by G.M. Shephard

ReWrite of Angel's Season One Pilot

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Dear fans and first time readers. What you are about to read is a major revision to the original pilot of Angel. In preparing my completed work for publishing, I felt the fist episode was in desperate need of a serious overhaul. The first scene was just that–the first scene I had ever written. As I progressed over the course of eight months, I often felt myself returning to the pilot with a feeling of displeasure. The opening paragraph drew me into the story, but it immediately turned into a narrative backstory that I couldn't help but feel bored readers.

In addition, the pilot's style differed greatly as my storytelling rapidly evolved. I could feel a sense of change between the pilot and the remaining story and subsequent sequel. To resolve this, I rewrote the pilot, taking each component of the backstory and placing it into conversations between Michael and his crew hours before he is ejected into space and his destiny is forever transformed.

Now, each of the crew are introduced immediately. Michael and Megan's friendship is established in the first flashback scene. In addition to the early introductions, seasoned fans will appreciate the added foreshadowing and new readers will be immersed into the action much sooner in the story while setting up the events about to transpire.

A couple quick notes. Existing fans, you will notice several changes in the story that will cause some minor continuity problems. These wil be resolved as the remaining story is revised prior to publication. New Readers, if you continue to read, also note, there will be some discrepancies. I recommend reviewing the original pilot for reference.

I hope you will all enjoy this new version as much as I do. The raw emotion of the scenes draws me in, connects me with the characters and won't let up throughout the story.

Enjoy.
GM Shephard.

---Part I "Failure"---  
  
My final moment was upon me.   Fear took ahold of me as I checked my O2 levels for the hundredth time.   5% according to the gauge.   Breathing was a growing struggle as the pressure in my suit continued to plummet.  
Using the mirror attached to the left wrist on my EMU suit, I savored my final glimpses of the Earth.  It was the best I could do to keep the blue and green sphere that I called home in my view during the last moments I had among the world of the living. With the nitrogen in my Manned Maneuvering Unit depleted, I couldn't correct my axis to allow a full frontal view of my home. This is how it would end for me, I would die alone in the blackness of space, and my decaying corpse would drift forever throughout the cosmos.
“Where had everything gone wrong?”

---Two hours ago---

“Michael, Pendleton wasn’t your fault. You know that. His suit ruptured and he decompressed,” Dr. Megan McCormack said as we sat in the flight deck of the ship’s FAST Pack, secluded from the rest of the crew. "I did everything I could to save him, but after a long exposure to a vacuum, his lungs collapsed, causing respiratory failure. I tried, but on this cramped ship, my resources were limited. Even in a hospital, there would be little we could have done."

“I know Doc. One hundred and twenty seconds. If only we could have re-pressurized him a few seconds sooner."

“Perhaps, but maybe not. We all acted according to our training. No, better than our training. No one will fault us, it was a freak accident. These are the risks we take to save the world. Now Michael, we could re-run that moment over and over again, learning each time, and we would never come close to making up that time. It was simply his time.”

“Thanks Doc, I know, but still hurts. I'm the commander of this mission and I have to take responsibility for my crew," I explained to my friend as I checked my watch to see how much more time we had.

It was a godsend that the mission planners felt it wise to have Megan as part of the crew. We needed a surgeon being so far away from Earth during our year long mission. Having a doctor who also had a P.h.D in psychology was advantageous. Some days I felt like my responsibility was to just too much to bear and having her on board to listen to my burdens restored the confidence I had in my abilities to lead my team.

“Michael, You have done a remarkable job commanding this mission. I can’t imagine anyone doing a better job than you. Think about what we have accomplished. We are the first international crew, a joint effort between the us and the Russians. We are flying the largest spacecraft ever built, with revolutionary nuclear propulsion, something our two countries built together. We’ve journeyed as far as Mars’ orbit. Sean landed us on the asteroid, then Shephard and his ground team planted the devices. We had a successful detonation. Now we are a month shy of making it back home. You’ve made history Michael and within an hour, we should know if all this effort paid off.”

“What if we failed? What if the devices and our gravity tractor did little to move the Icarus off its trajectory?”

I thought of the mission so far. She was right, it was remarkable what we accomplished in such a short space of three and a half years. Since the time we first discovered the asteroid in December of 1983, mankind finally pulled together. The cold war came to an immediate end as the world’s two mightiest superpowers banded together. I sat conversing with my friend on board the result of the American and Soviet partnership–the Deliverance.

