Margaritifer Basin (Margaritifer Trilogy Book 1) (85 page)

“No.”
Gabe sounded aggravated. “That extra 8 seconds is only needed with the J-2, not
the SPS. We’ll burn for 8:14, or until the EMS says we’ve reached delta-v.”

Jeff
grabbed her hand. “You sound nervous.”

“I am
nervous. This hasn’t been done before.”

“Sure it
has. Lots of stuff has been put into orbit around Mars, including by us.”

“Not with
me onboard.”

He
chuckled. “Point conceded.”

Jeff stared out the starboard
window. “Oh my god.”

“What?” said Abby.

“What a view. Gabe, what’s our
altitude?”

“Above what?”

“The ground. You know, AGL? Come
on, you’re a pilot.”

“Jeff, what do you see out the
window?”

“More than I thought I’d see under
just starlight. Um, what is that? The Candor Chasma?”

“Right. And the elevation down in
there varies by over 8,000 meters, and we’re traveling at over six kilometers
per second. AGL is jumping all over the place. I can’t give you an accurate
AGL.”

He sighed. “Okay, how about an
inaccurate AGL? Say, from the MOLA? Give or take a few miles.”

“I don’t know. Um, about 475
miles.”

“Thank you. Close enough. And… take
a pill.”

“I don’t have any pills. Sue
wouldn’t give me any.”

He groaned. “Susan.”

“What? Don’t yell at me, you’re the
one that wanted her sober.”

Jeff laughed.

“Would y’all just shut up,” said
Abby. “Jesus! Sue, remind me never to take children on a long drive again. I
swear to god, on the trip home I’m gonna send you two through in checked
baggage. Gabe? Can you give me a 3-minute mark?”

“Yes, that I can do. T
_IG
minus 3 in 3, 2, 1… Mark.”

“Got it. Jeff, Rotational Control
Power, Direct, both Main A and B.”

“Roger. RCP, Direct, Main A/Main
B.”

“Rog. SPS Helium Valves, Auto.
Limit Cycle, OFF.”

“Got it.”

“Delta-V Thrust B, ON.”

“At two minutes.”

“Roger. Two minutes.”

“You’re not there yet,” said Gabe.

“I know!”

Jeff groaned. “Everybody calm
down.” He gently grasped Gabe’s hand.

She jerked it away. “Don’t touch
me!”

“What is your problem?”

“I’m scared to death.”

“Well, get un-scared, and just get
us into orbit.”

Her sigh was audible. “I’m trying.”

“Two minutes… Mark,” said Abby.
“Delta-V Thrust B, ON.”

“Translation Controller, Armed,”
said Gabe.

“Rog.”

“Rotation Controller, Armed.”

“Rog. Okay, I’ve got to go
horizontal at 35 seconds.”

“Roger,” said Jeff. “Gabe, how long
till we reach the day-night terminator?”

“Um, we should hit it somewhere
over the Ophir Planum so, I don’t know… about 75 seconds.”

“Telescope aligned on the station?”

“Yes, and synchronized.”

“Frame rate?”

“10 frames per second, true color,
visible light.”

“Will we be able to see anything?”
said Susan.

“Sure,” said Gabe. “At full mag,
apparent distance as we pass over will be about 500 meters with resolution of
around twelve centimeters per pixel. After applying digital enhancement we
should have some pretty good pictures.”

“Alright,” said Abby, “enough with
the sightseeing. Coming up on one minute.”

“Mark,” said Gabe.

“Roger.”

“There’s the terminator,” said
Jeff. “Just ahead.”

Gabe glanced out the window. “I see
it.”

“Gabe, do we need to see the data
stream from Newport?”

“No, it’s nine minutes old. Ancient
history.”

“Alright.” He pointed at a video
monitor atop the central instrument panel. “Can you put a live image of the
surface on this monitor? I’m getting a kink in my neck trying to look out your
window.”

“Whiner. Just a second.” A moment
later an image of Mars’ surface appeared on the monitor. “That’s from the ‘E’
camera. Happy?”

“Great. Thank you. 35 seconds,
DSKY’s blank, EMS mode, NORMAL.”

“Roger,” said Abby as she glanced
at the monitor. “Jesus, there’s nothing there. Where the hell are we?”

“East end of the Ophir Catenae,”
said Gabe.

“Crap. Where’s the beach, and palm
trees, and hotel?”

