"Whooooweee," replied Rabbit's Nest from inside Cheyenne Mountain. "That's Cream of Wheat weather, isn't it? Stay up there, Spyglass. We'll keep you posted on the Constellation.'''
Jacob Classen felt, and looked, as if he'd run back-to-back marathons. His white coveralls were smudged, there was stubble on his chin, and under the orange hard hat his snow-white hair was even whiter. That was because his deputy pad manager, Ed Garvey, had never returned, and Classen didn't know whether to feel angry or worried. But in any case, he was exhausted and it was less than thirty minutes until launch — way past time to clear the pad area. Fueling was almost topped off now, and the final on-site check of the gantry by the section chiefs was under way. Classen held up his radio and mashed the transmit button. "Alpha Chief, report."
"Alpha Chief here," squawked the transceiver. "Decks one, two, three, and four, all clear."
"Acknowledged. Bravo Chief, report," ordered Classen.
"Bravo Chief reporting. Decks five, six, seven, and eight, all clear."
"Acknowledged," said Classen. "Charlie Chief, report."
"Decks nine, ten, eleven, and twelve, all clear, Jacob."
"Good," replied Classen. "Everybody bust ass down here so we can clear out. We're miles behind schedule."
"Roger," said Alpha.
'' Roger,'' said Bravo.
'' Roger,'' said Charlie.
With half a million gallons of volatile liquids close by, the section chiefs needed no prodding to climb down from the superstructure. They'd just made a final check to ensure that there were no injured technicians or loose equipment lying about on the gantry decks, and were now descending to ground level in the elevator cage. If Classen had had the energy, he would have impatiently tapped his foot as he waited by the shuttle bus. But he'd depleted his energy reserves long ago. The vehicle was filled with technicians who were waiting to call it a day — or, rather, a night.
After some minutes, the elevator finally disgorged the three section chiefs. They walked briskly under the gantry lights and onto the shuttle bus. Classen was the last one on board. "Move it," he ordered the driver, while looking at his watch. They had twenty-two minutes until the 0430 launch. That was cutting it close. Too close.
Mike Rossen, a hydraulics technician on the pad, was a fastidious person. He didn't like to go home dirty and was one of the few techs on Pad 39A who made use of the shower and locker room at the security access building. He'd hustled through his shower so he would have enough time to change and get a good vantage point to watch the launch. That was half his pay— watching those giants lift off. Especially at night. Unless you have personally witnessed a night launch of a space shutde, there is no earthly way to comprehend the staggering power that is unleashed. The tiny image you see on television in no way imparts the violence of the conflagration, the fearsome thunder of the engine noise, or the brightness of the exhaust plume. Rossen couldn't wait to experience it again.
Drying off, Rossen walked over to the locker which contained his clean clothes. He was reaching for the door handle when he spied some rivulets of a dark, almost black substance at the base of a locker near his. Puzzled, he looked closer, but still couldn't figure out what it was. If he didn't know better, he'd have guessed it was dirty hydraulic fluid, but it couldn't be that. Curious, he opened the locker door.
And out tumbled the bloodstained corpse of Edward Garvey.
The doors of the shuttle bus clapped open, allowing Classen and his crew to disembark and make their way toward the security "cattle chute." Although the security building was a safe distance from the shuttle, they still wanted to get in their cars and put a little more real estate between themselves and the volatile behemoth they'd left on the pad. The group was approaching the security window when a buck-naked man ran out of the locker room screaming, "Help! Help! Dead man! Dead man!"
Initially, the group was stunned by the scene. But then Classen recognized the man and led his group forward in a surge, just as a burly security guard appeared from around the comer.
Classen grabbed the naked man by the shoulders and shook him. "Mike! Get hold of yourself! What is it?"
He pointed at the door. "In there! Dead man!"
Everyone froze, not knowing what to do, until the rough-looking security guard drew his .357 magnum and plunged through the door. There were a few moments of tense silence, then Classen and his troops heard the security guard yell, "Somebody get in here!" En masse the group piled into the locker room, where they found the guard kneeling over Ed Garvey's body.
For a few moments Classen stood there in total shock. Then slowly he knelt down beside his friend and carefully touched Garvey's hair. "Oh, no," he moaned.
The security guard holstered his pistol and scanned the faces in the room. "Anybody know anything about this?" he demanded.
There was a stunned silence until one throat cleared. It was a technician with goldfish eyes named Tony. "Uh, well," goldfish eyes offered carefully, "when I was leaving off my last shift I saw Mr. Garvey here talkin' to the OSHA inspector."
Classen whirled around. "OSHA inspector? What OSHA inspector?"
Goldfish eyes gulped. "I dunno, Mr. Classen. Billy and me was up on the H-two access arm — you know, checking the coupling. Some guy I never saw before rode up with us and started making some measurements on the catwalk. We asked him what he was doin' and he said he was from OSHA, making a safety inspection. He had an ID. I saw it."
Classen felt his stomach knotting up. "No visitors are supposed to be on the pad during prelaunch. Didn't you know that?" His eyes were starting to well up with tears.
Goldfish eyes blinked and he cleared his throat again. "Well, uh, yessir. 1 thought about reportin' it, but when Mr. Garvey started talkin' to him right outside here, I figured, well…" The voice faded.
Classen felt his throat choking up. Tony had seen the "OSHA inspector" talking to Garvey, and now Garvey's dead. Dammit. Jesus God in heaven, Ed. Forgive me. When you didn't show I should've known something like this had happened. Goddammit, I should have known. "Where did you say you saw this OSHA inspector?" he demanded.
"Uh, the H-two access arm," replied goldfish eyes.
"Were you with this 'inspector' the entire time?"
Tony stammered, "Well, gosh no, Mr. Classen. Billy and me had some other things to get done before we finished our shift. And that inspector said he had to take some more measurements. So we left him."
"So he was alone on the H-two arm?" Classen's voice was little more than a squeak.
"Yessir."
Raw panic seized Classen. He looked at his watch, then leapt to his feet and grabbed the bus driver. "Come with me!" he ordered. "The rest of you clear out!"
"Constellation, this is Launch Control, commence loading OPS-One flight plan into BFS computer."
"Roger, Launch Control," replied Heitmann, then without pausing he asked Townsend through the intercom, "Error log switch?"
"Error log switch, negative," said Townsend. (A light on the error log would have indicated a fault in the guidance and control system.)
"Enter SPEC nine nine PRO," ordered Heitmann.
"Roger," said Townsend as he punched in the proper strokes on the computer keyboard. "SPEC nine nine PRO entered."
"I copy launch trajectory on CRT two," said Heitmann.
Townsend looked over to make sure — two sets of eyes were always better than one. "I confirm launch trajectory on CRT two," he said.