Sam swung into action, moving the ship decisively, quickly covering the distance to reach Tom. The commander showed off his expert rendezvous skills, positioning the ship within feet of Tom. Sam cockily radioed, “Somebody need a ride?”
A relieved smile crossed Tom’s face as he maneuvered up to the ship. He was surprised Sam hadn’t made a call out to Houston. He was positive LOS was long over. He grabbed the hatch and pulled it fully open. Sam reeled in the ship’s umbilical cord for Tom to attach to. After unfastening the tether and switching from the AMU’s umbilical to the ship’s, Tom unbuckled the jet pack. He pushed the workhorse away, taking a second to watch the chunk of metal drift off, destined to burn up in the atmosphere. The jet pack had done a hell of a job, making up for all those challenges during training. Tom said goodbye to the old friend, then twisted around and pushed himself feet first through the hatch opening.
Eventually, with Sam’s help, Tom was able to get fully back inside the cabin. “Are we still in LOS?”
Sam spoke in a serious tone. “No, I cut communication. We need to get our story straight before I resume COMM.”
Tom froze. He was all ears.
“This never happened. We cut your EVA short because of your fogged visor.”
Considering the fact that Sam had just saved his life, Tom would have probably gone along with anything. “Got it.”
DRESSED IN HIS NASA-blue flight coveralls, Tom waited patiently in an uncomfortable wooden chair across from his boss, Dick Stanton. With his feet casually up on his desk, Dick leaned back in his leather chair, busy on the phone. Tom was curious why he had been called to the office. He hoped it was to be offered his next crew assignment. As the Director of Flight Crew Operations, Dick made the decisions on who flew what and when. Though his crew selections had to be approved by upper management, as far as Tom knew, none of the director’s recommendations had ever been rejected.
NASA and the press had done a good job putting a positive spin on Tom’s Gemini mission, not focusing on its failures. He and Sam had stuck to their agreement, keeping secret about what exactly had happened during Tom’s EVA.
Becoming an instant celebrity after splashdown, Tom’s post flight obligation was to attend the many parties and galas celebrating their flight. NASA wanted to capitalize on the astronauts’ sudden fame, promoting the program to ensure government funding continued. Tom dutifully accepted the chore, even though he felt like a circus chimp being paraded around. He often found sanctuary from this crazy celebrity life at home and among his peers, where he was treated like a regular guy.
With all his post flight requirements completed, Tom was itching to get back into the crew rotation. He was no longer a rookie begging for any type of an assignment, but a veteran hoping to get a juicy slot, possibly a commander’s seat. Though his Gemini flight had had its share of problems, he still believed he had performed well. The mission was simply cursed with bad luck, having a string of unavoidable misfortunes. Future Gemini seats were filling up fast, and if he ever wanted to land an Apollo flight to the moon, he had to get back into the rotation. He flashed a restless look toward his boss. Dick raised a finger, signaling he would be done with his phone call shortly.
Tom took the moment to look out the ninth floor office window of the NASA administration building. From his perch he could see his neighborhood across the NASA 1 roadway. Thanks to empty lots in the new development, he was pretty sure he could pick out his home’s white brick chimney. He sent his love to Anne and Peter as he lowered his eyes toward the futuristic buildings scattered about below. The Manned Spacecraft Center had become quite an impressive facility since opening for business less than three years earlier. The MSC was now the hub for all of America’s manned space activities. The Houston center was where the astronauts’ offices were and where they did most of their training. To Tom, the place was his home away from home.
Adjusting his position on the hard seat, Tom crossed his arms impatiently as he scanned the many photos hanging on the wood paneled wall next to him. Most were of Dick hanging out with various celebrities and politicians. The picture with President Kennedy impressed Tom the most. He never got to meet the president, but wished he had. Tom’s belief was that if he fulfilled his dream of walking on the moon someday, he would owe a great debt of gratitude to the young president.
Dick hung up the phone with an apologetic expression. “Sorry about that, Tom. So how are you?”
Tom straightened up in his chair. “I’m good. So what’s up?”
“Well I’m sorry to say, it’s not good news.”
Tom slumped back. Dick was never one to beat around the bush.
“The doctors were concerned about your excessive heart rate during your EVA. Right now, they want you grounded until further tests are completed.”
Tom clinched his fist hearing the heartbreaking news. He couldn’t let his future rest in some quack’s hands and chance missing out on an Apollo assignment. He decided to be up front with his boss. “Dick, I was practically dying up there. All the training in the world wouldn’t have prepared me for what it was like moving around in space. The simplest task, like turning a knob, took a ton of energy along with creative ingenuity just to figure out how to do it.”
Leaning forward, Dick put his arms on his desk and raised an eyebrow. “You mentioned the technical difficulties in your debriefing along with your fogged visor, but you never let on about struggling physically. Throughout your EVA, you radioed everything was fine.”
“My situation was worse than I let on in the crew debriefing. I was flat out exhausted. Wrestling with the umbilical for thirty minutes alone practically wiped me out. After that, it took all of my being to get myself strapped onto the AMU and have it ready to go. I promise you, my heart rate was skyrocketing because the workload was way tougher than we had anticipated. I guarantee it would have happened to any of our guys.”
Dick stood up. Towering over Tom, his boss said in a stern voice, “But every one of those men would have informed us how dire things were. That is what I expect from all of our astronauts, including you.”
Tom realized now he might have made the wrong call. “I know, and I should have informed mission control of the difficulties. But we had come too far not to try to fly the thing.”
“Not if it puts the whole program at risk.” Dick sat back down in disgust. He turned toward the window for a second. He gradually brought his eyes back around and narrowed them on Tom. “Look, I always felt flying the AMU was way too aggressive for where we are at this point, but we were practically force fed the thing from the Air Force. I recommended we wait, but I was shot down. One of the reasons I picked you for this mission was I could count on you sticking to protocol.”
It was obvious Tom was making things worse. He had to go into damage control. “Dick, you know you can count on me. Though my heart was racing, I was still under control. I would have never done anything to risk my life or the future of the program.”
Dick pounded his fist hard on his desk. “That’s what you did risk: the program. If you had become a dead corpse floating above us, do you think we would have a chance in hell of achieving Kennedy’s goal? No. The American people wouldn’t let us. We would be shut down.” Dick leaned back and shot Tom an angry glare. “Damn it, Tom! I expected better from you.”
It was a good thing Dick didn’t know about the cut tether, saving Sam’s career for causing the mishap. “I’m sorry. I should have been more open about my situation. I thought I was doing what was in the best interest of the program, especially since the whole world was watching. I see now I was wrong. It won’t happen again.”