Scav
Mostly Harmless
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Here we go again! After much thinking and toiling, I am proud to present:
SEP-010, Chapter 16.
"Now, I know we've kinda talked around the issue at hand, but I wanted to get a clear indication from you, Mr. Payton, about what is going on with the SEP-010 mission and where we stand at this time. What is going on?"
Matthew Payton nodded to the man standing in the audience, and his eyes swept briefly around the conference room. The question the man had just asked was reasonably worded, and he smiled as he worded his own reply.
"Well, I can tell you that this mission has proceeded in a satisfactory fashion all along. We launched her, as many of you well know, on the ninth of this month with no major problems. Lunar orbit was achieved three days later, and we landed Constitution and performed our first spacewalk on the moon in forty years later that week. We set milestones on this flight so far; it was the first time an American woman has set foot upon the moon. For that matter, it was the first time three different people from three different countries had been on the moon, and all of them were women. Russia, the United Kingdom, and we all had a hand in that.
"I can also confirm that, as many of you may already know, Constitution was struck by a piece of debris, of still an unknown nature shortly before return to Earth. I'm also sure many of you are aware that this debris has damaged the spacecraft significantly, but not critically; I have to stress that. However, none of the astronauts aboard have been in any immediate danger from this event, and we have been taking steps to rectify the situation satisfactorily to get them home."
"Just to be clear, are you mounting a rescue mission?"
Payton paused. "I wouldn't necessarily say it's a rescue mission. We have been able to satisfactorily expedite our second Shuttle-Derived Orbiter, Enterprise to flight readiness status so that she can join the fleet, and last week we were able to ferry this orbiter successfully from Edwards Air Force Base directly to the Cape with no operational anomalies detected. An advantage we were able to exploit with this operation, is that Enterprise has arrived at the Kennedy Space Center fully assembled; we had to undertake . . . detailed measures to bring Constitution in for her maiden spaceflight and perform a final assembly and checkout at Orbiter Processing number 4."
Anyone who had followed the early days of the Space Exploration Program knew that simply getting Constitution to Florida from her home factory in California was a herculean activity, in light of the fact that safety protocols prohibited a direct orbital flight from Edwards' airspace in the unlikely event of a debris-raining mishap. NASA had had no shortage of experience in dealing with shipping large items across the country; the Space Shuttle's External Tank had come from Michoud on a barge.
There was no barge for Constitution, though, which meant an excellent pedigree of decision-making skills had to be intermingled with engineering prowess. Constitution was made to be a rigid, safe 'floating balloon' while in space; after landing (wherever it happened to land), it had to be able to be disassembled in manageable pieces no larger than a train flatbed car could carry. And the assembly/disassembly process had to be safe, reliable, and generate a fully-functioning spacecraft once more.
"This means that Enterprise has been, and will continue to be undergoing her flight readiness review on-site at the Cape. Our methods and capabilities of fully surveying the vessel non-invasively after every flight have improved in the last ten years, and with that in mind, we expect that her crew of three will be able to join up with Constitution to resolve this situation by the end of the week."
"What are your plans when Enterprise meets up with Constitution?"
"Ideally," Payton said, "the best outcome is that through one or more planned EVA's -- or, extra-vehicular activities -- we'll be able to repair Constitution to allow her to re-enter the Earth's atmosphere for a landing at the Kennedy Space Center no later than two weeks from now. Our goal is to get our astronauts back on the ground, and we will do what we have to, to see that goal safely accomplished."
"Alright," Edward Foulkes said softly, "let's take two more questions, and we'll call this session a day."
"Mr. Payton, do you have any doubts in your mind whether or not this mission will conclude successfully?"
