Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN







The Rose Garden ceremony introducing America's first Ambassador to Space remained a blur. The glare of a thousand flash bulbs still danced in her mind's eye. Sitting in the backseat of a motor pool limousine dashing toward Cape Canaveral she tried to process all that had happened to her.

Watching the President raise her fist with a challenge to anyone questioning her dedication to uncovering the truth found the young Julia Rayhied feeling accute pangs of anxiety. The President was in full campaign mode and this TV star was just another weapon she would deploy in her bid to hold on to the White House. Yet, for all her claims of personal integrity Julia didn't mind being cast as a pawn in this melodrama if it meant getting any closer to the truth. Entertaining questions from the media on the flight from Washington to Orlando she insisted it was an honor to be called upon to serve her country. None dared accuse her of sleeping with the enemy, of selling out the cause. The cause remained the same: discover the truth. Only the vehicle to get there had changed. 

The noonday sun augmented Florida’s infamous humidity rendering the big car’s air conditioning system essentially useless. By opening the windows the driver relinquished all climate control to mother nature herself. As the motorcade raced east on 528 she could smell the moist ocean air rushing in. The breeze felt good. As she dabbed the sweat from her forehead, she saw the Cape rising up from the haze.

Parts of Cape Canaveral had become noticeably more militarized since the Air Force took control of the moth-balled space shuttle program. NASA, almost completely out of the satellite delivery business, relied on a pair of bare bones space trucks to ferry parts up to the beleaguered International Space Station. The military desperately needed a reusable manned spacecraft to service its array of strategic satellites. Since the shuttle's replacement had long since passed it's due date the Patriot was the only thing suited for the job.

The Patriot, in all its glory, was the last and most technically advanced of the shuttles to be built. Barely off the drawing board when the Air Force took over the fleet, much of its final fitting was done under the cloak of military secrecy. Its final specifications remained classified. 

They soon began passing large signs between the neatly spaced rows of palm trees that directed them to the Air Force Base. Far off in the distance she could see the huge buildings that housed what was left of the shuttle fleet. However, it was only as they approached the perimeter of the base could she fully appreciate the enormity of the complex.

With the lead car’s flashing lights clearing the way, they raced through the main gates without stopping. The limousine finally stopped before a large brick building. The NASA logo, now long gone, left its mark on the faded red brick. Standing motionless on the steps were three men in dark suits. She smiled at them through the open window. Her driver quickly ran around the vehicle to open her door.

"Gentlemen, it’s good to see you again," she said with a wink. John Carvin and Bert Mackay each shook her hand with genuine delight.

Behind them stood a man she never thought she'd see again. Looking cool and collected in the oppressive midday heat the smartly dressed man from the State Department stood before her with his arms crossed. He slowly slid his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose until she could see his eyes.

"Why, Mr. Brown, that is you," she said coyly.

Mr. Brown stepped forward and extended his right hand. The spark of eye contact they shared that sent a chill through Julia. Jerry Baines had clearly gotten to her.

"Do you two know each other?" Laughed John Carvin nervously.

"Excuse me, sir," Mr. Brown said as he promptly backed away.

"Yes, we met a few weeks ago in Washington," she explained with delight, "during the congressional hearings on the Global Array. He works for the President..."

Mr. Brown interrupted. "Not any more,"

"Oh... I beg your pardon," she replied half-smiling.

"I now work for you, Miss Ambassador," he said with a bow. "I have been assigned as your personal assistant."

"My personal assistant? Gee, fella’s, I didn’t know I needed one."

"It’s one of the privileges of being a United States Ambassador. The rest of your staff is being assembled as we speak."

"Staff? My goodness," she said with a child-like grin, "you make it sound as if I were somebody important."

"Believe me," Bert Mackay said coolly, "Miss Rayhied, you are important. It is the President’s belief that you can deliver the good will of the American people..." To whom exactly that good will would be extended to was left unsaid. "We’re glad to have you aboard."