Jeff pointed out the port window.
“100 million miles that way.”

Abby shook her head. “Boss, you’re
gonna have a hard time selling time-share condos in this place.”

“You think?”

“I want to see,” said Susan.

“Channel 12,” said Gabe.

Jeff frowned. “Sue, aren’t you
supposed to be watching our vital signs?”

“I don’t have a window. If any of
you suddenly die, just holler.”

He laughed. “Yeah, okay. T
_IG
?”

“8 seconds,” said Gabe.

“Roger, PROCEED.”

“Standby,” said Abby. “Got B Mode.”

Jeff nodded. “We’re burning.”

“I can feel it. Thrust A and…
Mark.”

“Got it,” said Gabe.

“Chamber pressure?”

“It’s fine. 95, 95.”

“Coming up on 4 minutes,” said
Gabe.

“Roger,” said Abby. “Chamber
pressure is approaching 100 psi.”

“I see it. I’m predicting cutoff
about 6 seconds early.”

“8:16?”

“Give or take. Maybe 8:15 or 14 by
the time we get there.”

“Roger.”

“Gabe,” said Jeff, pointing at the
video monitor, “can we get the telescope view up here?”

“Yeah, here it is.”

He gasped. “Holy shit! Look, tuna
cans, solar fields, rovers… Jesus! Home sweet home!”

“My god,” said Susan, “look at all
the rover tracks.”

“Yeah, busy little beavers.”

Gabe grabbed Jeff’s hand.

“I thought you didn’t want to be
touched.”

“I changed my mind.”

He chuckled.

“Okay,” said Abby, “we can watch
home movies and you two can play footsies later. Pitch and yaw trim are
oscillating just a bit. It’s kind of aimless, but the rates are deadbanding on
all three axes.”

Jeff patted Gabe’s hand and
grinned. “Roger footsies. Abby, call the ball.”

“Both balls are right on the
crosshairs. She’s steering like a champ.”

“Outstanding.”

“Chamber pressures are 100 even,”
said Gabe. “Predicted cutoff at 8:14. Delta-V switches OFF right at shutdown.”

“Yeah,” said Abby, “I’ll get them.”

“Gabe,” said Jeff, “do you have a
range to
Balboa
?”

“Um, yeah, a hair under 100 kilometers.”

“Okay. And how close will we be at
shutdown?”

“I don’t know exactly, but it’ll be
inside of 1,000 meters. Maybe around 900.”

“Wow. Seven months, 100 million
miles, and we end up less than a klick from it, and in the same orbit. I’m
impressed.”

“Isn’t this what you hired me for?”

Jeff chuckled. “Among other
things.”

“I can think of at least one other
thing,” said Abby.

Gabe glanced past Jeff and glared
at her. “Shut up and drive.”

Abby laughed. “Yes ma’am.”

“5 seconds,” said Jeff.

Abby nodded. “And 3, 2, 1…”

“Shutdown.”

“Ball valves…” said Gabe. “Barber
poles.”

“Rog,” said Abby. “Pitch and yaw
OFF.”

“Got it.”

“TVC servo power 1 and 2 OFF.”

“Got it.”

Jeff leaned back and sighed. “Well
boys and girls, we’re in orbit around Mars.”

There was only silence, everyone
apparently contemplating that statement.

He glanced around. “What? No
comment?”

Abby shook her head. “I’m at a loss
for words.”

“Gabe?”

She sat motionless, staring out the
window.

“Um, Earth to Gabriel…”

She glanced at him. “Huh?”

“You alright?”

“Uh, yeah. What?”

“Where’s
Balboa
?”

“Um, hang on.” She brought up the Intercept display,
then opened a video window and pointed a camera aft. “Dead astern.”

“Range?”

“Hold on, let me get the laser on
it. Um, 937 meters.”

“Time to intercept?”

“51 minutes.”

“And how’s our orbit look?”

“Right where it should be. After we
dock, minor trims at apoapsis and periapsis and it’ll be perfect.”

“Excellent.” He patted her hand.
“Good job. Alright, Abby, get us turned around.”

“Roger that. Gabe, give me the
Sundancer’s RCS.”

“Rog. Sundancer pitch, roll, yaw A
& B armed.”

“Got it. CMC Mode, FREE?”

“Yes. No point in the CM RCS
fighting to hold attitude while we’re trying to realign it.”

“Just asking. Okay, standby for 180
degree pitch rotation.”

