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

have just thrown their hands up and said, ‘We’re screwed, can’t go get ’em, can’t do the rescue ‘cause we don’t have anybody who can do it?’ ”

Garrett answered only with a shrug and a head shake, knowing, too, that there was a certain amount of luck involved. Nothing could beat being qualified for a mission when the mission came calling.

Mullen continued pouring out more of his soul. “So, anyway, as I was driving home last night, it hit me, you know, the magnitude of it all. I began worrying that I’d get sick or hurt or something. That I’d get an ear infection and wouldn’t be able to train in the pool. That I’d get pulled from the mission.”

“We will be watched closely,” Garrett began, but then stopped, thinking he had heard someone entering the locker room. They looked at each other in silence, but heard no other sounds.

Garrett continued in a low voice.

“The flight surgeon will be watching us very closely. The slightest anomaly in our health, and we’re toast.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Mullen fired back, louder than he intended. “The alternates are all chomping at the bit. I’ve started to wonder if I need to check underneath my car before I get in it—you know, to see if the brake lines have been cut. I worry that maybe I’ll turn the key in the ignition, I’ll hear a distinct series of clicks and then I’ll be blown into a million pieces. I’ll go veering off like an Atlas that’s lost its guidance.”

Garrett rolled his eyes. “Please!”

Mullen shrugged, “What? I’m scared shitless that I’ll get pulled. Check this out. Last night I had a dream we were on our backs, strapped in for the rescue mission, and everything was going well with the count. Then, when we were just about to come out of the hold at T-minus-nine minutes—I mean, the whole world’s ready to go flying with us on this rescue mission—you’ve got the picture, right?”

Garrett nodded. “I think so, yes.”

“So then all of a sudden, out of nowhere I hear the flight surgeon over the comm loop say, ‘Hey, did Mullen just cough? I think I heard Mullen cough. We’re going to have to swap him out. Hold the count. Notify the alternate.’ ”

“Now you really are sounding paranoid.”

“How should I feel?”

“I don’t know. Did you wake up sweaty?”

Mullen shot Garrett a stern look. “Oh, so you’re saying you don’t feel any pressure?”

“Sure I feel the pressure, but there’s always pressure. You’ve flown three missions, you know the drill.”

“Precisely the source of my paranoia. This mission is so huge I could hardly sleep last night. I feel like a rookie all over again, maybe worse. And the freakin’ media is everywhere. Oh, and never mind the fact that they’ve boiled the usual 40 to 50 weeks of training down to two. That shouldn’t be any big deal.”

“Now you’re sounding bitter and paranoid,” Garrett said, pulling a T-shirt over his head. He looked at his watch. “It’s seven-twenty-five. Our pre-brief starts in five minutes.” Garrett was referring to the pre-brief meeting that preceded every microgravity simulation training session.

Garrett had no doubts about NASA’s choice of Mullen for this mission. Mullen had demonstrated the necessary skills needed. He was by far the astronaut corps’ most-skilled, ready-to-go spacewalker. He knew Mullen was not as crazy as he sounded.

Astronauts often worried they would be pulled from a mission. The road from when an astronaut was assigned to a mission to when he or she actually flew often stretched for what seemed like forever.

Typically, astronauts were assigned to a particular mission well over a year beforehand, and often it was two years or more before the mission was expected to fly. The time to launch hinged on a number of factors, including delays due to equipment problems, vehicle maintenance, mission order shifts and, of course, weather holds and scrubs.

All the variables titrated out to a given date and time for launch. If you happened to be well on the day the engines lit, great, you were going into space. Otherwise, your ride left without you.

This mission was a career-maker, though, and would arguably become the most-watched and scrutinized mission of any kind in NASA’s history. Never before had a crew been expected to train and be ready to fly in as little as three weeks after being selected for a mission.

The two astronauts closed their lockers, with Mullen heading out first.

Garrett put his hand on Mullen’s shoulder and stopped him. “Hey man, if you wanna be a hero, you gotta pay the price.”

Chapter 36

Cocoa Beach, Florida

Thursday, Jan. 23, 2003

JOHN STANGLEY AWOKE with a start, metal telephone bells screaming into the silence of his hotel room. A wake-up call. He reached over, lifted the receiver just enough to register an answer, then dropped it back in place. He let out a heavy sigh, more as a sign of expression than exhaustion. He felt rested, actually, despite the hour.

He turned again to look at the clock. “5:20 A.M.,” he said, then rolled back on the bed. Already, he could hear what sounded like a shower running in a nearby room. Someone’s already that far along in their morning, he thought, but he short-circuited the message before it could reach the worry center of his brain. Earlier in his career, the sound of a hotel shower from a neighboring room would be enough to get him to leap out of bed. Back then, he could not stand the thought that someone had a head start on him. Snooze buttons were anathema to him.

But those days, his early days, seemed like a lifetime away. Instead of rushing to move into his day, he felt calm, and in no particular hurry. He was not expected to arrive at the Kennedy Space Center until eight that morning. He felt no particular need to get