any propellant leaks. They would be the first to meet the orbiter and, with atmospheric sensors, quickly assess the potential for explosions before allowing doctors and nurses to approach.
A distant rumble made Jack lower his binoculars and glance due east.
Choppers were approaching, so many of them they looked like an ominous swarm of black wasps.
'What's this?' said Bloomfeld, also noticing the choppers. Now the rest of the ground crew was staring at the sky, many of them murmuring in bewilderment.
'Could be backup,' said Jack.
The convoy leader, listening on his comm unit, shook his head.
'Mission Control says they're not ours.'
'This airspace should be clear,' said Bloomfeld.
'We're trying to hail the choppers, but they're not responding.' The rumble had crescendoed, and Jack could feel it in his bones now, a deep and constant thrum in his sternum. They were going to invade the orbiter's airspace. In fifteen minutes, Discovery would drop out of the sky and find those choppers in her flight path. He could hear the convoy leader talking urgently into his headset, could feel panic begin to ripple through the ground crew.
'They're holding position,' said Bloomfeld.
Jack raised his binoculars. He counted almost a dozen choppers.
They had indeed halted their approach and were now landing like a flock of vultures, due east of the orbiter's touchdown point.
'What do you suppose that's all about?' said Bloomfeld.
Two minutes left of communications blackout. Fifteen minutes till touchdown.
Randy Carpenter was feeling the first flush of optimism. He knew they could bring Discovery down safely. Barring a catastrophic computer failure, they could fly that bird from the ground.
The key was Hewitt. She had to stay conscious, had to be able to flip two switches at the right times. Minimal tasks, but crucial. their last radio contact, ten minutes before, Hewitt had sounded alert, but in pain. She was a good pilot, a woman with a steel backbone tempered by the refiner's fire of the U.S. Navy. All she had to do was stay conscious.
'Flight, we have good news from NASCOM,' said Ground Control. 'Mission Control Moscow has made radio contact with ISS on Regul S-Band.' Regul was the Russian S-band radio system aboard ISS. It was completely separate and independent of the U.S. system, and it operated via Russian ground stations and their LUCH satellite.
'Contact was brief. They were on the tail end of LUCH satellite comm pass,' said Ground Control. 'But the crew is all alive and well.' Carpenter's optimism flared even brighter, and he tightened his plump fingers in a triumphant fist. 'Damage report?'
'They had a breach of the NASDA module and had to close off Node Two and everything forward of that. They've also lost two solar arrays and several truss segments. But no one's hurt.'
'Flight, we should be coming out of comm blackout,' said Capcom.
At once Carpenter's attention snapped back to Discovery. He was happy about the news from ISS, but his first responsibility to the shuttle.
'Discovery, do you copy?' said Capcom. 'Discovery?'
The minutes went by. Too many. Suddenly Carpenter was back dancing on the brink of panic.
Guidance said, 'Second S-turn completed. All systems look good.' Then why wasn't Hewitt responding?
'Discovery,' repeated Capcom, his voice now urgent. 'Do you copy?'
'Going into third S-turn,' said Guidance.
We've lost her, thought Carpenter.
Then they heard her voice. Soft and unsteady. 'This is Discovery.
Capcom's sigh of relief huffed loudly over the loop. 'Discovery, welcome back! It's good to hear your voice! Now you need to deploy your air-data probes.'
'I -- I'm trying to find the switches.'
'Your air-data probes,' Capcom repeated.
'I know, I know! I can't see the panel!' Carpenter felt as if his blood had just frozen in his veins. Dear God, she's blind. And she's seated in the commander's seat. Not her own.
'Discovery, you need to deploy now!' said Capcom. 'Panel C-three -- '
'I know which panel!' she cried. There was silence. Then the sound of her breath rushing out in a whoosh of pain.
'Probes have been deployed,' said MMACS. 'She did it. She found the switch!' Carpenter allowed himself to breathe again. To hope again.
'Fourth S-turn,' said Guidance. 'Now at TAEM interface.'
'Discovery, how ya doing?' said Capcom.
One minute, thirty seconds to touchdown. Discovery was now traveling at six hundred miles per hour, at an altitude of eight thousand feet and dropping rapidly. The pilots called it the 'flying brick' -- heavy, with no engines, gliding in on delta-wing slivers.
There'd be no second chances, no abort and fly around for another try.
It was going to land, one way or the other.
'Discovery?' said Capcom.
Jack could see it glinting in the sky, puffs of smoke trailing yaw jets. It looked like a bright chip of silver as it swept its final turn to line up with the runway.
'Come on, baby. You're lookin' good!' whooped Bloomfeld.
His enthusiasm was shared by all three dozen members of the ground crew.
Every shuttle landing is a celebratory event, a so moving it brings tears to the eyes of those who watch from the ground. Every eye was now turned to the sky, every heart pounding as they watched that chip of silver, their baby, gliding toward the runway.
'Gorgeous. God, she's beautiful!'
'Yee-haw!'
'Linin' up just fine! Yes sir!' The convoy leader, listening on his earpiece to Houston, suddenly snapped straight, his spine rigid in alarm. 'Oh, shit,' he said.
'Landing gear isn't down!' Jack turned to him. 'What?'
'Crew hasn't deployed the landing gear!' Jack's head whipped around to stare at the approaching shuttle.
It was barely one hundred feet above the ground, moving at over three hundred miles an hour. He could not see the wheels.
The crowd suddenly went dead silent. Their celebration had just turned into disbelief. Horror.
Get them down. Get those wheels down! Jack wanted to scream.
The shuttle was seventy-five feet above the runway, lined up perfectly.
Ten seconds till touchdown.
Only the flight crew could lower the landing gear. No computer could flip the switch, could perform the task meant for a human hand. No computer could save them.
Fifty feet and still traveling over two hundred miles an hour.
Jack did not want to see the final event, but he could not help himself.
He could not turn away. He saw Discovery's tail slam down first, spewing up a shower of sparks and shattered heat tiles.
He heard the screams and sobs of the crowd as Discovery's nose slammed down next. The shuttle began to slide sideways, trailing a maelstrom of debris. A delta wing broke off, went flying like a black scythe through the air.
Discovery slid off the tarmac, onto the desert sand. A tornado of dust flew up, obscuring Jack's view of the final seconds. His ears rang with the crowd's screams, but he could not utter a sound. Nor could he move, shock had numbed him so profoundly he felt as if he had left his own body and were hovering, ghostlike, in some nightmare dimension.
Then the cloud of dust began to clear, and he saw the shuttle. Lying like a broken bird, in a terrible
