Mission One Page 3

  Half of the project’s investment hadn’t come from pure capital, though, as Kate knew. Most of it was in the form of technology that Frank and his team of designers had crammed into every nook of Explorer I. The technology was in the walls of the ship. It was in the engine, in the command consoles, and in the sensors. Diamond Aerospace could only build so much of its own equipment before needing to reach out to experts that had been manufacturing specific parts for decades. The prospect of including a few of their products on the first manned mission to Titan was usually more than enough to persuade companies, and the powerful CEOs behind them, to help sponsor the voyage.

  Though they sent their money men to hound Frank about the mission’s progress, the heaviest investors didn’t care about short term losses. Most of them had partnered with Diamond Aerospace and offered Noah healthy percentages of any future profits derived from the exploitation of information gathered by their technology during the mission. They wanted to be among the first to stake their claim on Titan in any one of a variety of fields – a prospect that was worth far more to them than mere capital.

  Frank told a well-worn joke, and the money men laughed. Kate finally grew tired of waiting.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” she said.

  They turned to look at her.

  “Ah, at last!” said one of the men in a thick southern accent. “I could sure use a strong cup of coffee, sweet thing.”

  Kate’s smile wavered only slightly and Frank cleared his throat.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, “Ms. Bishop here is our Ground and Flight Teams Manager.”

  “Speaking of which,” she said, pulling her glare off the man who asked for coffee, “I thought we could get started with the scaffold integrity tests.”

  “Of course, of course,” Frank said, nodding. “Gentlemen, you’ll have to excuse me. Duty calls. If you speak with my assistant, Charlene, she can recommend an excellent restaurant for breakfast. There’s still plenty of time before the show this evening.”

  They all shook hands, but not with Kate, and left the conference room.

  Frank looked at his watch. “You’re late,” he said.

  “Why do you tolerate those assholes?” she asked.

  “Because those assholes are going to keep Diamond Aerospace in the black for decades.”

  “Oh, come on, Frank. You know Bell could fund a dozen more missions like this one before his wallet felt any lighter.”

  “The first rule of any venture is to never use your own money. It’s good business.”

  “Not when those guys are the alternative.”

  “They’re not just empty suits. You should give them a chance.”

  “How can I? They’ve been here five times in sixteen months and they’ve never even introduced themselves.”

  “I imagine we’re not the only project in which their companies are involved.”

  She shook her head as she looked out at the main operations floor. Rick sat at his workstation, watching the display wall and occasionally typing on his keyboard. Most of the other workstations were empty. The room was subdued, almost peaceful – but it was still early.

  “Kate, what’s wrong?” asked Frank.

  She sighed. “I’m just wondering if we got everything right.”

  “You’ll do fine. Your team is ready and you know your job. Don’t worry. Now, let’s go start those tests, shall we?"

  One could only sit in the cramped cockpit of a rocket ship so long before getting twitchy. After hours of systems tests, that moment had come. Jeff adjusted his Snoopy cap, trying to scratch the back of his scalp.

  “Damn thing’s already starting to itch,” he said. He stuck his pencil underneath the cap and scratched hard.

  “Well,” said Ming from the co-pilot’s chair, “you only have to wear it for twelve months.”

  “I think I’ll just leave it off and shout all the time instead.”

  “Dolan, how’s that checklist coming?” asked Riley.

  “Nearly finished,” Jeff said.

  Riley held up his clipboard so Jeff could see all the checkmarks. “Aren’t you glad you didn’t bet on it?”

  Jeff smiled. Riley always beat him during pre-flight checks in the last few weeks of training. The guy was a machine.

  “Always,” he said. “Besides, Gabriel usually finishes first, anyway.”

  Ming said, “It helps when you only have fifteen items on your checklist.”

  “And when all the items relate to the happiness quotient of the plants you’re putting into the crew module,” Jeff added.

  “So we’re making fun of the plant guy, now?” said Gabriel, feigning offense. “We’ll see how hard you’re laughing when I eat all the food and you need to find another agronomist to grow a nutritious dinner.”

