by Alton Gansky
Gary raced to pick it up and returned it to the player. The player didn’t look down. He stood like a marble statue. Gary placed the ball on the table and backed away.
“Is he okay?” Gary sounded frightened.
Roos laughed. “He’s fine, buddy. That’s Chancy Tyler, our resident computer and software genius — and I mean ‘genius’ literally. He doesn’t live on the same planet as the rest of us mere mortals.”
“But what’s he doing?” Gary asked. “I don’t think he knew I was there.”
“He didn’t. He’s thinking. You might assume he’s wasting time at the Ping-Pong table, but he’s not. He thinks on his feet. When he works on a problem, he moves about. There are days when he doesn’t sit at all.”
“But he’s not moving.”
“His brain is. That’s what matters.”
“Smart people can be a little weird, Son.” Tuck placed a hand on Gary’s shoulder.
“Smart isn’t the word, Commander. We’ve come this far because I’ve found people who are not only intelligent, but also creative. Creative people are weird.”
“I work with the most creative minds in the world,” Tuck said. “I don’t find them all that weird.”
“I don’t want to be a rude host, but I’m not very good about standing on ceremony. First, you don’t work with the most creative people. Creative and intelligent to be sure, but the most creative people can’t work in a government environment with set hours, committee meetings, forms to fill out, reports to write. You guys would be two decades further along if you’d cut the marionette lines.”
“I don’t think you know that much about NASA and how we operate.”
“I know enough, Commander.”
“We have thousands of engineers and scientists working on projects. I have an engineering degree.”
“Tell me about your latest engineering creations.” Roos smiled, but Tuck could tell a genuine smile from a mere concession to civility.
“My work is focused on training and flying.”
“I’m not trying to insult you, Commander. I am trying to make a point. Creativity is at its best when you take the boundaries away. We’ve achieved amazing things with a handful of people.”
“How many work for you?”
“About seventy-five full-timers. You’ll only see a handful here at any one time. Most of my people are spread around the world.”
“Just a handful is right. I had the impression that your firm was much larger.”
“That would be counterproductive. Fewer works better. Bureaucracy, whether in government or business, is the bane of creative endeavor. My people come and go as they please. They can work here or in their own offices or homes. I don’t care where they work or if they do it on a computer or blackboard. All I care about is innovative production. I have people who have worked three days without sleep, not because I demanded it, but because they couldn’t let go of a problem. I’ve had employees slip out of contact for weeks only to appear on my doorstep with a revolutionary idea.”
“Still, to put people in space requires the work of thousands.”
“Nonsense. Burt Rutan and his group won the X-Prize by making two manned launches within weeks. He doesn’t have a staff of thousands; he has a staff that does the thinking of thousands.”
Audrey walked into the bay. “Sorry this took so long. I had to raid one of the refrigerators in the other building.” She handed Gary a can of root beer.
“Thanks.” Gary popped the top and a tiny amount of brown foam escaped. He slurped it. “Mr. Roos, what’s behind the curtain?” He pointed at a thick drape hanging from the laminated beams two stories overhead.
“The future, Gary. The future. Come on, I’ll show you what only a handful of people have seen.” Roos started forward, then stopped. “Um, I need to ask a favor of you two. What I’m about to show you is a secret. I’ve invested a fortune in this, and this is a very competitive business, more so than most know. I need you to promise not to describe what you see to anyone else. Can you keep it a secret, Gary?”
“Absolutely.”
“What about you, Commander? Will you feel compelled to tell your superiors at NASA or the Navy?”
“Does it present a threat to national security?”
“Of course not.”
“Then you don’t have to worry about me talking to others.” Having just been grounded, I don’t feel like talking to anyone, especially NASA. The bitterness of the thought surprised him.
Roos walked to the wall near the curtain and pressed a button. The curtain moved, drawn along by nearly silent electric motors.
Ten seconds later, Gary said, “Wow. That is so off the hook.”
Tuck tried to remain stoic. He lost the battle. A broad smile crossed his face.
TWELVE
As a teen, Tuck liked nothing more than reading science fiction. Some of those stories pushed him along the course from child to astronaut. Before him stood a craft that could have appeared on the cover of any of those books.
“Gentlemen,” Roos said, “this is Legacy.”
“Cooool.” Gary’s eyes widened, and a smile tried to wrap itself around his head.
Roos laughed. “Gary, only a handful of people have seen this, and no one your age has laid eyes on it.”
Tuck’s trained eye drew in the details. In many ways, Legacy looked like a scaled-down version of the Space Shuttle but with much sleeker lines. Like the Shuttle, it had a fuselage, wings, and a clearly identifiable cockpit area. Unlike the Shuttle, which looked much like a brick with wings, the Legacy bore rounded lines that tapered aft to what Tuck assumed was a rocket motor system. The wings were also larger and looked as if they might be able to pivot.
Two other distinctions made the craft stand out. On the Shuttle, the only windows were associated with the flight deck: front windows for the commander and pilot, two overhead windows, and a set of aft windows that overlooked the cargo bay. The Legacy had a line of windows that swept up the midsection of the craft. Tuck counted three teardrop-shaped ports on one side as well as those of the cockpit. He could also see the edge of windows running along the top of the vehicle.
