Regolith

by Brent Reilly

  This day could not possibly get weirder.

  20

  “When you first ran for governor, my father, as head of Spacewatch, the Arizona Space Commission, and the Jackson Space Foundation, rallied thousands of space enthusiasts for you. Do you remember what he told them?”

  From Cooper’s blank look, he didn’t, but he appreciated Jackson reminding him that his now-infamous father helped him win the governorship. Kudos.

  No Democrat won statewide office in Texas since 1994. The Republican takeover of statewide offices in Texas was truly remarkable because as recently as 1982, Democrats held every statewide office. Within a dozen years Republicans reversed this.

  “I remember he was writing a book,” Cooper answered.

  This was one of the things that pissed Jackson off about Cooper. His father rallied pro-space voters for Cooper, who didn’t even read his bestseller.

  “Oh yeah!” Cooper suddenly seemed to remember after all. “Didn’t he say something about re-orbiting Mercury between Venus and Earth?”

  Jackson put his best poker face on. He couldn’t believe so many people got so hung up on the same detail.

  “My father’s basic idea was to move and bulk up as many worlds as possible into the Sun’s habitable zone, between Venus and the Main Asteroid Belt just past Mars. With billions of asteroids between Mars and Jupiter, we could bulk up dozens of moons to maximize their real estate and increase their weak gravity. The solar system’s carrying capacity – meaning how many humans it could support – would grow from ten billion to over one hundred billion. Ninety billion people would then owe their lives to my father. Or, at least, his idea.”

  “So the ships have nothing to do with the Chinese?”

  “They have nothing at all to do with the Chinese,” Jackson assured him. Which, oddly enough, was true.

  “Do they have anything to do with Horace Butler?”

  Ah, hell. Jackson shifted in his cheap plastic chair.

  “No. They have nothing to do with that old fart.”

  Cooper leaned over Jackson’s card table like a psychologist reassuring a patient, nodding his head and folding his hands.

  “Butler tells me you’re after his company.”

  Yep, they were talking again. Ever since Cooper hired that D.C. consultant as his campaign manager, everything related to Cooper fell to shit. The guy was a shit storm who rained crap.

  “What has Butler promised you?” he asked.

  “He wants me to publicly promise to pay the OmniNet systems used by the Special Forces Command in Tampa,” Cooper admitted. “He says Defense owes him a few billion, plus interest and penalties. And he says Palin won’t pay him cuz she hates your fucking guts.”

  Jackson audibly sighed.

  “You’d actually fuck me over for a broke coot?”

  It was so much easier in the old days, when a politician, once bought, stayed bought. Jackson promised to raise big bucks and get him tons of headlines in exchange for several very specific things if Cooper won the presidency. And Jackson already delivered on his promise. Starting a presidential campaign is very expensive, even before one gets to advertising. Payroll, transportation, websites, logistics, opening and staffing hundreds of offices – and that is before one gets to the primaries.

  Jackson stunned the party when he actively campaigned for Cooper over Obama and Hillary. He could not undo that political risk. The piss had left the penis. He had no choice but to make sure Cooper won. And then somehow force Cooper to keep his fucking promises.

  Jackson spent millions building up the party’s contact database. Voter databases had become so huge they resembled that old joke about the pre-Yahoo Internet – everything you could possibly want to know is there, but you just can’t find it. As his district field offices expanded, more candidates turned to them for help. In return, their campaigns uploaded their new voter contact information into DemZilla. The net result was thousands of rivers of information flowing into the DemZilla ocean.

  Which infuriated Jackson when D.C. Democrats whined about all of the money he was investing in the field offices. He didn’t understand how they couldn’t see something so basic: more field offices led to a bigger and better voter database, which improve GOTV, which won elections. Which was why a Party existed.

  Jackson took Howard Dean’s 50 State Strategy and expanded it into a 435 district presence, each with the responsibility of winning every election within their district. This wasn’t cheap, and Jackson quickly had to justify the cost to the DNC committee membership.