"Absolutely no doubt in my mind, whatsoever," Payton purred. "No doubt. These astronauts that we have up there right now . . . Brian Adkinson is a veteran; he's been up in space three times, and he's commanded both of his SEP missions to-date. Jamie Cunningham started out in the program as a mission specialist, and she proved her ability to jump disciplines into flight training. We also have one of the world's best cosmonauts aboard. On the ground, we're sending up Greg Williams, who is an accomplished fighter pilot, test pilot, and veteran of SEP-008, and on his wings are Charlie Davis, who is a veteran of our first SEP flight, and one of our best technical minds up there. Tamara Ciotti will be going up with him, and she is an accomplished pilot as well.
"The point I'm trying to make . . . is that we've got an unusual situation up there, but we've got the best people up there who can deal with it in a favorable manner, and we're sending up the best people we can who can help them out and get them home safely."
* * *
Constitution
Brian Adkinson opened the door to his sleeping chamber and kicked off, floating into the darkened aft-deck. The windows were all drawn shut, he noted, as he checked the watch at his wrist.
Constitution was still in the middle of her 'sleep' period, and they were undoubtedly still in the stable orbit Jamie Cunningham had put them in for two weeks, now.
He couldn't sleep. The dramamine tablets were running out, and he felt another wave of nausea threaten his consciousness. The usual symptoms he knew about, and could stave off with his mind: The strange feeling of missing limbs, the sudden, abrupt flashing of gamma rays penetrating his eyes in his sleep. Not knowing which way was 'up;' that, he could deal with.
Svetlana Zaytseva's tentative prognosis, on the other hand. Half the conversation he overheard when she talked to her own people was in a very frenetic Russian, and he'd only been able to pick out a few words here and there in spite of the fact of his partial fluency in that language.
Serezna. Animichni.
While he wasn't unfamiliar with how Russians talked (his time on the International Space Station had seen him learning a rudimentary understanding of the language and basic skills in communicating with them), the words coming out of her mouth were alien to him -- clinical-sounding, even cold. It took even longer for him to accept the fact she was talking about him . . . in those strange words. He knew some of the words she used -- not good. Knowing that didn't help him out any, and he shook his head forlornly.
You're hundreds of miles above the surface of the only habitable planet in this star system, there's really no way back to civilization on your own, and you've got a Russian doctor -- medical student, really -- who probably thinks you're going to die. Isn't that wonderful? He thought bitterly to himself.
A sliver of light caught his attention, and he swam over to the mid-deck transfer tunnel and poked his head through. Jamie Cunningham was 'seated' at the table, and a reading lamp hooked to the table's edge afforded a ghostly amount of yellowish light in the chamber.
"Hi," He said as he swam through the short tunnel.
"Jesus!" Jamie yelped in surprise. Yanking her earbud out, she took a moment to slow her breathing, and she nodded to him.
"What are you doing up so early?" She said.
"Couldn't sleep. Needed coffee," He replied, and a smile wormed its way onto her face. "What time is it?"
"Zero-dark-thirty," Jamie replied as she launched herself from her chair and swam towards the circuit breaker for the lights. Flipping the switches, the mid-deck flooded with light.
". . . in other words, does anyone really know what time it is?" She quipped as she pushed off the wall towards the galley, and he smiled as she inserted a coffee packet into the hot water tap.
"Creamer and sugar?" Adkinson prompted, and Jamie snorted.
"Irish cream, or French Vanilla?"
"Caramel macchiato, please."
"As you wish," She said with a shrug. It was a running joke, of course: The coffee packets came pre-packed with powdered creamer and sugar, were filtered in the bag, filled on demand with hot water, which was squeezed through the bag like a french press. The coffee could be consumed in two ways: out of its original container through a built-in straw, or into an open plastic bag acting as a cup, while squeezing the straw at the bag where its check valve was built-in to keep spillage at a minimum.
Usually, the desire for a quick blast of caffiene in space often warred with the desire against excessively monkeying around with the equipment, and it was just another reason to laud the science industry for necessarily complicating such a mundane ritual.
She removed the coffee bag from the hot water tap, tossing the bag slowly to Adkinson who took it with a smile, and she prepared another bag.
"So how are you doing?" Adkinson asked conversantly as he watched her work at the galley.
"Hanging in there," Jamie replied softly. "Lately I've been feeling like . . ."
