by Jeff Pollard
As far as I know, an Atlas V rocket costs nearly 200 million dollars. And then today, these guys come in here and claim they will be able to launch a new capsule on man-rated Atlas Vs at a price of 90 million dollars. Either they're lying now, or they were lying last year when they billed the DOD 196 million dollars for a single Atlas V launch. That or they've magically found a way to cut the cost by more than 50% right at the time when actual competitors enter the picture.
These past weeks, my team has been debating how low we can reasonably set our bid. Currently we see it as being right at 90 million. Some on our team said we could hit the goal of 85 million immediately with ramped up production. Some even argued that we go as low as 80 million, a price they figured we could hit by the sixth or seventh cargo flight. So that was our debate, where do we put the price somewhere in this range between 80 and 90 million dollars. I'd really like to know what that debate looked like at ULA. What was their range? Somewhere between 90 and 200 million dollars? But I digress.
I have decided to raise my bid to 100 million dollars. SpacEx bids that we can do these cargo missions for 100 million dollars a piece. Total. That's not cost. That's the price. If we can't lower our cost and our missions cost us 90 million, then we turn a 10 million dollar profit. If we push hard and get the cost down to 80 million, then we get that 20 million dollar profit. This is how competition and free enterprise drive innovation. Give a business a guaranteed profit margin, and they have no incentive to improve. Give them a set price, and they have all the incentive in the world to lower their costs.
So I submit that SpacEx Eagle 9-Griffin Cargo missions will be 100 million dollars. Period. If we go over budget, that's on us. Meanwhile, if you take ULA's deal and even if they stay on this dubious budget, that will still cost 110 million. If they don't stay on budget, which I will basically bet my life on, then you're probably looking at paying something like 200 million dollars or more. But that won't be much consolation for me, because if you down-select us, we won't be around to be a viable alternative to those guys, so it won't even hurt them. It'll just hurt your budget.
So I ask that these contracts be changed from cost-plus to fixed prices. We have made our bid. I would like to hear what price my competitors have to offer, knowing that bidding low will put them in the red. Thank you.”
Kingsley sits and the room is silent for a moment.
“Orbital Sciences would like to change our bid to a set price of 89 million dollars,” the OS program manager breaks the silence.
“Thanks Orbital for the support, and eye roll for the price,” K says sarcastically. And with that, two of the three cargo bids have abandoned the cost-plus paradigm. All eyes look to Aaron Granderson and his ULA team. He tries to look stern and confident and unmoved. But after a moment, members of his team begin whispering.
“I'd like a recess,” Granderson asks.
“We just got back,” Jennings replies. Granderson and his team form a mini-huddle on the other side of the table. Kingsley smiles and leans back, putting his feet up on the table.
Granderson turns back around, standing up. “ULA stands by our current bid.”
“I strongly recommend that you submit to me a fixed-price bid,” Hugh Jennings replies ominously. It seems this NASA bureaucrat is not in their pocket. Granderson turns back to his huddle, the ULA team is sweating.
“What do you think they'll say?” Brittany asks K in a whisper.
“If they say anything much higher than 105 million it's a tacit admission that they were lying with their 90 million dollar bid. But if they say 105 and get the contract and this was a lie, then they're eating what, like 70 million dollars in losses a mission.”
“At the least,” Brittany replies.
“Who knew starting a space program would be so boring, yet so exciting at the same time?” K says with a smirk.
Granderson stands up, eye on him. “We at ULA would like to rescind our earlier bid and replace it with a fixed price bid of 105 million dollars.”
“And with that, we have all of our bids in hand, we are going to break for a while,” Jennings says, “and we'll call you back in a few hours when we have made our decisions.”
“Before you go making decisions,” Granderson interrupts. “There's something I'd like to discuss.”
“About what?”
“About crew missions to the ISS,” Granderson says.
“Okay, so, back to the manned missions,” Jennings sighs. “Like we've laid out before, we're offering $220 million for the proving mission to demonstrate crew capability. After that, we are going to award contracts based on cost, safety, and capability. So, whoever steps up and shows us they can cheaply and safely resupply the station and transfer crew, will be getting the contract. We've been instructed to down-select on development funds from three to two, and we're gonna go talk that out right now, but dev funds or no dev funds, the offer for the proving mission and contracts to follow stills stands. Are we good?”
“I have to address something,” Granderson says. “We at ULA have serious questions about SpacEx's ability to safely manage manned missions.”
“What are you talking about?” K asks. “We've flown our capsule three times, you've flown yours only once and you're questioning my program?”
“Our concerns aren't just technical. We've learned that Mr. Pretorius attempted suicide,” Granderson says, pausing and letting those words hang in the air. “And I've heard that he's pushing his engineers to put men in the Griffin before they are ready to man-rate it.”
“I didn't attempt suicide,” Kingsley says insistently.
“That's not what I heard,” Granderson says. “We've all heard about the Gwenyth Paltrow roofie situation.”
