What It Was Like to Capture the Hubble Space Telescope

Astronaut Megan McArthur in the suit-up facility about four hours from launch, 11 May 2009. Image by Michael Soluri, Infinite Worlds It’s a beautiful October morning in Houston, but I am grumpy and bleary-eyed as I make my way into Mission Control. I’ve just come off a string of Orbit 1 shifts (midnight to 0800) working as CAPCOM in the International Space Station Mission Control Center. (CAPCOM is the call sign for the astronaut on the ground who speaks to the crews that are in space.) Now I’ve slam-shifted back to daylight hours to work as CAPCOM during a simulation of the rendezvous planned for an upcoming shuttle mission. I see my friend Ray J in the parking lot, and he waves me over. Ray J is a pilot in the astronaut class ahead of mine. We’ve flown dozens of training flights together in the T-38, and he is a good friend and mentor. And he is always smiling, even at 0645. We chat for a minute, which mainly involves me complaining about my schedule, and then he asks, “So, have you talked to Scooter lately?” I raise my eyebrows at him. Scooter is way senior to me, a flown guy, a space shuttle commander. Of course I haven’t talked to Scooter. Scooter sometimes stops by the office I share with Mike Massimino because they flew on the last Hubble mission together, but it’s not like he’s coming there to shoot the breeze with me. So I say, “No. Why do you ask?” “Oh,” says Ray J nonchalantly, “I was just wondering how he’s doing.” That was weird, I think as I head into Mission Control. But then I forget all about it and spend the next ten hours working the simulation. That evening, as I’m propped up on the couch at home trying to stay awake until a reasonable bedtime, my phone rings. It’s Steve Lindsey, the chief of the Astronaut Office. This is definitely weird. Why is he calling me at home? This can’t be good. He says to me, “I’ve been trying to reach you, but you haven’t been at your desk for the last four days.” Feeling a little indignant, I mention that I’ve been living inside Mission Control all week. “Well,” he says, “how would you like to be the flight engineer and robotic arm operator for the final Hubble mission?” And then I just start laughing. Chalk it up to sleep deprivation, or maybe sheer giddiness at finally getting a flight assignment after six years in the Astronaut Office, but I couldn’t help it. Steve says, “I guess that’s a yes!” and proceeds to tell me who else is on the crew. Scooter is the commander, of course; Ray J is the pilot; Mike Massimino and John Grunsfeld are the two veteran spacewalkers; and two of my classmates, Drew Feustel and Mike Good, round out the spacewalking team. And then there is me, the last to know. But that’s okay—I’m not complaining! The next week NASA makes the big announcement. Our crew (now I’m on a crew!) gathers around the television in Scooter’s office to watch. Previously, the final servicing mission to the HST had been canceled, but now Mike Griffin, our NASA administrator at the time, details his reasons for adding the mission back to the flight manifest, and then proceeds to introduce the crew. He reads a brief but glowing bio for each crew member, but by the end he has run out of steam. “Megan McArthur will be the robotic arm operator and will, um, perform other tasks as needed.” Oh boy. Just call me “other tasks as needed.” But I’m still not complaining. Formerly an oceanographer, I am now the flight engineer and robotic arm operator on the final servicing mission to the Hubble Space Telescope—a telescope that has forever altered mankind’s view of the universe and our place within it. I am thrilled.