“Gabe, umbilicals connected.”
“Okay, uh, yes, we have power and, um… data.”
“Cool. Open the outer airlock hatch pressure equalization valve.”
“Opening.”
The Sundancer had airlocks on both ends and, under normal circumstances, both the inner and outer airlock hatches would remain closed, but the electronically controlled pressure equalization valves, open. In the event of an air leak in the command or storage modules, both valves would close, thus preventing depressurization of the Sundancer.
“How we doing?”
“Pressure equalized. You should have a green light on the panel.”
“I’ve got one. Okay, opening the outer airlock hatch.” Jeff unlatched the hatch and swung it into the airlock chamber. “Okay, outer hatch open.” He pulled into the airlock and drifted across it to the inner hatch. “Alright, now comes the fun part. Gabe, open the inner hatch equalization valve, and standby for some ear popping.”
“Roger, opening.”
During flight, the command module was pressurized to 5.0 PSI, but the Sundancer’s nominal air pressure was 10.3 PSI. Opening the equalization valve was like descending rapidly in an un-pressurized airplane from 27,000 feet to 9,500 feet.
“Pressure’s coming up,” said Gabe.
“Roger.” Jeff kept working his jaw to equalize the pressure in his inner ear as atmospheric pressure rose. Finally the pressure equalized.
“Okay,” said Gabe, “hang on. I’m closing the valve to check static pressure. It’ll take a minute.”
“Roger.”
A minute later, Gabe called back to him. “Okay, she’s holding. Reopening the inner equalization valve and setting to Auto. You can open the inner hatch.”
“Got it. Opening.” Jeff unlatched the inner hatch and swung it into the airlock. “Okay, we’re wide open. Sue, get in here and let’s get on with this inspection. Gabe, Abby, TMI checklist, and let Newport know we’re in the Sundancer.”
They all replied, “Roger.”
Gabe and Abby would remain in the command module preparing for the Trans-Mars Injection burn on their fourth orbit, assuming by that time Jeff and Susan could complete a thorough pre-flight inspection of the Sundancer’s interior and video inspection of the exterior utilizing the eight cameras located on the terminal end of the solar arrays on both ends of the habitat. If the pre-flight wasn’t complete in time, they’d make a fifth orbit before heading for Mars. But unless there was a problem, that was unlikely.
Jeff pulled through the inner hatch into the central truss, flipped on the lights, and dropped into the Sundancer. Except for the three-foot-square truss running the length of the 9.5 ton, 28.5-foot-long, 20.7-foot-diameter inflatable habitat, the Sundancer’s 6,357 cubic feet of space was empty. Jeff groaned, “Oh god, this is gonna be a lot of work.” As it was launched deflated, everything required to outfit the Sundancer was stored within or strapped to the exterior of the central truss; and they would have to unpack and assemble it.
They’d already done that twice, first on dry land and then underwater in the neutral buoyancy tank at the University of Maryland’s Space Systems Laboratory; but knowing how to do it didn’t seem to help accelerate the process. And finally, that was followed by living for 10 days, sealed in the trainer in their hanger at Quonset, completely isolated from the outside world except for radio communication with the MCC; during which time they followed a simulated daily flight routine, and tested every process, procedure, and action they were likely to encounter. After three years of Wrentham House’ spaciousness and luxury, they discovered that claustrophobia could close in quickly, and they could still get on one another’s nerves. At one point Susan had quipped to Jeff and Gabe, “Do you guys even like each other?”
Two hours later, Gabe called Jeff on the radio. “We’re done with the checklist, except for your part. If we’re gonna go on this orbit, you’ve got about 26 minutes. Can you make it?”
“Yeah, no problem. About another five minutes.”
“Roger. How’s it look?”
“Looks great. No issues so far.”
“Excellent.”
“Yeah. Um, why don’t you let Newport know that, barring unforeseen circumstances, we’ll be going for TMI at, what was it? 4:55?”
“WILCO.”
Jeff turned to Susan. “That okay with you?”
“Yes, fine.”
“Alright then, let’s finish this up and get back into the sardine can.”
