Skyfall

“That's enough!” Bandin shouted. “You people can fight later. Now we have a problem on our hands. General, get me an up-to-date report on the defense rockets. You know, are they ready to go and so on — and when is the latest moment they would have to have the command to fire to knock this thing down before it hits the US.”

“Yes, Mr. President. I'll have that in a few minutes.”

“How would it be done, I mean> what kind of warhead..?”

“Atomic. You'll excuse me if I use the phone.”

There was silence in the room. Grodzinski fumbled with his pencil on the table before him, looking shrunk. Dillwater was silent and erect but he could not keep the horror he felt from his face. Only Schlochter seemed unmoved.

“We must plan for the worst,” he said. “The complete loss of this mission in every way. If this occurs — what will the effect be on the Prometheus Project as a whole, Mr. Dill-water?”

“The project. . yes, of course. It will set us back a year at least, to replace the space station. You must realize that, after initiating construction of the generator, the vehicle with its atomic engines was to be used in high orbit as the last stage in the shuttle to ferry up the additional building materials. Without it we can't get the construction operating.”

“A year. You don't mean a year?” Bandin said, his face gray.

“I am afraid that's the minimum, sir.”

“Then that's the election,” Bandin said. “There'll be some corn-fed yokel sitting in this chair and you will all be out of a job as well. If you don't want that you are going to have to think of something pretty quick.”

“Unless they repair the atomic engine,” Bannerman said. “That's the only chance we have now. They must stick with that until it's done.”

“You bet your butt on that,” Bandin said. “How are they doing, Dillwater? What's the status, the latest?”

“No change, Mr. President. The pilot and Dr. Bron are outside the vehicle making the repairs as instructed by Mission Control. Things are going as planned.”

“How much longer?”

“I hesitate to say.

“Force yourself.”

“At a guess, and I really am guessing now, I would say that they could be finished inside another hour.”

“Let's hope they are.”

“We all pray that they are, Mr. President.”

30

GET 17:08

“It looks like a chicken wrapped up for the oven,” Ely said, looking at the great mass of crumpled aluminum foil that was wrapped round the stern of Prometheus, around the nuclear engine. There seemed to be acres of it, a mound fifty feet wide with only the mouths of the engines projecting from it. He was clipped to the hull with Patrick floating nearby in the AMU.

“Well it's a chicken we are going to have to unwrap before we can get at the engine's guts. Which one is it?”

“On the far side, that one, there.”

Patrick worked the AMU's controls and drifted across the base of the ship while Ely worked his way around from clip to clip. By the time he reached the site Patrick had already peeled free a great sheet of foil and was digging deeper. They labored in silence, tearing at the aluminum foil, hurling it aside so that lengths of it were soon floating away in all directions. They were panting before they were done.

“Are you ready to proceed with instructions?” The voice sounded in their ears.

“No, we're not and we'll tell you when we are.”

Ely snarled the words, then gasped to get his breath back. Mission Control had enough sense not to answer. His back ached, every muscle in his body was sore, and he panted heavily, close to exhaustion. He couldn't wipe away the sweat because of the pressure suit and drops of it ran down his nose, itching and annoying. He shook his head to clear them away but it didn't work.

“Are you all right?” Patrick asked, touching the control on his AMU so that a jet of gas puffed out and floated him along the base of the engine; he grabbed a support to stop his motion.

“No I'm goddamned well not all right.” Ely choked out the words. “I don't know how much longer I can go on.”

“I'm bushed too — but we have to stick with it. Right now it takes two of us. Let's finish it then you take a rest while I go on to the hydrogen-helium heat exchanger.”

“If I could only get out of this suit for a few minutes….”

“Negative. We don't have the time to repressurize and start the whole thing over again.” Patrick tried to keep his voice cool, keep composed, but he was just as tired as Ely. Or more so, his nerves stretched taut. “No time, do you understand that? We've got to stick to this, there's nothing else we can do.”

“Are you ready to proceed, Prometheus?”

“No fucking lectures, Patrick, I can live without that. And shut up, Mission Control, we'll tell you when we're ready. I don't know if I can do it, my eyes won't focus….”

“I'm sorry about the lecture. This is getting to us all.”