"Everything is secure and ready," Maddox said. With his nerves on overdrive, the project leader was anxious for the second door of the airlock to open so he could get moving already. Although there was a small row of buttons inside the airlock that Maddox could use to operate the system (it was standard that these airlocks be built so a person inside or outside could operate it), he had agreed with Sites prior to entering that she would control the doors from the outside. Team Leader Sites, on the other hand, was sure to stress safety over haste.

"You might want to turn your flashlight on before entering the station," she said. "With power not yet operational, the place will be pitch black."

Maddox clumsily grabbed the flashlight with his gloved hand. It took him nearly a minute, an embarrassingly long time, to finally push the power button. The bulky gloves made even the easiest tasks difficult; the project leader gained even more respect for the intricate work his crew did while forced to wear suits designed to make nothing simple. With the light shining brightly, Maddox was ready to go.

"I hope you left the airlock on my command center unlocked," Maddox said, weakly attempting a joke.

The airlock systems were controlled by computers and had been tested endlessly over the past two days. The airlock on the other end of the corridor, as well as all of the systems running in the command center, were running perfectly according to his tests.

"I thought you said the systems were properly functioning?" Sites asked, unaware that Maddox was joking. "Are you sure you shouldn't run more tests before going?"

After briefly explaining his poor attempt at a joke, Maddox convinced Sites that it was time to proceed. She pushed a button and activated the second door of the airlock. Maddox heard a quick hissing sound when the door slowly opened, as all of the oxygen within the airlock escaped. Maddox glanced through the doorway and saw nothing but darkness in the powerless corner of the abandoned space station. He shone his flashlight through the door, still unable to see anything besides walls.

That's because the place is empty, he assured himself, as dozens of bad science fiction movies began racing through his brain. This is always how they start. I'll walk in there and come face to face with an alien.

"Good luck," Sites said, her voice interrupting Maddox's over-active imagination.

Maddox turned a final time and looked through the window leading to the space shuttle, where all the crewmembers of Team Five were waving encouragingly. Maddox nodded his head.

"I'll call you when I get home," Maddox continued to joke, though the last thing he wanted to do now was laugh. He turned and floated through the second airlock, which closed behind him moments after he cleared the doorway.

Once the door closed behind him, Maddox realized the flashlight was the most important object he ever held in his life. He only wished it shone brighter and better illuminated inside of the space station.

Wesley Maddox played a large role in the design and development of all four of the corner sections of the space station. From the moment the space station design was conceived in his mind to the actual construction of the pieces on the ground, Maddox was one of the few people who knew every square inch of everything built.

This corner of the space station was no exception. If there was one corner section Maddox would've chosen to maneuver through without any lights, this was the piece. The storage area was the one corner of the station that did not require extravagant design or construction work. This corner piece consisted of two hallways, one vertical and one horizontal, that crossed in the center like a large 'T.' The design of the crossing corridors separated the storage corner into four large sections, each of which held more supplies than Maddox imagined the space station would need.

This section of the station was the only part President Marshall had insisted be changed from the original design; not exactly the design, just the size. Originally, this piece was designed to be the same size as the other corners but Marshall demanded the size be significantly increased. Maddox tried explaining to the President that the original design would allow enough room for supplies to last an entire year for the maximum number of people on board, but Marshall insisted more room was needed. Maddox knew that trips to the space station would be made more than once a year when people began living there, but he had to adhere to the President's orders. Although having one corner of the station much larger than the others would make its appearance asymmetrical, increasing the size of this corner piece had not proven detrimental in terms of construction problems.

As Maddox slowly floated through the hallway, he shone the light all around, seeing this section of the station for the first time in two years. It looked exactly how he remembered it on Earth but the darkness and silence of space gave his surroundings a much eerier feeling. Regardless, Maddox appreciated how large the hallway was in the storage section of the space station. Similar to the hallways in his command center, there was plenty of room for multiple people to pass each other. Shuttle Exploration felt confined compared to this area.

