Karl's Last Flight

Prologue

StrataCorp Personal Space Flights.

Sending the Stars to the Stars.

Imagine yourself floating weightless in near-space, two hundred miles above the Earth’s surface.

If you have taken every hot, fashionable vacation, done every extravagant thing worth doing on the planet, don’t be dismayed. There is still one more place you can go. You can indulge yourself with a trip to the final frontier: space.

With packages starting as low as two million dollars you can experience what only a select few, the elite of the elite, have ever or will ever get a chance to experience.

After an intensive week-long training program based on NASA’s Official Astronaut Training Course, and run by real veteran astronauts, you will be ready for the ride of a lifetime.

StrataCorp ships launch from our state of the art facility in Phoenix, Arizona, in the beautiful west of the United States of America. After a powerful ascent at five thousand miles per hour, you will weightlessly glide through the majesty of outer space experiencing the celestial sights as is not possible anywhere on earth.

See the stars and planets untouched by atmosphere or city lights. And best of all, get a whole new perspective on just how small and fragile this place we call home is when you look back through the windows to the glowing blue and green ball of the Earth hundreds of miles beneath your feet.

The experience is simply breathtaking, a once-in-your-life event that you will cherish for the rest of time. Call now to reserve your flight. Spaces are limited, but there are still a small number of seats available for the late 2008 season.

Packages currently come in two, four, or six hours or special half-day rates where you can link up with the International Space Station and share a meal with the men and women who spend every day in the wonder of outer space.

Singles and couples are welcome. What a terrific way to spend a honeymoon with the one you love. Coming in the fall of ‘09, StrataCorp will offer separately priced Space Walk packages, with which you can actually exit the spacecraft and float free with only a safety tether holding you back to the world.

Come on, if you are a star, reserve your place in outer space today. The other stars are calling your name.

Pricing and availability subject to change due to weather and other unforeseen conditions. All prices are per person, no multi-passenger discounts available at this time. Passengers are required to attend the week-long training session and have proof of their own life and safety insurance. StrataCorp reserves the right to refuse service to anyone whom it deems unfit for space flight and is not responsible for undisclosed medical, physical, or psychological conditions that may adversely affect the passenger before, during, or after the flight. A complete pre-flight physical is required for all customers.

Chapter 1

April 15

1 A.M., Mountain Standard Time

Sweat ran off his face beneath the blazing desert sun. The heat was dry, oven-like, searing his throat and lips with every inhalation. His closely cropped scalp formed beads of sweat that ran down his neck in hot rivulets. It briefly soaked the Nomex fibers of his collar before it evaporated, forming a salt ring around the top of his flight suit. He scanned the scene around him and wondered how in the world this could have happened?

Karl Alexander was an experienced astronaut with over seventy StrataCorp flights under his belt. Prior to StrataCorp, he had a career with NASA in which he racked up seven successful shuttle missions. Misfortune had wheedled its way into this trip from before they left the atmosphere. It started when his craft was hit by something as it rocketed through the sky shortly after launch. It may have been a bird or a piece of debris carried by the wind. It may even have been some kind of meteorite that just happened to find its way into his flight path. Whatever it was, it was small, but it hit the ship hard enough that it visibly creased a panel just below the front porthole.

He was not terribly concerned at first. The creased panel was high on the side of the ship where it did not seem to be in danger of making major contact with the intense friction of reentry. It would probably cause a somewhat bouncy ride going down, but he thought that it wouldn’t be too bad. A few minutes after the object hit, Karl’s client got airsick. Mr. Soren The Wolf Stagel, Ultimate Fighting Champion and action movie star, tossed his steak and eggs in the tiny space of the titanium and Plexiglas helmet he was wearing as they blasted up through the clouds at seven Gs.

