another metal door. There was a card reader next to the door, and without pause the man with the clipboard took out an ID and swiped it through. He pushed the door open, leaned his head in, and hollered at someone on the other side.
“This guy’s here for a simulation run, can you take care of him?”
Thad nearly choked. He wanted to say something, but his voice was completely gone. The man with the clipboard held the door open for him, and Thad had no choice but to step inside.
Oh, shit . Thad didn’t even hear the door click shut behind him. He was standing at the edge of what looked like an enormous airplane hangar. There were computers everywhere, workstations separated by engineering panels and whiteboards, all of it interconnected by spaghetti snarls of thick black electrical wire. And there, in the center, rising high into the cavernous space, stood the Space Shuttle Simulator. It was nothing short of spectacular.
“Your first time? Wish it was always this easy to spot a virgin.”
The voice came from Thad’s left, and he glanced over toward a pair of technicians in matching light blue smocks, hovering over something that looked like an oversized circuit board. The one who had spoken was grinning at him, so he grinned back—but he couldn’t keep his focus very long. Like a set of house keys in an MRI machine, his gaze was yanked back toward the technical wonder that took up most of the hangar in front of him.
“It looks a lot bigger in person,” he mumbled.
The simulator was made up of two separate parts. The smaller of the two, the motion-based crew station (MBCS), as it was called, was attached to a huge scissor crane—a jointed, steel monstrosity, loaded with springs and curled-up pneumatic hoses, that assumedly provided incredible levels of hydraulic lift. The MBCS looked like the nose cone of the shuttle, gripped by a massive robotic arm. Although Thad couldn’t see inside the thing from where he was standing, he knew that the MBCS was configured just like the real cockpit of the actual space shuttle, with room for the shuttle commander and the shuttle pilot. The arm gave it six degrees of motion—which meant the thing could simulate every phase of spaceflight, from launch to landing. It could tilt up to ninety degrees in every direction and could simulate acceleration, even moments of weightlessness.
The second part of the simulator was the fixed crew station. A rectangular box, it was a veritable porcupine of wires, antennas, and even miniature radar dishes. The MBCS had room for a commander, a pilot, a mission specialist, and a number of other crew members. It wouldn’t simulate motion, but it was also raised up on an elevated platform, and it was supposed to perfectly simulate the interior environment of the shuttle itself. For long-duration mission simulations, crew members could spend days or even weeks in the MBCS. Food and water would be raised up to them so that they could live exactly like they would in an orbital environment.
“That’s what one hundred million of your tax dollars will get you,” the technician responded as he finally stepped away from the circuit board and approached Thad. “I assume you’re here for the monthly systems check?”
Thad looked at the guy again. The technician was in his mid-thirties, with a receding hairline and a few extra pounds hanging down above his belt. Probably a contractor, obviously not someone Thad would consider an authority figure. No doubt the tech had confused him with someone who was supposed to be there. Or maybe he just didn’t care. He saw the NASA shirt, and that was enough.
For a brief moment, Thad considered ending his charade. Something felt wrong about the deception, even though he hadn’t actively done anything to convince anyone he was supposed to be where he was. At the same time, Thad couldn’t ignore the spikes of pure adrenaline that were ricocheting through his system. It was like the first time he’d flown a
“This guy’s here for a simulation run, can you take care of him?”
Thad nearly choked. He wanted to say something, but his voice was completely gone. The man with the clipboard held the door open for him, and Thad had no choice but to step inside.
Oh, shit . Thad didn’t even hear the door click shut behind him. He was standing at the edge of what looked like an enormous airplane hangar. There were computers everywhere, workstations separated by engineering panels and whiteboards, all of it interconnected by spaghetti snarls of thick black electrical wire. And there, in the center, rising high into the cavernous space, stood the Space Shuttle Simulator. It was nothing short of spectacular.
“Your first time? Wish it was always this easy to spot a virgin.”
The voice came from Thad’s left, and he glanced over toward a pair of technicians in matching light blue smocks, hovering over something that looked like an oversized circuit board. The one who had spoken was grinning at him, so he grinned back—but he couldn’t keep his focus very long. Like a set of house keys in an MRI machine, his gaze was yanked back toward the technical wonder that took up most of the hangar in front of him.
“It looks a lot bigger in person,” he mumbled.
The simulator was made up of two separate parts. The smaller of the two, the motion-based crew station (MBCS), as it was called, was attached to a huge scissor crane—a jointed, steel monstrosity, loaded with springs and curled-up pneumatic hoses, that assumedly provided incredible levels of hydraulic lift. The MBCS looked like the nose cone of the shuttle, gripped by a massive robotic arm. Although Thad couldn’t see inside the thing from where he was standing, he knew that the MBCS was configured just like the real cockpit of the actual space shuttle, with room for the shuttle commander and the shuttle pilot. The arm gave it six degrees of motion—which meant the thing could simulate every phase of spaceflight, from launch to landing. It could tilt up to ninety degrees in every direction and could simulate acceleration, even moments of weightlessness.
The second part of the simulator was the fixed crew station. A rectangular box, it was a veritable porcupine of wires, antennas, and even miniature radar dishes. The MBCS had room for a commander, a pilot, a mission specialist, and a number of other crew members. It wouldn’t simulate motion, but it was also raised up on an elevated platform, and it was supposed to perfectly simulate the interior environment of the shuttle itself. For long-duration mission simulations, crew members could spend days or even weeks in the MBCS. Food and water would be raised up to them so that they could live exactly like they would in an orbital environment.
“That’s what one hundred million of your tax dollars will get you,” the technician responded as he finally stepped away from the circuit board and approached Thad. “I assume you’re here for the monthly systems check?”
Thad looked at the guy again. The technician was in his mid-thirties, with a receding hairline and a few extra pounds hanging down above his belt. Probably a contractor, obviously not someone Thad would consider an authority figure. No doubt the tech had confused him with someone who was supposed to be there. Or maybe he just didn’t care. He saw the NASA shirt, and that was enough.
For a brief moment, Thad considered ending his charade. Something felt wrong about the deception, even though he hadn’t actively done anything to convince anyone he was supposed to be where he was. At the same time, Thad couldn’t ignore the spikes of pure adrenaline that were ricocheting through his system. It was like the first time he’d flown a
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