Launch on Need

by Daniel Guiteras

  Warner screamed into the phone, “That floating object must be part of Columbia’s wing—it’s a wing fragment! Oh God, oh my God!”

  Warner dropped the receiver on his desk.

  Chapter 11

  Columbia mid-deck, sleeping quarters

  Orbit 45

  Columbia Flight Day 4

  Sunday, Jan. 19, 2003

  AS USUAL, COLUMBIA’S COMMANDER, one of four astronauts comprising the Red Team, was the first to wake. Even while in space, soft-restrained in a rip-stop nylon bag, floating gently inside a horizontal bunk bed, he awoke before the alarm—the traditional musical wake-up call—the same as he did every day on Earth. Even amid the hazards of space, his body stayed the course, his biorhythms seemingly hard-wired from the factory.

  He removed his eye covers and ear plugs, then switched on the low-power fluorescent light in his bunk compartment, squinting as the light flickered and sputtered, it too waking to full power. Then he checked his watch. The wake-up call from Mission Control was less than five minutes away. He held perfectly still in his bag and closed his eyes. He could hear a few muffled sounds from the Blue Team, who were finishing their shift, but he put those out of his mind. Instead, he focused on the sensation of weightlessness. Starting with his sock-clad feet and moving up toward his head, he let his mind sense each body part and how it felt to be floating. There was no pressure in any direction, no pulling or pushing, nothing binding or restricting. His only movement came from the shallow draw of his lungs, accompanied by the faint metronomic thrusts of his heart.

  Columbia was floating too; with all engines off, she was resting. He had no perception of spacecraft movement; there were no bumps or jolts, no Earth bound associations he could use to detect movement.

  Columbia had already completed nearly 45, 90-minute orbits. Sixteen sunrises and sunsets every 24 hours. She was faster than a bullet train and smoother too, humming along at over 17,000 miles per hour.

  Soon the main cabin lights of the mid-deck turned on. The wake-up call from Mission Control, music the Red Team had agreed on before launch, began playing. This morning it was Deep Purple’s “Space Truckin’.” It played for approximately 30 seconds, then the music volume was pulled down like a DJ about to address a crowd; the voice of Mission Control welcomed the Red Team to flight day four.

  “Columbia, Houston. Good morning, Red Team. We hope you enjoyed your night aboard Columbia!”

  “Houston, Columbia. Another wonderful night!”

  The Red Team astronauts greeted each other as they floated free of their bunks. And soon the Blue Team joined them on the mid-deck.

  “A note for the commander,” Mission Control came back, “before you get too far into your timeline for today, we need you to check your e-mail for an important update.”

  “Roger that,” the commander replied, smiling as usual, always happy to be in space. He then grabbed various handholds, giving motion to his body, making his way forward in the spacecraft. He maneuvered over to the interdeck passageway, an opening measuring 26 by 28 inches that allowed astronauts to move between the mid-deck and the flight deck above. He slinked through the opening and was surprised, startled really, to see Columbia’s Blue Team pilot fastened into his seat, apparently waiting for his commander.

  “I was told by Houston to wait for you here; it’s some e-mail they want us to read together.”

  As the commander floated into position, he searched the pilot’s face for clues, but there were none—it was as vague as a seasoned poker player’s.

  “What is it, did they say?” the commander asked.

  “Didn’t say a thing, just that there was an e-mail for us.”

  “Okay then, let’s see what it is,” the commander said sas he typed in his password on the laptop computer. He opened the email, and the two of them read silently.

  Original Message

  From: Warner, A. (Allan)(JSC-DA8)(NASA)

  Sent: Sunday, January 19, 2003 04:07 A.M.

  To: CDR; PLT

  Subject: Debris Strike during launch

  Attachment: Video clip of debris strike

  You guys have been doing a great job with this mission and it’s been great working with you. Except for a few minor hardware glitches, Columbia and the SpaceHab unit have proven to be a great environment for doing science. And that is one reason why I’m sorry to have to send you this e-mail.