  Traditional dinner-and-speech fundraisers generally cost 25% of every dollar raised. Direct mail and phone solicitation usually costs around 13%. Online donations cost as little as 3% using banner ads.

  In contrast, money raised via email is virtually free. So while the cost of getting more and better information cost several million a year, turning that information into contributions cost almost nothing, if done online. Jackson studied the psychology of political contributions and knew how to include several triggers in as few words as possible.

  He always asked for a specific amount to go to a specific cause or candidate, and then targeted those most susceptible to that message. He learned to summarize the purpose in the first short paragraph, then ask for a specific amount to fulfill a specific goal in the first sentence of the second paragraph so viewers didn’t have to scroll down (stayed “above the fold“ in newspaper jargon).

  Instead of holding several dinners to net $1 million, he would simply mass-email a specific part of the DemZilla database and raise several times that much. At no cost and in no time. The donations came in online as well, so he didn’t even need clerks to process checks. The website processed everything automatically, and organized it for filing FEC reports. He figured he saved thousands of hours in payroll on the processing side, alone worth a few million. His field offices paid for themselves because the better the database, the more money he raised. DemZilla meant more than just money – it meant money on demand.

  Whenever a Republican or Teabagger said something offensive, the DNC would sending a fundraising email to those Democrats most likely to be outraged. Since wing nuts frequently said offensive things, Jackson referred to their fundraising as an “outrage-a-thon.” But the bigger the database, the more Democrats he could reach and hence the more money he could raise.

  With Jackson’s blessing, progressive bloggers set up a system where anyone could throw up an Internet ad on YouTube, and donors would support those they liked. Various groups like bloggers and College Democrats competed with each other for the best ads. Thousands of amateurs fought to get into the Top 10. The best weekly ad, by definition the one that earned the most donations, Jackson emailed to specific demographics in his database and sometimes turned into TV ads.

  Some Weekly Winners naturally went too far, like one that ran several clips of Teabaggers to make the convincing case that the GOP was the party of angry white assholes.

  Jackson didn’t have to make the ads, spend money to run the ads, or even choose the weekly winner. The base did all that, which also kept them engaged and energized. The most passionate partisans felt they were helping the cause. Then an independent non-profit organization placed them on the Internet. Every progressive blog, College Democrat office, and many allied groups featured the weekly winner, which guaranteed that millions saw it. The best ads became popular Tweets, or even developed a cult status. Ken Olberman on MSNBC always featured the Weekly Winner, and routinely interviewed the authors of the best ads.

  Free bottoms-up advertising. Thanks to the web.

  Jackson’s first ad was also his most infamous:

  “Why do Democrats have several times more women and minorities in Congress and at presidential conventions than Republicans? Because Republicans apparently don’t like women and minorities. Why were just 1% of their presidential convention delegates black? Because Republicans don’t like black people. Do you know why Republicans don’t have a single black, Asi
an, Muslim, gay, immigrant, or non-Cuban Hispanic in Congress? Because Republicans don’t like them, much less the disabled, the ill, and the poor. If you are not a white male conservative fundamentalist Christian, then you are a threat to everything Republicans defend. To get a Congress that resembles America, vote Democrat and only Democrat. Because the life, health, and job you save may be your own.”

  That confrontational ad set the tone under Jackson, who used controversy to generate free publicity. The bottom of every ad urged viewers to support the ad, which also exposed people to their entire YouTube channel. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to make an ad that other people would pay to play. The sheer volume of ads posted to their YouTube channel made standing out that much more difficult, which led to higher quality and more creative ads. Which inspired more donations.

  So his field offices expanded the voter ID database, while they base did online ads that Jackson emailed to that ever-growing database, which resulted in millions for Democrats, while attacking Republicans for free. And no one benefited more than Cooper, now riding his wave all the way to the White House.