Now that Maddox had gotten over the initial fear of the dark space station, he felt the urge to explore more. He suddenly wanted to go inside each of the four large compartments, to admire the design that had come from his brain and the construction that had come from his company. But Maddox knew Sites and the rest of Team Five were waiting for him to finish the walkthrough. He did not want to give them any reason to worry. Besides, there would be plenty of time to delight in his handiwork once the rest of the corridors were complete and power was turned on throughout the entire space station.

Maddox planned for this part of the walkthrough to last only a few minutes but by the time he reached the airlock to the corridor, it had been nearly twenty minutes. He was disappointed to leave the storage area so soon but knew that every inch he moved forward was another inch closer to his command center.

The second airlock Maddox encountered was an exact replica of the first. Although the storage section was powerless, the airlock and its system ran from an auxiliary power source that made it fully operational at all times. Since this auxiliary power source was not used a single time in the years the space station was in orbit, a part of Maddox was nervous about whether it would work. Unlike the power sources to the airlocks on Shuttle Exploration and his command center, this power source was not hooked up to any sort of computer system yet and could not be tested before Maddox's walkthrough.

After accepting this task, Maddox and Sites discussed the possibility that this airlock might not be functional. If that happened, Maddox would have to return to Shuttle Exploration and stay at least another night. As far as Maddox was concerned, having to turn back to the shuttle would be just about the worst thing he could imagine. As his finger approached the power button next to the airlock, he silently prayed that the door in front of him would open.

Much to his relief, auxiliary power turned on without a problem and the small button began to glow. The first airlock door opened, differing from the previous airlock only in the loud squeaking noise it emitted. Once inside the small chamber, Maddox shone his light on a row of buttons. This time, there'd be nobody outside the airlock to operate the system. Maddox was careful to push the correct button with one of the fingertips of his bulky glove.

On cue, the first door slowly closed, squeaking just as loudly. Once the airlock properly pressurized, a small red light inside the chamber turned green and Maddox pushed the next button. He expected the next door to open right away. Instead, the green light and dim glow from the panel of buttons shut off, leaving the flashlight as his only source of illumination. It did not take long for Maddox's confusion to turn to panic.

The auxiliary power went out, he thought immediately. I'm going to be stuck in here with no way of getting out.

The claustrophobia that had slowly eased suddenly returned in full force as Maddox began to wonder how much oxygen he had left in the tank.

What am I thinking? The crewmembers work for hours on these tanks, he thought, trying to calm himself down. I'll be just fine for awhile. The bigger concern is how much battery juice is left for the flashlight. At least then I won't be able to see how small of a chamber this airlock really is...

These thoughts ran through Maddox's mind in the few seconds the green light was out in the airlock. When the light flickered back on and Maddox heard the sound of another squealing door, his prayers were suddenly answered. Before the door fully opened to the newly completed corridor, Maddox rushed out of the small chamber, not allowing the slightest possibility that the auxiliary power could flick off again. Once safely clear of the door, Maddox pushed the button to close the door and turn off the system.

Maddox hoped the last obstacle was now behind him. He turned and saw the inside of the corridor for the first time. The corridor was round, which was more suitable for a weightless atmosphere. But the characteristic he valued most was how truly large it was, significantly wider and higher than the hallways in the four corner pieces of the space station. Corridors in the two other famous space stations-MIR and the International Space Station (ISS)-were so narrow that one person had to carefully maneuver through the confined tunnels. Whenever Maddox saw footage from those stations, the astronauts floating through the tunnels reminded him of groundhogs burrowing through tiny tunnels in the ground.

But not these halls. If hundreds of people were going to live aboard the space station at once, dozens of people would need to traverse these hallways. And that would be more than easy to do considering the amount of space there was. Now if only I had thought to install an emergency lighting system to give me some kind of light now...