She smiled. "Why, thank you. I will try to do my best…"

There was something about Bert Mackay she didn’t like. There was a hidden agenda in his every utterance. She had sensed it before in the Oval Office meeting. Nothing had changed. Every word that came out of his mouth served only to reinforce that first impression. She quickly turned to John Carvin. "OK, Director, what’s next?"

Carvin abruptly stepped off the curb and looked down the palm tree lined street. "I believe your question can be answered by that man." He pointed to a man speeding up the street in an electric golf cart. The officer behind the wheel like Mr. Brown, was pressed and creased from collar to cuff, his short, dark hair was slickly combed back with a pair of fashionable mirrored sunglasses smartly covering his eyes. His deep bronze tan offset his pearl white teeth. He was a man completely comfortable in the hot, sticky Florida climate. "That, Miss Rayhied, would be our own Major Dunne."

In one fluid motion the golf cart screeched to a stop, the major leapt from the driver’s chair, flew through the air, and landed squarely in front of them. Bert Mackay leaned close to Julia and whispered, "He’s a bit intense, but you’ll get used to him."

Major Dunne came to attention before Julia and stood straight-faced awaiting his introduction. Bert Mackay nodded to the Major and turned to Julia. "Miss Ambassador, may I present to you, Major David Dunne. He will be your coordinator during your stay at the Cape."

He extended his right hand. "Miss Rayhied, It’s a real pleasure to meet you."

"Well, Major," she said quietly, taking his hand, "did they tell you I am not an astronaut?"

The major managed a shallow laugh. "I see...yes, we have talked about that."

"Now, don’t worry, Julia," Bert Mackay stepped between them, "Major Dunne will take good care of you. He will be with you through the entire process, right up to the launch pad. He’s going to teach you everything you need to know." Mackay slapped the Major on the shoulder. "He’s the best there is."

"All right then, major," Julia said cheerfully, "shall we get started?"

Major Dunne pointed to the golf cart. "Hop in," he said sharply. He swung his legs into the driver’s seat while Julia slid into the open seat next to him. The limousine driver threw her bags in the back of the cart leaving just enough room for Mr. Brown to sit with his legs dangling off the back. Major Dunne looked back at his passenger and said simply, "hold on..."

***

For Mr. Brown the tour couldn’t be over soon enough. Tossed about mercilessly on the back of the golf cart he began to feel sick to his stomach. The major seemed to go out of his way to take the roughest roads, purposely steering into bumps and dips. Mr. Brown began to get the distinct impression that the Major didn’t really want him around. 

They finally stopped inside the hangar long enough for Mr. Brown to slide off the back of the cart. "Listen, Julia, I think I’m going to grab a cup of coffee," he said with a shaky smile as he straightened his tie and collar. "Do you think you’ll be needing me for anything?" She looked at Major Dunne and raised her eyebrows. The major shook his head with a subtle smile.

"No, I guess not," she said. "I’ll be fine here with the Major."

"Listen... Now, you have my cell number...Call if you need to." Wasting no time with pleasantries Mr. Brown left the two of them standing alone in the shadow of the Patriot.

Major Dunne smiled. "I don’t think he realizes his phone won’t work here on the base. The signals are jammed." She studied his expression and thought she detected a devious grin on his face. 

"Why don’t you like him?" she asked the major directly.

"I have my reasons," he said plainly, not even attempting a polite denial that one might have expected.

"Would you care to expand on that?" Julia pushed.

"He’s from Washington isn’t he?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Then he can’t be trusted. It’s that simple. Those people play down and dirty. I choose not to play with them."

It was as if she were thrown back in time to a dire conversation she had in a smoke filled nightclub in the nation’s capitol. Jerry Baines’ words of warning had surfaced again.

"I’m sorry," said the major, "I don’t mean to be a jerk. It’s just that when you’ve been around this place as long as I have you learn whom you can trust and whom you should avoid. Any suit from the State Department I tend to avoid like the plague."

"No, that’s all right. I do understand, actually. It’s just that I’ve heard this before and I was startled by it the first time. I guess I just didn’t expect to hear it from a member of the armed forces." She moved closer to him and lowered her voice, "what must you think of the NSA if that’s the way you feel about one of the President’s boys."

