Rick Van Duren leaned back in his chair. If any of the other members of the flight control team at FCC in Houston were to look at him they would see a man unperturbed by the disaster taking place two hundred miles overhead. The only sign of nerves came from his rhythmic stroking of the mike boom that hovered above his jawline.
“How’s he doing, Rick?” The voice came over the headset and without the customary, “CAPCOM, Flight.” Rick knew who was speaking. He also knew the question was nothing more than small talk leading to something more pressing.
“So far so good, Flight, all things considered. He has the Ku-antenna realigned for the present attitude. The giddiness seems to have gone, as has the melancholy. He’s coming across more emotionally stable. I think removing the patch helped.”
“That’s my take.”
Rick waited for Flight Director Dieter Huntz to get to what was really on his mind.
“You know him better than anyone, Rick. Can he fly Atlantis?”
Rick didn’t respond at first. He and Tuck went back to their days at Annapolis and had served on the same aircraft carrier.
Dieter activated his mike again. “Give it to me straight, Rick. I don’t want any of that astronaut machismo.”
Rick sighed. “No, Flight, he can’t. In any other circumstance, I would put my life and that of my family in his hands, but at the moment, I wouldn’t let him steer a riding lawn mower.”
“Flight, this is Surgeon. I concur. Commander Tuck’s response time is at least 25 percent slower than normal.”
“Now that the patch is off, Surgeon, can we expect him to revive?”
“Flight, we don’t even know for certain that the patch is the problem. It appears related, but I have no way of telling. I need to do a tox screen and I can’t do that down here. We won’t know anything until we get results from the test group.”
Rick thought of the three volunteer astronauts who donned the same patches. Some of the other flight surgeons were monitoring their health in hopes of determining the source of the problem. Rick would have volunteered himself, but he didn’t want to leave his post.
“Our options are narrowing, gentlemen.” Dieter’s voice sounded distant to Rick even though only a handful of steps separated them. “Ideally we’d have them dock with the space station, off-load the crew, and use what medical equipment we have there, but Tuck isn’t in any kind of condition to make that happen. If he . . .”
Rick finished Dieter’s sentence in his mind. If he messes up, Tuck kills not just himself and the rest of the surviving crew but three men on the ISS. The thought had been haunting Rick’s mind.
“The longer they stay up there, the greater chance Jess and Russ will die too.” Bob Celtik groaned into his mike. “Removing the patches was the right thing to do, but we don’t know if we removed them too late.”
“Russ and Jess need medical treatment beyond what they can get on the space station,” Rick said. “Flight, I suggest we go autoland.”
“The autoland system wasn’t designed to bring the Shuttle back with crew on board. It was meant to allow us to land the vehicle after the crew was safe on the ISS.”
Rick knew this information well. He had been one of the astronaut advisors on the project. Since Columbia’s tragic burnup over Texas in 2003, engineers developed new safety protocols in the event of damage to the Shuttle during launch. One of the first things a crew did once in orbit was to use the RMS arm to examine the heat tiles and wings. If the craft had sustained life-threatening damage, then the crew would dock with the International Space Station, disembark, and let FCC land it empty of the crew. The ISS, depending on the number of astronauts on the station and on the orbiter, could sustain them for eighty to one hundred ten days. NASA would send another Shuttle to bring them home.
A complete autolanding had never been done. Much of a Shuttle’s return was automated, handled by a computer, but certain functions like deploying air sensors that aided the computer in its flight, lowering the landing gear, and deploying the drag chute required a human on board. Recent modifications allowed NASA to handle even those tasks.
Another problem plagued the idea of autolanding with a crew on board: tests had shown that the computers tended to bring the craft in too fast, and too fast meant possible tire failure. It would be a disaster to lose an empty Shuttle that way; it was beyond tragic to lose a crew.
“Flight, I don’t think we’re playing this hand; it’s playing us. No matter what decision we make it will be second-guessed.”
“We don’t make this decision, Rick, I do.”
“Negative, Flight. Whatever decision you make, you make in consultation with all of us. No one is going to leave you twisting in the wind.”
“I guess this is where I make the ‘failure is not an option’ speech.”
Rick turned his chair and looked across the space that separated them. “You know Gene Krantz never said that.” They were words he should have offered with a smile, but he couldn’t manage it. Krantz was a NASA icon, the mold from which every other flight director shaped himself. Krantz and his team were at the helm to bring the injured Apollo 13 flight home.
“No, but he lived it.” Dieter pursed his lips.
A motion at the back of the room caught Rick’s attention. Security escorted a woman and two children into the room. With them were a couple of suits Rick recognized as NASA execs.
