Chapter 4 – Gustav Raines

Under any other circumstances, Gustav Raines’ death would have been fortunate for the crew of George W. Bush: I haven’t a clue how such a fool was placed on the crew of such a complicated machine as the space shuttle. His knowledge of physics might have been useful — extensive, even — but not exactly necessary on the shuttle.

The A.S.E.A. had plenty of physics experts on the ground, each of which was just a radio call away. No, like the government which funded it, the American Space Exploration Association had become a machine based on seniority and popularity rather than one of merit. Gustav was no exception, and his presence in the world only served as a nagging reminder of how commonplace the A.S.E.A.’s habit of choosing favor over qualification was.

Of course, this practice was ruinous for the space program. The ‘60s through the ‘80s was the golden age in space development and exploration for two reasons: competition with the Russians, and the astronauts chosen were deserving of their jobs. We’ve neither, now, and we’re all made to suffer for it. We could have a colony on the Moon by now and instead the GWB is going to orbit the Earth to determine whether or not going to the Moon in one of these outdated shuttles is even feasible. People like Gustav and the oligarchy down at Mission Control were the reason we haven’t gotten anywhere in the last ten years. Meanwhile, people like me have one or two ‘disagreements’ with Jim and the rest of the crew and we’re destined to bottom-feed for the rest of our careers. The only person at the A.S.E.A. worth a damn anymore was John Gunther.

If you don’t break a few eggs, you can’t make an omelet.

No one reforms without a reason. Generally speaking, that reason needs to be catastrophic in nature. When your dog dies, you get weepy for a while, but you get a new one. When your entire household gets wiped out when your gas stove gets left on and the candle on the kitchen table incinerates a quarter of your block, you start to think about things a little differently. Especially when your house is a $1.7 billion dollar space shuttle and a full crew of highly-trained astronauts who cost millions of dollars to train. Especially when a disgustingly under-qualified astronaut was chosen over his highly qualified brother. And especially when that lack of expertise contributed to the house going up like the Fourth. I hope you understand me.

It’s everyone’s responsibility to ensure that what we hand off to our children isn’t a worthless, bureaucratic mess. If we fail in that capacity, we might as well have never existed. It’s the people who make a difference that are remembered. Everything else is just paperwork rammed down our throats. Today, I’m done with paperwork.

I slowly buttoned Gustav’s suit jacket: it fit perfectly. I look good in a suit. Gustav and I have always been roughly the same size. Being identical twins does confer one or two benefits besides fooling people.

At 5:15 A.M. his — my — house phone rang. I picked up the receiver and an official-sounding man spoke through the line.

“Gustav?”

“This is Daniel. Gustav’s in the shower.”

“Tell Gustav he should have been here fifteen minutes ago.”

“Thanks. I’ll let him know.” I placed the handset back into its cradle. “Did you hear that, Gustav?”

I had forgotten: Gustav was dead. I stabbed him thirteen times through the throat with a penknife in his kitchen two nights before the shuttle launch. He was curious: he didn’t scream, didn’t cry out, didn’t struggle. He just died. Anticipating the actions of others was never Gustav’s strong point.

The night before the launch, I sat up until three A.M. watching tapes of Jeopardy with his corpse. He was usually quicker to the question than I but, oddly enough, couldn’t seem to come up with many points that night.

My name is Daniel Raines. If you want change, you have to be willing to deal with a catastrophe.

I hope you’ll excuse me: I have a space shuttle to fly.

Chapter 3 – “We’re all alone up here.”

March 8th, 2008
7:36 AM

Once Jim asked where Gustav was, I immediately began to question everything.

He had said that he was going to check and make sure everything was stable in the F.R.C. systems module.
But why would he even need to go near that sector. The Front Reaction Control module has no relation to re-entry and was just about to be disbanded from the main Command Module.

As I began to go over the re-entry checklist for about the tenth time, I realized that there had to be something wrong. Gustav was gone for over ten minutes and he had stopped responding to Amanda’s pages from the Command Module.

