Burnout: the mystery of Space Shuttle STS-281 Read Online Free PDF

following protocol at this point."
    "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so," Crash mumbled, remembering the searing white fireball in the heavens. "So we play the waiting game?"
    "Yep," Ham said. "GNC's over there. You can go start with the questions…"
    * * * *
    Thirty-six hours later, Crash was boarding an early morning commercial flight at Houston's Hobby Airport, en route to Huntsville, Alabama. The first pieces of wreckage had been recovered and were being taken to the Marshall Space Flight Center for analysis. Hopefully the flight operations recorder would be located soon, and the orbiter's status during the critical re-entry comm blackout could be determined. Meanwhile, Crash had copies of the GNC, Trajectory, Pointing, Flight Dynamics Officer, Track, Entry Support, and Navigation console log books for review, and copies of the exo-atmospheric telemetry as well.
    He spent the flight time, as well as the layover in Memphis, reviewing the log books and launch video, to no avail. There was absolutely nothing in the logs or any of the video camera angles to indicate an off-nominal flight condition in either the insertion, or the final hours of the flight. By the time he had finished reviewing the last twelve hours of each log book, he had arrived at Huntsville International, and it was time to get a rental car and head into MSFC. The rest of the log books, and the telemetry, would have to wait.
    Despite the bright, sunny day, traffic in and around the field center was practically nonexistent. Looks like a ghost town around the center , Crash thought with a sigh. Not surprising: The Marshall Payload Ops Control Center had been in charge of the Gaia-1 payload, and these guys had known the crew just as well as the folks in Houston had. The roads may be empty , Crash noticed, but the church parking lots sure are full…
    Crash checked in at Gate 9 and parked, heading straight in to Security. Security, in turn, notified his point of contact in Building 4203.
    "Hello there, Crash," Jack Woodard's voice sounded over the phone, as the security officer began processing Crash's car pass and electronic key card. "Good to hear from you again."
    "Yeah, Jack, same here. Sorry it had to be like this."
    "Yeah. Listen, Crash, I'm sorry about Jet."
    "Thanks, Jack," Crash sighed, "but he knew the risks."
    "Yeah, but that doesn't make it any easier for those of us left behind. Marshall is pretty much at a dead stop right now. Well, except for the high bay receiving the debris. They're running around the clock on overtime."
    "I can imagine. Just like last time?"
    "Yup. Reconstruction's underway in Building 4619. Soon as they get you processed through, head on over there. I've got a meeting with the Center Director in a few minutes, then I'll try to meet you there," Jack said. "But don't hold your breath waitin' for me."
    "Lucky you," Crash said ruefully. "I can guess what that'll be about. Glad I got out before I reached your GS level."
    "You always did hate dealing with upper management," Jack responded, amused.
    "Nah, upper management's fine," Crash replied, unconcerned. "Wouldn't be talkin' to you if that was the case. I just never trusted all that high level bureaucracy."
    "Well…" Jack began in a strange tone, then abruptly broke off. "I'll see you at the high bay in a couple of hours."
    * * * *
    Crash held the key card to the touch pad, waited until he heard the click, then entered the small white locker room. Once inside, he donned a disposable paper suit, booties, hair cover, hard hat, and gloves, putting it all on over his khaki chinos and red polo shirt. Then he headed for the clean room area of the high bay beyond, pressing his feet onto the sticky floor to clean the bottoms of the booties, and passing over the air blower to remove any loose dust and dirt from his person as he traversed the airlock entranceway. Once inside, he stopped, overcome by a powerful sense of déjà vu.
    Twisted, scorched wreckage lay scattered, seemingly at random,