The smell of vomit hangs in the air for a long time in any confined area. That is particularly true in an enclosed atmospheric system like a spaceship where one cannot simply open the windows to air things out. While it was without a doubt quite disgusting, the puke-filled helmet was nonetheless not a major problem either. Sanitary cleansing wipes were available for the client to wash with. And there were plastic bags to put the mess in. Karl always kept a couple of spare helmets for just such a contingency. This was not the first time it had happened, nor did he expect it to be the last. The real problem started after Karl leveled the ship into orbit and his motion-sick client rinsed his mouth out.

The safe procedure for spitting liquids into a container in zero gravity had been covered in the week-long pre-flight training session. Stagel, being a stereotypical Hollywood narcissistic egomaniac, had not paid much attention to that or any part of the training. He had spent most of the time posing for the photographers and hitting on the female staff members at StrataCorp. One of the female staffers had found it necessary to threaten him with a lawsuit in order to cool his libido-inflamed jets. His lack of attentiveness in the training sessions was a problem from the moment they got on the ramp to enter the spacecraft.

Mr. Stagel managed to get his helmet locked on sideways, covering one-half of his face with the solid titanium shielding that belonged on the back of his head. The thick padding in the back of the helmet smashed the left side of his face, muffling his curses. This fairly comical moment was quickly remedied and the helmet straightened out and properly locked. Karl had even managed to maintain a straight face, although the photographers were practically rolling on the ground as they got shots of the movie star’s mashed-up features. Once they entered the ship and got into their seats, Mr. Stagel fumbled with his harness until Karl latched it for him. If Soren Stagel had paid enough attention in training to remember those elementary things, he probably would not have forgotten the rather essential requirement of sealing the waste bag to his face before spitting.

After filling his mouth with water and swishing it around several times, he gingerly held the open bag nearly a foot below his lips and let the vomit-tainted water fall out, as if he was standing over a sink. Rather than dropping into the clear plastic container, the liquid hung in the air as a semi-solid ball. To help it on its way to the bag, Soren Stagel blew on it. The breath, though, did not strike the globe at center mass. It brushed against side of the fluid sphere, setting it in a slow reverse spin that glided gently away.

Soren grinned in childlike amazement as the globule of liquid slowly drifted across the cabin. Like a green-tinted Jell-O ball with chunks of undigested meat and egg, it weightlessly undulated through the air. He reached up and pressed on the fluid mass with a gloved hand, fingers outstretched. It broke into several smaller masses, some of which accelerated away from him. The orbs made their way in the direction of Karl and the main computer console that surrounded him.

Karl had just removed his own helmet and returned to his seat to resume control of the ship. He had placed the craft on auto-pilot while helping with the cleanup. A moment after he strapped back in, the first drops of wetness hit the back of his head. He turned in time to see Stagel rear back and smack his palm through the largest of the blobs of goo. It burst into hundreds of smaller globes of liquid, which Stagel started waving his hands through in an effort to dissipate the spreading fluid mass. Rather than making the increasingly small globs of water go away, he pushed the now finer droplets towards the control panel.

Several of the masses reconnected in mid-flight and formed back into larger orbs of the nasty, vomitous fluid. Once rejoined, they moved with greater speed as their energy combined. The entire mass drifted towards the control panel around Karl.

Stop! shouted Karl. Just sit still, you’re spreading it everywhere. You are going to force it into the panel!

His warning was too late. Karl’s eyes followed a troop of puke globs—some large masses and some like a fine mist—as they headed in concert directly towards the navigation computer’s ventilation grate above his head. His heart jumped in his chest. He hurriedly reached for a magnetized clipboard stuck to the control console. Karl’s aim fell short. He grunted in pain as he smacked his knuckles into the edge of the front panel. The blow sent the clipboard tumbling adrift out of his immediate reach.

The cloud of water and digestive juices made its way into the ventilation grate like an invading army. A blinding flash exploded before his eyes as the liquid contacted bare electrical circuits and sent sparks flying out of the computer. The panel of indicator lights and glowing green LCD screens flickered on and off several times then went completely out. Half of the main console was dead, blue and green flames dancing wildly through the grate in a sparking electrical fire. The ship’s instant fire suppression system shot a burst of white mist inside the navigation computer’s open grates, but the damage was already done. The acrid smell of burnt wires filled the small craft’s cabin. It would take several minutes for the air filters to clean up the toxic fumes of the destroyed equipment and bring back fresh, comfortably breathable air.

