Rocket Man

"Jack, how the fuck did you do all of that flying around the station with only five nozzles?" he asked.

"This is going to be more difficult than I thought," he said. "First off, you're going to have to use the thrusters to put you into a lower orbit. You're going to have to do it manually, because we don't seem to be able to control your flight systems or the jets from down here."

"No problem," I said. "I can ..."

"Problem," he interrupted. "I've mapped out the functioning jets and in order to get into the position we need; you're going to be mostly flying upside down."

"Johnny, there's no gravity here. Upside down doesn't really mean much," I said.

"Remember that when we start giving you coordinates that don't make sense," he quipped.

I started the burn and forced the tumbling capsule back towards earth. It's hard to understand, but it was very easy to do. It was hard to control, but easy to accomplish. All I was doing basically was pushing the capsule in the direction that gravity wanted it to go in anyway. I was using the thrusters not to fight off gravity but to speed up the rate of my orbit's decay.

When I got to the place that Johnny Walker and his friend, Jim Beam wanted me to maintain, I breathed a sigh of relief. I was probably still going to die. I had no idea what we were trying to do. This capsule was designed to float down on several large parachutes. The mechanism for deploying those parachutes had been damaged.

The idea of dropping it in the ocean like the old Apollo capsules wouldn't work either. The capsule wasn't designed to float, and it wasn't water tight. Landing in the ocean would be a death sentence. The capsule would sink like a fucking stone, and I had no survival gear that would help me last for even a few moments while a recovery vessel made it to my location.

I also had no control over the capsule's attitude. I was basically tumbling my way through orbit.

"Okay," Jack this is what you're going to do," he said. "Do you remember a few years ago when Felix Baumgardener parachuted from the edge of space? Two years later, the head of Google beat him and dropped from even higher? We're gonna do something like that. Here's the deal. We're going to use the capsule to get you through the heat of re-entry. Then you're going to bail out before the capsule drops to the desert and probably explodes. You're aiming for a hot-air balloon where there's a harness with a special parachute that will attach to your space suit. Got it?"

"It'll never fuckin' work," I said.

"Well, right now, you're gonna die," he said. "If you stay in the capsule, you're gonna die. If you go back to the station, you're all gonna die, so what the fuck is the difference?"

"Okay," I said. "When you put it that way, how much time do I have?"

"Not much," he said. "You're orbiting every seventy - seven minutes. On your next time over the US, we're gonna do another burn that will put you on a shallow re-entry vector. I'm not gonna lie to you. If the heat shields fail, you're gonna burn up. Once you're through the atmosphere you're gonna have to spot the balloon, use the thrusters to get you close and then bail out and glide for it. If you miss, you're fucked. Actually, there are two balloons. There will be a second one five thousand feet below the first just in case. Good luck Jack."

"Thanks, I guess," I said.

"Jack, do you want me to connect you to Elizabeth so you can talk to her?" he asked. "You know ... Just in case?"

"Nope," I said trying to keep my voice as casual as possible. "I need to concentrate on the task at hand."

"Okay, your choice," he said. "I'll talk to you again in about twenty minutes."

I sat there staring out at space. I wondered what had gone wrong. Not with the capsule, or the mission. There's an old saying, "Man plans, God laughs." Anything that we put together with our slide rules and calculators can always go wrong. The capsule had been a very good ship. It had performed well under trying conditions. However, the impact from a chunk of metal traveling at roughly seventeen thousand miles per hour was simply something they never foresaw.

It had been serendipity that it had only struck us a glancing blow. A straight on impact on either the capsule or the space station could have been a disaster for all of us. We were lucky that we lost only one person. And Nathan Penn was an asshole. The fates must have been looking out for us after all.

No, the mission had been a mild cluster fuck as those things go, but it was my life that confused me. Not that I had one anymore, not that I even wanted one anymore. I had no illusions. I really didn't believe in Johnny Walker's hair brained scheme to snatch me from the jaws of death. I just wanted my death to be glorious. I wanted to look down from space someday and have little kids study me in the history classes. I wanted them to say that the Rocket Man went out fighting. Even if it wasn't true.

