Margaritifer Basin (Margaritifer Trilogy Book 1)
Page 60
“Roger, sounds good.”
CAPCOM, “Ares, you’re Go at 8 minutes. 706 miles downrange, 114.2 miles altitude, and 20,341 feet per second.”
“Uh, roger. Abby?”
“Yeah, god, right on the money. 0.8 g’s.”
“Rog. Gabe, how’s that SECO time sound to you?”
“Huh?”
“Come on, Gabe, wakie, wakie. SECO at 10 plus 40. That sound right?”
“Sorry, I was looking out the window. Oh my god, what a view.”
“Yeah, but we can sightsee later.”
“Yeah, um, let me think for a second. Um, yes, plus or minus a second, 10:40 sounds good.”
“Okay, so about two minutes. Everybody ready for zero g?”
“Bring it on,” said Abby.
Gabe and Susan both replied, “No.”
CAPCOM, “Ares, this is Newport, you’re Go at 9 minutes. 885 miles downrange, 120.3 miles altitude, and 21,650 feet per second.”
“Roger.”
“0.9 g’s,” said Abby. “I could get used to this.”
Jeff smiled. “Well, get used to it fast, it won’t last long.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Gabe?”
“Everything’s in the green. Good to go.”
“Roger. Sue, how you doing down there?”
“Looking forward to parole.”
Jeff laughed. “About another minute and a half and we’ll let you out of there.”
“I’m dying to look out the window.”
“It’s quite a view.”
“I can only imagine.”
CAPCOM, “Ares, Newport, you’re Go at 10 minutes. 1,172 miles downrange, 125 miles altitude, and 23,794 feet per second. Predicting cutoff in 40 seconds.”
“Roger.”
“1.1 g’s,” said Abby. “Enjoy it while you’ve got it.”
Gabe groaned, “I am so not looking forward to this.”
Jeff smiled at her. “Eh, you’ll be fine.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You got your barf bag handy?”
She whimpered, “Yes.”
“Oh great,” said Abby. “We’ll have to have the upholstery cleaned when we get back.”
Gabe growled, “Shut up.”
“Okay, knock it off,” said Jeff. “20 seconds. Gabe?”
“Yes, looks good.”
“Abby?”
“Yeah, right in the crosshairs.”
“Roger. 10 seconds… 5… and… shutdown. Newport, Ares, SECO!”
CAPCOM, “Copy SECO. 1,378 miles downrange,129.7 miles altitude, and 25,543 feet per second. We’ve got your orbit as 128.7 by 133.6 miles.”
“Gabe?”
“Yeah. Works for me.”
“Roger, Newport. 128.7 by 133.6.”
CAPCOM, “Ares, this is Newport, you are Go for orbit.”
“Roger, Newport, Go for orbit.” Jeff sighed and his head drooped as he suddenly realized he was just thankful to be alive. “Whew!”
“You okay boss?” said Abby.
“Uh, yeah. I was just thinking about all the times I laid in bed awake at night wondering if we’d even make it this far.”
Abby grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Well, we did.”
“Yeah, we did.”
CAPCOM, “Ares, Newport, booster is safe and configured for orbital coast. Madrid acquisition at 20:09. Your latitude’s generally going to be too low for Madrid tracking, but we should be able to get a good radar position on this pass.”
“Uh, roger, copy.” Jeff removed his helmet and, for a moment, just stared at it, floating in front of him. He smiled and shook his head. “I’ll be damned.”
The others followed suit, removing their helmets and gloves, then passing them down to Susan who stuffed them into a stowage bag and bungeed it to the aft bulkhead.
Jeff punched the quick-release on his shoulder harness and drifted upward, grinning. “Yee haw! This is great.” He grabbed a handhold, flipped over, and reached out to Abby and Gabe, who took his hands. “Oh my god, I can’t believe it. We’re in space!”
They both grinned. Gabe bit her lip. “Unbelievable.”
“And the day we met at Caltech you thought I was a lunatic.”
“I still do.”
“Yeah, well, I probably am. Sue? Would you like to be let out of your cage?”
“I would indeed.”
“Okay, hang on a second, let me fold this seat up. Gabe, insertion checklist?”
“Rog. Working on it.”
Jeff folded the center seat to make room for Susan to shimmy up into the crew compartment.
