by Rick Chesler
James was about to tell him how it had gone well, no problems, thanks, when a voice made to sound as though it had to travel millions of vertical miles suddenly broke through a speaker on Blake’s desk.
“Sir, Martin Hughes to see you.”
“Thank you, dear. Please escort him back.”
James’ interest crept up a notch. Martin Hughes was a star, at least insofar as scientists could be stars. A world-renowned atheist, though he referred to himself as a “secular naturalist,” Hughes was at the very top of his game. He’d written several international bestsellers on topics in the field of astrobiology, but also on philosophy, free thought and the fact that we no longer needed an idea such as god to explain the “miracles” of our natural universe. His was an interesting voice, but James couldn’t help but wonder if Blake had chosen him for the mission precisely because his very presence would be so controversial. The more controversy, the more media time. Blake was no stranger to this concept.
“Martin!” Blake jumped out of his chair and extended his arms for an embrace, one James noticed that Martin returned without reservation. “Wonderful to see you.” Martin was a large man, though not overweight, but he was taller than both Blake and James. His bald head reflected the planetarium light from the ceiling.
James stood in greeting.
“Martin, I’d like you to meet my government watchdog.”
James frowned, but he had to give the man points for his directness. It was basically true.
Hughes stood stock-still, scrutinizing James’ face before saying, “Well-trained watchdog, I hope?”
An awkward silence hung in the room while Blake and Martin waited for James’ reaction. Finally, Hughes laughed. Blake joined him. The sound created a strange, awful echo in the colossal room.
“Kidding, my dear boy,” Hughes said in his thick British accent. “I had to summon something droll for our first meeting lest I come off like some haughty old Englishman.”
You do anyway, James thought but refrained from saying. He was not afraid of offending anyone, but if he was to travel to the moon (and hopefully back) with these people, then he wanted to make damn sure they got along as well as possible. No need to incite anyone over some silly perceived slight.
Martin dismissed any further comment with a wave of his hand and sat in one of the large black leather seats. Blake and James also reassumed their seated positions.
The two men looked at James, both waiting for him to speak. The meeting, he suddenly realized, was primarily for his benefit. Rather, the FAA’s benefit. Strike that – for the benefit of all civilian space travelers.
“So,” James began, “what exactly is your interest in this expedition, Mr. Hughes?” It seemed like a non-threatening enough ice-breaker, a softball for the celebrity atheist. James expected a lengthy diatribe on the importance of space exploration to the progress of humankind, but he didn’t receive it. Instead, all Martin said was, “Life.”
“Life?” James glared at Blake. What the hell was he talking about? They all needed to understand each other perfectly, this was no time to wax poetic, or philosophical. Because surely he didn’t mean—
“The meaning and significance of life,” Blake cut in, giving Martin a hard stare. “Man’s place in the universe—are we alone in the cosmos, and all that. Martin, here, expresses such thoughts much more eloquently than myself, but that’s about the gist of it, right old chap?”
Martin tipped his head slightly to one side and eyed first James, then Blake. “That’s right. And to make myself as open as possible to channeling those eloquent thoughts, I think it’s time I turn in early. Just wanted to stop by and meet the watchdog, as it were.”
Martin stood, shot James a sly smile and then exited the room.
3 | Celestial Body
Moments after Martin Hughes exited stage left, Blake told James there was someone else he wanted him to meet prior to Launch Day. James retook his seat and watched as Blake played with the buttons on his control panel.
“Ready,” he informed his receptionist.
James swiveled his chair toward the door but it didn’t glide open. Instead, a panel in the wall behind him swooshed to one side, revealing a ridiculously large monitor, every bit as mammoth as a movie screen. Blake ran his fingers over a few buttons until an image of a rock face appeared. Then an individual stepped in front of it, and James automatically rose to his feet.
Blake said, “Mr. Burton, I’d like you to meet Asami Imura, PhD, our selenologist.”
She was stunning. Dressed in red athletic gear emphasizing every curve, Asami stood facing the camera, her big bright intelligent brown eyes staring at the camera like pools of scalding hot coffee. Wavy black hair cascaded over her shoulders.
“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Burton. Or might it be Dr. Burton?” She practically sung the words.
“No, just mister.” Burton had a bachelor’s degree in business administration. He wasn’t particularly proud of it, but it had been enough to land him a steady job at the FAA, one he’d kept for his entire career, and that was a rare enough thing these days.
“James is our FAA rep who will be riding along to the moon,” Blake informed her.
Riding along, huh? Although James had told himself that’s exactly what he’d be doing, somehow coming from Blake it had an offensive ring to it, like he was merely dead weight, nothing more than a rubber stamp to be taken into space and back so they could carry on with their business. But he remained silent, admiring the woman’s sleek form on the rock wall.
Blake said, “Catch you in the middle of a climb, did we, Asami?”
“Oh, it’s beautiful today, Blake. You should be here.”
“I’d love to be.” Blake studied the background. “Looks like you’re at West Blue Mountain again.”
