“Correct. So you see our dilemma.”
“Of course, sir. But, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, it’s your dilemma, not mine.”
The Vice President smiled and nodded. “You’ve thought this through rather well, haven’t you?”
Jeff grinned. “Wouldn’t you?”
A young girl, perhaps thirteen, appeared at the door and was promptly met by the First Lady. “Captain Grey, please forgive me but I promised our daughter that she could meet all of you. This is Melissa and she’s been following your story and is a big fan.”
“Hello, Melissa, I’m pleased to meet you,” Jeff said, and introduced her to the others.
“Wow, your gowns are so beautiful. You don’t look like astronauts.”
Abby laughed. “Well, flight suits didn’t seem appropriate to the occasion.”
“Dr. Frederick, I didn’t know you were so tall. Is that a designer gown?”
Gabe smiled and nodded. “Valentino.”
“Valentino? Oh, wow. Mom?”
“No.” The First Lady smiled at Gabe and shook her head.
“Oh,” Melissa pouted. “Doctor, I’ve heard that you play the piano.”
Anticipating the next question, Gabe gave her a pained grin. “Yes.”
“Me too! But probably not as well as you. Would you play something for us?”
Gabe grimaced. “Uh…” Jeff gently poked her in the ribs with his elbow. “… if you’d like.”
“Oh, great!” Melissa grabbed Gabe’s hand and hurriedly pulled her toward one of the doors adjoining the East Room. “The piano’s in here.”
Gabe glanced over her shoulder at Jeff. “I guess we’re going to play the piano.”
Jeff nodded. “Be right there.”
Susan stepped up to Jeff. “May I speak with you for a moment.”
“Sure.” He turned to the group, “Excuse us, please,” and followed Susan to a corner of the room. “What’s up?”
“Something about this doesn’t feel right.”
“You noticed it too.”
“The first daughter was entirely out of line and no one even raised an eyebrow. If I’d done something like that as a child, my parents would have skinned me alive.”
“Yeah, mine too. I don’t know what’s going on. Stay close to Gabe.”
Susan nodded.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the First Lady announced, “we have a special treat. Dr. Frederick, a fine pianist, has consented to provide us with a little after dinner concert in the East Room.”
Jeff groaned at her use of the word ‘concert’.
The small crowd filtered into the huge East Room that, Jeff was pleased to note, except for the gilt eagle-leg White House Steinway in one corner, was completely devoid of furniture. An usher was raising the piano’s lid and Gabe adjusting the bench height with Melissa hovering about as Jeff approached. “That’s some piano.”
“Isn’t it?” Gabe said. “Melissa, would you excuse us for a moment?”
“Sure,” and she joined her parents.
Gabe leaned toward Jeff and whispered, “What should I play?”
“I dunno; something short, simple, and that they’ll recognize.”
“Like what? Für Elise?”
Jeff thought for a second. “Sure. Why not?”
Gabe frowned. “I could play that when I was six.”
“So you can still play it now, right?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Good. Then play it, and let’s get this over with.”
“Okay,” Gabe sighed.
Jeff joined Abby who was standing beside the first daughter.
As Gabe began playing, Melissa remarked under her breath, “That’s easy, I can play that.”
Abby softly shushed her.
When Gabe finished, the applause was polite but tepid. She stood and bowed.
Melissa blurted, “Encore, please?”
Gabe stared uncomfortably at Jeff.
Jeff grumbled to himself then turned to the President and First Lady. “She hadn’t planned on this. Excuse me while we conduct a little programming conference.” He quickly walked over to Gabe. “Okay, change of plans.”
“Huh?”
“Light ‘em up.”
“What do you mean?”
“Play something that’ll wake ‘em up.”
Gabe groaned. “Like what?”
Jeff stared at the floor and thought for a second. “Okay, play the Fire Dance.”
Gabe gasped, “Oh god, I can’t. Jeff, I can’t. It’s too hard. I’m already shaking.”
“Sure you can. Gabe, decent folks don’t put this kind of pressure on guests, particularly ones they’ve never met. This is a test. This whole evening’s been a test. Somebody here knows you, or knows of you and they’re applying pressure to what they think is our weak link.”
Gabe’s pained expression morphed into a frown. “I’m not a weak link.”
Jeff nodded. “I know that. Now let them know it.”
Gabe bit her lip and nodded. “I’ll try.”
He leaned forward, smiled, and kissed her cheek. “There is no try, Gabe. Do, or do not.”
She nodded.
He grinned and winked at her. “Knock ‘em dead, kid.”
As Jeff returned to the group, Gabe smiled politely and again took her seat at the piano. She took a deep breath and a moment later launched into Manuel da Falla’s Ritual Fire Dance as she’d never played it before.
Abby glanced at the first daughter who stood watching intently, eye’s wide and mouth agape. She leaned toward her and whispered, “Can you play this?”
Melissa slowly shook her head.
“Uh huh. Close your mouth.”
