It's 1984.
The space shuttle Challenger is up in orbit. The Reagan administration is beefing up defense to fight the Evil Empire of Communism. And the Satellite Tracking Center, known as the S*T*C, is staffing up to meet those challenges.
Then the old boy network finds itself turned upside down when young professional women, such as Samantha Clark and Rosalind Hart, breach the male-dominated mission control teams inside the S*T*C. In the secrecy demanded in the classified world, how do Sam and Roz cope with men behaving badly? Will the women or the old boys break first?
----------------------------
Newcomer Samantha Clark gets her secret clearance and moves over to the F1 shop with other trainees.
October 1984, the new hires experience their first Halloween inside the S*T*C.
----------------------------
The Players:
Planner Analyst Leads...
Dan Brackman: power hungry, money hunger lead of all F1 planner analysts
Rich Kerry: day shift lead
Justin "JC" Chavez: swing shift lead, loves porn and Fig NewtonsJeff Ritter: graves shift lead, Dan's good buddy, and comedian
The certified planner analysts...
Virgil Kingman: trainer and all-round good guy
Mike Bonacelli: JC's friend and co-worker from the Bronx
Ivan "the Terrible" Frankel: dare devil and thrill seeker
Austin Fuller: usually hides on graves
The Trainees...
The boys:
Charles "Chuckles" Sinclair: ambitious, snobbish
Enrique Rodriguez: sensitive, SciFi and paranormal aficionado
Arye Cohen: nice Jewish boy from Queens and "Mr. Know-it-all"
Dieter Christensen: hangs out on graves
The girls...
Sam Matijevic Clark: one of the main characters, brunette, married
Cybele "Tatiana" Harmon: creative, psychic, paranormal aficionado
Holly Watson: part time aerobics instructor, beauty of ambiguous ethnicity
Others....
Big Ben: Holly's boyfriend, working in another shop
----------------------------
Chapter FIFTY-ONE
“How’re you doing, JR?” asked Jeff Ritter.
“Just great. And you, JR?” Dan Brackman grinned back.
Sam watched the two leads, Dan and Jeff. Patting each other on the backs. Shaking each other’s hands.
She understood why Dan may want to call Jeff Ritter JR. As everyone around here was fond of calling people by their initials.
But Dan?
Virgil Kingman noticed Sam’s quizzical looks. “Jeff is Dan’s good buddy. And they’re pleased as punch. Congratulating each other.”
“Calling each other JR?”
“It’s JR as in J.R. Ewing of Dallas.”
“I’m not that into Dallas. And this JR thing is weird.”
https://youtu.be/wKloBLFeYOs?si=xzTyhcfoLDP5rmyV
Virgil explained, “Dan and Jeff invested in oil wells. Got news they made a big windfall profit. And Dan…I heard him say, he just doesn’t want to be well off. He wants to be rich.”
“You mean rich, like Rich Kerry?” Sam returned a sidelong smile.
* * *
The last weeks of October during day shift, TAs and customers flooded into the F1 planning room. Another launch was scheduled after Thanksgiving. That kept the full analysts busy reviewing launch and early orbit command plans.
Virgil met with Dan and expressed his training concerns.
“It took a while to get the first wave of new hires certified. We need to get going on the next wave. Especially with the launch coming up.”
“I’ll be the one to decide who gets certified and when.” Dan fingered a stack of books. “And I’ll get to it as soon as I review these manuals for our latest satellite.”
“Us full analysts can help with the manuals. As well as work with the new people to get them certified.”
Dan glared at Virgil. “I’m the lead in this shop. And you don’t have to be an ass and go over my head to Isidro…like last time.”
“Okay. Okay.” Virgil backed down with his hands up. He had seen this turf war so many times in the Air Force. As a sergeant, he often did what he could to shield his men from the bullshit that came down from the big brass above.
And in the S*T*C, nothing had changed.
* * *
Ivan Frankel was back on days. Around the planning table, he had more tales to tell a fresh audience of newbies.
Except for Chuckles, who was purposely ignoring Ivan.
“I was a pre-med student once,” Ivan said, now the center of attention. “Started dental school before coming to the S*T*C.”
“Really?” Cybele looked up from her manual, half-asleep. She was paying her dues, doing her obligatory time on day shift this week. “And you ended up here. The gods must be crazy.”
