Theorizing that one could time-travel within his own lifetime, Dr. Sam Beckett led an elite group of scientists into the desert to develop a top-secret project known as Quantum Leap.  Pressured to prove his theories or lose funding, Dr. Beckett prematurely stepped into the Project Accelerator…and vanished.

 

He awoke to find himself in the past, suffering from partial amnesia and facing a mirror image that was not his own.  Fortunately, contact with his own time was maintained through brainwave transmissions with Al, the Project Observer, who appeared in the form of a hologram that only Dr. Beckett can see and hear.

 

As evil and neutral forces alike do their best to stop Dr. Beckett’s journey, his children, Dr. Samantha Josephine Fulton and Stephen Beckett, continuously strive to retrieve their time-lost father and bring him home permanently.  Despite returning home several times over the last decade, Dr. Beckett has remained lost in the time stream…his final fate no longer certain.

 

Trapped in the past and driven by an unknown force, Dr. Beckett struggles to accept his destiny as he continues to find himself leaping from life to life, putting things right that once went wrong with the hopes that his next leap…will be the final leap home.

PROLOGUE

Nothing. Sam Beckett felt nothing even after the last effects of leaping into yet another life had subsided. Stretching his arms and legs did not alleviate the feeling of nothingness as his equilibrium and sense of direction had also short-circuited. Shaking his head, his eyes cleared as he found himself in a small confined area with a control panel full of hundreds of switches and lights in front of him, and he was FLOATING over a couch. Sam instinctually pushed away from the panel, landing on a hard but somewhat comfortable couch. Two people slept to his left and to his right there was a small round porthole. Sam floated over to the porthole and saw wondrous blues and whites and browns as the Earth turned beneath him. For the first time Sam had leaped off the face of the Earth and landed in the tiny cramped quarters of an orbiting space capsule. Panicking Sam pressed against the hatch, holding onto the maze of latches and let out a slow, long and mournful, “Ohhhhhhhhhh Booooooooooooooooy!”

PART ONE

 Leaping across time and space had landed me in many exotic places around the globe, but this was the first time I was literally out of this world. The world of space exploration contained many highly trained and extremely brave men. I possessed neither of those qualities at the moment. My fear of heights had kicked in full throttle and I couldn’t pull myself away from the apparent safety of the side of the capsule. Slowly, I closed my eyes and counted to ten, let go of the hatch and floated back to my seat, first bumping onto the control panel. Keeping my eyes closed, I fumbled around and found the seatbelt and strapped myself in tightly. I sighed as I felt the comfort of the pressure of the seat on my back. I no longer had the nauseating feeling of floating around weightlessly.

Repeating my little counting exercise, I reopened my eyes and saw my hands floating in front of me. I quickly pulled them back and tucked them deep into my pockets wrapping myself up in a cocoon. Safe and sound, I began to assess my surroundings. The three of us were in an Apollo command module each wearing gray jumpsuits that were not the usual NASA issue. They had no patches, which was bewildering since every moon mission had proudly displayed the symbols of that flight. The fellow traveler to my right looked familiar as he turned toward me revealing the personage of:

“Al. Al, wake up!” Sam exclaimed in hushed tones, helping him calm down ever so slightly.

Al squinted his eyes and opened them wide shaking his head. “Uh. Who? What? Sleep period over all ready? Damn that mission control. What’s up, Firefly?” asked Al as he stretched as best he could in the confined area of the Apollo capsule. His fingers stretched to their limits as he cracked every joint in his hand and wrist while contorting his facial muscles through every possible emotion.

Sam began to hyperventilate since he could not remember whether claustrophobia was on his own list of person ticks since he was now resident in an area smaller than a midsize car.

“Boy, am I glad to see you, old friend. Quick and tell me what we’re doing here and how I can get out of this cramped phone booth!” exclaimed Sam.

Al looked cockeyed at Sam. His furled brow had fewer lines in it than Sam remembered, though the voice and mannerism were still pure Calavicci. “How many of those wake-up pills did you take, Firefly? Old friend, you say? I’m not THAT many years out of Patuxent, OLD FRIEND! Where did that memory of yours go? We’ve been training for this mission for four months!”  Al reached out and put his hand on Sam’s shoulder causing him to jump. “Take it easy, Firefly!”

Sam tried to pull back from this physical manifestation of Albert Calavicci but his restraints barely gave him an inch of motion. “Uh, Al? Am I? Is this? Oh boy. Forget it. I was just having a nightmare. I’ll go back to sleep,” moaned Sam. He rolled back over looking at the hatch knowing that his fellow passenger could not give him an update on his current leaping situation. Except for an occasional electronic beep, the Apollo capsule quieted down as Sam tried to go back to sleep.

While Sam drowsily looked through his half opened eyes, the head of Al Calavicci, the project observer, popped through the hatch. “Hi, Sam. Ain’t this a real kick in the pants? We’re 123 miles above the Earth traveling at 18,300 miles an hour in the Apollo command module nicknamed Constellation!” Sam held his stomach as he developed a very quick case of motion sickness. “Sorry, Sam. I guess I’m getting a bit giddy. You’ve leaped into the middle of my clandestine spaceflight. The old Apollo 19 mission.”

Sam looked up at the bodiless head looming over him because there was no more room for another person holographic or otherwise in the cramped quarters. “Apollo 19?” whispered Sam, trying not disturbed the sleeping astronauts.

Al’s arm poked through the wall as he took a deep puff. “That was our technical shorthand for this little bit of sneaky espionage. The Apollo-Soyuz flight was technically Apollo 18. Didn’t get anywhere near the moon. Now Apollo 19, no one EVER heard of this mission. Hush-hush. Top secret. We were scheduled to rescue the Skylab space station and the mission went a little ca-ca. The old C.I.A. was sure that the Russians were going to try and capture Skylab and, for once, they were right on the money. America’s first space station DID fall into the hands of the Russians. More on that later. This is incredible!” sighed Al as he tweaked and twerped on his handlink while watching the stars go by.

Sam squirmed unconsciously as he listened to Al describe his situation and go through his usual comments and storytelling. Speaking directly to him was going to be a challenge in these close quarters with two other astronauts.

Al popped out and back in. “Damn, that sky is beautiful. The stars are so bright. Almost looks like the sky when you’re down at White Sands missile Range in New Mexico. None of that light pollution from the cities. On my mission, I never had a chance or the ability to ride shotgun OUTSIDE the capsule without the need for even a bottle of oxygen. I have got to get Beth in here to see this. Damn, this is a beautiful sight!”

“Al! What’s this mission all about? I followed the moon program pretty closely and I never heard of this flight!” exclaimed Sam in a frustrated stage whisper.

Al came off his space-induced high and apologized. “Sorry, Sam. This is just quite a thrill for an ex-Navy stick jockey like myself. I haven’t had this much flying fun since we hit mach 3 on your first leap. So much for the sightseeing. Today is the tenth of July 1979. You are Commander Mark Brooks of the United States Navy on a mission to rescue the failing Skylab space station. You are the environmental mission specialist and my best bro from the time I left flight school in Pensacola. ‘Firefly’ to me. My younger self is handling piloting and is the mission commander, and the third guy is Lieutenant Natasha “Mata Hari” Whitlock. She is our CIA expert on Russian psychology and a damn good electrical engineer though a bit of a stiff. And you thought Sally Ride was our first gal in space?” beamed Al. “Beautiful, brainy, and there is not a flight suit in all of NASA that would do those curves justice.”

A quizzical look crossed Sam’s face. “Sally who?”

Al shook his head sadly. “Hmm. You got more craters in that Swiss-cheesed memory of yours than the backside of the moon. She went up with the space shuttle in 1983. Publicly, our first female astronaut. So here’s the scoop on your assignment. This here little space mission wasn’t in the history books. Apollo 19 was the first, and as far as I know, only secret space mission. Besides saving the Skylab space station, we were to retrieve the last of the data in the DEPLEX spy module mounted with the other space cameras on the Skylab telescope assembly. Due to the low earth orbit and an unexpected increase in the solar activity, orbital drag increased faster than originally anticipated and the United States is about to lose Skylab. NASA had planned to save it using the space shuttle, but that kept getting delayed and she was going to go kerplop long before the shuttle is ready in 1981. The truth is that Apollo 19 didn’t save the station. The Russkies are sending up a Soyuz craft over from the Salute space station. Those damn Commies rescued it claiming it was abandoned and about to sink into the Earth’s atmosphere. After we went to the United Nations and the World Court, their claim was upheld through some maritime international law gobbledygook. Let’s see. The Russkies found the DEPLEX spy module and that really got them REALLY mad.  First they equipped Skylab with their own spy equipment and then they added a few nuclear tipped re-entry vehicles. That derailed the whole Glasnost Peace Initiative and the Cold War went from lukewarm to hot under the Reagan Administration in the 1980’s.”

“All from what we did in 1979?” said Sam, gulping a bit. Most of his leaps only involved interpersonal and not international relations.

Al took a big puff, thinking for a moment. “History has a way of snowballing sometimes. To continue, in 1984, the Americans and Russians faced-off in Greece. Though no nuclear exchanged occurred, Greece did end up partitioned between the NATO and Warsaw Pact countries. After the protests during Viet Nam, this war really split the United States down the middle. Finally, in 1989, the Berlin Wall fell, ending the Cold War. With the Soviet Union gone and their space program under funded, they abandoned the Skylab space station, which some Middle Eastern terrorists grabbed in 1992. Mainland China had helped them with their own secret space project. Using the nukes left by the Russkies, the Middle Eastern terrorists dropped one of them on Liverpool in 1994 to retaliate for the Brits’ attack against their base in Libya. Six months later, the Brits took the whole Skylab station out to eliminate that threat, plunging the whole world into a terrorist nightmare. Anyway we have to prevent those Russians from taking Skylab and hopefully end all this craziness. Lots of people have died because we didn’t manage our little piece of property here, Sam.” Al looked at Sam quietly while he put down his handlink and then drifted away from him.

Al noticed the drift and sent Ziggy a message. A moment later, he appeared back next to Sam, looking more determined. “So the plan is to rescue Skylab, put it in a very high orbit, and reclaimed it for America. Originally, lots of things went wrong on this mission. But when you build a spacecraft out of old used parts and excess leftovers from the space race, what do you expect?  Now your sleep period is over in a few minutes. You’re just along for the ride until they, or rather, we wakeup. Just stretch out and enjoy yourself, Buck Rogers! You lucky son of a gun!”

