Burnout: the mystery of Space Shuttle STS-281 by Stephanie Osborn Page B
Authors: Stephanie Osborn
Tags: Science-Fiction
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Gayle," Crash admitted, sitting down beside the frightened woman and pulling her red-golden head onto his broad shoulder. "Whatever it was, it was important enough for somebody to be willing to kill to cover it up."
At that statement, Gayle began trembling. Crash heard a soft sob, and he tightened his hold, pulling her into his lap, stroking the strawberry blonde hair in an attempt to comfort her. "Ssshh," he whispered. "It's okay, baby, it's okay. That's why I told you to come here, so you wouldn't be alone." He rested his cheek against the top of her head.
"But, Crash, whoever it is… they'll know you know, too. About both things."
"They may not know about the medical records yet."
"They do by now," Gayle sighed against his chest. "I thought it was somebody's sick practical joke got way the hell out of hand. So I raised holy Cain about it when I got back to the office… like a fool."
"Mmm. Oh. Well, uh. Yeah… they know. Whoever ‘they' are." Crash found himself becoming very aware of Gayle's heartbeat.
Gayle raised her head just then and gazed into Crash's brown eyes. "We're dead, aren't we, Crash?" she whispered, blue eyes dilated with fear.
"No…" Crash breathed, desire flaring in his dark eyes, "no, we're far from dead…" He heard Gayle's breath catch when he bent his head to hers. As his mouth covered her soft lips, one firm, strong hand slipped up into her silky, red-gold hair, pulling her head back as her lips parted.
As the kiss slowly ended, Crash murmured, "Still feelin' scared?"
"Oh, no," Gayle whispered, sultry blue gaze fixed on his lips. "No, scared isn't what I'm feeling right now…"
"C'mon. Let's go… get you… unpacked…"
* * * *
Anders had his laptop hooked up to the big Dobsonian telescope. This made it easy to do his observations, as the point and click capability of the laptop enabled him to pull up a star chart onscreen, locate his chosen subject, click, and the drive on the telescope aimed it wherever he had indicated. Likewise, the CCD was commanded from the little computer, and each image displayed itself on the laptop's screen before storing itself to file.
Approximately an hour and a quarter before the predicted occultation, Anders had his star chosen: A nice, ordinary star, spectral class G IV, similar to the Sun, with not one interesting feature about it, one that was often used as a calibration star, it was so consistent. A perfect background, he considered, for checking out an occultation. Nothing to interfere, no variability, nice and steady. And with that thought, he set up his observing sequence.
For the first hour, Anders decided to get some baseline observations. He took one thirty-second exposure every minute for the initial five minutes in order to calibrate his observations, then one exposure every ten minutes, scrutinizing each for any sign of dimming. Just to make sure he didn't miss anything, he also used the photometric program to quantitatively measure the brightness of each observation.
At ten minutes before the predicted occultation, he resumed the original observation frequency of once per minute, then, in the last three minutes, Anders set off the automated sequence, which took continuous exposures with no break in between. Meanwhile, he stared at the images, focusing on the star he wanted to see disappear, while a small countdown clock in the corner of the screen beeped down the time.
The clock alarm went off.
Nothing happened.
Anders kept the observing rate high for an additional five minutes past the scheduled occultation, just to make sure, then reduced the rate to once per minute for the next fifteen minutes.
Worried, Anders commanded the computer to show the exposures as a movie sequence. He sat and watched the screen. In the top left corner, a tiny meteor sputtered across the image, before breaking up and fading. Another shot through the bottom of the screen, some five minutes before the calculated occultation. But not a single star in the
At that statement, Gayle began trembling. Crash heard a soft sob, and he tightened his hold, pulling her into his lap, stroking the strawberry blonde hair in an attempt to comfort her. "Ssshh," he whispered. "It's okay, baby, it's okay. That's why I told you to come here, so you wouldn't be alone." He rested his cheek against the top of her head.
"But, Crash, whoever it is… they'll know you know, too. About both things."
"They may not know about the medical records yet."
"They do by now," Gayle sighed against his chest. "I thought it was somebody's sick practical joke got way the hell out of hand. So I raised holy Cain about it when I got back to the office… like a fool."
"Mmm. Oh. Well, uh. Yeah… they know. Whoever ‘they' are." Crash found himself becoming very aware of Gayle's heartbeat.
Gayle raised her head just then and gazed into Crash's brown eyes. "We're dead, aren't we, Crash?" she whispered, blue eyes dilated with fear.
"No…" Crash breathed, desire flaring in his dark eyes, "no, we're far from dead…" He heard Gayle's breath catch when he bent his head to hers. As his mouth covered her soft lips, one firm, strong hand slipped up into her silky, red-gold hair, pulling her head back as her lips parted.
As the kiss slowly ended, Crash murmured, "Still feelin' scared?"
"Oh, no," Gayle whispered, sultry blue gaze fixed on his lips. "No, scared isn't what I'm feeling right now…"
"C'mon. Let's go… get you… unpacked…"
* * * *
Anders had his laptop hooked up to the big Dobsonian telescope. This made it easy to do his observations, as the point and click capability of the laptop enabled him to pull up a star chart onscreen, locate his chosen subject, click, and the drive on the telescope aimed it wherever he had indicated. Likewise, the CCD was commanded from the little computer, and each image displayed itself on the laptop's screen before storing itself to file.
Approximately an hour and a quarter before the predicted occultation, Anders had his star chosen: A nice, ordinary star, spectral class G IV, similar to the Sun, with not one interesting feature about it, one that was often used as a calibration star, it was so consistent. A perfect background, he considered, for checking out an occultation. Nothing to interfere, no variability, nice and steady. And with that thought, he set up his observing sequence.
For the first hour, Anders decided to get some baseline observations. He took one thirty-second exposure every minute for the initial five minutes in order to calibrate his observations, then one exposure every ten minutes, scrutinizing each for any sign of dimming. Just to make sure he didn't miss anything, he also used the photometric program to quantitatively measure the brightness of each observation.
At ten minutes before the predicted occultation, he resumed the original observation frequency of once per minute, then, in the last three minutes, Anders set off the automated sequence, which took continuous exposures with no break in between. Meanwhile, he stared at the images, focusing on the star he wanted to see disappear, while a small countdown clock in the corner of the screen beeped down the time.
The clock alarm went off.
Nothing happened.
Anders kept the observing rate high for an additional five minutes past the scheduled occultation, just to make sure, then reduced the rate to once per minute for the next fifteen minutes.
Worried, Anders commanded the computer to show the exposures as a movie sequence. He sat and watched the screen. In the top left corner, a tiny meteor sputtered across the image, before breaking up and fading. Another shot through the bottom of the screen, some five minutes before the calculated occultation. But not a single star in the
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