". . . like what?"
". . . like the world's forgotten about us already."
Adkinson nodded slowly as he drank his coffee. "Why do you say that?"
"Well, for several reasons," Jamie replied dryly. "Number one, we're running out of upchuck pills . . . number two, we're running out of clean clothes . . . number three, we're running out of deodorant up here . . . number four, we're running out of palatable food up here . . . and number five, they stopped sending us wake-up calls."
It was true; the music that accompanied every wakeup call every 'morning' was a tradition from back in the Gemini days. It was something that took some getting used to ones first time up, but after that, it was like clockwork. The absense of that music . . . of those special messages from family and the general public . . . was abruptly upsetting.
"They'll come back around," Adkinson said. "Besides . . . it's not like they're so desperate for tunes that they're about to start raiding the archives yet."
Jamie snickered woodenly as she rolled her eyes. "They already did that two years ago."
Adkinson cocked his head questioningly.
"Don't you remember? The Carpenters?"
"Oh!" Adkinson nodded. "Top of the World. Right, I remember." He laughed as memory caught up with him, and she gave him a stony look.
"Constitution, Houston . . . good morning."
Jamie activated her earbud. "Good morning, Houston. Brian and I are awake."
"That's good to hear. We have some good news to start out your day today."
Jamie perked up. "What's the good word, Houston?"
"The good word . . . and we have to apologize for not saying anything to you about it earlier . . . is that Enterprise has successfully launched from the Cape two hours ago and is already about to synchronize orbits with you. We estimate they will be above your position by one hundred nautical miles approximately five minutes from now."
* * *
Enterprise
"Roger. We copy you are in final position, and you are 'go' for final course correction and rendezvous at this time."
"Go for final course correction and rendezvous," Charlie Davis repeated as he looked right, out of Tamara Ciotti's window. Enterprise was high over the Pacific Ocean. He could see the bright city lights outlining Japan underneath them, and as the shroud of darkness pulled away, he could see the bulbous white of a typhoon some five hundred miles east of the coast. Constitution was underneath them. It had taken them fifteen hours since wheels-up to properly align their orbital planes and undertake a coelliptical coast with a few course corrections, but they'd finally done it: They were within thirty nautical miles of their target and the range was starting to increase again.
At least Mission Control finally agreed that this was close enough. He entered in the values the flight computer needed to work with, and executed the program. Enterprise angled for the Earth, and fired the main engines.
The burn was a long one, and as Davis watched the projected distance values increase, he whispered a silent prayer for the five people underneath him -- so close, he felt like he could reach out and touch them even then.
* * *
Constitution
"Constitution, Houston."
Jamie Cunningham checked the mission elapsed time. Thirteen days, twenty-three hours and forty-six minutes.
"Go ahead, Houston."
"At this time, Enterprise is within two nautical miles of your position, should be directly overhead."
Jamie Cunningham looked 'up', out the overhead window and gasped. She could see, out of the brilliant starfield above her, a brilliantly white shape looming above her.
"I see it, Houston!"
* * *
Enterprise
"Enterprise, Houston. We copy you are on terminal approach. Be aware that we have about ten minutes to go before crossing the terminator into night-side; we recommend you delay docking and assume station-keeping with Constitution until you are in daylight again."
"Roger that, Houston, and I have that beautiful spacecraft in sight," Davis replied. "If we can get them to point their heatshield into the sun, I can get us around for an observation pass."
"Copy, Enterprise. I will pass that request along."
Davis checked the mission elapsed timer. Sixteen hours, four minutes since liftoff.
* * *
Constitution
"Constitution, Houston."
"Go ahead," Jamie said.
"Jamie, we have a request from Charlie Davis on Enterprise; can you roll to head's down for them? They want to survey your TPS."
"Certainly," Jamie said cooly.
