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

across the floor of the cavernous, but meticulously clean, white, bay. The apparent chaos was deceptive, however: The detritus was being assembled with care like a giant jigsaw puzzle. Crash watched as the huge yellow crane that ran across the ceiling skillfully maneuvered a large piece of debris into position.
    "Damn. Challenger 2 : The Sequel," Crash whispered, paling. "Thought I got outta this."
    "Hey, Murphy," a booming voice echoed across the gigantic chamber, "‘bout damn time you showed up!"
    "Hi, Mitch!" Crash met the stocky blond man halfway, clapping him on the back, as glad for the diversion from morbid thoughts as he was to see his old friend. "How's it goin', pal?"
    "Depends, I s'pose," Guy Mitchell, director of the Materials and Processes Lab, responded. "Mary an' the kids are great. My oldest just started at Vandy. Double-E. But if you're talkin' about work, well… this kinda work I could do without."
    "Know what ya mean…" Crash glanced around the high bay again and sighed. "Well… what have we got so far?"
    "Hunk o' the port side wing here, some pieces of fuselage down the center, most of an OMS pod in the far corner. Over there's part of the starboard payload bay door. I've got a team back there in th' back trying to reconstruct the empennage and the rest of the tail section of fuselage, but we're missing part of the vertical stabilizer. They're still fishin' the Gulf for the rest of it." Mitch pointed around the bay as he spoke.
    "Flight ops recorder?" Crash queried.
    "Not yet. Divers are pushing hard for it, though."
    "PAO put out the beachcomber request yet?"
    "Just issued in the last hour. But you know how much good it did on Challenger . Everybody wants a piece of shuttle wreckage for a souvenir." Mitch sounded disgusted. "Worse than a bunch of damn gawkers at a traffic accident."
    "Yeah. But we still got some turned in." Crash tried to be encouraging.
    "Oh, don't get me wrong. It won't hurt. I'm just not holdin' my breath."
    "No. Hey, listen, Mitch… have they… found any of the crew yet?" Crash avoided looking at his friend.
    "Yeah, Crash." Mitch's voice was subdued, and he turned his attention to the white paper booties on his feet. "I heard they found somebody this morning. Didn't hear who, though. Takin' ‘em to Houston, gonna have the flight surgeons help the coroner ID ‘em…" He shuffled his feet.
    "OK," Crash nodded sad acceptance. "Guess I'll check in with Ham after I get settled in the hotel tonight, then."
    "Hey, Crash, got an old… er, friend of yours workin' this," Mitch told him then, his tone indicative of warning.
    "Oh? Who?" Crash's ears perked up, and he turned, catching the hint.
    Guy Mitchell pointed across the bay at a shapely brunette in a clean suit overseeing the tail reconstruction. "Lisa Stephens."
    * * * *
    Crash relaxed into the navy satin clad pillows, sighing in contentment, as Lisa rose from the bed, shrugging her black silk robe over her matching lace negligée before crossing the room to the silver ice bucket. She poured a glass of Moet, then walked back to the bed, sitting down close beside him.
    "Here you are, darling," she murmured, holding the glass to his lips. He sipped the champagne, then smiled at her, putting his hands on her hips to tug her closer. She smiled in return, setting the glass aside before leaning down to kiss him. "What a wonderful celebration, just the two of us."
    "Celebration?" Crash asked, puzzled.
    "Of course, sweetheart," Lisa answered with another smile. "I thought you knew. They announced the D.C. position today. I'll be heading up the new department. We have two weeks to move."
    Crash sat up straight, contented good humor vanishing like fog in a firestorm. "Dammit, Lisa, did you hear anything I told you, the other day?! I am not interested in that kind of shit! I don't want to move to D.C., and I'm getting out of the damn SPACE PROGRAM!"
    Lisa's voice was cold and calm. "I heard it, and I don't believe a word of it."
    "Well, start