“That was ecstasy, I didn't roofie her,” K says.
“Oh that's way better,” Granderson quips. “And if you weren't trying to commit suicide then you're just an incompetent pilot, so which is it? Look, I don't think NASA can trust their manned missions to someone that has a history of drug use, a checkered past of psychological issues, and is pushing his engineers to do things ahead of schedule, compromising safety so he can artificially claim to be ahead. We've been in this business a long time. There's a reason he's ahead of our schedule. He's reckless.”
“And I have reason to believe that ULA is having me followed, by the way,” K replies.
“Oh please,” Granderson says.
“Followed?” Jennings asks.
“Yeah, I'm constantly being followed by some private detectives,” K says.
“Those are just your groupies,” Granderson says derisively.
“Okay, so if you're not having me followed, how do you know so many things about my personal life?”
“One doesn't need a private detective to learn about your personal life. All they need is to follow you on twitter,” Granderson replies.
“Well, Mr. Pretorius, do you have anything to say about these allegations?” Jennings asks.
“Yeah. It's obvious that ULA is trying to protect their monopoly. I'm about to make rocketry cost a fraction of what it used to, and they're trying anything they can to stop me. They have me followed, and they're probably conducting corporate espionage. If I was paying people off, then I would have something damning to say about their capsule. I mean, they've had the rockets, but they're behind on the capsule. Why? It's not just some phantom, taking their time, safety thing. It's a boondoggle piece of crap that was designed by a committee and re-designed by a different committee. I was engaging in corporate espionage I'd have something to bring up. But I don't do that. They do though. So how is this credible? How do you take them seriously?”
“We at NASA want to re-iterate that this is not a race. We will be taking into account everything about a program, from the spacecraft safety to the management-”
“What about that docking,” Granderson says. K stares him down.
“What docking?” Jennings asks, looking to his aides.
“Get Houston,” Granderson
says over his shoulder. A ULA team member heads to a door and lets in Dexter Houston. Kingsley locks eyes with Dexter.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Kingsley wonders, fearing the worst. Dexter avoids K's stare while taking his seat across from his old colleagues.
“Did Kingsley disobey direct orders from Mission Control and dock when he was instructed specifically not to?” Granderson asks Dexter. Dexter pauses, feeling K's intense stare.
“That's right,” Dexter replies.
“And I know NASA doesn't want the press to know about this,” Granderson says, “but we all know Kingsley is a loose cannon. He can't be trusted with the lives of NASA astronauts riding on his spacecraft, not when he violates safety protocols, ignores orders from Mission Control, and puts the entire station in danger.”
“This is such bullshit,” K mutters. “They only told me not to dock because you paid off Bloomington, trying to make me fly three missions when one could prove the Griffin was safe and capable. You pay off NASA to screw me over, and when I call their bluff, then you pay off my employee to give you some corporate espionage. This is ridiculous.”
“Mr. Houston, did Mr. Pretorius pressure engineers to man the Griffin before they were ready?” Granderson asks Dexter.
“Yes,” Dexter replies.
“Alright, enough, I get it,” Jennings says. “Kingsley, did you really dock against Mission Control's orders? And why am I just now hearing about this?” Jennings asks, turning to his aides.
“They're engaging in corporate espionage, they just admitted it, why are you listening to them?” K asks.
“You call it corporate espionage,” Granderson replies, “I call it a top-level employee jumping ship because you're reckless and he doesn't trust you. If your ship was safe, you think he'd be switching sides?”
“I'll be riding my Griffin into space in four months,” K says, standing up, heading for the exit. “I'll be flying on the first flight. Try telling me it's not safe when I get back,” K slams the door behind him.
“Fucking cowboy,” Granderson mutters.
“Well thank you for that,” Jennings mutters. “We'll break and I'll alert you when a decision is made.” As he leaves, Jennings says “God damn nightmare” under his breath.
Brittany stares across the table at Dexter Houston. He looks away from her, unable to defend his choice with his eyes. As the meeting ends, he retreats before any of his former colleagues can get anywhere near him, not proud of his role as a defector.
“Dexter was the leak,” Kingsley says, standing on the edge of the roof of the NASA Administration Building in Houston. “That's how they knew our price.”
“Yeah,” Brittany says as she approaches, having been looking for Kingsley. Their breath hangs in the cold night air, floating out over the parking lot as they lean against the ledge.
“What'd I do to deserve that?” K asks.
“They got to him,” Brittany says.
“I thought we were friends.”
“So did I.”
“The way that went in there today,” K trails off. “I'm expecting that call any moment to go back in there, and they're going to announce that we've been down-selected. ULA has this in the bag. They're too powerful. Then the Dream Chaser and the Cygnus are nice little alternatives to make it seem like there's a genuine competition. But Sierra Nevada doesn't make rockets to compete with ULA and Orbital Sciences don't make big rockets to really compete with them either. So we're going to get down-selected, we make a go of it, maybe we even send people into space. But before long we're bankrupt. ULA ends up with a monopoly anyway and the price to orbit will basically stay the same. I will have accomplished exactly nothing.”
