“Houston, Columbia. PVV is go. Thirty seconds remaining on the depress.”
“Copy that Columbia.”
The commander checked his watch while he maintained his position at the T-handle box.
“Okay Houston, depress complete. I’m going to pull the jett safing pin now.”
“Copy Columbia. Break, break, Atlantis this is Houston. Stand by for sidehatch jettison.”
“This is Avery on Atlantis, we copy on the standby, Houston.”
“Alright, second pin is out,” the commander said.
Through clear face shields, the commander and pilot exchanged looks, wordlessly wishing each other luck.
“Okay, here we go with jettison,” the commander said. He placed his gloved hand on the forward T-handle, squeezed, then pulled down. In an instant, three separate sets of pyrotechnics performed perfectly. First, four linear-shaped charges fired, severing Columbia’s two sidehatch hinges. Next, two expanding tube assemblies fractured the 70 frangible bolts that connected the sidehatch adapter ring to Columbia. Finally, three thruster packs fired, rocketing the sidehatch into space at a velocity of approximately 50 feet per second.
“Houston, Columbia. Sidehatch is off and away,” the commander said.
“Copy sidehatch jett.”
“Houston, Atlantis. Sidehatch jettison from our vantage point appears nominal.”
“Copy that, Atlantis.”
The seven aboard Atlantis watched Columbia’s sidehatch fly. It twisted and turned, flickered like a mote of dust passing through rays of sunlight. Then it was gone.
Chapter 74
Johnson Space Center, Houston
Mission Control
CAPCOM JIM HADLEY was no stranger to the EVA space suit. He’d worked countless hours outside the space station in the exact same type of suit Columbia’s commander and pilot were currently wearing. In the short pause before the next rescue milestone, he sat quietly at his Mission Control console and tried to imagine the predicament of the two remaining Columbia astronauts. Stranded inside their spacecraft with EVA suits on, crew cabin depressed, and the sidehatch blown out. What a god-damned mess!
He thought of himself as a hostage negotiator or a police psychologist trying to get inside the mind of his suspect, to see what he saw, and sense the fear that drove him. He recalled memories of his own space walks, the sound of rhythmic breathing inside his helmet, the grunts and occasional breath-holding that came during physical effort. Then he closed his eyes to better visualize what they’d see from the sidehatch doorway, peering out through an unfamiliar opening, an unexpected breach in their spacecraft.
Hadley’s chief concern was that one or both of Columbia’s remaining astronauts would become nauseous. NASA could not afford for either of them to vomit. Columbia was still orbiting upside down relative to Earth, and so to help with visual orientation, he figured the two Columbia astronauts might try to position themselves so they could look down on Earth. Nearly their entire field of vision would be of Earth spinning beneath them. In the foreground, Atlantis would be rising up toward them, at least until it reached its new rendezvous point. Then it would hold its position slightly offset from Columbia to simplify the SAFER flying for Mullen. The combination of movements had the potential to be a motion-sickness nightmare for an astronaut.
“Columbia, Houston,” CapCom called.
“Go ahead, Houston,” the commander said.
“We need you guys to tether your suits to the inside of Columbia ASAP. Falling out is ill-advised. Also, watch out for the visuals from the sidehatch opening. Don’t want anyone getting sick up there.”
Columbia’s pilot was already at the sidehatch peering out, and as he heard the CapCom talking to his commander, he turned to give him a thumbs-up; he was still okay.
“Uh, Houston, we’re both good,” the commander said. “And copy interior tether.”
Borne of centuries of tradition, it went unspoken that the commander would be last to leave Columbia. And so automatically the pilot positioned himself for first out, and tethered his suit to the grab bar that was now low and to the right of the sidehatch opening.
“Houston, Atlantis. We’re set to begin our way back up to our new rendezvous station with Columbia.”
“Roger, Atlantis, hold when you reach forty feet.”
“Copy, hold at forty,” Commander Avery said.
Rivas counted out the closing distance for Avery. As they approached a 40-foot separation, Avery slowed, using the rotational hand controller, and at exactly the 40-foot mark, she held Atlantis still.
On rendezvous station, and finally given the okay from Mission Control, Garrett and Mullen flew out of Atlantis’s airlock like players from a dugout three outs away from winning the World Series. Seconds later, they tethered to Atlantis’s payload bay slide wire and switched on their four helmet lights.
While waiting in the airlock, they’d been briefed by the Cap-Com on the procedures for rescuing the last two Columbia astronauts. Mullen could hardly wait to get to it. He hurried to get the first task out of the way: helping Garrett get up and secured on the payload bay fixed platform. It was the same platform and position they’d used during the rescue of the other five Columbia crew members.
Once Garrett signaled he felt secure, Mullen braced himself in an upright position relative to Atlantis’s payload bay. He reached down to the lower right-hand side of the suit backpack, hunted briefly under glove-muted tactile feedback, and activated the SAFER release lever. He raised the SAFER’s hand controller module (HCM), a box comprised of multiple switches, a joystick-like hand controller, and a 16-character LCD display. He connected the HCM to the front of his suit at chest level, then grabbed the hand controller to test the feel of it in his gloved hand. As he did all this, and contemplated what he was about to do, he whispered Shepard’s Prayer over and over in