Several minutes later after Sam had drifted off to sleep, he was wondering if he had the right stuff to make it into the exclusive fraternity of astronauts. 

“Wake up, Firefly. I’m feeling great about this mission. We recover those old spy snapshots of who knows what, fire our main engine and off it goes into permanent orbit. America, the eighties and the New Frontier,” exclaimed an excited Commander Calavicci.

“Kennedy. That was John F. Kennedy and the New Frontier, Al,” Sam said, yarning at him. He wasn’t used to correcting Al on his historical facts and reminisces.

Al was looking over the gauges in front of him and then tapped one. “And a good idea that was, too. We had some great times and great dreams back there until Dallas. What a waste! But we can start another golden age today with this rescue mission. The DOD and NASA have some great ideas for using it back in Washington. Imagine a permanently manned space station up here in orbit. Well, you were at the same briefings.”

“A mobile spy platform?” asked Sam, based upon the senior Al’s observations.

Young Al picked up a pencil starting to play with it like a cigar. “Partly. Surveillance can be partly defensive and good for other reasons too. Finding new mineral deposits, fishing areas and wildlife tagging. I don’t know. Ours isn’t to judge. Us military types have a job to do. Now hand me the docking procedures handbook.” Al continued to tap the control panel with his pencil trying to follow the beat of a long forgotten tune.

Al the observer reached with his cigar pointing to the compartment that contained the flight checklists. It was a big white binder that reminded Sam of one of those first books that parents give to toddlers.

“Here you go, Al,” replied Sam, keeping a tight grip on it in the weightless freefall environment. He turned to the window in front of him as the blue and green planet seemed to rotate under them in slow motion. A thin blue-white haze of atmosphere encircled the curvature of the disk, with the blackest of night above the haze dotted by a few very bright stars that had lost their customary twinkle. Sam looked harder as the stars became even brighter. A few more objects appeared in the sky. Whether planets or dust or nebula or galaxies a million light-years away, Sam was not sure. One of the objects was moving while increasing in size. A quick bright splash of sunlight reflected off of it, as it was definitely manmade and definitely headed toward them.

Sam pointed toward the window. “Um, Al. Something is coming after us, off the port bow!” exclaimed Sam waving a worried finger at the approaching unidentified flying object.

“WHAT?” exclaimed both Al’s in unison. “That’s starboard!”

“…if you think this is a ship, you are wrong!” continued Al the observer. “Stop thinking oceans and navigating the seven seas. We got three dimensions here and your mind, well, when you’re in your RIGHT mind, should be able to perceive that. These are no directions in space. Just up from the center of the Earth or inside relative to your own spacecraft. No port, starboard, aft or stern. Just keep listening to me, my dear little space cadet!” exclaimed Al with more affection than disgust in his voice.

The younger version of Al looked out the same window and grinned. “There she is, Firefly. Space station one. Skylab in the flesh! What a beautiful sight she is!”

Sam took another look and saw a large cylindrical object with wings standing up relative to the Earth spinning around like a child’s toy helicopter. “Looks kinda small,” said Sam weakly.

Al looked up from his docking procedures. “Small? Big as a mobile home and about 85 tons. You all right, Firefly? That last sleep sent you into la-la land? Come on and get back to reality. Everything OK, buddy?”

“Sure, I’m just excited,” retorted Sam very quickly. He watched the space station get bigger and bigger.

“You and me too,” he said, tapping the book rhythmically with his pencil. “You and me too, Firefly!”

PART TWO

Deep in the recesses of the Special Operations building at Vandenberg Airbase was a control room filled with a half dozen people staring at desks composed of monitors, lit-up switches, dials and meters. In the front of the team was a large screen that showed mission status and that doubled as a television screen when television signals were received from Constellation. Behind the rows of monitors at a table lit by a single desk lamp sat Lieutenant General William Tecumseh Sherman Kirkpatrick, the leader of section “K” and the architect of this clandestine space mission. Having been the project manager for the original DEPLEX spy module, he considered this piece of spy equipment his baby and he was going to nurse the mission to a successful conclusion.

“Commander, sound reveille!” ordered the General from his position high above the flight director’s floor. Only his piercing dark eyes could be seen behind the yellow glow of the desk lamp.

“Yes, sir,” replied the capsule communicator. “Constellation, Constellation. This is Vandenberg. Your sleep period is over. Constellation, do you copy?”

Silence filled the room until a faint crackle of static could be heard. “Vandenberg, Constellation. Roger that. Firefly and I are wide awake and doing some house cleaning. I’ll wake up Mata, and then...”

A beep could be heard as another voice broke in over the younger Al’s report. “Vandenberg, Constellation. Negative on that. Lieutenant Whitlock reporting in, Vandenberg,” said a husky female voice.

The capsule communicator looked up at the General, who motioned to get on with the day’s activities. “Roger, Constellation. Vandenberg. Complete housekeeping and proceed with breakfast. In thirty minutes, commence docking procedures with the Skylab module.”

“Copy, Vandenberg. Any update on the Soyuz capsule?” asked astronaut Al.

“General?” the capsule communicator asked his commanding officer, who had gotten up and proceeded over to the railing. He stood tall and determined, looking down at his subordinates.

“Report that NORAD has lost the radar lock and they are to PROCEED with docking,” said the General coldly.

“But, General! The Russian Soyuz intercepted Skylab three hours ago. Calavicci and company have to be prepared…” objected Commander Thomas Beckett from his spy listening post. 

The General raised his voice. “Negative. There will be no slackers on my team. Contact the operatives and tell them to proceed.”

“Yes, General,” said a reluctant capsule communicator. “Roger, Constellation. Vandenberg. No known contact. Proceed with the docking. Everything is… um… go!”

“Say again, Vandenberg?” asked Calavicci suspiciously, requesting re-confirmation. He had been around enough in the military to know the voice of a worried radio operator.

“MISSION is green. GO for docking!” repeated the capsule communicator, looking up worried at the General’s eyes. The General fixed a steely straight smile on his face and then absent-mindedly rapped the railing in front of him. Everything was proceeding well and the DEPLEX system would become operational again. And the Skylab space station would become an important platform for monitoring their enemies and supposed friends. And HE would be the guru in charge of the project, no matter what!

“Roger, that Vandenberg. Constellation out,” replied Al, snapping off his mike. “OK, children. We are GO for our mission. Our docking orbit is right on the money. Mata pull our meals and Firefly you double-check our position. I’m going to finish reviewing our docking procedures.”

“Bingo! I don’t need your chauvinistic attitude being told to go make the coffee!” announced the green-eyed beauty. Her eyes flared at him as her hair floated weightlessly behind her.

Al grunted at her last comment. He had always admired the contributions women could make, though; he also recognized the contribution a beautiful woman could add to the scenery. In the close quarters of an Apollo space capsule, he had to keep things strictly business. “Mata, unless you want to make the course correction and Firefly pull out our food, we all have our assigned tasks. Yours is to provide input in your areas of expertise. Once you get your wings, you can fly this old bucket of bolts,” answered the younger Al.

She grunted as well and headed for the food storage compartment. “I’m working on it. That new shuttle is going to need pilots and technicians. I intend to be one of them,” said the determined young woman. She had come too far in the ranks of the United States Air Force to be held back just because of the gender that the Great Creator had assigned to her.

Sam asked if maybe he could help her out, reaching across Al to the other side of the capsule.

Commander Al shook his head. “Absolutely not. You have twenty-seven and one half minutes to eat and verify our course. Now everyone to his or her stations.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” snapped back Mata, saluting sarcastically.

The older Al stuck his head in and explained, “Sam, checking your position is easy. Just a little astronomy and a lot of math.  Ziggy can feed you the figures you need. Bingo will want to check you out. He could never trust anyone without double-checking for himself,” sighed Al. “Or in this case, for myself. From what I remember Constellation is right on the money and right on schedule.”

Sam just smiled as he fiddled with the sextant and computer until Ziggy fed him the equations and figures.

After a quick dehydrated meal, Al the younger had his hands on the joystick as Constellation approached the docking module. “Damn, are we good or what? That beautiful air lock is dead ahead. Good work, Firefly!” shouted Al as he looked out the window at the slowing rotating Skylab space station. “Vandenberg, Vandenberg. This is Constellation. Docking is go. We’re heading straight down US 101!”

Mission Control replied, “Constellation, Vandenberg. Data looks good. Great flying, Commander.”

The younger Al turned to Sam. “How does she look to you, Firefly?”

Al the observer said reading from an old script, “Confirm position and initiating rotation.”

“Confirm position and initiating rotation,” repeated Sam as he reached to the switch indicated by Al's holographic cigar. Though unsure of himself, Sam was having fun since he had followed the Apollo moon race so closely when he was a kid.

“Release eighteen pounds of gas, Sam. About a two second burst,” Al said quietly even though Sam was the only one that could hear him.

“OK, Firefly. Start the twirling,” ordered Al as they began to match the rotation of Skylab.  The Apollo 19 capsule had to cease its direct flight toward Skylab and match her axial rotation to stay in sync with the docking port. Suddenly the Earth that had turned so slowly under them now started rotating away from them, while the Skylab appeared to be stationary.

“Look at that,” exclaimed Sam, “Out the window!” The docking port was coming straight at them true and square.

Al looked up and exclaimed, “Exactly as it should be. Good work, Firefly.  What a beautiful sight!”

“I hardily concur with that,” agreed Al as he sat on the outside of the docking port and as the capsule came closer and closer.

As the sun lit up the rest of the docking port, another piece of space hardware came into view.

Mata looked through her window and squinted with a sour look on her face. “Bingo, that’s a Komarov class Soyuz spacecraft and some kind of adapter docked with Skylab. Abort, abort!” She reached over toward Al’s control panel while Bingo pushed her arm away.

Without turning from his piloting duties, the younger Al dismissed her action. “Negative. Our orders are to dock and …”

Mata snapped on her microphone. “Vandenberg, Constellation. The Russians appear to be aboard Skylab. Request permission to abort. Request permission to abort!” Mata called down to the Capcom.

“Easy does it, my pretty spy. We’re not even in the woods yet,” commented the observer Al, as Sam looked on, frustrated with nothing to do.

Al pointed his pencil at Mata and sneered. “Lieutenant. Cease and desist! That’s an order. I’m the mission commander and you are just a passenger!”
yelled Bingo across the capsule.