His gut twisted. . . .
The pain in Tuck’s head diminished to a mere crushing sensation. He had never experienced a migraine, but his wife had. Next time he would be more sympathetic.
If there is a next time.
“Atlantis, Houston. Got time for a phone call, buddy?”
A phone call? “I’m not interested in buying any more magazines, Rick.”
“You want to take this, Tuck. And no worries. I’ll pick up the long-distance charges.”
“You’re a pal, pal.” The banter made Tuck feel better, if only for a moment. It meant that his mind was responding faster.
“Hey, baby.” The voice oozed through the earpiece. Not even distance and the cold of space could change a voice he knew so well. Tears burned his eyes.
He cleared his throat. “Hey you.” He heard his voice break. “It’s great to hear your voice.” The image of Myra flashed on his brain: dark brown hair, short on the sides, full on the top; eyes that were accustomed to expressing joy and not anger; a wit as sharp as he had ever encountered.
“They . . . um . . . they tell me that you’re having a little trouble up there.”
“I’ve had better trips.” He shuddered. “I miss you more than I can say.”
There was fear in her voice. “I miss you too. I . . . I want you to come home safe.”
Tuck started to speak but failed. It took several moments and every ounce of concentration he could muster to speak the words. “Do you still have those pork chops in the freezer?”
There was a pause before Myra responded. “Yes.”
“I’m talking about the thick-cut ones.”
“Those are the ones.”
He heard her confusion. “Good. I’ll be back soon and I’m thinking of having some friends over for a barbeque. Will you make potato salad?”
“Of course.”
“Good. On second thought, let’s make it just a family affair. Do you understand what I’m saying, Myra?”
“Yes. I know you’ll make it home.”
“That I will, kiddo. I’ve got the best team in the world on the job.”
“I know, baby. I know.” The effort to put on a brave front collapsed like a wall and Tuck heard every brick land. His heart ached and he lowered his head into his hands. Even two hundred miles above the Earth, traveling faster than a bullet with half his crew dead, he had to be brave for his family.
“The kids are here, baby. They want to talk to you.”
What steel remained in Tuck’s spine melted.
The next voice over the line was higher than Myra’s. “Daddy?”
“Hey, gorgeous. How’s my pretty Penny? Did Mom take you shopping for school?”
She was crying. “Yes. Daddy . . . Daddy . . .”
“I’m coming home, sweetheart. Got that? I’ll be there to torment any boys you bring to the house.”
Penny’s laugh came wrapped in a sob. “In that case, I’m going to the mall and round up some.”
“That’s it. You’re grounded for the next twenty-two years.”
“I . . . love you, Daddy.”
Tuck fought back the sobs. His daughter’s voice, the tone, the timbre, brought more pain than the fear of death. “Remember all those stars we see at night? My love . . . is bigger.”
The connection fell silent for a moment, then Myra came across the link. “Gary is having a little trouble right now. He wants to talk but he doesn’t think he can.”
“Tell him I understand; I’m having a little trouble myself.”
“This is kinda tough on the kids.”
“I know. I wish it weren’t so.”
“Tuck, there’s so much to say, I don’t know where to begin.”
“Just tell me you love me. That will say everything I need to hear.”
“I love you more than I can say.”
“And I love you with every breath. You take care of the kids. Make sure Gary keeps up his math and . . .” Tuck broke. Words were now useless, but the connection between them was greater than anything science and engineering could manufacture.
“We’re praying, Tuck. We’re praying every minute.”
“Me too, kid. Me too. Does Dad know?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Good. Don’t tell him yet. There’s nothing he can do but worry and he doesn’t need that.”
“I’ll wait, but he’ll be here soon. He’ll find out.”
“I understand. Do what you think is right. I’m not at my best right now.”
“They said you’re feeling and acting better.”
“My head’s clearing. I’m not as foggy. Myra, listen, I’m assuming they’ve told you about Jodie and Jared and Vinny. They have family. You’re good with people in tough situations. They’re going to need some strength. Do you know what I mean? Someone with spiritual roots.”
“I know what you mean. I’ll do what I can.”
A moment of relief ran through Tuck. Helping others would help her. “Okay, baby. Give yourself a hug for me. I’ve got to get back to work and see if I can’t come home and annoy you some more.”
“You can annoy me anytime.”
“I’m coming home, Myra, but if this goes south any more . . . You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Sobs covered the first words but Tuck made out, “. . . me too.”
Tuck straightened and filled his lungs. A moment later, he packed away his runaway emotions in the stowage of his mind. “Houston, Atlantis.”
“Go ahead, Atlantis.” It was Rick.
“What’s next, CAPCOM?”