For one thing, you’d think space people would be the most flexible, daring, and future-oriented individuals you’re likely to meet. In fact, that is not usually the case. Most of them are incredibly cautious. Many bad things can go wrong in their world; and when they do, the results can be catastrophic. Even a little glitch can be a big problem when the glitch is 22,500 miles above the surface of the Earth. Each space launch is a unique event (just as it was forty years ago). Every time space folks put a satellite on tons of explosive fuel, their memories retain the scars of huge explosions on the launch pad or shortly after liftoff. We all saw the Challenger tragedy on our television sets.

In other words, space folks are the most conservative group you will find. They make Swiss bankers look like druggy surfers. They agonize over every aspect of their trade. The design and construction of satellites can take many years. There are inevitable delays—often measured in years. Nothing is left to chance.

Once the bird is in orbit and functioning, it is turned over to the satellite flyers, men and women who work in windowless rooms in front of flickering computer screens. They are backed up by the men and women stationed around the globe (usually at lonely, faraway locations such as island atolls and Arctic wastelands) who operate the radio net that communicates with the orbiting vehicles.

In the control rooms, you’ll find computer geeks, people who are among the most highly trained, motivated, educated, disciplined, and competent professionals in our military.

When you enter the room, you notice the hush. The hum of air conditioners is about the only sound present, until you begin to realize there’s also a click, click, click of computer keys. That’s the noise the space pilots make when they fly their vehicles.