The capsule communicator responded, “Constellation, Vandenberg. Negative. Continue with docking procedure. Will keep you advised.”

Al the younger made sure he replied this time. “Vandenberg, Constellation. Roger that. Out. When this is over, Lieutenant, we have some talking to do,” he said, though he was more worried where the Russians had come from.  Vandenberg had some explaining to do, too. “OK, let’s get this thing into its parking place!”

Guiding the old Apollo capsule into the Skylab docking portal, Al the younger pulled in straight and then rotated a little to the right, correcting again and rotating to the left. His crosshairs were dead center as a soft impact could be felt as the Constellation creaked and moaned.

”We have soft dock. Engage clamps,” announced the younger Al, while the older Al helped Sam with the proper switches.

Turning to Sam, astronaut Al ran through the checkpoints for the final docking procedures. “Set pins. Check. Pressure stable. Hard dock confirmed. Vandenberg, Constellation. We have achieved hard dock. All systems are GO!” Al reported to base. All three of the clandestine astronauts let out a momentary sigh.

Vandenberg replied as a small cheer could be heard along with the crackling of the radio signal. “Roger, Constellation. Congratulations. Proceed with all due haste into the docking module. Secure docking module and move into the Skylab living quarters.”

“Vandenberg, Constellation. Request instructions as to the disposition of the current inhabits of Skylab,” inquired a usually unflappable astronaut Al.

“Constellation, Vandenberg. No change in flight plan. Enter docking module and secure Skylab,” replied the capsule communicator as Al shook his head looking disgusted.

Al the observer was now hovering above Sam and his former self. “Guess you could use Stormin’ Norman for this assault. OK, Sam, un-strap yourself and float up to the center-docking tunnel. It will be awhile before this whole mission falls apart,” said Al sadly.

Al the younger snapped off his belt and replied. “Copy, Vandenberg. Proceeding with entering the docking module.  Calavicci out. Time to put our Green Berets on and play soldier,” mocked Al, looking up and possibly praying, though Sam seldom saw Al speaking to a higher deity. “Firefly, open the top hatch and be ready for anything.”

Sam did as asked and floated up through the access tunnel. Unlike previous times, when he was weightless and barely floated three feet from his couch, Sam found the flying experience in a confined space quite exhilarating. He had never felt as free or as light. In normal Earth gravity, one could only get the same feeling for brief few seconds.

“Whee!” called out Sam as he did a quick spin and then grabbed onto the docking hatch mechanism, trying not to appear too giddy.

He had a half-cocked smile, knowing what his friend was feeling and wishing he were really there. “Hey, buddy. This contraption looks complicated, but it’s really simple. Very little is automatic on this pre-microprocessor dinosaur,” interjected Al as the former astronaut explained all the latches.

Mata unsnapped herself and reached down into her small locker, pulling out a well-wrapped nine-millimeter pistol and several ammunition clips.

Astronaut Al’s eyes blazed. “Lieutenant! What in the name of Gabrielle’s trumpet are you doing with that sidearm?”

Pushing in a clip of ammo, she looked at Al with a bit of contempt. “You think we’re coming in peace this time? Those cosmo-nuts in the station are unfriendly out there, Bingo. And security is my job! You got us here and I plan on this mission succeeding!” she said with more determination than Al had heard during any of their training together.

“Tasha! First, one bullet could finish off this capsule and everyone in it. Second, your job involves Russian psychology and reviving the station’s electrical systems,” Al said very loudly.

Sam looked down quite worried while Al motioned that he should stay out of this exchange.

Mata replied, looking down at Al, “Commander, I am a fully trained CIA operative and I am here to insure that we accomplish our mission. I am quite certain those cosmonauts are not here to promote international space cooperation or to casually photograph solar flares.”

Al turned to Sam and ordered him to stop. “Firefly! Don’t open that hatch just yet! I have something to check on! Tasha, holster that weapon. Vandenberg, Vandenberg, this is Constellation!”

In the darkened Special Ops Control Room, Tom Beckett had taken over the next shift as Capcom and took the Commander’s message. Tom flipped on the mike. “Roger, Constellation, this is Vandenberg! Have you entered Skylab yet? Over.”

Calavicci began cautiously. “Vandenberg, is this line secured?”

“Roger, that. All communications between Mission Control and Constellation have a class two encryption. Is there a problem?” asked Tom.

Al the younger took a deep breath. “Roger, there is one hell of a problem up here. Who the hell authorized Annie Oakley here to carry firearms onto a pressurized spacecraft cramped full of oxygen cylinders with a skin so thin that one shot will turn us into the next patch of orbiting of space debris?”

Tom Becket looked over at the General, who just motioned for him to respond. “Um, Constellation. Bingo. Lieutenant Whitlock is responsible for security and she was given full authority to do anything necessary to guarantee Constellation can carry out its mission.”

“Even getting us killed? Vandenberg, I am responsible for this mission and the lives of these three fine brave Americans. Why wasn’t I…?” exclaimed Al, who was starting to change colors.

Tom was sweating even in the air-conditioned control room. “Constellation. Vandenberg. Bingo. You are in charge of the Constellation, but Lieutenant Whitlock is in charge of the success of the mission.”

“In charge? In charge? Tommy boy, is there anything else that you desk jockeys down in Section ‘K’ failed to notify me of? How about that Ruskie tin can that snuck passed all of our radar, telescopes, and multi-billion dollar tracking systems and attached itself to a United States space station? Anything else that I need to know about that might affect the LIVES of my crew, Tommy Boy? To hell with the success of the mission!” he spat into his mike as both Tasha and Sam looked on helplessly.

Tom Beckett turned to General Kirkpatrick. “Sir, he has the right to know what he’s up against. How else can he accomplish his mission? How else can he try and protect the lives of his crew?”

“Beckett! You will only tell him what he needs to know and when he needs to know it. Commander Albert Calavicci is a member of the United States Armed Forces and will do his duty. Now get him on that station and get him to save it for ALL of us!” ordered the General as he wondered why he was saddled with all these incompetent slackers who were trying to blow this mission.

Tom Beckett stood up. “Sir, we have to give them an accurate update on the life left in the Skylab unit. It continues to lose altitude far faster than any of our predictions. That makes it much more unstable and...”

The General grabbed the railing with both hands. “Negative, Commander! Follow your orders or I will see to it that summary court-martial procedures are immediately initiated against you and the rest of the mutinous staff here.”

Tom Beckett took a deep breath, gave him a somewhat sarcastic, “Yes, sir!” and returned to his communication duties.

Al had cooled slightly as Tom Beckett came back on. “Constellation. Vandenberg. Rescue of the station and of the photographic cassettes is your responsibility, but security and success of the mission is in the hands of Lieutenant Whitlock. Final responsibility rests with her. Sorry, Bingo.”

“Vandenberg. Constellation. Roger that. What’s going on down there, Tommy Boy? I don’t have a good feeling about this. Are we in other dangers?” asked Al, speaking with a slight tremor in his voice.

“Constellation. Vandenberg. The mission is go. Proceed with caution, Bingo. Formal intentions of the Russian cosmonauts are unknown!” replied Tom with a bit of caution himself under the program manager’s watchful hate-filled eyes.

Al the younger looked up at Sam (Firefly), who looked lost at what to do, and at Mata, who looked more confident since her position had been strengthened. Al decided to take Tom’s advice to proceed with caution and replied, “Vandenberg. Constellation. Will comply. Proceeding with entry into Skylab docking module. Calavicci out!”

“Roger, Constellation. Over and out!” replied Tom as he snapped off his mike, pulled off his earphones, and sat slumped back in his chair. Not looking up at the his boss, he muttered, “Go with God, Bingo. Good luck!”

PART THREE

As Sam finished with the hatch latches, a hiss could be heard and the pressure equalized between the two opposing atmospheres. He pulled in the hatch, looking into a larger space whose walls were covered with wires and equipment.

“Tasha, I don’t know what your game is or what your real orders are, but here I am still the ranking officer and in charge in this very dangerous situation,” Commander Calavicci told Lieutenant Whitlock as Sam worked. “You will take your orders from me no matter what those idiots at Vandenberg say. If you have a security issue, you take it up with ME FIRST! Understand, Missy Astronaut?” he said, pounding his chew stick on the console.

“All I can promise is that I will take that under advisement, Commander,” she said, putting her gun away inside her jumpsuit.

“I better not see that peashooter out again unless I tell you to un-holster it. If you don’t follow my orders, I will consider it mutiny!” Al said in his command voice. “Understand, Natasha?”

“Aye, aye, sir!” she said, snapping a poor salute in the confined space. She still had every intention to make sure that the mission succeeded despite the arrogant and chauvinistic Commander Albert Calavicci.

Sam floated into the larger docking module followed by Al and Mata. After a full somersault, Sam saw Al the younger and Mata doing the same both glad to be out of the tight quarters in their Constellation craft. Al the observer floated along and sat on what could have constituted the ceiling.

“I’ll get the hatch,” Al the younger said quietly. He floated passed Sam as the older Al watched with memories floating all about him. Fooling with the latches, the hatch opened with a hiss and a rather unpleasant scent coming from the main area.

“What is that?” asked Sam.

“I knew something stank on this mission, Firefly. Smell it! Russkies,” mumbled Al. “Or the fact that this space station has not been occupied for five years. Damn, that is noxious!”

Two heads popped from the other side of the hatch. Both individuals wore headgear and were badly in need of a shave.

The older of the two smiled and presented his hand to Al. “Welcome, welcome comrades to Lenin Station. I send greetings from the people of the Soviet Union to those of the United States. You are our guests. And your names, please?”

“Everything is fine for now!” exclaimed Al as Sam looked on as an observer of events in his own right.

Al looked over at these two comrades trying to size up these two large men up and then replied. “United States Navy Commander Calavicci, United States Navy Commander Brooks and United States Air Force Lieutenant Whitlock.  And you are trespassing on U.S. Government property. By the authority of the President of the United States of America, you are ordered to vacate this station immediately,” Al said pointing at the cosmonaut and then to their docked Soyuz craft.

”I think you should back off a bit, um?” said Sam floating next to him.

The cosmonaut cocked his head to one side and gave a hearty laugh. “Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. You Americans have a delightful sense of humor.” He put out his hand to Al. “Colonel Boris Kirkovich. My colleague whose knowledge of English is very small is Captain Igor Stanlovich.  And this space artifact was abandoned. No Capitalist has set foot on it in many years. Quite abandoned according to international law and as interpreted by my government. But then, I am not a lawyer and neither are you. We are fellow space travelers. Please come in. Please come in,” he said, motioning to the three American astronauts.

