Chapter 1: The Cosmonauts

Chapter 1

Present Day

 

The ship drifted idly through vast space. A small planet, the color of rust, flickered into Zakhar’s peripheral vision. He grabbed the controls and slowly tilted the ship towards the desolate, dusty rock. Mars. Zakhar pulled the acceleration lever until it clicked at ten-thousand miles per hour. That’s the limit they put on this heap of junk? Cheap piece of trash. A metallic beep started to resound loudly. He looked up at the monitor. A small object, maybe three feet by three feet, was speeding toward the spot where he would be in approximately one minute. He glanced at his fuel meter. To steer around it would cost him too much fuel. He wouldn’t be able to land later on. You fool, pay more attention to your fuel, and this wouldn’t happen!  He would have to blast the meteoroid, as that is what it seemed to be. Zakhar grabbed the joystick and took aim at the rock. He pulled the trigger. A small missile flew out of the ship. It looked as if Zakhar’s aim was straight on, but he slowly realized it was slightly off, and wouldn’t do much damage. The missile nicked the side of the meteoroid, and there was a small explosion. Out of the dust raced a small fraction of the rock, seemingly harmless, but it was heading for Zakhar’s ship. He fumbled for the joystick, trying to take aim. He looked up, too late to see the rock collide into the hull. FWOOM! The air rushed out of the cockpit, dragging him. Zakhar looked up into the stars, and then everything went black.

 

“Simulation over. Student: Zakhar Petrov. Score: fifty-seven percent.”

Zakhar reluctantly took off the virtual reality helmet. Blasted machine. Like that’s going to happen when I’m really flying. He hoped off the seat and turned off the machine. Zakhar hoped it wasn’t an omen as to how he would do on the piloting test today. He, along with eighty other Russians, had been selected for their various skills to be trained and taught for six months, to prepare for Russia’s second manned voyage to Mars. Only eight were to be chosen. Zakhar planned to be one of them.

“Wow, Zak, I hope that doesn’t reflect your test later.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” said Zakhar, turning to look at Nikolai.

Nikolai smirked. “Do you want to hear the secret to passing the simulation?”

“Please, do tell,” Zakhar said sarcastically

Nikolai leaned over, and whispered in his ear “Don’t die.”

“Come on, smartass, we’re late for breakfast.”

They walked into the mess hall of the Cosmonauts Training Center. Zakhar rushed to the front of the line and helped himself to a tall stack of potato pancakes and a glass of orange juice, then sat down with Nikolai at an empty table.

“Why so much food?”

“I’m a nervous eater,” Zakhar replied unintelligibly through a mouthful of pancake.

“I think I’m going to make it, myself,” remarked Nikolai.

“And why is that?”

“’Cause last night I stayed up until one in the morning on the simulators, and I swear I got a ninety-seven percent on my last try.”

“And how do you reckon that, since lights out is at midnight for trainees?”

“’Cause I’m a genius, Zakky boy, that’s how. Last night at twelve, I had just finished a sim with a sixty percent. The intercom called for lights out, so I snuck over to a supply closet and sure enough, a janitor’s overalls were on a hanger and there was a broom in the back.”

“You did not!”

“That I did. I left the closet all dressed up, and swept the hall for a few minutes, to wait for any straggling trainees to go to bed. Then I went into the simulator room and practiced for two hours. If someone walked by the door, I would jump up and sweep the floor. Then, Mr. Egorov walked by and asked why I was still sweeping, that he saw me an hour ago. I said, ‘Why are you still watching me?’ Then he recognized me. ‘Nikolai, go to bed!’ But before I was caught, I tell you, I got a ninety-seven and I’m going to Mars!”

“Well, that’s more than I can hope for. I’ll be lucky if I get over a sixty. Have fun out there.”

“Let’s say we skip lunch and I give you a few pointers?”

“I’m game if you are. I’m desperate by now.”

“Oh, so I’m a last minute reserve?” asked Nikolai mock-offensively.

“That you are.”