Oh, God! We’re on fire! screamed Soren, his eyes wide with terror. Do something! It’ll burn up our air! The smoke is burning my eyes!

Damn, muttered Karl. He turned to the controls and started running through the auto-restart process.

Get us down from here, now! Stagel shouted, near hysteria. Floating above his chair, he thrashed with his arms and legs in a weightless effort to get closer to Karl. His limbs moved like he was trying to swim, but he remained in position above his chair. Karl thought that he looked like a cartoon character trying to run but unable to get started.

He gave up trying to move and shouted from where he floated. If I get hurt, I’m going to sue you for this! This is all your fault!

Please stay calm and sit down, Mr. Stagel, Karl responded in a deep, even voice. He struggled to get the backup navigation system on line. The main computer, which included the GPS locater and primary navigation system, displayed an error on the screen every time he rebooted it. As he worked on it, his concern deepened. The backup navigation computer also flashed an error.

The ship shuddered. Stagel emitted a girlish shriek of terror. Karl studied the few still-working displays in front of him. There was not enough information to get a grasp on what systems were still operational. Stagel suddenly went into a tirade of insults.

You stupid ass! You idiot! I thought you were some veteran astronaut. Don’t you know how to fly your own ship, old man? You old freaking fart! You should have retired long ago! I bet you were only a C-student in college, weren’t you? You probably quit NASA because you couldn’t hack it with the real astronauts! If you don’t land this thing right now, I am going to kick your ass!

Karl ignored him and continued trying to get the ship back online.

Don’t think I’m joking! I am the UFC World Champion! I am ‘The Wolf!’

The actor grew louder and louder. The noise disrupted Karl’s concentration. Out of exasperation, Karl turned and spoke with authority. Shut up and sit down, Mr. Stagel! If you had paid attention in training instead of flirting with the ladies on my staff, we wouldn’t be in this mess. I need to get this thing on backup navigation. Your stupid little stunt just blew the main tracking computer. So shut your trap and strap yourself in to your seat! Now, Mr. Stagel!

The Wolf stared in stunned silence at the pilot.

Karl turned back to the controls and resumed his work. He expected to hear the click of the straps being secured around the actor’s body. After several seconds, no sound came from behind him. Karl turned around to make sure the actor was strapping himself in. Soren drifted weightlessly in front of the seat. A wide-eyed, crazed expression was plastered on his face. He stared out the window in which hung the cloud-edged curve of the earth and beyond that, deep space.

Hey! I said strap in! Get in your chair, Mr. Stagel! Karl ordered.

The hardcore ultimate fighting champ who played tough guy roles in movies shifted his wild eyes to Karl. He opened his mouth as if to speak, paused, let out a whimper, and then started into a whole-body panic. An almost ultrasonic, high-pitched scream split the air in the cabin with a physical force that rattled Karl’s eardrums. A few seconds into the outburst, the movie star started to gasp for air. Stagel’s face turned deep red.

Mr. Stagel, Karl spoke calmly and evenly, Everything is going to be all right. Please calm down and sit in your chair. We’ve got to get this thing back to Earth now and everything will be fine.

Stagel suddenly grabbed at his chest. A squeaky wheeze, like a rubber duck being stepped on, came from his mouth. His eyes closed, his jaw slackened, and his body went limp. Stagel’s head bowed forward as if venerating the scene out the window.

Karl turned back to the panel and looked at the bio-sensor read-out, one of the few LCDs still working. The actor was flat-line. His pulse and breathing had just stopped. A light flashed on the bio-display. The Automatic Defibrillator in Stagel’s space suit kicked in. The actor’s body jumped when the high-voltage shock hit him. No reaction. The defibrillator hit him with a second shock, then a third. Still no reaction.

