by Julie Cannon
*
The next three days were a hurricane of activity. While the crew was preparing for re-entry, Andrea’s team still had work to do. They had systems to check, double-check, and triple-check. Coordinates to confirm, weather to forecast, recovery vehicles to move into place, and hundreds of other steps and procedures to complete to ensure the crew arrived home safely. The only contact she’d had with Kenner was after the daily meeting yesterday morning.
Everyone had been filing out like good little solders when Kenner had asked, “What has to be done for the crew to come home?”
Andrea studied Kenner for a moment, debating whether to give her the condensed or detailed version. She decided that Kenner would only be happy with all the information.
“Other than lift-off, re-entry is the most dangerous aspect of space flight,” Andrea said. “Whereas on lift-off you’re sitting on tons of liquid fuel, with re-entry you’re traveling seventeen thousand miles an hour with the risk of burning up. So many things can go wrong.”
“Walk me through it,” Kenner said, but her request was really more of a question.
“The orbiter relies on gravity to bring it into the atmosphere so it’s critical that it’s turned and maneuvered into the proper position. Once the ship is in the right position, Captain Hight will fire the OMS, the orbital maneuvering system, which slows down the craft enough to enter the atmosphere,” Andrea explained. “When and where the orbiter re-enters Earth’s orbit is an exact science. It determines if they over- or undershoot the landing zone.”
“Where does it land?”
“Sometimes back at Kennedy or at White Sands, New Mexico. Explorer will land at Edwards Air Force Base in California.”
“What about the heat shields?” Kenner asked. Everyone who had ever heard of space flight knew about the most important part of the vessel. Unfortunately, its failure on the return of the shuttle Columbia in 2003 had brought home its criticality after pieces of insulation from the external tanks fell off during lift-off, striking the wing of the shuttle. Unknown to anyone, the insulation had damaged the heat-protection tiles, and when Columbia had re-entered the atmosphere, hot gases had penetrated the damaged area and melted the airframe. The shuttle lost control and broke up above Texas.
“What about them? What are they made of?”
“Depends on where on the craft it is. Reinforced carbon-carbon is on the wing surfaces and underside, insulation tiles are on the upper forward fuselage and around the windows, Nomex blankets are on the upper payload bay doors, and white surface tiles cover the remaining areas.”
Kenner had frowned in that certain way Andrea knew meant she was thinking something through. “Those materials have a high heat capacity,” she finally stated.
“Yes, they do. Because the shuttle is moving so quickly into the atmosphere, it hits air molecules and builds up heat from friction.”
“How hot does it get?”
“About three thousand degrees.”
“Wow.” Kenner nodded her understanding. “There’s no radio communication during that time, right?”
“Right. The hot, ionized gasses surrounding the orbiter prevent radio communication.”
“For how long?”
“About twelve minutes.”
“Then what?”
“Once the shuttle hits the main air of our atmosphere, it’s able to fly like a plane. At twenty-five miles from the landing zone, Commander Hight will assume control from the auto pilot and begin his descent. From then on it’s wheels down, air brakes on, parachute deployed, and the shuttle slows to a stop.”
“You make it sound so smooth, almost elegant.”
Andrea’s pulse tripped a beat or two at the intensity in Kenner’s eyes.
*
Static from the overhead speakers filled the control room already tense with anticipation. Andrea stared at the clock on the screen. The shuttle had been in communication blackout for eleven minutes, twelve seconds. Her outward calm appearance masked the inner turmoil that racked her. This was the critical stage of this mission, and until her crew was on the ground, she would not relax. These dozen minutes lasted an eternity, and the problems on this flight compounded the long wait even more.
“Twelve minutes, eight seconds into comm blackout,” Capcom stated.
Andrea looked away from the clock and glanced around the room. Almost every man and woman was sitting on the edge of his or her chair, eyes glued to the large screen on the front wall. Those that weren’t looking for any sign of the returning shuttle had their heads bowed in what looked like prayer. Andrea didn’t much believe in God, but she’d take any assistance she could get to help ensure a successful end to this mission.
“Twelve minutes twenty-two seconds into comm blackout.”
Andrea slowly stood, her heart racing. They had simulated this stage of the re-entry hundreds of times, and never had the comm blackout exceeded twelve minutes and fifteen seconds. Never.
Andrea’s stomach seized as the seconds ticked by. Please, God, keep these men and women safe, Andrea said in silent prayer. She glanced at Kenner at the same time Kenner turned and looked her way. Their eyes met as if they were seeking reassurance from each other that everything would be all right.
“Thirteen minutes, four seconds into comm blackout.” Capcom’s voice wasn’t as calm as it had been during his last readout.
Andrea couldn’t pull her gaze away from Kenner. It was as if Kenner was her lifeline and to break that connection would break the fine hold she had on this mission, on her life. She didn’t breathe and doubted anyone else in the room was taking a breath either.
