there is a word processor program loaded, all of which means he can use it as a notepad. He positions the laptop in the middle of his lap and feels it promptly float up and away from him before he can start typing.
He looks around, letting his brain work on the problem until the long strips of velcro straps in a side compartment come to mind. He rummages around and pulls out one long enough to cinch the laptop to his lap.
Feeling almost clever, he brings up the Word program and sits for a few seconds trying to figure out a message that’s suddenly appeared asking if he wants to authorize a continuous download feed.
He shrugs, irritated at the interruption and aware it doesn’t make any difference anyway, since nothing he types will leave the hard drive.
The dialogue box disappears and he opens a blank page and starts to type, stalling out almost immediately.
Log entry—middle of Orbit 2.
Maybe a more personal approach.
I have less than twenty minutes before trying to turn the ship around.
I have less than twenty minutes before trying to turn the ship around, and I’m scared to death.
The view outside is utterly amazing, and if I wasn’t so anxious to be sure I can get home, I’d want to stay as long as the oxygen lasts. It’s hard to describe, Jerrod, Julie, Carly, and Carrie, how deep black the background of space is and how magnificent the Earth is as it revolves below me… even though “below” right now is above. All those pictures we’ve watched from orbit, some live from the space shuttle, can’t really prepare you for what it’s like in person. Worth a lifetime! Of course, I’m going to make it back to tell you all this in person, but I thought you might like to “hear” about it in words as it’s happening. Your dad in space! What a concept, though in your lifetime, this may become routine.
He sits back and rereads, taking care to save the page before checking his watch and continuing. Five more minutes. But this feels good, and someday they’ll love it. Or maybe his grandkids will.
Chapter 9
Arleigh Kerr stands at the end of the small table in the conference room of Mission Control, a freshly emptied bottle of water in his hand. His gaze is fixed on his boss as he clears his throat.
“Richard, I’m sorry to tell you, but we have no rescue capability.
Arleigh’s sigh is heartfelt, his eyes on the papers at the edge of the table. There are only the two of them in the room, better for such bad news. He carefully places the empty plastic water bottle next to the papers, as if adjusting a family treasure, his eyes focused on the base of the bottle until he can’t dally any longer.
“I just got the word from our maintenance chief. The right wing spar is cracked in addition to the gear problem. If we try to fly her, we could lose her going up or coming down. Complete wing loss.” His eyes rise to meet DiFazio’s.
“Can’t we rush the repair?”
“You’re the composites expert, Richard. Not me. They’re telling me with cure times, the best they could do is ten days. Something about rebonding that spar.”
“Oh my God! Without
“I guess the only good news is that we’ve only got the one passenger.”
DiFazio is shaking his head in pain. “So what options, if any, do we have?”
“We can’t mount a rescue mission, we can’t communicate…”
Richard’s voice cuts him short.
“No! Don’t tell me what we can’t do, goddammit! Tell me what we
Arleigh’s retort is just as quick. “How about pray?”
“Excuse me?”
“We don’t have a lot of options, Richard. Christ, I’m not sure if we have
Richard is watching him, subdued now, but hair-trigger restrained as Arleigh continues. “And that raises another major, honking question.”
“Which is?”
“Is anyone even alive up there?”
Richard looks staggered. Arleigh concludes he hasn’t considered this. “We… we don’t know?”
“We don’t know anything, except that the ship is still on orbit and appears to be pressurized, according to NASA’s analysis… or was it NORAD’s? But zero communication, zero telemetry, no indication that
Richard is shaking his head, eyes on the floor. He takes a deep breath before looking up. “Sorry, Arleigh. I just wasn’t ready for this, I guess.”
“Hell, neither am I! No one’s ever taken even a major nonfatal hit up there before. Why us? Why now?”
“You know this could kill us. I don’t mean to discount those two lives, but this could put us out of business.”
Arleigh sits heavily, swiveling the chair around to face the glass wall. His words are to the wall.
“Richard, you, of all people, know how risky this so-called business is. The forces involved, the explosive power, the number of life support things that can go wrong. I mean, we’re vastly more reliable than the shuttle could ever be, but… we’ve been hanging it out from the first.”
“I know, I know. It’s just…”
“We’ve all deluded ourselves into thinking we couldn’t actually lose one. We’ve had so many successful launches.”
“But we haven’t lost them yet. At least, we don’t know, right?”
“True, but a word of warning, okay? I mean, I’m only your flight director, but when this blows into the public eye, we’d better not be heard kvetching about the financial losses.”
“Of course not. I’ve got Diana inbound right now. We’ll put together a quick strategy.”
“It’s gonna leak, Richard.”
“I know it.”
“It’s gonna leak, and the media is going to smell blood and be all over it, and I don’t have a clue what to say or do… other than wait and watch and lean on NORAD and NASA for more information. We’re trying the radios constantly, but if we see the capsule turn around in position for retrofire, or if, at the end of the fourth orbit, it actually does retrofire, then we know for certain someone’s alive up there and following the checklists and we’ve got a chance.”
“Has someone called Campbell’s wife?”
