Executive Intent by Dale Brown Page A

and his copilot to catch up with the space station. “I’ve got a project I need you to do while we’re waiting to rendezvous, Colwin,” Boomer said.
    â€œSure,” she replied. “What is it?” Boomer called up several pages of computer routines that he had downloaded from Armstrong Space Station and sent the list to Colwin’s multifunction display. “All this? This’ll take me hours.”
    â€œNah. They’re diagnostic programs. When the first program finishes, it’ll direct you which ones to do next. The results all get beamed to the station, but unfortunately the computer won’t automatically select the next program to run, so you have to babysit it. Wake me when we’re five minutes out.”
    â€œWake you?”
    â€œI’m going to inspect the cargo bay, and then I’m going to take a nap in the air lock.”
    â€œA nap ? Are you kidding?” But Boomer unstrapped, gave her a wink, then floated though the cockpit and entered the air lock.
    The dark-haired, brown-eyed astronaut shook her head in amusement. “Okay, Noble,” she muttered, and got to work running the diagnostic programs. Hunter Noble always seemed so hyper during every flight she had been on with him, hardly ever appearing to need a nap—but she thought nothing about it and got to work. He still checked in every fifteen minutes as required,but she couldn’t see that guy actually napping back there. Oh well—spaceflight sometimes really takes it out of you, she thought, and Noble was by far the busiest pilot in the unit.
    About ninety minutes later the intercom clicked on: “How’s it going, Colwin?”
    â€œIf you don’t mind me saying, Boomer, this is mind-numbing busywork,” she replied. “Tire-pressure histories? Hydrazine-container electrostatic checks? A monkey can do this.”
    â€œIf it seems like it’s just busywork, Colwin, you’re right…because it was just busywork.”
    â€œSay again?”
    â€œI needed you distracted so I could finish prebreathing and suiting up.”
    â€œSuiting up?”
    â€œYou’re fairly new with the spaceplanes, Colwin, but you’ve done several automatic dockings, observed a few manual dockings, practiced many times in the simulator, and we have plenty of fuel, so I think it’s time you did a manual rendezvous with the station.”
    â€œ A manual rendezvous? Are you nuts ?”
    â€œYou have been practicing in the simulator, haven’t you? I guess we’ll find out shortly. I’ll be watching from outside.”
    â€œFrom outside…?”
    â€œJust don’t jostle me around too much, Colwin. Relax and do it nice and easy. Don’t cheat and turn on the computer—I’ll be checking the flight-data logs. Outer hatch coming open. Break a leg, not the spaceplane.” The large red “MASTER CAUTION” warning light flicked on, and the message O UTER H ATCH U NSEALED appeared on the computer monitor.
    â€œWhere are you, Noble?”
    â€œI’m just halfway out the hatch, enjoying the view.” Armstrong Space Station was about two miles away, sunlight reflecting off its silver antilaser covering, which gave the station its nickname “Silver Tower.” “Once you’re down to less than three-meters-per-second closure rate, I’ll hop outside on the tether and use the suit’s thrusters to watch away from the ship.”
    â€œI feel like going to less than three mps right now, Noble.”
    â€œWe’ve got plenty of fuel, Colwin, but not all day,” Boomer said. “You can do this. You need to do this for spacecraft-commander certification, and you know you want this. Let’s do it.”
    â€œThis your idea of fun, Noble?” General Kai Raydon radioed from Armstrong Space Station.
    â€œI think Colwin’s ready, General.”
    â€œYou’re in charge of pilot training,