"Listen," he said, his voice held even softer than hers, "I plead the fifth. I see no evil, hear no evil, and I certainly speak no evil. Enough said, all right?"

Not another word was spoken until they had ascended to the top of the rigging elevator. "Beautiful isn’t she?" said the major. "You’re looking at the most sophisticated space craft ever built. Under the skin she hardly even resembles her sisters." He patted the hull of the gleaming white machine as if it were the nap of a prized thoroughbred. The rest of the shuttle fleet was either in a bone yard a museum or on it's way. "She has no less than five perfect missions under her belt. This baby'll take you up and bring you back again, don’t you worry."

She smiled but said nothing. It was more impressive than she’d ever imagined. She felt humbled standing so close to it. Its sleek white lines guided her eyes smoothly to ground below them. Looking down the rigging toward the huge cargo bay doors she remembered the untested auxiliary fuel tank the Patriot would need to carry it into high orbit. Her mind suddenly flashed with the image of a cold January day in 1986. Major Dunne felt her tremble from across the plank and laughed out loud. "What’s so funny?" she asked.

"You are... You can relax, nothing is going to happen to you..." She didn’t seem particularly reassured by his confidence. "You’re worrying about the auxiliary tank, and thinking about the Challenger."

She looked flushed. She was a little girl when the Challenger exploded during take off, but she was well aware of it. "Yes, I am, a little. Am I that transparent?"

He chuckled nervously. "I know, I know, you’ve seen the video over and over all your life. I have too, only it plays up here in my mind... " He pointed to his head. "I was here that day. It’s one day I could never forget: January 28th 1986. I remember it as if it were only yesterday. I was a teenager on the trip of a lifetime. Terrible thing to see for some one so young..."

"Are you saying I shouldn’t worry about it? That there’s no way it could happen again?"

"I’d stake my life on it. Besides, if I told you there was a fifty-fifty chance this thing will go off like a Roman candle you’d still go. Am I right?" 

He knew! He understood. He realized what this meant to her, and how far she would go in the face of her own fears. She nodded her head. "Obviously. I’d go right this second if I could."

"I thought so..." he whispered. She only smiled. He placed his hand on her shoulder, "that’s enough for today. Time to turn in. Tomorrow we have a full schedule, you’ll need the rest."

***

Jarred from her bed at 5:00 AM she was pulled out on to the tarmac by Major Dunne to watch the Patriot being moved out of the hangar for the long journey to the launch pad. It was a spectacular sight; without question one of the wonders of the modern world, yet she failed to see the purpose her presence served. Then, with her eyes barely open and the sun only now breaking the Atlantic horizon, she was thrust into a grueling fire fighting exercise. She was left with skin burns and parts of her hair singed off. Wiping the soot and sweat from her fire-burned face Major Dunne appeared before her with two steaming cups of black coffee.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Despite the dirt and grime she was spectacularly beautiful. He would struggle with his sense of professionalism in her presence. He wanted desperately to impress her.

"You may want to take minute and relax, the tough stuff is coming up."

As she looked at the cup in her hand, the steam curling up and dissipating into the soft morning breeze, a tiny bead of sweat rolled off her chin. She might have preferred ice water, but said nothing, wanting no special treatment. Something told her she would receive none.


***


For three hot, grueling days the Major Dunne brought on the tough stuff, every bit of it. She was to have five years of training thrown at her in seventy-two hours. When she wasn’t running or jumping or climbing on top of things, she was being poked and prodded by countless strange men in white lab coats. They wanted to know every conceivable thing about her health, right down to the frequency of her bodily functions. The only rest she got was when they sat her down with the company psychiatrist for a couple of informal chats. Her mental state seemingly intact, she was then sent to the "separator". The "separator" tested the physical limits’ the human body could endure. The separator was the machine that sought out the true mettle of each astronaut candidate. As its nickname implied, it had been known to separate the men from the boys. The twenty-six year old, 119 pound Julia Rayhied finished in the top 79th percentile. Few candidates ever did that well on the first go around. Even the Major was impressed.