“Okay,
PROCEED.”

“Pitching.
Gabe, I’m watching the pitch rate, let me know when you can see
Balboa
in the docking window.”

“Will do.
Manual attitude pitch to Accel Command?”

“No, it
went to Rate.”

“Figures.
During Apollo it did the same thing during the LM transposition and docking
maneuver.”

Abby
chuckled. “Yeah, I read that book too. I’ll tell you, there were a few times
when I wish I could have done this in a F/A-18.”

Jeff
smiled. “Um, they don’t fly real well backwards, do they?”

“No, not
really. Gabe, you see
Balboa
yet?”

“No. Oh, wait… there it is. Slow down.”

“Okay,
I’ve got it in the crosshairs.”

“Looks
like you’re about four degrees left.”

“I see
it. Hang on.”

“There!”

“Yeah, I
got it. Okay, let’s stop here.”

Susan
grumbled, “You two are going to drive me to drink.”

Jeff
laughed. “Didn’t they do that a long time ago?”

“I stand
corrected.”

He
laughed again. “Yeah. Gabe, distance?”

“910
meters.”

“Time to
intercept?”

Gabe
growled. “About one minute less than the last time you asked.”

“Are you
having a bad hair day?”

“No. It’s
just that we’ve been sitting in here for over two hours and I’ve already wet my
pants once, and am about to do so again.”

“Sorry I
asked. We could speed this process up.”

“No.
It’ll just waste RCS fuel.”

“Okay
then, 50 minutes to docking. Everybody relax for a while.”

Abby
leaned forward and looked out the window past Jeff and Gabe. “God that rock
looks close.”

Jeff
nodded. “Yeah, it sure does.”

“I need a
cigarette.”

“I’ve got
a pack in my shirt pocket.”

She
snapped her head toward him. “You do?”

“Yeah.
Except that, um, I left that shirt on Earth.”

She
punched him in the shoulder. “Nice going, idiot.”

“Sorry.”

Jeff
stared intently at the video monitor as the image of the docking collar on
Balboa
’s
storage module got bigger and bigger.

“It’s a
little unnerving to just watch this on TV,” said Abby. “I’d rather have my
hands on the controls.”

“Well,
you’ve watched the auto-dock work before from the MCC.”

“Yeah,
but it’s not the same. Watching it from the MCC, if it screws up it just wastes
a billion dollars’ worth of hardware. If it screws up now, it wastes a billion dollars’
worth of hardware… and us.”

“Yeah.
Eh, it’ll be fine. But keep a close eye on it anyway.”

“Thirty
feet, half a foot per second.” said Gabe.

Jeff
nodded. “Looks like it’s right on.” He glanced at Abby. “The computer’s
approaches are a little slower than yours.”

“Yeah.
Probably for the best.”

He
chuckled. “I think it’s nervous. It knows you’ll rip its guts out if it screws
up.”

“That’s a
fact.”

“Gabe?”

“Twenty
feet. Right on target.”

“Fifteen feet.”

“Ten feet.”

“Five feet.”

The forward RCS thrust light lit.

“Thrusting, and…”

There was a gentle bump.

“Contact.”

“Roger,” said Jeff.

“Soft dock.”

“Roger.”

“Engaging,” said Abby. “And… hard dock.”

Gabe
started flipping switches on the instrument panel. “Docking Probe,
Extend/Release, OFF. Retract, OFF. Circuit breakers, open. COAS power, OFF.
Okay, we’re docked, and attitude is stable.”

“Good job
everyone,” said Jeff. He unbuckled his harness and headed into the tunnel.
“Everybody sit tight. Back in a minute.”

Gabe
called after him. “It’ll take longer than that just to run diagnostics.”

“Yeah,
yeah. Okay, back in ten minutes.” He muttered, “Nag, nag, nag.”

“I heard
that.”

He
chuckled. “Oops. Forgot I was on VOX. Sorry.”

“Just
move it.”

“On my
way.” He made his way through the aft airlock and the Sundancer to the forward
airlock, to which
Balboa
’s storage module was now docked, and connected
the umbilicals. “Gabe?”

“Yeah?”

“You
should now have power and data.”

“Got it.
Running diagnostics.”

“Rog.
Abby, you getting set for MDS sep?”

“Working
on it.”

“Rog.” He
floated in the airlock, yawned, and scratched his forehead while waiting for
Gabe.