by B. C. CHASE
She shows us bags and buckets that are strapped in a corner. “When you harvest, these things won’t just pop into cans and be ready to eat. You’ll need to get the beans out of their pods, discard a lot of stems and inedible debris, and do some cleanup. You can use these for that work, and of course everything you discard will go straight to the compost.”
I say, “I just have one question.”
She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “What’s that, Jim?”
“What the heck is growing in there?”
She smiles, “You’ll need to learn the Latin names quickly if you want to eat.”
By now the two spacewalkers are ready for the excursion outside to take a look at one of the dish antennas, so we all go up to Node 1 to help with pre-EVA activities. While everyone else is busy, Commander Tomlinson takes me aside to ask if I’m feeling up to starting my cleaning duties—because he says today he needs Katia to man the robotic arm controls.
This puts me in a bit of a pickle. I know Shelby doesn’t want me to do any work just yet. She wants me on that confounded BDM machine. Now I’m not an astronaut, and I don’t know much about how to operate the station, but I do know I certainly didn’t come into space just to sit on a big vibrator. So, I tell Commander Tomlinson I’m ready to get to work.
He hands me a thick binder labeled International Space Station Housekeeping and Sanitation Group (HSG) In-Flight Housekeeping Manual.[4] He says, “Make sure you follow these procedures. And, Jim, I’ll be checking.”
“Yes, sir.”
As soon as he leaves, the first thing I decide to do is check out the space vacuum cleaner. I set the book adrift while I work on freeing the machine from its place in the ceiling. From the interior speakers all over the station, I hear the radio chatter as the spacewalk begins. I’d kind of like to watch this one, too, now that I’m better rested, but duty calls.
To my disappointment, the vacuum cleaner is not much unlike any terrestrial vacuum, the major difference being that, in space, it doesn’t weigh anything, no matter how much dirt it gobbles up. Very simply designed, it is just a cylinder with a hose sticking out one end, and in its carrying case is an assortment of pipes and nozzles to affix to the hose. I take the vacuum to Node 3, where the exercise equipment, the toilet, the cupola, and most of the cleaning supplies are.
There, after I attach the pipes and nozzle to the vacuum’s hose, I set about trying to assemble a little cleaning dolly that I can take with me as I sanitize each module. After about five minutes, the accordion door to the outhouse opens and Commander Sykes emerges. I’m startled because I didn’t know anyone was in there. He is looking grim-faced and emotionally wrought. I guess, since he lost two members of his crew yesterday, that shouldn’t be a surprise. We’ve kind of just gone about our business as if that never happened. I guess one of the things NASA neglected was to come up with some kind of ritualized ceremony in case of casualties.
In an unusually cheerful voice he asks, “How’s your arm, Jim?”
“It’s like a sleeping pussycat. If I move it, it makes a fuss, but if I keep it still, it stays quiet. How are you?”
He looks to the side, kind of like he wants to make sure nobody is listening. “I hope we do the right thing here.”
“What is the right thing?”
“If we can’t make contact with Earth, what’s the point of making first contact? We need to talk with Houston. If we can’t, we should abort the mission.”
I nod, “That makes sense. I guess it’s very important we get the antenna array fixed then.”
“Yes,” he says. “It’s critical.” He motions to the vacuum cleaner and says, “You know what we call that?”
“A vacuum cleaner?”
He smiles, “It’s the only piece of equipment that doesn’t suck on the International Space Station.”[5]
We exchange a chuckle.
He glances at his watch. “Well, time to feed the mice,” he says. We have a small environment for mice in one of the racks of the American Lab. It’s some kind of long-term space habitation study NASA sent up with us.
“Lucky you,” I say. “I wish NASA had given me some pets.”
Commander Sykes laughs. “We rarely even touch them. It’s a self-contained experiment. See you around, Jim.” He quickly evacuates the module.