I continued to look over the checklist and make sure that all the gauges were set for re-entry. Suddenly, the entire ship began to shake. My feet instantly fell out from underneath me and I grabbed onto the nearest ceiling handle to stabilize myself. After the initial shock, there were a continuous number of smaller shocks that succeeded it. It felt as if the ship began to sway as if it were in open water. Then I noticed two red flashing lights on the main switchboard. One light indicated Hydraulics and the other was for Stabilization. One usually offsets the other and visa versa. I immediately hurried over to the main control switchboard where Amanda had been working. Sweat dripping from her brow, she looked as though she had just seen a ghost. She began reciting current data reports and I could hear the nerves shaking in the back of her voice as she spoke.
                    “Hydraulics: 1800 over 600, Oxygen fans: 700/508…”
Only one thought crossed through my mind.

How are we going to make it through the earth’s atmosphere at this increasing speed?

As soon as I noticed the blinking red button, I struggled to get Jim back on the line.

                    “Houston, this is the George W. Bush. Houston, do you read me?

                    ”Houston…”

                    ”Jim…”

Static filled the void. With no response from Houston, I knew that we were alone up here.

There were nearly twenty-seven minutes and counting till re-entry, which meant that in seventeen minutes we must eject the Systems Module. Anything after that and we would have major problems. The earth’s gravitational pull would drag the Systems Module through the atmosphere following the Command Module. We would then run the risk of colliding with it during re-entry. Ultimately, this would cause more damage then I can even imagine at this point.

I concentrated my thoughts on correcting the problem at hand.

                    “Systems Module, Gunther here, do you read me?”
                                [There was a long, silent pause.]

                    “Gustav, can you hear me? I need to know the status of the Hydraulics tanks down there. We must stabilize the tanks before we can separate from the Systems Module in order to maintain control of the Command Module upon re-entry.”

                     “GUSTAV, WHAT IS YOUR POSITION?”

After hearing nothing but static on the other end of the line, I sent Steven back to check on the status of the problem. While he was gone, Amanda and I attempted to stabilize the Hydraulics manually. If there was something wrong in the Systems Module, then there may be no way to even out the tanks using the computer re-entry systems. And considering that the main Hydraulics lever in the Command Module wouldn’t budge, the only other way would be to steady the thrusters by hand, which required a lot of knowledge and skill. One small shudder would stir the thrusters and make it all that more difficult to achieve complete control and re-enter the atmosphere successfully.

There was nearly twenty-one minutes and counting till re-entry.

                    “John, there is a definite problem back here…”

                    “What is it Steven?”

                    “Apparently it seems as though Gustav has sealed off the entry way into the Systems Module. I can’t get in. What should we do?”

                     “Get back up here. We are going to have to eject from the Systems Module in ten minutes, and it’s going to take a while to achieve stabilization manually. I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

                    “Roger that Cap.”

Steven scurried back into the cabin where Jose and Amanda were frantically checking gauges and going through their usual re-entry checklist. Only this time, instead of going over all those things myself, I was attempting one of the hardest maneuvers I’ll probably ever have to do. In order to achieve stabilization manually I was going to have to anchor both thrusters on the exact same degree. The only way this is even possible is if I am able to use a stable object as my point of reference. Up here, the only stable point of reference is the earth.

There was eleven minutes, fourteen seconds and counting till re-entry.

At this point i knew the Systems Module must be disbanded from the Command Module now, or else I wouldn’t have a chance to stabilize the thrusters manually.

                    ”Amanda, release the Systems Module.”

                     “Copy that John. Releasing Systems Module Now.”

The ship instantly began to shudder. A loud grinding of metal could faintly be heard from inside the tightly compacted module. While watching out the small circular window, I could see the F.R.C. Systems Module begin to break away from the Command Module. As soon as this was complete, I began to initiate the stabilization process.

With my eye on the target, I slowly lifted the lever in my right hand and pressed down on the other in my left. The ship shook with every slight movement and my palms began to sweat. I grasped each lever with everything that I had. It took every once of my concentration in order to keep my hands from slipping. I kept moving each handle very slowly until finally i heard a loud reboot and the constant shudder began to slow.

I stopped there. The lights on the switchboard had turned green again. Although the thrusters were not exactly equal, as shown on the monitors, they were close enough.

                    ”Alright everyone, prepare your stations for re-entry. We are back and running.”

                    ”T-minus two minutes until we hit the earth’s atmosphere.”

I jumped into my station in anticipation and buckled helmet into my suit. I felt a sense of relief and yet extreme worry. I glanced back over my shoulder to make sure that my crew was where they were supposed to be and I noticed the Systems Module following close behind. I thought for sure that eleven minutes was enough time. Apparently I was wrong.

