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close it. He emerged, grabbed a mask, took a few more lungfuls
of oxygen and set about plugging some minor holes that
the less terrified passengers pointed out to him.
On the flight-deck the immediate concern of Allenby and
Rowe was to do something about the Sabre's tumbling, once
they had established that the cabin crew had the hull perforations
in hand. Both men had pulled on their smoke
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helmets and polarised the windows so that they couldn't see
the crazy wheeling of the earth and moon and, more importantly,
weren't dazzled by the frequent blasts of sunlight.
They paid scant attention to the overhead screen that
showed Jacky Kerr and her two stewards restoring order
and getting passengers into their seats. A message was flashing
frantically saying that the passenger cabin pressure was
only forty per cent. Pressurising would have to wait; stabilising
the Sabre was their main priority. The problem was
similar to one that they had faced on the simulator several
times, when the small maneuvering retros had been jammed
on purposely. Countering the tumble was a matter of selection
of the right retros and timing the bursts of thrust, but
five minutes of concentrated effort by the two men, taking
it in turns to exercise their judgement, had no effect on the
crazy somersaulting. Letting the flight management system
try its skill only made the tumble worse.
'This is fucking useless,' said Allenby quietly. 'Stop everything
and let's think.'
The two men examined their dual displays.
The passenger cabin pressure is now holding, thank
Christ,' Allenby commented. 'But still falling in the service
bay. That's what's screwing us up, Nick - air blasting out of
holes in all directions from the lower hull. We'll have to let
it drop to a vacuum and try again.'
'Chances are the bloody computer is releasing air into the
lower hold - trying to maintain pressure,' said Rowe. He
called up the appropriate displays and found that to be the
case. He overrode the systems management computer and
closed the valves, reflecting on the irony of a computer
controlled system that aggravated their problems.
'Good thinking, Nick,' said Allenby. 'We'll let it drop to a
vacuum and try again.' He looked up at the cabin monitor.
Most of the passengers were now settled, holding oxygen
masks to their faces. By the exit there was a huddle around
Sophia Santos. He paged Jacky. She approached the camera
and unhooked the handset.
'What's the situation, Jacky?'
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'We've plugged twelve holes, captain. Mrs Santos has an
injured thigh. We have a nurse on board. She and Neil are
doing their best to make her comfortable.'
'Any other pax injuries?'
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'Lots of cuts and bruises. Nothing serious. Billy's looking
after them. They're all badly shaken but there's no panic.'
'You've done damn well, Jacky.'
'What happened, captain?'
'Christ knows. We lost Number Two and then there was
some sort of explosion. The service bay's holed - we're waiting
for it drop to a vacuum before we try to kill this tumble.
Because of it, our antennae have lost all satellite locks.
We've no ground comms or Satnav.' Allenby was watching
the pressure drop in the lower hull as he was talking. It was
now down to fifteen per cent 'Looks like I've got time for a
few words to the pax.'
'It would help, captain.'
Til have to do it over the PA. I can't come aft because
we've got a pressure differential between the flight-deck and
the cabin. As soon as we're straight in here we'll drop our
pressure to equal the cabin pressure, so keep everyone on
oxygen for the time being.'
Neil caught Jacky's attention and said something to her.
She turned to the camera after a few hurried exchanges.
'Captain, Mrs Santos is in a bad way. The nurse says she's
got a partly severed artery. She's lost a lot of blood and her
pulse is weakening. She needs surgery urgently.'
23
The news on the television electrified the customers in the
Waterloo Station coffee shop. All conversation ceased. The
manager turned up the volume. Lesseps sat frozen, his cup half-way to his
lips, staring glassy eyed at Joe.
'... but we can confirm that all contact with the space
plane was lost ten minutes ago,' a studio reporter was saying.
'We're going over to Mike Tribe at Heathrow's
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Terminal 6 for the latest.'
A harassed-looked individual appeared on the screen
against a background of frantic journalists and cameramen.
'I can't really add anything to that,' he said in answer to a
question from the anchorman. 'As you can see, it's all chaos
behind me. The only confirmed information we have is that
the spaceplane's captain reported a fire in his Number Two
engine just as they went into orbit and that all contact was
lost a few seconds after that.'
'How serious is the fire?'
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