“Columbia, Houston.”
The mission commander answered, irritated by the constant intrusions. “Go, Houston.”
“We’ve lost video. What’s the status?”
Crawford, the archetypal fighter pilot, was growing even more exasperated with the NASA controllers.
“Houston,” Crawford asked in a pleasant manner, “are we on closed audio?”
“That’s affirm, Columbia,” replied the controller, without inflection.
“Good.” Crawford waited a second, then continued. “I wish to explain to you that we are not playing gin rummy up here. We’re working on the problem as quickly and safely as possible.”
Long pause.
“Roger, Columbia” The voice had become more friendly, showing a thread of emotion. “Understand.”
Absolute quiet followed for the next three minutes.
“Houston, Columbia,” Crawford radioed. “Doctor Tran is ready to enter the airlock.”
“Roger. Copy entering the airlock. We have video again.”
The airlock, a small cylindrical chamber, allowed the astronauts to perform an EVA without depressurizing the entire crew compartment.
Doctor Tran checked the airlock’s life-support system, gave a thumbs up signal to his fellow crew members, and closed the entry hatch behind him.
Cressottie had suited also, as a backup, but did not enter the airlock.
“Houston, Minh is donning his maneuvering unit and pressurizing the airlock,” Crawford reported, waiting for the astronaut to check in via radio.
“Roger, Columbia. Looks good.”
Tran waited for the pressure to reach 0.2 psi, then checked in by radio. “Ready for EVA. Good pressure in here.”
“Copy, Minh. Cleared,” Crawford looked out the viewing port, “and good luck.”
“Thanks, Skipper.”
Tran opened the outer hatch and floated effortlessly into the cargo bay. He used his maneuvering unit to propel himself toward the aft section of the bay. Tran could clearly see the satellite from his vantage point.
“Houston, I see our problem,” the astronaut reported as he slowly floated toward the satellite.
“Can the package be salvaged?” the mission controller asked in a worried voice.
“Let me get a closer look,” Tran radioed as he moved to a position directly over the satellite.
“Looks as if the tracking and data relay antenna is twisted,” Tran reported as he circled above the high-gain antenna. “Houston, the antenna is broken. It’s actually twisted in half.”
“Copy, Columbia,” the controller paused, conferring with a NASA engineer. “Stand by.”
“Roger,” Tran replied, breathing deeply.
Tran continued his inspection of the missile tracking satellite. He could see no other apparent damage. The satellite pallet had shifted, probably during the launch sequence, and pressed the antenna against the aft bulkhead of the cargo bay. That action had caused the package to jam under the ridge of the cargo bay doors.
“Columbia, Houston. Can you effect a repair that will allow the satellite to function?”
Another pause followed.
“At least until we can provide a replacement antenna?”
“Houston, I’m skeptical,” Tran replied, looking closely at the bent antenna, “but I’ll give it a try.”
Crawford and his crew watched Doctor Tran as he worked on the antenna.
Six minutes. Seven minutes. NASA staff members grew impatient again, pressure flowing down from the top. Doctor Hays, absently massaging his chin, was standing next to the mission communicator.
“Columbia, Houston,” Rex Hays radioed, talking on his own headset. “Any luck?”
“Not yet,” Tran answered, working under duress. “I’m going to have to splice the antenna. It may take a few minutes … it’s bent ninety degrees.”
“Roger,” Hays replied in an irritated voice.
Crawford spoke to the payload specialist. “Minh, if it looks unsalvageable to you, let’s forget the job.”
“Skipper, I don’t believe this is going to work, but I’d like to lash the antenna together. Take a shot …”
“Okay, Minh. Use your judgement. No pressure,” Crawford replied as he watched the physicist work on the satellite.
“Roger,” Tran replied, breathing deeply.
Without warning, a brilliant flash stunned the astronauts, partially blinding them for a second.
“WHAT THE HELL!!”
Everyone instinctively flinched as they tried to adjust their minds to what was happening.
SNAP!! Flash!
Another bright light, like the flash of sunlight off a mirror, shocked the crew.
“LOOK!!”
Crawford and Cressottie reacted at the same instant, leaping back to the aft viewing port, blinking their eyes to clear the dots floating before their pupils.
“Oh, God … No …” Crawford said, emotion and pain tearing his guts out. He could feel the visceral impact of the sight in front of him.
All the crew members crowded the two viewing windows. They could not believe their eyes when they surveyed the carnage in the cargo bay.
Doctor Minh Tran had disappeared. Literally disappeared in the jumble of pieces gently floating away from the orbiter. Part of the vertical stabilizer was missing, along with a section of the right cargo door. Debris covered the cargo bay from the midsection aft to the damaged tail.
“Houston! Columbia! We’ve been hit by something,” Crawford radioed, staring at the annunciator panel. It was lighted like a Christmas tree. “We’ve got an emergency!”
“Copy, Columbia. State your emergency.” The voice seemed removed from the extreme situation.
“Shit, we’ve been hit by something! I don’t know what it was … just a huge flash.”
Crawford was still in shock, along with his crew staring in disbelief at the wreckage in the cargo bay.
“Columbia, do you have cabin integrity?” asked the hollow voice, strained with anxiety.
“Yeah, we seem to … at the moment.” Crawford looked at the cabin environmental gauges. Everything looked normal.
“Cabin pressure holding, Houston.”
A different voice emitted from Mission Control.
“Columbia, recommend crew don their suits. What is the nature of your emergency?”
Crawford responded, looking aft through the shattered cargo bay. “Something hit us. I don’t know what it was, but it destroyed the aft section of the cargo bay and part of the stabilizer.”
“Roger, Columbia. Get Doctor Tran inside the cabin and descend to lower orbit.”
“We can’t, Houston.” Crawford’s voice cracked.
“What do you mean you can’t?”
Crawford took a deep breath, then replied slowly. “We can change to low orbit, but Doctor Tran is dead.”
“Oh, no … You’re positive?”
“That’s affirm, Houston,” Crawford responded, tasting bile in his throat.
“Send Alan to retrieve him and descend to lower orbit. We’re analyzing the data now.”
Crawford swallowed, then breathed deeply and slowly. “We can’t retrieve Doctor Tran. His body disintegrated. He isn’t aboard Columbia.”
“Oh, Jesus …” the controller replied, then keyed his microphone again. “Okay, get down to recovery orbit as soon as practical.”
“Roger,” Crawford replied, turning to face the crew. “Let’s suit up and descend before we lo—”
Another blinding flash cut him short.
“OH…,” Cressottie said, panic in his voice as he pointed to the annunciator panel. “FIRE!”
All eyes turned to the emergency annunciator panel. Two smoke detector panel lights were brightly illuminated, along with a left main gear unsafe light. Two more emergency lights illuminated, glowing intensely, as the crew stared in horror.