Powersat

Blockhouse

“T minus ten minutes,” the launch director’s automated clock announced.

“Propellant top-off complete,” said one of the technicians.

“Copy propellant top-off complete,” said the launch director as he tapped a keypad on the board before him. He was balding, slightly overweight, so much in control of himself that Dan wondered if he ever perspired. In the corporate organization charts he was Van Buren’s assistant, although he had accumulated a career’s worth of experience launching ballistic missiles for the Air Force before retiring from the military and coming to work for Astro.

Of the six others sitting at the row of consoles inside the thick-walled concrete blockhouse, three were NASA veterans, the other three recent graduates of technical schools. All of them had headsets clamped over their hair; their eyes were focused on the screens and gauges of their consoles.

There were no windows in the blockhouse, but an oversized display screen that covered one entire wall showed the booster and spaceplane erect on the pad outside with the rust-red tower of the gantry enveloping them protectively.

Dan stood by the blockhouse’s steel door, feeling the tightening of his nerves that he always experienced during a launch countdown. Firing off the solid-fuel booster was a simple operation compared to the big liquid-propellant rockets that NASA and other space agencies used. Still, the blockhouse felt hot and stuffy to Dan, damp with perspiration and the smell of tension.

“T minus seven minutes. Gantry rollback in two minutes.”

The intercom buzzed, a sudden annoying insect in the midst of the tight, businesslike procedure. The kid handling outside communications pressed one hand against his earphone and whispered into his pin mike. The young man, a graduate student from Duke University, then turned in his swivel chair and motioned for Dan to pick up the phone on the concrete wall.

Frowning with annoyance, Dan yanked the receiver off its cradle.

“Dan? What the fuck is going on?” Kinsky’s voice, high, screeching.

“Not now, Len,” Dan said tightly into the phone.

“You’re going to launch it?” Even higher.

“I’ll talk to you when I get back to my office. Wait for me there.”

“For Jesus Christ’s sake, Dan, you can’t—”

Dan hooked the receiver back onto its cradle, then stepped over to the communication guy and tapped him on the shoulder. The kid looked up and Dan drew a finger across his own throat. “No more incoming calls,” he said. “No matter who it is.”

The young man nodded. Dan walked back to his spot by the door, where he could watch over the shoulders of the whole launch team. The last thing I need is a phone call from Passeau or some other government pain in the butt telling me I don’t have permission to launch.

“T minus five minutes. Begin gantry rollback.”

“Confirm. Start rollback.”

Dan saw the big gantry structure begin to move slowly away from the rocket assembly, like the steel framework of a twenty-five-story building rolling on a set of rails. The umbilical tower stood to one side of the launch pad, its electrical power cables and propellant hoses connected to the booster and spaceplane.

What’s got Len so geared up? Dan asked himself. And answered, He’s probably warped because I didn’t let him know about the launch ahead of time. That must be it.

Dan suppressed an urge to go outside. The tension was coiling tighter inside him. The launch crew was going smoothly through the countdown, no hitches, no glitches, but still Dan’s insides were clenching up just as hard as they used to when he’d been sitting inside a capsule at the top of a big rocket, waiting to be fired off into space, knowing that he was perched atop enough explosive power to blast the rocket and its cargo of human flesh into a roaring hell-hot blossom of flames.

“T minus four minutes. Weather check.”

The woman seated to the launch director’s right punched several keys on her console, then said, “Weather conditions all well above minimums. No problems.”

“Weather confirmed,” the launch director said.

Dan knew there would be no need to check weather conditions downrange, nor air traffic, either. The rocket would lift off vertically, then pitch over slightly to head out over the Gulf as it swiftly rose above the altitude that air traffic used. She’ll be above controlled airspace in less than a minute, Dan told himself. No sweat for the FAA or anybody else.

“Emergency landing sites?” the launch director asked, peering at the checklist on his console screen.

The three sites in Spain, South Africa, and Australia had been alerted when the countdown had begun, less than an hour ago. Each of the airports confirmed that they were ready to clear all traffic if the spaceplane needed to abort its flight and make an emergency landing.

Van Buren and her team had reported that they were ready at Caracas. Dan had talked to her before coming over to the blockhouse. Lynn seemed to be enjoying her sojourn in Venezuela, even though neither she nor the others with her had left the airport.

The countdown proceeded. A tiny plume of white vapor wafted from the spaceplane’s lower body. Liquid hydrogen and liquid oxygen powered its rocket engines, so cold that they condensed the water vapor in the humid summer breeze drifting across the plane’s propellant tanks into a miniature cloud of glittering droplets.

His eyes riveted on the big wall screen, Dan saw that the sky outside was as clear as it ever gets, bright blue with only a few fat puffs of cumulus clouds floating slowly past. He licked his lips, clenched his fists, and resisted the urge to pace up and down. Might make the crew nervous, he thought. Still, a quick trip to the toilet won’t bother anybody.

The blockhouse lavatory was no bigger than a closet, its walls thin plywood. Dan could hear the countdown clicking inexorably along.

He came out as one of the launch team sang out, “Internal power on.”

“Confirm internal power.”

“T minus two minutes. Umbilical disconnect.”

The cables dropped away from the booster and rocketplane.

Okay, Dan said to himself. It’s all on automatic from here on. He clasped his hands behind his back and crossed the fingers of both hands.

The automatic sequencer was counting off seconds now. Dan held his breath. Five… four…

“All systems go.”

Two… one…

“Ignition.”

A bloom of fire flared at the base of the booster and for an agonizingly long moment the big rocket stood unmoving, belching flame from its tail. Then it started to rise, slowly, slowly, like a sedate monarch rising from his throne.

“Go, baby!” somebody shouted.

“Up, up, and awaaay!”

The sound started to roll over them now, thundering waves of raw power reverberating through the blockhouse, rattling the bones and guts deep inside. Dan felt as if he were inside some enormous musical instrument with the whole bass register bellowing away madly.

The wall screen showed a billowing cloud of gritty gray smoke. Dan heard, “Pitch maneuver confirmed.”

“She’s on her way.”

The launch director pushed his wheeled chair back, yanked off his headset, and got to his feet.

“Come on, boss, let’s go out and take a look.”

Dan followed the heavyset launch director out into the bright morning sunshine and squinted up at the smoky trail of.the booster’s exhaust, starting to kink slightly where the higher-altitude winds pushed it.

A bright flash of light startled Dan for an instant, until he realized it was the spaceplane’s rocket engine lighting off.

From inside the blockhouse they heard, “Separation confirmed. Spaceplane engine ignition confirmed.”

The launch director gave Dan a lopsided grin. “Okay. My workday’s finished. Think I’ll take my crew down to the motel and have a few beers.”