Although she thought she was doing well not everyone was pleased with her progress. There were those who hoped she would fail to make the cut, that she wouldn’t measure up. To some people the very idea of an untrained civilian aboard the Patriot, so blatantly sent to pump up the President’s opinion poll numbers, only increased the risk of failure. There were those who believed that first contact with the visitors should be made at the business end of a gun.

Among her detractors were the mission navigator and her crewmate, Major Daniel Jank. Major Jank was representing the pentagon’s interest on this mission. His agenda was clear. He had been exceedingly vocal with his less than enthusiastic opinion of the ambassador’s role. He was polite but cool when they met. In stark contrast the mission pilot, Captain Travis Mcdonnel had been openly friendly and quite gracious toward her.

Captain Mcdonnel was a NASA pilot of some repute. He really needed no introduction when they met. She grew up living vicariously through him and all the men and women who ventured closer to the stars than she ever dreamed of. Twelve years ago he was chosen over all his peers to pilot the shuttle Endeavor and attempt an incredibly daring rescue of a stranded Russian crew aboard the crippled International Space Station. He and his crew returned to a hero’s welcome in America and in the streets of Moscow. He became the most famous astronaut since Neil Armstrong. His squared jawed face appeared on the Wheaties box and on all the school backpacks that fall.

The good captain pulled her aside and told her to ignore Jank. It seemed the Major was not particularly well liked by anyone. Jank was all business, and regarded a civilian liaison as an unnecessary risk. It wasn't personal. Ultimately he was regarded as the best tactical soldier in the Air Force. Knowing that made her feel no better about the man. It made her even more determined to succeed, to deflect people like him, and hone in on the truth.

On the fourth morning she detected a degree of urgency in Major Dunne’s tone when he made the now routine 5:00 AM wake-up call. There was a knock on the door almost before she could put the phone back on the hook. She let him in and then dashed into the bathroom. He poured her a cup of coffee from the carafe he brought in with him. He set the cup on the end table and sat on the arm of the easy chair. The only light in the room streamed out from the open bathroom door. He watched her distorted shadow dance on the bare white wall. The two dimensional silhouette was mesmerizing. He opened his mouth to speak, but words did not follow. He had become an instant prisoner of his own attraction to her, captivated by the motion of her hazy image, wondering what it would be like to have her. Finally his sense of duty cleared his mind and broke the spell. 

"How are you feeling this morning, Julia?" he asked pensively.

"Fine," she said instantly. It was a lie, a white lie. Every fiber of her being ached, but she knew he really didn’t want to hear that. She poked her head out from the bathroom, her loaded toothbrush poised at her parted lips and said: "Why do you ask?"

"How do you feel about flying today?"

"What! Today? You are joking? Right?" He said nothing but his silence spoke volumes to her. "But, but... I’m not ready."

"Yes you are. You’re as ready as you’ll ever be."

Just then there was a knock at the door... "Julia?" the muffled voice of Mr. Brown passed through the door. "Are you up?" Tightening her robe she opened the door and he rushed into the room uninvited. He tossed a small suitcase on the bed and spun around in place. "Something’s happening!" He said hysterically.

She was surprised to see him, especially at this hour. Major Dunne had successfully kept him at bay for three days; this was the last place Dunne wanted to see him. The trainer’s careful psychological preparation of his subject was in jeopardy of a complete breakdown. "I just got off the phone with Secretary Paterson in DC. He said the Russians have launched... Why is it so dark in here?" He jacked the light switch by the door revealing Major Dunne sitting silently in the corner, sipping his coffee. "Well... Good morning, Major."

"Mr. Brown," Dunne replied coolly. "News travels fast."

"Is that true, Major?" Julia asked. "Is that why we’re launching today?" Dunne merely nodded his head.

"Now, wait a minute," Mr. Brown objected. "You can’t be serious. She can’t possibly be ready with only three days of training. Do you want to get her killed?"

"Please, shut up, Mr. Brown," the major snapped, his tone sharp. He stood and walked across the room until he was toe to toe with Mr. Brown. "If I wanted your assessment of this trainee I would’ve asked, until then, shut your stinking trap."

