Looking around produced sense of déjà vu: What could see of interior corresponded perfectly to training aids.
Headed for inner shell access hatch. Wriggled amongst, between structural pieces without difficulty (one aspect of task made easier by zero gee). Located, unlatched, swung open.
Wedged toolbox in convenient angle between trusses adjacent to hatch. Unstrapped PLSS from back, squirmed through 9-by-14-inch opening, trailing life-support lines.
Drew PLSS close to hatch; pulled entire coil of life-support lines through with me. Reached back, retrieved toolbox.
Maneuvered through complex of structural members to detonator, carefully paying out lines en route, watching for, avoiding, tendency to kink.
Studied exterior components; verified everything as represented on drawings, mock-up. Opened toolbox, set to work.
Actual warhead defusing anticlimactic. After week of intensive training amidst ever-mounting tension, operation proved simplicity itself: Snipped wires in correct order, undid four bolts, removed one plate; planted feet on bulkhead on either side of detonator, gripped shaft firmly; triggered hysterical strength, pulled, twisted, pulled again. Ta-dah.
Retained grip as shaft slid free; preferred not having 150 pounds of high-explosive bouncing around inside closed compartment with me.
Hour and half remained before deorbit burn.
Returned to hatch, carefully gathering life-support lines as retraced route amongst structural members. Brought toolbox, detonator shaft.
Squeezed back through hatch, resecured. Remounted PLSS on EMU back; coiled lines neatly, resecured to belt.
First act upon returning to outer hatch: Pitched detonator shaft into space. Hard.
Then reeled in MMU; snuggled between armrests, closed latches. With briefcase terminals tied to belt in front, set off for electrical umbilicus hatch, some 15 feet forward.
Prevailed upon MMU to halt inches away after brief, seesaw discussion. Got hatch open without difficulty. Scrutinized multiple-prong socket, identified computer port.
Unshipped briefcase, opened (keyboard in one half, LCD display in other). Unfolded solar-cell array, positioned in direct sunlight. Deployed extension arms; snapped into appropriate EMU belt/shoulder fastenings to hold terminal in proper waist-level typing position.
Flipped main switch to on; waited while baby mainframe disk spun up to operating speed, read/write head deployed. Queried system as to state of health, spirits; received affirmative reply (bulky EMU gloves no advantage on standard keyboard).
Unwound coaxial cable from pouch at belt; inserted plug firmly into port, wiggled. Felt click as seated even through gloves. Plugged other end into terminal.
Offered cheery “good morning” to IVN. (no kidding; acronym derived from actual Russian name [three guesses how pronounced]); waited, holding breath.
And waited.
(Not complaining about delay, mind you; understood IVN pretty busy with deorbit countdown, sundry prereentry chores. Probably didn’t have lots of time to spare for small-talk.)
After about two minutes (during which debated wisdom of repeating access demand, but didn’t for fear duplicate commands might confuse issue) IVN welcomed me in. Greeted appearance of primary menu with heartfelt relief.
(And unspoken prayer of thanks to Whomever arranged for Khraniteli to incorporate stolen American disk-operating-system virtually intact, retaining logically daisy-chained menus-within-menus-within-menus software format. Child could operate [child thanks You!].)
Selected Ballistika. Waited some more.
Just how much of IVN’s capacity tied up in countdown activities increasingly apparent: Took almost four minutes to locate, display submenu. Took another three minutes to pull out Koordinaty Prizemlenia fill-in-blanks programming display.
Thought hard for moment, confirmed Vandenberg’s figures in head; plugged in numbers, reached for execute key…
Stopped dead — horrified at how close had come to falling into trap.
Have known all along bomb intended for water landing. But to me, “water landing” conjures up images of old Mercury, Gemini, Apollo capsules splashing down in Pacific on parachutes. Assumption settled in quickly, took hold. Not even sight of winged behemoth penetrated hell-bent fixation, set off warning bells.
Obviously this vehicle designed for conventional shuttle-style approach: high-speed glide to flare-out, touchdown. Builders clearly intended vehicle’s 120-ton momentum (multiplied by 200-plus-mile-per-hour touchdown velocity), together with new alloy’s incredible strength, to add up to can’t-miss, unmanned, midocean landing technique — rain or shine: Would punch through storm waves, if necessary, as if not there, deceleration remaining within design limits (at ten gees, after all, takes only one second to stop from Hale’s 215-mile-per-hour touchdown speed).
But Vandenberg not ocean. Dry-land Air Force base. Set into, amongst craggy coastal hills. Almost low mountains.
Now, Khraniteli copied almost everything else about NASA shuttles while designing, constructing bomb-carrier; probably copied good stuff from Terminal Area Energy Management system as welclass="underline" IVN undoubtedly programmed to come in high, hot; feel for ground with radar altimeter; set up approach pattern, glide-slope calculated to touch down on precise point called for in Koordinaty Prizemleniya order blank.
But coordinates in IFR Supplement usually for given airfield’s geographic center. Maybe high-speed touchdown (in whatever direction) at 34 degrees 44 minutes north longitude, 120 degrees 35 minutes west latitude, would place me middle of lovely, wide, two-, three-mile-long runway, with lots of room to dissipate speed…
Or maybe not — and doubt new material strong enough to withstand dissipating speed in mountainside (or if so, not apt to matter much to me; would be thin red film on forward bulkhead).
Realization came very close to triggering total panic as wondered what else had overlooked. But time growing steadily shorter; watch showed little better than hour remaining before deorbit burn.
Clamped down, blocked out emotions; refused to permit access to transaction. Forced brain to think — constructively; not wordless, nonstop, fearful keening that lurked just beyond fraying edges of control.
Willed mind’s eye to recall, display tattered yellowish IFR Supplement. Mentally opened cover, began thumbing through, looking for familiar names, as had last week. Remembered seeing Oshkosh, Colorado Springs, Los Angeles, Chicago…
Edwards Air Force Base…!
Of course — original shuttle landing site! Perfect: miles and miles of flat, unobstructed desert in every direction…
If only could recall coordinates. Hadn’t specifically noted at time; would have to reconstruct page from memory of peripheral observation.
Ought to be possible: Always have had good memory; almost eidetic at times. True, occasionally lose names, places, details, appointments, etc.; but only temporarily — have always been able to retrieve when necessary. Just matter of time…
Of which didn’t have any! frantic little voice shrieked inside head.
Bore down instantly, cut off emotional outburst; focused total attention on completing picture in head. Knew details in there somewhere, had to be; just matter of digging out — dig…!
I dug. And suddenly numbers stood out from page. Quickly, before doubts could blur outlines, copied figures into Koordinaty Prizemlenia menu: 34 degrees 54 minutes north longitude, 117 degrees 52 minutes west latitude.