Day 1

0700
CAPE CANAVERAL, FL

The sun has barely risen when you pile into a small NASA shuttle bus bound for Launch Control Center. You all received a call from NASA administrator PAUL SCALZO yesterday evening requesting a meeting at 0800 the following morning in Conference Room C at the LCC. His familiar voice sounded unusually worried. You depart from the hotel where you were staying a few miles away from your destination. In the bus is the current group of five astronauts who have been training for the last 18 months for a secret mission. It looks like today is the day you'll find out what that mission is.

Another day. Hamlet thought as he climbed into the bus taking a middle seat. When he was a toddler the city decided to change a nearby intersection into an overpass. Construction went for several months. Just a block away jackhammers and heavy machinery rattled and the noise filled the house all hours of the day and even into the night. As a result he grew accustomed to falling asleep drowning in a cacophony. He never had trouble falling asleep. Last night was no different. Scalzo had sounded worried, atypical for him, but all too typical for the government button downs. Whatever it was that had him spooked would be resolved and everyone could go back to their blissful mediocrity.

An NPR podcast blurred through his earbuds at 2x speed. He gave it a small sliver of his attention. A steady stream of chatter in his ear helped keep him from ruminating in his thoughts, and it didn't have the unbearable boredom of making small talk with others. Hamlet glanced around the bus sizing up the others for the umpteen millionth time. He had slotted into his usual place with the group, not the most well liked, not the most hated, somewhere in the middle, story of his life. He was certain they all had their opinions of him, he was also certain that he didn't care enough to try to change them. Push came to shove they worked together but he doubted when all was said and done and the mission was over they would keep in touch. That was just how things went. His thoughts drifted to friends, best friends, lovers, all of them strangers to him now. He locked back in on the voices in the earbuds talking about income inequality. It sent his racing thoughts back into the stables for now but they would return.

A stickler for detail and protocol to a fault, some found Dierdre Turner MD, too intense, too driven. Their loss, she always thought when inevitably they would turn away one by one. She immersed herself in her profession which was both a distraction and a joy for her. While those that knew her eventually soured, her charisma was such that she always had a bevy of followers and admirers drawn to her charm and gift of the gab, and her smooth voice that lulled people into feeling safe and content. She wanted to help folks, always had, whether it had been patching up her dolls as a child or mending a broken finger or even a heart. People poured out their problems to her because she was an excellent listener and lucky for them, she had done a psych rotation as part of her education.

Sitting on the bus she felt that chip on her shoulder grow. Being selected as the third choice didn't sit well with her especially since she was originally passed over for male candidates and only because they were men. She had nothing against men in general. A turnstile of males had come and gone from her life over the years, but this was different. She was more qualified than those selected before her and only a twist of fate got her on the team. As she alternately mulled and steamed over this, she knew she'd have to come to terms with her hangups and concentrate on the job at hand which was quite a mystery. She knew she might be treating non-astronauts. What did that mean exactly? Who were they going to meet?

Examining those in her line of sight on the bus, she chuckled to herself. There was Danny, as she called him, but only in her mind. She always had the urge to pinch his chubby cheeks, and bring him out of his shell, but that would be unprofessional. That fantasy remained firmly entrenched in her head as she moved onto the others.

Then her eyes rested on McMillan. Ugh. What an arrogant flirt. She never responded in kind, and he finally got the message. All in all, she'd happily work with all of them as she was very excited to be on this mission and see it succeed.

Maj Dirk "Slappy" McMillan sees Deidre eyeing him over and returns the look with a smile and a wink. This was it, finally after all this time he was going back, and Dirk sat there with such nervous energy he thought he might vibrate out of his seat. After 18 grueling months with no end sight, Dirk knew his frustrations were starting to slip out.

But this was it! The call came through and he was ready! When he heard about the call, he had to cancel his date with Becky. Whatever could have came of last night wasn’t going replace the thought of what the next mission could be. In truth, Dirk didn’t care much. He could be delivering cargo for all he cared, as long as it got him out of the atmosphere. As he looked around at his comrades, he felt good with the team that they had become. Sure they had there friction spots, and maybe Dirk might have been the cause of some of them, but he trusted them. And above all, that’s what you need in a crew. So as they sat there in the van, silently heading to what he was sure was gonna be the meeting they’ve been waiting for, he just smiled and hummed to the tune of Rocketman as he counted down every second of the drive.