“I really wanted to be a dentist.” Ivan twitched his mustache.
Sam piped up, “Can’t image you looking into people’s dirty mouths all day.”
“Now I listen to dirty mouths all day.” Ivan laughed.
Arye Cohen, the walking encyclopedia, added more facts.
“And statistics show that dentists are at the top of the list of professions that result in suicides. Up to six times higher than any other.”
“Suicides? Really?” Ivan grinned at Arye. “Maybe that’s why I was so attracted to dentistry. That and inflicting pain.”
Arye nodded. “Touché, Ivan. Touché.”
“Some of the classes in dental school were pretty cool,” Ivan continued. “In one of my anatomy classes, we got to dissect corpses.”
https://youtu.be/MslsfAb1M9E?si=TU568Wfw42OYmiID
“Sounds like you’d fit in very well on graves,” Cybele said.
“Usually, we got the worst specimens of humanity.” Ivan’s eyes lit up. “Like alcoholics. They often sell their bodies to medical schools for booze money. And they’re usually very fat.”
Sam looked at Ivan askance.
“This one woman we dissected had tons of flab on her jelly belly. To get to her vital organs, we had to dip our hands into a sea of lard. And when we got to them, they were all shriveled up—especially her liver.
“And that was not the worst of it. When closed her back up, we could not fit all the flab and organs back inside her. And we couldn’t even close the drawer, where we pulled her out of.”
“What’d you do?” Arye asked.
“We scooped out two buckets of fat. When we closed her back up, her boobs crossed.” Then Ivan got his laugh engine going again. “Only then, she’d fit back inside the drawer.”
“It’s like getting stuff back into boxes you buy at the store,” Sam said. “They never quite fit when you try to put the pieces back in again.”
“Anybody ready for more coffee?” Arye lifted his empty cup.
* * *
Cybele looked beat. Everyone did coming off of graves.
“Need some coffee?” Sam offered. “Arye’s going to make a run for us at the Satellite Dish.”
“No thanks, darling,” Cybele said. “Only drink tea.”
Then she fought nodding off, again.
During a briefing, the crew learned that one of their satellites had gone deaf. The receivers seemed broken. The satellite was not responding to any commands from earth.
https://youtu.be/hXa3bTcIGPU?si=HcgS3TI0-1ngeIY4
The Tiger Team was brainstorming this anomaly. On passes with the deaf bird, the crew sent commands. Just in case something would get through to command back on any of the uplink receivers.
Cybele approached Rich after hearing this problem. “I can help.”
Rich looked skeptical, but Cybele explained, “I’m psychic, Rich. I may be able to make contact with the deaf bird. She may tell me what’s wrong with her.”
“’Kay,” Rich said carefully.
Cybele sensed he was an unbeliever. But Enrique took her aside. “I’d like to see you do that.”
“Halloween on graves,” she nodded, “when the veil to the other side is thin.”
* * *
When Arye was back on days, Virgil and Ivan confided to Sam of a game they liked to play with Mr. Know-It-All.
Virgil glanced at Arye. “This guy can be really funny.”
Ivan took it from there. “So, we talk about a science topic. Like black holes or relativity or something Carl Sagan would say Then we set our watches to see how long it takes for boy genius here to get drawn in and start lecturing us about it.”
“Before that,” Virgil continued, “we guess our times. And the loser buys coffee at the Satellite Dish.”
“Are you in?” Ivan looked at Sam.
“Sure.” Sam gave them her time, which Virgil wrote down on a small memo pad. “I did a paper on black holes in college you know.”
“Perfect. You start the ball rolling, physics girl,” Ivan said.
The three analysts synchronized their watches as Arye came within earshot.
“On my mark.” Ivan lifted a finger.
Sam began, “It’s not true, Virgil, that everything that goes into a black hole never comes out, again.”
Virgil asked, “And why’s that?”
“It violates the third law of thermodynamics that nothing reaches absolute zero. Since the black hole’s not absolute zero, it must radiate something. Since E equals m c squared, it eventually evaporates—”
Arye interrupted, “Is that the case for a static black hole or a spinning black hole?”
“Seventeen seconds.” Ivan looked at his watch.
Virgil looked at his list. “You lose, Sam.”