  I need to bring you up to speed on a problem with Columbia that we’ve been working here on the ground, one that unfortunately seems to be growing in scope by the hour.

  During your ascent, at 81.9 seconds MET, ramp foam liberated from the ET bi-pod attachment point struck Columbia’s left-wing leading edge. High-resolution video analysis shows the foam striking the wing and breaking into smaller particles. However, the debris shower passes behind the underside of the wing and out of view from cameras. Therefore, it is unclear whether or not there is RCC panel or tile damage. We have been unable to quantify any potential damage from the ground.

  The Mission Management Team, with the help of a Debris Assessment Tiger Team, concluded that we either need to obtain outside imaging (military ground or satellite-based imaging), or have the crew perform a wing-inspection EVA in order to assess the degree of wing damage. These two options were discussed at length during yesterday’s MMT meeting, and by the conclusion of the meeting we believed that imaging would be the best initial attempt at damage assessment, and would have the least impact on mission objectives if no damage were found.

  Then, just as I prepared to contact SPACECOM to request imaging, they instead phoned me, with the following information: In processing FD3 Space Surveillance Network data, it was discovered that an object appeared at 3:57 P.M. adjacent to Columbia’s left wing. The object seems to have appeared following the two scheduled orbiter vector changes that were made on FD3.

  Now, we don’t know positively what this object was, of course, and I say was because it has since reentered Earth’s atmosphere and burned up. But given the tedious close-out procedures for all items loaded into the orbiter’s payload bay prior to launch, and the fact that there have been no EVA’s this mission, the object is unlikely to have been something that came out of the payload bay.

  Our foremost concern, actually, is that the object could be an RCC fragment from the leading edge of Columbia’s wing that had motion imparted to it during your orbiter positioning maneuvers.

  With this latest development, we have therefore decided that a wing-inspection EVA will provide us with the most conclusive assessment of wing damage in the shortest amount of time. The wing-inspection EVA will be performed by two of your crew members tomorrow.

  A Tiger Team headed by Joseph Senca is well under way developing procedures for the wing-inspection EVA. I assure you the brightest minds are working this problem.

  When you’re ready, we want you to inform the rest of the crew of this problem. While the procedures for the wing-inspection EVA are being worked, we request that you remain on your scheduled timelines.

  I have attached a video clip of the debris strike for your viewing.

  Nothing else for now. I will communicate with you again as soon as updates become available.

  P.S.

  We believe the debris strike to be between RCC panels 6 through 9 of Columbia’s left wing. The view of the wing out Columbia’s aft flight deck windows, as you will recall, is blocked by the open payload bay doors. Your view of the wing begins with RCC panel 12.

  Chapter 12

  Johnson Space Center, Houston

  Press Room

  Sunday, Jan. 19, 2003

  CONTINENTAL AIRLINES FLIGHT 1087, en route from Orlando, surged and dipped in the stone-washed January sky, preparing for its final approach to runway 30L at Houston’s William P. Hobby Airport.

  John Stangley sat twisted in his seat, tight against the window, looking out from the 757-200, with all the wonder of a small boy on his first flight.

  “God I miss you Claire,” he
said. His words to her collected on the window from dampened breath, then faded away. He longed for comfort, and found it somehow, in the sound of his own voice speaking to her. “God, I miss you… oh Claire.” His eyes welled, then released.

  How many times had he taken this flight? Twenty? Thirty? Or was it more like forty or fifty? And so many of those times, she had been in the seat beside him, his companion, his lover, his wife, the missing puzzle piece that completed him. Her absence now, from this flight, from his life, from a developing story that was sure to be the highlight of his career and easily the story of the decade, stung him deeply. Without Claire here to love him, the engine to his soul had been lost, wrecked, rendered motionless.

  Passengers closed their books, checked their watches, stowed their tray tables, and prepared for landing. Time moved on.

  The plane heaved in the morning air, fighting to come down. The runway grew closer, moved faster, and rushed under the belly of the huge aircraft. And then came that quiet moment just before wheel contact, when a plane makes peace with Earth, the quarrel ends, and it settles in to land. Touchdown, 8:10 A.M. Houston time.