The truth was that there was no fight left in me. Beth's betrayal had beaten me. I had all kinds of questions going through my mind. It felt almost as if I was a reporter. I had all the same questions that reporters want to know. Who? What? Where? When? And most of all Why?

We had been together for nearly all of our lives. I had given her everything she wanted, whether I had wanted it for her or not. When she wanted to go to law school, I paid for it. When she wanted to go to work for that sleazy assed firm, I hated the idea, but I loved her too much to tell her no.

But she hadn't told that asshole no. She had brought him into our home and fucked him in my God Damned living room. Suddenly, I was burning. The flames were hotter than the ones from re-entry would be. I burned with the desire for revenge. That snug asshole would pay for the life he had destroyed. Suddenly, I wanted to ... No I needed to live just so there could be a reckoning between the two of us.

* * * * * *

Liz

"Thank you Senator," I said to the old man in front of me.

"I did nothing for you," he said. His tone of voice let me know exactly what he thought of me. Where Brett was someone he felt might have had a great deal of potential, who had unfortunately not lived up to it, I was simply scum. He had dismissed and dispatched me without bothering even to say goodbye.

"Why, then," I asked even as his men tried to whisk me back to my house.

"For the future, for the country ... For the Rocket Man," he said. "Someday ... When he's done with space, maybe he can serve his country in a different way? If that comes to pass. He doesn't need the stigma of a cheating strumpet of a wife to hold him back. This way, his past remains clearer. However, the truth is all you could ever do is muddy the waters. His qualities would have shown through the murkiest mud you could bring. Worst case scenario, the world learns that while he was off into space, saving lives, his whore of a wife was screwing some low-life ambulance chaser. It would probably make him a much more sympathetic figure. The man burns so brightly that even your bullshit can't tarnish his legacy." Then he turned and left the way he came.

As soon as I got back to my house, I got into my car and started the long drive to the airport. I had to be on the next flight to Florida. Even as I drove, I frantically called the launch facility. I told them who I was and was put through to Johnny Walker.

"I'm on my way," I told him. "Jack needs me. I'll be there as soon as I can get on a plane."

"Uh yeah," he said. "Look Elizabeth, you don't want to be here. And more importantly, Jack doesn't want you here. I think he's trying to distance himself from you to make it easier on you if he doesn't make it."

"Fuck that, Fuck you. I'm coming," I said.

* * * * * *

Jack

"And I think it's gonna be a long, long time."

"Til touchdown brings me round again to find..."

"I'm not the man they think I am at home."

"Oh no, no, no ... I'm a Rocket Man ..."

Like a star dropping out of the sky. NASA never broadcast it. It was more a secret than it was ever meant to be. Perhaps that was why it worked so well and why the secret never got out. Usually if you try to keep something a secret, people start to talk about it, and then it gets out and pretty soon everyone knows about it.

However, in my case, with most of NASA, the country and the world focusing on those ten brave people waiting to be rescued from the station, no one thought about me. Oh sure, I was mentioned a few times. My supposed heroism in sacrificing myself so everyone else would have at least a chance to live had not gone un-noticed. But I was off camera, assumed to be floating away into nothingness. Most of the world assumed that I was already dead. I had to be, right?

Of course, the few experts they brought in did point out that there were spare suits on the capsule and I could have possibly used them to prolong my air supply, but I would probably have frozen to death without some sort of heat. And realistically it seemed morbid to dwell on my fate while there were ten people, ten brave souls, trapped on the station waiting for rescue. They were trying very hard to remain as quiet and as still as possible. If the O2 scrubbers malfunctioned or gave out from the strain, they were all dead. The world held its breath and watched.

And like some cosmic magic trick, I dropped out of the sky, like a ... meteor.

It was a rough ride, perhaps the roughest thing I have ever endured. Johnny came back on the com and gave me instructions. I did a long slow burn propelling the capsule towards the earth. Gravity did the rest. My job was the hard part. I had to keep the bottom of the capsule, the fat end, pointed towards the Earth. The bottom of the capsule was the only place that held the heat-absorbing tiles that would keep me from becoming a charcoal briquette during re-entry.