Ten minutes later, satisfied with the pre-flight inspection, they returned to the command module, closing all the hatches behind them. If something went wrong during the TMI burn they would separate from the Sundancer, turn around while they were still within Earth’s gravitational sphere of influence, fire the SPS engine, and return home.
CAPCOM, “Ares, Newport.”
“Yeah, Newport,” said Jeff, “go ahead.”
CAPCOM, “Roger, we have you 14 minutes from TMI. LOS Goldstone. 130.5 miles altitude, 25,536 feet per second. How you doing?”
“Doing fine, working through the final section of the checklist.”
CAPCOM, “Roger.”
“Jeff,” said Abby, “at 7:57 I want you to yell – I mean, YELL – cutoff. Okay?”
“Got it.”
“No, that’s wrong,” said Gabe.
Abby frowned. “Huh? No it’s not, burn time is 7 minutes 57 seconds.”
“Yes, I know. But it’ll be about eight seconds between engine start command and ignition and thrust, and that’s where the burn starts. So, add eight seconds. 8:05.”
“Um, Jeff… make that 8:05, and yell.”
“Roger, 8:05 it is. Okay. Trans-Mars switch to Inject?”
“Yeah, it’s on Inject.”
“Roger. EDS power on?”
“Yeah, it’s on.”
“Pyros armed?”
“Yep. Breakers in, switches up.”
“Tank pressures are good,” said Gabe.
CAPCOM, “Ares, Newport.”
“Roger, Newport,” said Jeff.
CAPCOM, “Roger. You are Go for TMI at 4:54:55.”
“Roger, Go for TMI.”
CAPCOM, “Ares, Newport, radio check.”
“Yeah, Newport,” said Jeff, “loud and clear.”
CAPCOM, “Ares, we lost the EDS telemetry momentarily, but it’s back now. Everything looks good. Ten minutes to TMI. TB-6 at 4:45:55.”
“Roger, Newport. Event Counter set to 51:00, standing by for TB-6.”
Abby pointed at the main control panel. “There’s the light. 38 seconds.”
“Roger. Newport, Ares, we have timebase fix indicator right on the mark.”
CAPCOM, “This is Newport, roger.”
CAPCOM, “Two minutes.”
“Roger,” said Jeff.
“Gabe,” said Abby, “this light will go out at 59:42?”
“Maybe. Plus or minus a second or two. It’s not driven by the Event Counter, it’s run be the Instrumentation Unit and will go out 15 seconds prior to ignition based on our actual present state vector and tracking data. Orbital perturbations over the past eight minutes may require a minor adjustment.”
“So the burn doesn’t start at 08?” said Jeff.
“Maybe, maybe not. Just watch the clock, and when you feel thrust, that’s when it is. Watch the mission time clock. If we’re on schedule, the light should go out about 4:54:40, but don’t go by that, wait till we have thrust. If it’s off by more than a couple seconds, adjust the cutoff time accordingly.”
“Ah, okay, I got it.”
Susan’s groan was audible. “You guys sure you know what you’re doing?”
Jeff chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve got the instruction manual right here. We’re on page 102.”
“If you’re trying to sound encouraging, you’re not doing a very good job of it.”
“Sorry ‘bout that, but I think we’ve got a handle on it.”
“Page 106,” said Gabe.
Je
ff glanced at her. “You even remember the page numbers?”
She shrugged.
CAPCOM, “60 seconds. Go for TMI.”
“Roger.”
“What do you think the crew of Apollo 8 was thinking about now?” said Gabe.
“Probably the same thing we’re thinking: I sure hope everything works.”
Gabe’s voice trembled. “Yeah. Abby, what’s it look like out there?”
Abby glanced out the port side window. “We’re over the Atlantic and it’s dark. There’s not a lot to see.”
CAPCOM, “40 seconds. Ares, you are Go for TMI.”
“Roger.” Jeff stared at the Event Counter as it ticked up toward zero. The seconds seemed to be going by a lot slower than normal. 59:30. “Thirty seconds.” He could hear Gabe’s rapid breathing. He reached over and took her hand. “Are we on VOX?”
She whimpered, “No.”
“Good. No point in the whole world listening to you hyperventilate.”