“Right, my fave spot,” Asami said.
West Blue was the highest peak in the San Mateo Mountains in the southwestern part of New Mexico. The southern half of the range was extremely difficult to get to, so traffic in the area was always light. Asami appeared to be alone.
“We won’t keep you,” Blake said to the screen. “Just wanted to make introductions.”
Asami clipped a rope to a carabiner and then eyed the camera. “I look forward to the launch, gentlemen.”
“As do we.”
Just like that, Asami blinked off the screen.
Blake turned to James and winked. “Wanted you to get an eyeful before she dons that unflattering spacesuit.”
James forced a conspiratorial grin, wondering how many of the sexual allegations Blake faced throughout his meteoric rise were true. A good number, he was sure. Yet somehow his tawdriness seemed to complement his public image: the poor billionaire playboy lost in a constant search for true love.
The FAA man addressed Blake. “Dr. Imura works for you?”
Garner shook his head. “No, our VP of Marketing – whom you’ll be meeting soon – brought her aboard in order for Dr. Imura to offer her independent critique of our little travel operation. Quotes from an expert for the promotional materials, the website, brochures, television spots. Dr. Imura is formerly with NASA, which of course means she’s studied the moon her entire adult life having never gone into space. So she’s very enthusiastic to work with us.”
James nodded.
Blake barely hid his disgust as he segued into his next topic. He grimaced and cleared his throat as he hunted for something on his desk. “So, James, can I call you Jim? Like a cigar?” Blake slid open a drawer and held out a Cuban. The gesture was a minor one coming from a billionaire, but the implication was both clear and dangerous. Would a government official accept a gift from the owner of a company he was here to regulate?
“No thank you, and James is fine.” Burton was no stranger to these kinds of offerings, the ones that were small enough to pass off as an oversight (“It’s the same polite gesture that I would afford to anyone I’m about to start working with”), if they were called out on it. He always turned
them down, even though he knew that plenty of his colleagues did not. Everybody had a line somewhere, and for many, small tokens of appreciation such as cigars were not on the wrong side of it. But not for James. His whole career he’d played it clean and he wasn’t about to change that now, only weeks from retiring.
Blake frowned and stuck the cigar back in the drawer, sliding it shut with a snap. “Look, Mr. Burton, thus far Outer Limits has always had a good working relationship with the FAA...”
James nodded. This much was true. Blake continued.
“But up to this point we’ve been working with your superior, Guy Patton.” Blake paused to watch James bristle at the word “superior.” The unspoken question was, Why you?
“Patton was chosen early on to join you,” James explained, “but six months ago we were informed he didn’t pass the physical. Vision problems. So now you’re stuck with me.”
After a lengthy pause during which he stared at James, Blake continued. “Anyway, I’ll be blunt. We tried to get Pete Stenson but he’d already been roped aboard Black Sky’s flight. You have a reputation for being a real stickler for details, even for a government bulldog.”
Damn that Stenson. James had little doubt that had he been in his place, Stenson would be smoking that cigar right now, probably toasting Blake with his fine liquor over there in the ivory-accented cabinet. But Stenson wasn’t here. He was already on the moon with Black Sky, doing his own job the way he saw fit to do it. And there was nothing James could do about that. Nothing except do his job the way he saw fit.
He shrugged, his attitude unapologetic. “I do my job to the best of my abilities. I keep people safe. When a citizen steps onto a commercial airliner, they assume it’s safe to do so. They have no way to really verify that for themselves, and they don’t know about the processes that go into making it safe, and they don’t care. The price of a ticket is supposed to have safety built into it. In the same fashion, when they step onto a spacecraft, including one of yours, they’re going to assume it’s as safe as it can possibly be. And the small role I have in that process is one I take very seriously.”
“I assure you that Outer Limits takes it very seriously as well. After all, I myself will be going on not only this trip, but the first tourist lunar landing also.”
“Mr. Garner,” James began as he opened a spiral bound notebook, “this will be our final meeting before the launch. Allow me to confirm: Five passengers, including you, me, Dr. Hughes, Dr. Imura, your VP of Marketing—Suzette Calderon, right?—plus your three professional astronauts for a total onboard count of eight.”
“Correct. Mr. Burton, may I ask you a question?”
“Please do.” James held his pen poised above the notebook. Blake met his gaze.
“Are you frightened?” James rolled his eyes as he let his pen rest.
“Of course, somewhat. Who wouldn’t be?”
“Good. Fear’s important. It’s what keeps us alert to danger. If you don’t feel fear, you’re either a god or a sociopath.”
James stared at him, the image of calmness. “I assume, then, you’re experiencing a great deal of fear as well. Although you have been up there before.”
Blake smiled, rubbed at the heavy scruff on his right cheek. “Me? No, I don’t experience fear. Not like that anyway, not the kind we’re talking about.”
In James’ head, he dismissed this as sheer bravado. Blake was creating an indelible image of himself for the media. Still, he had to wonder just what kind of vision the entrepreneur had for himself, how he wanted to be portrayed.
