Titan by Stephen Baxter Read Free Book Online Page A

kapton and wires. She liked to know the orbiter as well as she knew the mission commander, and every one of the four orbiters had its own personality, like custom cars.
    Columbia, especially, was like a dear old friend, the first space going orbiter to be built, a spacecraft which had traveled as far as from Earth to the sun.
    And now Barbara Fahy was going to bring Columbia home.
    “Capcom, tell the crew we have a go for deorbit burn.”
    Lamb acknowledged the capcom. “Rog. Go for deorbit.”
    The capcom said, “We want to report Columbia is in super shape. Almost no write-ups. We want her back in the hangar.”
    “Okay, Joe. We know it. This old lady’s flying like a champ.”
    “We’re watching,” the capcom, Joe Shaw, said. “Tom, you can start to maneuver to burn attitude whenever convenient.”
    “You got it.”
    Lamb and Angel started throwing switches in a tight choreography, working their way down their spiral-bound checklists. Benacerraf shadowed them. She watched the backs of their heads as they worked. The two military-shaved necks moved in synchronization, like components of some greater machine.
    Lamb grasped his flight controller, a big chunky joystick, in his right hand. “Hold onto your lunch, Paula.”
    “Don’t worry about me.”
    Lamb blipped the reaction control jets.
    Columbia’s nose began to pitch up. Benacerraf watched through the flight deck’s airliner-cockpit windows as Earth wheeled. The huge, wrinkled-blue belly of the Indian Ocean dominated the planet, with the spiral of a big swirling anticyclone painted across it.
    Now Columbia flew tail-first and upside down.
    “Houston, Columbia. Maneuver to burn attitude complete.”
    “Copy that, Tom. Columbia, everything looks good to us. You are still go for the deorbit burn.”
    Lamb replied, “That’s the best news we’ve had in sixteen days.”
    Angel said, “The Earth is real beautiful up here, pal. I wish you could see how beautiful it was…”
    “Okay, let’s go for APU start,” Lamb said. “Number one APU fuel tank valve to open.”
    “Number one APU control switch to start. Hydraulic pump switches to off.”
    “Confirm I got a green light on the hydraulic pressure indicator. Houston, Columbia. We have single APU start, over.”
    “Copy that…”
    The APUs were big hydrazine-burning auxiliary power units. They powered the orbiter’s hydraulics system. During the launch, they had swiveled the big main engines, and now they would be used to adjust Columbia’s aero surfaces during the descent. During its glide down the orbiter would be reliant on the APUs; without them, and without engines to provide power, it would have no control over its rail to Earth. The power units were clustered in the orbiter’s tail, beneath the pods of the OMS—rhyming with “domes,” the smaller orbital maneuvering system engines which would slow Columbia out of its orbit.
    “Okay, let’s arm those babies,” Lamb said. “Digital pilot to auto mode.”
    “Left and right OMS pressure isolation switches to GPC. Engine switches to arm/press.”
    “Gotcha. Houston, OMS engines are armed, over.”
    “Roger, you are go for burn countdown.”
    Lamb scratched the silvery stubble on his cheek. He looked sideways at Angel. “What do you say? Shall we fire these old engines, or take another couple of swings around the bay?”
    “Aw, I’m done sightseeing.”
    Lamb pressed the EXEC button on his computer keyboard. “Five. Four. Three. Two.”
    There was a jolt, and a remote rumble, and then a steady push at Benacerraf’s back.
    The CRT displays cycled between a complex display of the orbiter’s horizontal position, and a burn status screen.
    “… Hey.” Angel shifted; something about his body language changed. He was looking at a panel in front of him. “I got a warning on prop tank pressure, in the right OMS engine pod.”
    “High or low?”
    “High. Two eighty-five psi.”
    Lamb grunted. “Well, the relief valve should blow at