Al the younger shook his head. “No, sir. We’ll be his prisoners as soon as we get in there!” he said, still floating in the docking module.

Al the observer looked on. “I was always a suspicious cuss after my stretch in the Hanoi Hilton. Nothing hits the fan for the time being! We have to get this station straightened out or you’re all meteorite fodder.”

Sam saw that the two fellow space travelers were trying to look hospitable. “Bingo, they’ve done everything they can except roll out the red carpet. Let’s at least talk. Come on, Al! Where else are we going to go?”

“No, these trespassers need to get their kit and caboodle out of here!”

yelled Al, refusing to budge.

Sam whispered to Al. “Listen, Bingo. All we have to do is listen. It’s our job to save Skylab and let’s do that first. What do you say, partner?” asked Sam giving him his biggest Beckett smile.

Mata looked at Al the younger. “It would be the most logical course to accomplish our mission, COM-MAN-DER,” she suggested with a hint of sarcasm.

“All right, but only because I see no other alternatives. You Russian guys are welcomed to the USA Space Station Number One. Come on, Firefly, Tasha,” Al said rather abruptly. He floated toward the hatch, still looking grim. Sam and Mata followed. The older Al pushed a few buttons on his trusty handlink and floated through the wall.

Sam entered the Skylab section, which was over a hundred feet long. The lab looked down through three stories of equipment and living quarters attached to the inside of the hollowed out Saturn Five third stage. Sam’s heart immediately went to his throat as his brain told him he was sixty feet in the air hanging onto nothing. He gulped and then immediately grabbed onto the nearest equipment rack, holding on tight.

Al the observer coughed and then reminded Sam, “You’ve never liked heights. I couldn’t even get you up on a three-step ladder back when we first met. But believe me when I say gravity is not your enemy here, since there IS NO gravity!”

While the two Soviet cosmonauts appeared amused, Al the younger quickly dropped his sulking and asked with concern, “What’s eating you, Firefly? I’ve seen you pull four G’s doing somersaults a hundred feet off the flight deck! Pilots don’t get the high heebie jeebies!”

Sam quickly took in the astonishment of his fellow astronauts and let go of the wall. As soon as he realized he was going nowhere, he breathed a little easier but kept his sight on the nearest wall and not the deep well underneath his feet.

“Fine. I’m going to be OK. All that extra space just spooked me a bit. Sorry!” Sam apologized to a displeased Al.

“Turn around, Sam. Have it over your head. Keep your head pointed toward the center and it should help,” exclaimed Al the observer as he inverted himself so he could “stand” next to Sam in the same orientation.

“You sure? You’ve been spooking me ever since we woke up, Firefly. Look at Mata. Not a single hour in space and she taken to it like Barberella. Of course, Jane Fonda had a better couturier,” snapped Al, sounding more like himself.

Mata looked very cross while she positioned herself next to the other Americans as her hair formed a crown around her head. All five of Skylab’s current visitors took up positions around the laboratory looking very tense. Each astronaut’s eyes kept darting around, trying to size up the others. The two Russians kept eyeing Mata more and more until they broke the silence. Boris and Igor started talking very fast, ending with Boris laughing heartily. Mata scowled and then shot back at them in their native language, causing the Russians howl even louder.

Al looked a bit confused. “And what’s that all about, Natasha?” asked the younger Al.

Mata sneered a bit and snapped, “Merely backing them off their macho-Slavic ideas concerning women. And telling them I could remove their manhood in one quick jab. I think we have an understanding now,” she said smiling sinisterly.

“What brought on all of that?” asked Sam.

Tasha tersely replied, “Their place for women is still three steps behind and to the left.”

“You’re the expert on Russkie culture! Shall we all adjourn to the living quarters?” asked Al as he floated into the Skylab or Lenin Station, depending upon which side of the Berlin wall you resided on.

Each of the weary space travelers took a position around the Skylab kitchen, which still had a very distinctive smell that had seemed to saturate everything.

Al started. “Despite your claims, this is still US property. My orders are to secure this space platform and send it into a higher orbit. Our time is very short. You guys may be able to assist us but then you’re getting outta town fast.”

Boris crossed his arms and looked Al, the younger, directly in the eye. “I agreed the clock is short as you say. But for now, I agree; let us work together. We can save Lenin Station much faster, comrade. I have studied these systems. Comrade Stanlovich knows mechanics even though he does not speak the English,” explained Boris.

Al looked at him, studying the cosmonaut. “Fine. Let’s do the job they sent us here for. The Lieutenant who knows your language can work with Stanley Fish. Firefly, you’re with Boris Badenov here. I’ll EVA out to the orbital sequencing telescope and check out the stabilization unit and evaluate the thrusters. I can leave the ship through the forward hatch,” explained Al, pointing toward the forward section of USA Space Station One, as Al had christened it.

“And for what reason will you do that?” asked Boris, rubbing his bearded chin.

Al began to describe the process, using his hands and that pencil he eternally carried with him. “How else do we orient this craft for a secure orbit? Otherwise, you’re firing it in ‘who-knows-what’ direction. We can’t have it yawing, pitching and tumbling while attached to our Apollo capsule. The stabilization system needs a FULL checkout. Is that da or nyet, comrade?” he asked sarcastically, knowing he needed to also clandestinely retrieve the DEPLEX photo canister out of the spy module.

The cosmonaut studied his enemy carefully. “Da. That monkey may be on your backup lights. I work on the primary electronic buss and the environmental controlling system. We try to get rid that awful smell. OK?” asked Boris.

Al took two sniffs of the air and quickly concurred. “Kind of like weekend Borsch on a Friday night. Firefly can help you with it. He’s supposed to get this place livable again. Tasha, help your friend unload some of the fresh supplies onboard Constellation. I want continual reports from each group. I want to know everything that is going on here,” explained Al as he headed for the spare EVA suit locker.

Al the observer asked Sam to assist his younger self. “Two people can fix this old jalopy faster than one. Then help those Commies rid the place of this stench. At least I don’t have to smell it. There are some advantages to being a hologram.”

Boris looked on suspiciously as Al and Sam started assembling his EVA suit. “And why are you the ‘top dog’?” asked Boris.

Sam broke in. “Excuse me, but he is the senior ranking officer here and I would feel better if he knew everything that was going on both from an executive and safety point of view.”

“Yes, but I am a General in the Russian Home Defense Force!” objected Boris, standing almost at attention while floating in the air.

“Yea, yea! Well, this old space bucket was built in the Hugh Hess Hay, comrade, and let’s get it back where it belongs. Pronto!” explained Al the younger.

Al the senior looked up from his handlink. “You’re darn tooting! Sam, you have thirty-eight hours until this orbit decays and it goes kerplop!”

Al stepped into the EVA suit. “Firefly, I’ll need your help with the EVA gear. Tasha, get me a fresh oxygen bottle from Constellation while you’re getting the supplies!”

“Yes, sir!” she said snapping a salute and floating toward the docking module hatch.

Sam helped him step into the suit. “Here you go, Bingo! Or Benny or whatever!” Sam said as he vaguely remembered Al’s nickname from a previous leap.

Al spoke quietly to Sam. “Stick to Bingo here, Firefly. You have to keep them busy while I go fetch whatever data is still left out there. These quarters are way too tight with all our Commie friends floating around Skylab.”

“If they do take it over, they’ll find out about it anyway,” remarked Sam as he pulled the suit arm up over Al’s arm.

“Right! That’s why I plan on retrieving the data, jamming the hatch and then using that as an excuse to crawl back into Constellation to hide the evidence. Have Tasha secure our hatch in two hours. I’ll work my way across the outside of Skylab! I need to check out those thrusters anyway.” 

“Sounds risky, Al!” whispered Sam as he helped Al pull on the second boot.

Al the observer floated up to Sam’s ear. “That’s very true, Sam. I never did get to rescue the film cartridges. Maybe we can correct that boo-boo.”

Al shook his head. “That’s the name of the game! You gotta do what you gotta do, to borrow from Rocky!”

PART FOUR

Al the observer watched as the younger him checked the pressure fittings and then proceeded into the telescope airlock. Securing the inner door behind him, Al the younger depressurized the telescope module and then opened up the outer door. The Earth was rotating to his left since Skylab was standing on its end. Nothing but blackness extended forever to his right as Admiral Al Calavicci hovered above.

“Now I feel like the proverbial guardian angel. Clarence, eat your heart out! Damn, it’s beautiful out here. Well, Bingo you finally made it into space!” He took a deep breath and blew smoke into the deep dark cold of space that surrounded Al the younger.

Astronaut Al attached his tether to the airlock and proceeded to push off, working his way along the telescope and solar panel array.

“Always wanted to be in space, now I’m here completely alone here,” he said out loud to himself.

“Not quite, Bingo,” said Al the older.

“Firefly, this is Calavicci. I am proceeding up the array. Everything’s go,” said Al the younger, working hand over hand as his feet floated behind him. Though the feeling of weightlessness was similar to inside the station, Al had less mobility in his limbs due to the stiffness of the suit. He didn’t want to let go of the station or he would float off into space with no hope of recovery. His fellow travelers would have no way to reach him if he floated beyond the confines of his tether.

Sam grabbed his mike and replied, “Uh, roger that. We’re proceeding to enter the oxygen control circuitry. Tasha and Stanlovich are going over the mechanical schematics.”

Al beeped back in. “Great. Keep working on it. I’m reaching the telescope optical assembly.”

Commander Al worked his way toward the DEPLEX spy device. Mounted away from the main cabin, its optical systems had a good view of the curvature of the Earth. Until NASA had put the Skylab in a vertical spin to slow down its rate of descent, the DEPLEX cameras had been taking pictures of the entire surface of the Earth for years. The last resident astronauts had removed the photo cassette in early 1974 with the final Skylab mission. The device would become a bonanza of intelligence information for America. Loss of the information would be tragic if the film fell into the hands of the Russians, since it had photographed both American and Russian installations.

Moving up to the telescope array, Al removed his power wrench to loosen and remove the bolts. Opening the hatch, he noticed that the old camera was still operating though now it was pointing toward the stars. Al marveled at the piece of engineering that had survived all these years in the vacuum of space. Pulling out two cassettes of film, he placed them in his tool chest and proceeded to reassemble the spy device. All four blots were tightened down while the camera kept working. Hand over hand, he went back to the stabilization assembly, giving it a cursory look. No equipment failures on this NASA mission.