He turned to Julia who was still standing in her robe with a toothbrush in one hand and holding the door open with the other. "Now, Julia, we’ve taken care of everything. You know what your job is. You can do this; I have every confidence in you." He smiled, pointed to the bathroom and said calmly, "Now, get in there and get ready... And remember no coffee this morning, no bagels, no cereal, no nothing, got it?" She shook her head and like an obedient child marched into the bathroom. He returned his glare to Mr. Brown. "As for you, I think it’s time for you to leave."

"Hold on there, Major, it is my job to brief the Ambassador prior to launch..." Neither man flinched. Each could feel his own hands clenching into white knuckled fists. "I will do my job."

Finally, Major Dunne stepped back. The gesture evoked an audible sigh from Mr. Brown. The power of the State Department superseded Dunne’s conspicuous urge to pummel the annoying civilian.

"Listen to me," Dunne said sharply under his breath, like a father lecturing his son, his index finger waving back and forth, "not one word about the risks. You got it! We’re trying to stack the deck in our favor, frightening her will not help. Do you understand? You’ve got ten minutes."

Ten minutes was all he would need. The small suitcase he had thrown on the bed contained a pair of special laptop computers. It was to be her tool, the means by which she would chronicle the mission. It’s universal interface allowed it to attach to the Patriot’s main computer and would record, in addition to her personal observations, everything that happened on or around the spacecraft. She learned that she and the rest of the crew were going to have electrodes attached to their bodies. Transmitting over short distance radio back to the computer the electrodes would be recording in real time the physiological changes they each experienced throughout the mission. When he was finished detailing her instructions he packed the computers in the suitcase snapped shut the latches and handed it to her. There was to be a press conference held at the base of the launch pad and for the sake of appearances she was to be holding the little computer the people at mission control had dubbed the ‘Eye in the Sky’.


***


Being strapped into the ‘bucket’ was as uncomfortable as it sounded. It was four hours, and counting since she and her crewmates were secured into launch position. During that time she had nearly lost all sense of her body. Her mind could hear and process the endless technical chatter in her headset but she felt strangely disconnected from it all. More often than not there was the very real sensation that it was happening to someone else, that this was all some kind of dream.

The Captain and Major Jank seemed completely at ease with the program of events. They were both veterans of many flights, and one, was a fearless American hero. They laughed and joked around with the nonchalance one would expect from two men sitting in the barber’s chair waiting to have a little trimmed off the sides. Deep down even they knew this was not a routine flight. There would be no second chances, no last minute delays, and no automatic computer shutdowns. The Patriot would ascend into the heavens as scheduled or explode into a hellish fireball. All focus was on the former because the latter was simply unthinkable.

"Julia," Captain Mcdonnel said over the intercom, "do you know any French?"

Startled back into consciousness she fumbled for words. "French? What... Do you mean the French language?"

"Yes, the language," he confirmed.

"Sorry, no."

"How about Russian?"

"Sorry... I‘m afraid I am semi fluent in Hindi and, of course, English. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, it’s nothing, really. We’d just like to know how to say ‘have a nice day’ as we blow past Pierre and Boris up there." Both men busted out laughing. She found it difficult to take Major Jank with any humor but laughed anyway as he attempted an impish impression of a French accent.

The bantering between the two of them went on until word came from Africa that the Araine launch went off flawlessly; it was all business from then on. Everything she had been taught took on clarity unseen before. If Mcdonnel and Jank were at all concerned about the head start the others had they did not show it. The shuttle was a proven retrieve and rescue vehicle; the others were not. They had that advantage.

She closed her eyes and breathed deep as the countdown wound its way ever closer to the point of no return. Captain Mcdonnel, busily running the final check off routine, spoke fluently in technical jargon she could not understand. Then at T-Minus one minute all chatter on the intercom ceased but the lone monotonous voice of launch control calling out the countdown. At T-Minus ten seconds she could hear the tiny explosions of the moorings letting loose. One by one they were setting the orbiter free.
"Seven... Six..." Another set of moorings going. "Five... Four..." The rush of valves opening. "Three... Two..." A roar, a shudder, a vibration that rattled the teeth in her head. Then there was the thunder, a cacophony of unbelievable proportion.