* * *
Enterprise
Charlie Davis watched Constitution move. He never saw what the reaction control jets could do in a vacuum, and as the brilliant white streams of light lanced out of the hull of the orbiter, he paused to stare in wonderment. Now, he moved Enterprise in, angling his own orbiter in a relative 'head's-down' attitude with regards to Constitution.
His goal was to come as close as he could to Constitution, so that he could use the overhead windows as an observation point.
The plan worked. Five minutes later, Greg Williams was out of his seat with a video camera.
"Okay, Houston. Enterprise MS-1," Williams said. "I have visual contact with Constitution. The debris strike is on the port-side wing . . . and it looks like one whole panel has, indeed, been torn off of the wing.
He examined the hole in the wing. The SCRAM tank was holed completely through, and unusable. There was some control cabling near the impact site, but it looked like it was unsevered. He looked closer as the light began to wane, through the hole . . . and saw the dull grey of the port-side main fuel tank. It looked scored by the debris . . . but there didn't seem to be a hole.
If the main fuel tank was undamaged, then there was a good chance that the structural spar immediately above it was unimpinged as well.
He glanced at the clamps that held the missing plate in place. Three of them were free . . . and had looked like they snapped open reflexively when they took the hit. The last one . . . he groaned. The fourth clamp held a chunk of hafnium diboride in its place.
An EVA would have to be done to work the wreckage clear . . . and then it would be a crapshoot whether the clamp would even hold the new plate in place.
His mind buzzed with questions as he stared at the clamp. In order to survive re-entry, the thermal protection plate simply had to hold fast, in order to keep the unnaturally hot gases from melting the wing on the way down.
But what about three out of four?
He knew that the hold-down system for the plates was over-engineered, and that there was a certain amount of overlap in the way the plates were arranged on the bottom side of the hull. Furthermore, the ship would be experiencing real-gas pressure that would keep the damn plate on the wing in the first place, right?
The last clamp was on the aft-ward side of the wing; not the front-ward side. A 'zipper' effect was out of the immediate question in his mind.
He made up his mind. He could repair Constitution. And she could most likely make it back in one piece. Anything after that, would be up to the big-wigs; not him.
He reached for his microphone.
* * *
SEP-010, Chapter 16.
"Now, I know we've kinda talked around the issue at hand, but I wanted to get a clear indication from you, Mr. Payton, about what is going on with the SEP-010 mission and where we stand at this time. What is going on?"
Matthew Payton nodded to the man standing in the audience, and his eyes swept briefly around the conference room. The question the man had just asked was reasonably worded, and he smiled as he worded his own reply.
"Well, I can tell you that this mission has proceeded in a satisfactory fashion all along. We launched her, as many of you well know, on the ninth of this month with no major problems. Lunar orbit was achieved three days later, and we landed Constitution and performed our first spacewalk on the moon in forty years later that week. We set milestones on this flight so far; it was the first time an American woman has set foot upon the moon. For that matter, it was the first time three different people from three different countries had been on the moon, and all of them were women. Russia, the United Kingdom, and we all had a hand in that.
"I can also confirm that, as many of you may already know, Constitution was struck by a piece of debris, of still an unknown nature shortly before return to Earth. I'm also sure many of you are aware that this debris has damaged the spacecraft significantly, but not critically; I have to stress that. However, none of the astronauts aboard have been in any immediate danger from this event, and we have been taking steps to rectify the situation satisfactorily to get them home."
"Just to be clear, are you mounting a rescue mission?"
Payton paused. "I wouldn't necessarily say it's a rescue mission. We have been able to satisfactorily expedite our second Shuttle-Derived Orbiter, Enterprise to flight readiness status so that she can join the fleet, and last week we were able to ferry this orbiter successfully from Edwards Air Force Base directly to the Cape with no operational anomalies detected. An advantage we were able to exploit with this operation, is that Enterprise has arrived at the Kennedy Space Center fully assembled; we had to undertake . . . detailed measures to bring Constitution in for her maiden spaceflight and perform a final assembly and checkout at Orbiter Processing number 4."