Gary noticed them too. “The Shuttle doesn’t have windows like that.”
“You’re right, Gary.” Roos put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “That’s because the Shuttle fleet and Legacy have different purposes. NASA designed the Shuttle as a space-going delivery truck. Even the mission designations show that fact. STS — ”
“Space Transportation System,” Gary interjected. “I know. My dad flies them.”
“Of course. Sorry. I get a little excited every time I see this thing. Anyway, engineers designed the Shuttle to carry materials for the construction of the space station as well as deliver satellites and the like. Legacy has only one purpose: to take people into space.”
“For a short time and for a price,” Tuck said.
“Exactly. Two hundred thousand dollars per person, and the flight only reaches the edge of space. No orbits. Not yet. Legacy 2 is in the works and will provide orbital flight to passengers and scientists.”
“Why is it orange and white?” Gary had yet to take his eyes from the spacecraft.
“It’s easier to track with ground-based telescopes during takeoff and landing. We tape everything and give every passenger a DVD of their experience. Who wants to look inside?”
Gary didn’t hesitate. “I do.”
“Wait.” Tuck held his ground. “How about some details?”
“Ah, ever the engineer. I can respect that.” Roos took a short breath and began what sounded like a well-practiced spiel. “Legacy is the passenger unit of a two-part lifting body transportation system. It is a three-thousand-kilogram passenger-bearing craft. As you will see, Legacy carries four passengers and two pilots. The second part of the system is a craft we named Condor.”
“So Legacy rides piggyback?”
“No, she rides beneath Condor and is carried as high as the new GE engin
es will take her. Legacy then frees herself to reach space. Condor returns home.”
“Didn’t Burt Rutan build his own carrier aircraft for SpaceShipOne?”
“Yeah, he did. It’s a beauty. I have to give him that. He was several steps ahead of us. That’s his advantage. That and he’s a genius. Ours operates on the same basic principles. Of course, we’ve used some proprietary research that makes us unique. When I first got into this business, I thought I might be one of two or three people crazy enough to dump time and money into the commercialization of space. Turns out you can’t swing a cat without hitting someone trying to be the first successful space tourist business.”
“So you’re behind,” Tuck said.
“No. You’re not listening carefully. I said Burt Rutan was ahead of us. We’ve made great strides. Come on. You need to see the interior. Oh, and Gary, leave the soda behind. Just set it on the floor.” This time Roos didn’t wait but marched to the opposite side of the vehicle and climbed a set of metal stairs that led to an open hatch just behind the cockpit area. Gary wasted no time following. Tuck couldn’t help smiling. It was good to see his son excited about space.
Tuck was the last up the stairs and before he reached the last step, he heard his son’s voice. “Oh, wow. Serious cool.”
This Tuck had to see. Although he wouldn’t admit it as readily as Gary did, what he saw impressed him more than he’d expected. The same design sentiment that led to the sleek science fiction design of the exterior had carried to the interior. To his right were four seats that reminded Tuck of a streamlined dentist chair complete with headrests and support for everything from feet to head. An aisle separated the two seats on the left from the two on the right.
At each seat was a teardrop window near where the head of a passenger would be. Tuck noticed an additional window behind each seat and overhead. The port behind the seats puzzled him for a moment, then it hit him: the seats reclined.
“Look at the back of the seats, Commander. In fact, you and Gary should have a seat.”
Tuck and Gary moved to the two rear seats and sat. “Comfortable. Wide.”
“The width is necessary. Each passenger will wear a partial pressure suit much like your orange LESs but with much more style.”
“Of course.”
“The cabin is pressurized for the entire trip. The suit is for the unlikely event Legacy loses pressure.”
“What are these screens?” Tuck asked, pointing to two four-by-six-inch plastic panels stacked one atop the other in the back of the chair in front of him.
“All of this is about customer experience, Commander. We want our clients to experience everything they can.”
“A nice goal since they’re forking out two hundred grand.”
“Exactly. Those screens allow the passenger to see everything that happens during liftoff and reentry. The top one receives video feeds from the ground and from outboard cameras. The lower screen displays information the passenger might find interesting: speed, altitude, and Gs pulled.” Roos tapped a small protrusion mounted to the interior wall just in front of the first seat. “Since the first row doesn’t have a seat in front of it, we’ve provided the same displays in these consoles.”
“Seems you’ve thought of everything.”
“Oh, I haven’t even begun to describe everything. Come up here and sit in the pilot’s seat. Come on, Gary, you can sit in the number one chair.”
Gary was out of his seat and moving forward before Roos had put the period on the sentence. Tuck followed more reluctantly. He knew when someone was working him.
The first thing Tuck noticed: there was no bulkhead and door separating the two-person crew from the passengers. He reminded himself that these would not be typical commercial flights. The rules were different.
Gary plunked down in a chair that was twice the size he needed. It reminded Tuck that his son was still a boy, and the reminder was welcome.
“How high does it fly?” Gary wondered. To Tuck’s relief, Gary touched nothing.