The seconds ticked by, and a sense of dread started in the pit of Andrea’s stomach and spread through her like molten lava. Fear tightened its grip around her heart. She felt dizzy and the room started to spin. All she could see was Kenner’s face, her eyes communicating her own dread. This was the moment Andrea feared the worst, had nightmares about, that she would never forget. The crushing vise on her chest tightened.
The speaker crackled, and suddenly the strong voice of Commander Hight broke through like a rainbow after a hurricane.
“Houston, this is Explorer. How do you read?”
The response of Capcom was drowned out by the woops and cheers that were even louder than they were two days ago when the engines ignited. A huge smile broke over Kenner’s face, and Andrea sat back down in her chair, her legs suddenly too weak to remain standing. She dropped her head in her hands and started breathing again.
*
Andrea was finishing her report when she heard a knock on her office door. She’d had to close it an hour ago, the constant interruption of people stopping by to congratulate her too disrupting.
It couldn’t be Barry, who was probably still on the phone with the president, ABC, CBS, and CNN. Supposedly he would appear on the morning news shows and a special edition of Anderson Cooper 360º.
“Come in,” Andrea said, and when the door opened she immediately wished she’d ignored the knock. Kenner stood in her doorway.
“Got a minute?” Kenner asked tentatively.
Andrea hesitated. “Sure.” Her heart skipped, then started racing when Kenner closed the door behind her. The last time they were in this room together they’d “talked” in a completely different language. Andrea didn’t know if she could stop it if it happened again. She didn’t know if she’d want to.
“We have to talk,” Kenner said. She certainly didn’t waste time with idle chatter.
“About?” Andrea knew her question was ridiculous, but she told herself if she acted like she didn’t know what Kenner wanted to discuss, maybe the topic would be different.
Kenner scowled. “About what?”
Andrea leaned back in her chair, looking more relaxed than she was. Her stomach was cart-wheeling, her pulse racing, and her throat was dry. She was still processing the connection that had passed between them several hours ago in the control room. “Yes, about what?” It was almost as
if she were challenging Kenner to bring it up. And they both knew what the it was.
Kenner looked around the room, her gaze lingering on her desk. Andrea knew Kenner was remembering what had happened there. As if she could forget. No matter how many times she wiped it down with a Clorox wipe, it still smelled like sex. God, what had she been thinking? She still couldn’t believe what she’d done, what she’d let happen.
“If this has to do with anything other than this mission, it’s not open for discussion.”
“Why not?” Kenner asked, sitting in the chair across from her.
“Because we don’t have anything to talk about. Your work here is done. You can go back and finish your vacation. I’m sure your company will let you.”
“You and I have unfinished business.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Yes, we do,” Kenner said calmly, her eyes never leaving Andrea’s.
“No, we don’t.”
“Did anyone ever tell you you’re stubborn?”
“All the time.”
“Too stubborn for your own good?”
“No.”
“No?” Kenner asked, her eyebrows raising.
“I do what I need to do—”
“And you need to forget what happened between us?” She paused and looked pointedly to the desk. “Right here, on this very desk?” Kenner asked, her voice as soft as a caress.
“I don’t need to forget it. I’ve just chalked it up to an unfortunate experience and have moved on.” That was a big fat lie.
“Unfortunate experience?” Kenner asked, the expression on her face saying she knew Andrea was full of shit.
“Did you come in for something, or are you just going to mimic everything I say?” Andrea instantly regretted her question. She was trying to get Kenner out of her office, and now she’d just opened the door for further conversation.
“I was going to ask you if you’d like to go out to dinner,” Kenner said.
Andrea read between the lines of Kenner’s invitation. It had a completely different meaning than her previous “wanna grab a bite?” invitations.
“No, thank you.”
“Why not?”
“I have a lot of work to do.” Andrea’s excuse was lame and she knew it.
“Baloney.”
Jesus, Andrea hadn’t heard that word since she was a kid. “I don’t want to,” she said simply.
Kenner didn’t respond, just stared at her. Andrea wanted to look away or squirm under the intense eyes. Her palms itched to touch Kenner again, and her clit throbbed. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” she said finally.
“Why not?”
“Because you’re leaving tomorrow.” Why did Kenner keep asking questions? She’d made it perfectly clear.
“So?”
Kenner’s one- or two-word questions were irritating her. “So? So you’re leaving. Let’s not pull any punches here, Kenner. You didn’t ask me to dinner.”
“I didn’t?” Kenner asked, a slight smile curving her lips. The lips that not forty-eight hours ago had been on her most intimate places. She squeezed her thighs together and stifled a groan.
Andrea wanted to accept Kenner’s invitation. No, it was really a proposition. She wanted to get lost in the feelings again. Even though that place where she lost control was frightening, she wanted to go there again. Wanted to feel like a woman. Desired, powerful, passionate. She was suddenly very tired of being the consummate professional, of working eighty hours a week building a career but having no one to share it with. Not that Kenner was the share-your-life-with kind of woman. She would be exciting, fun, an adventure Andrea would never forget.
