Orbit by Thomas H. Block

Author:Thomas H. Block [Block, Thomas H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-04-11T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

“They say that it’s possible.”

“Good. What’s the chance for success?” Kennerdale asked as he looked down at the young NASA technician who sat at the console in the upper level of the OPSCON.

“Ninety, ninety-five percent.”

Kennerdale winced visibly. Another pet peeve of his was how, whenever you allowed them, the engineers would translate every reply into another set of meaningless numbers. “I assume that you mean excellent, or something of that sort. Am I correct?”

“Yessir.” The young man’s face had turned a deep red.

“Fine.” Kennerdale turned to Novak. “That TV satellite idea we came up with seems feasible. I thought it might be.”

“So did I.” Novak knew that he was lucky to get even that much credit from Kennerdale for the satellite idea.

“Sir?” the technician interrupted. “The satellite room is holding on the line. What should I tell them?”

Kennerdale took a step closer to the communications console. His body hovered over the technician who sat at the panel. “Tell them that when it’s steamboat time, it’s time to steam,” he said, a pernicious smile on his lips.

The technician looked up, puzzled. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Rennerdale’s smile disappeared. “Never mind,” he said tersely. Mark Twain was wasted on the educated elite who could speak only in the cryptic, disjointed grunts of science and engineering. If they understood nothing but cold and hard facts, Kennerdale would be happy to oblige them. “Just tell them to immediately reposition that satellite. Have it rendezvous with the stranded airliner as soon as possible.”

“Okay.”

Before the technician could begin to relay the message, Kennerdale tapped the young man on the shoulder. He wanted the working staff to understand clearly the full scope of his intentions. He crouched down beside the technician. “Also tell them,” he added in a hoarse whisper, his face only inches from the young man, his words slightly too loud for the shortened distance between them, “that they should adjust that satellite’s orbit very carefully. I don’t want any foul-ups. None whatsoever. They should,” he continued, his words coming very slowly, “plan to move that satellite as if their careers depended on it.”

The technician blinked in disbelief. Kennerdale seemed even worse than his reputation had indicated he would be. After several seconds of silence, the technician realized that the NASA chief expected a reply. “Yessir,” he blurted out nervously. “I understand completely. I’ll pass that along.”

“Good.” Satisfied, Kennerdale stood up and turned around. He motioned for Novak to follow him as he began to walk toward his own console at the front of the room. “We’ve still got a few additional items to deal with,” Kennerdale said as Novak scurried to keep up. Kennerdale plopped himself down heavily in his swivel chair. As he did, he noticed Ben Robinson on the other side of the room. The United Aerospace vice-president sat at the console Kennerdale had assigned to him, a telephone against his ear, his head down, his eyes averted. “Has Robinson asked for anything?”

“No. Not since I showed him how to operate the communications network and the auto-dialer.

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