by Bobby Akart
“Do you want to go to orange?”
“No, sir. I believe, with the help of our friends at the FBI, we can make a case for a red designation, a severe risk of terrorist attack. We’ll use the recent discovery of the terrorist cell operating in Southern Arizona as our point of reference. The FBI director can make the case that the threat continues throughout the Southwest, thereby justifying the increase in the threat level.”
The president stopped pacing. “Do you think that this will fly under the media’s radar?”
“Not necessarily, but it’ll be a minor story in comparison to tomorrow’s launch. We can make the announcement after the evening news, minimizing its exposure. By raising the level to red, the National Guard can be activated, FEMA takes on a bigger role in its preparations, and you can have greater powers in anticipation of a martial law declaration.”
The president smiled. “Good thinking, Maggie. We prepare for the worst, without causing panic in the streets with our actions. Make it happen.”
Chapter 51
Three years prior
Kennedy Space Center
Cape Canaveral
Atlantic Coast of Florida
The night before the scheduled launch of STS-199 to the International Space Station, Heather was restless. She missed Gunner, and her stay in the small, hotel-like astronaut crew quarters at the Kennedy Space Center was lonely without him.
Heather tried desperately to sleep, but her excitement before her first trip into space was overwhelming. She also had anxiety. STS, an acronym for space transportation system, had shuttled astronauts to and from the International Space Station for years.
Heather had been promised a seat on STS-200 with an all-American crew scheduled for flight four months from now, rather than the international contingent she was hitching a ride with tomorrow.
The launch of STS-199 had been delayed from a month ago when hail damage from a severe thunderstorm damaged the external fuel tanks. The mission was scrubbed and repairs were effectuated.
The resulting rollback of STS-199 led to a change in launch schedules. Heather was pulled from STS-200 and added to the current mission. While she was excited about joining NASA’s first mission into space since the demise of Artemis One, new challenges were heaped onto her shoulders, including learning Russian.
She had a working knowledge of basic phrases and greetings, something she and her best friend, Cameron Mills, had in common from their days in college. They used to practice Russian and enjoyed teasing guys when they went on double dates together. Although most of what they said was gibberish, when they spoke Russian in front of their dates, some found it infuriating, and others, one guy in particular, found it adorable.
That guy was Gunner Fox. Cam introduced the two and they hit it off immediately. Both had a love of flying, although Heather’s goals were a little loftier than Gunner’s. The two fell in love and were married.
Now, on her last night on Earth before her dreams came true, she lay in bed staring at the decades-old popcorn ceiling, wishing she could remove it and stare at the stars. She glanced over at the nightstand to the small plastic cup that contained two Ambien sleeping tablets given to her by the flight doctor. Heather had taken Ambien before as a tool to recover from jet lag, but she didn’t really like the effect it had on her.
Nonetheless, as part of her preflight training, the medical team suggested biting a smaller portion of the tablet to see how her body reacted to it. NASA had considered everything as they created a regimented schedule for their astronauts.
They also must have assumed that some of their astronauts would have difficulty sleeping. Heather tossed and turned that night as she mentally struggled to clear her mind of the myriad possibilities thundering through her head. Assuming a safe trip into orbit, not necessarily a given considering the demise of Artemis One and prior space shuttle missions, Heather would be away from Gunner for three months.
In addition to the emotional feelings that consumed her mind, her brain was clouded by the intense desire to be technically perfect on the mission. She wanted to fly to the Moon, and she looked at this initial space station mission as an opportunity to prove she was worthy. A perfect mission might result in a quick turnaround to be included on Artemis Two scheduled for later that year.
The goodbye process with the astronaut’s loved ones was very emotional, and somewhat insensitive when the brief, launch-minus-one day encounter took place. Earlier in the day, Heather had experienced her first wave across the ditch, as NASA called it. After being grounded from Artemis One due to a flu bug, Heather understood why the procedure had been established.
After her final training had been completed in Houston the week prior, Heather left for Cape Canaveral. The final goodbyes took place across a road, the proverbial ditch, where all she could do was wave to Gunner. The procedure had been established to prevent the astronauts from carrying a virus or illness into space, so the quarantine was an absolute necessity.
He’d been so supportive of her as the days to launch ticked away. As a fighter pilot, he understood risks. After the explosion of Artemis One, the couple had had many serious discussions as to whether she should continue in her career. In the end, they reminded each other that you get one life, one opportunity to achieve the highest goals within your reach. Despite the risks, Heather was an astronaut, just as Gunner was a fighter pilot. They’d accepted the risks and lived their lives accordingly with the full support of their spouse.
His support was unconditional, as was his love. His words of encouragement and devotion rang in her head. You’re not just a star, darling, you’re my whole damn universe.
It made the separation from Gunner, however, much more difficult and threatened to distract her from the task at hand—spaceflight. Heather had to make peace with her decision to leave Earth. Her mind had to get right with the fact that she’d be leaving Gunner for three months, but it was for the right reasons—helping humanity.