Anyone who had followed the early days of the Space Exploration Program knew that simply getting Constitution to Florida from her home factory in California was a herculean activity, in light of the fact that safety protocols prohibited a direct orbital flight from Edwards' airspace in the unlikely event of a debris-raining mishap. NASA had had no shortage of experience in dealing with shipping large items across the country; the Space Shuttle's External Tank had come from Michoud on a barge.
There was no barge for Constitution, though, which meant an excellent pedigree of decision-making skills had to be intermingled with engineering prowess. Constitution was made to be a rigid, safe 'floating balloon' while in space; after landing (wherever it happened to land), it had to be able to be disassembled in manageable pieces no larger than a train flatbed car could carry. And the assembly/disassembly process had to be safe, reliable, and generate a fully-functioning spacecraft once more.
"This means that Enterprise has been, and will continue to be undergoing her flight readiness review on-site at the Cape. Our methods and capabilities of fully surveying the vessel non-invasively after every flight have improved in the last ten years, and with that in mind, we expect that her crew of three will be able to join up with Constitution to resolve this situation by the end of the week."
"What are your plans when Enterprise meets up with Constitution?"
"Ideally," Payton said, "the best outcome is that through one or more planned EVA's -- or, extra-vehicular activities -- we'll be able to repair Constitution to allow her to re-enter the Earth's atmosphere for a landing at the Kennedy Space Center no later than two weeks from now. Our goal is to get our astronauts back on the ground, and we will do what we have to, to see that goal safely accomplished."
"Alright," Edward Foulkes said softly, "let's take two more questions, and we'll call this session a day."
"Mr. Payton, do you have any doubts in your mind whether or not this mission will conclude successfully?"
"Absolutely no doubt in my mind, whatsoever," Payton purred. "No doubt. These astronauts that we have up there right now . . . Brian Adkinson is a veteran; he's been up in space three times, and he's commanded both of his SEP missions to-date. Jamie Cunningham started out in the program as a mission specialist, and she proved her ability to jump disciplines into flight training. We also have one of the world's best cosmonauts aboard. On the ground, we're sending up Greg Williams, who is an accomplished fighter pilot, test pilot, and veteran of SEP-008, and on his wings are Charlie Davis, who is a veteran of our first SEP flight, and one of our best technical minds up there. Tamara Ciotti will be going up with him, and she is an accomplished pilot as well.
"The point I'm trying to make . . . is that we've got an unusual situation up there, but we've got the best people up there who can deal with it in a favorable manner, and we're sending up the best people we can who can help them out and get them home safely."
* * *
Constitution
Brian Adkinson opened the door to his sleeping chamber and kicked off, floating into the darkened aft-deck. The windows were all drawn shut, he noted, as he checked the watch at his wrist.
Constitution was still in the middle of her 'sleep' period, and they were undoubtedly still in the stable orbit Jamie Cunningham had put them in for two weeks, now.
He couldn't sleep. The dramamine tablets were running out, and he felt another wave of nausea threaten his consciousness. The usual symptoms he knew about, and could stave off with his mind: The strange feeling of missing limbs, the sudden, abrupt flashing of gamma rays penetrating his eyes in his sleep. Not knowing which way was 'up;' that, he could deal with.
Svetlana Zaytseva's tentative prognosis, on the other hand. Half the conversation he overheard when she talked to her own people was in a very frenetic Russian, and he'd only been able to pick out a few words here and there in spite of the fact of his partial fluency in that language.
Serezna. Animichni.
While he wasn't unfamiliar with how Russians talked (his time on the International Space Station had seen him learning a rudimentary understanding of the language and basic skills in communicating with them), the words coming out of her mouth were alien to him -- clinical-sounding, even cold. It took even longer for him to accept the fact she was talking about him . . . in those strange words. He knew some of the words she used -- not good. Knowing that didn't help him out any, and he shook his head forlornly.
You're hundreds of miles above the surface of the only habitable planet in this star system, there's really no way back to civilization on your own, and you've got a Russian doctor -- medical student, really -- who probably thinks you're going to die. Isn't that wonderful? He thought bitterly to himself.
