hundred days, Husband, McCool, Chawla, Clark, Anderson, Brown, and Ramon had worked toward their shared goal of finally reaching space. They even found the time to lift themselves at least part of the way there, scaling 13,000 feet to the top of Wyoming’s Wind River Peak. They had hoped that the climb would boost their spirits, and it did. On top of that mountain, they were reminded of all that they were waiting for.
· · ·
Liftoff had been seemingly flawless, as had been the mission. Over the course of 255 orbits around the earth, the only snag had come when one of the Spacehab’s air-conditioning units sprang a leak and, to avoid the risk of condensation building up in the module, the unit was shut down. Given their previous hurdles, the crew wasn’t about to complain about a slight spike in temperature.
During their busy time aloft, they had stopped only once, on January 27 at 12:34 p.m., to call up Pettit, Bowersox, and Budarin. (“We’re really excited to be able to talk to you guys, one space lab to another big old space lab on that beautiful station of yours,”Husband said.) Pettit was probably the closest to the shuttle crew; McCool, Clark, and Brown were classmates of his. The rest knew one another only casually. But over the preceding days, they had forged a deeper bond. Six billion people were on the planet. Only ten were in space, and they knew that together, they were virtually alone, united in their isolation. Ramon had promised to hug Bowersox’s three children for him after his return. Pettit, looking down at the Black Sea, and McCool, orbiting over Brazil, had been involved in a longer dialogue.
In his waiting for his own mission to get off the ground, Pettit had designed a chessboard (patent pending) made of the soft half of a square of Velcro. He had then cut out white and black pieces from swatches of the sticky half. By e-mail and over their radio, Pettit and McCool had announced their next moves, each prying their pieces from their respective boards and pressing them back into place. The game was made one for the record books by the distance between them. All that was going on, and they could still trade pawns.
During the single conversation between the shuttle and station crews, McCool had been scheduled for sleep. Before lights-out, however, he had asked Husband to relay his move to Pettit, and Husband had obliged: E2 to E4.
Before hitting the sack himself, Pettit moved the piece and stared at his makeshift board, reflecting on McCool’s latest play. He went to sleep thinking about his next move.
· · ·
Five days and four nights later, when Pettit woke up again to his life’s beautiful sameness and fogged over his window, he and the rest of Expedition Six knew in the backs of their minds that
Columbia
was to return to earth, but traveling in a vessel that was eight times faster than a rifle bullet didn’t hold the same awe for him as it did for the crowds gathering on the ground. Across the southwestern United States, shuttle watchers switched off their alarms, stepped outside into the chill, and turned their cameras and telescopes to the sky, waiting for a white light to streak across it.
In Florida, the bleachers were now nearly full. A few of the children played behind them. The husbands and wives talked about their plans for welcome-home meals, maybe a drink or two, and some overdue time together on the couch, hearing stories of magic and impossibility.
In
Columbia
’s cockpit, Husband and McCool monitored the instrument panels. The shuttle’s descent is automated, its safe return one of the marvels of physics. The friction from the atmosphere conspires to slow it and drop it, bit by bit, toward home. McCool had been looking forward to reentry; he had heard so much about the accompanying fireworks, and now he would finally get a chance to see them with his own eyes.
Northwest of Hawaii,
Columbia
dropped below 400,000 feet, pushing through the first
· · ·
Liftoff had been seemingly flawless, as had been the mission. Over the course of 255 orbits around the earth, the only snag had come when one of the Spacehab’s air-conditioning units sprang a leak and, to avoid the risk of condensation building up in the module, the unit was shut down. Given their previous hurdles, the crew wasn’t about to complain about a slight spike in temperature.
During their busy time aloft, they had stopped only once, on January 27 at 12:34 p.m., to call up Pettit, Bowersox, and Budarin. (“We’re really excited to be able to talk to you guys, one space lab to another big old space lab on that beautiful station of yours,”Husband said.) Pettit was probably the closest to the shuttle crew; McCool, Clark, and Brown were classmates of his. The rest knew one another only casually. But over the preceding days, they had forged a deeper bond. Six billion people were on the planet. Only ten were in space, and they knew that together, they were virtually alone, united in their isolation. Ramon had promised to hug Bowersox’s three children for him after his return. Pettit, looking down at the Black Sea, and McCool, orbiting over Brazil, had been involved in a longer dialogue.
In his waiting for his own mission to get off the ground, Pettit had designed a chessboard (patent pending) made of the soft half of a square of Velcro. He had then cut out white and black pieces from swatches of the sticky half. By e-mail and over their radio, Pettit and McCool had announced their next moves, each prying their pieces from their respective boards and pressing them back into place. The game was made one for the record books by the distance between them. All that was going on, and they could still trade pawns.
During the single conversation between the shuttle and station crews, McCool had been scheduled for sleep. Before lights-out, however, he had asked Husband to relay his move to Pettit, and Husband had obliged: E2 to E4.
Before hitting the sack himself, Pettit moved the piece and stared at his makeshift board, reflecting on McCool’s latest play. He went to sleep thinking about his next move.
· · ·
Five days and four nights later, when Pettit woke up again to his life’s beautiful sameness and fogged over his window, he and the rest of Expedition Six knew in the backs of their minds that
Columbia
was to return to earth, but traveling in a vessel that was eight times faster than a rifle bullet didn’t hold the same awe for him as it did for the crowds gathering on the ground. Across the southwestern United States, shuttle watchers switched off their alarms, stepped outside into the chill, and turned their cameras and telescopes to the sky, waiting for a white light to streak across it.
In Florida, the bleachers were now nearly full. A few of the children played behind them. The husbands and wives talked about their plans for welcome-home meals, maybe a drink or two, and some overdue time together on the couch, hearing stories of magic and impossibility.
In
Columbia
’s cockpit, Husband and McCool monitored the instrument panels. The shuttle’s descent is automated, its safe return one of the marvels of physics. The friction from the atmosphere conspires to slow it and drop it, bit by bit, toward home. McCool had been looking forward to reentry; he had heard so much about the accompanying fireworks, and now he would finally get a chance to see them with his own eyes.
Northwest of Hawaii,
Columbia
dropped below 400,000 feet, pushing through the first
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