 

Zakhar couldn’t concentrate all day. He was too worried about the qualifying test to bother with multivariable calculus, or linear algebra (Zakhar had been chosen for the expedition as a mathematician.). The simulators showed what was happening in Mars airspace currently, for they were hooked up to Martian satellites. But the test, it was programmed with fifty-two different worst-case scenarios. It took top-notch students to get more than an eighty. And the top eight students didn’t just make it. You had to get over a certain score to go to Mars.

Professor Grigoriy interrupted his thoughts ”All right, ladies and gentlemen. Final exam today. Only two mathematicians are needed for the voyage, so make it count. You may begin.”

Zakhar looked at his desk’s monitor. It read: Question 1 of 250. Estimate using graphs, the maximum and minimum values of the function. Below was a large equation, and Zakhar could only assume there was a function somewhere in it, and below that was an empty graph. This was going to be a long day.

Two hours later, a message appeared on Zakhar’s desk monitor. It was from Professor Grigoriy. He touched it, and a number appeared on his screen. He could have cried. Flashing across his desk, in big, bold letters, was the number ninety-six. His hopes went up. Maybe I’ll go to Mars after all.

 

When the familiar ring went around the training center which meant lunch, Zakhar hurried to the simulation room, being perky after passing his mathematics test. Nikolai was already there, helmet on, and  thrashing this way and that, apparently trying to avoid something in front of the ship. Zakhar shivered. He was reminded of his simulation, how real it felt. He would never get used to that. But what could be happening in Mars right now that would make Nikolai sweat a puddle in his seat? Then, he pulled off the helmet and looked around. “Whoa, Zakky boy, you gotta try this.”

The computer’s feminine voice announced: “Simulation over. Student: Nikolai Stravinsky. Score: forty-three percent.”

“Well, well, well, Nik, what happened to the mighty ninety-seven?”

“I rigged it.”

“What?”

“I rigged it. I rigged the machine. I thought we should practice on the real deal, not the boring satellite pictures.”

“You mean you set the simulator to the worst-case scenario? How?”

“That doesn’t matter. Look, I hooked two helmets to this machine, so I can watch you blunder about space, and give you advice so you won’t die. At least not too soon.

“Won’t you get in trouble for messing with government property?”

“Don’t worry about it, you sound like my mother for heaven’s sake. Put the helmet on.”

Reluctantly, Zakhar placed the helmet on his head, followed by Nikolai. Zakhar appeared in a ship.

“You can’t see me, but you should hear me. I’ll advise when needed.”

Zakhar sat down in the pilot’s seat. He turned on the engines, which emitted a low purr. As usual, he was headed toward Mars. He accelerated to maximum speed, and checked all of his monitors. Everything in order. Don’t get cocky, Zak, this is a worst-case scenario. Something will go wrong. He waited. And waited. And waited. When is this going to- BOOM. The ship rocked into a spiral, and was knocked off course. This time it was no meteoroid. It was slower, but about four times bigger. Half of the monitors went blank.

“All right,” said Nikolai,” this is where the fun begins.”

“What do I do?”

“Do your missiles or your turrets still work?”

“All missile launchers off-line. All turrets too-wait! I have one turret still working.”

“Okay, we’ll worry about readjusting the course to Mars later. That was only the beginning. Right now, you have a barrage of asteroids coming your way. Set the ship to auto-pilot and hop in the turret.”

“Shouldn’t I try to maneuver away from them?” asked Zakhar, but he was already strapping into the turret’s seat.

“No. Too many asteroids, too little fuel.”

“What happened to my fuel?” shouted Zakhar.

“The first asteroid hit your right engine.”

“Well then it doesn’t matter, does it? I’m going to die.”

 “No, you are going to fix it,” Nikolai said calmly.” Aim the turret all the way to the right, and lock it.”

“What!?”

“Just do it! It will probably save your life.”

“Whatever.”

Zakhar aimed his turret to the right, and locked it. It only occasionally hit a stray rock. “You know I have limited ammo.”

“Yes. Put on a space suit.”

