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

C power-down, with its long list of cutbacks, would not just impact the science aspect of the mission; it would also attack the astronauts’ way of life onboard Columbia. Not only would the astronauts’ time in space be doubled, they would have to do it with a power-crippled spacecraft. All video equipment, cameras and TV monitors would be turned off. The crew galley would be turned off. Even the orbiter’s cabin-air-cleaner fan would be limited, its speed reduced to medium or below. The crew would have one laptop computer powered just 25 percent of the time for e-mail communication.

Columbia’s five general purpose computers (GPC) also would be scaled way back. GPC 1 would be left on to allow basic vehicle control, GPC 3 would be set at one-quarter power to allow for systems monitoring, GPC 5 would be left in sleep mode, and GPCs 2 and 4 would be turned off completely.

The astronauts quietly went through their Group C power-down checklist, busying themselves in their work, one step at a time. They knew NASA protocol; information would be slow in coming and limited, as well. They wondered in what other ways they would be squeezed in the coming days.

Power? Food? Water? Oxygen?

Chapter 22

Johnson Space Center, Houston

Mission Management Team Meeting (continued)

SENCA SENSED CONTROL of his presentation was lost, but fatigue had visited every last receptor site in his body, and he frankly did not much care. In fact, he reveled in the few moments he had now, half-sitting on the conference table, arms and shoulders hanging forward, spine flexed, staring down at the floor with thoughts swirling, caught in a mental eddy where even the carpet pattern becomes interesting—the symmetries, the colors, the pattern repeat. Minutes passed without a single eye blink. He thought about what an exhilarating assignment this had been from Pollard—to work out the details of a rescue plan with his team of experts.

He waited, letting the group discuss their concerns, his mind drifting back to when he and his Tiger Team first began talking about their worst-case-scenario plan for Columbia, a plan that would have NASA sending Atlantis up to rescue the crew. It still sounded like a reasonable option: sending up one shuttle to rescue another, especially since Atlantis was already in the Orbiter Processing Facility at the Kennedy Space Center getting prepped for STS-114, a March 1, 2003, trip to the International Space Station.

On its current schedule and pace, which allowed for every last detail to be triple-checked by NASA’s experts, Atlantis would be ready for launch in 41 days.

As the crowded room of engineers at the Mission Management Team meeting recovered from the shock of Senca’s proposal, of his seemingly mad notion of a rescue mission—Senca wondered, too, if he and his team had really thought of everything. Was it really possible, he wondered, to go get the crew of Columbia?

“We need to discuss the details of the plan,” Senca finally found the energy to say. But it was a weak, torn-bellows attempt at speech. His voice carried only 20 feet. He slid off the conference table, willing his legs to move.

Those standing took their seats, the talking faded and Senca readied his notes.

“We need to discuss the details of the rescue plan, because until you are all behind it, Columbia’s crew won’t have a chance. The plan starts today, people, not a week from now. The rush to get Atlantis to the pad starts today.”

And with that, Senca had shocked the group into absolute silence, as if until that very moment they had not fully understood the seriousness of the situation.

There, I have their attention now, Senca thought.

“Well, just like with Apollo 13, the limiting factor for the crew of Columbia is lithium hydroxide (LiOH),” Senca began again, referencing Apollo 13’s historic problem-solving mission and its square-versus-round-shaped LiOH canisters.

The problem with Columbia, though, wasn’t with a mismatch of canister shapes as it was with Apollo 13, but rather with the quantity of canisters on board. Lithium hydroxide functions as an atmospheric scrubber, ridding Columbia’s cabin of crew-exhaled carbon dioxide (CO2). The LiOH canisters were connected in-line with the orbiter’s air circulation system acting like special air filters—they made the spaceship’s atmosphere livable, safe and sustainable. But the canisters didn’t use a paper element to perform their function. Instead, a chemical reaction occurred inside the canister, where the LiOH worked extremely well as a sorbent for CO2. The net reaction produced two moles of water, while absorbing a single mole of CO2. Columbia had carried a total of 69 LiOH canisters into space, more than enough for the planned 16-day mission.

“Our first consideration was how long we could make the onboard supply of LiOH last,” Senca continued. “We had to find the crew’s average daily level of CO2 production. So we consulted with the flight surgeon and got actual crew data from flight days one through three. We used a metabolic rate that was an average between their waking and sleeping values. We ran the numbers two ways: first with an equal 12-hour wake/sleep cycle, and then with a 16/eight-hour wake/sleep cycle. In both cases, we assumed that the crew would not be exercising, and that all SpaceHab experiments would cease. Only minimal crew activity would be allowed. A Group C systems power-down will be necessary and as I said earlier, Warner is running the power-down with the crew right now. Oh, and the live animals in the AEMs [Animal Enclosure Module] must be euthanized.”

There was no sign of hands in the room, so Senca continued, figuring they were with him or still in shock, or both.

“The flight surgeon believes the crew could tolerate a CO2 level up to 3.5 percent, even though protocol says we terminate a mission if CO2 levels rise above 2.0 percent. No long-term health effects are expected at the higher level, and the crew does have access