CAPCOM, “Ares, Newport, I have your Delta azimuth correction and post-insertion mass when you’re ready to copy.”
“Abby, can you get that?”
“Yeah, sure. Go ahead, Chrissie.”
CAPCOM, “Roger. Delta azimuth correction is plus 0.23. That is, plus 0.23. Post-insertion mass is 334,622 pounds. I say again, 334,622 pounds. And we recommend P52 alignment.”
Abby jotted down the figures. “Roger, Delta azimuth 0.23, mass 334,622, and we’ll go ahead with P52.”
CAPCOM, “Roger. And your Madrid LOS is 21:27.”
“Copy. 21:27. Gabe, you got that P52?”
“Working on it. It’ll take me a minute or two, I have to find a couple of stars here.”
“Rog.”
Jeff reached down, grabbed Susan’s ankle and pulled her up, feet first, then spun her around.
“Oh my god! This is unbelievable!” She hugged him.
He nodded toward the left side of the capsule. “Have a look out the window.”
Susan drifted over Abby, looked out the port rendezvous window, and gasped, “Oh my god!”
“Hell of a view, isn’t it?”
“I’ve seen countless photographs of Earth from space, but seeing it first hand? Oh, god.”
CAPCOM, “Ares, Newport, LOS Madrid in one minute. AOS Canberra at 58:55, Simplex Alpha.”
Abby keyed her mic. “Roger, Newport. 58:55 and Simplex Alpha.”
Gabe crushed the barf-bag to her mouth and… barfed.
Abby grimaced. “Eeew, that’s gross.”
Susan frowned. “Dramamine not working?”
Gabe shook her head. “Apparently not.”
“What have you got in your stomach to throw up?”
“Nothing. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t want to try. Ugh.” She barfed again. “I don’t think my stomach likes space.”
Jeff chuckled. “Well, relax, in seven months we’ll be on Mars, and you’ll have gravity again.”
Gabe groaned, “Oh god.”
“Yeah, alright, while Gabe is, um, indisposed, Sue, you want to grab a camera and take a few pictures?”
“Sure.” She pulled a Nikon D4 out of a storage locker, pointed it out the window, and snapped a few frames. “Oh god, I can’t believe this. I’m taking pictures of Earth from a 130-mile orbit.” She giggled. “Oh my god!”
Gabe groaned. “Oh, yuck. Uh, Abby are those IMU torqueing angles in the DSKY?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Alright, can you give me a PROCEED?”
“Sure. You got it.”
“Okay. IMU’s aligned with REFSMMAT and the Guidance Computer’s good to go.”
“Rog. Uh, Newport, Ares, P52’s complete.”
CAPCOM, “Roger.”
#
Abby fiddled with the event timer. “Okay, Gabe, ignition at 19. Right?”
“Yes, 1:27:19.”
“You sure?”
“Yes! Of course I’m sure.”
“Okay. We gonna end up ahead of it, right? And static?”
“We’ll be ahead of it, but probably opening by a few feet per second.”
“Take your word for it. Okay, standby for 13 second orbital rendezvous burn in one minute.”
Jeff nodded. “Roger. Newport, Ares, ORB in 58 seconds.”
CAPCOM, “Roger, Ares. We’re showing your present altitude at 128.7 miles, and velo
city of 25,549 feet per second. Concur with your ORB. And, uh, AOS Goldstone tracking in two minutes.”
“Roger. Sue, you strapped in?”
“Yes.”
“We get everything else nailed down?”
“Yes.”
“30 seconds,” said Abby.
Jeff glanced at her. “Can you see it?”
Abby looked out the window. “Um… no, it’s still above and behind us, I think. And I can’t see it in the mirror. Gabe, can you see it?”
“No.”
“Okay,” said Jeff.
“15 seconds,” said Abby.
“Roger.”
“10… 5… 3, 2, 1, ignition.”
“Roger. We’ve got thrust.”
“No shit.”
CAPCOM, “Ares, Newport, we’ve got your ignition.”
“Roger.”
“5 seconds, 3, 2, 1, shutdown.” Abby glanced out the window. “Holy shit!”
“What?”
“It’s right outside the goddamn window!”
“The Sundancer?”
“Yeah! Crap! We couldn’t have missed it by more than a 100 meters. Jesus!”
Jeff looked at Gabe and frowned. “Gabriel!”