Zakhar decided to stop being surprised and just comply. He rushed to the storage room and grabbed a suit. He put it on and sealed it off. “Two hours of oxygen.”

“That’s fine. You won’t need all of it. I assume you know how to exit the ship?”

Duh, Zak thought. He walked into the chamber at the back of the ship. He then sealed it off, grabbed a tool bag, and opened the hatch. He grabbed the hand- and foot-holds and climbed out of the ship. He followed the path of hand-holds that led him to the right engine. Now he realized why Nikolai wanted him to shoot continuously to the right. There was now a wall of explosive bullets between him and the asteroids. If the asteroids got too close to him, they were blown to smithereens. Then he realized something. “What if an asteroid is blown up, and a chunk of it comes flying towards me?”

“Better move fast, then,” replied Nikolai.

Thanks. Zakhar pulled away a piece of hull and saw there was a big hole in the engine, and orange fluid was leaking out. ”How do I fix it?”

“Well I don’t know, that’s not my specialty. I’m going to Mars as an astrophysicist and a cook. Maybe a backup pilot.”

“You should be the pilot,” Zakhar thought aloud, but then returned to the task at hand. How to fix it? He reached into the tool bag and searched for something that would help. He pulled out duct-tape. It would have to do. He covered the hole in the engine as best as he could with it, then taped on the piece of hull. I probably look like an idiot. He waited for Nikolai’s smart remark, but it never came. Zakhar quickly climbed to the hatch, jumped in, and sealed it off. He opened the door and walked into the cockpit.

“How was that, Nik?” But there was no reply. “Hello?” Then everything went black. Again.

Zakhar pulled his helmet off, and saw that Nikolai had already done so.

“What’s wrong?”

“Well, boys, I’m impressed,” came a voice from behind the simulator. Professor Grigoriy was standing there, with a jumble of cords in his hands. “Who did this?”

“Me, sir,” muttered Nikolai.

“I’ve been watching you two on the teachers’ monitors for half an hour.”

  Zakhar and Nikolai sat, not looking up at Professor Grigoriy.

“Follow me.”

The boys stood up, and without looking at the professor, followed him down the hall. They were confused when, instead of the head’s office, they walked into Mr. Foley’s room. He was the American man who used to train astronauts for NASA. He was in charge of testing the trainees for piloting.

“Mr. Foley,” said the professor, I’d like you to see something.”

“Of course,” said Mr. Foley, in strange accent. “What do you need?”

“Check the most recent simulation on simulator nine, please.”

Mr. Foley arched his eyebrow, but then logged on to his desk and found the video of Zakhar and Nikolai. Zakhar wasn’t aware that teachers could do that, but it made sense. “Play it?”

“Yes. That would be these two young men.”

The four of them watched as Zakhar piloted, and jumped in the turret, and repaired the engine, all the while Nikolai giving advice in the background.

Mr. Folly looked up. “How old are you boys?”

“Eighteen,” they replied simultaneously.

“Well, you’re the professional here, but I think they should go to Mars,” said Mr. Grigoriy.

Mr. Folly looked distant for a moment, thinking. Then he said, “Thank you. I’d like to talk to the boys in private.”

Mr. Grigoriy winked at them, and then left the room. Zakhar and Nikolai turned to look at Mr. Foley, who was staring at them. “Does that mean that we pass the piloting test?” asked Nikolai.

“Oh there’s no doubt about that,” Mr. Folly still stared at them, thinking, pondering. Then he snapped out of it. “Boys, you can go to Mars if you like,’ he was smiling, “but if you hear me out, I think I have a better proposition for you.”

 

 

 

Author's Note

ignore my spelling and grammar, i'd just like to know what to fix, or if i'm hopeless

Reviews

[Vanguard]

You don't have much to worry about here. The plot and dialogue keeps the reader interested, and you're overall idea could spawn a lot of very interesting events.

Your only weakness (more in the prologue) is repetition. If you are describing something, try not to use the same adjective twice in that description.

Keep writing, I'm really looking forward to reading this. There aren't many good sci-fis on this site.