She chuckled nervously, “Sorry.”
“Gabe,” said Susan, “your pulse and respiration are off the chart. Take a deep breath and calm down.”
“I’m trying.”
“Fifteen seconds,” said Jeff.
Abby pointed. “Light’s out.”
“Roger. Gabe?”
“Five seconds… There, engine start command.”
“Roger.” Jeff held his breath as the eight seconds between start command and ignition ticked off.
“Ignition!” hollered Abby, “And… thrust! We’re burning.”
“You think? Um, Newport, Ares, ignition.”
CAPCOM, “Roger, Ares, we have your ignition. Thrust is Go.”
“What time was that?” said Abby.
“What? On the Event Counter?”
“Yeah.”
“Eight.”
“Alright. 8:05.”
“Roger.”
“Pressure’s good,” said Gabe.
“Um, pitch is off by about a degree,” said Abby.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Gabe, “if you go to manual, you’ll be off by a lot more, a lot faster. Leave it alone.”
Abby grumbled.
CAPCOM, “Ares, at one minute velocity is 26,503 feet per second. Trajectory and guidance look good.”
“Ares, roger.”
“0.6 g’s,” said Gabe.
CAPCOM, “Ares, you’re looking good at two minutes. 27,664 feet per second. Telemetry and Canberra tracking are solid.”
“Roger.”
“Wow!” said Abby. “What was that?”
“Felt like a thrust increase,” said Jeff. “Gabe?”
“Propellant Utilization valve fine-tuning the LOX flowrate. Abby, that’s why I said not to mess with the pitch. It’ll flatten out in a minute.”
“How’d you know that?” said Abby.
“I can read.”
“Yeah, well, I can read too,” Abby said, sounding a little annoyed.
“Yes, I know you can. The difference is, I remember what I read.”
Abby chuckled. “Alright, that point’s yours.”
“I’ll update the scoreboard.”
“What? Have you been keeping tabs?”
“Yes, since the day we met.”
“How’m I doing?”
“Um, it’s not pretty. Think of it in terms of basketball: Omaha Christian Day School verses the Celtics.”
“Eeew! That bad?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Jeff laughed. “You’re sounding a bit better.”
“We have gravity again. I’ve decided I like gravity. Isaac Newton has become my new BFF.”
“Well, enjoy it while we’ve got it.”
“I’m doing just that.”
“I can see the terminator,” said Abby.
Jeff glanced at the window. “Already?”
“Yeah, we’re haulin’ the mail. Sunrise in about a minute and a half.”
CAPCOM, “Ares, Newport, your TMI burn is Go at four minutes. 30,807 feet per second. Everything looks good.”
“Roger.”
“9 feet per second off on the H-dot,” said Gabe.
“Close enough.”
“Sunarise,” said Abby. “You might not want to look at it. It’s bright.”
Gabe gasped. “Oh my god!”
“This sucks,” said Jeff. “Here I am, the commander of this hunk o’ junk, and I’ve got no window.”
Gabe chuckled. “That’s because the guys that designed it thought you’d be sitting in the left seat. See what pragmatism gets you?”
Jeff laughed. “Okay, I guess you can update our scoreboard too.”
“Already have.”
“Am I doing any better than Abby?”
“Sorry.”
“Damn.”
CAPCOM, “Ares, Newport, coming up on six minutes. We’ll give you a mark”
“Roger, Newport, standing by.”
CAPCOM, “Ares, six minutes and… mark.”
“Roger, Newport, we concur with your six-minute mark.”
CAPCOM, “Roger. We’re showing 35,105 feet per second and, uh, cutoff looks to be nominal.”
“Roger. How are we looking, Gabe?”
“About 14 feet per second slow, but altitudes perfect. Couldn’t be much better.”
“Roger. Abby?”
“Right in the crosshairs.”
“Works for me.”
CAPCOM, “Uh, Ares, Newport, at 6 plus 47, we’d like to welcome you to the record books. 36,364 feet per second. You just broke Apollo 10’s human speed record.”
Jeff chuckled. “Ares, roger. Our apologies to Stafford, Young and Cernan, but there was no way around it.”