In my truck, I did a routine wipe-down once a week, so in addition to vacuuming up here, I think it would be a good idea to wipe every surface that anyone touches. Once I have strapped together an arrangement of supplies to a box that I think will be serviceable, I realize I have forgotten all about the housekeeping manual. Heaven forbid Commander Tomlinson catches me without it. It should have been the first thing I stuffed in my makeshift dolly. I float back to the European Lab where I left it and find it has sailed its way to the very back of the module where the ultrasound machine is.
I snatch it and am once again impressed by how big it really is. It must be a thousand pages long or close to it. I go back to Node 3 and sneak down into the cupola to start my compulsory reading and see if I can catch a glimpse of Earth.
Outside, the Earth is the size of a grape held at arm’s length. Small and slight against the vast backdrop of the starry universe, it is, as they say, like a blue marble. I’m a little unsettled that I can’t distinguish anything on its surface except blue and white. This brings home the reality of how far from home I am. The moon, two times closer, is to the left, and also about the size of a marble. But, to my wonderment, it doesn’t look like the moon I am used to seeing. Its terrain is unfamiliar and more uniformly bright and bare. I realize that I’m looking at the far side of the moon, something only a handful of humans have ever had the chance to do. Despite not being an astronaut or ever wanting to go to space, I can’t help but feel a sense of awe.
I can also see Tim and Filipchenko perched by their feet on the end of one of the robotic arms as it lofts them towards the dish antenna. I know Katia is at the robotic arm’s controls in the American Lab,[6] and I have to admire her competence. When I saw them practicing maneuvering the robotic arms, it seemed very complicated to me, unnecessarily so, but what do I know? I’m used to pushing two pedals and spinning a wheel.
I open the manual. The front page says:
International Space Station Housekeeping and Sanitation Group (HSG) In-Flight Housekeeping Manual
Mission Operations Directorate
Systems Division
March 20TH, 2020
National Aeronautics and Space Administration
Lyndon B. Johnson Space Center
Houston, Texas
I flip to page two:
United States
Systems Operations Data File JSC-48513-E1
INTERNATIONAL SPACE STATION
HOUSEKEEPING & SANITATION GROUP (HSG)
IN-FLIGHT MAINTENANCE MANUAL
EXPEDITION 130 FLIGHTS
MARCH 20TH, 2020
APPROVED BY:
Jordan Smart
Book Manager
Susan S. Orwell
Lead, DF53/Mechanisms & Maintenance Group
Gordon M. Thompson
SODF Coordinator
ACCEPTED BY:
Mitchell T. Swank
SODF Manager
This document is under the configuration control of the Systems Operations Data
File Control Board (SODFCB).
I can tell this is going to be fun reading already. Page three:
United States
Systems Operations Data File JSC-48513-E1
20 MAR 2020 ISS IFM ii
Incorporates the following:
CR: IFM U10
IFM U12
IFM U16
IFM U20
MF U137
MF U152
MF U175
I start to skip pages for the table of contents which, as it turns out, is five pages long. The last item is:
E.35 MOD TEMPERATURE CCAA RACK CLEANING (LAB1S6) ........... 753
This man
ual is at least 753 pages long. I guess even the housekeeper on the International Space Station needs to be a genius.
As I peruse the items listed in the contents, I think most of this must be a bunch of unnecessary mumbo-jumbo explaining things that any nincompoop wouldn’t need a manual to do, but then something catches my eye that leads me to believe I am mistaken.
3.1.302 LAB BACTERIA/CHARCOAL FILTER INSPECT, CLEAN, AND R&R
Inspecting and cleaning a bacteria filter sounds pretty important. I flip to the page listed for that procedure:
3.1.302 LAB BACTERIA/CHARCOAL FILTER INSPECT, CLEAN, AND R&R
(ISS IFM/5A - ALL/FIN A) Page 1 of 5 pages
08 MAR 2020
2785.doc
START_IMS
OBJECTIVE:
Remove and replace expended Bacteria or Charcoal Filters (three each
standoff) one standoff at a time or replace Charcoal Filter with Bacteria
Filter.