“Oh, darn,” Sam said. “How do you like ’em?”
Virgil said, “I take mine black.”
“Me, too,” Ivan said.
“I thought you guys were talking about black holes?” Arye asked.
Ivan shrugged. “Black holes. Black coffee. Whatever.”
As Arye shook his head, Sam commented, “You look like a walking example of the second law of thermodynamics, Arye. And I’ve just increased the chaos inside your brain.”
Then Arye grew a wide smile as he shook a finger. “You guys got me. And Sam, I see you know more than you let on.”
Sam smiled back, as Arye really did have a sense of humor about himself. But Arye got in the last factoid.
“And that radiation from black holes? It’s called Hawking radiation. After Dr. Stephen Hawking—the man in the wheelchair.”
https://youtu.be/fqnmUNzn5N8?si=uOdM5oXblmCLsb-d
------------------------------
Chapter FIFTY-TWO
Last days of October, Sam and Holly rotated onto swings.
And Enrique eagerly followed. Holly Watson, that is.
In the mission control room, Enrique chatted it up with this beauty-in-training. Near the end of their satellite pass, Holly snapped her gum, rolled back her chair as she flung her big hair behind her.
It was like a dominatrix cracking her whip.
Whoa!
The final snapshot of vital statistics rolled down the screen. Many lines of critical data were missing. And Enrique didn’t even notice it.
The satellite pass ended. But not Enrique’s pass with Holly.
* * *
“Holly, it’s for you,” Mike Bonacelli said wearily.
Holly bustled to the black phone. “Hi, Ben my man. Whatcha been doing?” And Holly chatted away, twirling the phone cord as well as the curls in her big hair.
Mike looked at JC, who was keeping score on the white board.
“That makes eight…eight personal calls,” said Mike. “And the night’s still young. Holly really needs her own line.”
JC made the latest hatch mark. “She should get her own 900 number. Charge for each call. Make a shit full of cash.”
https://youtu.be/qVxqdFrrVU4?si=bqgwFdmtdvo0v_YX
“I’ll check the post-pass data.” Mike volunteered, seeing JC was getting into some good reading material.
Popping two Fig Newtons into his mouth, JC looked through the November issue of Penthouse.
“Fuuuuuck!” JC heard Mike bellow from across the hall.
JC raised his eyebrows. How’d Mike know what I was thinking?
* * *
Mike called Enrique over to the planning table and flung at him the telemetry printout of the last state-of-health snapshot.
“What the hell is this?” Mike asked.
Enrique swallowed. “Looks like plain old telemetry to me.”
“Look closer, junior.” Mike held the computer printout.
Enrique gulped, again. “Looks like some data may be missing?”
“And you didn’t even notice that, you dumb fuck, when you’re with Holly on the pass?” Mike asked. “And you’re the certified analyst.”
Then JC got up and went to the schedule. “Okay, junior. You’re doing all the remaining passes tonight. And nothing better be missing.”
“But I had plans for dinner—”
“Yeah, with Barbie doll over there.” JC jerked his head toward Holly, who was still on the phone. “Next time I’ll call her hunk of a boyfriend in MCC-A. And tell him you’ve been hitting on her. Then call your girlfriend and tell her that you’ve been drooling like a love sick puppy—”
“Please! Don’t! We’re just friends.” Then Enrique looked toward Holly, who was still on the phone.
“Holly. Save me.” JC mocked in a falsetto.
“We’re up to twelve, JC.” Mike shook his head. “Chalk up twelve personal calls for Holly this evening. A new record.”
* * *
After a tour on swings, Sam had more fodder for her latest cartoons. She sketched Holly and Enrique together on the console with the captain:
How much power does it take to screw up a pass?
Punch line: One Watt, son. (Holly’s last name was Watson.)
Then Sam licked her pencil and sketched another strip.
Enrique on a pass. First frame showed Enrique flirting with Holly while missing the final snapshot. The next frame an enraged Mike exclaiming to an embarrassed Enrique: Wrong pass, Enrique!
A third strip followed, a big haired Holly chatting on the phone to one of her numerous suitors, while an irritated JC kept score. A cross Mike instructed a forlorn Enrique, looking at Holly: Take a number, junior.
