Doctor Who_ The Dying Days - Lance Parkin [34]
'Sir! Signal from Mars.'
'Mars Orbiter to London Control. 11:14 Zulu. Roger that. Estimated one hour eighteen minutes to realign camera.
We're fine, Professor, don't worry. Will contact when satellites redeployed. Over.'
The sense of relief was tangible. It didn't last.
Screaming, and shouting.
'Airlocks!' one of the astronauts was yel ing over the sound of rushing wind.
'Sir,' one of the scientists shouted from the next row of controls. 'The airlocks just opened of their own accord. All the interior hatches have been blown.'
The Home Secretary was aghast. 'My god ... how?'
Greyhaven leant over the microphone and said calmly. 'Singh, this is at London. How did the airlocks open? Over.'
Ogilvy shook his head. 'There's a five minute delay, Lord Greyhaven, look at the clock.'
It was twenty-five past eleven. Singh had sent his message five minutes ago. Greyhaven's question wouldn't arrive until half past. It had already happened.
'Can we close the airlocks from here?'
33
Theo Ogilvy ran over to one of the control panels, the one just in front of where Staines and Greyhaven had been standing all this time. 'The airlock override is here, but it will be five minutes before ... ' he stabbed the control, because it was the only thing that he could do.
Staines looked up to see Singh staring into the camera, his clothes whipping as the air from the cabin was blown out past him.
'London,' he croaked, trying to suck air into his lungs, 'There's nothing - '
He lost his grip, and was hurled backwards in a storm of loose items: plastic cups, clipboards, sheets of paper.
There were no signs of the other three astronauts.
'I've lost lifesigns from the Command Module.'
'Air pressure zero.'
There was absolute silence at mission control.
'It's over,' the Home Secretary whispered.
'No,' Greyhaven said, determined. 'We continue.'
'How?'
'We continue,' he repeated firmly.
***
Eve opened up the door to their hotel room with her keycard. With all the interviews and other footage in the can, they'd come back to the hotel, dropped the tapes off and had lunch - lamb, as Lord Greyhaven had suggested.
That afternoon they would take a taxi over to the editing suite they leased from one of the satel ite stations based in Docklands and edit everything into shape. One advantage of working in England was that you could spend all day working on the report for the lunchtime news.
'I'm going to get this make-up off and have a shower,' Eve announced, holding the door open for Alan. He thanked her.
He and Eve had been working together for a couple of years, and this wasn't the first time that the cheapskate network had put them up in the same room. At least it was a twin room this time, and quite a large one. There was a chance for some privacy: not like that guest house in Berlin. It had always been awkward for Alan - he was a married man, and a pretty shy one at that. Alan never held anything back from his wife Melanie - he'd told her about the logistics of working abroad for a network who's foreign affairs desk was still trying to save money after spending so much covering the Gulf War. Melanie knew that it was part of her husband's job description to spend a lot of time alone in close quarters with his reporter.
'Unzip me, would you?' Alan obliged, and Eve stepped out of her dress.
She had danced semi-professional y while was at college and was used to getting undressed in front of other people. More than that, she had nothing to worry about when she did. Back home, Melanie read magazines full of pictures of thin, toned women and articles saying that she shouldn't worry because not everyone could look like a model. Melanie was good-looking, but she was a thirty-seven year old waitress with three kids. Eve was twenty-five with a hundred thousand dollars in the bank, a personal trainer and membership of a gym. When Alan was at home, he lay in bed with Melanie, telling his wife that she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but they both knew it wasn't true.
The funny thing was, Eve was more jealous