OT: One Last Landing

We pray for one last landing
On the globe that gave us birth;
Let us rest our eyes on the fleecy skies
And the cool, green hills of Earth.
– Robert A. Heinlein

Earlier today, Atlantis, America’s last space shuttle – America’s last means of reaching even low orbit – landed safely.

Now, our nation, like our astronauts, is grounded. The best we can do is to beg or buy a ride with the Russians who, despite their many problems, haven’t given up on spaceflight. Before too many years pass, the Chinese may be able and willing to take an American up with them.

We are too beaten down to lift our eyes to the stars and dream and dare. Where once our questing spirit rode rockets it now rides Rocinante and pines for a hitching post.

The last word goes to the Apollo-era flight director who oversaw our glory days:

I pray that our nation will someday soon find the courage to accept the risk and challenge to finish the work that we started.
– Gene Kranz

Fiction: Memento

“Can you believe this?” Tachibana asked. “T-minus four hours and counting and suddenly the captain has an unscheduled errand for us to run.”

Svitenko shrugged. “She’s the captain,” she said. “At least we’re here in the cockpit and don’t have to suit up.”

“That’s the other thing. She is the captain. She should have a million things to do this close to leaving Earth. Instead, she’s doing this herself and is going EVA.”

“Must be something pretty important to bobble up the schedule like this at the last minute,” Svitenko suggested.

“Given our landing coordinates it looks more like a pilgrimage. Chief Tak was pretty upset with losing us and the shuttle; he’ll be hopping mad if this isn’t a crucial trip.”

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Fiction: Illegal Aliens

For all practical purposes, it was just the two of us in the little bar in Las Tres Mujeres, New Mexico. There were five other guys in the place, but two of them had passed out, two were more legitimately asleep, and the fifth was an intensely quiet drunk off in his own little world. That left me and the Mexican-American bar owner named Germán.

The bar, El Cantinero Solo, boasted few modern amenities save the cooler for the cerveza and the satellite TV. The drunks didn’t seem to mind so I overlooked it too.

The TV was showing an American newscast; a superannuated U.S. senator was halfway through a sound bite. I’d been mildly captivated by the fifth drunk and caught only the last part of it.

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