She looked at the thought process as tying up the loose ends of her life because you never knew what might happen. But then again, you never knew what was going to befall you on the drive to the grocery store, either. That thought allowed her to feel at peace with leaving. The emotional roller-coaster ride was over.
She was eventually able to fall asleep, but she dreamt of every minute of the launch and then the feeling of exhilaration she anticipated once she arrived at the ISS.
Because, after all, every day was a good day when you’re floating.
Chapter 52
Present Day
Friday, April 13
Kennedy Space Center
Cape Canaveral, Florida
On the surface, the scheduled launch of Orbital Slingshot One, dubbed OS-1, was like any other mission at the Cape. Proven procedures and safeguards were built into the prelaunch activities, complete with redundancies and cross-checks. This mission wasn’t necessarily any more complicated than any in the past, except it was full of several firsts.
OS-1 was being prepared for liftoff from Launch Complex 39B at NASA’s modernized spaceport at the Kennedy Space Center. Since 1968, Kennedy had been NASA’s primary launch center for manned spaceflights. From the first Apollo flights through the present, the facility at the Cape Canaveral Air Force Station had witnessed highs and lows in man’s quest to explore space.
The center of activity at Kennedy was the Launch Control Center. The four-story building on Merritt Island handled all spaceflights with human crews on board. After liftoff, the control of the vehicle was turned over to Mission Control in Houston.
The launch director for the flight of OS-1 was a seasoned veteran of NASA spaceflights, former space shuttle commander Wanda Lawson. Lawson had taken over after her predecessor resigned due to the Artemis One tragedy. Although no negligence had been found during NASA’s internal investigation, the demands and accusations leveled upon the former launch director during congressional hearings proved to be unbearable, so he resigned.
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p; Lawson, as the launch director, coordinated all aspects of the mission. She communicated frequently with Director Foster at Mission Control in Houston, keeping him abreast of prelaunch procedures and the status of the crew. Lawson bore the heavy responsibility of making the final determination of whether the launch was a go or no go, one that was reached after consulting with every member of her team.
T minus six hours and holding.
The same robotic voice heard at Mission Control in Houston filled the air at the Launch Control Center. This was a built-in hold at this stage, which typically lasted two hours, or only one hour if a mission was scrubbed during this portion of the countdown.
Several important variables were considered by the Mission Management Team and Director Lawson. The weather was one factor, although the pressure was on to get OS-1 on its way to save the planet, needless to say.
A final check was made with the flow director and the booster test conductor as the external tanks were prepared for their propellants. This flight’s distance and duration were unusually long, as OS-1 was tasked with intercepting IM86 farther away from Earth than any manned space mission had traveled.
T minus three hours and holding.
Tension was building in the Launch Control Center as several critical aspects of the prelaunch procedures took place at three hours prior to scheduled liftoff.
The NASA manager overseeing the development of SpaceX’s commercial crew ferry ships, as the long-range missions were called, had approved the private company’s proposal to strap in the astronauts atop the Falcon 9 rocket assembly early at T minus three hours, followed by a last minute load-and-go procedure for fueling the rockets.
This newly adopted process, made at the behest of SpaceX, provided for the launchers to be fueled in the final hour of the countdown sequence. Rather than filling the external tanks at the six-hour mark, which was customary for other rocket designs, such as the Atlas 5 and Boeing’s CST-100, an automatic countdown sequencer command was designed to chill the kerosene and cryogenic liquid oxygen, allowing it to flow into the Falcon 9 rockets in the final minutes before the firing sequence.
The Falcon 9 burned a mix of kerosene and liquid oxygen chilled to near each of the fluids’ freezing points. This densified the propellant, allowing more fuel to be loaded into the Falcon 9’s tanks, thus giving the rocket’s Merlin engines enhanced thrust capability.
The combination had been tested on unmanned, tethered flights, and the team at SpaceX believed that they had the perfect configuration to place OS-1 on an intercept course considering the advanced launch date.
The crew had departed for the launchpad. There were thirty-eight active astronauts that made up the NASA Astronaut Corps. That didn’t include two dozen astronaut candidates who were training at the Johnson Space Center in Houston. Of the thirty-eight, nineteen were either assigned to the ISS or the lunar outpost as international active astronauts. That left nineteen active astronauts and eighteen management astronauts, those who remained employed by NASA but were no longer eligible for flight assignment, to choose from for this mission.
All of them volunteered, and through a stringent process of elimination, a crew of eleven was chosen to manage OS-1. The crew, chosen because of their work experience and educational backgrounds in engineering, physical science, and mathematics, were trained in the orbital slingshot method of diversion.
At the Johnson Space Center, elaborate simulators were created to recreate the gravitational conditions and orbital mechanics necessary to produce the slingshot effect. This was a first as well. Thus far, aerospace engineers had worked with computer-simulated models. They’d never attempted to recreate the gravity-assist process using a flight-crew simulator, much less using it on a celestial body.
Nonetheless, the crew of eleven performed the task flawlessly, and assuming their predictions of mass, velocity, and energy were correct, then the mission could be accomplished.