Karl unbuckled himself and started to rise from his seat. He would try manual CPR. Before he cleared the chair, another brilliant flash of light sent sparks flying out from the panel. The craft lurched into a sudden turn. Karl tumbled sideways, careening into the wall. He smashed his head into the grating where the first fire had erupted. The entire main computer terminal flickered on and off. Intermittent flashes of light burst from under the panel followed by wisps of foul-smelling blue and green smoke. The spacecraft leveled itself and then dipped its nose towards the atmospheric layer of haze that surrounded the Earth.

Karl pulled himself back into the seat, strapped in and hastily squeezed his helmet down. He barely latched it to the flightsuit collar when the craft began the automated reentry sequence. He no longer had the ability to control the ship. There was nothing he could do for Soren The Wolf Stagel now. The craft leaned into a steep descent and hurtled to the Earth at twenty-five thousand miles per hour. All Karl could do was hold on and pray until the mass of titanium and technology came to rest on terra firma.

Atmospheric friction cast a fiery yellow glow through the windows of the ship as it shook its way down. It bounced violently through the air. The crease in the side panel turned out to be deeper than he thought, deep enough to ruin the aerodynamics of the ship. The spacecraft’s body roared like a clap thunder stuck mid-explosion as it crashed its way into the ever-increasing atmospheric pressure. Karl’s ears rang in high-pitched resistance to the storm of sound. His head felt as if it might explode from the noise alone. For the first time in his life, Karl wondered if he might not walk away from this flight.

The ship rattled and shook as it shot through layers of cloud and wind that swirled in the turbulent atmosphere. Karl’s head swam with dizziness. He felt like a bean being shaken in a maraca. His eyes couldn’t focus. The world was a blur as it trembled in the hellish flame that flashed up from beneath the ship. In a space between the clouds, he made out the rough boundaries of land and oceans beneath. The world turned red, then for a moment went gray and then faded out completely into a silent darkness.

When Karl came back to consciousness the ground seemed to be only inches away. He braced himself for impact. He tensed his muscles as the craft lowered to the surface. It touched the earth briefly, then dropped hard and skidded across the surface at several hundred miles per hour. Brake chutes deployed automatically, crushing Karl’s body against the straps of his seat harness. The ship’s rapid deceleration created a reverse G-thrust that made him feel like his eyeballs might shoot out of his head and smash through his helmet and onto through the thick Plexiglas window in front of him. Stagel’s unsecured body slammed violently against the back of Karl’s seat. His bones and flesh shattered from the force of the impact with a sickening wet crack. Red liquid spattered the walls on either side of Karl and spotted the windshield in front of him

Moments later, the craft came to rest on a hard, dry piece of ground in a bright sunlit stony desert. Karl removed his helmet. Unable to move, he remained in the chair for several minutes until his body and the craft came to a stop. Once he gathered his composure, he reached above his head and manually opened the airlock seals on the thick metal emergency hatch. Atmosphere rushed in with a loud hiss as the airlock seals released the positive pressure in the cabin. He sucked in the fresh-tasting air, filling his lungs, then unlatched the straps and got up. As he rose from his seat, Karl looked back into the cabin of the craft.

Soren The Wolf Stagel was dead. Very dead. His body had smashed into the back of Karl’s seat with such force that his space suit had ripped and his abdomen had burst open, spewing organs in a bloody, slimy mess across the interior of the cabin. The limbs of the actor’s body were contorted like a marionette that had been dropped; every joint in his body had come dislocated. His un-helmeted face was smashed beyond recognition. Pieces seemed to be missing.

Karl felt sick to his stomach at the sight of the gore splattered across the interior of his ship. He glanced down at the outer shell of his space suit. It was peppered with blood and bits of flesh. He stripped off that part of his clothing, leaving only the zippered blue Nomex jumpsuit. Head swimming from the nausea-inducing scene and still dizzy from reentry, body shaking, he climbed out of the small spacecraft. As Karl lifted his foot through the exit, the toe of his boot caught on the lip of the hatch. He tripped over the edge of the opening and tumbled awkwardly down the ladder, landing on his face in the hot, hard sand nearly two meters below.

