamber.

  He gestured at their helmets. “Let’s go. Get ‘em on.”

  They exchanged nervous glances. Rourke’s face paled. He fumbled with his helmet. He had it turned sideways.

  Wing Commander Bingham looked at the young intern and rolled his eyes. However, Rachel, the tough Ranger-turned-Army attack helicopter pilot, took pity on the young man. After locking her helmet into place, she stepped over and helped Rourke with his.

  Randy pointed at the intern. “Are you going to be okay, son?”

  Rourke’s too white and now sweaty face shook from side to side. “N-No …” The now-closed helmet muffled the young man’s words. “No, I’m not.”

  Rachel held up a thumb. “He’ll be fine. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

  Walking around the group, Randy did a quick inspection of their equipment. As he passed behind them, he dug a folded-up sheet of paper from his pocket. He pulled up a flap on the back of Rourke’s suit. “I’ll just tighten up this strap.” He tucked the paper under the fold and then laid it flat. The Velcro held fast. Then he patted the young man’s shoulder. “Looks good. You’ll do just fine.”

  Stepping in front of the five of them, Randy pointed up at the scaffolding. “You need to climb up there. When the light gets here, you’re going to jump down onto these mats.”

  Rourke looked from Randy to the top of the twenty-foot-tall scaffolding. His eyes went wide. “From the top?! It’s too high! These mats aren’t thick enough.”

  Rachel patted his arm. “Don’t worry, Rourky.” She used the nickname without malice. “The mats will be a lot thicker once we suck all the atmosphere out of here. They’ll make good cushions.”

  Randy nodded. “Exactly. And we need to start that vacuum cycle right now.”

  Chance regarded him with a cocked eyebrow. “How do we know when to jump?”

  “I'll let you know when.” Nodding somberly, he pointed toward the exit. Then he held up a suit communicator and spoke into it. “I’m going to stand outside and watch for the light.”

  He saw more questions forming on their lips, but Randy held up a hand. “Later.” He backed through the chamber’s massive and now slowly closing door. “First, we get this thing sealed up.” He pointed over their heads. “In the meantime, I suggest you start working your way up that scaffolding.”

  Standing outside the chamber, Randy watched the door continue its plo
dding swing.

  Unmoving, the five space-suited individuals—two women and three men—stared at him through the narrowing gap with varying states of fear and confusion painted across the visible portions of their faces.

  Then Randy flinched as the door closed with a deep, metallic thud.

  Chapter 7

  Standing in the middle of the road, Randy looked at his watch. Then he gazed at the two phones clutched in his left hand. They had fallen ominously silent in the last half-hour.

  Earlier, he couldn’t take any of the calls from Washington. He had even rejected those that had come from his boss: the Director of NASA. He simply hadn’t had time to brief them or discuss the problem before closing up Chamber A.

  And now that he was outside, the calls had ceased.

  All Randy had was time.

  Time to think about what was coming.

  Time to wonder about his family and where they were.

  Time to agonize over every decision he’d made in the last few hours.

  One decision he felt good about was letting each of the five individuals in the chamber place a short phone call. After he had initiated the vacuum cycle, Randy had dialed each of their homes with varying levels of success. Holding the Chamber A communicator to the office phone’s wireless handset, he’d listened in on more than one tear-filled conversation. In each, the caller had assured the distressed family member or friend that everything would be okay and that they’d be there for them after the situation had passed.

  While he hated holding back the worst of the news, Randy didn’t think it would do any good to tell them the true nature of what the light was doing. Hell, he didn’t really know what it was doing, although Angela had stated the end result quite clearly.

  Everyone the light touched died.

  But knowing that fact would give no solace.

  So he felt no qualms about withholding the truth.