—Henry
Vaughan, 1621-1695
Reports
from Psyche XIV came in regularly, all routine, until just before their return
window opened. Then all at once Commander Rogers radioed that they had left
surface, had rejoined the ship, and were commencing departure procedures - 82
hours 18 minutes early. Houston of course demanded explanations, but Psyche's
answers were erratic. The 220-second answer lag didn't help. Psyche kept
breaking contact. Once Rogers said, 'We have got to bring her home now if we're
going to do it at all,' apparently in answer to Houston's questions, but the
next thing was Hughes asking for a reading, and then something about a dosage.
The sun was noisy and reception was very bad. The voice transmission ceased
without sign-off.
The
automatic information feed from the ship continued. Departure was normal.
Normal, reports came in during the twenty-six days of flight which the
astronauts spent in drugged sleep on HKL and I.V. hookups. There was no medical
monitor on Psyche missions. The only link with the crew was voice contact. When
they did not call in on Day 2, the long tension at Houston tightened to
despair.
The
onboard automatics, directed by the ground crew, had just about established
Psyche's re-entry course when the dead speakers suddenly said in Hughes's
voice, 'Houston, can you give me readings. Optical interference here.' They
tried to direct him, but the one attempt he made at a manual correction was
disastrous, and took ground control five hours to compensate. They told him
hands off, they'd bring in the ship. Almost immediately after that they lost
voice contact again.
The
great pale parachutes opened above the grey Pacific, roses slowly falling out
of heaven. The speed-burnt ship screamed steam, plunging; popped back up and
rocked, quiet, on the long deep swells. Ground control had done a beautiful
job. She was down within a half-kilo of the California. Helicopters
hovered, rafts assembled, the ship was stabilized, the hatch was opened. Nobody
scrambled out.
They
went in and brought them out.
Commander
Rogers was in his flight seat, still strapped down and plugged into the HKL and
I.V.s. He had been dead about ten days, and it was clear why the others had not
opened his suit.
Captain
Temski seemed physically unhurt, but dazed and bewildered. He did not speak, or
respond to instructions. They had to manhandle him to haul him out of the ship,
though he put up no active resistance.
Dr
Hughes was in a state of collapse, but fully conscious; he appeared to be
blind.
'Please...'
'Can
you see anything?'
'Yes!
Please let me have the blindfold.'
'Do
you see this light I'm showing? What color is it, Dr Hughes?'
'All
colors, white, it's too bright.'
'Will
you point towards it, please?'
'It's
everywhere. It's too bright.'
'The
room's quite dark, Dr Hughes. Now, will you open your eyes again, please.'
'It
isn't dark.'
'Mmmh.
Possible supersensitivity here. All right now, how about that? Dark enough for
you?'
'Make
it dark!'
'No,
keep your hands down, please. Take it easy. All right, we'll put the compresses
back on.'
The
struggling man relaxed as soon as his eyes were covered, and lay still,
breathing hard. His narrow face, framed in a month's growth of dark beard, was
oiled with sweat. 'I'm sorry,' he said.
'We'll
try again later on when you've rested.'
'Will
you open your eyes, please. The room's quite dark.'
'Why
do you tell me that when it's not dark?'
'Dr
Hughes, I can hardly make out your face; I've got the faintest red illumination
on my scope - nothing else. Can you see me?'
'No!
I can't see for the light!'
The
doctor increased the illumination until he could see Hughes's face, the
clenched jaw, the open, dazzled, frightened eyes.
'There,
does that make it any darker?' he asked with the sarcasm of helplessness.
'No!'
Hughes shut his eyes; he had gone dead white. 'Get dizzy,' he muttered, 'the
whirling,' then he gasped for breath and began to vomit.
Hughes
was unmarried and had
Vaughan, 1621-1695
Reports
from Psyche XIV came in regularly, all routine, until just before their return
window opened. Then all at once Commander Rogers radioed that they had left
surface, had rejoined the ship, and were commencing departure procedures - 82
hours 18 minutes early. Houston of course demanded explanations, but Psyche's
answers were erratic. The 220-second answer lag didn't help. Psyche kept
breaking contact. Once Rogers said, 'We have got to bring her home now if we're
going to do it at all,' apparently in answer to Houston's questions, but the
next thing was Hughes asking for a reading, and then something about a dosage.
The sun was noisy and reception was very bad. The voice transmission ceased
without sign-off.
The
automatic information feed from the ship continued. Departure was normal.
Normal, reports came in during the twenty-six days of flight which the
astronauts spent in drugged sleep on HKL and I.V. hookups. There was no medical
monitor on Psyche missions. The only link with the crew was voice contact. When
they did not call in on Day 2, the long tension at Houston tightened to
despair.
The
onboard automatics, directed by the ground crew, had just about established
Psyche's re-entry course when the dead speakers suddenly said in Hughes's
voice, 'Houston, can you give me readings. Optical interference here.' They
tried to direct him, but the one attempt he made at a manual correction was
disastrous, and took ground control five hours to compensate. They told him
hands off, they'd bring in the ship. Almost immediately after that they lost
voice contact again.
The
great pale parachutes opened above the grey Pacific, roses slowly falling out
of heaven. The speed-burnt ship screamed steam, plunging; popped back up and
rocked, quiet, on the long deep swells. Ground control had done a beautiful
job. She was down within a half-kilo of the California. Helicopters
hovered, rafts assembled, the ship was stabilized, the hatch was opened. Nobody
scrambled out.
They
went in and brought them out.
Commander
Rogers was in his flight seat, still strapped down and plugged into the HKL and
I.V.s. He had been dead about ten days, and it was clear why the others had not
opened his suit.
Captain
Temski seemed physically unhurt, but dazed and bewildered. He did not speak, or
respond to instructions. They had to manhandle him to haul him out of the ship,
though he put up no active resistance.
Dr
Hughes was in a state of collapse, but fully conscious; he appeared to be
blind.
'Please...'
'Can
you see anything?'
'Yes!
Please let me have the blindfold.'
'Do
you see this light I'm showing? What color is it, Dr Hughes?'
'All
colors, white, it's too bright.'
'Will
you point towards it, please?'
'It's
everywhere. It's too bright.'
'The
room's quite dark, Dr Hughes. Now, will you open your eyes again, please.'
'It
isn't dark.'
'Mmmh.
Possible supersensitivity here. All right now, how about that? Dark enough for
you?'
'Make
it dark!'
'No,
keep your hands down, please. Take it easy. All right, we'll put the compresses
back on.'
The
struggling man relaxed as soon as his eyes were covered, and lay still,
breathing hard. His narrow face, framed in a month's growth of dark beard, was
oiled with sweat. 'I'm sorry,' he said.
'We'll
try again later on when you've rested.'
'Will
you open your eyes, please. The room's quite dark.'
'Why
do you tell me that when it's not dark?'
'Dr
Hughes, I can hardly make out your face; I've got the faintest red illumination
on my scope - nothing else. Can you see me?'
'No!
I can't see for the light!'
The
doctor increased the illumination until he could see Hughes's face, the
clenched jaw, the open, dazzled, frightened eyes.
'There,
does that make it any darker?' he asked with the sarcasm of helplessness.
'No!'
Hughes shut his eyes; he had gone dead white. 'Get dizzy,' he muttered, 'the
whirling,' then he gasped for breath and began to vomit.
Hughes
was unmarried and had
Similar Books