A sliver of light caught his attention, and he swam over to the mid-deck transfer tunnel and poked his head through. Jamie Cunningham was 'seated' at the table, and a reading lamp hooked to the table's edge afforded a ghostly amount of yellowish light in the chamber.
"Hi," He said as he swam through the short tunnel.
"Jesus!" Jamie yelped in surprise. Yanking her earbud out, she took a moment to slow her breathing, and she nodded to him.
"What are you doing up so early?" She said.
"Couldn't sleep. Needed coffee," He replied, and a smile wormed its way onto her face. "What time is it?"
"Zero-dark-thirty," Jamie replied as she launched herself from her chair and swam towards the circuit breaker for the lights. Flipping the switches, the mid-deck flooded with light.
". . . in other words, does anyone really know what time it is?" She quipped as she pushed off the wall towards the galley, and he smiled as she inserted a coffee packet into the hot water tap.
"Creamer and sugar?" Adkinson prompted, and Jamie snorted.
"Irish cream, or French Vanilla?"
"Caramel macchiato, please."
"As you wish," She said with a shrug. It was a running joke, of course: The coffee packets came pre-packed with powdered creamer and sugar, were filtered in the bag, filled on demand with hot water, which was squeezed through the bag like a french press. The coffee could be consumed in two ways: out of its original container through a built-in straw, or into an open plastic bag acting as a cup, while squeezing the straw at the bag where its check valve was built-in to keep spillage at a minimum.
Usually, the desire for a quick blast of caffiene in space often warred with the desire against excessively monkeying around with the equipment, and it was just another reason to laud the science industry for necessarily complicating such a mundane ritual.
She removed the coffee bag from the hot water tap, tossing the bag slowly to Adkinson who took it with a smile, and she prepared another bag.
"So how are you doing?" Adkinson asked conversantly as he watched her work at the galley.
"Hanging in there," Jamie replied softly. "Lately I've been feeling like . . ."
". . . like what?"
". . . like the world's forgotten about us already."
Adkinson nodded slowly as he drank his coffee. "Why do you say that?"
"Well, for several reasons," Jamie replied dryly. "Number one, we're running out of upchuck pills . . . number two, we're running out of clean clothes . . . number three, we're running out of deodorant up here . . . number four, we're running out of palatable food up here . . . and number five, they stopped sending us wake-up calls."
It was true; the music that accompanied every wakeup call every 'morning' was a tradition from back in the Gemini days. It was something that took some getting used to ones first time up, but after that, it was like clockwork. The absense of that music . . . of those special messages from family and the general public . . . was abruptly upsetting.
"They'll come back around," Adkinson said. "Besides . . . it's not like they're so desperate for tunes that they're about to start raiding the archives yet."
Jamie snickered woodenly as she rolled her eyes. "They already did that two years ago."
Adkinson cocked his head questioningly.
"Don't you remember? The Carpenters?"
"Oh!" Adkinson nodded. "Top of the World. Right, I remember." He laughed as memory caught up with him, and she gave him a stony look.
"Constitution, Houston . . . good morning."
Jamie activated her earbud. "Good morning, Houston. Brian and I are awake."
"That's good to hear. We have some good news to start out your day today."
Jamie perked up. "What's the good word, Houston?"
"The good word . . . and we have to apologize for not saying anything to you about it earlier . . . is that Enterprise has successfully launched from the Cape two hours ago and is already about to synchronize orbits with you. We estimate they will be above your position by one hundred nautical miles approximately five minutes from now."
* * *
Enterprise
"Roger. We copy you are in final position, and you are 'go' for final course correction and rendezvous at this time."
"Go for final course correction and rendezvous," Charlie Davis repeated as he looked right, out of Tamara Ciotti's window. Enterprise was high over the Pacific Ocean. He could see the bright city lights outlining Japan underneath them, and as the shroud of darkness pulled away, he could see the bulbous white of a typhoon some five hundred miles east of the coast. Constitution was underneath them. It had taken them fifteen hours since wheels-up to properly align their orbital planes and undertake a coelliptical coast with a few course corrections, but they'd finally done it: They were within thirty nautical miles of their target and the range was starting to increase again.
