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

placing foremost her kindergarten-aged daughter. Every hour that passed saw one course slightly outweighing the other, and then the teeter-totter would shift and she’d start deliberating all over again.

“Even though we just got word tonight on who was going flying,” Avery began first, “the crew of Columbia has been on my mind since they launched seven days ago. I’ve been following one-oh-seven closely—more so, of course, since the wing damage was discovered.” Avery paused, pushed her schooner away, then looked up and away from the table, hoping her tears could drain in time. “Those are my friends up there,” she said finally, then quickly brought the schooner to her mouth to hide. She needed an emotional time-out, another moment to review her options. Then suddenly, as if a gavel had been struck inside her head, her purpose became clear, her decision final. She lowered her drink and looked at her crew, and then back at Thomassan, “I feel like I’ve been called for this mission. I’ve been wondering these past few days if all my training up till now has been for this, the rescue.”

“I’ve never been in doubt about any of you, or your skills. I just want you all to think about what you’re agreeing to,” Thomassan said.

“Greg,” Avery said. “I feel a duty to help them in any way I can. Flying them home safely is the best way I can think of to help. I’m in,” she said, turning to Rivas.

“I’m in, too,” Rivas said, without hesitation. “Let’s go get ‘em. We just need a couple weeks of training, then you can light that sucker!” Rivas looked at Garrett.

“Hell, I’ve been at risk since I joined the Air Force,” Garrett exclaimed. “When I became an astronaut, my flirtations with risk increased. I guess I don’t see how this rescue mission presents more risk than usual. If I think about any of it too long, I’ll lose my nerve. During any shuttle launch, the closest spectator is more than a mile away, while we lie on our backs strapped in like helpless lab monkeys. Hell, if I spent any time thinking about all the idiots out on the highway, I’d probably stop driving. It’s not like any of us knows what part or system of the shuttle is going to fail next. So let’s get on with it. I’m in, too.”

All eyes turned to Mullen.

“Well, ditto to all that,” Mullen said. “If rescue is their only option, then flying is our only option. It’s what we gotta do.” Garrett watched Mullen as he wiped the table for the fourth time. “It’s a high-profile mission, and we’ll have a rushed schedule and all—but man, if we pull it off, when we pull it off, well, that’ll really be somethin’. Count me in!”

Thomassan looked off across the restaurant, then down at his nearly empty schooner. There was nothing he could say that would change their minds. “I guess you’re all in, then.” He raised his glass, glanced around at the semicircle of talent in front of him and said, “To the crew of STS-300, Godspeed!”

“Cheers!”

Chapter 35

Neutral Buoyancy Laboratory Locker Room

Columbia Flight Day 8

Thursday, Jan. 23, 2003

ASTRONAUT SHANE GARRETT was about to close the staff entrance door to NASA’s Neutral Buoyancy Laboratory (NBL), when, in a brisk visual flash, he caught a glimpse of his crewmate Terry Mullen, who was just now passing through the gauntlet of astronaut paparazzi. Garrett paused in the doorway smiling, because without even looking he could picture the look on Mullen’s face. It would be the same expression he’d seen him wear for every astronaut meet and greet: anxious and twitchy poorly disguised beneath a press-ready smile.

“Day one rescue-mission training. You ready for this?” Garrett asked Mullen with a textbook NASA public relations grin. Mullen struggled to hear Garrett’s question over the noise of the dozens of questions from the cluster of reporters he left hanging in the air.

“Hell, yes, I’m ready for the mission,” Mullen said, after a uniformed security officer pulled the door closed behind them, “but not for those crazies out there. I’ll bet there were 60 news vans out in the parking lot.”

“They’re here to document every detail,” Garrett said. “You know, you’re supposed to stand there and answer all those questions for the reporters. It’s your duty as an astronaut. We’re the two mission specialist spacewalkers who are going to rescue the crew of Columbia. NASA figures it’s the least you can do for the privilege of riding its rockets.”

“Yeah, right, I don’t think so,” Mullen said as the two walked down a short hall and then entered the men’s locker room.

Garrett sensed a discord in his crewmate and best friend.

“Hey, you okay? ’Cause you seem a little, uh, I dunno, a little off I guess, you know, more than usual,” Garrett said as he set his duffle on the bench. Mullen didn’t look up, so Garrett tried again from another angle. “Hey, you’re not hungover from last night, are you?”

“Very funny. No, I’m not hungover. It’s just that I’m already feeling the pressure. I can’t believe I already feel the pressure. It’s like my ears are gonna start bleeding any minute and it’s only the first day of training!”

“Maybe you should make an appointment with psych.”

“Garrett, will you listen for a minute?”

“Sorry, go ahead.”

“Last night at the Outpost when Thomassan was outlining this mission, I felt great, excited. I knew I wanted this mission more than anything. I know I have the skills to get it done, but believe me I know our timing has a lot to do with it, too. There are a lot of other guys…”

“You’re the most experienced guy we’ve got! What’s with all the self-doubt?”

“Well, thanks, but let’s face it. Are you saying that if the need for a rescue had come five years earlier, or later for that matter—that everyone would