Skyfall

“We can't leave the Soviets with complete responsibility for this,” Simon Dillwater insisted.

“Why not?” Dr. Schlochter asked. “This is a political matter now, not a technical one, so the State Department has ultimate responsibility. They are our partners, yes, but this disaster is their responsibility and we must be sure that we are not hung with them for the crime. Statecraft, as the great Metternich said, is the art…”

“Balls to Metternich,” General Bannerman said, savagely biting the end of his cigar and spitting the piece onto the floor. “You drag out your Kraut and I'll drag out mine, and I'll give you a quote every time from Clausewitz that tops your guy. We are just going to forget the diplomacy and cold war bit this once and stay in the barrel with the Russkies. It's our joint project. If we kick them in the ass now they take their marbles and go home. Prometheus is not going to get up there without their Lenin-5 boosters. Do you agree, Mr. President?”

General Bannerman was an old hand at this kind of gamesmanship, which is why he was Chairman of Joint Chiefs of Staff instead of still riding herd on a combat division. Schlochter had had his mouth open ready to speak when he had passed the buck to Bandin, so now all Schlochter could do was shut his trap and turn even redder. Bannerman liked the Secretary of State; he was so easy to needle. Wouldn't have lasted a day in the Army.

“I have to agree,” Bandin said. “No official releases from any department about this being a Soviet booster. This is a tragedy of the space age, it's not the first sacrifice for the betterment of mankind, nothing but an unavoidable accident like being hit by a truck crossing the road. And we offer the British plenty of aid. And that includes plenty of money. They're dead broke and they'll appreciate it.”

“Call from Mission Control in Houston, Mr. President,” Charley Dragoni said.

“Put it on the speaker phone.”

“You may go ahead, the President is on the line.”

“This is Mission Control, Mr. President. There have been developments on Prometheus which I would like to report to you and Mr. Dillwater.” The voice rattled from the loudspeaker on the table, clearly audible to everyone in the room.

“He's here with me, Flax. What is it?”

“It is the fission engine on Prometheus. The trouble has been localized. There has been shroud damage to the thrust chamber and engine four is inoperable. Possibility of restoring function is zero.”

“What, what?” Bandin said. “Dillwater — what's that gobble degook? What the hell is he saying?”

“The shroud, that's the metal covering over the nuclear engines that protects them during takeoff. It shifted, probably when the core body failed to separate, and damaged one of the engines. It is broken beyond repair and cannot be fixed.”

“Are you telling me that Prometheus is stuck up there too, and in trouble — like that piece of junk that took out the British town?”

“I don't think the situation is that bad yet, sir. The four other engines appear to be undamaged. May I talk to Flax?” Bandin nodded. “Hello, Mission Control. What is being done about bypassing the damaged engine in order to use the other four?”

“The computer is working on a program for that right now. We will inform you as soon as a solution has been found.”

“Will it be possible? in the time remaining?”

“It is the only chance. One moment please…” There was a mutter of voices at the other end then Flax came back on the line. “We have a request from Prometheus. They wish to talk to you.”

“I'll have this call transferred to another phone.”

“Put it through here,” Bandin said.

“I didn't want to bother you, Mr. President….”

“Bother! This is the only business on our agenda until that thing is up where it should be. Put them through, Flax.”

“Yes, sir.”

There were electronic sputterings and clicks while the patch was made from radio to telephone. This took a few moments, then Flax gave his okay.

“Prometheus, you are through to Director Dillwater who is with the President at this moment. Over.”

“Mr. Dillwater, Mr. President. Major Winter on Prometheus here.”

“Go ahead, Patrick,” Dillwater said.

“You know about our difficulties with the nuclear engines?”

“We do.”

“Well we have been looking at the figures and we appear to have a problem. It seems that we are running out of time.”

“What do you mean?”

“With the core body gone, the changed mass gives us approximately twenty-eight hours before this orbit decays and we contact the atmosphere. There have been no changes in that estimate. Taking into consideration the amount of time to get the nuclear engine operational we may have a time overrun. We just may not be able to get thrust in time to lift out of this orbit. Do you understand?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then I would like to respectfully ask what plans you have to take the crew off Prometheus before atmospheric impact?”

“Crew — why, none. We had not considered the possibility.”

“Well I hope you are considering it now.” There was an edge to Patrick's voice that had not been there earlier.