Al reported in. “Firefly, Calavicci. The telescope stabilization project is complete. I am proceeding across Skylab to inspect the thrusters and the solar umbrella.”

Sam picked up the mike and replied. ”Uh, Roger. Bingo. We have located a burned out circuit and are attempting to repair it or rewire around it. Boris is being very helpful.”

Al the observer followed himself around the top of Skylab and inquired to his own computer. “Hey, Ziggy, do you concur?”

“Repair work is proceeding satisfactorily on that technological dinosaur,” replied Ziggy. “I have more computing power in my little finger.”

“What?” asked Al.

“Figuratively speaking, I have more computing power in my little finger than both of those spacecrafts and the Skylab space station combined.”

“Who would have guessed? The Russkies are helping us out. Then they want to save this thing for themselves,” remarked Al.

“And they will unless Doctor Beckett can prevent them from seizing the station, Admiral,” replied Ziggy.

Al nodded his head. “He can do it, Ziggy. I have every faith in my little Buck Rogers there!”

Al the younger finished checking the thrusters, which did not seem to have weathered too badly after six years in low Earth orbit. He again worked back to the telescope hatch and jammed his wrench into the mechanism. Sounding urgent, he radioed back. “Firefly, this is Bingo. Am having trouble with the exterior hatch. Request assistance.”

“Roger, Al,” said Sam, who secured his work and headed for the telescope hatch module. Everyone floated toward it with Sam. With Tasha’s help, he suited up, repressurized the module and then joined Al at the hatch.

Al narrated for Sam. “The outside door seal has been compromised by a little sabotage by me. Or rather, the other me. See the red light. Tell them that...”

“Um, pressure is leaking from the exterior hatch. The commander can’t get it open,” explained Sam to his fellow space travelers.

“Someone needs to help him with the hatch. I will exit through my Soyuz craft,” explained Boris as he headed for the docking module.

“Ah, negative,” Al the younger put in. “I think I can work my way to my own spacecraft and enter through there. You gentlemen keep working on the interior circuitry. That should be our first priority. I’ll be fine. Firefly, go button everything down inside Constellation and then secure the hatch in our tunnel. Copy?”

“Uh. Roger,” replied Sam.

Al tried to sound reassuring to Sam. “No problem, Sam. It’s simple if you just keep everything in order. Unless you do it out of order and then… poof… we dump all the air out of this little space station. Total depressurization. Sam, meet me in the docking tunnel. I’m gonna go check on Flash Gordon out there. Ziggy, center me on me!”

Outside, Al the younger was working all the way down the length of the space station. One hand here. One foot there. With no one to help him. He was all alone. Hand over hand over hand. Al the observer watched his younger self trying all the footholds and occasionally missing one. One slip and Bingo would drift off into space as his own personal satellite, enjoying the view as long as his oxygen lasted.

Al the older found he was talking to himself, edging his younger self along. “Easy there, Calavicci. You’re always the first to get into the trouble. Easy there. Oops. Don’t slip. Always have to be the hero. Well, someone has to be in charge and do it. Careful. Careful. You got a loving wife and three kids at home.” 

“Calavicci to Firefly. The aft thrusters appear to be intact and useable. I am proceeding to the docking module. Out,” announced astronaut Al as sweat poured down his face inside his air-conditioned helmet.

From the outside, the older Calavicci looked at him and shook his head. “Always have to be the hero. This time you may have bitten off more than you can chew, Bingo. Hey, grab on to that one. No, put your foot there. Now that handhold. This is murder when you don’t know what you originally did,” exclaimed Al the observer who was now sweating himself.

The younger Al reached up and felt some resistance. Something was holding him back. Looking from whence he came, he noted that his golden tether was now a straight line all the way back to the hatch from which he had exited Skylab. Al had literally reached the end of his rope. “Damn! I have to get to the capsule with no safety line. This is not good. Calavicci to Firefly. Can’t proceed with my safety line. I have to do this on my own!”

Sam grabbed the mike as his English-speaking comrades gathered around. “Al, that isn’t advisable. There’s no one else out there to help you.”

“Yeah, but I still have to get back in. Is Constellation secure?” he asked.

“Roger that. You can safely open the hatch,” replied Sam cautiously.

Boris came close to Sam, “Your American commissar is very brave. No one has ever tried a free-floating space walk before. Very dangerous.”

“I am removing my safety line, Firefly, and proceeding the last twenty feet. I have my first step. There,” narrated Al the younger.

“Be careful,” suggested Sam.

“I hardily concur, you stubborn cuss,” said Al the observer, shaking his head.

“He can use Soyuz’s hatch. Closer and safer, comrade,” suggested Comrade Boris.

“Negative, the Apollo capsule has been prepared,” objected Al the younger. Also, Al didn’t want the film cassettes to fall into the enemy’s hands.  Al worked his way through the next ten feet easily as the Earth spun above his head. He gripped each handhold tightly, since his life depended on it. Hand over hand, he continued.

“Come on, Bingo,” Sam said to himself as he said a little prayer to his Almighty time travel agent.

Mata and Igor gathered around the only window in the docking module but could not see the errant Albert Calavicci. 

Al was now sweating buckets. Even though it was a long shot, he had to make it back not only for his own sake, but also for his family. He could hear his wife kidding him about all the chances he took. There was the time they were in the Philippines and he was up on the tile room of their house repairing the tiles during a monsoon. Or the time at Edward’s when Firefly and he were playing chicken with dueling Corvettes at 120 miles an hour.

Beth nearly had a heart attack watching them.  Damn, they were young and in love then. Calavicci, the risk taker. Calavicci, living on the edge. Calavicci, the hero. And here he was moving step-by-step, hand over hand, on the edge between safety and becoming a permanent orbiting memorial to the right stuff.  He inched hand over hand to his final goal. He finally reached the end of the main living area and found secure handholds on the docking module. Mata and Igor could finally see him. Grabbing for the next handhold, he put his foot down too quickly and pushed off in the weightless environment.

“Jeez!” he cried out as he found himself hanging from the Skylab with only one hand. Swinging randomly, Al saw first the Earth, then the sky, then the ship and then the Earth again as he swung like a three dimensional pendulum.

Mata gasped as Igor said something unintelligible in guttural Russian.

“Hang on there, Bingo. Jeez, I wish I could help you or me out. Easy does it,” said a nervous observer.

The fingers of the younger Al were tired as he was loosing his grip. Bouncing around outside gave Al the feeling of gravity, making him a bit dizzy. He shook the weird effects out of his mind and stopped looking out. Looking back down his own body, he reoriented himself to try and recover, just as he had done before when his fighter went into a spin or tumble out over the ocean. Inching his fingers back on the handhold, he got a better grip. The next handhold was to his left. He used twisted his body around forcing him back into the craft toward the next handhold. His whole body hit against the side of the docking module as his hand brushed the side the smooth exterior surface. Frantically running his hand over the side of the module, his fingers brushed the handhold. Folding his fingers tightly around the handhold, he grabbed it, exhaled with one quick sigh of relief, and secured another hold for his foot, now that he was safely holding onto the exterior of the docking module.

His guardian angel Al also let out a sigh of relief. “That was close there, Bingo. Now get back inside, you crazy acrobat!”

“Bingo? Bingo?” cried out Sam.

Al the astronaut wished he could exhaust all the perspiration that was fogging up his helmet. He cleared his throat and then, in typical Calavicci fashion, made like it didn’t mean a thing. “Roger that. Everything is   A-OK, Firefly. I am proceeding to open the Constellation hatch. Everything is under control.”

“Glad to here that. I’ll meet you in the docking module. Firefly out!” said Sam, quickly snapping off his mike and then floating toward the hatch.

Al the observer shook his head. “Yeah, right! You were soiling your uniform there, you crazy astronaut. You never will learn. Will you?”

Finding the hatch, he cautiously placed his feet on the side of the capsule to brace himself and then pulled the hatch release. The hatch opened as mist floated from the capsule. All the remaining water vapor crystallized as other miscellaneous pieces of paper and tiny objects floated from the capsule out into space. Al grabbed onto the sides of the hatch opening and pulled himself into the safety of the capsule, ending America’s first un-tethered spacewalk.

Al sat down hard on the seat and then floated up again. He hid the cartridge among the discarded food bags and then reported to Sam. “Calavicci to Firefly. I am inside Constellation and securing the hatch. Hatch is secured. Seal light is green. Starting repressurization. Air pressure is increasing. 12.7 psi. Check and double-check. Atmosphere is nominal. Am proceeding up the access tunnel to open the docking hatch.”

Sam met him at the hatch while the other three spacefarers floated behind him. “Glad to see you back,” said Sam, smiling as the hatch swung in and Al the astronaut stuck his head out.

“Commander. Welcome back,” said Mata, looking less than pleased.

“That was pretty touch and go for a few moments,” exclaimed Sam as he first patted his shoulder then helped Al through the tunnel while the latter still wore his EVA suit.

“Seemed a lot longer to me, Firefly,” Al said to him very quietly. “But everything was completely under control,” he said out loud to the general audience. “And the outside controls are in good shape and will work one hundred percent when we light off this candle. Let’s finish up these repairs!” he announced as he zipped off the suit and then contacted mission control.

“Vandenberg, Constellation. Vandenberg, Constellation. We have repaired the optical assembly and inspected the external thrusters per our flight plan,” explained Al in front of both friendly and unfriendly ears. “Flight preparations are progressing on schedule.”

The next shift capsule communicator replied to Al’s report. “Roger Constellation. Vandenberg. Good work. Your mission is green. I say that your mission is green. Continue with salvage operations.”

“Any update on the orbital stability of the Skylab station?” asked the younger Calavicci. 

Several moments of silence and some mumbled noises could be heard.

“Say again, Vandenberg. I couldn’t copy the last transmission,” interjected Astronaut Al.

“No change, Constellation. Keep on schedule,” the Capcom said nervously.

Al did not like the last response, but he had to get things moving so he finished the mission. “Roger, Capcom. Constellation out.”

PART FIVE

Deep in the recesses of the Vandenberg Section “K” control center, Tom Beckett turned to General Kirkpatrick. ”Sir, the Skylab station is increasing its descend. Shouldn’t we abort the rescue mission? They have enough data to keep the analyst boys busy for years. And if the Constellation crew doesn’t leave now, we might even lose them and the data we did recover. Sir,” he finished, pausing with the last word.