The astronaut raised himself to one knee, cross-eyed from landing on his head. He shook off the blow then raised his head and forced his eyes to focus. He surveyed the area. There seemed to be mountains in the distance. But he couldn’t tell how far; their fuzzy edges wavered in the blazing desert heat. He would wait. Help should be on the way soon. The control guys would have tracked his descent all the way down. A small lizard scurried into the shade of the craft as a light, hot breeze blew across the vast desert landscape. He let out a deep sigh.

Maybe Fiji, he pondered aloud, startling the lizard. Fiji sounds like a good place to retire.

Chapter 2

April 15

2 A.M. Mountain Standard Time

The lizard looked up from the shade of the wreckage. Bulging eyes, which seemed entirely too big for its conical head, stared up at Karl. It looked at him with an expression as if thinking, Thank you for the shade. You do not belong here. Unless you have food for me, please leave. But leave the shade.

Karl glanced back at the lizard and said aloud, This is a wonderful place you have here. Thanks for inviting me; I don’t plan to stay long though.

The lizard stared back, unflinching. Its tongue flicked out, slid across its face, then snapped back into its mouth. The creature resumed staring at Karl, still as a stone.

Karl pulled back the cuff of his sleeve and looked down at his wristwatch. It had been about an hour since his ship came to rest here. The only movement in the vast, rocky desert came from sparse tufts of dry brown grass that waved back and forth in an arrhythmic dance to the hot breeze that intermittently wafted by. Those random patches of seemingly dead grass jutted at odd angles from the dusty ground like a bad case of bed head. Gazing across the desolate landscape, he marveled that anything, the grass or the lizard, could live in such a place.

Small sharp rocks lay scattered across the hard sand, punctuated by the jagged edges of boulders that rose menacingly from the desert floor, some as high as three or four meters. Karl wondered how his craft had managed to miss them. Had he hit one of them at the rate of speed at which he landed, his ship would have been thrown end over end and probably disintegrated from the impact.

He sat in the almost comfortable shade of his ship and tried to figure out where on the globe he might be. His navigation computer and the backup navigation computer had both gone out. He couldn’t be sure of his location. Judging by the position of the sun, he was in the lower northern hemisphere not more than a couple thousand kilometers north of the equator.

He pulled out a portable handheld GPS from inside the Velcro flap of his flight suit breast pocket. The small, yellow plastic-encased digital device had survived both the reentry and the landing, only to get smashed in his pocket as he tumbled out of the ship after the crash. The remnants of the liquid crystal display screen looked like a splattered bug against the broken shards of glass. Its computer seemed to work, but the only text he could see was part of a capital letter K in the top left corner of the screen.

Well, he said aloud, I am in a place that starts with a ‘K’. That should narrow it down a bit. I am pretty sure it isn’t Kansas or Kentucky, so what other places might it be?

He glanced at his watch. It was only two a.m., but the sun was already nearing the early afternoon side of its arc through the sky. He was ten or more hours east of Arizona. He thought over all the details he could remember about his flight trajectory. Based on his last known location in space, his speed at reentry, and his estimated altitude before blacking out, Karl calculated that he was somewhere in the Middle East or Central Asia. He tried to recall the bodies of water he saw before he blacked out.

Was that the Indian Ocean or the Caribbean Sea? he muttered to the lizard, who had closed its eyes and seemed to be meditating. Karl wondered if the lizard was dreaming of eating dehydrated human. He shook that thought as fast as it came.

I don’t even know how long I was unconscious. This thing could have flown halfway around the world in the time I was out.

He concluded that the most likely guess would be that he was between Turkey and the Central Asian Republics. The K on the GPS made him think that it might be Kazakhstan, but that seemed too far north. Exactly where he was would be pretty hard to find out, but judging by the terrain and climate, the position of the sun and the time of day, he was quite sure it was Central Asia.

It didn’t really matter, except for estimating how long it would take for his rescue to arrive. The distress beacon, under the main console in the