Executive Intent

“I should be okay,” McCallum said, “and I’d feel better if you stayed near the plane anyway.”

“I hear that.” They continued to go over details about the flight while they finished dressing, and then made their way to the air lock to board the spaceplane.

The S-9 Black Stallion, nicknamed the “Stud,” was the smaller of America ’s two models of single-stage-to-orbit spaceplanes. It was never designed for extravehicular activities or even docking with a space station, so there was no way (unless a passenger module and transfer tunnel were loaded in the cargo bay-this Stud was still loaded with cargo) to get from the station to the ship when it was docked except by spacewalking to the two separate tandem cockpit hatches and clambering inside.

Boomer stepped over to the air-lock inner hatch, but the docking technician stopped him. “My watch says five more minutes for prebreathing, minimum, sir.”

“My clock says I’m good to go.”

“Give it five more minutes, sir.”

“Time’s a-wastin’, Chuck,” Boomer said. “ China is stirring up the shit Earthside, and we need that garage back online.” He could see the technician hesitate. “It’s just a couple minutes shy, Chuck, and you know there’s always a safety factor built into the calculations. Let’s go.” Reluctantly, the technician nodded and floated aside.

While McCallum waited outside-safety dictated only one crewmember could use the air lock at a time, although it could fit two-Boomer entered the air lock. While it was depressurizing, the technician extended a fabric tunnel from the air lock to the spaceplane, which was docked outside on the station’s docking beam. When the air lock was ready, Boomer undogged the outer hatch, stepped into the transfer tunnel, and closed and locked the hatch behind him. “Outer air-lock door closed, ready to equalize,” he reported.

“Roger. Air lock pressurizing,” the technician reported.

“I wish we didn’t have to use the tunnel,” Boomer radioed. “I’ve made the jump to the spaceplane lots of times.”

“Not everyone is a lean mean space-faring fool like you, Boomer,” McCallum radioed back. “Besides, I don’t want to go out and retrieve you in case you missed.”

Boomer used handholds to effortlessly pull himself the twenty feet from the air lock to the Black Stallion’s cockpit. At the end of the transfer tunnel on the side of the Stud, he could see Earth spinning below him, and he resisted the urge to sightsee-he didn’t have the time to waste. “C’mon over, Jeff,” Boomer said. “I’ll have the aft cockpit ready by the time you get here.”

“On the way, Boomer,” McCallum said.

After attaching his safety line, Boomer used a lever inside a protective door on the outside of the fuselage to motor open the front cockpit canopy, reached inside, then used a switch underneath the left front cockpit sill to motor open the rear cockpit. He then went back and arranged seat straps and umbilicals. By the time he finished arranging the aft cockpit, McCallum was at the end of the transfer tunnel. “Okay, Jeff, nice and easy, just like we practiced,” Boomer said as he attached McCallum’s safety line to himself, then plugged his oxygen and communications lines into the Stud’s rear cockpit.

“There is just no graceful way to do this, Boomer,” McCallum complained.

“Just do it slowly and deliberately and you’ll minimize bumps and rebounds,” Boomer said.

The easiest way to get inside the cockpit and seated was the “jackknife” method. As McCallum floated above the cockpit, Boomer steered his boots inside the cockpit. As McCallum eased inside, he jackknifed his body to squeeze between the upper instrument panel and open canopy. This always resulted in bumps as the space suit hit off one surface, against another, then back and forth until the astronaut was able to dampen the bouncing out. Boomer steered his feet and legs inside the legs wells under the instrument panel until McCallum finally landed on his behind in the seat. “Not too bad that time-only one concussion,” McCallum said.

“I had to do all the work, and you kneed me in the head twice,” Boomer said. He stowed McCallum’s soft-pack in the small storage container behind the seat, then corralled the seat straps floating around the cockpit and buckled him in.

“Fifteen minutes, Boomer,” Kai radioed. “How’s it going?”

“Plenty of time, boss,” Boomer said. “ Mission specialist secured. I’m strapping in now.” Actually it was going to be real close to get detached in time, but Boomer reminded himself not to hurry. He checked McCallum’s umbilicals to be sure everything was stowed and secure. “Okay, Jeff, give me a systems check and a thumbs-up when you’re ready.” McCallum made sure everything was attached properly, did an oxygen, communications, and pressurization test, and gave Boomer a thumbs-up. “Okay, I’m moving into the forward cockpit now.”