  The plane taxied to the gate, its wings waving up and down as if it were bound by some ornithoptic reflex.

  Stangley felt the pressure of the outside world nudging him to get moving again. Rushing, everyone rushing, needing to get somewhere. Time moved on. Life moved on. But he found himself paralyzed, refusing to be part of a world that was willing to go on without Claire. Finally, after several fellow passengers had politely motioned for him to move, Stangley reluctantly joined the exodus.

  Stangley arrived at Johnson Space Center’s pressroom later than usual, hoping to avoid the unending questioning from his colleagues about how he was doing, their remarks about how great it was to see him again, and how great he looked.

  He felt like hell.

  The room seated well over a hundred, and was filling quickly with reporters from around the world, all eager to hear the next chapter of Columbia’s fate.

  “Over twenty-five countries are represented,” he overheard Susan Gainey from the Chicago Tribune say. In a week, there’ll be three times that swarming this place, and the Kennedy Space Center as well, Stangley thought.

  At the front of the room was a standard NASA conference table, covered neatly with a floor-length royal blue tablecloth emblazoned with a large NASA meatball logo. Despite his many years reporting on the space program, Stangley’s feelings about NASA had never changed. He was crazy about the space program, and he was the first to say so. Every launch and landing, every press conference, every meet-and-greet with the astronauts, anything to do with NASA, gave Stangley gooseflesh. Even the sight of NASA’s logo caused a stir in him.

  For Stangley, NASA was the single-most patriotic entity in America. He had felt some of the same patriotism when visiting D.C. and the White House two years earlier, felt some of the same reverence; but the politics that went along with it—the bickering, back-stabbing, and posturing—always bothered him.

  The Space Program, though, particularly the human spaceflight division, had brought together people of all ages, races, religions and political affiliations. Even now, Columbia was orbiting with an international crew, including a female Indian astronaut, and a first-ever Israeli astronaut.

  NASA, of course, was not without its political challenges—and social challenges, too. There were those who argued America should be spending its vast resources on some earthbound cause, instead.

  The space program had demonstrated its ability to transcend man’s differences, both in triumph and disaster. Apollo 1, Apollo 11, Apollo 13, and Challenger—all were proof that mankind was capable of uniting for a single purpose.

  Stangley had seen it, witnessed it for himself; it was the same for every launch from the Kennedy Space Center. The first-timers, the foreigners and the seasoned reporters were all drawn in by the drama of the countdown clock, the American flag rolling in the breeze, and that unmistakable engine rumble. They stood transfixed, humbled at the sight, even from a distance of more than a mile, of millions of pounds of thrust pushing rockets skyward.

  Someone unfamiliar to Stangley from NASA’s public affairs office took the podium as the four panel members took their seats at the conference table. “Thank you all for coming today,” he said. “I’ll start by introducing you to the four panel members for our STS-107 Flight Day Four press conference.”

  Stangley was excited to be in Houston again. He was anxious, though, about this press conference and worried about the mess NASA was in. He expected grave wounds to be inflicted on his beloved space agency before day’s end. Although most reporters here thought themselves clever if they could make a NASA official stumble or waffle on a question, Stangley considered himself NASA’s greatest ally. When NASA had bad news, Stangley was interested in reporting it, but not from the angle that NASA had somehow screwed up, miscalculated or been caught taking a shortcut in design, testing or maintenance. Rather he sought to portray what the astronauts might be feeling, what dangers they faced, and what it must be like to be far from home and uncertain about the return to Earth.

  “On my left is Julie Pollard, Chair of the Mission Management Team. Next to her is Joseph Senca, Chief Structural Engineer and Tiger Team leader. Then we have Allan Warner, Flight Dynamics Officer. And finally, Reid Hamilton, Space Shuttle Program Manager.”