The Soviets had been working on the design of a nuclear powered propulsion system for years. It was America’s constant interference into the Soviets' atomic research that halted progress. Likewise, similar work by the Americans was impeded by espionage, or political tension. The stalemate between the two countries continued as the leaders uselessly held summit meetings, achieving little progress toward peace. A mass of debris left over from the formation of the Solar System ended most conflict on the planet in the span of a week.

Now, my friend and I conversed, sharing my innermost vulnerabilities with her as I tried to deal with the mission’s first casualty. Of course I felt guilty. I was nowhere near when a gas pocket erupted and punctured his hard suit. It was the tail end of the drilling phase, a couple of days away from departing after a month on the Icarus’ surface when the accident happened. I listened to the drama unfold below from the safety of the Deliverance’s FAST Pack.

The FAST Pack was the core of the ship’s systems. Essentially it was a large nuclear tugboat that mated with the modified Atlantis orbiter. Containing a revolutionary nuclear reactor engine that powered eight main thrusters, four aft, and four retro, the craft could reach Mars in a fraction of the time it would take a conventional solid fuel rocket.

Upon our arrival, the Atlantis separated from the FAST Pack. Collins, my pilot, successfully piloted the Orbiter to the surface where Shephard began work planting the nuclear devices into the asteroid. As the ground team labored each day, I piloted the Fast Pack and remained in orbit around the massive asteroid, using the ship’s mass to gradually tug the rock off its trajectory and supplement the effect of the nuclear devices.

The journey was near its end. We spent several months after the detonation using the Deliverance as a gravity tractor, pulling the Icarus further off course, before Earth launched phase three of the operation. A volley of orbitally launched missiles, struck the asteroid, while we took refuge on the far side of the moon. Each missile struck at regular intervals, allowing time for the first blast to dissipate before the next impact.

“Michael, this is something we all fear, every human on Earth is afraid. We simply did the best we could do.”

“I’m scared Megan, I’m afraid of the consequences if we fail,” I confessed, my stomach knotting up at the thought of my wife and daughter dying in the aftermath of an impact. The size of downtown New York, the asteroid would eradicate all life on the planet and enshroud the Earth with a thick blanket of ash, reflecting the Sun's life-sustaining energy away from the planet. Those who survived would live harsh lives underground, sealed away until the dust settled two painfully long years from now.

“Michael, you wouldn’t be human if you, like the rest of us, didn’t feel that way. I know you are a tough, strong man. I've told you before, it’s okay for you to show your emotions. It’s a load of crock that men are supposed to hide their emotion. It's okay for you to feel pain and show it.”

“I know, we’ve been through this. I don’t like breaking down in front of my crew. It makes me feel weak.”

“You’re not weak, you’re a strong man, you just have a softer side. I wish there were more like you in the world. Liz is a very lucky woman to have such a great man. And Ashley, well most girls are going to be jealous that she has such a great dad,” She paused and smiled, reaching out and touching my hand, “Speaking of, how are they?”

“Liz, Liz is hanging in there. Actually she really seems like she on the edge. I’m worried about her. Worried about Ash. She’s strong, but she still needs her mother to take the lead.” It had been about a week since I spoke with my wife and daughter via the video conference that NASA included for the crew to remain in regular contact with their loved ones.

“I know, she does look like she is getting worn out. When you let me talk to them last week, Liz did show increasing signs of anxiety. This of course is expected. You’re right, it is remarkable is how positive Ashley’s been. She was just as high spirited then as she was the first day I met her.”

“Yeah, she is a great kid, she makes her father very–”

“–Commander, sorry to interrupt you two, but Houston’s on the horn for you,” Eugene said over the P.A., interrupting our conversation. I pressed the button below the speaker.

“Thanks Gene, I will be there in a minute,” I said, turning back to Megan. “Thanks Doc. I’m really glad you are part of my team. I don’t know what I would have done all this time without you.” I pushed myself toward her, wrapping my arm around her shoulder and giving her a friendly half a hug.

“I’m glad to be here. Thank you for considering me an equal.”

