Final Launch Approval

Travelers rely on prayer as much as they do proper engineering. Some more than others.

White fog cascaded from the rocket engine as a trickle of LOX spilled out the nozzle and evaporated. The ‘pre-chill’ would cool all the metal slowly so there wouldn’t be dangerous thermal shocks when the full flow surged into the engine.

The priestess stood by the engine, wearing her ceremonial robes. Black silk was embroidered with design drawings, Tsiolkovsky’s Equation, and more equations defining chamber pressure, specific impulse, thrust, all that mattered to a rocket.

“Behold our sacrifice,” she said. “The gift we give to all the malign forces that may endanger our launch.”

“Let them be appeased,” chanted the crowd before her.

Everyone who cared about the success of the launch was there. The pilot, the engineer, and their assistants. All the passengers. Families of those who’d be aboard. Even a few investors, who were counting on this mission repaying the capital they’d put at risk.

The priestess filled a metal dipper with a double handful of water. She went up the ladder built into the side of the test stand supporting the engine.

“To consume this sacrifice, this valve shall be kept from doing its duty,” she intoned as she poured out the dipper over a valve in a LOX line.

The water froze instantly as it touched the cryogenically cooled metal.

“Let them be appeased,” the crowd chanted.

“To prove the sincerity of our hearts, let any who wish to add to the sacrifice bring their donations forward.” She beckoned those holding objects toward the test stand. As they advanced, she drifted back to not distract from them.

The mechanic was first in line. He tossed a spare circuit board under the nozzle, not flinching at the cold vapor brushing his hands.

“Let them be appeased.”

One of the investors flinched at the chill of the LOX boil-off, but steadied himself to put an envelope on one of the beams of the test stand.

“Let them be appeased.”

More people followed. Each donation was met with the ritual chant. The last was a little girl who added her teddy bear to the pile so her father would return home.

The priestess stepped to the center of the crowd’s attention. “Since men first flew above the Earth, gremlins have attacked their vehicles. We sacrifice this engine to them.”

“Let them be appeased.”

“Since the first vehicles flew, the words of the prophet Murphy stood true, that what could go wrong would go wrong.”

“Let him be appeased.”

“Since the first engineer designed a plane, there have been bugs which cripple or kill those who depend on systems.”

“Let them be appeased.”

“Since the first people worked to get a job done, Satan and Moloch have encouraged their laziness, their selfishness, their incompetence, and their spite.”

“Let them be appeased.”

The priestess raised her arms, letting the wide sleeves of her embroidered robe flutter in the breeze. Cold vapor tickled her ankles. “We make this sacrifice to appease all those who stop our flights, take our lives, ruin our missions. We know there is no endeavor without loss, so we accept that loss and pay the price in advance. We do this work and pay this price to assure the safety of those we love.”

“Let them be appeased.”

She dropped her arms. Her tone shifted from ritual incantor to tour guide. “Everyone, it’s time to move behind the blast barriers. If you’ll follow the green line.”

There were enough who knew the routine to get the crowd moving without the priestess having to prod them. The green line led across the pavement to the gap between two concrete walls. They stood twenty feet high, ten thick, and were nearly a hundred long. The crowd split between the two sides and formed up before video screens showing the test stand.

The video screens were essential. If the family members didn’t have a good view of the sacrifice, some boy was guaranteed to peek around the barrier to watch, and become part of it.

The priestess surveyed the crowd to make sure everyone was within the red stripes marking the safe area, then went to her control station.

The gauges reported the rocket engine was ready to fire. Fuel and LOX tanks were near full, pressure tanks to force the propellants through the engine were ready, the temperature was correct, and the battery had full charge.

“We make this sacrifice!” she said as she flipped up the safety cover and thumbed the big red button.

Kerosene sprayed into the engine’s combustion chamber. A few drops of LOX, all that could squeeze past the jammed valve, dripped in. The igniter sparked. The air in the chamber burnt a few drops of kerosene, but the rest spraying in put the flame out like a farmer putting a cigarette out in a cup of gasoline.

The fuel dripped out the rocket nozzle and puddled on the pavement below the test stand.

The nitrogen pressurizing the LOX valve actuator kept its force increasing, twisting the valve as the rock-hard cryo-ice resisted movement. The sun shining on the engine warmed the pipes. The igniter succeeded in creating another puff of flame, rattling the engine before it was put out again.

The ice cracked. The valve turned. A surge of LOX flowed into the combustion chamber, forced through many fine channels to be in as small drops as the kerosene.