All at once she became one with the machine. Her body was a fixture, an immovable object. Her legs and arms were welded into place. Only her eyes could move freely, and they were darting back and forth rapidly trying to gather any sensory information they could. Intellectually she knew there were two other people only an arms length away from her and yet for the first time in her life she felt completely and utterly alone. She closed her eyes and listened intensely to the voices in her ears.

"Launch minus one minute fifty, booster separation sequence initiated... Over."

"Booster separation sequence confirmed," said the Captain.

"Launch minus one minute fifty-nine, booster separation complete... You’re clear for full throttle, Patriot."

"Affirmative," said Mcdonnel, "throttles at full... Throttles maintaining at one hundred percent."

"Looking good, Patriot. All systems go."

The engines were singing. She felt her heart beat in rhythm with the pulsing of the three massive engines. It was as much a throb as it was a roar. It was like nothing she could’ve imagined and yet she was comfortable with, even serene, in face of such awesomeness.

"Patriot, this is launch control. The computer has initiated external tank separation sequence. Confirm... Over."

"External tank separation sequence is confirmed, all systems reporting normal."

"External tank separation at launch minus four minutes three," said the voice from Houston. "No alarms to report. All systems up, all protocols up. You’ve got the green light, Patriot."

A minute or more passed with only the familiar beeps of launch control to tie her to the real world. With her eyes closed she felt completely in tune with the machine. Then, unexpectedly, she felt the pressure on her body begin to ease up. Suddenly the engines cut. Like being plunged into a tank of cold water the shock of the sudden change momentarily overwhelmed her. Somewhere beyond her mind’s ability to comprehend her eyes popped open to a strange and alien scene. It was the sound of Mcdonnel's voice on the intercom that yanked her back to reality.

"Computer initiated shut down of the main engines is complete," he said with mechanical efficiency. "External tank separation sequence underway... Hold on to your hats ladies and gentleman."

"Launch minus five minute fifty eight," said the steady voice of launch control. "... Five... Four... Three... Two... One..." There was a loud metallic clang as the huge tank disengaged from the belly of the orbiter and floated gracefully away. "Launch minus six minutes five, external tank separation complete. You are clear to fire the positioning rockets at will."
"Copy that, Houston," said the captain. "I can see the tank now on the remote. We are free and clear... Preparing positioning rockets for ignition... All four rockets primed... All systems reporting normal... Entering firing code sequence... Ten seconds to ignition... Five... Two seconds..." There was a rush of sound that quickly reached a crescendo. "All rockets firing. Estimated burn time of two minutes forty seconds."
This time there was no pressure, no extreme G-forces smashing her body down into the chair. The Patriot had broken the chains of gravity, and now glided effortlessly in the friction-less vacuum of space. She moved her arms and legs against the straps; quite pleased to see they still worked. The smile returned to her face, she had made it. She was one of them now, a pioneer at the doorstep of the final frontier.

There was a sudden rush of chilled air inside her launch suit. Up to this point she had been oblivious to the environmental conditions around her. The temperature inside the cabin had risen sharply triggering various alarms on the control panel. The interior temperature had reached a sweltering 40 degrees Celsius. "A bird the size of a whale creates considerable friction slicing through the Earth’s thick atmosphere," Major Dunne had told her.

"Ah say, Mr. Janks," said the captain with a touch aristocracy in his voice, "would you be so kind as to prepare to open the cargo bay doors? It’s getting rather hot in here; wouldn’t you say?"

"Why, it would be my pleasure, sir," replied the major with just the right redneck overtone to evoke an immediate chuckle from the Captain. "One Texas-sized heat sink coming up."

"Well, ladies and gentlemen," Mcdonnel announced cheerfully, "the excitement is over. Let the fun begin!"

"Amen," said America’s newest ambassador upon visiting the embassy for the first time.