General Kirkpatrick shook his head. “No, Commander. Continue with the mission on schedule. They are good men and they won’t let us down. This mission is too vital. We have plans for the use of that station and neither those godless Commies nor the effects of gravity are going to stop us.”

“Very well, General,” said Tom Beckett as the Capcom and the environmental mission specialist looked at each other and shook their heads. Tom Beckett figured that the General was determined to finish this mission no matter who was killed.

Back around Skylab’s kitchen table, Commander Al listened to the update of their savage operations while Boris made his own observation.

“Comrade. That was very much foolish. You could have become another Sputnik,” said Boris. “I will have Igor work on the airlock. Lenin Station is not good if not fully operational!”

Al shook his head. “That is not a high priority. Finish up the stability circuitry. Maintenance can be done once we blast this thing into a higher orbit. I want to be ready to do this at 1430 hours. Eastern Daylight Savings Time! Not Central Russian Moscow time!”

“Commander, the gyro realignment is complete though the navigational array is still out of alignment. Care to take a look at it?” asked Mata.

“Sure. Firefly, go secure the food bay in Constellation. I think we lost something when I opened the capsule hatch,” explained Al the younger. “Especially check the trash container.”

“Sure,” replied Sam. He floated back into Constellation and then sat down at Al’s couch. Reaching into the trash compartment, he turned to Al the observer, who had taken Firefly’s seat. “What’s in here?” asked Sam, holding up the film cassettes.

“That is enough counterintelligence information to really swing the Cold War around, Sam. When the Russians found out about it after they took over Skylab, the whole world went ca-ca. Don’t let Boris and his comrade see it. Lock it up in the trash bay there,” suggested Al, pointing to a large sealed compartment.

Sam shoved it deep into the chamber and covered it with anything loose he could find. Sam wanted to do anything he could to get this ship heading back home.

“Bingo was really in a mess back there,” Sam said quietly to Al.

After taking a big puff, Al replied, “It was something of a blast though. I had really wanted to get into orbit and fly around here on the final frontier.”

Sam scratched his head, “This is your first trip? I thought one time you told me you had walked on the moon?”

Al looked at him a bit sheepishly. “Now how could I have done that when I wasn’t repatriated form Nam till 1973? Must have been some wishful thinking on my part, Sam. Hell, you couldn’t remember anything back then. Why the hell do you remember that now? Just let me relive my space adventure and let’s get this bird back where it belongs. Is that OK with you, Buck Rogers?”

“Sure, Al. Now what?” asked Sam thinking how human his observer friend really was.

“OK, Sam. Now here comes the tricky part. Go over to the Soyuz ship quietly. I didn’t want to alarm you, but there’s another anonymous cosmonaut in there. Go catch him!” explained Al.

Sam looked at Al as if he was crazy. “Al, what are you talking about?”

Al coughed twice. “This is the embarrassing part. Once we could get the Skylab stable, he snuck up on me. All of us! These Russians got us back on board Constellation, undocked us manually, and sent us packing. Then using their suped-up spacecraft, they launched the Skylab into a stable orbit and never let us get another crack at it. You need to go capture this amateur Oddjob in the Soyuz before he has a chance to take over Skylab.”

Sam exited the Apollo craft, checked to make sure he was alone, and opened the hatch of the Russian craft. In the darkness, the craft appeared to be empty until a third cosmonaut jumped from his seat and began to wrestle with Sam.

Deep in the station, the others could hear shouting.  All three floated to the far end and found Sam still wrestling with the cosmonaut.

“What is going on here?” shouted the younger Calavicci.

“Commissar, please have your “Fir-fly” let go of our pilot. I believe he is hurting him,” exclaimed Boris. Igor was grinning and cheering the cosmonaut on in Russian.

Sam placed two feet on the nearest wall, hooked his foot under some loose cables to get some footing, and pinned the massive man against the wall. “Bingo, this guy came after me with these brass knuckles,” exclaimed Sam.

“Hold him there, Sam. I should be able to put everything together in a minute,” replied Al the observer.

“Only in self-defense, I assure you,” replied Boris. “Please release our pilot.”

Al turned to Boris turning red. “Why were you hiding him?”

“Probably to take us down,” said Sam, tightly holding onto the Russian pilot.  The Russian shouted in his native language, fighting and thrashing around. “See? He is still being belligerent!”

Boris snapped at the pilot in Russian and the latter settled down. “He has had a hard life and does not like confinement!”

“So he became an astronaut?” asked Mata looking at them suspiciously. “We work in rather close quarters, COMRADE. Not exactly a good job characteristic, Boris-ski!”

Boris first sounded matter-of-factly. “We do what we have to do for Mother Russia.” Then, with more force, he insisted, “Please release him, comrade Brooks.”

Al the observer retorted to Sam. “Don’t do that, Sam. Later, we learned he was more KGB than Cos-mo-naut!”

Sam snapped to Al. “This guy doesn’t have the moves of the normal pilot, Bingo. And, look, they don’t usually carry a garrot and brass knuckles. Looks more like some muscle from the Russian Mafia or a KGB agent.”

Boris looked worried, “You make joke. He is not a spy, unless all of you are spies. Please, let my friend go.”

Al threw out his hands in disgust. “I have heard enough. You guys are leaving RIGHT NOW! Get back in the capsule and head for Siberia, Moe, Curly and Larry! This here is American soil, comrade!”

“Nyet! This is Lenin Station,” retorted Boris. “And if we don’t fix it soon...”

Boris said trying to look friendly.

“Get off this station!” Al yelled as he backed up with Sam and Mata and they faced off three against three. Each person stared eye-to-eye with one another, astronaut to cosmonaut.

Now seeing that cooperation was no longer possible and that the situation was a draw, Boris threw up his hands and gave up. “Fine! We go. But that does not mean your government and mine will not go ball each others’ eyes again!” he said backing up with his crewmen toward the Soyuz spacecraft. “The Soyuz Sovetskikh Sotsialisticheskikh Respublik does not take this treatment and we saw your attempt at hiding your spy pictures. Do not think we did not know about this, comrade?”

Al looked up for a moment, wishing that it had gone better but glad that it was almost over. Sam and Al floated forward to corral the Russkies into their Soyuz ship.

“That is not the last you hear from the Soviet people!” yelled Boris until a look of shock passed over his face causing Sam and Al to turn around.

“Hold it, Firefly!’ yelled Mata, holding up her 9 millimeter pistol pointed straight at Sam. “You too, COM-MAN-DER! I’m taking over this space station!”

Al, the observer, dropped his handlink. “Mata! What the hell? Careful, Sam. This whole place could decompress in minutes if she shoots a hole in the side! Ziggy, what the hell is going on here?”

“I have no good response to the present situation, Admiral. We are on new historical ground here and I have no further data!” replied Ziggy. “In my current database, Lieutenant Whitlock resigned and withdrew from society in the late eighties with no sign of mental instability or treasonous activities, Admiral.”

“Well, she sure is demonstrating antisocial behavior at this point!! When did she turn turncoat? A hijacking in space? That’s one for the books!” exclaimed Al as he busily played with his handlink.

Sam was floating above her as the Cosmonauts looked every which way jabbering in Russian.

“You aren’t going to shoot me!” said Sam, inching closer to her.

She braced herself and then pointed at everyone to get them to back off before pointing directly at Sam. “Move it! Don’t be a hero, Commander! I’m safe as long as I hit you fair and square. And I was a crack shot on the C.I.A. pistol range, flyboy!” she said, looking closely at them. “Your dead body will stop the slug before it causes any damage to Skylab. Now back off!”

“The defection of Lieutenant Whitlock still allows the Russians to capture the Skylab station,” reported Ziggy. “History has not significantly changed at this point, Admiral.”

“Great, Sam. We’ve haven’t change anything yet. The station is still falling into the Russian’s hands! Be careful, Sam!” he cautioned. “She’s turning out to be more wacko than ever!”

Jabbering in Russian, the three cosmonauts continued to float in the air with their hands up. 

Sam asked her directly, “What is going on here, Mata?”

A devilishly confident smirk came to Mata’s face. “Simpleton, we are turning over this space station to our friends in the Soviet Union. This mission was doomed from the start and I plan on staying here on Skylab. No one wants a female American astronaut. I’ve been planning on working with the Russians for years. Studying them convinced me that their way of life is the way of the future and the best way for a woman. And especially the best way for ME! Now I can work with the Russian Government and we can start a new era for Communism in space,” she explained while waving the pistol around at her captives.

Boris interrupted her. “Comrade Mistress Astronaut. We don’t know you. We have no orders about you. Please we will take over this station, but we have no room for you. Let us contact Soviet space agency and then...”

Mata shouted, “NO! I will only take my orders from the Supreme Soviet or from Chairman Leonid Brezhnev. The Americans will fail! And I am asking for your help, but while I am onboard I will be in charge, comrade!”

“I do not know you. I follow my orders,” retorted Boris as he tried to put his hands down.

She turned with hatred. “Back up, COMRADE! No, you will follow me! You will not push me around or belittle me any longer. Now, we will stuff these two traitors into their capsule and send them away, tumbling uncontrollably into the atmosphere. Then we announce to world about their little clandestine mission here and that the Skylab space station ownership has change hands. And that I am in charge of the Lenin Station, the second Russian space station!”

Boris looked very angry. “No, I am not a murderer. I will not help you,” he shouted at her, followed by yelling to his comrade in Russian.

The KGB muscleman pushed off the wall and charged Mata. She turned and fired. The shot echoed through the station and struck him in the center of his chest. Some blood leaked from the mortal wound, forming little floating blood-red bubbles as his momentum kept him coming toward Mata. The body twitched in the last convulsion of death. Mata floated out of his way, keeping an eye on the remaining four space travelers.

“Anyone else? I do not suggest any more attempts at heroics. Everyone back in to the kitchen. I need to keep my eyes on all of you!!” she said confidently.

PART SIX

Floating into the kitchen, both Al the younger and Al the older kept a close eye on Tasha, the traitor. As she waved around her pistol, Al was very cautious because the 9 mm shell had a much bigger punch in the absence of gravity.

Tasha took the position near the door while the remaining survivors of the very real reality show were ushered to the far side of the kitchen. Floating separately, they found themselves running into each other in the close quarters, making them all grab onto something to keep from floating around. Tasha followed the same course and wrapped her free arm around a floating strap, bracing her feet against the floor grate, thus giving herself a good firing position in case there was trouble.

