Executive Intent by Dale Brown Page B

Noble,” Raydon said, “so you’re responsible for these little unplanned unannounced evolutions of yours. If the major dings up my station or the spaceplane, you might as well stay out there.”
    â€œCopy loud and clear, sir. She’ll do fine.”
    As Boomer watched from the upper hatch, one by one he saw the thrusters on the nose release tiny jets of hydrazine exhaust. Colwin used the spaceplane’s control stick and trim switches for directional control to make it easier and more intuitive, but steering a spacecraft wasn’t like flying an airplane because orbital forces dictated the path, not flight control surfaces or aerodynamics. Although the thrusters could make minor altitude corrections, “up” and “down” were controlled by forward velocity—slowing down always meant losing altitude, speeding up always meant increasing altitude, and you had to be ready to correct anytime you made a velocity change. There were other nuances as well. In space, there was in reality no such thing as a “turn”—you could either move laterally into an entirely different orbit, roll along the longitudinal axis, or you could yaw the nose in a different direction, with the actual orbital flight path unchanged.
    Normally the flight control computer controlled all of these subtleties, but computers failed quite often, so spaceplane pilots were expected to manually fly and dock the spacecraft with control, confidence, and precision before being fully certified as spacecraft commanders. Apart from a fully manual reentry and power-off landing, manual dockings were the most difficult and nerve-racking for pilots, and they practiced doing them quite often in the simulator.
    Maybe it wasn’t quite fair to unexpectedly lay this on her, Boomer thought, but it was time to see if she had what it took to qualify as a spacecraft commander. A lot of pilots stayed as mission commanders, perfectly happy to be second in command and let the computers and someone else accept all the responsibilities. Boomer was determined to separate the real spacecraft commanders from the mere pilots as soon and as safely as possible.
    The cargo-bay doors were open, and he did a quick inspection of the cargo bay for any signs of damage or debris from the target release. “Cargo bay appears secure,” he reported. “Colwin, keep the bay doors open and I’ll get into the station from the air lock after you cross over.”
    â€œRoger,” she replied, her voice cracking and monotone.
    He exited the cargo bay, made his way back to the entry hatch, then looked “upward” to admire the Earth. He could watch it for hours, for days. He saw Africa beneath them, thunderstorms erupting along the Mediterranean coast near Libya; the incredible vastness of the Saharan wastelands; even the little crook in the Nile River where Luxor and the Valley of the Kings were located. Then in moments, the landmarks disappeared from view, but were replaced by even more treasures: Crete, Sicily, the impossibly blue Mediterranean, Greece, the Balkans, now Anatolia.
    He always made a point on every space walk to marvel at the planet called Earth. It really was a spaceship, he reminded himself: every erg of energy, every element, every resource, every life-giving and life-sustaining particle except sunlight was already there, on that little sphere, save for a few stray atoms sent smashing in from the solar wind or from comet dust. Since the planet’s formation, the chemicals, elements, molecules, and compounds that createdlife had always been there, and they would never die, just be transferred into a different element, a different compound, or a different form of energy. Humans could probably kill all life as we knew it, but all the elements to rebuild life would remain on that little rock until the sun incinerated the planet in a cataclysmic supernova.
    Colwin was closing nicely with the space station, now