Under normal circumstances, it would have been difficult. But with most of my jets non-functional, it was barely possible. And without trying to sound like I was bragging, I'm not sure anyone else could have done it. There's a certain skill level ... Call it a touch, that goes with experience. And I have more experience piloting a space craft than any man on earth, living or dead.

The capsule was tossed around like a cork in a heavy sea as it fell. And yes, fell is what I did. My thrusters even if fully functional were simply not strong enough to lift the capsule or even slow it down enough to cushion my landing. They were maneuvering jets, pure and simple. They allowed me to point the nose or move sideways, nothing more.

The one good thing about it, at least at first was the fact that I didn't have to worry about freezing to death. It got really hot, really quickly. There were moments when even in my suit, it was so hot, I struggled to breathe. And suddenly the buffeting and tossing stopped and things began to cool.

"Out of the frying pan and off of a fuckin' cliff," yelled Johnny Walker. "Are ya still alive, Rocket?"

"Yep," I said tight lipped.

"You sound a little pissed," he said. "Good because, the next part won't be easy."

"Is anything ever easy?" I snapped.

"Okay, you're dropping like a rock," he said. "My coordinates were perfect as usual. But you're falling way too fast. I need you to fire every thruster you have and if the retro rockets are still working fire those too."

"Johnny none of those are going to be strong enough to stop me from dying if I hit," I said.

"Look Rocket," he quipped. "I already know that. You're the driver, here; I'm the fucking rocket scientist. I know we can't slow you down enough to survive. I'm trying to slow you down enough that you can get to one of the balloons. They are in position. You've only got two chances at this."

I fired everything and according to my instruments, I did marginally slow myself down. It also produced a spin that I didn't need.

"Okay Rocket, it's time," he screamed. "You have about 90 seconds. Get the hatch open, sight the Balloon and jump for it."

"Am I landing in the basket?" I asked.

"There is no basket," he said. "There's a very long static line attached to the balloon by a quick release mechanism. There's a harness and kit on the end of the line. Your job is to get into that harness."

The door opened easily since the pressure outside was greater than the pressure inside, and the hatch opened in. Looking outside scared the shit out of me. It would have been easier just to die. But then I saw the Balloon. It was huge. I'd have had to be drunk to miss that. When I was about fifty feet above it, I jumped. I guess jumped isn't really accurate. I sort of stepped away from the capsule. We both continued to drop. As I passed the Balloon, I grabbed for the line. I let go almost immediately. The friction was incredible. Just trying to grab the line nearly burned through the carbon fiber and Kevlar layers of my gloves.

I started alternating the pressure to slow my descent. I wasn't sure it was working until I noticed how much further down the capsule was than I was after only a few pulses. I saw the end of the line coming up quickly and squeezed a bit more. That caused me to yank nearly to a stop. I reached for the box. Made contact and slipped. My left hand grabbed for the line. My right for the box that stood between me and death. My left hand missed. My right grabbed the edge of the box. My fingers dug in for dear life. I saw my life flash before my eyes. I saw myself courting and marrying Elizabeth. I saw our life together. And then I saw that bastard go into my house and fuck her. All in the blink of an eye.

And then my hand slipped off of the edge of the box, and I plummeted towards death.

* * * * * *

Elizabeth

I needed help. I called my office. My secretary answered the phone. She gave the name of the firm, instead of my name. That was weird until I realized that I had probably been fired too.

"Sue, it's Beth," I said.

"Who," she asked.

"Elizabeth, your boss," I said, remembering that the only person who had ever called me Beth was Jack. Even my parents called me Liz.

"I don't have a boss," she said. "They told me to stay in the office and catalog all the paperwork until they assign another junior partner. All of the associates are snapping at the bit to replace you. And since no one knows why you left they're all afraid that the same thing might happen to them."

"Whatever," I said. "I need help. I need you to get me on a flight to Florida. You know the usual stuff."

"Oh, fuck," she said. "I heard about your husband. I'm soooo sorry. You're going there to ...? Shit, there probably won't even be a ...?" I heard a shape intake of air. "Okay one last time," she said. "I'll even arrange it on the company dime. Your expense account hasn't been cut off yet. I used it this morning to buy breakfast. I'll text you the details."