“Come on, even if we're cut out, we can make it work with vacations for millionaires,” Brittany says.
“That's a real long-shot. We haven't sold a single ticket.”
“You're always telling me that the customers will come when we show we can do it.”
“We've launched three times, but our phones aren't exactly ringing off the hooks,” K says. He sits down with his back to the ledge.
“How long has it been?”
“Since what?” K asks.
“Since they broke the meeting.”
“Five hours or so,” K says.
“That's a good sign,” Brittany says, remaining standing, looking up at the stars in the evening sky.
“Why?”
“Well if it was so cut-and-dried like you think it is, then they wouldn't need time to actually debate it, would they?”
“Or maybe the administrators with an agenda are spending all this time trying to convince the underlings that their bullshit course of action is actually the right move,” K replies.
Brittany's phone buzzes. “They're calling us back in,” Brittany says. She starts walking toward the door to the stairwell. K remains sitting against the wall. “Come on,” she beckons. K remains. She walks back to K. “Delaying it won't change it.”
K stands up and looks out from the rooftop. There's a complete Saturn V splayed out on the lawn. Not a model, an actual Saturn V that could have flown.
“Pretty crazy isn't it,” K says.
“What?”
“The Saturn V,” K says. “They spent fifty billion dollars in today's money on the program, and that fifty billion bought them just fifteen Saturn Vs. Then they ended the Apollo program and turned Saturn Vs 14 and 15 into lawn ornaments to save a few million dollars that it cost just for launch operations. They had payloads. We had Apollo CSMs, we had lunar modules. They spent how many billions, how many shuttle launches as well as help from the Russians to build the ISS. The whole ISS has about 800 cubic meters of pressurized space. Skylab was launched with the thirteenth Saturn V and had over 300 cubic meters. If they had just used those last two Saturn Vs, they could have had a space station bigger than the ISS in 1974. Took thirty more years to get anywhere close to that.”
“That's NASA,” Brittany says.
“All I'm saying is, their decisions don't have to make sense. The public just assumes NASA knows what it's doing. But it doesn't. It's run by bureaucrats and politicians, not by the engineers.”
The teams file in and take their seats. Kingsley, Brittany, and Travis anxiously wait and hope they can leave this room with their dreams intact.
“Alright,” Jennings says before clearing his throat and standing up. He's not a man that's comfortable being the center of attention, but his announcement calls for him to be just that. “So, I've done something a bit unusual. The down-select was supposed to take away development funding from one cargo and one crew competitor. But instead of doing that, since that's a really stupid thing to do, I've juggled some money around to technically fulfill the stupid thing congress is making me do without doing it their way. I'm cutting all development funding for cargo missions since all three companies have already demonstrated that capability, so I don't see much need for these development funds anyway. I've taken the money that was supposed to be dev funds for the remaining two cargo competitors and I've put that together in order to fund a third crew competitor. So the Dream Chaser, the CST-100, and the Griffin will all continue to receive funding to lead to a crew transport capability. That way we should have three viable options for crew transport and actual competition to keep costs down.
“No questions so far? Good,” Jennings proceeds without really waiting for any questions. “So we have 18 cargo delivery missions to the ISS over the next 36 months to award. We've split these evenly. ULA, Orbital Sciences, and SpacEx will receive two missions per year, for a total of six missions each. Everyone understand? Do I need to draw a chart with lines on it? Do I need a PowerPoint? Good,” Jennings sits back down and the room stays silent for a moment as the results sink in.
“We fucking did it,” Travis whispers to Kingsley. Travis and Brittany talk around Kingsley as he stares at the ULA team across the table. Their leader, Granderson, is clearly not happy with the results, and his team looks dejec
ted, decidedly unhappy that they were unable to eliminate any of their competitors today.
“Hey Granderson,” Kingsley says, interrupting his jubilant team.
“What is it Kingsley?” Granderson asks from across the table, expecting Kingsley to rub his defeat in his face.
“You guys look a little disappointed,” K says.
“Yeah?” Granderson expects K to spring some quippy one-liner on him.
“Just saying, you got six missions, how many did you want?” K asks.
“What does it matter?”
“Well it looks like somebody pissed in your coffee, but I mean, it's not like you could have done all the missions yourselves.”
“You bet your ass we could have done all 18 missions. We can easily do six of these a year,” Granderson replies.
“Really?” K muses, “well then I've got a proposal for you.”
“What?” Granderson asks apathetically.
“What if I give you four of our missions?” K asks.
“What's that?” Jennings interrupts like a teacher that's been ignoring the kids until they said something too egregious for him to ignore.
“We'll take the two missions this year, but the next four, we'll let ULA have them,” K says.
“What?” Jennings asks.
“Yeah, what?” Brittany demands.
“Wait, if you're forfeiting missions, you shouldn't get to give them to ULA, we should get in on that,” the Orbital Sciences team leader chimes in.