Maddox continued to shine his flashlight along the walls, pretending to do a thorough inspection during his walkthrough. Every thirty feet Maddox saw the circular, slightly perforated outlines that would be cut away once the pods were brought into space. If his workers on the ground were doing as he wanted, the process of cutting out these circular sections and attaching pods should be an easier process than building the corridors. Maddox hoped that attaching pods would be as easy as snapping together building-block toys that toddlers play with.

But that part of construction was well into the future. Maddox realized that he should finish this walkthrough before considering the next step. He continued floating forward, continued to observe the circular perforations at the exact intervals they were supposed to be. The process quickly became monotonous. It soon felt like Maddox was floating for hours, though it had only been fifteen minutes since he emerged from the second airlock. He felt as though he should reach the end of the corridor at any second but the flashlight beam still showed an empty void in the distance.

He finally noticed a large gap of empty space between the circular cutouts along one side of the corridor. When he eventually saw another perforation, this one more than twice the size of the others, Maddox knew he'd only traveled half the corridor's length. This large circle marked the halfway point, where the criss-crossing corridor would eventually intercept and attach to this completed corridor. The layout of the corridors had been designed in the shape of a square with a cross inside. This large perforation was where the cross would eventually attach.

Maddox closely inspected this section, the final significant feature he would encounter during the walkthrough. He slowly shone the light around the circle, only making it halfway around before his worst nightmare came true.

The bright beam of light quickly faded to a dim glow and flickered for the longest few seconds of his life. Maddox felt his heart stop when the light died completely. He tapped the flashlight with his left hand but when he did so, he felt something bumping the side of his body. Maddox froze in fear and confusion; common sense and fear argued about the feasibility of something else being in the corridor with him. Maddox floated still for nearly a minute and just listened. He could not hear anything except the sound of deep breathing inside his helmet.

There's nothing in here, Maddox tried to convince himself. How could anything be in here?

He turned his head in every direction, hoping to see what had brushed against him, but that was worthless. If something were there, he would not see it in the pitch-blackness. When he finally convinced himself that the tapping was a figment of his overly stressed imagination, he decided to get his flashlight working again. He struck the flashlight again with his left hand and was convinced that something really was hitting him.

Thankfully, a dim beam of light from the flashlight appeared long enough for Maddox to identify the mysterious life form stalking him: the duffel bag tied to his left arm. He had forgotten about the weightless bag ever since he left the first airlock. It was not until he began swinging his left arm that the bag struck his body. Aliens hadn't taken refuge in the corridor, but Maddox's relief waned when the flashlight began to flicker again. Just before the light went out completely, Maddox found the large perforation and oriented himself to his surroundings. When total darkness engulfed him, Maddox was at least pointed in the right direction.

With nothing to see and no inspection possible in the total dark, Maddox clung to one side of the corridor and continued forward. He kept his arms in front of him, feeling seemingly endless nothingness. This time, the project leader did not panic when he felt his duffel bag occasionally tapping against him.

Although Maddox should've been more frightened with no light to guide his way, he was more focused on moving forward to reach the end of the corridor. His movement in the dark went rather quickly and it was not long before he neared the next airlock and his command center. When Maddox heard a light tapping noise in the distance, a part of him was concerned.

The noise grew louder with every foot he floated, the nervous tension in his body reaching its maximum capacity. Maddox felt sweat pouring down his face and he subconsciously pawed at his face with his gloved hand, which banged against the front of his helmet. Sweat stung his eyes but Maddox closed them to deal with the discomfort. There was nothing to see anyway.

The clanging that grew increasingly louder made Maddox question the competency of his crew, but he knew those thoughts were brought about by nerves, not by how he truly felt. His crew was the best and whatever made this noise could not have been the fault of Team Five. At least that's what Maddox hoped.

Either way, he did not have time to dwell on this. His hand finally touched something in front of him. Now the problem was finding the right button to engage the first door of the airlock. He moved his hand across the wall, hoping to feel the buttons. He knew this technique would not work. The gloves on his hands were too bulky to discern the difference between a wall and a button. While he tried to think of the best way to turn on power, he again swiped at his sweaty face with his gloved hand.