There was nothing else I could do. I decided to keep this to myself. I was not okay with supplying fear to the eyes of my crew. All I could do now was prey. Prey that we would not collide.

I closed my eyes in order to brace myself. While light surrounded the spaceship. The module began to shake violently. Once we cleared the atmosphere, I saw blue tint at the end of the tunnel. There wouldn’t be much longer.

In that instant it felt as though the Systems Module collided into my back. There was a huge crash, green lights changed to red, the sound of shaking became endless noise and cries, my thoughts became utter confusion.

Chapter 2 – Houston…we have a problem.

            I stepped out of my front door as the morning light crested the horizon, a cold wind shocking my brain into alertness. The sky seemed so cloudy and overcast that I was drawn into an unusually worse mood from waking so early. I anticipated a long and hectic day at work today with the upcoming arrival of the George W. Bush spacecraft. I climbed into the front seat of my car and the leather interior gave me the chills. I immediately blasted the heat, knowing that it would take my 1965 Chevy Camaro the whole drive to warm up. As I drove along on the usual road to work, I took note of the scenery around me. It had been a long time since we have had an overcast day in Texas and it seemed to change the way the landscape looked. The deep orange crescent of sun at the horizon, shining the hopeful rays across the plains would soon be snuffed as the dark gray clouds engulfed its presence. My stiff body gave a loud crack as I reached for the rusty knob to turn the radio on. Through the static, I could hear a reporter talking with great anticipation about the return of the astronauts today.

 

“Great,” I said to myself, “they have already started.” But before I knew it I was pulling into the lot. A large sign read:

            “A.S.E.A. Employees only—Must show badge and Identification at gate.”

 

 
“Jim, I am surprised to see you here so early,” Phil called from across the lot.

 

 I slowed down so that he could join me. Phil was a portly man, and was not too fast either. His huge belly jiggled as his legs sauntered him to where I was standing. His face was turned red from the cold air, and he had crumbs in his gray beard; no doubt left over from the four Krispy Kreme doughnuts he devoured every morning leaving little imagination as to how he got his figure.

 

“Well I thought I ought to get a head start, with all the commotion that is going to be happening today,” I replied.

 

“Phil! Jim! Wait up,” 
I turned around to find the source of the voice.

 

I saw Steve running to us with his briefcase bouncing against his stick thin legs and His red tie was flying as he ran before he got to us. His glasses slipped off his nose and crashed to the ground and he stumbled as he tried to avoid stomping on them.

 

 
“For God’s sake Steve, slow down before you kill yourself! We aren’t going anywhere,” Phil yelled in an annoyed tone.

 

 
“Sorry,” Steve huffed.

 

He picked up his glasses and dusted them off as he briskly walked towards us. His face was big and round and resembled an orange on a toothpick compared to his lanky body. God help that kid, he was bright, but something tells me he doesn’t have too many experiences under his belt. 


 

 “Why are you in such a hurry to get to work anyways?” I asked studying his eyes.

 

“I want to make sure I get to be here for all the action. This is the first landing I get to guide.”

 

 His sheer naiveté made me wonder if the American Space Exploration Association was having a hard time finding qualified controllers these days.  A tinge of nostalgia went through me as I thought of my first day as a controller and the man who so stringently tested my capabilities.  Jack had given me the ability and the courage to think on my feet and make the tough decisions that others could not. 

 

 We reached the door and Steve hurriedly reached to grab it. As he did this his briefcase crashed to the floor. Papers and his boxed lunch splashed out as his briefcase snapped open. I could hear Phil next to me stifle a laugh, as Steve’s embarrassed red face turned down to sort out the mess. 


 

“You guys go ahead,” he said exasperated, “this may take awhile.”

 


Phil and I pushed through the door and the warm heated air tingled my ice cold face. The control base was already busting with people, and everyone seemed to have a cup of coffee in their hand. Three women zoomed by us and I could hear the fast mumbles of their voices as they discussed the end of the mission. 


 

“I am going to head over to my desk, I will stop by in awhile Jim,” Phil remarked as he turned right to go to his station.

