After rotating Atlantis into position, Avery’s second task would be to bring Atlantis another 10 feet closer to Columbia, thereby bringing the orbiters to within just 20 feet of each other.
“Commencing rotation,” Avery called on the comm channel. She twisted the hand controller with the skill of a seasoned gamer. The reaction control yaw jets barked in short bursts, gently moving Atlantis about its Z axis (yaw), just as Avery had intended. As Atlantis neared the desired ending position, Avery goosed the controller carefully in the opposite direction to slow Atlantis’s rotation and to bring the spacecraft to a stop on the mark.
“On at ninety degrees, Houston. Beginning proximity closing.”
“Atlantis, Houston, we copy.”
Rivas called out the closing distance as Avery guided Atlantis even closer to Columbia.
“Twenty-nine feet… twenty-eight… twenty-seven… twenty-six… twenty-five… five feet to go, Houston, lots of waving hands in the windows!”
Avery blinked to release her tears of pride as she listened to Rivas call out the distance marks. She watched her fellow astronauts, her friends, frantically waving from Columbia’s overhead flight deck windows. Real people growing closer in a slow-motion rendezvous.
“God, they must be glad to see us,” she said softly.
Johnson Space Center, Press Room
“Good morning,” Pollard said. Her first words were delivered in a solemn tone of concern, triggering a hundred flashes from camera-toting reporters. Ever since the rescue mission began on Columbia flight day five, Pollard had started her nearly daily updates by announcing how many days Columbia had been in space. Considering Atlantis had just arrived on orbit less than 24 hours earlier, most thought it would be something she’d mention. But Pollard said nothing about which day in space it was for Columbia or Atlantis. This somewhat odd departure was not lost on the reporters, or anyone else who had been following the rescue mission.
“Early this morning,” Pollard began, “approximately two hours after the launch of Atlantis, engineers from our Thermal Protection Shield Team, in union with launch-imaging experts, viewed both the launch videos and ultra-high-resolution satellite images obtained of Atlantis’s heat shield. The following are their conclusions.” The camera flashes continued, mixed in with the sounds of a few old-school film camera motor drives and digital-camera beeps. “At fifty-seven-point-eight seconds after launch, two separate pieces of insulating foam broke away from the external tank, striking the underside tile surface of Atlantis. One piece of foam measured approximately four-and-a-half inches by five inches by two inches. The other piece was slightly smaller in all dimensions. The launch video captured each piece of foam as it broke away from the ET; however, the exact path each piece of foam took while falling cannot be seen in the launch videos or still images.
“As a result of the falling foam, five individual tiles have sustained moderate to severe damage. We do not yet know the exact mechanism of damage. However, engineers are rather certain that the foam pieces ricocheted between the orbiter and its mounting hardware on the ET. The small foam fragments likely got caught in the turbulent, hurricane-like airflow between Atlantis and ET, and were subsequently thrown into Atlantis’s protective tiles.
“Although the tile damage created gaps in Atlantis’s Thermal Protection System,” Pollard continued, “engineers believe tiles adjacent to the damaged areas can still provide sufficient heat dissipation for reentry. This of course assumes the integrity of the damaged tiles remains sound—that is to say the damage lies solely in the gouges themselves and those adjacent tiles have not been fractured or loosened. It should be noted that the reinforced carbon-carbon wing panels of Atlantis have been cleared. They are free of damage,” Pollard emphasized, and briefly let her gaze sweep the assembled reporters.
“The transfer of Columbia’s crew to Atlantis is set to begin within the next hour. This of course is barring unforeseen problems. The first two Columbia astronauts have nearly completed their pre-breathe protocol in Columbia’s airlock. Garrett and Mullen of the Atlantis crew will soon be heading to Atlantis’s airlock to don space suits for their EVA. Before they start the rescue EVA procedure, they’ll open the payload bay doors and get the suits ready. They have a few housekeeping duties to perform before the rescue transfer can commence.
“Aside from the tile damage, all systems aboard Atlantis are nominal at this time. Updates will be issued as information becomes available. Currently, the rescue mission is on track and is progressing as well as can be expected.”
Pollard looked up from her prepared remarks and said, “I will now take a few questions.” She knew the statement would prompt a salvo of questions. She was so tired, though, so numb from worry and stress, that when the hands shot up like third graders eager to impress their teacher, she found herself unable to decide whom to call on first.
When Pollard’s hesitation grew too long, a reporter blurted out, “How can you be sure the heat shield will hold?”
As Pollard struggled to form an answer, someone else yelled out, “What difference does it make? Atlantis has to come in, damaged or not.”
“I understand the concern the tile damage raises,” Pollard said, hoping to quell the group’s fear and regain control of the press conference. “Rest assured, we are not facing reentry with the thought that the crew might not make it, that the tiles may not hold. Atlantis will undoubtedly land with the greatest amount of tile damage we’ve ever seen. That is, the damage sustained during liftoff, plus any further damage incurred during reentry.”
“Have you told or are you going to tell the crew about the tile damage?” another reporter asked.
“No. The crew will not ask. It’s standard operating procedure for the crew to work