“Equal? When did I think that?” I said playfully. “I’ve told you a hundred times Megan, you’re the smartest cookie in my crew.” She opened the hatch to leading to the mid deck. Mitri and Yeltsov were sitting there, engaged in yet another fierce chess battle on their miniature magnetic chess set.

“Igor, you aren’t going to let Nikolai beat you again are you?” I said in near fluent Russian as I pushed past them toward the opening to the flight deck.

“No Commander, this time I beat him,” Yeltsov said in a thick Russian accent.

“I will beat him,” I said correcting his English. He repeated it several times, trying to get it right. Mitri, who was far superior with English, took over the English lesson, helping his friend as I pushed off the floor and ascended high toward the flight deck. I could hear Shephard and Collins in one of their regular debates.

“Oh no, I can’t leave you two alone for twenty minutes can I?” I said as I moved past them and took a seat in my command chair on the left side of the cockpit.

“Hey Saint,” Sean Collins, my pilot and second in command said, addressing me by my Air Force call sign. Sean, a former Naval fighter pilot himself, followed a similar career as I, but chose instead to join the Navy, where he served as Commander of the Air Group on board the U.S.S. Stennis. Collins, also a family man, had a strong Christian faith and often clashed with Dr. Shephard, our Payload Specialist who lived each moment of his life skeptical of everything. Naturally, the two were constantly arguing.

“What are you two debating about now?”

“Sean here is trying to convince me that the Earth is 6,000 years old.”

“Well it is,” Sean said as I picked up my headset.

I had little time to listen to their arguments and was frankly getting tired of listening to them. “Quiet a moment.” I waited a second for them to be silent, then hit the talk button, “Houston, this is Deliverance, over.” A reply instantly poured through the radio with minimal delay, indicating we were getting even closer to home.

“This is Houston, we read you. How’s it going up there Owen?”

“The view is improving Dwayne, that little blue dot's getting bigger. How's it going down there?" I said to Dwayne Turner, commander of B Team, serving as the Capsule Communicator. The CAPCOM as we call, is the intermediary between the flight crew and Mission Control. Instead of being bombarded with commands from any of the Mission Control operators, all communication were passed to a single person and relayed to the crew. Since the Mercury missions, the CAPCOM has usually always been other astronauts.

"Same old boring view in the smoke filled Mission Control. Thanks for rubbing it in that you are up there instead of me."

"Prick," Shephard said quietly so only the three of us could hear, “if he wasn’t such an ass, he probably would be up here god forbid. I gave Gene a thumbs up agreeing with his statement. Dwayne wasn't known for his friendly demeanor and would often butt heads with others, myself being his favorite.

"Sorry buddy," I said, "didn't mean it that way. Anyway, you guys have an update on the Icarus over?"

"Saint, trajectory calculations are still in progress. Due to instrument problems, it may be about another thirty minutes before we can determine if those nukes worked. Sorry we don't have any news just yet."

"Roger, understood. Keep us posted. Anything else Houston?"

“Negative, your approach is still on target. Oh, tell your boys, they are gonna get their butts handed to them by Sweden in the finals tomorrow. If we get some good news, Flight just might pipe a feed up there for you.”

Dwayne didn’t give a crap about hockey, nor did he have an allegiance with Sweden. He just wanted to torment me and my Russian crew members.

“Not a chance, the 1986 World Championship will go to our partners. Any ways, thanks for the heads up. Nikolai and Igor will be excited to hear that.”

“Roger. Will keep you posted as soon as we hear word on the Icarus, Houston out."

‘Damn, another thirty minutes of waiting,‘ I thought while pressing the button to the P.A., "Ok kids, that was Houston, got another thirty before we hear whether this mission was a success or a dud.

"Okay Commander, let's hear what you think. You're what, Catholic?" Eugene said without care toward my announcement.

"Grew up Catholic, can't say I still am."

"Right, your mother was the religious one, named you after that fairy tale being?"

"Michael the Archangel you mean?"

"Like I said, fairy tales," Collins rolled his eyes.

"So what are you getting at Gene, I'm kinda busy?   We've gone over the story on my name a dozen times.  I really don't care what the religious etymology is, as long as you don't call me Mike, I really don't care where my name comes from."

"So what about the Earth?"

"What about it?"

"How old is it? Preacher here seems to think this planet is 6,000 years old.

“So what if he thinks that?” I said.