CAPCOM, “Roger.”
“Well, that’s kind of cool,” said Abby. “Higher, faster, farther.”
“Yeah, well, I think we’re gonna break all of those… and then some.”
“Yeah.”
“0.8 g’s,” said Gabe.
“Roger,” said Jeff. “Nice ride. Almost comfortable.”
“Yes. Sure beats lift-off.”
“Another couple billion tons of fuel, and we could do this all the way there.”
Gabe giggled. “Yeah, we’d just need a booster the size of Nebraska.”
“Cutoff!” yelled Abby.
“Cutoff!” yelled Jeff.
“It’s already shutdown.”
“Yeah, I know, but you said to yell it. You didn’t specify whether or not it was already shutdown.”
“Oops. Sorry. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
CAPCOM, “Ares, Newport, we have your cutoff. 38,421 feet per second.”
“Roger, Newport. Gabe?”
“Jesus! Beautiful. Delta-Vr is 12,901 feet per second. I could kiss that engine.”
“Uh, yeah, you might want to wait for it to cool down a bit.”
“Probably a good idea.”
Jeff unlocked and raised his visor, then grasped Gabe’s and Abby’s hands and held them down between the seats where Susan could grab hold. “Well, we’re on our way.”
“Oh dear god,” said Gabe.
“I didn’t think you believed in God.”
“Given where we are, what I see out the window, and where we are headed, I’m inclined to think it may be time to revisit that issue.”
Jeff chuckled. “Amen.”
CAPCOM, “Ares, Newport.”
“Yeah, Newport, go ahead.”
CAPCOM, “We’re showing post-insertion fuel remaining in the EDS as 6,580 pounds of O2 and 1,196 pounds H2. In the event of MOI abort, swing-by and return, that should be more than enough to get you back.”
“Roger.”
Susan sighed aloud. “Whew! That’s comforting.”
“Yeah. Though the thought of eighteen and a half months in space isn’t.”
“No.”
“Uh, Newport, Ares, how’s the mood down there?”
CAPCOM, “Yeah, Ares, um… wow, sort of a combination of awe, j
oy, and disbelief. At the moment I think most of us are kind of numb.”
“Roger, we know the feeling. Okay, well, as you know, we have a lot of housekeeping on the schedule for today, and the next few. We’re gonna get moving on all that right now and, um, we’ll try and get settled enough to get the video conference up tomorrow morning. I dunno, say around 0700, 0800 your time, whenever you can get a Canberra antenna on us. How’s that sound?”
CAPCOM, “Roger, Ares, sounds fine. We’re anxiously looking forward to seeing and chatting with you, but we know you have a lot to do. Take your time – we know it’s been a busy morning – and we’ll see you when we see you.”
“Roger, Newport. Sue and I are gonna get started in the Sundancer as soon as I can get the hatches back open, Abby’s gonna start on the Cruise checklist, and Gabe’s gonna get a star fix, I think.”
CAPCOM, “Roger.”
Gabe nodded. “As soon as you’re out of the way.”
Jeff smiled. “On my way. How you holding up?”
She shrugged. “I dunno. Like Chrissie said, kind of numb. It’s kind of like a surreal dream and I keep thinking that any moment I’m gonna wake up.”
“Yeah. Well, if you do, be sure and wake me up,” he grinned, “cause I’m having the same dream.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Alright, to work.”
#
Jeff chuckled at the sight of Susan floating in the Sundancer, hunched over attempting to remove her boots.
“Um, would you like some help with that?”
“Yes, please.”
He grabbed the truss, pulled over to her, took hold of a leg and held it, locked under his arm, while he fiddled with the boot. Both finally removed and stuffed in a bag, he took her by the waist and spun her around. “Alright, let me undo the back.” He unzipped and unsealed the back of Susan’s suit, then held it open. “Okay, stick your butt through, grab your collar and pull your head through. Once she got her head through the neoprene collar, Jeff reached into the suit, wrapped his arm around her waist, grabbed her collar for leverage, and pulled her out the back of suit.
“Whew! Thank you.”
Margaritifer Basin (Margaritifer Trilogy Book 1) Page 61