Gabe finished with a flourish but instead of rising to the group she simply leaned back and stared at the keyboard with a satisfied grin. The response from her audience this time was a bit different. Momentarily there was stunned silence, but that quickly evolved into raucous applause. Gabe rose from the piano and bowed deeply, then caught Jeff’s eye and winked.
Out of the corner of his eye Jeff noticed the President whisper to the First Lady, who immediately whisked young Melissa out of the room. Then he stepped forward toward Gabe. “That was stupendous. You really are quite good. I am impressed.”
Gabe bowed graciously. “Thank you sir. I’m just glad I made it through. That one’s hard.”
“The way you play, it didn’t look hard.”
Gabe grinned.
The President turned to the gathering. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, I have an early morning breakfast meeting with a bunch of senators that don’t like me very much, so I’m going to kick you all out. It’s been a very entertaining and informative evening and I thank you all very much for coming.” Then he turned to Jeff. “Captain, I wonder if you and your team might stay for just a few minutes?”
Jeff nodded. “Of course, sir.”
Following some minutes of handshaking and pleasantries, the room emptied and the President motioned to Jeff, “Come with me.” They followed him downstairs and west through the Center Hall. Trailing a short distance behind was Jeannine, a White House photographer who had spent the evening snapping photos, some posed, mostly candid. At the end of the hall the President paused and stuck his head through the pantry door. “Nice job folks. Great dinner.” Then he led them on through the Palm Room, outside down the West Colonnade, into the West Wing and eventually the Oval Office. “Come on in. Jeannine, why don’t you take a couple of shots, then you can shove off.”
“Yes sir.” She posed them as a group in front of the Oval Office desk and casually on the sofas, then turned to Jeff and smiled, “I’ll send you copies,” and left.
The President stuck his head through the door to the secretaries’ office, “Barbara, would you call the East Wing security desk and have them instruct Captain Grey’s driver to come on around to the West Wing? Save them the walk back. Thanks,” and he took a seat in one of the chairs in front of the fireplace. “Most of th
ose people at dinner tonight advised me against doing this. The general consensus was that you were a bunch of crackpots and that nothing good could come of your venture and the Executive branch should simply ignore you in the hope that you’d somehow just go away. I think they were wrong. Well, at least so far.” He thought for a minute, rubbing his chin. “You’re going to create a big headache for me, one way or another.” He smiled. “But honestly, dealing with headaches is what this office is all about. I don’t know if you can pull this off, but after what I’ve heard this evening I’m not at all convinced that you can’t. And if you are successful, it seems to me the government’s best solution to facing all those ‘hard questions’ that were discussed earlier is to be a part of this. So, what say we work together?”
Jeff, Gabe, Abby, Susan and Chrissie all broke into broad grins. “Yes, sir,” Jeff said. “Thank you, sir.”
“Now, don’t misunderstand me. Just because no one wants to pay for a NASA mission to Mars doesn’t mean that they’re interested in paying for your mission. Still, there does seem to be a lot this office can do to help you along – grease the skids, as it were – without further tapping Mr. and Mrs. America’s pocketbook.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You really want all that stuff from our Apollo and shuttle junkyards?”
Jeff laughed. “Yes, sir, we do. It served America’s space program well for fifty years, it’ll get us to Mars and back.”
“Alright. You seem to know what you’re doing so I’ll take your word for it. I’ll figure out how to cut it loose and have someone get in touch with you. Of course, those lunatics in California will probably declare it all state historical artifacts and take us to court but… whatever.”
Jeff beamed and nodded graciously. “Thank you, sir.”
“Now, any refurbishing and assembly is, of course, going to come out of your checkbook.”
“Understood, sir. No problem. We can’t ask for anything more.”
“Okay. Now, this business about no sample return is, well, utterly mindless. Though I understand your position, the thought of going all that way and not bringing back any rocks is…” he shook his head, “inconceivable.”
“You’ll get no argument from us on that account, sir.”
“I’ll talk to the NASA Administrator and see if we can work something out. We might be able to do something like have NASA subcontract that aspect of the mission to you. I don’t know, something like that.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You really think you can fly Jupiters in two years?”
Jeff nodded. “Yes, sir, I do. If we can keep the bureaucracy out of our way.”
“Well, there’s no doubt that a super-heavy lifter like that would have a dramatic impact on launch costs and, though it wouldn’t guarantee NASA’s reentry into the manned space exploration business, it would sure expand their options. I’ll see what I can do. Perhaps we can look at some kind of joint venture. Congress has handed out truckloads of money to every other aerospace company around; I don’t see why you should be an exception. I’ll put some people on it and we’ll get back to you.”
“Thank you, sir. Thank you very much.”
“Now, I’m not making any promises. Just saying we’ll take a look at it.”
“Understood, sir.”
President Caldwell stood, promptly followed by Jeff and the others, and shook hands with each. “I’m delighted that we did this. If meetings with Congress would be just half as informative and one-tenth as productive we might get something done around here. I wish you all the best of luck and I hope to see you here again.”