“So what?” Really? Owen, it’s insulting to me. NASA didn’t send me on this mission for my charming looks. I have a P.h.D in Geology having studied planetary geology and done extensive work with hydrocarbons. You know you might think that I am falsifying my data to fit my skeptical world view, but don’t forget, I’ve been paid lots of money by rich oil tycoons who have these very lavish lifestyles, lifestyles that my successful research helps drive. The reason they continue to grow rich is because my data is correct. Face it, the Earth has been around billions of years.

“Well, I must say Gene, that is a good point you bring up about petroleum. Sean, I am going to side with the Doctor here. All the scientific evidence points towards a universe that is quite old. Having said that, Gene, all you're doing is disproving the Earth’s young age. Doesn’t mean that God doesn’t exist.”

“Still, you wanna believe in that-”

“-Gene, sorry I have other things I wanna think about. Honestly unlike you and Collins here, I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about it one way or another. Chances are, that rock we call home might now be around much longer, so what do you two say. Can we just get along and quit bickering about religion?” I left without letting them reply, joining up with Mitri and Igor.

"I just heard the Soviet Union will play Sweden tomorrow in the finals," I said to my two Russian friends, watching Igor ponder where to place his bishop.

"That is good. We crush Sweden easily,” Mitri said, smiling as Igor committed his bishop right into the trap he laid out. “Michael, when this is over, Igor and I take you to game in Moscow. This sound good, yes?” Mitri spoke in English as was our custom. I would speak to them in Russian, while they used my native language. We would stop every now and then, correcting each other. In the span of time I had been working with them, my Russian evolved from passible, to near fluency.

"Nikolai, that is very sweet," Megan said as she ate her lunch, floating over the fierce match. "It's been a joy seeing how close the three of you are. You are a small model of what I know is coming between our two countries.

"Check," Mitri said, taking Igor’s bishop with his rook while unblocking a direct path where his queen threatened the king.

"Oops, that was dumb," Igor said aloud. He tried to counter, but found he did nothing but seal his fate.

"Comrade, looks like checkmate-" Mitri’s victory was interrupted as the miniature chess set exploded, sending pieces flying throughout the cabin. The hissing of escaping atmosphere flooded the cabin seconds before the ship’s master alarm sounded a warning about our diminishing life support.

"IGOR!" Megan yelled, throwing her meal aside, lunging toward Igor. I looked up at the commotion to see droplets of blood floating in the micro gravity around my friend’s neck. Blood squirted through his fingers as he clutched his neck.

"Hull breach," Collins shouted as the sound of objects striking the hull outside increased. A large impact jolted the deliverance, knocking us around.

“Stations everyone. Sean, flood the cabin," I ordered while scrambling to help Megan stabilize Igor. Shephard rushed toward the infirmary grabbing the trauma kit off the wall.

"Commander, I got this," Eugene yelled. I turned my attention to my bleeding ship, as the fire extinguisher erupted, launching itself across the cabin where it struck Sean in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. Doubling over in pain, he fought to secure the canister, his hand freezing to the rapidly cooling metal cylinder.

"Warning, Warning, Warning. Cabin depressurization," Bitching Betty, the ship's computer started flooding the cabin, warning us after we all ready determined the problem.

“Deliverance, this is Houston, come in over. We are reading multiple alarms, report,” Dwayne yelled through the P.A. Igor's blood drifted across the cabin, splitting into two separate trails, attracted to the breaches in the side of the hull.

There was no time to think. I left Collins and scrambled to the airlock, pulling myself up into the upper half of my space suit as fast as I could, powering on the life support systems. Gene rushed over, leaving Megan alone, understanding immediately what I was up to.

"Owen, we need approval from Houston before we go EVA,” Gene uselessly quoted regulations.”

“No time Shephard, we are going to bleed out. Help me with the lower.” Gene didn’t argue, instead grabbing the lower half of my suit and mating the connecting collar around my waist.

“Systems online Commander, you are 100% charged,” he said, handing me my helmet.

"Get me the hull breach kit," I yelled, pulling my snoopy cap over my head before putting my helmet on. With the final seal closed shut, the suit began to pressurize. I didn't wait for Gene before scrambling into the airlock. Gene kicked himself off the far wall with the gun in hand, tossing the lanyard around my wrist.

“Good luck commander,” he gave a thumbs up and and closed the airlock door, locking it shut.

