Margaritifer Basin (Margaritifer Trilogy Book 1) (74 page)

Jeff groaned and glanced at Abby.
“Never mind.”

Abby shook her head. “You need to be
more careful about what you say to her.”

“Really. Alright, let’s get turned
around, get rid of this booster, and get docked. I need a drink.”

“A drink? A drink! Hot damn! You
brought a bottle, you sly devil.”

Jeff smiled, then pointed a thumb astern.
“Yeah, but it’s a couple hundred meters back there.”

“Son of a bitch! And cocktail hour
approacheth.”

CAPCOM, “
Ares
, Newport,
Goldstone tracking is showing your distance to Sundancer as, um… close aboard.”

“Roger, Newport, don’t ask. We’re
gonna translate for S-II jettison.”

CAPCOM, “Roger. LOS Goldstone at
1:33:31, and you’ll have no Madrid tracking on this pass.”

“Roger.”

Abby grabbed the reaction control
system joysticks. “Okay, here we go. Pitching.”

Jeff nodded. “Yeah, PROCEED on the
DSKY, and you’re pitching.”

“Watch it. It’ll probably go back to
Rate Command. This sucker doesn’t handle at all like the simulator.”

“Probably because the sim doesn’t have
a 125 ton booster attached to it.”

“Yeah. Be glad to get rid of that hunk
o’ junk.”

“Hey, it got us here.”

“Okay, I got it. Gabe, you see it?”

“No. Oh! A little bit to the right.
Maybe… 5 degrees. There it is.”

“Okay, reversing… and forward thrust.
Gabe, how we doing?”

“Um, hang on… Uh, 270 meters.”

“Are we static?”

“Um… yeah. Close enough.”

“Roger. Okay, what say we get rid of
our excess baggage?”

Jeff nodded. “Yeah, alright. Arm Pyro
Bus A.”

“Pyro Bus A armed,” said Gabe.

“S-II maneuvering to separation
attitude. Arm Pyro Bus B.”

“Roger. Arming Pyro Bus B.”

CAPCOM, “
Ares
, Newport, we’re
showing S-II separation attitude and Pyro Buses A and B armed.”

“
Ares
, Roger.”

“CMC Mode, AUTO,” said Gabe.

“Got it,” said Abby, “AUTO.”

“We’re gonna translate plus-x and
hold?”

“Yes.”

“Okay Abby, let’s go,” said Jeff.

“Thrusting.”

Gabe pressed the CM/launch vehicle ‘SEP’
button.

“SEP!” said Jeff.

CAPCOM, “Copy, separation.”

“Abby, you have Delta-V?”

“Yeah, I’ve got, uh, 0.8. I’m gonna
stop there.”

“Okay. SM RCS propellant, verify all
eight gray.”

“Um, crap!” said Abby. “Problem.”

“What?”

“Uh, primary and secondary Propellant
B both went barberpole on separation.”

CAPCOM, “That was on quad Bravo?”

“Roger, Newport,” said Jeff, “quad
Bravo.”

Gabe flipped a couple switches,
cycling the RCS fuel valves. “How’s that?”

Abby sighed. “Um… ah! Okay, eight
gray.”

“Don’t sweat it. Same thing used to
happen all the time during Apollo S-IVB sep.”

“Roger.”

CAPCOM, “
Ares
, Newport.”

“Yeah, Newport,” said Jeff, “go
ahead.”

CAPCOM, “Roger, we’re commencing the
S-II reentry orientation maneuver and will be enabling the LOX dump in two
minutes.”

“Roger.”

CAPCOM, “
Ares
, Newport, do you
have an ETA for docking?”

“Uh, yeah, Newport,” said Gabe, “
closing on her now. About, uh, 19 minutes.”

CAPCOM, “Roger. Presently 132.4 miles
altitude, 25,526 feet per second.”

“Uh, roger. Gabe, how’s your stomach
doing?” said Jeff.

“Much better. In fact, I’m hungry.”

“God, so am I,” said Abby.

Jeff grinned. “Well, the space café is
dead ahead, move it.”

“Roger that.”

“Sue, you want to squeeze up here and
man the camera while we make our approach.”

“Yeah, sure. On my way.”

“Shit,” said Abby, “things haven’t
changed.”

“What?” said Jeff.

“These Apollo accelerometers are still
useless during translation and docking. Gabe, BMAG?”

“Okay.”

“Ah, that’s better. Range?”

“Um, 248 meters.”