“What? You said to get close. And, the closer we are to it, the less SPS fuel it will take to dock.”
“Yeah, but, Jesus!”
“What’s your problem. We’re close.”
Jeff groaned and glanced at Abby. “Never mind.”
Abby shook her head. “You need to be more careful about what you say to her.”
“Really. Alright, let’s get turned around, get rid of this booster, and get docked. I need a drink.”
“A drink? A drink! Hot damn! You brought a bottle, you sly devil.”
Jeff smiled, then pointed a thumb astern. “Yeah, but it’s a couple hundred meters back there.”
“Son of a bitch! And cocktail hour approacheth.”
CAPCOM, “Ares, Newport, Goldstone tracking is showing your distance to Sundancer as, um… close aboard.”
“Roger, Newport, don’t ask. We’re gonna translate for S-II jettison.”
CAPCOM, “Roger. LOS Goldstone at 1:33:31, and you’ll have no Madrid tracking on this pass.”
“Roger.”
Abby grabbed the reaction control system joysticks. “Okay, here we go. Pitching.”
Jeff nodded. “Yeah, PROCEED on the DSKY, and you’re pitching.”
“Watch it. It’ll probably go back to Rate Command. This sucker doesn’t handle at all like the simulator.”
“Probably because the sim doesn’t have a 125 ton booster attached to it.”
“Yeah. Be glad to get rid of that hunk o’ junk.”
“Hey, it got us here.”
“Okay, I got it. Gabe, you see it?”
“No. Oh! A little bit to the right. Maybe… 5 degrees. There it is.”
“Okay, reversing… and forward thrust. Gabe, how we doing?”
“Um, hang on… Uh, 270 meters.”
“Are we static?”
“Um… yeah. Close enough.”
“Roger. Okay, what say we get rid of our excess baggage?”
Jeff nodded. “Yeah, alright. Arm Pyro Bus A.”
“Pyro Bus A armed,” said Gabe.
“S-II maneuvering to separation attitude. Arm Pyro Bus B.”
“Roger. Arming Pyro Bus B.”
CAPCOM, “Ares, Newport, we’re showing S-II separation attitude and Pyro Buses A and B armed.”
“Ares, Roger.”
“CMC Mode, AUTO,” said Gabe.
“Got it,” said Abby, “AUTO.”
“We’re gonna translate plus-x and hold?”
“Yes.”
“Okay Abby, let’s go,” said Jeff.
“Thrusting.”
Gabe pressed the CM/launch vehicle ‘SEP’ button.
“SEP!” said Jeff.
CAPCOM, “Copy, separation.”
“Abby, you have Delta-V?”
“Yeah, I’ve got, uh, 0.8. I’m gonna stop there.”
“Okay. SM RCS propellant, verify all eight gray.”
“Um, crap!” said Abby. “Problem.”
“What?”
“Uh, primary and secondary Propellant B both went barberpole on separation.”
CAPCOM, “That was on quad Bravo?”
“Roger, Newport,” said Jeff, “quad Bravo.”
Gabe flipped a couple switches, cycling the RCS fuel valves. “How’s that?”
Abby sighed. “Um… ah! Okay, eight gray.”
“Don’t sweat it. Same thing used to happen all the time during Apollo S-IVB sep.”
“Roger.”
CAPCOM, “Ares, Newport.”
“Yeah, Newport,” said Jeff, “go ahead.”
CAPCOM, “Roger, we’re commencing the S-II reentry orientation maneuver and will be enabling the LOX dump in two minutes.”
“Roger.”
CAPCOM, “Ares, Newport, do you have an ETA for docking?”
“Uh, yeah, Newport,” said Gabe, “ closing on her now. About, uh, 19 minutes.”
CAPCOM, “Roger. Presently 132.4 miles altitude, 25,526 feet per second.”
“Uh, roger. Gabe, how’s your stomach doing?” said Jeff.
“Much better. In fact, I’m hungry.”
“God, so am I,” said Abby.
Jeff grinned. “Well, the space café is dead ahead, move it.”
“Roger that.”
“Sue, you want to squeeze up here and man the camera while we make our approach.”
“Yeah, sure. On my way.”
“Shit,” said Abby, “things haven’t changed.”
“What?” said Jeff.
“These Apollo accelerometers are still useless during translation and docking. Gabe, BMAG?”
“Okay.”
“Ah, that’s better. Range?”
