Launch on Need by Daniel Guiteras (small books to read txt) 📗

not, the whole shuttle fleet will be grounded until we figure out what to do about the damn foam problem. So we can kiss all the Space Station construction time lines good-bye. That’ll likely piss off the Russians.

“The difference between the media in the early Seventies, and the media now? It’s going to be a goddamn circus around here.”

Stangley sat for a minute, still rocked back on the legs of his chair, his fingertips poised at the edge of the table for balance. He was not sure exactly what to say. He had a lot of respect for Brown—knew he was a veteran, that he had seen NASA through nearly every problem they’d ever had. He rocked forward again, returning the front chair legs to the floor. Then he spit a large piece of ice back into his cup.

“So what will your role be if the wing is damaged—will you stay here or will you go back to Kennedy?”

“I’ll stay here for now. Where I go ultimately depends on what the crew finds on EVA. We’re hoping to get some video from the wing-inspection EVA. If we do we’ll analyze it, give the Mission Management Team the damage estimates, and then we wait. If the wing is damaged—and let me say I’ve never seen anything like that launch video; it really got my attention—then everything that happens immediately in terms of decision-making will come out of Mission Control.

“Wing damage or not, in the end I’ll probably get mothballed. If we end up losing the crew—God, how awful is that thought—if we lose them, the Shuttle Program will be grounded for a couple of years, at least. If no damage is found, then we’ll still have a long stand-down while we address the foam problem.”

Brown chewed for a few seconds, and Stangley waited in silence.

“Our current launch imaging is shit. Doesn’t take a goddamn engineer to see that. So if this whole thing goes south, and they decide to pump some money into the program, I’ll be making out my wish list, like some 10 year old pouring over the Sears Wish Book.”

“When will we know?”

“Late this afternoon or early evening would be my guess. There will be a press conference today about the EVA findings. If the wing is damaged, you’d better mark your calendar.”

“Mark my calendar… what do…?”

“Yeah, mark it January 20, 2003, the day the circus came to town!”

Chapter 15

On Columbia

Swirling wisps of cotton

A summer-blanket for Earth

I see no lines, no borders

We call it astronauts’ mirth

INHALE, EXHALE. Inhale, exhale. A daydreamer’s paradise passing overhead. My first sight through the airlock is the Red Sea, then the whole continent of Africa and its Nile River stretching from the Mediterranean Sea south nearly to the Congo Basin. Then, Cape Horn, all alone on the southern tip of South America. Looking north, the Andes mountain range, dusted with a powdered-sugar topping of snow. Next, the Amazon Basin, Central America, and the tip of Baja California. And hovering over Earth’s horizon, a magnificent band of color, airglow. Whitish on the Earth side darkening to a deep-blue sapphire at the uppermost layer before blending into the blackest black of space.

“Steve, this is the flight deck, just wanted to remind you about the camera on your helmet. Don’t bump it on the airlock as you come out.”

“Ah… roger… that, flight deck,” I say, breaking from my somewhat dazed state.

Back to work.

Okay, it is my turn to go out. I have already pulled on my tether cable to check it; it is tight.

My head is clear of the airlock now and as far as I can tell, the camera is still in place. I touch it gently with my glove and it still feels rigid atop my helmet as it did in the airlock. I stayed way to the left in coming out, so there is no way the camera could’ve touched anything. Okay, I’m out now. First thing I do is check my tether visually. I pull on it again; it’s still good.

You might think we’re paranoid about the tether thing, but let me tell you, it’s so easy to get distracted once you’re out of the airlock. Earth does something to your brain. I mean, the sight of it from space…you look at it once, and become transfixed, almost helpless to look away. The sight of Earth, so big and bright above you, triggers more receptor sites than morphine ever could. Like child to a mother, you’re drawn closer. It’s like some strange force. An unrelenting summoning of the mother-ship.

Anyway, you get distracted, and you forget to clip in. Before you know it, you’ve floated clear of the payload bay and you’re enjoying an untethered view of your Orbiter from say 70 feet out. It can happen that fast. Not the kind of stunt NASA forgets when it’s time to assign a crew to the next mission.

My first real challenge, now that I’m out of the airlock, will be to get the video camera working. I can see the rest of the crew through the flight-deck windows, they’re waving. Nice. I’m hoping they’ll be able to see the red record-light on the front of my camera after I turn it on.

I’m over near the port slide wire now, facing forward over the payload bay; I can see the crew easily through the aft flight-deck windows. I’ll head down to Jan as soon as I can get the recording started. I know Jan’s ready to get this over with; sounds like she’s not feeling so hot. Houston indicated that they don’t want me spending more than a few minutes fiddling with the camera—they want to know once and for all the status of Columbia’s left wing.

“We’re ready on the flight-deck, Steve whenever you are.”

“Copy that, I just have to get myself fixed here inside the payload bay so