“What are you then? A sociopath or a god?”
Blake grinned, his eyes genuinely alight for the first time that day. “Well, James, I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait for this mission to play out.”
“What, no hints?”
Blake shrugged. “Let’s just say that I’m not sure the two are mutually exclusive, and leave it at that for the time being.”
4 | Rocket Man
James arrived an hour before he was told he had to be there on the day of the launch. He stood in the parking lot, taking in the scene, quietly meditating. The sky over New Mexico’s Jornada del Muerto basin was so clear he could almost see himself in it. Gazing skyward, the FAA man spotted not a single cloud waiting for its moment to sneak past the sun and drop a bit of rain to delay the launch. He admitted to himself that he could have used an extra day or two. Cold feet in the hot desert, butterflies battling for pole position in the pit of his stomach. More than a few times he thought: I wonder if Pete Stenson felt this way? If he still feels that way, right now up there on the moon? And Blake, the first time he went up?
Martin Hughes was next to arrive, and it both comforted and frightened James to learn that this brilliant man was every bit as terrified as he was. Knowing Martin was perhaps the least superstitious man on the planet, James felt at liberty to speak his fears aloud.
“I don’t know what it is,” he told him, “just this gut feeling that something crucial won’t go as planned. I’ve read too many airliner crash reports, I guess.”
The famous atheist didn’t say anything, merely continued staring into the blue over the Spaceport.
Awkwardly, James said, “I take it your gut didn’t relay the same message to you?”
“Oh, I don’t listen to my gut, Mr. Burton. It does nothing but growl. And I sure as hell don’t let my gut think for me, I’ll tell you that.”
While they waited, James surveyed the grounds upon which the spaceport was built, nearly thirty square miles which were considered part of the southwest state’s Land of Enchantment. Blake Garner, as well as a consortium of other space business interests, had reached an agreement with New Mexico’s governor some seventeen years ago, a deal which ultimately provided more than three hundred million dollars of taxpayer money for use in constructing the spaceport.
James and Martin watched the road for the arrival of Blake Garner, but they heard his approach before they saw it. The sound fractured the silence of the pale blue sky with such violence that it startled James.
Martin grinned at him. “You think that’s loud, wait until you hear the launch.”
Blake’s helicopter descended as rapidly as it had appeared. By the time it touched ground, the force of the rotor wash was so strong he feared it would knock him down.
When the ‘copter door opened, he expected to see Blake first, as he’d seen him so many times on television, blowing out of the machine and waving, much like the President of the United States when Marine One set down in the Rose Garden.
But today it was a female who first stepped onto the helipad. A beautiful female with features he immediately recognized. As she came toward them, Dr. Asami Imura smiled at the two men standing there.
Next off the ‘copter was Blake Garner, his ubiquitous smile replaced by a severe scowl James would witness often in the days to come. Blake skipped the pleasantries; in fact, skipped James and Martin altogether, walking briskly straight for the Spaceport instead.
A casual shrug of the shoulders from Hughes convinced James to follow. Minutes later, they walked silently through a cavernous hangar, then stepped out onto a platform with a full view of the launch pad.
It was the first time James had seen the craft firsthand, and despite the critical detachment from the operation he did his best to maintain, he had trouble suppressing his emotion. He was truly standing at the dawn of a new era for mankind.
The custom Boeing looked as futuristic today as it did a decade ago when Blake’s fledgling company first introduced 3D renderings to the public. Standing vertically, its nose aimed straight at the sky, the spacecraft appeared more like a missile than a shuttle.
On its hull, the words Outer Limits screamed to be read and respected. Only then did it finally hit James that no matter what happened today or in the days to follow, he was about to make history. Unless, that is, the Black Sky mission succeeded first. Then he supposed he’d be relegated to a footnote of history, a passenger on the
Number Two outfit to take people who were not professional astronauts to the moon.
But the notion awakened something inside Burton he barely dared to acknowledge. Was he secretly rooting for Outer Limits to beat Black Sky because he, James Burton, lowly FAA administrator, would make more of a name for himself? Forget cigars and quality liquor, even high-priced call girls—all of which had been thrown his way at one time or another in the line of duty. Immortality...going down in history. He had to admit, it was downright intoxicating to think that he could be remembered—really remembered—outside of some dusty protocol files buried deep within the FAA’s offices.
Then Blake Garner was waving an arm for everyone to follow him inside, and James strode into the building on his way to the moon.
Another day at the office, right?
5 | Countdown
“T-minus thirty minutes and counting…” A synthesized female voice with a soothing tonal quality echoed around the spaceport and through the network of communications channels radiating from the Flight Control building like so many nerves from a brain.
Inside the spaceship, Command Module Pilot Caitlin Swain adjusted her headset as she heard the voice and glanced at a small video monitor set into a control panel above her head. A small woman with a head of thick, black curly hair, she cracked a crooked smile before turning to her two fellow crew members seated in the cramped Control Deck of the capsule they occupied atop the massive rocket.