At least Mission Control finally agreed that this was close enough. He entered in the values the flight computer needed to work with, and executed the program. Enterprise angled for the Earth, and fired the main engines.
The burn was a long one, and as Davis watched the projected distance values increase, he whispered a silent prayer for the five people underneath him -- so close, he felt like he could reach out and touch them even then.
* * *
Constitution
"Constitution, Houston."
Jamie Cunningham checked the mission elapsed time. Thirteen days, twenty-three hours and forty-six minutes.
"Go ahead, Houston."
"At this time, Enterprise is within two nautical miles of your position, should be directly overhead."
Jamie Cunningham looked 'up', out the overhead window and gasped. She could see, out of the brilliant starfield above her, a brilliantly white shape looming above her.
"I see it, Houston!"
* * *
Enterprise
"Enterprise, Houston. We copy you are on terminal approach. Be aware that we have about ten minutes to go before crossing the terminator into night-side; we recommend you delay docking and assume station-keeping with Constitution until you are in daylight again."
"Roger that, Houston, and I have that beautiful spacecraft in sight," Davis replied. "If we can get them to point their heatshield into the sun, I can get us around for an observation pass."
"Copy, Enterprise. I will pass that request along."
Davis checked the mission elapsed timer. Sixteen hours, four minutes since liftoff.
* * *
Constitution
"Constitution, Houston."
"Go ahead," Jamie said.
"Jamie, we have a request from Charlie Davis on Enterprise; can you roll to head's down for them? They want to survey your TPS."
"Certainly," Jamie said cooly.
* * *
Enterprise
Charlie Davis watched Constitution move. He never saw what the reaction control jets could do in a vacuum, and as the brilliant white streams of light lanced out of the hull of the orbiter, he paused to stare in wonderment. Now, he moved Enterprise in, angling his own orbiter in a relative 'head's-down' attitude with regards to Constitution.
His goal was to come as close as he could to Constitution, so that he could use the overhead windows as an observation point.
The plan worked. Five minutes later, Greg Williams was out of his seat with a video camera.
"Okay, Houston. Enterprise MS-1," Williams said. "I have visual contact with Constitution. The debris strike is on the port-side wing . . . and it looks like one whole panel has, indeed, been torn off of the wing.
He examined the hole in the wing. The SCRAM tank was holed completely through, and unusable. There was some control cabling near the impact site, but it looked like it was unsevered. He looked closer as the light began to wane, through the hole . . . and saw the dull grey of the port-side main fuel tank. It looked scored by the debris . . . but there didn't seem to be a hole.
If the main fuel tank was undamaged, then there was a good chance that the structural spar immediately above it was unimpinged as well.
He glanced at the clamps that held the missing plate in place. Three of them were free . . . and had looked like they snapped open reflexively when they took the hit. The last one . . . he groaned. The fourth clamp held a chunk of hafnium diboride in its place.
An EVA would have to be done to work the wreckage clear . . . and then it would be a crapshoot whether the clamp would even hold the new plate in place.
His mind buzzed with questions as he stared at the clamp. In order to survive re-entry, the thermal protection plate simply had to hold fast, in order to keep the unnaturally hot gases from melting the wing on the way down.
But what about three out of four?
He knew that the hold-down system for the plates was over-engineered, and that there was a certain amount of overlap in the way the plates were arranged on the bottom side of the hull. Furthermore, the ship would be experiencing real-gas pressure that would keep the damn plate on the wing in the first place, right?
The last clamp was on the aft-ward side of the wing; not the front-ward side. A 'zipper' effect was out of the immediate question in his mind.
He made up his mind. He could repair Constitution. And she could most likely make it back in one piece. Anything after that, would be up to the big-wigs; not him.
He reached for his microphone.
* * *