The answer literally struck Maddox in the head. He banged on the flashlight, hoping for just a split second of light to allow him to find the button's location. After unsuccessfully tapping for entire minute, Maddox began striking the flashlight even harder. His harder tapping soon transformed into frustrated pounding and he began to think another plan might be needed. Just when he was about to give up, a beam of dim light glowed from the flashlight.

Maddox did not waste the three seconds that the flashlight emitted its beam. He pointed it in the general direction of the control panel. As the flashlight died again, he pushed the power button and the four buttons that controlled the airlock began to glow. The button's glow was all the light he needed. His heartbeat increased as he pushed the button to open the first airlock door.

For once during his walkthrough, something went exactly how Maddox hoped it would. The first airlock door slowly opened and filled the darkened corridor with streams of light. By computer, Maddox had already turned on the power and lights inside the command center before starting his darkened journey. The light from inside his home streamed through the window of the second airlock door, allowing Maddox to finally see what had been making the clanging noise.

Huh, Maddox thought to himself, stifling a nervous chuckle. It looks like my crew did mess something up.

A small wrench attached to a wall by a short string floated in the corner of the corridor, no doubt forgotten by one of the crewmembers. Who attached it to the wall and how it got inside the corridor were mysteries to Maddox, but he did not care to solve them at the moment. He grabbed the wrench and entered the airlock, excited to leave the dark corridor behind.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT.

Andrew Brighton listened quietly to the members of President Marshall's Cabinet. The meeting went smoothly as usual, with normal topics of national security and the economy discussed by top American decision-makers. The vice-President adopted his usual strategy of remaining silent unless directly asked a question. After all, this was Marshall's meeting to run and Brighton did not want to step on the President's feet any more than he already did.

Brighton was only at this Cabinet meeting because he decided to take a two-week break from traveling and campaigning around the country. He was in D.C. a few more days and thought it a good idea to show his face to many of the important politicians who comprised Marshall's Cabinet. Brighton had a close relationship with several of these individuals and if he won the election in four months, he would likely ask some of them to remain on his Cabinet. While Brighton thought many of these people would be happy to see him, he could not help noticing the stares he received throughout the meeting.

Many Cabinet members voiced their differences with the President during these meetings but had never done so in public the way Brighton had. For this, the vice-President knew the people in this room might think him disloyal. He just hoped they realized his public disagreements with Marshall were solely being used as a tactic to win the presidency, not because he actually had deep-seated differences with the President.

At least Marshall acted cordial with Brighton, so as not to give the Cabinet members a reason to dislike the vice-President...

"Now on to the topic of the space station," President Marshall said once the other topics were exhausted. "I'm happy to report that I've received a significant update from our mission control. After years of hard work, a very important part of construction has been completed. The first of six full-length corridors is finished. This corridor provides the first connection between two of the four major pieces of the space station," Marshall said. "James, is there anything you would like to add?"

James Armour wished he had stayed at mission control during this exciting time. Although his men at the ground command center had known when the corridor would be done for a few weeks, they had not expected the second part of the good news received from their counterparts in space earlier in the day. The news made every person associated with the space station project feel like celebrating.

In fact, it was because of this news that President Marshall insisted Armour jump a quick flight to D.C. so he could personally present this announcement to the rest of the Cabinet.

"As a matter of fact, I do," Armour said. "While we expected completion of the first corridor, we thought it would take more time before it could be used. We were wrong. Just a few hours ago, we received a transmission from the command center in orbit saying that a man made his way from Shuttle Exploration, into one of the station corners, through the corridor and safely into the command center corner of the space station. The man who made that historical journey was none other than Wesley Maddox."

Excited chatter erupted among the Cabinet members. President Marshall wore a proud smile.