 

“Morning Jim!”  A bold voice called from behind me.  George Winston was one of the few people at the A.S.E.A that I still respected and looked up to, despite our equivalent positions. 

 

“How’s the pre-entry checklist going?  I hope you guys didn’t screw up to bad?”  I asked with a coy smile.

“You day-timers think you’re so funny don’t you?”  He replied sarcastically,  “As usual, everything is going according to plan.”  He smirked and pressed a button on the headset he was wearing.

“Jim’s got the reigns everyone!”  His voice echoed across the room and immediately several other controllers took off their headsets and exchanged them with their daytime replacements while others searched around for their late relief.

Ignoring the commotion, George quickly briefed me on the status of the pre-entry checklist as I looked over the large monitors that covered the front wall of the vast control room.  An enormous digital image of two blue jumpsuit clad astronauts danced on one large screen in the top left corner of the wall. 

 

I pressed a button on my controller dashboard that read COMM 1. 

“Captain Gunther, this is Houston.  Do you Copy?”  

 “Jim, nice to hear your voice again.”  A faint but crisp voice replied.

“Thanks, John.  How’s everything looking up there?”

“Amanda and I are rechecking the cabin pre-entry ordinance and Jose and Steven are down in the Cargo bay making sure everything is secure.”

“Where’s Gustav?” 

“Uhh…”  There was a bit of hesitation in the captain voice,  “He said he was going to the FRC System Module making some last minute corrections but that was ten minutes ago.  We tried to raise him on comm. but you know how it is in their with all the electronics and magnets.” 

This seemed odd as most of the equipment in the Front Reaction Control System Module dealt with lift-off mechanisms and not reentry. I quickly flipped through the notes that George had been taking prior to my arrival, looking for any components that needed to be double checked or were “acting up”.  Nothing on the list was too unusual or critical save for the fact that none of them were located in the FRC. 

“Hey John,  Uhhh… Houston has nothing from FRC on the hit list.  Did Gustav mention what he was going over?”  I asked curiously.

“Mmmm… Negative Houston.  Assume it was something in hydraulics.”

 

Hydraulics?  What could he be doing in hydraulics? 

“John…. Listen, can you try and raise him on comms again and see what he’s doing?”

 

“Roger that Houston.”  John called back, his image of the jumpsuit clad man on the screen showing a thumb up sign as he began to press buttons on his own headset and disappeared out of the camera’s view, leaving the woman in the blue jumpsuit still checking gauges and monitors.

 

“Jim…”  The voice belonged to Steve and had a curiously negative tone.

“Yea?”  I asked hesitantly, looking over at the Mechanics section of the Control room. 

“Take a look at the hydraulics numbers…There’s something wrong…I think…?”  his inexperience coming out in his own questioning. 

 

I looked over at the main logistics screen and saw two blinking red bars, numbers changing frantically within them.  Suddenly, the screen that had shown the co-pilot Amanda turned to static and went blank.  A wave of panic swept through my body and seemed to spread through the rest of the room.

 

“Comm!  What’s going on?!”  I asked sternly, trying to hide my confusion.

A controller, obviously stunned by the loss and frantically shooting off call signs into his microphone, raised his hand and shrugged his shoulder signaling he had no idea.

The intensity in the room tripled as people started rushing to other stations and shouting at each other to figure out what was going on.  Several more green bars changed to red on the screen as important mechanisms began to deteriorate one another. 

“Jim!  They’ve lost their stabilizer control!  They’re descent speed is increasing, they can’t enter this early!”  Phil yelled at me.   I could hardly comprehend every failure that had occurred in the last two minutes as even more alarms and flashing lights continued to go off. 

“We need communication!”  I yelled.

I pressed the Comm 1 button on my station to try and talk to John.

 

“George W. Bush, this is Houston!  Do you copy?!” I said, trying to control the obvious panic in my voice.

 

“Jim…” A loud rip of static interrupted John’s voice, but I could still hear the stress in his voice.

 

“John do you read me?” I shouted anxiously. 


 

“Jim, I don’t know how this happened everything seemed fine but I am afraid that the hydraulic lever is not functioning properly. We are never going to make it through the earth’s atmosphere in one piece!”

 

Johns voice was filled with despair as he told me the situation, and I could not blame him. The chances of them surviving something like this were slim. I attempted to calm them down with directions, yet there wasn’t much we at control base could do. In the back of my mind, I knew they would somehow make it out alive, John would figure something out.