  “You eat all my food,” Riley said, “and I will flush you into space.”

  “Yeah,” said Jeff. “Nobody touches my packets of beef whatever-it-is. It’s my favorite.”

  Riley attached his clipboard to the magnetic strip on the side of his chair.

  “Three hours and counting,” he said. “Private missions. Time to confess.”

  During their intensive training, the crew had agreed to allow each of the others one personal project they could carry out on the mission, as long as it didn’t interfere in any way with their primary goal or smell like dirty feet. They all pretended it was a big secret from the show-runners in Mission Control, but they weren’t so irresponsible that they didn’t get their projects approved before bringing it on board.

  “I’m growing lima beans,” Gabriel said.

  “Sticking with the plants?” Ming teased. She ticked off the last checkbox on her clipboard and stowed it next to her seat. “I thought we could already grow lima beans in space.”

  “They would make a nice addition to the greenhouse. The seeds were sent to me by a primary school teacher in Peru. She thinks she can get her students interested in agriculture if I send back pictures and video.”

  “She, huh?” Ming teased.

  Gabriel blushed. “What’s yours, then?”

  “I’m growing lima beans, too.” She looked back and winked.

  Jeff laughed. He flipped a switch, cycling the hatch that jettisoned liquid waste into space. There was a deep solenoid clunk from somewhere in the ship behind him, and a light next to the switch flashed green.

  “Good news,” he said. “We can still crap in space.”

  “Hallelujah,” Riley joked.

  “But seriously, Gabriel,” Ming said. “I brought a sealed petri dish of blooming Caulerpa lentillifera.”

  “You’re bringing seaweed?” Jeff asked.

  “I want to see how well it does up there. As far as algae goes, I believe it’s an underrated contender for growth on Titan. It could facilitate oxygen production inside a small surface habitat.”

  “Yeah, but it’s seaweed.”

  She shrugged. “So we can call it space weed.”

  “Now, now,” said Riley. “We don’t want to give anyone the wrong impression about what we do up there. For example, I’m testing a new tanning cream for my daughter’s best friend. It’s completely innocent, and safe for media consumption.”

  “I thought you looked more orange than usual,” said Ming.

  “Ha, ha. The girl wants to open her own shop on Titan. She’s another Noah Bell in the making.”

  “Did you tell her no one is permanently settling on Titan?” said Gabriel. “We’re only going to have a research station orbiting an uninhabitable death trap.”

  “I didn’t want to crush her spirits. Glad I kept her away from you, Silva. Dolan, what’s your project?”

  Jeff ticked another three items off his list. “Has anyone picked lima beans yet?”

  “Still not funny,” Gabriel said.

  Jeff had wanted his project to be a surprise during the journey. He had heard stories about other astronauts who got so tired of eating the same thing all the time that they half-joked it would be pr
eferable to burn off their taste buds.

  “Pizza,” he said.

  Ming laughed. “Yeah, right.”

  “Not really pushing your mental limits with that one,” Gabriel said.

  “I brought all the ingredients, freeze-dried. You know how hard it is to freeze-dry a freshly-baked pizza crust?”

  “How are you going to cook it, Einstein?” Ming asked.

  “I was just going to take it outside and wave it under the antimatter engine wash.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  He smiled. “The method is part of the surprise.”

  “I think I’m planning to be full that night,” said Gabriel.

  There was a knock from outside the open hatch. Danny poked his head inside. He cradled two full-cover helmets under his arms.

  “Hi, guys,” he said. “Control wanted me to run these up to you.”

  “Was wondering where those were,” Riley said. “I felt naked walking up here without it.”

  Each helmet was labeled with the last name of the intended wearer above the face screen. He handed them to Jeff, who passed one to Gabriel. Danny accepted two more helmets from another ground tech on the scaffolding behind him and passed them inside to Riley and Ming.