“Now, my fine FELLOWS, who is in charge? Didn’t think you’d ever see a woman in charge of the Skylab space station?” she asked joyfully while carefully eyeing her captives.

Al the younger tried to stare her down. “Thugs always feel superior over their hostages, Lieutenant Whitlock, until the standoff is over.”

“Ha! I don’t see any policeman in the neighborhood, Mr. Shore Patrol! Everything is under control. I’ll just have to contact the Russian space agency and work out a deal,” she said lightly. “I’m in the driver’s seat, Commander.”

Boris spat at her, “Russian people never negotiate with women traitors.”

“And why not? I am in complete ideological agreement with their political system and have a plum of a space station for them, Boris. I am sure they’ll be begging me to help them out,” she said with an overconfident smirk on her face.

Al shook his head. “In our experience, the Russkies usually discard ideological traitors after they’ve been of use to them. Many a spy has been turned back to the US because it’s easier than the Russkies having to personally deal with them.”

Boris added, “And you are here with limited oxygen and limited food stuffs. Mother Russia can ignore you and still have Lenin Station. We five are expendable, Madame Astronaut.”

Boris made Tasha mad. “NO! I will not be treated as such! I have come too far. I will not be ignored! Not like the Air Force ignored me! Every time I applied to flight school, I was rejected! Every time I applied for astronaut training I was rejected!” she screamed raising her voice.

Al checked on his handlink. “That’s true. This psycho never passed the psychological tests. How ever did she get involved with the C.I.A.?”

She seemed to begin to rant as her voice rose and she waved the gun around making broad gestures. “I couldn’t get ahead anywhere! I could have been a pilot.  I would have been a great PILOT. But, nooo!! They don’t have a place for female pilots like me. And there aren’t any female astronauts either! No place in the white-bread male-dominated good-old-boy outfit! Not in NASA, not in the Air Force!”

Sam cleared his throat getting her attention. “Um, the shuttle is supposed to have female technicians. I’m sure you could...”

Her eyes began to blaze, “Never! Not at least in my lifetime. Only white males are going to get to go up. All the rest is just lying propaganda! Do you think we’ll see black, Asian and Spanish astronauts? Women, too? Not on your life! I’m willing to stake your lives on it!”

“Actually, she is totally off base, if not totally off the wall, but I doubt you could reason with her in her present state. According to Verbena, you should keep her talking and look for an opening Sam,” Al suggested as he floated around her, looking for that opening.

Sam gave him a very quick dirty look, wondering how he was going to do that with the extreme dangers of her weapon, weightlessness, and the airless vacuum outside the space station. His only hope, he felt, was to talk her out of it.

Sam spoke up cautiously. “Maybe we could help you. Back on Earth, we could get you into the astronaut program. You are very talented and resourceful to say the least. I am sure that the Americans...”

”Americans? AMERICANS? HA! That is a lot of hockey puck! They want nothing of women in space. The Soviet Union is the FUTURE in space. They have the political system, they have the know-how, and they have the vision. Look at their space program. They have sent up astronauts from all different countries and all different races! Who is the bigoted backwards bumpkin? The United States!” she declared, looking triumphant.

Al the younger broke in, “May I humbly point out that this wonderful humanist society that you are pushing has NOT sent up a second woman astronaut? The first was over fifteen years ago!”

A little happy smirk came across her face. “That is about to change. As leader and commander...”

Boris seemed to be getting angrier, “...American gangster mole.”

“No, as commander of this station, I will become the new leader of a new era in space. With this LENIN STATION, the Soviet Union will follow me. Natasha Whitlock,” she said, pointing at herself.

“They never follow dirty low dogs of woman. You’re in the right place, here in the kitchen. No good anywhere else, WO-MAN! We will never fellow YOU!” Boris spat at her very angrily.

“Then there is no place for you here on this Lenin Station! You can all be left in a permanent orbiting memorial to those who refused to follow me!” she yelled waving her gun in his direction.

“Let’s keep this a bit calmer, guys,” said Sam, trying to get in between the escalating debate on Communist and feminist ideals.

Tasha turned to Sam, “Back off, Navy britches. This is between us Communists! You better think again, Boris. There is only one rising star who is going to shine brighter than the sun now. You BETTER DECIDE TO FOLLOW ME!!”

Following some cursing in Russian, Boris again shouted, ”NEVER!!” and signaled to the other cosmonaut as they both pushed off the back wall and charged the traitorous American. Aghast, she shot twice at Igor hitting him once in the chest and once through the side. The bullet in his side exited his back, bounced off the kitchen microwave and ricocheted into the man Skylab cabin. Boris grabbed Tasha as Sam and Al strained to see where the bullet impacted.

Another ping could be heard as it stuck one of the stabilization panels that contained the rewired electronic circuit cards. Sparks shot from the panel as it sizzled and finally burst into flames. 

“Holy Shit,” cried out Al the younger. “Grab the extinguisher, Firefly! Now what?”

Sam was about to ask Al the observer about the damage when the vibration from a thruster firing could be heard and then felt. Skylab kicked over one side and then back as another thruster went off.

Boris stopped struggling with Mata as the dead or unconscious Igor floated listlessly.

“We are in deep trouble guys,” exclaimed Al as he grabbed for a fire extinguisher when two more errant thrusters fired in the same direction, sending the Skylab into a different spin. Whereas the Earth had been spinning beneath the Skylab, now it and sun passed by the windows very randomly.

“Sam!” called out Al the observer. “Skylab is tumbling and probably heading for Earth. The motion can only get worse. You have to get out of here before this whole place cracks open like an egg!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

An alarm went off in the Section “K” control room at Vandenberg where Tom Beckett ran over to the orbital mechanics station. The panel indicated that a severe shift occurred in the orbit of the Skylab space station and that she would enter the atmosphere in less than thirty minutes.

Tom Beckett ran over to the railing where the General still stood. “Sir, we have to notify Calavicci and crew to abandon Skylab. She is completely unsalvageable now. In minutes, it will even be too unstable for Constellation to even undock. We HAVE to notify them NOW!”

“Negative to that, Beckett. Those fine boys can save the station in time. We’re giving them all the time they have left. They can save this mission. They have to SAVE this mission,” General Kirkpatrick said, looking right through Tom Beckett.

“No, General. We are going to tell them,” corrected Tom Beckett. “Capcom, notify Constellation...”

The General ran around the railing and headed for the Capcom position. “You are not to obey that order, Commander!” yelled the General as he reached for the mike.

The Capcom looked up at Beckett and then at the General. “Sir, it is my duty to point out that this mission is over. The crew’s lives are in danger at this point!”

“Stop! You must not do that. That is a direct order. The mission must succeed. Those fine boys can save the station. We MUST have that platform! We have to SAVE IT. Don’t you see? We can’t survive without it. We NEED to keep it up there to watch them. To observe them! There’s the enemy out there! We have to...” he pleaded for the microphone. “Please…”

Tom and another control room officer grabbed the General. “Sergeant?” Tom called to the MP standing guard. “Sergeant, the General is not well. Escort him to sickbay!”

“Yes, sir!” he said, taking the quivering General in hand.

“No, you must not. We have to save it. Save it!” he called out as he was escorted out. “Traitors! You’re all traitors!” he shouted out while exiting the control room and walking down the hall. The rest of the control room staff shook their heads and then turned to Commander Thomas Beckett.

“Fruity as a nut cake,” exclaimed the orbital mechanics tech.

Beckett stood up straight. “Silence. He is still an officer in the United States Air Force, Major. Even if he is ill, as long as he wears the same uniform you are wearing, he still deserves our respect. Not our pity. Orbital status!”

The same tech replied, “Hard to judge. Fifteen minutes. Maybe a little more.”

Beckett picked up the same mike the General was grabbing for. “Bingo! Our reports indicate a severe shift in the orbit of Skylab. We are losing altitude fast! You must abandon Skylab. I repeat you must abandon the space station,” he called out. “Bingo? Bingo? Bingo!!!”

PART SEVEN

Commander Al Calavicci was ignoring the urgent calls from mission control, as he seemed to be inside a rolling barrel from an old-fashioned funhouse. Even the crazed Mata could see the danger inside.

“Recommend strategic retreat,” exclaimed Boris after releasing the now dead Igor. “Sleep well, my friends,” he muttered in Russian to his two fallen comrades.

Sam held onto the main floor grate as he could see two sides of the ship buckling from within. Loose items were already floating around the living quarters as equipment, wires, and cables started doing a strange dance in the weightless environment. The whole ship appeared to be experiencing a spiritual poltergeist.

Al looked all around as a growing fear crept up and down his spine. “I declare this mission over and the Skylab a lost cause. You better get to your ship, comrade, before this tin can splits wide open!” yelled Al. “Come on, Firefly! We’re leaving NOW! You too, Ms. Benedict Arnold! And leave that peashooter on board! Constellation is heading home!”

A scared look crossed Mata’s face, which was quickly replaced by a very determined look. “I am going to do save this station. It’s not going anywhere and I am going to stay in command!” She floated over to the Russian Soyuz, closed the hatch, jumped into the center couch, and strapped herself in. She was going to be the savior of the Soviet Union once she rescued the Lenin Station. Looking over the Russian control panel, she desperately tried to figure out the thruster and main engine firing sequences. Though her command of the Russian language was extensive, she had had very little pilot training.

Boris entered the docking module and banged on the hatch. “That is not how you do it. The ship belongs to Soviet people! She does not know. The ship will break loose soon. She will have an accident sooner!”

Sam floated over to the cosmonaut and pulled at Boris. “Boris. Quick! Come with us!” shouted Sam as the shaking within Skylab turned into a constant rolling motion. Air could be heard escaping from in between the over-stressed joints.

Boris looked one more time at his doomed craft and then over at Al who had been so disagreeable up until now.

Al’s jaw squared. He looked at the apocalypse that was forming inside Skylab and then motioned to Boris. “Hurry, guys. Boris, there is room in Constellation now! That crazy bitch! Too late to save her now! Come with us. Hurry. Please!” Al said excitedly.

Al, the observer, called to Sam. “Make it fast, Sam.  You’re losing altitude every second!”

Constellation rocked and rolled as Sam, Al, and Boris strapped themselves into their couches. Through the window, Skylab and its telescope and solar panels looked they were flapping in a nonexistent breeze in the vacuum of space. Constellation was struggling like a fish on a hook. Hissing could be heard around the seal between the craft and the docking port.