 

Everyone in control base was huddled around the large monitor tracking the status of every piece of machinery on the S.S. George W. Bush for a few hours. The numbers didn’t add up, the lever seemed to be working fine as with all the other devices that aid or integrate the lever. Just then my cell phone rang and I looked down to see Holly flashing on the screen. I was expecting her to call but not this early. I felt a little bad just cutting her off, but I could not deal with answering a million questions.

 

“George W. Bush, how is the lever looking now?” I asked the ship after a couple hours of observing the progress of the machinery.

 

“Jim, the lever seems to be working in and out, I think the more we work on it, it should be fine. We’re keeping our fingers crossed for a smooth re-entry and seeing…”

 

I didn’t even wait for the rest of his message I was ecstatic and incredibly relieved. I sat back in my chair with my hands behind my neck and closed my eyes. ‘Everything is going to be fine,’ I thought to myself. All of a sudden, I felt a tap on my shoulder and saw Steve creeping into my own personal space.

 

“So…is there anything else I need to do now?” Steve asked nervously.

 

“No, just keep an eye out on the ship. Although it’s stable now, we still have to make sure it successfully re-enters and lands. The ship should be re-entering in an hour or so, so stay at your station.” I replied.

 

The entire control base seemed to calm down; it finally started to seem like a normal day at work. Phil was of course eating his second lunch. As the spaceship made its way closer and closer, I worked with Steve to help him guide the ship into Earth and land as smoothly as possible. Checking multiple monitors and watching the exact pinpoint location of the ship, we suddenly got a call from Captain John about half an hour before their re-entry.

 

“Jim, Jim! We can’t seem to be able to properly initiate the lever, it seems to be stuck!” John cried with undisguised panic in his voice.

 

“Ok Ok, Calm down, everything will be fine. It was working before and it will work again. Try shutting off the lever’s isotopic thermal generator, then rebooting it.” I shouted quickly.

 

Nothing I advised seemed to be working, time was running out and I was running out of solutions.

 

“Jim! We’re too close to re-entry, we can’t do anything now! Even if we did got the lever working, it wouldn’t generate enough power in time!”

 

“John! Can you attempt to delay your re-entry?”

 

“No! We’re approaching in a couple minutes!”

 

At this point I was at a complete loss. I’ve never had a failed mission and I was so unsure of what I was supposed to do or say. I didn’t even know what to do about Steve buzzing around me, almost about to rip his hair out.

 

We abruptly heard static, with small hopes that they made it through; then all of a sudden all monitors and tracking devices were automatically reset to zero.

 

Chapter I – “Discovery”

Τhe piercing shrill of worn brakes jolted me awake and I subsequently tried to fight the morning light from my tired eyes. I rolled over in the warm bed and tried to recapture my pleasant dream, but the incessant racket of the garbage men and their civil duties tugged at my conscience. I turned to the window again and the blurry image through the glass disappeared with fading thunder. I knew from this weekly ritual that it was Thursday, which had little significance beyond that it was simply another day of boisterous amounts of coffee and plenty of writing.

With great hesitation, I rose from bed and wrapped myself in the light blue “Ritz-Carlton” that was given so graciously to me by my father as congratulation for my first publication. Several novels and many sleepless nights later, several threads hung from the sleeves and the once fluffy material had long since worn but fortunately it still served the same indulgent purpose.

The breakfast nook was a dungeon in comparison to the bedroom and I wondered why the designer did not think about my well being or sleeplessness when he chose the location of the bedroom. Nonetheless, I began to search the cupboards for a few spices and set out to make two omelets with the few onion scraps and strips of bacon that remained in the fridge.

“Emily!” I called firmly; the sound echoing through the seemingly empty rooms.

A beeping diverted my attention and I opened the microwave door and grabbed for the mug of steaming chocolate milk. The sizzling of bacon and smell of coffee filled my nostrils as I lapsed into a morning stare out the window over the sink, contemplating whether to buy new drapes for the master bedroom. Again, a beeping brought me to my duties and I grabbed an empty mug and poured myself a fresh cup of coffee.

“Mommy! Where’s my sweater?” A young voice questioned from somewhere in the house.
“I have your coat out here sweetie. It’s too cold for just a sweater today.” I called back without any surprise.