  “You’re meeting with Butler, aren’t you?”

  Cooper gave him a big, easy smile. “Tonight, actually.”

  Aww fuck. Honesty from a politician made Jackson feel like raising shields, firing photon torpedoes, and hitting warp drive.

  21

  “Wanna know what Butler’s gonna tell you?”

  The day was full of surprises. “I would love to know what Horace is gonna tell me,” Cooper replied.

  “First, he’s going to brag about the satellites he worked on, like the Mars Global Surveyor, without mentioning the failures like the lost Mars Polar Lander and the Mars Climate Orbiter. After boring you with how he started his own company, he will tell you about all of the big satellite contracts he scored and the fortune he would have made if Iridium didn’t go bankrupt.”

  Cooper nodded. This much he already knew.

  “Butler’s genius was to build a network of satellites with a modular design and central core, all of which use the same propulsion systems, communications, sensors, shielding, etc. The same amorphous metal frame can accommodate many plug-and-play configurations. It’s like Toyota building a dozen vehicles from the same platform, or Taco Bell making a dozen products from half a dozen ingredients. Because it costs $10,000 a pound to get payload into orbit, he designed everything to be as light as possible. That’s why we got into business together, since I own the best nanosolar panels, micro fuel cells, ultracapacitors, and amorphous metal factories. Butler didn’t have any money, so he paid me in equity, making me a minority owner.

  “Butler calls it OmniNet. Imagine global wireless communications and satellite services, with dedicated spread-spectrum, wireless super-high-speed connectivity. His sats can communicate via the whole spectrum: short-range VHF and UHF, long-range HF, CB, AM/FM, SSB, L-band, and videoconferencing. That’s why I want to share the military’s highest spectrum because the higher the frequency, the greater the content carrying capacity.

  “Imagine five billion people wired all the time, even in Siberia, the Congo, or Antarctica. Ships and planes would love it. Cell phones would double as Internet and email devices, radios, tiny televisions, video cameras, PDAs, answering machines, pagers, MP4 players, and even live multi-player game consoles. My fish farms have spent the last few years testing a few hundred OmniNet-equipped blimps over the South Pacific. Just getting realtime weather imaging has recouped my initial investment.

  “Grunts in Afghanistan love my high altitude blimps. They can walkie-talkie, email, page, or instant message anyone, anytime, anywhere, from the guy in the next foxhole to the theater commander’s office. Leaders like it because they can send orders with graphics, video, maps, or animation to make the orders idiot-proof. They can download the latest maps or weather forecasts, log into a database to get the latest intel, or take a picture of a suspect and do a match-search. Every cop in the world would love to patrol with this capability. Troops advancing on the enemy could even blog their progress, Twitter-like, so everyone knows how things are progressing.

  “The new SOP is to float a spy blimp above the unit to always see what’s around them. The OmniNet phones coupled with my OmniNet-equipped blimps gives local commanders realtime tactical information at their fingertips. Three of my blimps hover over the Green Zone in Baghdad and a few hundred more roam over the mountains along the Afghanistan-Pakistan.

  “Can you imagine the jarhead who scores the first peek at Osama bin fucking Laden humping some nameless hill, clueless that some E-3 is guiding a Hellfire missile up his ass?

  “In September, when my dad first told me that all satellites might be wiped out, I triple-shifted blimp production and contracted seven other blimp makers. If giant waves wash away the coastlines, then I will have virtually the only means of long distance communications, other than ham radio. I even ordered ten million PDA phones from the Taiwanese company, just in case.

  “I want to take it national, using several thousand blimps instead of cell towers. Instead of expensive billing software, I limit it to domestic calls and charge a flat monthly unlimited rate. I already put OmniNet in my Landsharks so drivers can listen to their playlists from radio websites without commercials.