But she was a coward, plain and simple. At least she was in her personal life. She’d always kept her personal and professional life completely separate. She had to in order to get where she was today. Sure, she’d finally arrived, but one mistake, one misstep, and she could be displaced in a nanosecond. Then what would she do? Her career would be ruined, and if, and it was a big if, NASA didn’t fire her, she would be relegated to some administrative post far away from here. Even the thought of that possibility scared the shit out of her.
She had no idea what to do with someone like Kenner, and because of that, because she didn’t fit into her neat little well-constructed world, she couldn’t deal with her invitation. She didn’t like change, didn’t like things that she didn’t know the outcome of, couldn’t control the outcome. She was completely exhausted from the past several weeks. She had nothing more to give and certainly not even for one night with Kenner.
“Are we done?” Andrea asked instead of answering Kenner’s question. “Because I think we are.”
“And whatever you say goes, right?” Kenner suddenly turned angry. “Whatever Flight Director Finley says during the mission is the last word. Well, not this time, Andrea. This time I have the final word.” Kenner stood. “Good-bye.”
Chapter Twenty-five
T-minus 00:03:42:08
Andrea’s hand shook as she handed her invitation to the tuxedo-clad man at the door. He was well over six feet tall and, based on his size, had probably played inside linebacker for some pro-football team. But his razor-short hair, earpiece cord twisting down the side of his neck, and his no-shit attitude gave him away as a secret-service agent.
The president had invited the crew and every member of Andrea’s team to the White House for a formal celebration of the success of the mission. Last week the NASA press liaison had issued a mandatory meeting to discuss proper protocol while in the company of the president of the United States and the first lady. Andrea hadn’t voted for the man, but because he was the president she had paid attention on the do this and don’t do thats and the lengthy overview of the dress code.
Beth had insisted she go shopping, stating unequivocally, “No baby sister of mine is going to the White House in some out-of-date, off-the-rack dress.” Andrea didn’t even bother to fight that one, and when she’d looked in the mirror one last time before stepping out of her hotel room to take the elevator down to the waiting car, she didn’t regret her decision.
Now she concentrated on putting one high-heeled foot in front of the other as she was escorted down a wide carpeted hall. The walls were painted a deep shade of tan, contrasting beautifully with the artwork hung in perfect symmetry every six or eight feet. She heard no sound in the hall, but the sense of power and history seeped out of the walls. How many famous people had walked on these floors? Abraham Lincoln? Eleanor Roosevelt? Jackie Kennedy? Marilyn Monroe?
Andrea focused on the shoulders of the man in front of her. She didn’t think he was a secret-service agent. He was too short, too thin, and too pasty. He must have been a butler or an aide of some sort. How did someone get a job like that? Was it passed down from father to son, mother to daughter? Did you go on employment.gov and fill out an application and then wait for the phone to ring? She imagined how odd that conversation would be.
“Good morning, Ms. Smith. This is Mr. Jones from the White House. We’d like for you to come in for an interview with the president. What does your schedule look like for next week?”
Andrea’s thoughts were rambling, and she had to gain some type of control before she opened her mouth. She’d been a ball of nerves since receiving the invitation to this event three weeks ago. She’d finally admitted that she wasn’t nervous because she was going to meet the president and the first lady but because Kenner would be there. The day before their flight to D.C., Barry had told her that Kenner’s boss at Quantum had had to practically order her to attend. It was a conversation she’d never forget.
“I wonder if she’ll bring a date,” Barry said, using air quotes around the word date.
“I really can’t say,” Andrea replied, her stomach churning at the thought of another woman on Kenner’s arm.
“I wonder if they’ll dance.”
Andrea detected more than a little slime in his comment. “And if they do?” Her response sounded like a c
hallenge, and she didn’t try to soften it with anything else.
Barry smirked. “That would be something to see, wouldn’t it? Two qu…gays,” he corrected himself, “dancing in the White House.”
“It’s lesbian.”
“I know she’s a lesbian,” Barry said, frowning. “I’m the one that told you.”
“Gay is used for men. Lesbian is the appropriate term for women. And you didn’t have to tell me. I already knew.”
“What do you mean, you already knew? Who told you?” Barry sounded like a kid whose secret had been stolen out of the bag.
“Because I know who’s a lesbian and who’s not.”
“I can spot them a mile away too,” Barry added, obviously desperate to be with the enlightened in-crowd.
“It’s not always that obvious.”
“What? Because you’re a hero now and you have X-ray-vision eyes?”
When had Barry turned ugly? “No, I am not a hero.” Andrea replied calmly. “Hundreds of people contributed to bringing the crew home.”
“But you got all the glory. And now you’re going to the White House.”
So that was it, Andrea thought. Barry was jealous. Against her will she had been deemed the poster child of the mission, and she had hated every minute of it. She hated the photo shoots, the interviews, and the round of morning talk shows she was forced to attend. She always made it clear that it wasn’t her but a team of people that deserved the praise and accolades.
“You’re going too, Barry. It should be exciting,” she said, trying to appease him. She’d been doing a lot of that lately.
“Big deal. All eyes will be looking at you, the first female flight director, and Hutchings and her gal-pal.”