“Roger.”

Susan hovered over Gabe’s shoulder,
filming the Sundancer as they approached. “God, that’s incredible.”

Abby glanced out the rendezvous
window. “It sure is. Wow.”

“How we doing, Abby?” said Jeff.

“As Mike Collins said on Apollo 11,
we’re closing in a leisurely fashion.”

“Leisurely works for me. This handling
any better now?”

“Well, it’s closer to the sim, but
still a ways off. I think part of the problem is the difference in mass. The
simulator was setup for Apollo missions and we’re a little lighter. This reacts
faster than the sim. It’s okay, I’ve got it.”

“Roger.” He glanced out the window.
“Oh man, that’s beautiful.”

“Yeah. Home sweet home.”

Gabe frowned. “It’s not exactly
Wrentham House.”

Jeff chuckled. “No kidding?”

“I think my bathroom is bigger.”

“That’s because you’ve got the biggest
bathroom in the house.”

“No I don’t, you do.”

“Yeah, but I don’t use that one.”

Gabe shook her head. “You know, you
bring a whole new meaning to the word bourgeois. I mean, who else has a bedroom
with
two
bathrooms, one of which is big enough to accommodate ballroom
dancing.”

Jeff laughed. “Hey, I didn’t design
the place, I just live there.”

“Not anymore.”

“Hmmm, point conceded.”

“227 meters.”

“I dunno,” said Gabe, “we’re too
close. Maybe, 10 feet.”

“No problem,” said Abby, “I’ve got
it.”

“Call the ball,” said Jeff.

Abby grinned. “Roger, ball. This is a
lot easier than a carrier landing.”

“If you say so.”

“Contact,” said Gabe. “Docking Probe,
Extend/Release.”

“Right. Give it a few seconds for the
oscillations to settle. Newport,
Ares
, soft dock.”

CAPCOM, “Roger, soft dock. 133.6 miles
altitude, 25,516 feet per second, right where you ought to be.
Ares
, be
advised, you’ll have no Canberra tracking on this pass.”

“Roger, Newport.”

“Docking probe, retract?” said Gabe.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“Hard dock. Docking Probe,
Extend/Release and Retract to Off.”

“Roger, Newport, hard dock.”

CAPCOM, “Copy, hard dock.”

Jeff, Gabe, Abby and Susan exchanged
smiles at the sound of cheers in the background of Chrissie’s mic.

Jeff shook hands with each of them and
grinned. “I’ll get the door.”

Tuesday, March 22,
2016 (T plus 2 hours, 14 minutes)

Jeff again removed his helmet and gloves, and passed
them to Susan. “Gabe, how much time have we got?”

“For TMI
on our third orbit?”

“Yeah.”

She
frowned. “Um, 73 minutes.”

“Uh,
well, that ain’t gonna work.”

“I
hesitate to say I told you so, but… I told you so.”

“Yeah.
Okay, so we go for TMI on the fourth orbit?”

“Yes.”

He
sighed. “Alright, fourth orbit it is. What time will that be?”

“About
4:55.”

“Roger.
Newport,
Ares
.”

CAPCOM,
“Go ahead,
Ares
.”

“Yeah, we
just, uh, decided to go for TMI on our fourth orbit. According to Gabe, around
T plus 4:55. Proceed accordingly.”

CAPCOM,
“Roger, will do.”

Jeff glanced at Gabe and Abby. “Alright then. Um,
since we now have time to spare, anyone up for breakfast?”

Following
a meager meal of energy bars and Gatorade, Jeff disconnected from cooling
water, donned a wireless earpiece and mic, and floated up into the docking
tunnel and opened the pressure equalization valve on the forward hatch. “Okay,
Gabe, close the cabin pressure relief valves and the SM O
₂
supply
valve.”

“Roger,
pressure reliefs and O
₂
supply closed.”

“Is the
pressure holding?”

“Yes,
dead solid. Looks like we’ve got a good seal.”

“Roger
that.” Jeff gave the hatch pump handle a stroke, unlatching it, then pulled the
hatch out and passed it down to Abby for stowage.

“Got it.”

Jeff
carefully checked all twelve docking ring latches to ensure they were fully
engaged. Three were sufficient to assure a good seal, but twelve were better
than three. Then he removed the docking probe and drogue assemblies, passed
them down to Abby, and connected the two electrical and data umbilicals to
ports beside the Sundancer’s outer airlock hatch.

“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.

Jeff 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.