“Um, 248 meters.”
“Roger.”
Susan hovered over Gabe’s shoulder, filming the Sundancer as they approached. “God, that’s incredible.”
Abby glanced out the rendezvous window. “It sure is. Wow.”
“How we doing, Abby?” said Jeff.
“As Mike Collins said on Apollo 11, we’re closing in a leisurely fashion.”
“Leisurely works for me. This handling any better now?”
“Well, it’s closer to the sim, but still a ways off. I think part of the problem is the difference in mass. The simulator was setup for Apollo missions and we’re a little lighter. This reacts faster than the sim. It’s okay, I’ve got it.”
“Roger.” He glanced out the window. “Oh man, that’s beautiful.”
“Yeah. Home sweet home.”
Gabe frowned. “It’s not exactly Wrentham House.”
Jeff chuckled. “No kidding?”
“I think my bathroom is bigger.”
“That’s because you’ve got the biggest bathroom in the house.”
“No I don’t, you do.”
“Yeah, but I don’t use that one.”
Gabe shook her head. “You know, you bring a whole new meaning to the word bourgeois. I mean, who else has a bedroom with two bathrooms, one of which is big enough to accommodate ballroom dancing.”
Jeff laughed. “Hey, I didn’t design the place, I just live there.”
“Not anymore.”
“Hmmm, point conceded.”
“227 meters.”
“I dunno,” said Gabe, “we’re too close. Maybe, 10 feet.”
“No problem,” said Abby, “I’ve got it.”
“Call the ball,” said Jeff.
Abby grinned. “Roger, ball. This is a lot easier than a carrier landing.”
“If you say so.”
“Contact,” said Gabe. “Docking Probe, Extend/Release.”
“Right. Give it a few seconds for the oscillations to settle. Newport, Ares, soft dock.”
CAPCOM, “Roger, soft dock. 133.6 miles altitude, 25,516 feet per second, right where you oug
ht to be. Ares, be advised, you’ll have no Canberra tracking on this pass.”
“Roger, Newport.”
“Docking probe, retract?” said Gabe.
“Yeah, go ahead.”
“Hard dock. Docking Probe, Extend/Release and Retract to Off.”
“Roger, Newport, hard dock.”
CAPCOM, “Copy, hard dock.”
Jeff, Gabe, Abby and Susan exchanged smiles at the sound of cheers in the background of Chrissie’s mic.
Jeff shook hands with each of them and grinned. “I’ll get the door.”
CHAPTER 17
Tuesday, March 22, 2016 (T plus 2 hours, 14 minutes)
Jeff again removed his helmet and gloves, and passed them to Susan. “Gabe, how much time have we got?”
“For TMI on our third orbit?”
“Yeah.”
She frowned. “Um, 73 minutes.”
“Uh, well, that ain’t gonna work.”
“I hesitate to say I told you so, but… I told you so.”
“Yeah. Okay, so we go for TMI on the fourth orbit?”
“Yes.”
He sighed. “Alright, fourth orbit it is. What time will that be?”
“About 4:55.”
“Roger. Newport, Ares.”
CAPCOM, “Go ahead, Ares.”
“Yeah, we just, uh, decided to go for TMI on our fourth orbit. According to Gabe, around T plus 4:55. Proceed accordingly.”
CAPCOM, “Roger, will do.”
Jeff glanced at Gabe and Abby. “Alright then. Um, since we now have time to spare, anyone up for breakfast?”
Following a meager meal of energy bars and Gatorade, Jeff disconnected from cooling water, donned a wireless earpiece and mic, and floated up into the docking tunnel and opened the pressure equalization valve on the forward hatch. “Okay, Gabe, close the cabin pressure relief valves and the SM O2 supply valve.”
“Roger, pressure reliefs and O2 supply closed.”
“Is the pressure holding?”
“Yes, dead solid. Looks like we’ve got a good seal.”
“Roger that.” Jeff gave the hatch pump handle a stroke, unlatching it, then pulled the hatch out and passed it down to Abby for stowage.
“Got it.”
Jeff carefully checked all twelve docking ring latches to ensure they were fully engaged. Three were sufficient to assure a good seal, but twelve were better than three. Then he removed the docking probe and drogue assemblies, passed them down to Abby, and connected the two electrical and data umbilicals to ports beside the Sundancer’s outer airlock hatch.