  “Thanks, Danny,” Jeff said.

  “Sure thing. Director Johnson wanted me to remind you they plan on sealing you in before the final round of tests a little early.”

  “We wouldn’t forget something like that,” Riley said with a dry smile.

  Danny left with the other tech. Jeff turned the full-pressure polycarbonate helmet over in his hands, double-checking the integrity of the locking ring at the neck and of the seal around the clear pressure faceplate. The retractable, gold-tinted sunshade visor was already in place over the pressure faceplate, though the crew wouldn’t need it for liftoff at eight in the evening. The last thing Jeff checked was the anti-suffocation valve at the back of the helmet, which allowed the passing of carbon dioxide.

  He caught himself smiling again as held the helmet in his lap.

  A pair of ground techs in white jumpsuits and hardhats appeared at the open hatch.

  “Gotta seal you in now, folks. It’s time.”

  “Roger that,” said Riley.

  “Last breath of fresh air for a whole year!” Gabriel said, and breathed in deeply. His cheeks puffed out as he held the breath in, nodding encouragingly at the others.

  The ground techs pulled the hatch closed, shutting out the late afternoon sunlight. Small, recessed lamps faintly lit the inside of the command module. Riley flipped a series of switches above his head and more lights came on.

  Gabriel released his precious air in a rush, and sighed. “Why do you think they’re sealing us in so early?” he asked.

  There was a loud series of clunks from outside the module as the ground crew worked to seal the hatch, then a faint mechanical whine as the scaffolding ramp retracted.

  “That’s just Frank being jumpy,” said Riley. “He tends to get a little paranoid the closer we get to launch.”

  “Doesn’t bother me,” Ming said. “I prefer hyper-vigilance to him being asleep at the keyboard.”

  “Get that engine data up now!” Frank roared from the viewing platform behind the rows of workstations.

  His eyes darted across the wide monitor screen, searching.

  Kate’s desk was in the second row of workstations, bordering the carpeted walkway that split the two halves of the room. Rick Teller sat at his desk next to her, sweating.

  He fumbled for a dial, then pushed a button.

  “It’s up!” he said quickly.

  A panel on the display wall flashed to black, then populated with lines of text and a small graph.

  “Uh huh,” Frank mumbled as he read the data. “Very good!” He clapped his hands, smiling. “We’re right on track, people.”

  Rick let out a heavy sigh of relief and rubbed his eyes.

  “Don’t let him get to you,” Kate said. She pulled down her wireless headset microphone and took a sip of coffee. “It’s going to be crazy for another hour or so, then things will calm down.”

  He wiped sweat from his forehead and nodded.

  “I thought I’d be better under pressure,” he said.

  “Frank has a way of helping you figure that out pretty quick.”

  “My other launches weren’t so intense.”

  “Welcome to the private sector.”

  He eased back in his chair and it protested with a loud squeak. “I thought I fixed this stupid thing,” he grumbled, sitting upright. He pulled out a roll of black electrical tape from a drawer in his workstation.

  “I didn’t get a chance to ask how your meeting went earlier,” he said as he worked behind the chair, grunting as he ripped off pieces of tape and rolled them around a loose spring.

  “You mean in the conference room when I first got to work?” Kate asked.

  “Yeah.” He sighed satisfactorily and dropped the tape back into his drawer, then plopped down into his chair. He waggled his eyebrows at Kate as he leaned back silently.

  “You’re just a regular Mr. Fix-it,” Kate said, rolling her eyes. “The meeting went horribly. We’re under the thumb of evil, vacuous terrible men. But again, that’s the private sector.”

  Her gaze drifted to the wallet-sized picture of herself taped to the edge of her transparent workstation monitor. She sat at a much smaller desk in a smaller room filled with tables of electronics. Her first job at NASA had been assembling components for the now-defunct Ulysses modules.

  It was a personal reminder to keep her momentum. As long as she continued moving up, she couldn’t fall back.

  “You could have stayed at NASA,” Rick offered.