I had done this so many times before that I shouldn't have been nervous. However, none of the previous times were like this. Jack had always been ... Well he'd always been Jack. My husband is a rock. He is totally unflappable. He is the steadiest, toughest, most special man I know. I always felt so safe and so special when he was around ... When he was around. That was the operative phrase.

Somehow over the past few years, we had drifted apart. It wasn't as if I had stopped loving him. Jack was my world. I mean Jack IS my world. But we just spent too much time apart. We weren't like some couples. When I say that we drifted apart, I don't mean that we no longer loved each other because we'd become two different people. All of the love was still there and still as strong as ever. But we just spent too much time apart and that, coupled with my anger, had led me to doing things that I wasn't proud of.

Part of the problem was Jack. The very steadiness that made him a great pilot and a legendary astronaut, made him a pure asshole to deal with. Perhaps asshole is too strong a word, but Jack just refused to compromise.

The gold standard for astronauts used to be three missions. It was something that rarely happened. Competition for missions was tough. NASA always wanted to send the best of the best. So after Jack's third mission, I expected him to take a job in management or perhaps go to Washington to lobby for the aerospace industry or even NASA itself.

I got my job in Washington and began to worry until Jack surprised me with our house. Foolish me, I believed that my loving husband was putting my career ahead of his. I was wrong. Jack commuted. He flew from DC to Cape Canaveral three or four times a week. When he was getting ready for a mission, he simply stayed in an apartment on the base.

If anyone had ever asked me if I'd be willing to live in a different state than my husband did, I'd have looked at them as if they were nuts. However, that was the way it ended up.

I don't want to sound like a whiner, but I hated it. Jack always said that it didn't matter. I worked long hours so when I was home all I did was sleep. And Jack's hours when training for a mission were insane. We loved each other, that was what mattered, he always said. We called or texted each other at least twenty times a day. Not because we had to, but that was just our natural rhythm. We always shared the moments in our lives, both the big ones and the small ones.

So I was never shocked when Jack would text me a picture of some new astronaut. "I hate this motherfucker," he would send along with the photo. "The bastard can bench press more than me."

And that was the way it went. We both went from triumph to triumph. I quickly moved up the ladder in a very prestigious DC law firm. My trajectory seemed to be moving towards me becoming the first ever, female partner there. Jack became a legend. With regular deliveries to the ISS, Jack sometimes did five or even six missions a year. Our vacations, several times a year, gave us the chance to reaffirm our love for each other.

The problem was that I had a secret. It was one that I had been carrying since I was 12 years old. I remember it like it was yesterday. Jack and I was sitting on the sofa in his parent's house watching the launch of the Challenger mission on TV. Everyone in our small Michigan suburb knew that Jack was going to be an astronaut. I was going to be a house wife and a mother.

As we watched the launch and two hours of science shows before it, we were excited. And then it went all wrong. We were both shocked. For more than thirty minutes, we sat there without saying a word. Our hands clasped each other's, and we needed answers. The news men did their best to find out facts. We switched from channel to channel trying to get to the bottom of it. In the end, Jack was saddened but even more determined to become an astronaut.

"We'll come back from this," he said. "This will make us even stronger. We'll have even more safety protocols and going to space will become even safer."

"Yeah, Uhm, I'm sure of it," I said. For the first time since we met in first grade, I did not want Jack going into space. I have never told this to anyone. Jack and I have been together forever. Before our teens, before we even understood the concept of love or of being boyfriend and girlfriend, Jack and I were together.

I understood him better than anyone else on earth. So I knew that I could never express my feelings about space. In order to be successful, Jack had to focus totally on what he did. Knowing that I worried about him, and that I hated him strapping a bomb on his ass and shooting himself into orbit, would have rocked his confidence and made him doubt himself and his missions. Jack loved me, but if he had to choose between me and space, I had no illusions about winning.

But every time Jack went on a mission, I hated it more. It got so bad that he never wanted me to be there during a launch or even to watch it on TV. Of course, I waited by my phone for him to call me as soon as he was safely on the station. I always knew then that he was halfway home to me. And when he came home, I was always there. As soon as I caught a glimpse of him, I ducked past security guards and military personnel and got to my husband. I just needed to hold him as if to make sure he was okay.