“The lift plane will carry Legacy to an altitude of fifty thousand feet, then start a maneuver that will help it gain additional speed. After that, Condor pulls up to an angle of forty-five to fifty degrees. Legacy will detach from the aircraft and wait a few moments for it to bank clear, then the pilot hits the Go button. Next thing you know, the rocket fires, you’re pressed back into your seat, the sky outside turns black, and in a few minutes you’re seventy miles high, weightless, and out your window you see the curved horizon of Earth.”
“Man, that would be great. Just like what you’ve done, Dad.”
Roos spoke before Tuck could. “Not quite. Your father and astronauts like him fly much higher — two hundred miles — and stay in orbit for much longer. Someday, my company will offer that. Right now, we’re just trying to reach the edge of space.”
Tuck took the remaining flight seat. “What about reentry?” Tuck laid a hand on the control stick between his knees.
“Legacy faces much less stress than the Shuttle. First, what we offer is in essence a six- to seven-hour elevator ride. Since we don’t have to maintain an orbit, our speeds are much less than the eighteen-thousand-miles-per-hour you boys fly. We won’t get anywhere close to that kind of velocity. We have two ways of landing Legacy. First is a dead-stick glide. You’re familiar with that, Commander. It’s the way the Shuttle lands. The second landing protocol won’t be new to you either, since NASA did a good bit of research on the technique.”
“Parachute?”
“Yup. Delta wing, steer-capable parachute. Lands like a mother setting her baby in a crib.”
“You’ve tested it?”
“Several times.”
That made Tuck suspicious. “I keep up on most things involving space travel, Mr. Roos. I don’t recall reading about any such tests.”
“That’s good to hear. You’re not supposed to. We tested outside the US. Unlike my competitors who work as publicly as possible, we work under the radar.”
“You have secrets?”
Roos laughed. “Of course we do. So does NASA. So does any business. Look, let’s say you want to run for Congress but you’re facing a squeaky-clean, longtime officeholder who the pundits say is unbeatable. You can announce your run to the media, let them do a few pieces on you, and maybe win a few votes.”
“Or?”
“Or you can work behind the curtain, privately lining up funds, positioning key volunteers, mapping your strategy, and waiting for the right time.”
“My opponent would know I’m running because I have to file election papers and documents.”
“True, but you don’t have to respond to him or to the media until you choose to do so. Now, let’s say you’re good at what you do; you can kiss babies and shake hands with the best of them. Your opponent has already written you off. After all, there have been no campaign speeches, no position papers, no media buys. He thinks you’re just some bozo who wants to see his name on the ballot. In the final month before the election, you open the floodgates. You buy enough media to make a splash, then hit the campaign trail in a full sprint. You catch your opponent off guard and force him into a defensive posture. Now he’s playing catch-up. Add to all that the mystique your secrecy has created. People are now interested in you.”
“So you plan to just appear on the space tourism front?”
“Exactly, and when we do, the spotlight will shift to us.”
Tuck frowned. “Surely word is out about what you’re trying to do.”
“We’ve had traditional and Internet media sniffing around, but so far we’ve kept the lid on.”
“What about employees?” Tuck pressed. “One of them could let the cat out of the bag. Some people can be bought.”
“Most people can be bought, Commander. I know that and I’ve taken precautions. For one, I deposit a large chunk of cash in an escrow account. Each employee will share in that money if he or she helps keep things under wraps. Each stands to make more money
than anyone would offer as a bribe. So far, it’s worked magnificently.”
“Sounds like you’ve given this a great deal of thought.”
Roos smiled. “Thinking is my superpower.”
Gary giggled. “Superpower. I like that. I want a superpower.”
“Most people have one or more unique powers. Take your dad; one of his superpowers is courage — courage and skepticism.” He looked at Tuck. “Yes, I said skepticism. It’s a great defense mechanism.”
“What is my superpower?” Gary asked.
“I’m just getting to know you, buddy, but I know courage is one of them. Just like your dad, you have massive amounts of courage.”
Gary’s smile evaporated. “I haven’t done anything brave.”
Roos squatted to look into the boy’s eyes. “Have you watched your father fly into space?”
“Yes. Every time.”
“How did you feel?”
He lowered his head. “Scared.”
“But you watched anyway, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Listen, Gary, in my book, the only people more courageous than astronauts who fly rockets into space are the families of astronauts. Watching that takes more guts than anything I can think of.”
Tuck met Gary’s eyes but said nothing. He knew both their minds had raced back to their earlier conversation.
Roos stood. “Come on. I’ll give you a tour of the rest of the facility, then I believe I promised an autograph and game for someone who recently had a birthday.”
“Yeah. That’d be me.” Gary’s smile returned.
Tuck smiled too, and then let his eyes trace the graceful lines of the interior of the strange little spaceship. She was a beauty, all right.
THIRTEEN
The news had come over the seventeen-inch color television in Garret Alderman’s Holiday Inn hotel room in San Diego. A woman with soft Asian features delivered the story on the local morning news. Her face showed well-practiced sadness as she told of a mysterious death.