The mixture was perfectly combustible. The next spark from the igniter created a propagating sphere of flame, filling the combustion chamber. That would have created proper thrust if the spark had been there before the detonable mix. But the chamber was already filled with a mist of kerosene and LOX droplets, the chamber and nozzle were coated with kerosene, and more lay in a puddle below.

All the fuel-oxygen mix ignited at once, a shockwave passing through it in a millisecond. The heat and pressure were far beyond what the chamber walls were designed for. The engine disappeared in a ball of flame.

The worshippers watching the video screens gasped or cheered at the explosion, per their personalities. They felt the shattering CRACK as the shock wave passed overhead. The screen went black for a moment, then lit with the view from a back up camera. Larger lumps bounced off the walls, smaller shrapnel buzzed overhead, and a fireball rose above the walls to briefly radiate warmth onto the supplicants. Seconds later several thumbnail-sized shards fluttered down and tinkled on the concrete. Sometimes a modest amount of blood was spilled, but not this day.

There were a few flames. Most of the kerosene was burnt up, both tanks having been emptied into the engine, but some had splashed far enough away to only combust with the air.

“We have made the sacrifice!” shouted the priestess.

“Let them be appeased,” responded the crowd, with more enthusiasm this time. Explosions always got people excited.

The firefighters emerged from behind the third blast barrier and began spraying cold water on the flames. Once those were out, they covered the rest of the wreckage. It needed to be safe enough to approach.

When the hoses were turned off, the priestess gathered the worshippers around her. “Let us go view the sacrifice and see if it has been accepted.”

She led them back along the green line, past the point where the paint had been scorched away. Metal debris lay scattered about. Rocket engine parts were torn into fragments. The angle iron of the test stand was tortured and twisted. The sacrificed electronics board was now charred and bent.

There was no sign of the teddy bear.

The priestess held up a hand as she reached the nearest piece of metal. “Spread out, please.”

They moved so all could get a view. Mothers gripped their children firmly to keep them from grabbing hot objects.

“The sacrifice has been made. We shall view the remnants for signs of how the malign powers have accepted it.”

She held a laser pointer in one hand, tracing shapes amid the rubble. It traced a near-circular shape with a gap in it. “The Broken Zero. This mission shall not be as profitable as hoped.”

An investor muttered, “I was hoping for too much anyway.”

The green dot went back and forth along a straight line and the s-curve it was connected to with a sharp bend. “A Shuttle Wing. There shall be delays.”

Not much reaction to that. A delay was no one’s chief fear.

A pipe was bent in a shallow arc. The laser traced it, then connected the ends to an imaginary triangle. The priestess said with satisfaction, “An Apollo Capsule. All will return safely.”

Sighs of relief. Joyous shouts. Babbling. Embraces.

She put the laser away and turned to face the worshippers. “Thank you all for your participation in this ceremony. Every contribution to the sacrifice matters. Now let us say farewell to our travellers. The bus is coming to take them to the launch site.”

The crowd drifted to the edge of the test stand apron. The bus was already visible coming up the lane. The driver didn’t need to be called. He could hear the explosion from where he was parked.

The priestess took a spot to the side of where the bus would load its passengers. Sometimes someone would seek last minute spiritual guidance. That was part of her duties as much as the sacrifice was.

No one had questions this time. The families waved goodbye as the bus took everyone off to the launch site. Then the priestess quietly shepherded them to the other side of the apron, where another bus would take them to the viewing stand. She took up her spot again, far enough away from the crowd that someone could speak without fear of being overheard.

The little girl who’d offered her teddy bear ran up, trailed by her mother. “Uh, ma’am, may I ask a question?”

“Say ‘Mother Laura,’” hissed the mother.

“Mother Laura, may I ask a question?”

“Of course you may. And you don’t need to ask. What’s your question?”

She was about seven or eight years old. Mature enough to have important questions, but not sophisticated enough to have the proper words for them. The girl waved a hand at the pile of debris. “Does this—uh—work?”

In other words, ‘Will my Daddy really come home alive?’ A fair question.

The priestess dropped to one knee to look the girl in the eyes. “Yes. I’ve been doing this for years, for hundreds of launches, and all were safe. Plus it’s not just the sacrifice. I bless the work as the rocket is prepared for flight. I look in on every inspector and technician to give them their blessings. They’re always working hard and doing the job right.”

The mother cocked an inquiring eyebrow. The priestess answered it with a nod. Yes, if some technician was not working hard or correctly, he wouldn’t be there when she came for the next round of blessings.

“Thank you, Mother Laura,” said the girl.

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Many thanks to Doug Jones for technical consulting and editing.

More stories by Karl K. Gallagher are on Amazon and Audible.