“Deliverance to Houston, Mayday, Mayday. Come in over,” I said over the radio.

“This is Houston. We are reading multiple cabin depressurization alarms, and FAST Pack separation. What’s going on up there Saint?” The light above the outer door turned green indicating the airlock was depressurized. I quickly opened the outer door and pushed my way to the Manned Maneuvering Unit as the Atlantis’ massive payload doors opened above, filling the cargo bay with Sunlight.

“Houston, we have multiple hull breaches from unknown source. Deliverance is rapidly depressurizing, I’m going EVA to stop the outgassing.” I backed up to into the large pack until a small green light inside my helmet lit up informing me my life support pack successfully mated with the MMU. I pulled down my visor, then took the controls, firing my thruster, lifting myself up and clear of the cargo hold, witnessing the FAST Pack drifting away from the Atlantis.

"Houston, affirmative confirmation of FPU separation. I have a visual of the FAST Pack moving away from the Orbiter. She's a lost cause, spinning on her Y axis. We won't be able to re-mate with her."

“Roger Saint. Let's focus on the breach. EECOM says sensors indicate breaches on port side panels E-25, F-30, and D-18. Repeat, port panels, E-25, F-30, and D-18.”

“Affirmative, making way to F-30,” the first along the route towards the bow. I turned on the lights attached to the pack, scanning the surface of my ship as I progressed forward.

“Michael, turn your camera on, I have eyes on screen,” Megan called over the radio. I switched on the remote camera below the light cluster to begin feeding her video of what appeared before me, “excellent, you’re on the air and coming in clear. I’m seeing lots of damage.”

“MM/OD shower, Houston, can you see this?”

“Roger, receiving the feed now,” the voice replied as I approached the first panel. The red crimson stain from Igor’s blood helped me quickly hone in on the first breach.

“This is Saint, I am at F-30, what’s the current atmosphere reading?” I asked as I brought my MMU to a stop and rotated my axis to face the panel. I reached out with a large suction cup attached to a tether and attached it to the smooth thermal panel to keep me from drifting while I made the repairs.

“Saint, cabin pressure is at 78% and falling,” Turner relayed the EECOM's system readings.

“Roger, 78%,” Shephard said, confirming Houston’s numbers, “flooding cabin now.” I could hear a gas leak over the radio as Gene released the colored gas to further help identify small punctures in the hull. The debris clearly punched through the multiple layers.

First line of defense is the aluminum shell that breaks the debris into smaller pieces. After, layers of kevlar shields stop or slow the micro meteoroids. Anything the kevlar fails to stop is usually caught by a foam layer just outside the inner shell. This debris went clean through all the layers.

I quickly placed the cone at the end of the breach kit over the puncture and pulled the large three finger long trigger to inject the foam. The cone provided a soft seal, protecting the hole from the vacuum by allowing the foam to inject itself into the cavity where it would expand, sealing off the venting. A light lit up indicating enough time passed for the foam to permanently seal.

Typically, shuttle missions and MIR relied on this shielding alone as emergency EVAs took days to coordinate with the Mission Control. In the Deliverance’s case, a hull breach en route would result in not only the crew’s death, but the planet’s.

“F-30 sealed, what’s our status?”

“74%. Still dropping, but not as fast,” Shephard said, beating Houston to the punch.

“Roger, moving to E-25.” My small inertia control thrusters on my maneuvering pack propelled me forward along the fuselage. I stopped, reaching section 25, and lowered myself to the E panels running below the F row. There, I repeated the process, injecting the expanding airtight foam, sealing the second puncture before moving on to the last.

“Collins, you copy?”

“He is in bad shape Commander,” Mitri responded.

“Listen Mitri, you need to shut down RCS. The Verniers took some damage. Can you get a reading on the reactor?”

“Already shut all propulsion down. Reactor normal, she’s Russian designed. Very strong.”

“Don’t forget who helped build it. We also paid for most of it.” I mustered a joke to help calm my nerves

“We make good team, yes Comrade Michael?”

“Mitri, how is Igor?” I said as I approached the final breach, taking position. The blood stopped, but the colored gas was pouring through, “Mitri, did you copy, how is Igor?” Nothing but silence as I worked the breach kit.