LOCATION:
Installed: Lab Standoffs LAB1SD1,3,5 and LAB1PD1,3,5
Stowed: √Maintenance and Assembly Task Supplement (MATS)
DURATION:
45 minutes
PARTS:
Bacteria Filters (four) (P/N SV810010-1) or
Charcoal Filters (four) (P/N SV821776)
MATERIALS:
Gray Tape
TOOLS REQUIRED:
ISS Common IVA Tool Kit:
Kit E:
Ratchet, 1/4" Drive
6" Ext, 1/4" Drive
Kit F:
5/16" Socket, 1/4" Drive
Kit H:
Scissors
Kit J:
Connector Pliers
REFERENCED PROCEDURE(S):
1.402 SMOKE DETECTOR DEACTIVATION
1.401 SMOKE DETECTOR ACTIVATION
2.503 CCAA FAN SPEED DECREASE
SAFING
CAUTION
To maintain air circulation in the Lab, execute
this procedure one standoff at a time.
CAUTION
Fan speed must be decreased before closing
Cabin Air Damper Assembly.
1. For operating CCAA (LAB1S6 or LAB1P6), perform {2.503 CCAA FAN
SPEED DECREASE} (SODF: ECLSS: NOMINAL: THC) to 4000 rpm.
3.1.302 LAB BACTERIA/CHARCOAL FILTER INSPECT, CLEAN, AND R&R
Just as I’m thinking it would be a lot more helpful to have someone teach me how to do this than try to learn it from this unintelligible manual, I am startled by a loud bang right by my head.
The robotic arm has collided with the cupola.
Ten
The arm, with Tim and Commander Filipchenko perched on the end[7], swings away from the cupola in a wide arc and, with a force that sends tremors through the whole station, slams into the antenna array. Commander Filipchenko is flung out over the array. He is rapidly tumbling end over end away from the station. For a moment, he is nearly invisible in the shadow of the station, but then appears brilliantly white in the light of the sun. Meanwhile, the robotic arm oscillates in place, striking the antenna array over and over again while Tim struggles to avoid being crushed. His desperate voice can be heard over the radio shouting, “STOP THE ARM! USE THE SAFING SWITCH!” Debris from the array is scattering everywhere.
Katia says, “It’s not working!”
Commander Filipchenko, calmer and in some way distant, is saying, “Station, my tethers are free and I am drifting. Do you read me?” He is now already a football field away.
Commander Sykes’ voice is on the radio, “Viktor, use your SAFER. Use the attitude control.”
But Viktor’s voice, now obscured by static and increasingly rattled, is shouting, “Sta—, I—loose! My SAFER—not wor— Station! Katia! I—help!” He is flying in nearly the opposite trajectory that the station is heading and is now merely a white dot in the distance.
Katia’s voice shrieks, “Viktor, use the SAFER! VIKTOR!”
The robotic arm has ceased movement, and Tim is left floating beside it, secured by his tethers. He is still.
Katia’s voice cries, “Tim!”
He slowly raises himself up, saying, “I’m okay. Where’s Viktor?”
Commander Filipchenko is now barely visible in the distance. Tim spots him and calls out, “Viktor! Viktor!” He untethers himself and pulls out the controller for his SAFER. “I’m going after him!” he says. Thrusters on the SAFER fire, and he begins to drift away from the station towards the aft.
“Tim, listen,” Commander Sykes’ voice is on the radio.
“What’s the range on this?”
Commander Sykes: “Tim, the SAFER does not have the fuel to make it.”
Tim is still accelerating away from the station.
Commander Tomlinson shouts, “Tim, turn around now. That’s an order! You can’t match the velocity or the distance.”
The speck of light that is Commander Filipchenko falls beyond my field of vision.
“Timmy!” cries Katia. “Come back! You can’t make it! Timmy!”
Tim is now past the aft section of the station where the giant external fuel tanks are.
His voice pregnant with emotion, Tim says, “Nari. I’m coming back. I can’t reach him.” He slowly turns around and begins to return to the station.