"Do you still believe the space station is dangerous and should be shut down, Mr. Brighton?" Marshall asked loudly enough to silence the rest of the room.

The excitement among the politicians in the room turned to surprise, as the President seemed to offer his vice-President a direct, personal challenge. While none of the Cabinet members mustered a single comment, Andrew Brighton was the one most at a loss for words.

"Look, everyone, the vice-President finally doesn't have anything bad to say about the space station," Marshall said. The President attempted to convey a joking tone but not a single person in the room smiled. Although the President could not have missed the uncomfortable expressions on the faces of his Cabinet members or the vice-President, he did not relent on his attack. "No disparaging comments coming to mind, Andrew?"

Although he was confused and a bit angry about the President's sudden outburst, Brighton decided against reciprocating the negativity, which could only result in further escalation of the tension level.

"Nothing disparaging, Mr. President," Brighton said in a steady a tone of voice. "But I still believe the space station project is not being run the way it should be."

"Save your speeches for the public," President Marshall said, condescension in his voice turning to anger. "In fact, this meeting has been reserved for people who want to work together toward a common goal, not for a person who waits until he sees a public opinion poll to form his thoughts. If you don't mind, Mr. Brighton, I would like this meeting to continue only with those on the same page as I am. Would you mind leaving us at this time?"

Again, the shock from every person in the room was clear, none more than Brighton's. The vice-President glanced at the men and women seated around the large conference table and could tell that nobody agreed with President Marshall's request. But nobody seemed willing to voice this opinion.

"If that's what you wish, Mr. President," Brighton said calmly, slowing standing from his chair, a part of him expecting Marshall to stop him and apologize.

"That is what I wish, Mr. Vice-President," Marshall said, not about to back down from his demand.

Brighton simply nodded to the rest of the powerful men and women in the room, hoping his face was not too red from embarrassment.

"Good day, ladies and gentlemen," the vice-President said cordially.

As he walked out of the large conference room, Andrew Brighton hoped the President knew what he was doing.

In the seven months since Vice-President Andrew Brighton surprisingly had walked into Robert Minko's shabby office, the life of the unsuccessful veteran reporter dramatically improved. The November 12th Edition of the DC Gazette, the issue in which Minko's interview with the vice-President was plastered across the front page, actually sold more copies in the District of Columbia than the Post. That was the first time in the history of the Gazette that had happened, and the Post quickly made sure it would be the last.

On November 13, Minko accepted a journalist position with the Post. The job paid more in one year than he had made the last ten years working at the DC Gazette. He was surprised at the initial guilt he felt leaving the Gazette, but realized this had once been his goal; a similar opportunity would never come again. He packed the important things from his small cubicle, the contents of which barely filled a small box, and moved across town to the Post headquarters.

Before he entered the beautiful building, Minko knew he'd officially moved up in the world. The people who walked the streets around the Post were dressed in expensive suits, the clothing of important politicians and businessmen. There was not a single sign of gang activity, which Minko used to see on a daily basis outside the building at his old job. He felt self-conscious looking down at what he wore, his usual outfit of jeans and a tweed jacket. He looked more like a hippie college professor than a reporter for one of the most important newspapers in America.

The first few months at the Post were the most stressful time in Minko's life. He immediately received more attention than established writers who'd been working at the Post for years. He was given an office, albeit a small one, but still more space than most journalists working at the paper. For once in his professional career, Minko felt pressure to write important articles and keep pace with the rest of the talented reporters around him. And for the first few months, he struggled to keep up.

"When's the next interview with Brighton?" Minko's editor-in-chief asked him a month into his new job.

"Still waiting for the call," Minko replied.

Although his boss only asked this jokingly, it was clear that the reason the Post hired him was for his unusual connection with the vice-President, not because of his talent as a journalist. Minko continued writing articles about similar topics as his co-workers, though his were not nearly as well written. He soon found himself in desperation mode and hoped the vice-President would call again with another juicy story.