So, three more episodes were added to the continuing drama, As the Satellite Turns.
* * *
After swing shift, some of the boys left with Holly for their safety meeting. They had asked Sam. Once. But she had declined.
“My husband’s waiting up for me at home,” she had explained.
“That’s why I’m glad I’m not hitched and on a leash like you,” JC had answered her back.
That night, JC and Mike met Holly and her boyfriend Big Ben at the Crow’s Nest. Holly played with the slice of lime in her drink.
“So, this is really part of work, boys?” she asked.
“Yup.” Mike took a gulp of beer. “We discuss lots of work-related things here.”
“Like safety?” Holly shifted on her bar stool. “And it’s okay to charge the company for it and stuff?”
JC grinned. “We’re most concerned about our safety…like coming down this mountain in one piece.”
Holly shrugged as she sidled up to her boyfriend. It was best to go with flow. And the boys did enjoy her company.
* * *
Wednesday evening was Halloween.
Enrique stayed after the shift briefing to rendezvous with Cybele in the breakroom.
Cybele turned off the overhead lights and sat down with Enrique at the small table by the vending machines. The room glowed with an eerie red from the light of the soda pop dispenser. Perfect.
Cybele took a deep breath. “The veil is very thin tonight, darling.”
“So, Cybele, you can get through to our sick satellite?” Enrique asked.
“Please. Call me Tatiana.” Then Cybele got somber. “And yes. I hear her…I feel her calling me.”
“But it’s a piece of space junk…not a living thing.”
“What makes you think she’s not living?” Cybele asked. “She has a soul, darling.”
“And I get what you’re saying about having a soul,” said Enrique. “I watch the Star Trek reruns all the time. Seen all the movies. But I never thought of a satellite as a she before.”
“Why not? Captain Kirk calls his starship a she. And she senses us, darling,” Cybele said. “Even though she’s 20,000 miles away.”
https://youtu.be/FMVZZYqLqdc?si=9RE__9eiAWGeZm0_
“That’s 20,000 nautical miles,” Enrique said.
Cybele took his hand. They closed their eyes. They chanted.
Then Cybele shook and spoke in an altered voice. “This is Stella. I’m the one you’ve been trying to reach. And I’ve been reaching out to you, sympathetic souls. I’ve seen many things, too terrible to tell.”
Enrique squeezed Cybele’s hand as she continued channeling.
“If you saw the sadness and tragedy I’ve seen, you’d go insane with grief. Your mortal senses could not bear it. Humans bent on self-destruction like no other creature in this vast universe. That’s why I’ve gone deaf. I don’t want to hear anymore. I don’t want to see anymore. I don’t want to speak anymore…”
Finally, the trance was broken. Cybele’s orange head scarf looked damp with perspiration.
“Why happened?” she asked.
Enrique trembled. “To sum it up, she’s had it with us humans. Hear no evil. See no evil. Speak no evil.”
“Then it’s settled.” Cybele nodded. “All our plans to command her receivers back on will fail.”
“Right, Cybele…er, Tatiana. And you got the gift.”
Cybele lifted her long skirt and showed her withered leg.
“Since I was young, I thought of the illness that had atrophied my muscles and deformed my leg. I wished so hard for a fairy queen to come and make me normal like the rest of the kids. But I heard voices say that my suffering would develop my other senses.”
“I’ll say.” Enrique’s mouth was agape. “You contacted that satellite much like Dave talking to HAL in 2001: A Space Odyssey. And 2010 is coming to the theaters in December. Can’t wait to see it—”
https://youtu.be/Wy4EfdnMZ5g?si=JZ7PrY4e9pVNK5O-
Cybele cut him off. “Tell no one about this. Many unbelievers here.”
Enrique nodded. “Don’t we know it, Tatiana.”
* * *
Enrique left for the valley, and Cybele went back to graves in F1.
Jeff, Austin, Dieter, and the rest were dressed in costumes. And the guys with kids brought in leftover Halloween candy.
“Here she is.” Jeff Ritter looked at Cybele. “Now I want to see you bend some forks.”
Cybele cackled. “That’s the spirit!”
https://youtu.be/qIuqqWjX540?si=5A-7HDqRMcqgcj9b
To learn more about a day in the life of a mission control team in the 1980s, please feel free to check out:
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