Commander Tomlinson winds the hatch’s crank handle counter-clockwise and locks it into place. Nari impatiently helps to lift the hatch up vertically along grooves in the side walls until the airlock is fully exposed. Then, crying out, she rushes in to hug Tim, still in his space suit and helmet. She is so dramatic in her actions that I sense she is performing. Her emotion isn’t real. It seems like she’s putting on a show.
It takes nearly an hour to get his tools, SAFER, and suit off and stowed away. When that is complete, Valentin starts to badger Katia in Russian. He becomes increasingly agitated.
Commander Tomlinson says, “Valentin! Enough! It wasn’t her fault! It was a malfunction! Let’s just try to find out what went wrong.”
We all huddle around to examine Commander Filipchenko’s waist tethers. The hooked metal clips have no sign of stress. No matter how hard Commander Tomlinson tries, he is unable to make the latch loosen.
“The problem must have been with the suit then,” comments Shiro. He has been so quiet during the mission so far that I almost forgot he was with us.
“It looks that way, yes,” says Commander Tomlinson.
Shiro says, “I thought I heard him say his SAFER wasn’t functioning.”
“Yes, he did say that,” Tim agrees. “And he certainly wasn’t able to use it.”
Commander Tomlinson looks at Kurt, “You did the SAFER checkout. Did you notice any problem?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Did you follow procedure?”
“Yes. Of course I did.”
“You followed all the procedures, Kurt?” Commander Tomlinson questions.
“Yes, absolutely.”
Commander Tomlinson says, “Bring me the Cue Card.”
Kurt retrieves the card and, looking sheepish, hands it to Commander Tomlinson.
Commander Tomlinson examines the card and says, “Kurt, what is this? You didn’t record anything on this card. You’re supposed to record the N2, power, and battery from the display after the test.”
“The levels were all nominal. I was in a rush, so I thought I would jot it down later.”
“But you should have written them down when you did the checkout.”
Kurt holds a breath, then exhales. “Yes,” he admits. “I should have.”
“This is why it’s so important to follow procedure. Most of everything an astronaut, or even all of NASA does, is for safety. Let this be a lesson for all of us: follow procedure. Kurt, do you agree?”
“Yes. I should have followed procedure. But I do know the levels were correct. That wasn’t the problem.”
“If you had written them down, we could verify that,” asserts Commander Tomlinson. “Now we’ll never know.”<
br />
“But I do know. I saw them! The nitrogen was 91%. The power was 69%. The battery was 70%. That’s well above spec.”
“The fact is the unit didn’t function when Viktor needed it, and now he’s gone. Humans are error-prone. We all are. You might have misread something. Or you might have made some other mistake. To perform the checkout, you have to turn it on, flip the right switch, and wait while it fires the thrusters twenty-four times. You’re not supposed to leave it on for more than sixty seconds. What if you didn’t turn it back off? What if you flipped the wrong switch? Possibilities for human error are endless. Procedures minimize error. Follow procedure, Kurt.”
“Writing numbers in the log would not have saved Viktor.”
“You lied to us, Kurt. You said you followed every procedure, but we see that you didn’t. I have no confidence that you did anything you say you did because there’s no evidence. These things have been hashed out by millions of hours of study and practice by people and computers that are much smarter than we are. Do you think you’re smarter than a whole team of analysts and computers, Kurt? Is one man smarter than all of NASA’s best process managers and scientists, not to mention the Lockheed Martin engineers?”
“No,” Kurt shakes his head.
“I think we’re on the same page then,” Commander Tomlinson says. Then, to my surprise, without skipping a beat he looks straight at me and says, “On that note, have you finished reading the Housekeeping and Sanitation Manual, Jim?”
“Not yet.”
“Then you have work to do, and it certainly isn’t here eavesdropping.”
Eleven
I retreat to the cupola where I can watch the Earth getting tinier and tinier as I read the manual from cover to cover. By the time I’m done, the Earth is smaller than a pea held at arm’s length and the moon is a bright dot the size of a grain of rice. We have come so far in one day. And yet we are forty-eight days from reaching Venus and 106 days from the sun, assuming we continue the mission and get a speed boost from Venus. We are tiny, little buggers, and the universe is a big dang son of a gun.