  “I plan on restricting it to pre-pay monthly plans and links to credit cards or bank accounts. That will save me a fortune sending out bills and processing checks. 80% of customer service calls are billing related, but I will have no unpaid bills and thus no collections. Except for pre-pays, I’m going to give away the phones, yet charge a $150 cancellation fee to minimize switching.”

  “So why isn’t Butler filthy rich?” Cooper asked.

  “He has the satellites he needs, but can’t afford to get them into orbit. He had to pay me stock options to take his satellites from storage in Long Beach to one of my hangers in Alaska. Hell, low orbit costs $100 million and high orbit nearly $500 million. Since the collapse of Wall Street, he just can’t get loans.”

  “Maybe I could get him financing,” Cooper threatened.

  Seething, Jackson wanted nothing more than to use a brick to wipe the smug smile off of Cooper’s pretty face.

  “Maybe I should just endorse someone else.”

  Cooper, to his credit, didn’t even flinch, although his face lost some of its tan.

  “I bet both Obama and Hillary would promise me the bottom of the ticket if I buried you. Maybe not a few weeks ago, but you scoring the silver in Iowa and New Hampshire must have them scared. You could win this thing. After all that they went through four years ago, I doubt they would risk losing again.

  “Everyone knows I’m your biggest supporter. If they agree, then I could tell the press that I learned something terrible that disqualified you. Anything bad enough to cost you my support must be pretty bad. I wouldn’t even have to say what. Although I may suggest you need to spend more time with your family.”

  Jackson folded his huge hands on the card table, just inches from Cooper’s, and shined his own shit-eating grin. They both knew this would sink his campaign.

  “Regardless of who wins the nomination, I would be vice-fucking-president of the United States and, eight years later, a trillionaire president. And you would die a broke nobody. Just because you tried to fuck me over.”

  Cooper fumed silently like magma under pressure. Carefully controlling the tone of his voice, he changed the subject to buy himself time.

  “If you don’t need the spaceships to beat the Chinese, and if they have nothing to do with Butler, then why are you asking Lockheed Martin for price quotes?”

  “Look,” Jackson answered, gathering as much patience as he could. “That Request for Proposal is mostly academic. I need to keep my dad engaged after my mom died a year ago, and this is what drives him.”

  Cooper’s defensiveness softened. “So this is just therapy so your dad doesn’t blow his brains out?”

  “Something like that. Everyone designs spaceship
s to lift off and return to Earth, while my father wants a spaceship that stays in space. You see, a ship can be optimized to penetrate Earth’s thick atmosphere, which requires heavy ablating heat shields, or it can be optimized for space, which must shield against cosmic radiation and solar flares. Penetrating our atmosphere requires a narrow, bullet-like body, while a ship designed to cross our solar system must be wider to accommodate a few meters of water, compressed hydrogen gas, and various alloys to deflect high energy rays. Those are two different ships. We will soon have a manned nuclear spaceship that can get into space to re-orbit a rock to give us a space port, so we need ships that dock there.”

  “How to you get them into space then?”

  Jackson studied Cooper, who seemed to appreciate that Jackson could derail his nomination. But snakes are hard to predict, even if you have known them for years.

  “If I tell you, you must promise me that you will not tell anyone, ever. Not Butler, not your wife, and sure as hell none of your consultants. Nobody must know.”

  “Sure.”

  Like Jackson was going to accept that. He stood up so his full height towered over Cooper.

  “Get the fuck out of my desk. If you really want to know, then we have to switch places.”

  Cooper stared as Jackson disappeared into the adjacent shed, then came back with an old massive Bible. Jackson dropped it on the flimsy table with a loud thud.

  “This is my grandfather’s family Bible. If you want to know what you want to know, then you have to swear on this here Bible not to tell anyone what I’ve got to tell you.”

  Cooper stared at Jackson for the longest time. Smelling money, Cooper finally got up, since he knew that he wasn’t going to get anything else out of Jackson until he did. And squeezing Jackson of information was why he was here in the first place.