As they followed a White House aide down the corridor toward the West Wing lobby, Abby subtly extended her hand back toward Jeff in a low-five gesture. Jeff gently swatted her outstretched palm and smiled.
In the limousine back to Manassas there were whoops and hollers and congratulations all around. Jeff nodded and smiled broadly. “That couldn’t have gone much better. Y’all did great!”
Gabe grimaced. “Even me?”
Jeff winked at her. “Yeah, even you.”
“So, what now?” Abby asked.
“Full court press.” Jeff responded. “We’ve got twenty-eight and a half months until we climb into that Apollo command module and launch.” He shook his head. “In this industry, that is an unbelievably short timeframe. Chrissie, work with the White House Press Secretary, see if you can arrange a joint press announcement and briefing. Let’s see if we can get people around the nation – hell, around the world – thinking this is their mission, not just ours.”
Chrissie nodded. “Got it.”
“I’ll sit on ULA and SpaceX, and fly down to Kennedy and make sure they don’t muck things up. The success of these launches is so important; not just for our survival, but for our credibility. Gabe, time to start building Jupiters. While you’re working on complete and final schematics, see if we can get floor space at Michoud for this, and get Boeing busy on the EDS. Arrange meetings with all the players. Lean on them, we’re running out of time. Let me know if you need anything.”
“How about some help?”
“I’ll see what I can do. Abby, get down to Kennedy and get CSM-119 and whatever else you can squeeze out of them – a couple service modules would be nice – on a truck to Boeing. Monday would not be too soon. Feel free to use the President’s name.”
“Rog.”
“Susan, training. As soon as Abby has specs for the CM, get to work on a new training plan, get the flight parameters from Gabe. Gabe?”
Gabe nodded. “I’ll put together tentative launch plans for anything we might launch on and we can fine tune it once we’ve made a decision.”
Susan nodded.
“Sorry Sue, but for the time being you’re gonna have to set your flight surgeon hat aside and become an astronaut/pilot,” Jeff said. “You know the drill, you’ve been in the simulator. We’ll need to reconfigure to match what Abby comes up with and rewrite the flight manual. Also, let’s see if we can get some expert advice. Sylvia Creighton was skeptical, but I thought maybe just a bit jealous. Talk to her. See if we can get some NASA astronaut technical assistance, even if it’s off the books and under the table. Also, see if you can make contact with the Apollo and Skylab astronauts that are still around. See if any of them are willing to drop by for a chat.”
“Okay.”
Jeff smiled and nodded his head. “We’re gonna be the first people to set foot on Mars. Let’s get this done.”
CHAPTER 11
Saturday, November 9, 2013 (T minus 864 days)
“Boss, we’re ready for you.”
“Thanks Chrissie. Be right down.” In the MCC were fifteen young university doctoral candidates and post-doctoral researchers standing around, all seemingly talking at the same time, pointing, oohing and awing. Jeff walked over to the stage, stepped up and nodded to Abby, wagging his finger across his throat.
Abby stuck two fingers between her lips and issued an ear-piercing whistle. “Okay, everybody take a seat!”
As everyone quickly settled down, Jeff glanced around the room and smiled. “Good morning. Welcome to Wrentham House. My name is Jeffrey Grey and we’re going to Mars.”
Everyone immediately leaped out of their seats with thunderous applause.
Jeff motioned them all to sit, and waited a moment for quiet. “Thank you. The fifteen of you have been selected from more than 6,000 applicants from all over the country – hell, all over the world – to take part in an adventure the likes of which no one on this planet has ever seen. Approximately twenty-nine months from now we are going to launch the first manned mission to Mars. This is a private mission. NASA is not running it, we are. And we’ll be doing it from right here – this room. Now, you are not NASA professionals, and neither are we. And that presents all of us with a mighty challenge because, nevertheless, we are all going to have to think, act and operate like professionals, because four lives will depend on it. And mine is one of them.
“Now, you are all volunteers so set aside any notions you may have of getting rich here. But then you’ve all been starving students for years now so that’s nothing new. Right?”
There was laughter around the room.
“For your part, over the next two and a half years there’s really not a whole lot going on. This is practice. A month from now we’ve got four launches in seven days to be followed by ten months of thumb-twiddling and then a few minutes of sheer terror. And then another sixteen months until things get really interesting – March 2016. From then until splashdown in October 2018, this room will be manned seven by twenty-four. Not fully staffed, but at least someone sitting FLIGHT; you might say, a Watch Officer. It’s now November 2013. October 2018, in case you have difficulty with higher math, is just about five years from now. Yes, we are asking for a long-term commitment from you. We understand that things will come up and that not all of you will be here at the end. If you need to pull out, we’ll understand. But PLEASE, understand how important this is, which I presume you do because you’re here. If you need to pull out, please give us as much warning as possible.
Margaritifer Basin (Margaritifer Trilogy Book 1) Page 37