“I’m sorry Michael,” Megan’s voice said, “the micro meteoroid ruptured the artery in his-” she paused as my hands started to shake, breaking the seal around the cone. I pressed harder, resealing it and waiting for the light to signal my job was done. “-Igor’s gone. Michael, I’m so sorry”

“Good job Saint,” Shephard said, breaking up the emotional moment, returning the crew to the job at hand. “Cabin pressure at 69% and rising. O2 reserves coming online. The seals are holding.

“Thanks Gene, good work team.” I lifted up and maneuvered the MMU toward the flight deck window–coming to a hover over the cluster of Vernier thrusters that made up the ship’s Retro rockets, allowing the vehicle to counter the inertia of forward travel. “Retro looks good. It appears all damage is along the port side.” Megan appeared in the cockpit window and looked out at me. Her jumpsuit was covered in blood.”

“Houston, this is Saint, come in over.”

“Houston, go ahead.”

“Hull breach sealed. Cabin pressure rising. Permission to remain EVA and check for further damage. Several Verniers appear to be damaged. Without the FPU’s nuclear reactor control system, and a damaged cluster on Atlantis, we could be dead in the water.”

“Negative Saint, end your EVA and use SRMS to survey damage.”

“Copy. The arm can’t survey the thermal tiles, request manual survey of the heat shield, and topside survey with the Canadarm. Advise, over.”

“Negative Saint, terminate EVA. Proceed with SRMS survey. We will have you Rendezvous with MIR and take refuge there.”

“Refuge? What do you mean? How are you going to get us home? Over.” Silence. I waited for what seemed like an eternity before repeating. “Houston, advise on homecoming alternatives over.”

“Commander, it’s Frank. Good work up there.”

“Frank, What’s going on?” It was strange Frank Thompson, the Flight Director, took the com. As soon as I asked, Dwayne’s sudden silence became clear. We failed, there wasn’t going to be a home to go to.

“Michael, trajectory analysis has been completed. It is my sad duty to inform you the mission did not succeed. Impact with the Icarus is imminent. I repeat, there will be an impact.”

“Heaven help us. What’s the ETA?” Shephard asked.

“Two weeks. New calculations have an impact site along the Eastern Seaboard with smaller debris hitting North America, Europe, China and Japan. We were close damn it. Another 500 kilometers, and it would have bounced off the atmosphere.”

“Understood,” I said as my worst fears surfaced. Inside my gloves, my hands were violently shaking, my stomach clenching into a tight knot. Megan stood in the window watching me, her face displaying her own dread regarding the news of our failure. “Frank, what are the casualty estimates?”

“Higher, into the 85 to 89 percen–.”

“–MICHAEL, LOOK OUT.” I didn’t have a second to process what she was yelling about when I suddenly felt as if I was struck by a freight train. My head jerked sideways, hitting the inside of my helmet while jerking my neck. I felt as if a bone in my shoulder cracked as I was suddenly ejected at a high velocity away from the ship, “OH MY GOD MICHAEL. HELP, SOMEONE HELP,” was all I could hear as my vision went black.

---

“Doc, what’s the matter?” Mitri yelled, pulling himself up alongside Megan in the cockpit. She was screaming Michael’s name. She was looking out the starboard side trying to see something.

“Michael, can you hear me. Please Michael say something,” she kept saying into the radio, ignoring Mitri.

“Houston, we have situation,” Mitri reported as Megan kept trying his direct com channel. He peered out the window, seeing the larger debris passing the ship.

“Deliverance, what’s going on up there? Owen’s heart monitor spiked, then suddenly calmed to very low levels.”

McCormack was about to reply when the whole ship jolted again, knocking her into a control panel.

“We have to get out of here,” Sean said with a weak voice, pulling himself up to the flight deck while ignoring the searing pain of his broken ribs shifting.

“Deliverance, report, master alarm is flashing.”

“Houston, larger debris hit the hull and…” Megan paused, “Michael was hit.”

“Copy do you have visual?”

“Negative visual on Owen,” Megan said, doing everything she could to keep her calm in front of the crew. Collins struggled to pull himself forward into the cockpit.

“No Sean, don’t,” Mitri yelled as he saw Sean bringing the ship’s systems online.

“We have to go after him,” he retorted, continuing with his emergency start up procedure.”