“Slam that hatch quickly, Firefly. Don’t worry about the latch sequence. Just push all those latches at once. We have to get out of here before something hits us. Strap yourself in, Ivan. I mean, Boris,” yelled Al as he powered up the thrusters circuits. “We have got one shot at backing away from this bucking bronco!”

Sam pushed the hatch shut as most of the equipment and panels pulled off the walls of the docking module. Slamming down the latches with his observer’s approval, he called back to the other Al that the hatch was secure.

“Here we go!” yelled the younger Calavicci as he threw the thruster controls into reverse throwing Sam against the hatch.

“Ouch!” Sam cried as the latches dug into his back. After the capsule pulled away from the docking port, the Skylab space station increased its erotic dance turning and tumbling away from them. The great golden umbrella that had replaced the missing heat shield broke off and then flew at Constellation, brushing but not damaging their capsule.

Relying on every skill that Al had in regaining control of a tumbling jet fighter, mixed in with a great deal of luck and some other brand new maneuvers, Al fought the tumbling Constellation. The Earth passed in front of them and then on the side.  The dark sky climbed above them as the ship danced on end. Finally, the horizon stabilized while the Skylab pulled away from them and fell toward the blue planet below.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Mata in the Soyuz tried to sequence the thruster firing cycle without success in the tumbling spacecraft.

Pushing buttons that she didn’t really understand, Mata started yelling out at the controls. “Damn you! It’s your fault. We’re going to save this space station, you piece of Russian junk. All I have to do is stabilize it and then fire her into a higher orbit. This station is my station to command. And I will have it to command!” she promised herself.

Instead of settling the craft, the Skylab became more and more unstable as the telescope solar panels flew off. Warning lights and buzzers sounded from all parts of the Soyuz craft as Mata became more and more frustrated.

She paused for a moment as a revelation came to her. “This has got to be it. I am going to save this mother station! It’s going to work!” she exclaimed, now sounding more confident. Triumphantly, the main engine finally fired; however, Skylab was tumbling and at the moment of firing the engine was pointing away from the Earth. Skylab blasted away from Constellation as Mata was pinned against her seat by the force of the acceleration.

Her arms felt heavy as she struggled to reach the control panel. “Jesus! No, it can’t be,” she said, trying to reorient the craft as it headed for Earth, out of control. In less than a minute, the Skylab and Soyuz began to glow as the fiction of the atmosphere heated it up.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“She does not know what she is doing. A cosmonaut she is not,” exclaimed Boris, looking out the window as his stolen spacecraft flew away from Constellation.

The radio crackled as Mata contacted the Apollo craft. “You gotta help me. Bingo. Firefly. I can’t right it. The ship is breaking up…” she screamed as she plummeted.

Al, with his hand on his mike, just started to say something but it was too late. He looked almost sad at the loss of their colleague until he shook his head and then looked quite disgusted. “Man, she was one first class loon! Never came out of any of our astronaut classes!” remarked Al the younger.

“We never have turncoats like that in our Russia. Crazy American dame!” exclaimed Boris. “May she go to hell!” he cursed and spat.

Sam floated down to his couch and fastened himself in. “You know, maybe things will change there, Boris,” suggested Sam.

“About another dozen years, Sam. The Soviet Union has very little life left in it,” exclaimed Al the observer concerning the upcoming change in Russian politics.

“Nyet. Hammer and sickle will always fly. I do say thanks for saving me. My two comrades will be remembered,” he said, lowering his head slightly.

Al fired the main Service Module engine, sending Constellation into a higher and more stable orbit. “They probably will never be mentioned in history, Boris. This mission was too secret and was too screwed-up to be ever made public. And the C.I.A. has a lot to answer for after their snafu with our little Mata Hari!”

Al the older added, “My prediction is absolutely correct as you would expect. Originally, Mata had retired suddenly after this mission and had a breakdown after the Soviet Union collapsed. Now we know why. She’s food for the fishes, the traitor! The Skylab turned into a trail of parts and debris that crossed the south Pacific and the Australian continent. No civilians were killed or injured. It’s a shame that we lost it, but it is also no longer a threat either. No more crazy nukes pointed at Washington.”

Commander Beckett finally broke in. “Bingo? Bingo? Are you there, Constellation? Come in! Come in! Over!”

Al sighed and keyed in his mike. “Roger, Vandenberg, this is Constellation. We are in a stable orbit.”

A big cheer could be heard in the background as Beckett replied, “Constellation. Vandenberg. That’s great, Bingo. What’s your status?”

“Vandenberg. Constellation. Three missing crewmen including Lieutenant Whitlock. We have one scared cosmonaut in tow. Skylab and their Soyuz craft are a total loss,” reported Al, drained of emotion.

“Constellation. Vandenberg. Roger. We are tracking the debris pattern. Your current orbit is 102 by 123. Recommend two more orbits and then you’ll be in position for splashdown near Hawaii. USS Wichita is awaiting your arrival,” replied Tom as he looked over at the orbital mechanics panel.

“Roger that. Will be glad to get home. Calavicci out!” exclaimed Al. 

“Sounds good to me,” exclaimed Sam.

“Ditto. This mission did not end the way we wanted, but the world is safe for now. I have had enough and I’m quitting,” exclaimed Al. “There has got to be a better way to earn my retirement pay!”

Boris shook his head. “Nyet, I am on the next Salyut mission. I return!”

Al sat back, breathed a little easier and watched the Earth pass below them. “How about you, Firefly?”

“He goes to work on Navy planes in Washington!” interjected Al the observer. “No more flights for Astronaut Brooks.”

Sam shrugged his shoulders. “You never know where I might end up next!”

Three hours and twenty minutes later, three large parachutes opened over the Pacific Ocean. Sam could see the blue sky and clouds above them. The parachute lines shot up in what looked like a mess and then rearranged in long straight lines, forming three beautiful cones topped off by the red and white striped parachutes. The capsule swung back and forth under the shoots until Constellation hit the water at thirty miles an hour.

Bingo reported, “Constellation. Vandenberg. We are down and safe in Stable Condition One. Wonderful spacecraft. Lousy boat. This is the end of the flight of Constellation. Calavicci over and out.”

Al reached deep into his personal gear and pulled out a well-disguised Corona Special. “Damn, I missed you guys!” he exclaimed as he lit up and then sighed after a big puff.

“What’s the story about all those pencils you were carrying around and tapping on everything with?” asked Sam.

“Can’t smoke with all those bottles of oxygen around. Another reason I’m quitting the astronaut corps. Now that’s heaven,” he said, blowing out some smoke as a Navy frogman opened the hatch. “Go ahead, Firefly, Boris. I am saying good-bye to Constellation and hello to El Corona. Smooth as silk!” Al purred as the older Al agreed and lit up his own “end-of-leap” celebration. 

Sam stood up in the capsule hatchway as in the salty breeze of the South Pacific. The hot moist ocean air felt so different compared to the sterile air of the space capsule. He stretched to his full length as the sun shone upon his face. Al the observer stepped through the capsule hull and out onto the surface of the ocean. He looked down smiled and then let some ash fall into the holographic water.

“Not the first time I showed godlike tendencies. Welcome home, Sam. You made a good astronaut. But that ended my NASA career.  In a few years, after some alcohol related problems, I end up at StarBright. Now you should leap. So have a good trip, Flash Gordon,” he said, waving goodbye to Sam.

Sam smiled at Al as he leaped into the thousands of blue streaks of quarks, getting mixed up with all the stardust along the infinite corridors of time.

EPILOGUE

Doctor Sam Beckett once again felt the serenity of the warm blue light that enveloped every fiber of his being upon leaping.  The eternal void gradually faded from the quantum physicist’s eyesight, replaced by a large room with wooden mahogany walls.  As Sam’s vision cleared and the whining sound in his ears vanished, he realized that he was standing behind a large table.  At the front of the room was a high podium where a judge sat, dressed in a black robe.  He appeared to be in his early to mid-fifties, possibly older:  Sam couldn’t tell from where he was standing.  The nameplate read Judge Harold Shearer.  To the far right of him was an empty wooden booth where a jury would normally sit during a trial.

‘I’m in a courtroom,’ Sam realized.  ‘But there’s no jury; does that mean I’m at the arraignment, or the sentencing?’

As Sam looked around the courtroom, he saw a large crowd of people gathered in the pews behind him, sitting and watching the proceedings with deep interest.  Directly standing to his right was a middle-aged man in a business suit who Sam assumed must have been his lawyer.  It became readily apparent to Doctor Beckett that all eyes in the courtroom were focused on him.

Judge Shearer broke the silence by asking, “Does your client have trouble hearing, Mister Riley?”

“No, Your Honor,” the lawyer answered before turning his head to Sam in annoyance, whispering, “I can’t help you anymore, Leon.  Your fate is in the judge’s hands now.  He asked you to approach with counsel, so just follow me.”

Realizing that the judge had asked him to come forward before he leaped in, Sam began walking to the front of the room as the bailiff and several guards stood at the ready, in case he decided to do something stupid.  Sam couldn’t help but get a queasy feeling in his stomach as he wondered what sort of crime the leapee had committed to warrant such extreme security measures.  He didn’t need Al there to tell him that it was probably something especially heinous if the looks he received from the people around him were any indication.  The judge’s words brought Sam back to attention.

“After carefully considering all of the facts in this case, taking into account the brutal nature of the crimes which were indicative of wanton cruelty, the Court finds that the defendant has been found guilty on all twelve counts of murder in the first degree and has also been found guilty on all nine counts of rape and aggravated assault.”

Sam’s heart nearly stopped.  He expected that the judge was about to sentence him to death.  He had leaped into someone on death row once before and had no intention of putting himself there again.  What the judge said next, however, threw Sam for an even bigger loop.

“Therefore,” Judge Shearer continued, “it is the judgment of this Court that Mister Stiles be remanded to Oklahoma State Penitentiary for the duration of his life to serve each one of his life sentences, all running consecutively one after the other, without the possibility of parole.”

“Stiles?” Sam whispered to himself in shock.  “Leon Stiles?” he added as he remembered that his lawyer had called him Leon about thirty seconds earlier.

As the judge’s sentence came down, some people gasped as mixed emotions flooded the room.  “Order!” the judge announced as he banged his gavel down, reminding everyone to settle down until the proceedings were over.

All Sam could think of saying in response was,  “Oh boy!”