“Okay, I’m turning on my SAFER now,” Mullen said, reaching for the three-stage toggle labeled “PWR.” With his index finger he carefully flicked it one click to the “ON” position, then another single click to “TST” so his SAFER unit could run its self-test. He followed the prompts on the display as the unit performed the thruster test, a controller and display test and, finally, a rate-sensor function test.
“Be advised, AAH must be set to ‘ON’ and mode select is ‘TRAN,’ ” the CapCom reminded Mullen, referring to “automatic attitude hold.”
Mullen looked down through his tinted helmet visor at the display on the HCM. “Copy, alpha-alpha-hotel set to ON.” Then, with his right thumb he single-clicked the button at the top of the hand controller, turning on AAH. Next, he flipped the toggle switch labeled “Mode” to the right, selecting “TRAN.”
“Green LED for AAH is on. Mode is set to translate.”
“Copy.”
Mullen’s historic moment was just seconds away. He was excited to ride SAFER for the first time, knew it was an honor. As part of his rescue-mission training, Mullen had practiced using SAFER in NASA’s virtual reality lab. The focus of that training had been for using SAFER in an emergency, such as if one of the Columbia astronauts became untethered. It had not been part of the planned rescue strategy. Nonetheless, he felt technically ready for his flight. But that other part of him—his neurotic and self-doubting side—was not letting go. Mullen’s imagination taunted him. His mental rehearsal of a controlled ascent to Columbia was interrupted by images of himself being whipped around, flying out of control far away from Atlantis, like a huge balloon suddenly let loose.
Nonsense! he thought, shaking it off.
“Okay Houston, I’m ready to go here,” Mullen said, sounding, if not feeling, confident.
“We copy, Mullen, stand by. Break, break. Houston for Columbia. Are you guys set?” the CapCom asked.
“We’ve been ready for twenty-five days, Houston. My pilot’s hanging out the hatch with his thumb up. We’re ready for Mullen, send him up,” Columbia’s commander joked.
“Roger that Columbia,” the CapCom said. “Okay Mullen, we’re ready when you are.”
“Here we go,” Mullen said.
Garrett broke in. “Remember to keep your head on straight, buddy.”
Mullen knew exactly what Garrett meant. They’d talked it over so many times before, how the visuals can make you sick in an instant. “I’m good, it’s gonna be a beautiful ride, but thanks for the heads up. We’ll be done with this in thirty minutes, tops.”
Mullen reached out and disconnected his retractable tether from the slide wire. “Alright, I’m going to do a few familiarization maneuvers before I head up to Columbia,” he said for the benefit of Houston.
He rattled off Shepard’s Prayer a few more times, figured it couldn’t hurt.
He nudged the hand controller upward to the mechanical stop, saw the bright-red LED thruster light on the HCM illuminate. He rose straight up out of Atlantis’s payload bay. When he let go of the controller handle, the thruster LED went off, and the handle sprang back to the neutral, off position. Before he’d flown 10 feet, he pushed the handle again, but this time in a forward direction, and began to move forward instead of up. Atlantis was now out of his peripheral vision. He looked back to the HCM and flipped the Mode toggle to “ROT.” Now when he moved the handle to the left, he rotated like a ballet dancer performing a pirouette in slow motion.
“Nice flying there,” Garrett said.
“Thanks,” Mullen said. “You get a real sense of speed as you fly along, especially when flying near the orbiter. But overall, it feels just like it did in the lab. Works beautifully, goes just where you tell it to.”
Mullen flew back toward Atlantis until he was over her payload bay, hovering above by about 15 feet. “Okay, I’m going to try a precision approach down to you now.” He rechecked the Mode toggle. “TRAN” was selected. He pushed the controller handle down, the thruster light came on, and he began moving down toward Garrett. He pulled up on the controller slightly several times along the way to gradually slow his closing rate. When his boots were a few feet above Garrett’s head, he quickly pulsed the controller again, and his rate fell to nearly zero.
“Not bad for a first-timer,” Garrett said.
“Feels pretty easy. I’m not sure how it will feel with another astronaut in tow. I guess as long as he can stay close and tight, like we talked about, we should be able to move as a single unit.”
“Alright Houston, I’m ready to go.”
“Copy that, Mullen. Make us proud.”
“Don’t go anywhere, Garrett,” Mullen said, adjusting his grip on the hand controller. “I’ll be right back with the pilot.”
Garrett watched Mullen jet straight up toward Columbia. Forty feet seemed like a long way to go without a tether. Garrett raced through his own SAFER checklist. He knew that if Mullen got into trouble, he’d have to slide his boots out from the restraints without help, activate his SAFER, and go get him. For now, though, he simply watched, amazed by the sight of Mullen whisking along, a brilliant white speck approaching a huge spacecraft.
On his first trip up, Mullen overshot his target, just as if he were on an elevator and had gone up one floor too many.
“Ah, you want the one that says Columbia on it,” Garrett said.
“Roger that. The name was upside down, so I had a little trouble reading it. But I’ve found it now, thanks.”
A few pulses in the downward direction, a few flashes from the red thruster light, and Mullen was even with Columbia’s sidehatch opening. Best he could tell, he was about 20 feet away. A careful push forward on the handle, and he was moving right toward the sidehatch. He could see Columbia’s pilot waiting in the opening.
Ten, nine, eight feet out now, another pull backward on the handle. Slowing steadily. Four feet.