  “We’ve prepared some information for you today about the spacewalk,” the public relations representative continued, “and then we’ll take any questions you might have. Thank you again for coming today. Okay, now I’ll turn it over to the panel.”

  Allan Warner spoke first.

  “As most of you probably know, the astronauts learned of the debris strike early this morning via an e-mail that was uplinked to Columbia. In the e-mail, it was explained to the crew that a spacewalk would be necessary for them to determine the extent of damage if any. Again, we’re not sure if there was any damage. Ah, it also was stipulated that the spacewalk would be performed tomorrow. We have selected two crew members to perform this EVA tomorrow—spacewalk; sorry, EVA is Extra Vehicular Activity.”

  The panel smiled at Warner’s use of NASA speak. Most reporters in the room smiled, too, since they were familiar with the term EVA. They realized how hard it was for engineers to speak in a language other than NASA vernacular.

  “Both astronauts selected for this EVA have previous spacewalk experience; however, they have not practiced the procedures they will be performing tomorrow. As you recall, STS-107 is strictly a lab-based science mission, with no spacewalks planned. On board Columbia are two spacesuits to be used for situations like this—for what we call a contingency Extra Vehicular Activity.”

  Warner looked to his right, “Mr. Senca will now highlight the objectives for tomorrow’s EVA. Joe.”

  “Thanks, Allan,” Senca said, sitting up straighter in his chair and readying his orbiter model for show and tell.

  “The Tiger Team and I have been working out the procedures for the contingency EVA—the spacewalk to inspect the wing. We expect the EVA to be completed in less than two hours.”

  Senca then held up his model of the orbiter with open payload bay doors. “We’re still working out the last of the details, but generally the spacewalk is a two-step process,” Senca said. He grabbed two scale models, one of a flexible astronaut figure and the other of an orbiter, and then using them, began to describe the EVA procedure.

  “The first astronaut, after donning her spacesuit, will exit through the airlock here, the pressurized doorway that separates the astronauts of Columbia from the vacuum of space.” Senca pointed to the orbiter’s airlock. “The astronaut will then translate down the left side of the payload bay here, moving toward the rear of the spacecraft until she is over the leading edge of the left wing, about two-thirds of the way down the payload bay. The astronaut will then lean out over the payload bay door to inspect the wing. If no damage is seen on the upper surface, she then climbs
out over the payload bay door and steps out onto the wing, forming a bridge between the wing and the payload bay door.”

  Senca looked up from his model, out at the reporters, looking for any signs that he was losing people. So far so good.

  “In case you’re wondering,” Senca offered, “it’s about 4 feet from the payload bay door down to the wing. It may not sound like a difficult task to climb over the door and lower yourself down 4 feet, but when you’re wearing a spacesuit in zero-G, it can get rather tricky.

  “Assuming the first astronaut is unable to see the wing well enough to assess any damage,” Senca continued as he manipulated a second astronaut figure, “the second astronaut will exit Columbia in the same manner, again through the airlock, translating along the payload bay. He will then climb over the payload bay door and will use the first astronaut’s back and legs to lower himself down toward the leading edge of the wing.

  “The astronauts will have two-way communication with each other, with Columbia and with Mission Control here in Houston,” Senca added, setting his model of Columbia down on the table. “The spacewalk is scheduled for 9:37 A.M. CST tomorrow.” He looked up, signaling he was through with his demonstration. An awkward pause followed.

  “The panel will now take any questions you might have,” the moderator said from the podium.

  “Hi, Connie Ostrowski, Dallas Morning News. Can you tell us about how the crew of Columbia reacted when they heard the news of the debris strike and the need for a spacewalk?”

  The panel members looked at each other and Warner nodded he would take this one.

  “Well, remember we don’t know if there is any wing damage at this point. We’re speculating, but as of yet we have no confirmation. That being said, the reaction from the crew was what you might expect; they were concerned, but optimistic that it will turn out to be nothing.”

  “Mark Gooding, Space.com. In what way will the mission be compromised, in terms of experiments being abandoned or abbreviated, to allow astronauts time to perform the spacewalk?”