Chapter 71
Johnson Space Center, Houston
Mission Control Center
POLLARD HEARD WARNER working with his engineers as she approached. They’re still trying to open that airlock, she thought. She glanced at her watch. She and her tiger team had spent 18 minutes on their plan.
“Pollard, please tell me you have something,” Warner said, catching sight of her as she entered Mission Control. “Please tell me you have a solution.”
“Allan,” she said in a tone that riveted his attention.
“What? What have you got? We’re running out of time here, Julie.”
“We’re going to have them jett the sidehatch,” she said. Again, her voice was calm and confident.
“The sidehatch? Shit.” Warner turned away, looked out to the huge monitors at the front of Mission Control Center. Pollard watched his eyes first scan a monitor showing a live feed from Atlantis where the celebrating had already begun, then move to another monitor carrying the feed from Columbia, where a camera in the mid-deck shooting aft caught space suits moving inside the airlock. Unlike Pollard, Warner had had enough of this mission. He was worn down, drained. He didn’t know if he could stomach the risk that came with yet another unrehearsed space walk. His eyes followed a slow path back to Pollard. “You’re sure that’s the best way?”
“You want them out today, don’t you?”
“I wanted them out an hour ago!”
“Then they need to come out via the sidehatch.”
“Okay. Then what? What comes after the sidehatch?” Warner asked, afraid to hear her answer.
“Mullen goes and gets them, one at a time, using SAFER.”
“The jet pack, huh.” He shook his head, rubbed his eyes with his palms, and forced a smile. “You do like your drama caffeinated,” he said, releasing a heavy sigh. “Alright Pollard, what do you want me to do first?”
“Get Mullen and Garrett back inside Atlantis’s airlock, have ’em plug back in, but keep them in their suits. Then tell Commander Avery to move Atlantis down and away from Columbia’s port side a hundred feet or so, more if you think it’s necessary. Then we need to get Columbia’s commander and pilot to repress the airlock, then exit the airlock back into Columbia. Have them get their crew-escape cue cards out so they can review the procedures for a sidehatch jettison. I’ll be back in less than ten minutes with the rest of the details.”
Chapter 72
GARRETT AND MULLEN WERE FLOATING above Atlantis, casual as two friends loitering at a celestial bus stop, when the CapCom doled out the first installment of instructions in scant detail. The full complement of rescue instructions was to come over time.
Mullen tethered off to an external handhold of the airlock and allowed his muscles to slacken, stealing a much needed break. He moved his head and lips, found the straw, and took a hit from his drink pouch. Floating just above, he watched Garrett lower himself down through Atlantis’s airlock hatchway. It was during this idle moment that Mullen heard the CapCom click in over the comm loop and say something he couldn’t have imagined even in one of his best beer-fueled fantasies.
“Houston for Mullen,” said the CapCom.
“Mullen here Cap, fire away.”
“About the extraction of the commander and pilot. Once the sidehatch is off and Avery gets you guys and Atlantis back up to Columbia, we want you to use SAFER for the final extraction.”
Garrett was listening, too, and smiled, knowing what Mullen was feeling. Lucky bastard. He didn’t hear a reply from Mullen, and figured he’d either been shocked into silence or that he’d smiled so big that he’d cracked his helmet and was now dead.
“Mullen you copy?” CapCom asked.
“Uh. Yeah. Sorry, Houston. Copy. Use SAFER for transfer.”
The SAFER (Simplified Aid For EVA Rescue) unit was an 83-pound, self-propelled backpack system that served as an add-on to the standard EMU space suit. The SAFER unit was a simplified version of the earlier, much larger and more cumbersome Manned Maneuvering Unit (MMU). It provided a means for self-rescue in the event an astronaut drifted off untethered from the ISS or an orbiter during a space walk.
The propulsion mechanism of SAFER was simple by design. As the astronaut moved the pistol-grip joystick, sophisticated avionics software directed stored nitrogen gas through one or more of 24 nozzles mounted about the unit. As the gas exited a particular nozzle or group of nozzles, the astronaut moved in the corresponding opposite direction. Maximum velocity change was nearly 10 feet per second.
The mood among Atlantis’s rescued five had been shattered by the grim reality that the rescue of their commander and pilot was in jeopardy. The news was no surprise to Avery and Rivas, who’d been up on Atlantis’s flight deck during the entire rescue EVA, manually flying Atlantis, maintaining her proximity to Columbia. They had seen firsthand the trouble Mullen was having with Columbia’s airlock.
“Houston, Atlantis. Avery here.”
“We copy, go ahead.”
“Garrett and Mullen are set. We’re ready to move.”
“Copy that, Avery. You’re clear. We’ll be watching for separation on your mark.”
Avery looked over at Rivas. He nodded that he was ready. Avery checked her grip on the rotational hand controller, then looked up at Columbia through the two 20-by-20-inch overhead aft flight deck windows.
“Roger, Houston,” Avery said. “Initiating RCS burn in five, four, three, two, one, mark.”
Atlantis’s Reaction Control System jets fired in response to Avery’s hand controller inputs.
“Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty feet out now,” Rivas said. Avery and Rivas watched from the overhead flight deck windows. The five rescued Columbia crew members crowded Avery and Rivas on the flight deck, vying for a view of Columbia as Atlantis pulled away. Peering aft through the windows just a few