A door opened and Emily walked out with her arms waving in the air as she pulled her wool sweater over her uncombed light blonde array. I set the steaming cup of hot cocoa and warm omelet on the plate and grabbed for a brush.

“I found it. Am I late for the bus today mommy?”

“Were fine today baby, and good thing too because I have a lot of work to get done and I know you do not want to miss the Thanksgiving play do you?”

“No! That’s why I rushed down here! Can’t you notice?” She asked with a tone of remorse in my not noticing her extra effort. She did seem unusually jovial this morning and I did only have to call once instead of the three or four times it usually takes. The little hands produced a paper cut out of a red, orange and brown turkey that resembled a hand print. We had made this together the night before and I carefully unfolded a part of it and placed the ring of paper attached to the makeshift turkey on her head. She smiled at me and squeaked;

“Mine is going to look the bestest!”

“Of course it will sweetie!” I encouraged, envying the innocence and cuteness in her voice. “Put your jacket and boots on so were not late.”

She scooped a last bite into her tiny mouth and scrambled back into her room. I grabbed the plates and cups and placed them in the sink, glancing at the clock. 7:38. Two minutes before the bus arrived. I rushed into my tiny office, attempting not to spill any coffee, and stepped into my matching slippers to accompany my daughter to the corner.

The morning air bit at my face and I squeezed my daughters warm little hands as we briskly made our way to the end of the lengthy drive way. Another rumbling noise, similar to the one that woke me up signified the busses arrival before it could even be seen as it barreled over the crest of the hill and came to a screeching halt synonymously with our arrival. My daughter happily gave me a kiss and jumped on the steaming school bus and I watched steadily as the yellow dot faded into the countryside. A strange lonely feeling swept over me as clouds buried sunlight and a slight breeze reached out from the gloomy oak forest that covered the landscape opposite me. I turned hastily back down the driveway pausing only briefly to pick up the newspaper that lay at the base of the mailbox. The headline on the front page read: Oil Prices hit record 100 dollars per barrel: President calls for rationing. Another oil rationing, when will it end. My mind wandered as I tucked the paper under my arm and hurried toward the warm interior of my home.

The coffee felt good going down my throat sitting at my desk and spreading the paper over my keyboard and turning on the computer. The news was the same old depressing information that had been repeatedly impressed upon us. War. Taxes. Death. I was not surprised when I read the title of a little article on the bottom of the front page that claimed: Space Shuttle Mission aborted; crew taking necessary precautions. I thought it odd that something could go wrong with something so meticulously planned for years and had actually been following the evolution of the Space program for several years now. I continued to read and thought of how it would have been if Jack were still around; the radio blasting classic rock as he would play space ship with baby Emily. His work never seemed to affect his personal life; unlike my mind which wondered into my stories every waking moment. But we did share a great love and passion for flight, his in space flight and mine in worldly flight; we had soared in love together.
A sudden ringing jolted me out of my daze.

“Hello?” I answered, clearing my throat.

“Holly, have you read the paper yet?” A man’s voice questioned sternly on the other side.
“I just opened it dad, why what’s wrong?”

“The Shuttle Hol! They say it’s had a malfunction or somethin. I thought you might know somethin more ‘bout it.”

“No dad, I don’t talk to too many of Jack’s friends anymore. They mostly left when he did.” I answered coldly. My father had always been eccentric; I developed my passion from his.
“Well call someone up, I want to know some more ‘bout it. Seems serious and you should take more of an interest in it if you ask me!” He answered back sharply.

“Ok dad, I’ll look into it. Let me call you back.” I hung up the phone and reached for the television remote.

“…and the hydraulic lever is the main component responsible for allowing the wings fluctuate throughout the mission. This ability to fluctuate is unfortunately the most critical on re-entry as precision in direction and timing is necessary for a safe return.” The screen switched from an unsympathetic looking controller to two visibly bewildered news anchors.

“That sounds devastating Frank. How hopeful is American Space Exploration Association that this problem can be fixed before the shuttle reaches its critical re-entry point?”
The screen cut back to the middle-aged man with horn rimmed glasses and a plaid button up shirt.

“It is hard to say right now, but our team is doing the best we can, working around the clock to ensure that our brave astronauts come home safely. I have great confidence in the specialists that we have assembled here and can assure you we will find options.” His voice seemed to stagger slightly contrary to the unwavering facial features.