“Sean, we can’t go after him, RCS is damaged, you’ll kill us.” Sean stopped flipping the switches engaging the fuel pumps.

“We have to do something, we can’t let him die out there.” Megan grabbed Sean’s shoulder and gave him a comforting squeeze.

“Sean, Mitri’s right, we all want to go after him, but if the Verniers are leaking fuel, a burn will destroy the ship. We have to think of something else.”

“What else is there?” Gene piped in with a voice of dread behind it.

“I say we survey the vessel for damage. If it's in good shape we go after Owen.

“Negative,” a faint voice came in through the speaker. “I’m a lost cause. Stand down, do not attempt a rescue.”

“Michael! Oh god, I’m glad you’re ok.”

“I’m not Doc. Would be much easier if that would have been it. I’m in bad shape. My head’s bleeding and I think I have a broken collar bone.”

“Ok, but we can still come get you if the systems check out.”

“Negative, my pack’s leaking O2. You won’t be able to run a full damage report in time.”

"What rate are you loosing O2?" McCormack asked, trying to hold on to some array of hope.

"I already ran the numbers. With my reserve, I have about 20 minutes."

“Can you still see the ship?” She said, moving to the SRMS controls. Megan switched on the video displays, then changed the camera feed. The large robotic arm in the shuttle cargo bay was still configured for external surveillance.

“Negative. I used all my Nitrogen to stop my spin. My attitude is fixed. I can’t see the Earth or the Deliverance.

"Okay Michael, I'm gonna see if I can see you in the F.L.I.R camera"

"Won't do any good Doc. EMU suits have too much insulation, Infrared won't pick him up," Gene added, crushing the last of her hopes.

"Listen, I don't want to waste this time trying to save me, so all of you get it out of your heads right now. If we are smart, we can use these 20 minutes and let me help save you. Now first of all, how is Collins?"

"Right here Saint. In a lot of pain, but I should manage."

"Can you dock with MIR?"

"I should be able to if we can safely initiate a burn. If not, it won't matter."

Ok, Mitri, you and McCormack get on the Canadarm and start a full exterior damage analysis. Gene, pull the ship's schematics and coordinate with Houston. Collins, have the doc treat your wounds, then I want you to relax. I don't want you to do anything that can further injure yourself. I'm not coming back, so the Deliverance is yours. It's up to you to bring everyone home, understand?"

"Roger, understood," Sean said, wondering to himself what home Michael expected him to return to. All his prayers had gone unanswered. The whole planet below were holding vigils, praying for a miracle. Either God didn't care, or perhaps Gene was right. If this was the end of the world, then the book of Revelation got it all wrong. The falling star would only kill one third, Icarus was projected to destroy up to 85% of the world's population.

"Houston, can you get in touch with Liz for me? I have things I want to tell her."

"I'm very sorry Michael, we are on lockdown, no outbound calls," Thompson said, taking over direct communication.

"Where is she? Where's my daughter? How come they are not at JSC right now?"

"Michael, as soon as we can we will send someone to take them to safety."

"Houston, Repeat, I didn't catch that. You're breaking up."

A crackling sound emitted from the P.A. The crew was losing communication with him as he drifted out of range of the shortwave radio. EVAs were always performed within close proximity to the vehicle, and relied on the communications array on the Deliverance to relay the signal to Houston. In a matter of minutes, they were going to loose touch. Megan took control of herself, knowing they had little time to say goodbye.

“Michael, it's Me, listen, Listen to my voice. We are going to be fine, so I don't want you to worry about us. We each have things to say."

“Yes Michael, I’m here too. We’re all here,” Mitri said, following suit and helping Megan shift the focus toward Michael's final moments.

“Say goodbye to them for me. If somehow you make it home, tell Liz and Ash that I love them. Tell them I’m sorry.

“Michael, you know I will.”

Megan, a strong woman, who never showed her emotion, finally broke. She managed to restrain the sorrow in her voice, lest Michael hear, but a flood of tears ran down her face. Mitri reached out to her, handing her a cloth to catch her tears. "Michael, I have enjoyed every moment since the day I first met you and Liz. You are a wonderful man. As long as I live, I will never let my memories of you fade. I love you in a most special way."

“Doc, I can’t tell you how special you are to me. I don’t know how I would have got to this point without your friendship, without your advice. It’s stupid I know, there’s no hope, but please take care of my girls for me. They’re going to need you more than ever.”