  She grinned. “And miss all the fun? That was six years of sitting backseat to other peoples’ bad ideas. At least here I have some input. Oh!” Kate said, snapping her fingers. “That reminds me.” She typed on her keyboard and studied a graph on her workstation screen. “Huh. That’s odd.”

  She stood up and looked around the room. All three rows of workstations were now fully occupied by engineers from the departments required to send a crew into space. Her eyes scanned over the hunched backs of her hardworking team until she saw the particular bald pate she was after.

  “Phil!” she barked.

  The wiry Flight Operations tech jumped in his seat and looked around wildly, finally seeing Kate standing with her hands on her hips.

  “Yeah?” he said hesitantly. He wiped sweaty palms on his faded blue collared shirt and adjusted his glasses. Stalwart clumps of black hair clung to the sides of his otherwise bald head.

  “I’m three kilos heavy in the command module.” She tapped her screen with a pen, but kept her eyes locked on Phil. “The crew didn’t eat that much for breakfast.”

  “Uh…” he said. He wheeled his chair closer to his own monitor and typed rapidly at his keyboard. Then he looked up and blinked. “Looks like it’s heavy, yes.”

  “That was me,” Frank said, walking over to stand next to Kate. “I needed to add a piece of heavy equipment from our Chinese friends at the last minute, and that required a bit of clever rearranging.”

  Kate stared at him in disbelief. “What equipment? We’re not supposed to make those kinds of adjustments this close to launch.”

  “It had to be done per our arrangement with the Chinese, Kate,” he said calmly. “I ran the numbers. Three kilos is well within our limits of tolerance. Besides, the crew will burn through that in food stuffs in a couple days. Phil!” he said loudly. “Back me up. Can we still get off the ground with an extra three kilos?”

  “Oh, yeah. The Hydra cores shouldn’t even feel it.”

  Kate could feel her jaw tensing up. “Fuel consumption,” she said. “Exit trajectory. Ignition pressure after they link with the crew module and the antimatter propulsion system. Did you run the numbers for all of those? Personally, I’d rather not deal in ‘should’ and ‘maybe’.”

  “And
rightly so,” Frank said. “But we ran the tests this morning. The paperwork is on your desk. It’s been there since before your late arrival. Trust me and over two decades of experience, Ms. Bishop. We’ll be fine.”

  He walked away before she could respond. She dropped down into her seat, fuming.

  Rick held out a tin of candy. “Jelly bean?”

  “It infuriates me!” she said. “The way he was just so…so nonchalant about the whole thing!”

  “Here, this one’s rum punch,” he said, offering her a red jelly bean.

  She took it and popped it into her mouth, shaking her head as she chewed.

  “Isn’t that better?” Rick asked.

  She burst out laughing despite herself, then sighed. A new clipboard holding a thick stack of papers was indeed on her desk, nearly hidden among the collected paraphernalia of her pre-launch preparations.

  “You know, Rick,” she said, “sometimes I think the place would fall apart if it weren’t for the two of us.”

  “I’m sure of it,” he agreed. “We’re the only two sane ones here.”

  Kate looked up at the big red clock over the display wall. Thirty minutes to launch.

  “Speaking of which, where’s Noah?” she asked.

  Rick looked around the room. “He isn’t here yet?”

  “I don’t see him. You’d think the guy who dreamed up this wacky scenario would be here for the launch.”

  “Probably just now waking up,” Rick said. “If I had that kind of money, I’d never get out of bed before noon ever again.”

  “He didn’t get where he is today by sleeping in.”

  “Then who knows? Maybe in his office, or maybe he has a special room off-site where he’s calling the shots. Or maybe he’s stowed away in the rocket. The guy does enjoy pulling the occasional prank.”

  “I don’t think anyone would laugh at that one,” Kate said. She wheeled her chair up to her workstation and adjusted her headset microphone. “Alright, time to get serious. Ground Team, I want to hear from you first. How’s it looking out there?”