Malcolm got up from the table and walked around for a minute. “Deb, your shop’s so full of suits it’s an obstacle course. How many of them are ready for space.”
“Probably just about all of them. And those that aren’t we could make ready on short order.”
“Fred, how’d you like to see that expandable habitat on Mars?”
“Jeez, where do I sign?”
“How long would it take you to build more?”
“Depends. It took three years to build that one, but now that we know how to do it, we could probably churn out three or four a year.”
“Jeff, you need airbags?”
“Yes we do. We’ll be using the Mars Exploration Rover landing system to bring down a lot of stuff. In fact, everything that’s under the weight limit, because it’s cheap.”
Malcolm nodded, “Okay then. Thank you Mr. Grey, it’s been very enlightening. We’ll be in touch. Thank you everyone,” and he headed for the door.
Jeff quickly stood, “And thank you for listening.”
Except for Paul, the rest of the ILC people stood, thanked Jeff and filed out.
Paul smiled at them, “You may not think so, but that’s a good sign.”
Jeff reached out and shook his hand, “I thought just being able to present our case was a good sign.”
CHAPTER 6
Thursday, July 12, 2012 (T minus 1349 days)
Gabe walked into Jeff’s office and dropped a stack of mail about six inches high on his desk.
“What’s all this?”
She smiled, “What do you think?”
“Oh god, not more resumes?”
“Yep. I think half the people in Rhode Island applied.”
Jeff shook his head and sighed, “All the more amazing since at least half of them can’t even write.”
Gabe chuckled, “Any more interviews scheduled?”
“Yeah, another one this afternoon. Looks awfully good on paper, but with a name like ‘Chrissie’ I dunno.”
“Chrissie?” Gabe turned and headed toward the door, “Chrissie, oh Chrissie.”
“You’re not helping. Where do you stand on your tuna can transhab proposal?”
“I’m wading through the life support systems since Sue isn’t here to do it. Then I’ll need to calculate energy consumption, resize the solar panels and do some mass calculations for various dimensions.”
“Alright, but Bob Bigelow has expressed a keen interest and I need to get back to him, so step on it. And you know my concerns.”
“Oh yeah.”
“The last thing we want is to get back there after a year and a half on the surface and find the thing has been holed by a micrometeor and decompressed. We’ll be in no position or mood at that point to have to scour the entire shell searching for a hole to patch before we can climb inside and go home.”
“I know.”
“It’s got to be bulletproof, Gabe.”
“I know.”
“And it has to provide a substantial savings somewhere; cost, weight, simplicity… something.”
Gabe displayed a little exasperation. “I know!”
Jeff sighed, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be a nag, and there’s nothing wrong with exploring avenues. In fact, you’re right, as usual, and we need to look at this. We just don’t have the time to waste on paths that lead to dead ends. We need to get it done and move on.”
She smiled at him, “I know.”
“Alright then,” Jeff gave her a wave of dismissal, “go away.”
“Humph.”
“Oh, wait a minute, one other thing.”
“Yes?”
“Seems the Russians have done a lot more work with LOX/methane engines than we have. I found this online. The English synopsis sounded kind of interesting, but the article is in Russian. Think you could find somebody to translate it?”
Gabe took the papers from him, looked at it and sighed. “Новое поколение ракетных двигателей, работающих на экологически безопасного топлива «жидкий кислород и сжиженного природного газа (метана)». In English, The new generation of rocket engines, operating by ecologically safe propellant ‘liquid oxygen and liquefied natural gas (methane)’. This is ancient history, but I’ll get you a copy. It’s available in English.”
Jeff sat with his mouth hanging open and frowned. “You speak Russian?”
“Uh huh.”
“Fluent?”
“Uh huh.”
“I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me?”
She shrugged. “You never asked.”
Jeff nodded. “No, I didn’t, did I?”
Gabe shook her head.
“Amongst all your other extracurricular activities, when did you find time to learn Russian?”
“I’ve always known it, my mother is Russian.”
“Ah, of course. I didn’t know that either.”
Gabe smiled. “Now you do.”
Jeff nodded and returned her smile. “Go away.”
At the door she paused. “You didn’t ask, but I’m also fluent in Swedish.”
“Huh?”
“My father is Swedish.”
He stared at her, mouth agape. “Right. Uh, I don’t suppose there are any Martians in your family tree?”
She shook her head. “None that I know of.”
He smiled. “Uh huh. Go away.”
She left Jeff to his resumes and from down the hall he heard her snicker, “Chrissie.”
Jeff stared at the door after her, shaking his head, then muttered to himself, “Good grief.” He returned to the stack of resumes, never imagining finding a secretary could be so hard. But since he was looking for a secretary that was also a public relations expert and marketing wizard, and could write like Tolstoy, speak like Margaret Thatcher, looked like Ann Coulter, knew that LOX wasn’t something you ate on a bagel, and was willing to live in the basement of Wrentham House… perhaps he was expecting a bit too much.
