Guten Tag, Houston Control!

By Natalie Angier

The scene could have been the Johnson Space Center in Houston. Computer control panels were labeled with such typical NASA acronyms as PAP (payload activity planner) and CIC (communication interface coordinator). On an enormous video screen, a curved line snaked across a map of the world, tracking the voyage of Flight 61-A through space. But wait a minute. Emblazoned on another screen against a black, red and gold background was a message that seemed strangely out of place: ERSTE DEUTSCHE SPACELAB MISSION. Translation: first German Spacelab mission.

The craft flying 200 miles above earth may have been the all-American orbiter Challenger, but for the first time ever, Houston had help. As NASA engineers took care of the nuts and bolts of the flight from Texas, a team of 160 flight specialists in the sleepy town of Oberpfaffenhofen, 15 miles southwest of Munich, oversaw the German D-1 Spacelab, stuffed into Challenger's cargo bay and carrying an elaborate array of 76 scientific experiments. Said a proud Hubertus Wanke, head of mission operations at Oberpfaffenhofen: "It's all similar to Houston, but in upper Bavaria."

Indeed, last week's highly successful mission was a milestone in space cooperation between NASA and the European Space Agency. Although ESA's expendable Ariane rockets compete directly with NASA for commercial cargo, the Europeans recognize the unique capability of the shuttle and are eager to get in on the act. For its part, NASA had good reason to relinquish some control of the mission: ESA had built the $1 billion laboratory, and the Germans had also paid $64 million for the privilege of taking charge. The transatlantic comradeship extended further. Included in the crew of eight were two West Germans, and a Dutchman with the euphonious name of Wubbo Ockels.

An unflaggingly genial spirit buoyed the astronauts through a crammed schedule of round-the-clock science. To study the physiology of space sickness, four of the crew took turns being strapped into a so-called vestibular sled, which snapped them back and forth with the force of just over one G, about a third of what they had experienced during blast-off. While strapped down, they wore special helmets that blacked out their vision and flashed patterns of spots before their eyes in an effort to investigate how the body orients itself when signals to the eyes and inner ear are scrambled.

Other experiments were designed to test the benefits of weightlessness on industrial processes. An isothermal heating oven melted samples of metals such as nickel and molybdenum to a temperature of 1,600DEGC to test a technique for creating stronger alloys, while a mirror-heater was employed to grow ultrapure crystals, which could someday benefit the microchip industry.

Biology had its share of the agenda. Corn and garden cress seeds were tucked into soil to test the influence of microgravity on plant growth. Frog eggs were fertilized to determine if low gravity alters the development of organs responsible for balance. At one point a fruit fly escaped from its container and was quickly dubbed Willy. Later the astronauts found the ill-fated drosophila dead in a filter. Tongue in cheek, officials at Oberpfaffenhofen handed out an obituary for "our bold little astronaut."

After the flawless touchdown at Edwards Air Force Base, Norbert Kiehne of the German Aerospace Research Agency enthused, "We did more than 100%." "This bodes well for future cooperation with our friends from West Germany," declared NASA Head James Beggs. The next scheduled West German shuttle charter: 1988. --By Natalie Angier. Reported by Jerry Hannifin/Cape Canaveral and John Kohan/Bonn

With reporting by Reported by Jerry Hannifin/Cape Canaveral, John Kohan/Bonn