“We trust that you and the rest of the ASEA…” The screen flicked back to the tight lipped news anchors, “… know what you are doing and we hope and pray that our astronauts return safely.”

A feeling of unease hit the pit of my stomach. The wooden desk drawer seemed heavier than usual as it slid open; the metal connectors scraping the worn plastic rollers. A black leather booklet sat neatly between a mess of unorganized notes (which were kept for reference) and several unopened boxes of red pens. The tired pages turned with ease and each hand written word, scratched in its respective area, seemed to project his soft pale features into my mind. The tediously kept directory of names and numbers might have seemed old fashioned, but Jack would have argued that each person he met deserved a “personal touch” of remembrance.
The name poked out with special significance; not only because he had been Jack’s best friend but there was significantly more content around this particular person. A little note with a star by it read — *In case of Emergency*. I cracked a smile, remembering Jack’s incessant giggle when he had told his “emergency contact” that the latter’s lack of attendance to a dinner party would lose him the title gained from so many years of loyalty. He never changed it. Sadly, the title had been too applicable in recent years and the page I stared at had become far too familiar.

The ringing had just started when a voice on the other side answered forcefully.
“Yea?”

“Jim, its Holly.”

He sighed heavily and a little unexpectedly.

“Hol, listen I’m really sorry but we’re really busy here and I need to keep this line open.”

“So it really is a big deal than?” I said skeptically and emphasizing the “is”, having an intimate knowledge of how space travel had become the equivalent of the Wild West and therefore the Media’s playing field.

“I don’t even know how a big of a deal it is ‘cause we don’t have contact and were really scrambling over here. Hate to say it, but this was Jack’s department and he’s gone; we could really use him now. He finished the sentence and took a deep breath. “Hol, I have to go but I’ll have someone keep you posted.”

The phone clicked and went silent. The news casters had been diligently talking to scientists and other reporters, gathering the information that had been released to them.

“…spoke with the Control Room liaison and they informed me that they are in constant communication with the crew of the Space Shuttle George W. Bush and that both crews are working diligently to assess and repair the problem.” Another voice calmly explained.

I dismissed this last statement for its false legitimacy and sank back into my chair; my mind again wandering off. The Space Shuttle worries, that were imminent to Jim and would have been central to Jack, seemed hopelessly disconnected from me. I took another sip of the chilled coffee and began to type on the keyboard. Fifteen minutes of little productivity encouraged another break and I stood up from my chair.

“We have breaking reports coming in now from Houston!” I could only imagine what they were about to say but was more frightened when I heard it. “The Space Shuttle has broken apart on its reentry…”

The screen flashed to a live video of several tiny specs of orange flame surrounded by a deep blue sky.

“…and is now falling towards earth. This is tragic ladies and gentleman! Again this is live footage of the Space Shuttle George W. Bush which we are being told has “broken apart” in its failed reentry into earth’s atmosphere!”

My fingers were shaking with the mug dangling at the end. I was in shock. The phone began to ring and I instinctively answered it.

“Hel…” I coughed and cleared my throat again, my eyes still glued to the screen. “Hello?”

“Hol! This is a disaster! What happened? Did you talk to Jack’s friend?”

“Dad!” I answered hysterically dropping the phone.

The news screen had been covered by scrolling white text. –A warning has been issued by the weather station for the following states: Mississippi, Louisiana and Texas. Please remain calm but be aware that there may be debris falling on or around your area. Take necessary precautions. –

The message had not finished before I was already in the car. My bare feet pressed hard on the accelerator and I pulled out of the driveway. The scene was entirely too calm for the fear I felt as I kept looking to the sky in fear of falling flaming metal scraps. The cloud cover prevented me from seeing anything, not that I would even know where to look; but I continued to search. Emily’s school appeared on the horizon after ten minutes of frantic driving through the hilly oak covered landscape.

I pulled up to the school. Two older women stood at an entrance looking up at the sky, a folder clutched in one of their hands and a walkie-talkie in the other. There seemed to be no panic at all. Was I over reacting? The thought had barely impacted before I envisioned Jack’s lifeless body on the cold steel morticians table. I nearly sprinted to the door, passing the two elderly ladies who looked at me quizzically. I had been to her classroom several times and knew exactly where to go. The teacher was surprised when I popped my head in the door, clearly noticing the collar of the robe that I was still wearing.