It's about time this mission is on a move, thinks Shuttle Mission Commander Michael Spay. He's glad to be in present company on the bus. Well...with almost all. But his history and gripe with Hamlet has to be put aside. It can't affect the mission and Spay's responsibility to all.

Anyway, he's pleased that even the civilian flight surgeon, Turner, is showing her fitness for this mission. It is puzzling why NASA hasn't chossen an airforce doctor for this mission, but Turner is proving to be uncomplaining and smart, but there's a bit of arrogance in her. Spay can relate to that. He knows the team is the best and he includes himself in that assessment.

Spay can't wait to be in space again, although he would not outwardly admit it, there is not a human on earth he would not betray to be here with this team.

LCDR Belton sat quietly on the bus, his nose in a book. He had worked hard to be here, especially over the past eighteen months. However... the time had come. The training was paying off. With much of the mission still a mystery, one would assume he'd be nervous about what was to come. They would be wrong.

In that moment, Luke felt a weight lifted from his shoulders. All the training, the long hours, the relentless work... finished. He felt relieved, and accomplished. What he had endured was paying off, and what came next was a matter for tomorrow. In the moment, Luke Belton was feeling pretty damned good about things.

The group weren't best friends, but that was fine. They were all professionals. That was all that was needed. They were also the cream of the crop. Whtever happened next, Luke was confidant he'd excell just as he had in life. He was proof hard work paid off, and naysayers could doubt all they wanted -- he knew the truth.

A half hour after boarding the bus you enter Conference Room C. It's a long room that looks like any other conference room: long cheap tables in a U shape, plastic rolling chairs with maroon cloth seats, a projector screen and some writing boards. Four men are sitting at one table waiting for you. NASA Administrator Scalzo is talking with Air Force Colonel Aaron Woolrich. You've seen Woolrich from time to time as he has supervised parts of your training, but he has never interacted with you before. Another two men are sitting next to each other but separated from Scalzo and Woolrich by a couple of empty seats. They wear unadorned jumpsuits. One is chubby-cheeked and looks like he
is going to vomit. His jumpsuit is stretched over bulging thighs and a swollen belly. The other is scarecrow thin, with thinning white hair and a deeply seamed face. His expression is resigned.The men all stand up as you enter. Scalzo scurries over to greet you and then formally introduces you to Colonel Woolrich. The Colonel salutes you crisply and offers a firm handshake to each of you, greeting you by name and mouthing pleasantries about what an honor it is to work with you and your commitment to the job. Finished, Woolrich introduces the two other men.

"This here," he points to the overweight gentleman with red hair, "Is Mr. Bruce Weintraub. And here," he gestures to the older man with white hair, "Is Mr. Pierce O'Neil. They are not military nor NASA people but outside contractors to help with this mission. They have been cleared for BLACKSAT, so we may discuss matters freely in front of them." Woolrich gives a look to Paul Scalzo. Scalzo awkwardly says, "Well, I guess that's my cue. Good luck and I'll be in touch later." He exits the room.

"Now then," Woolrich continues. "The United States has a classified defense satellite in orbit code-named BLACKSAT that needs repair and recalibration. Your mission is to escort Weintraub, or O'Neil as an alternate, on a covert shuttle flight to effect these repairs and recalibrations.

"BLACKSAT’s orbital height is 523 kilometers, and it is moving at seven kilometers per second. Commander McMillan’s mission is to guide the craft into a close and synchronized orbit where Belton and Hamlet can escort Weintraub or O’Neil to the satellite. You cannot bring the satellite into the bay or use the shuttle remote arm. The techniques and technologies that they will use are classified separately from BLACKSAT, and you are not cleared for those. The shuttle will be loaded with three Manned Maneuvering Unit rigs to allow for one of the civilians to maneuver under escort by the two mission specialists. The repairs begin in five days. Liftoff is in 48 hours. Are there are any questions?"

Spay, inwardly reminding himself that the mission is more important than his ego, fights back a slight feeling of insult at not hearing his name specifically mentioned during the briefing. His curiosity over takes him when Colonel Woolrich asks his last question.

"Yes Sir. What are the directives for myself and Doctor Turner on this mission?" He also hopes to get some sort of explanation about why the doctor is on this mission from the Colonel's response.