Just before 1:00 that afternoon the doorbell rang and from somewhere in the house Abby called out, “I’ll get it.” Shortly thereafter, Jeff heard the elevator followed by footsteps heading his direction.
Abby peeked in, “Boss? Your one o’clock is here.”
“Thanks.”
A slender, good looking, 20-something brunette, about five feet six with big brown eyes, stepped into his office.
“Hi, I’m Jeff Grey. Come on in. Have a seat.”
“Thank you.” She took a seat on the sofa opposite Jeff’s desk and glanced around, “This place is unbelievable. It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you, we like it. Chrissie, is it?”
“Christine, but everyone has always called me Chrissie.”
“Good. Your academic resume is most impressive. But I hope you’ll forgive me for asking why, with a Boston College Communications degree emphasizing public relations, are you applying for a secretarial position?”
Chrissie grinned sheepishly, “Well, P.R. can be a difficult field to break into. Entry level jobs, when you can find one, usually amount to little more than ‘gofer.’ And, among the ‘useful, but not required’ talents mentioned in your ad was public relations. Just reading between the lines, I got the impression the job might entail a bit more than just dictation and filing.”
“Hmmm, very perceptive. Indeed it does, a great deal more. I see you spent your junior year studying abroad? Tell me about that.”
“I spent a year in France at the Sorbonne. It was… enlightening. The French have a rather different perspective on communications then we do. A lot of the French journalists and writers seem to put form before function. But it was good, I enjoyed it.”
“Then you speak French?”
“Yes.”
“Fluent?”
“Pretty much, with a New England accent.”
Jeff smiled, “Very good. That could come in handy. Any public speaking or broadcast experi
ence?”
“Not really. I never had much interest in broadcast journalism or public speaking; I was mostly content just to write. I was in a couple plays in high school, but that’s about it.”
“Stage fright?”
“No, not that I remember. It was fun.”
“Okay. Tell me, what is it you really want to do? What does your crystal ball tell you? What’s in your future?”
“Well, eventually I would like to get into public relations. Go to work for a large PR firm and work with clients – be they individuals, organizations or companies – to help them present their best image, be it of themselves or their product.”
Jeff nodded, “Alright, we would probably get you some experience in that arena. Um, we work here, at Wrentham House, but you live in Providence. That would be quite a commute.”
“I’m flexible. I wouldn’t mind moving down here for the right job.”
“Okay. Though we work here, the job would entail a great deal of travel: days, weeks, we’re not up to months, yet, but that may come, and often on the spur of the moment. As you may imagine, that can be very hard on personal relationships. Would that be a problem?”
“No, not at all.”
“Good. How are your computer skills?”
“Pretty good.”
“Word processing? Database? Spreadsheet? Email? Task lists? Web development?”
“I haven’t done any web development, but the rest, yeah.”
“That’s fine. I don’t suppose you’re a pilot?”
“Like, an airplane pilot?”
“Yeah.”
“Uh, no. Sorry.”
“No problem.” Jeff sat silent and stared at her for a moment. “What’s LOX? Capital L-O-X?”
She cast him a wide-eyed puzzled smile. “Uh, liquid oxygen?”
Jeff smiled and nodded, “Very good. You just took the lead going into Final Jeopardy.”
Chrissie grinned.
He sat thinking for a moment longer. She had no experience, but neither did he, and he liked her. “Alright Chrissie, here’s the deal: we are an aerospace company and are in the process of organizing an entirely commercial, privately funded manned mission to Mars, with crew launch tentatively schedule for a bit less than four years from now. Our team is singularly dedicated to that purpose and has absolutely nothing else on their calendars for the next six and half years – through the completion of the mission. We not only work here at Wrentham House, we live here – all of us. We live and work like a family, not a company. And I would expect you to join the ‘family’ and participate – for the duration – with the same enthusiasm and dedication that everyone else here has.”
Her eyes grew wider with every word.
“You are correct, it’s not just a secretarial job. I will need you to be the voice of the company. We will also need you to juggle a bunch of schedules, handle communications, and do a lot of research. The job pays $80,000 a year to start, with full benefits: health, dental, life insurance, vacation, 401(k), expense account… the works. Plus, living here, I effectively pay all living expenses. But I need to have a rock-solid commitment. I need to know that I can count on you today, tomorrow, next year and, most importantly, four, five, six years from now when I am two-hundred million miles in space. Interested? Oh, and the job starts immediately, if not sooner.”
Chrissie started coughing.
Jeff looked at her quizzically, “You okay? Can I get you a glass of water?”
She waved her hand, “Ahem, no, thank you, I’m fine. Wow.” She swallowed hard, “It’s just not quite what I expected. Uh…” She looked down, panting, then back to Jeff, “Yes! Oh yes, I am interested.”
“It’s a hell of a commitment. I will not be pleased if you, well… change your mind.”
“I won’t let you down.”
Jeff stood up, “Alright then.” He walked around the desk and shook her hand, “You’re hired. Welcome aboard. Come with me.”
She followed him, apparently speechless, down the hall. They took the elevator to the lower level and across into the big office.