“Excuse me!” I said breathing heavily only stopping for a short second to catch my breath. “Can I take Emily with me please?”

The children were sitting quietly at their desks and their teacher, a young woman with short brown hair that came down just past her ears and who normally, in, I assume, a situation in which she was not in the middle of reading an undoubtedly important piece of literature for a third grader to absorb, seemed a little perturbed at my interjection.

“Mrs. Morrow, the play begins in nearly…”

“Emily please come here now!” I commanded my daughter, cutting off the red faced Ms. Becker mid sentence. Emily hopped out of her desk and walked shyly to me. I grabbed her hand lightly, pulling her into the hallway and down the hall. Her hand tightened around mine.

“Mommy! My backpack?” She squeaked as I dragged her through the empty halls.

“We will get it later Emily.” The fear in my voice apparently too evident to hide, she understood and quickly matched my pace as we headed to the car.
The sun had broken through the dense cloud cover and illuminated the parking lot where we were headed towards and seemed to guide me to my destination. As I passed the two elderly ladies who were still standing outside of the school I noticed one pointing towards the sky opposite the way I was facing. I turned as one of them exclaimed: “Oh my god!” and quickly brought her rigid fingers to her cover her mouth, both eyes wide with fright.

I turned.

“Mommy, what is that?” She questioned calmly.

I stood there staring at the bright orange ball with a long dark trail extending in its wake. Fragments separated from the fireball and dispersed in different directions as the terrifying spectacle progressed as if in slow motion. In a mere instant, the flaming metal dropped from its apparent collision course with the school and an explosive sound echoed through the hills. A plume of debris, smoke and fire suddenly erupted not one mile directly south of the school and I watched in awe as the cloud grew and several more fragments punched through the thick billowing wall of smoke created by the impact. I watched them carefully for a cautious moment and realized that most of the pieces would fall short of the school. One particular flame caught my attention as it soared to the East and disappeared behind a distant hilltop, near where my house was. I immediately imagined the worst.

The courtyard had begun to fill with people and several cars had stopped on the road leading away from the school. I navigated through the stunned spectators, Emily struggling to hold my hand. Arriving at the car, I noticed a shimmer of a tear just below the rim of my petite daughters glasses. I could not contemplate the effect a destroyed house would have on an impressionable and innocent mind, I could only pray that our home was still intact.

As I crested a final hill, I was relieved to find the house was intact and was not aflame as I had previously envisioned. A small column of white smoke was; however, slowly drifting upwards about 100 meters beyond the driveway. Curious as to what part of the Shuttle had almost demolished my livelihood; I did not pull into the driveway but rather slowly drove closer to the plume of smoke. Without exiting the car, I could not see the source of the plume itself as it was buried in a small crater below the surface of the frost bitten earth.

At this closer vantage point however I could see several other smoking pieces of debris that, to my best guess had detached from the main console at impact. The closest of these parts to where I was looked like a badly charred metal toolbox that had tipped over and I could barely distinguish the clasp that had once held it tightly closed. I opened the door to the car and stood up, closing the door slowly behind me. The cold bare ground stung my feet as I walked closer to the box and I tried to avoid any addition to that sharpness.
The smell of the burning metal now hit my nostrils as something very unfamiliar and pungent and I tried not to breathe too deeply for fear of some hazardous chemicals. The smoldering box changed little in appearance as I moved closer; however, a small metallic case (that I only noticed because it had been the same case that Jack had used to store his diary and it was intact and still glistening) lay half underneath the broken box. Jack had explained to me once that his case was the same one the astronauts used in space, the only difference was that his had “Inscribe Name Here” stamped directly on the front. I wrapped my hand in the thick loose sleeve of my robe and bent down and picked up the metal case. On the cover was inscribed:
Journal of:
John T. Gunther
Captain, S.S. George W. Bush

I reached to pull apart the two halves of the case, wedged together to keep its secrets protected. The heat did not register in my fingers until I had already grasped the corner of the devilishly hot case.

“Shit!” I exclaimed letting the case go with both the unwrapped and wrapped hands. I brought my fingers to my mouth and thought: Jim is going to want to see this…

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