Free Back to the Moon by Homer Hickam Page A

moment
Columbia
lifted a millimeter off the Cape Canaveral pad. That was the jealous responsibility of Houston. Everything seemed to be nominal, but there was something about this flight that still bothered him. He’d called the IG office but the woman who’d answered the telephone claimed she didn’t know anything about an inspection team at the Cape. She was going to check on it, get back to him. That had been over an hour ago. At the Cape,
Columbia
’s automatic internal sequence had begun. Sam resisted calling Bilstein. What did he expect Bilstein to do, challenge NASA headquarters a few minutes before launch? Sam stood and started vulturing again. Glaring at his controllers made him feel better, anyway. Tate’s Turds, as they called themselves, kept their heads down. A murmur filled the room behind Sam and he turned and saw Center Director Frank Bonner settle into a chair in the glassed-in VIP room. Sam had known Bonner for over twenty years. Bonner had come down as a young fireball from headquarters and was placed immediately into positions of authority. He had even been the chief of flight operations for a year. Bonner was a good manager. He knew every NASA directive by heart. But he was tricky, too, a backstabber. He would attend meetings and just sit in the back, say nothing, and then later one of the participants would be out of a job. Sam wasn’t afraid of Bonner but he kept his distance from him too.
    Someone tapped Sam on the shoulder. Sam recognized him as Hank Garcia, Bonner’s assistant. “Frank would like to see you, Sam,” Garcia said. The thin, balding man wore a sorrowful expression, as if he were summoning someone to an execution.
    â€œI’m busy,” Sam retorted, turning away and pressing his hand against his headset as if he’d just received an urgent communication.
    â€œHe really wants to see you,” Garcia said, undaunted.
    Sam eyed Garcia. The man looked pitiful.
Might as well get it over with.
Sam took off his headset, marched into the VIP room. “Dammit, Frank, I’ve got a shuttle about to launch.”
    Bonner smiled as Sam came in the room, reached out his hand. “Sam. Been a long time. You used to come by the office, play cards at lunch. You never do that anymore.”
    Sam shook Bonner’s hand while straining to remember the occasion Bonner was talking about. It had to have been at least fifteen years ago. “Been busy, Frank.” He shrugged. Like most engineers he wasn’t comfortable with small talk.
    â€œSam,” he said, “is your team ready?”
    â€œI guess you know that they are. You approved our training budget. We’ve drilled this team with a dozen full-scale sims, thrown every mal at them known to God and man. They’re a good bunch. Hell yes, we’re ready.”
    â€œGood,” Bonner said, and then was quiet for a moment. “It isn’t my fault
Columbia
’s being retired, Sam. I fought against it. The vice president had his mind made up.”
    â€œI never said it was your fault, Frank,” Sam said truthfully.
    Bonner nodded. “Have a good flight, Sam.”
    Sam left the viewing pit, went to his console, put on his headset. “What did Bonner want, Sam?” Crowder, his assistant Flight, asked.
    Sam shook his head. “Nothing. He’s just the loneliest man I’ve ever known.”
    Launch Complex 39-B
    With a groan the crew access arm began its automatic retraction. The ingress team, hunkered sullenly in the baskets, stood up, eyes wide. “Automatic launch sequence! We got to go!” Guardino screeched.
    â€œYes,” Jack replied calmly. “You do.”
    Firing Room, Launch Control Center, KSC
    Aaron Bilstein stood at his console, his plump body swaying as he looked over his team camped out in front of their blinking consoles. This countdown was as smooth as any he had ever run. The only glitch he could name offhand was that the