"Thank you sir. I understand," Spay affirms, considering it unwise at the moment to pry as to why an air-force doctor has not been chosen for the mission. But then again, the mission is to escort the civilian workers to the station. Who better to tend to them than a civilian doctor; he muses to himself.

"Sir, one question if I may," Belton says and leans forward slightly. "Is this a scheduled routine maintenance call, or did external factors neccesitate this mission?"

It seems like a simple enough query, and yet Luke seems wholly invested in the answer.

"Sir which of these civvies are we taking? It seems a little close to launch to still be deciding. Have they had time training on the MMUs? I've got no problem escorting but I want to make sure I'm not taking a kid with a learner's permit out onto the autobahn if you catch my meaning, sir. Whoever it's going to be Belton and I are going to need some training time with them."

Jesus God Almighty, Hamlet thought, look at this pair of Abbot and Costello rejects. Scarecrow would probably shake into straw stuffing on launch and big boy looks like he ate the Cowardly Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and is probably rooting around for Toto as a snack. They'll need to strap an extra fuel tank to the shuttle just to make sure they could clear orbit. And he and Belton would be responsible for them out in open space. Belton was a good hand, hard worker, maybe worked a little too hard for his own good. Hamlet trusted him to not flake out, but these two were unknown variables and Hamlet despised unknown variables. Seriously, these were the best two options the government could scrape together for this mission? Too difficult to convince some ivy league quant who rowed crew to step away from his six figure income and martini lunches at daddy's hedge fund company to slum it up in space. He eyed the two candidates in some futile attempt to bore into their souls. They better not be a bunch of pricks.

Spay was capable and alright in the doctor's estimation but she would have rathered ask about her directive herself. As Dierdre subtly examined the new men in the room, she hoped to God, they wouldn't get them all killed. At the colonel's mention of redundancies, she arched an eyebrow in surprise at the matter-of-fact way the man used the word as if he was talking about something other than human beings.

Dirk almost laughs at the mention of having to train these two in only 2 days.

"Sir, I will get these guys where they need to go, but getting them ready before launch is a tall order. It takes months of dedicated training and… i mean no disrespect by this… these two look like they’ll break just climbing into the shuttle."

He’ll pass a smile to Weintrab as if to say ‘sorry but it’s true’

Weintraub doesn't seem offended, and in fact nods in agreement. "I know we aren't astronauts. If it makes you feel better I am scared of what this will do to my fibromyalgia, quercetin or no quercetin." He gives a quick worried glance at Dr. Turner. "But we are the only two people who can repair this or we wouldn't be here. Even Al is the only one who fully understands the Courtis differentials and--"

"That information is ADAKITE clearance only," Woolrich cuts Weintraub off. "I understand your concerns. These two men here represent 50% of the entire population on Earth who can repair the satellite, so failure is not an option, and they both will be going. Hamlet and Belton will be escorting one of these men in the MMU, so they just need to be familiar enough with their suits and what the MMU does to not jeopardize themselves or others. Dr. Turner, I need you to perform pre-launch physicals and clear them for the mission. Then Hamlet and Belton can begin their training. I suggest you make good use of the limited time available."

Taking that as a dismissal, Dirk stands up with a good stretch and turns to his comrades.

"Well, it looks like you all your work cut out for you. If anyone needs me, I'll be in the simulator. Wouldn't want to get rusty and careen us into the ocean."

He gives a chuckle as if telling a joke and will walk out.

"Of course colonel. At once."

Dierdre furrows her brow, deeply concerned with this new information. Fibromyalgia meant terrible joint pain and sensitivity. She wouldn't even entertain the mental ramifications of this disease not to mention all of it combined with the unhospitable environment of space. She dreaded to think what a recipe for disaster this was. She was familiar with quercetin and as far as she knew there no studies done on its efficacy in space or during the rigors of takeoff. In fact, there was no evidence that it did anything at all under ordinary circumstances.

The colonel left no doubt that both of the men needed to pass their physicals. If he felt these men needed to risk their lives on this mission, then who was she to stand in the way.

"Follow me, gentlemen. I will conduct the physicals now." The caduceus floated across the doctor's mind. It looked like she would be leaving the Hippocratic oath behind.