Does Brighton not like the Post? Is that the reason he called me before-because I didn't work for this newspaper? Minko wondered on a daily basis.

Although this seemed logical, Minko searched through every other local paper and didn't find any instances where the vice-President talked to the small publications. In fact, during the early stages of Brighton's campaigning, he seemed to avoid reporters and interviews altogether. It didn't take long before Minko found himself resenting the interview he'd done with Brighton and wishing he could go back to his carefree life at the Gazette. He only hoped that once the Post figured out his relationship with Brighton was a one-and-done deal and they fired him, he could convince his old boss at the Gazette to take him back.

Then one day in late February, as out of the blue as in November, the same woman who called his Gazette line and set up the first interview contacted Minko again. This time, she had secret information about the pending announcement of Brighton's future plans for the space station if elected to the White House. She informed Minko that the vice-President would make these plans known to the public in an upcoming speech. Minko did not know the significance of this information being leaked early but any time a source had inside knowledge about an important person, the public was interested.

And Andrew Brighton certainly qualified as an important person. The woman who called was the most important source he ever had, but he still did not know her true identity. But that wasn't important. What was important was that she was the only messenger between Minko and the Vice-President of the United States. Since she set up the first interview between them, she obviously was closely linked to Brighton.

The article was published on the front page of the next day's edition. Minko's co-workers and bosses at the Post were thrilled that he came through with another exclusive story about the man quickly becoming the most popular person in America. More importantly, Minko solidified himself as the vice-President's most trusted member of the media. During the next few months, Minko received numerous phone calls from his source. Each time, her voice angelic to Minko's ears provided him with front-page material concerning some aspect of Brighton or his budding Presidential campaign.

Minko sat at his desk, busily typing an article he'd written about the ways local war veterans spent their Independence Day. He had joined the men for a few hours earlier that day, listened to old stories, enjoyed a nearby barbecue and watched fireworks once the sky darkened. He had plenty of information to write a solid piece of work but had no delusions that the article would make it to the front page. But when his phone rang and he heard the familiar voice, he knew his feel-good story about the vets was not likely to be finished by the time the paper went to print later that night.

"Hello, Mr. Minko," the woman's voice said.

"Hi there," the reporter said happily, nearly jumping out of the seat at his desk. "Haven't heard from you for a while. I was starting to think you lost my number."

Any time Minko went more than a few weeks without hearing from her, he worried his well of good luck had run dry. When he finally heard her voice, he could breathe much easier.

"I see that you recognize my voice. I'm quite flattered," the source said. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything important."

"Not really, just in the middle of writing an article," Minko said. It wasn't unusual to trade friendly chatter with his source. "But my deadline isn't for another few hours so please feel free to talk as much as you'd like."

"I didn't think you'd have a problem if I wanted to tell you a few things," the source said. "After all, what are we now? Eight for eight on front page stories when we talk?"

"That's right," Minko said, impressed that the source knew the exact number of times their talks had led to a front page story. "And I hope we'll make it nine for nine very soon."

"What is your article about?" she asked.

Minko sat on the edge of his seat, desperately waiting to hear anything she told him about the vice-President. But as an experienced reporter, he knew not to push his sources into talking until they were ready. If this mystery woman wanted to chat for awhile, Minko had no problem doing just that.

"I spent time with a dozen men who served in Afghanistan during the Al Qaeda hunt about ten years ago," Minko said, leaning back in his seat, relaxing a few minutes while they talked. "These guys get together every year on the Fourth of July and reminisce about fallen comrades. Then they eat lots of hot dogs, drink lots of beer and enjoy the fireworks, even though the blasts remind some of them of battles."

"Sounds like a pretty busy day. The story going to be worth writing?" she asked.

"It's mostly filler," Minko admitted. "I'd much rather write something more important, if you have any ideas."

"Think you'll have enough time before your deadline to write a different story?"

"I'll make time," he said. "What have you got for me?"