“Michael, it’s not stupid. We will find a way. I will take good care of them for you.”

Nikolai held Megan, offering his chest to bury her face and muffle her cries so Michael couldn’t hear. “Comrade Michael," Mitri said into the mic, allowing Megan time to regain her composure, "thank you for your friendship. Igor and I were afraid to work with Americans. I had doubt you would want to be friends us, yet you were true friend. A shame our countries wasted so much time fighting each other. Like Doc, you accepted us as one of your own. Remember special vodka I have at home, Yes? I will drink your half when I return. I drink in your honor my friend.” Mitri nodded and laughed as Michael replied in Russian expressing his affection. Eugene took the radio next, holding the mic up to his mouth. After several false starts, he finally spoke,

“Commander, it’s been an honor working with you. Soon you will be free of this cruel world,” he paused, still thinking what to say. “Oh well, this is Eugene, signing out,” Collins took the mic next.

“Saint. It just occurred to me, you might end up being made a real saint when this is over."

"Wouldn't that be something? Would wind up as the patron saint of drifting astronauts."

"Leave it to you to sneak a joke in at this time. Anyway, Michael, we’ve been friends for a while, we’ve flown together and I just have to say how blessed I am to have known you. You are one heck of a good guy. Lord, I take this time to lift our friend Michael up to you.” Gene rolled his eyes as Sean started praying out loud. Megan took Sean’s hand to encourage him to continue. “Lord, be with our brother during his final moments. Take away his suffering as you call him home. In your name, Amen.” He concluded his prayer, skeptical his heart was behind the words he said aloud. After all the prayers he led the team on, this was one moment he couldn't announce his rapidly diminishing faith. The truth was, he wasn’t so sure there was anyone other than the crew listening.

“Thanks Sean. Just a couple of words, and I am going to depart early." Michael spoke slowly, pausing periodically to gasp for enough air to speak. "I’m not good at these goodbyes. You guys were the best crew I have ever worked with, and the best friends one can ever hope for in life. I love each and every one of you. Hopefully this is goodbye. I wish to God it is, but if not, I will see you all again real soon. Either way, Goodbye and Godspeed.”

“Michael, wait,” Megan called out, but there was no response. All they heard was some grunting and rustling around for a few seconds before they heard Michael cussing.

“Damn it.”

“Michael, what’s the matter?”

“My helmet’s jammed.”

Mitri’s emotions finally surfaced, envisioning his friend desperate to quicken his inevitable death, but unable. The sudden alarm sounding though Michael’s radio startled him until he recognized the warning. Michael had finally exhausted his air supply. He held Megan tight as they listened to his fading grunting and gasping for whatever air he had remaining. The crackling of the static intensified, drowning out the sounds of suffocation as their commander drifted further away from the shortwave radio.

Then, there was nothing but the noise produced by the cosmic background radiation, left over from the universe’s beginning. Gene reached up to turn off the speaker, bringing their farewell party to an end, when Michael’s barely audible voice spoke his final words. “Wow! Light. Beautiful light.” Then true silence. To be sure, they suffered through the noise for five minutes before killing the speaker. The four remaining astronauts of the Deliverance floated in each others' arms sharing a moment of silence as Michael passed on into the next life.

A bright white flash appeared. “Wow! Light. Beautiful light.”

This was it, the moment of death was upon me. In a few more moments, it would be all over, I thought to myself as the light continued to brighten as if the tunnel to heaven was opening to receive me. The light was intense–like staring at the Sun, flooding my visor with heavenly illumination, burning my eyes. A shadow appeared at the end of the tunnel and began to take shape into that of a humanoid like figure. Out of the tunnel the figure approached me, its body offering relief from the brightness.

I reached, out trying to touch the Angel. She was beautiful, clothed in white glowing garments weaved together by the hand of God Himself. As she transgressed the dimensions of heaven into the physical world, she came to a rest floating in the vacuum outside my face mask, her face soft and void of any blemish. Long, thick and wavy golden hair floated above her head, reflecting the surrounding light.

She reached out to me with her soft, smooth creamy hands, offering to take me to the peaceful world where she came from. Longing for the safety of her embrace, I reached to my Angel of Mercy–exhaling my final breath, then the light vanished, casting me into complete darkness.

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