“Gabe, Abby, I’d like you to meet Chrissie Mallory, our new keeper of all things administrative: secretary, public relations, communications, research, scheduling… and whatever else we can think of. Chrissie, this is Lieutenant Commander Abigail Nolan, ‘Abby,’ aeronautical engineering and pilot, and Dr. Gabriel Fredrick, ‘Gabe,’ aeronautics and applied physics.”
Abby and Gabe greeted her. “Hi, it’s about time,” said Abby.
Jeff smiled, “Chrissie, missing at the moment is Dr. Susan Lú, our flight surgeon who is presently in Oregon and won’t be back till the end of the month.”
Abby turned to Jeff, “She gonna be here with us?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool. Say, don’t put her in that closet down here. How about giving her that room in back upstairs with us.”
“Fine with me.”
She turned back to Chrissie, “You’ll be a lot more comfortable up there, and not so secluded.”
Chrissie smiled, “Fine.”
“When do you start?”
“Right now, I guess.”
Gabe nodded, “Excellent. We can use all the help we can get.”
“Alright, on that note, I’ve got things to do,” Jeff said. “Can you two show Chrissie around and bring her up to speed. She won’t need all the technical details, at least not right away. But anything to do with systems status, particularly as it relates to scheduling, mission and flight plan, vendors, partners, etcetera, she’ll need to know. And she’ll particularly need to be in the loop – when we get around to it – with anything having to do with mission and ground control. When we’re gone, she’ll be our advocate, and the only one in the building wearing a mission patch.”
Abby and Gabe both nodded, “Gotcha.”
Jeff turned to Chrissie and put his hand on her shoulder, “When the time comes, our lives may be in your hands. Remember that.”
Abby smiled at her, “Welcome aboard.”
Saturday, July 28, 2012 (T minus 1333 days)
Abby hollered from the front hall, “We’re back!”
Jeff, Gabe, and Chrissie leaped up from the conference room table and rushed upstairs.
“You’re here!” Jeff ran up and gave Susan a hug, followed by Gabe, then he introduced Chrissie. “Glad to be done with it?”
Susan smiled and nodded, “Yes. It’s nice to be finished, and good to be back.”
“How was the flight?”
She beamed. “Wonderful. I love the plane. It’s the first time I’ve sat in the cockpit of an airplane and,” she grinned at Abby, “it was quite an experience.”
“Well, great. Forget about your stuff, we’ll help you with it later. Come on in, we’ve prepared a little celebration.”
They all filed into the great room where a spread was laid out on the dining table: Russian caviar, chilled king crab, prime rib, an assortment of fruits and breads, and a jeroboam of ’97 Bollinger R D.
Chrissie filled glasses and handed them out.
“First, a toast,” Jeff announced, “before Abby gets smashed.”
“Better talk fast,” said Abby, laughing.
“Well, we’re all here. And I mean that two ways: the team is complete, and we’re all that there is. We know what’s ahead of us, and it is up to us to get it done. This was my idea, but it is now our mission. We don’t do business the way other companies do, but then no other company has ever been in our business or attempted to do what we are going to do. Susan, welcome home. Five hundred and five days to first cargo launch, one thousand three hundred and thirty-three days to crew launch. Let’s get her done.”
“Hear, hear.”
By the time the sun had settled behind the western hill, they had all eaten and drank their fill. Jeff looked around the room, Gabe was playing Billy Joel’s, Root Beer Rag on the Bösendorfer, while Susan watched with astonishment, and Chrissie was carrying dishes to the kitchen. “Chrissie, wher
e’s Abby?”
“She decided to go for a swim.”
“Oh great. She’s drunk, she’ll drown.”
“Sorry boss, I’m not brave enough to stand in her way.”
Jeff smiled knowingly, “Okay, I’ll go check on her.” He strolled out onto the patio. Abby was in the pool, slowly breaststroking from end to end. “You better not drown, I won’t have anyone to fly the damn plane.”
“Me? Drown? I swim like a fish.”
“Yeah, you also drink like a fish.”
“Hey, I’m looking at two and a half years in space as a teetotaler, I need to fill up while I can.”
Jeff laughed, “Good point,” and dropped into one of the lounge chairs by the pool. He gazed out over the cove; “I’ll bet they don’t have sunsets like this on Mars.”
Abby continued slowly stroking back and forth, “Do they have sunsets on Mars?”
“Sure, when they’re not blotted out by the dust storms.”
“You paint such beautiful images.”
Gabe’s playing stopped and a short while later she, Susan and Chrissie joined him beside the pool.
Chrissie called out to Abby, “Hey, aquatic person, I brought you a towel.”
“Thanks.” She breaststroked to the side of the pool near them. “Five hundred and five days, huh? That’s not much time.”
“No it’s not,” said Jeff.
“Are we gonna be ready?”
“One way or another we’re going to launch something. Have to; it’s our proof of concept. If we can’t pull off the cargo launch and subsequent landings, we’re dead in the water.”
Margaritifer Basin (Margaritifer Trilogy Book 1) Page 17