This crew of brave Americans checked their cockpit switch configurations. They performed air-to-ground voice checks with both Launch Control at Kennedy and Mission Control at the Johnson Space Center.
The orbiter’s crew hatch was closed and sealed shut, followed by a leak check. They were ready.
Chapter 53
Friday, April 13
Kennedy Space Center
Cape Canaveral, Florida
T minus twenty minutes and holding.
Another built-in hold that lasted ten minutes was instituted as Launch Control completed its final preflight alignments and measurements. At this point the orbiter’s onboard computers were set to launch configuration. The orbiter cabin vent valves were closed, and the backup flight system was set to launch configuration.
The entire prelaunch process takes forty-three hours. In that time frame, at an estimated sixty thousand miles per hour, asteroid IM86 had traveled a distance of three million miles closer to its target—Earth.
Time was of the essence.
Director Lawson moved from station to station within Launch Control—questioning, confirming, and double-checking protocols with all members of her team. Satisfied that OS-1 was still a go, the countdown clock resumed, ticking ever so slowly to liftoff.
T minus twenty minutes and counting.
Now minutes felt like hours as everyone waited in nervous anticipation. Dozens of NASA personnel worked methodically through the prelaunch tasks, being diligent, as always. The eyes of the world were upon them as America entered the fray, prepared to destroy the enemy that barreled through space toward Earth.
T minus nine minutes and holding.
Another built-in hold, one that was excruciating to the lay public but customary as part of the prelaunch countdown. Now Director Lawson would make her final decision regarding the launch window. And she made her final go, no-go poll. The test director, the mission management team, and the launch director spoke one by one with their subordinates as they listened for the hoped-for response—go.
With a sigh of relief, she made the call. The robotic voice made the announcement.
T minus nine minutes and counting.
The team started the automatic ground launch sequencer. Flight recorders were activated. At seven and a half minutes before launch, the orbiter access arm was retracted.
Anticipation began to build, causing the massive roof air-conditioning units to work overtime to keep the Launch Control Center cooled down as heat poured off nervous bodies.
At five minutes, the auxiliary power units were started and the solid rocket booster safety devices were armed.
Another minute passed. IM86 was closer, and NASA was closer to launching their solution. Two important tests were conducted—the orbiter aerosurface profile test followed by the main engine gimbal profile test. Both were critical to the launch. When it was announced that both tests were successful, nervous applause filled the Launch Center. They were within three minutes.
The gaseous oxygen vent arm was retracted as SpaceX finished loading the fuel. The Ground Launch Sequencer program switched the main fuel valve heaters off. From this point forward, the GLS was in control of the flight, leaving everyone in Launch Control to become spectators, like the rest of the world.
The crew’s commander instructed his crewmates to close their visors in preparation for launch.
T minus thirty-one seconds and counting.
With no technical issues having been reported by the GLS, the go command was given for the auto sequence start, an important moment when the GLS hands off primary control of the countdown to the Falcon 9’s onboard computers.
“Go for launch,” Director Lawson calmly said into her microphone. The team at Launch Control let out a cheer.
Then the robotic announcement came over the speaker system.
Ground launch sequencer is a go for auto sequence start.
T minus sixteen seconds and counting.
Shouts of joy and excitement filled the air from outside the Launch Center. Thousands of people screamed their enco
uragement, beneath a sea of red, white, and blue American flags waving over their heads.
USA! USA! USA!
The launchpad sound-suppression system was activated, not that anybody would’ve heard the rockets igniting over the chanting. Several members of the Launch Center team began to cry, tears streaming down their faces in a show of raw emotion as the magnitude of the moment began to overtake them.
Then came the final countdown, that period of ten seconds that every kid waited for when their heroes took off into the last frontier to conquer the unknown.
The main engine hydrogen burn-off system was activated, marking the final ten-second countdown.
T minus ten seconds. Nine. Eight. Seven.
Chapter 54
Friday, April 13
Gunner’s Residence
Dog Island
Gunner didn’t want to watch the liftoff of the Falcon 9 rocket from the Cape. Not because he was an ostrichlike, head-in-the-sand kind of guy, but because he’d held a high level of contempt for NASA for years. He blamed the space agency for taking away his wife, and his life.
Despite making his feelings known to Pop the night before, his persistent father had shown up anyway with a basket full of homemade beignets, the deep-fried nuggets of sweetened dough made famous at the Café du Monde in New Orleans’ French Quarter.
Gunner rolled over in bed as the aroma filled the house. Even Howard, a notorious late sleeper, heck, an all-day sleeper, managed to hoist himself up and turn the sniffer into the air.
“It’s still dark outside, Pop.” Gunner bemoaned the early hour. He dragged himself out of bed and staggered into the bathroom to get his business out of the way.
Howard stirred long enough to find the warm spot abandoned by Gunner, and settled in to sleep some more. After all these years, he’d learned that the smell of something that good rarely ended up in his bowl.
