The launch was uneventful. The crew fell into its duty routine with surprising ease. Perhaps this mission would turn out well despite what many in the press — and in central control — had feared.
“How do you think the workflow on those new experiment clusters is set up, Carson? Do you think we’ve allotted enough time between stages this time?” asked my lab mate. He’d been with me on other flights and always seemed the practical, thoughtful type.
“Yes, I think this time they’ll work well. Last time we were simply under too much pressure from the sponsors. Then, with the leak and … ” I didn’t want to jinx the mission by mentioning out loud the tragedy that occurred on the last one. After a deep breath, all I could say was, “At least we didn’t have to finish the report on the last one. It would have been an embarrassment, to say the least.”
“You got that right,” he said as he retrieved his clipboard that had been floating near his left shoulder like a manservant awaiting an assignment.
By the time the light-clock signaled the end of the day, the entire array was set up, all monitors were set and calibrated, the mylar recording tapes were rolled tight and creeping slowly around their sprockets.
“Ready to lock ’em down for the night, John?”
“Just about. After this many trips, it still sounds funny to say ‘for the night’,” as he pointed his pen out the thick acrylic window into the eternal darkness of space.
“Yeah, me too. I suppose it’s just to remind us where we belong. Good night Carson.”
“Night, John.”
