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In three days we would visit another world. The weight of that thought coincided with the enveloping rumble, more felt than heard, and the igni- tion of the rocket fuel as the stack slowly lifted from the pad. The sense that we were moving skyward pushed at us as the g-force accumulated, confirmed by the instrument panel.
Once the escape tower blew away, uncovering the windows, the east- ern seaboard, the Caribbean, and the gentle bulge of the Carolinas were revealed. The horizon gradually drooped at the ends as the actual curve of the Earth became perceptible. After the first stage of the launch vehicle burned out, was jettisoned, and tumbled earthward, the dark line of the terminator, the division between day and night, rushed over to obscure the view and plunged us into darkness—a swift dusk brought about by our rapid movement toward the east. We were being hurled into space as though by a gigantic catapult until we had accelerated to the relative safety of a 100-mile orbit. All the white there were thousands of instruments and technical details to be attended to. Only when we were well established in orbit with system checks complete was there a moment to relax, to allow the pulse and blood pressure to soar, then settle back to normal. Then we could remove the helmet and gloves of the pressure suit.
Within only a few minutes, we had arrived. We were in outer space, that vast domain where I had once been taught the kingdom of heaven lay. Though space is only a vacuum, it is just as beautiful and strange as any- thing possibly conjured by a child’s potent imagination. There is a sense of unreality here, with the absence of gravity and the tapestry of blackness broken only by an overwhelming glitter of stars that surrounded our craft. It occurred to me that the sky is not simply above the Earth—it is below and all around us, invisibly shrouding the home planet 24 hours a day out to the edges of the universe. At first Earth dominated our field of view, but
slowly, gradually, as we sped toward that pristine bone-white world ahead that was yet but a little sphere, I saw how the planet is only one of count- less celestial bodies. Yet the intricate beauty of Earth overwhelmed the senses. It drew the eye, commanded unanimous attention during stolen glimpses out the window. Until something went wrong.
Not three hours into the mission, just minutes after a flawless translunar injection burn that boosted us to escape velocity of 36,600 feet per second, we abruptly learned that our chances for a lunar landing were in jeopardy. Stu tried but could not dock the command module, Kittyhawk, with the lunar module, Antares, which still resided in the third stage of the Saturn launch vehicle. For some reason the docking mechanism was not function- ing correctly. If this relatively routine maneuver couldn’t be accomplished, then Apollo 14 would be relegated to orbiting the moon, taking pictures, and heading home empty-handed after all the elaborate preparation for surface exploration. In the flight simulator, Stu had set himself the goal of docking with the smallest possible expenditure of fuel, but now that he was doing it for real, something wasn’t allowing the LM to latch onto the nose of the command module.
On the first attempt, Stu hit Antares dead on, but the capture latches simply wouldn’t set; on the second, he hit it dead on again, but the same thing happened. With each attempt we spent precious fuel needed for other planned operations on the trip. Stu backed us away a few feet and held position on the stack containing Antares while we discussed with Mission Control in Houston possible alternative procedures.
The problem, we figured, was with a piece of debris or frozen conden- sation in the mechanism deposited by the thunderstorm. It physically hurt to think that something as simple as this could cause us to abort a lunar landing. A dream blindsided by a detail. If we couldn’t make the docking mechanism function automatically, then we needed to come up with plans to do it manually, perhaps even by suiting up and physically pulling the two ships together by hand as a last resort. Houston, however, wasn’t hot for this idea. Even if it did work this time, what would we do the next time after making our foray to the surface and rejoining Stu in lunar orbit? Houston wasn’t prepared to take the gamble of impromptu extravehicular activity in lunar orbit, though for the three of us, the risk wasn’t an issue at this point.
About an hour after the first attempt, during which much contempla- tion and debate took place, Gene Cernan in Houston relayed to us an- other idea. Stu could try to dock again, but this time Al would flip a switch to retract the docking probe out of the way, allowing the final latches to engage. So Stu tried once more. Again, perfect alignment. Al hit the switch, and this time, after a halting silence, we heard the wonderful rippling