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

rollout of Atlantis,” the speaker began. “We have clear weather and a clear purpose today, and that is to get Atlantis out to the pad for the final preparation of STS-300…”

Stangley leaned in toward Brown during a series of standard introductions from the podium and quietly said, “You know, this reminds me of ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.’ ”

“Of what?” Brown replied, loud enough to draw a few looks.

“ ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,’ ” Stangley tried again.

“I thought that’s what you said,” Brown replied, still at a loss.

“Look,” Stangley explained, “we’re all standing out here, attentive, waiting for the big moment. We’re ‘Golden Ticket’ holders, all of us. We’re waiting for the huge doors to go up so we can see Atlantis. Just like in the story, the families anxiously waited for Willie Wonka to come out through the door of his chocolate factory.”

Brown gave Stangley a long look. “I never read the book or saw the movie,” he said, looking away and back again. “How do you come up with this crap? Actually a better question might be why?”

Stangley shrugged.

Those in charge of NASA’s public affairs were well aware they had taken a very serious problem and made it the basis of a brilliant marketing campaign. Tim Stevens’s plan had been executed perfectly. The media had chased every bone thrown to them by NASA. The public was showing unprecedented interest in the mission. NASA’s web site administrators had been forced to add servers to handle the dramatic increase in Internet traffic. Through NASA’s web site, in a stroke of marketing genius, the public was able to register for one of four random drawings for tickets to view astronauts Mullen and Garrett training for the rescue, be part of a group that would taste-test samples of astronaut food, see the rollout of the shuttle stack, or watch the launch itself. In the three days since the site went live, tens of thousands of NASA faithful had registered for tickets.

The NASA-inspired “Space Camp” in Alabama, a learning camp already popular among U.S. kids, had been inundated with inquires and bookings. Parents of relentless children were happily paying full tuition for dates a full year in the future, and some were even paying twice the tuition for immediate enrollment.

In a perfectly choreographed manner, the NASA spokesman wrapped up his presentation and pointed to the south-facing doors of the VAB. A local high-school band, winner of a contest among high-school bands across Florida, began playing the “Star-Spangled Banner” just as the huge steel doors started rolling up in sections like a roman shade.

The lower portion of the crawler-transporter came into view first, followed by the lower portions of the orange external tank and white solid rocket boosters. Since she was on the north side of the shuttle stack, Atlantis was still hidden from view. Atlantis would be hidden from view until the transporter had moved well out onto the crawler-way.

The crawler-transporter crept out of the VAB with its twin 2,750-horsepower diesel engines screaming. The Shuttle Stack towered over the crowd like a skyscraper, creeping along at one mile per hour past awe-struck spectators.

It was a one-float parade of American pride, a larger-than-life rocket ship on its way to rescue the country’s marooned astronauts.

“It amazes me every time I see it,” Stangley exclaimed as the Stack passed. It’s incredible.”

“Eighteen million pounds,” Brown said in a similar tone of wonder. “You know we only have ten engineers certified to drive the transporter?”

“I’ve heard that, and doesn’t it take like a year to become certified?”

“Something like that,” Brown replied, realizing that despite his own decades of work at NASA, Stangley had been reporting on space travel for nearly two decades, and there were probably few facts about the space program Stangley didn’t know.

“One mile an hour, one-hundred-fifty gallons of fuel per mile,” Stangley offered to what had become a pissing match of facts.

Presently, Atlantis came into full view of the crowd. The north side of the crawler-transporter was adorned with typical pre-launch banners, but included one neither Stangley nor the rest of the world had ever seen: “Go For Rescue.”

As Atlantis marched off farther into the distance, Brown found himself checking his watch. He had seen enough. “This is going to go on for another five to eight hours before Atlantis reaches the pad—of course, that’s if we continue to have clear weather and no transporter breakdowns.”

“I heard the weather was supposed to be good the rest of the day,” Stangley said.

“We should grab lunch before all these people get in line ahead of us,” Brown urged.

Stangley looked back at the shuttle stack and then at Brown. “Yeah, I guess I’ve seen enough, too,” Stangley said, trying to be agreeable. In reality, he would have been happy to walk beside the shuttle stack all the way out to the pad.

As they began walking, Brown placed his arm around Stangley’s shoulder. “It’ll give you a chance to catch me up on how the world has been changed by this rescue mission.”

Early that evening, the crawler-transporter carrying Atlantis and the assembled Shuttle Stack arrived at the 5-percent grade ramp that leads up to launch pad 39A.

The crawler’s 16 jacking, equalization and leveling bearings worked in unison to keep the Shuttle Stack vertical while climbing the grade. When the crawler-transporter reached the pad, engineers used a laser-guided docking system to bring the Shuttle Stack to within a quarter-inch of the desired launch position.

NASA was just two hours behind schedule when Atlantis finally settled in at launch pad 39A.

Chapter 45

Columbia Flight Day 16

Friday, Jan. 31, 2003

STANGLEY’S BUICK CENTURY rental car sat parked a few rows down from the entrance to the temporary media parking lot at the Kennedy Space Center. He noticed that even by 8:50 in the evening, there were still very few empty parking spaces.

He didn’t mind the walk in the night air.