explanation was making any sense.
“Hmm.” Bill nodded.
“Are you following me?” Rick Carlton asked, but Bill Stetson was not just following him; he was ahead of him in his thought processes.
“So, the Orion, thinking it was sitting where it used to be sitting, fired its thrusters to get where it thought it was supposed to be when in fact it was already there. And then it got stuck in this loop, making the ship accelerate when it should have been slowing down. Correct?”
“Yes.” Carlton, who seemed pleased that Stetson had understood him, nodded and continued. “And then there is the matter of the missing GPS data. Shortly before Earth departure, the data started appearing again. The only thing we can figure is that there is some sort of short in the system. We’ve isolated the problem to a particular circuit board. A loose connector or a lead that wasn’t well potted could have caused it. We still don’t know exactly, but…” He trailed off, lost in thought or perhaps unsure of what he should say next.
“But what?” Bill asked.
“Well, the same board is used in several pieces of hardware throughout the Orion and some in the Altair.”
Stetson knew what that problem would be. If the board’s design was at fault, and it had to be replaced wherever it was used in the entire system, then America’s return to the Moon would be on indefinite hold until a replacement was designed and the entire system assessed for any unforeseen changes that might result. It could mean a mission delay measured in years.
“Good work, Rick.” Trying to reassure himself as much as Carlton, Stetson added, “Let’s take it one step at a time. Since we can’t look at the board until the Orion returns from the Moon, let’s not sweat it too much. Once the team gets it in front of them on a workbench, they’ll be able to make that call.”
Carlton stood up, picked up his papers, and started to walk out the door. He almost made it before Stetson called out his name and asked another question.
“Rick, what other hardware might be affected?”
“Uh…” Carlton frowned and looked toward his feet before answering. “Lots. The Orion attitude-control system and solar-array pointing system, the Altair attitude-control system, both communications systems, and just about every other piece of hardware that has to be concerned with pointing in one direction or another. It’s all over the place.”
“Okay. Thanks,” Stetson responded. The tone of his voice conveyed both concern and that the discussion was over.
“I guess I’ve been dismissed,” Bill overheard the man mutter to himself as he hurried out the door and down the hallway toward his office. Bill paid it no mind at all. He had more important things to deal with.
Elsewhere, the now-docked Orion and Altair lunar-lander vehicles, thousands of miles away in space, separated from the EDS and began the remaining part of their journey toward the Moon.
Chapter 3
“Where’s Bill?” Astronaut Jim England was looking for his longtime friend. England was a tall, lanky man with a noticeable “hillbilly” accent that he seemed able to turn off and on at will depending upon the situation. Presently, his pronunciation of “Bill” would make listeners swear it was a two-syllable word. He’d known Stetson since their first flight to the International Space Station together back in the shuttle days and had immediately become a part of Stetson’s inner circle of close friends. England never seemed to meet anyone he didn’t like, and almost everyone responded to his warm personality by counting him as a friend.
“Hi, Jim.” Stetson’s secretary looked up from her computer screen at the astronaut. She had been Stetson’s secretary, or, to be politically correct, his management support assistant, for almost five years. Married for over thirty years, with a grandchild on the way, Millie Lawford was cordial, worldly wise, and very good at her job.
“How’re things?” England asked. “You look perplexed.”
“Bill’s calendar.” She grunted as she tapped at her keyboard and then clicked her mouse several times. “It’s a frustrating experience that I’d say is more like herding cats while being overrun by mice than trying to actually schedule adult professionals in the same place at the same time.” She managed a smile for England.
“Ha.” Jim laughed out loud. “Try tuna and milk.”
“He’s in the office. Shall I tell him you’re here?” She started to rise from her seat.
“No, that’s okay,” Jim said. “I’ll go on in. Unless you think I shouldn’t?”
“No, I’m sure it’s fine. Go on in.” She looked back at her screen, forgetting about Jim, and immediately frowned. “NASA just has too many meetings,” she half muttered to herself. “How the heck is he possibly supposed to be in all these places in one short ten-hour day?”
“Good luck.” England shook his head. Taking her inattention to him as dismissal, he walked up to the closed simulated-wood-grain door to Bill Stetson’s all-too-government-issue office. He knocked on the door and reached to open it in one quick, fluid motion. If Stetson were doing something that he didn’t want anyone to see, then he would certainly be caught by surprise.
Fortunately, Stetson was simply sitting at his desk looking at his thirty-inch computer monitor with a mild grin upon his face. He looked up and motioned for Jim to join him on the other side of the desk.
Stetson, though an astronaut and commander of the next flight to the Moon, the first flight “back to the Moon,” was still only a civil servant and subject to civil-service rules regarding office space and accoutrements. The simulated-wood-grain desk and generic cream-colored filing cabinets were the primary features of the room. On the walls were framed pictures of a shuttle launch, the International Space Station, Stetson floating in the U.S. Laboratory Module of the ISS, and many, many pictures of his wife and two children. In the family photos, there were none that didn’t have Stetson surrounded by the satellites that were his family. And in all of them, his wife and children wore great big smiles.
