by Jeff Pollard
“We at Tezla aren't after a monopoly. We know that our efforts force our competitors to innovate, to strive to do better, to be greener, more efficient, and that is exactly what is happening. But we're not going to be satisfied until every car in every garage is purely electric. That is why today I have the pleasure of introducing the Tezla X. This crossover will immediately shift the entire car market toward development of electric vehicles, and thus, a rapid move away from the polluting, globe warming, internal combustion engines.”
“Normally, when car company reveals a new model, they raise a curtain to reveal the car. They don't drive it onto the stage. That's because you aren't allowed to use combustion driven vehicles indoors. Think of it. They're introducing new cars that you can't run indoors because it's a health hazard. But somehow running hundreds of millions of these things outside will be fine. I've got a news flash for you, the Earth is finite. I've seen it from outer space. It's not that big. We must as a species come rapidly to the realization that we live in a bubble. Pollutants don't vanish, they all go somewhere, and they accumulate. I hope that my grandchildren will look back on today as the turning point, the day when internal combustion engines were no longer seen as acceptable, when we as a race finally stepped back from the brink of disaster. I hope they'll be looking at the Earth, the wonderful blue marble, from a telescope on Mars. But that's a whole other story.”
“Next year, I'll be back to introduce the next model, which will represent phase three, a low cost, high volume vehicle. A vehicle that will bring affordable, green, electric cars to the masses, and thus, really put pressure on our fellow car companies to keep up.”
The crowd eats it up as Kingsley finishes his presentation and prepares to field questions. His eyes scan the crowd and find Caroline and Hannah at the back of the crowd, drinking fruity things and chatting, hitting it off. “Great, they're best friends now,” K mutters.
The voice of Brittany Hammersmith echoes through Kingsley's skull as he answers questions. “Don't piss anyone off. Don't make fun of Ford, or fat Americans, or Republicans,” she said to him on the phone minutes before the event. Questions from reporters about the X fly at him. K handles the questioning deftly, however he is caught off guard by a question shouted at him by a reporter from the Wall Street Journal.
“Kingsley, do you have a response to Sarah Palin's comments about Tezla?”
“I don't, I didn't hear her comments,” K replies, trying to move on. He looks up and finds Caroline and Hannah both frowning at his non-answer. Just hours ago he had gone off on a rant about Palin's comments when Caroline read him the tweets.
“She said, and I quote, 'The Obama-subsidized Tezla turns into a brick when the battery completely discharges, costing forty thousand dollars to repair.”
Kingsley thinks for a moment, perhaps restraining himself. “Well that's simply untrue. Our batteries are very reliable, and we cover them with a comprehensive warranty, so customers don't need to worry about-”
“She goes on to say!” The reporter interrupts, “This is really just the latest manifestation of the Obama administration’s crony capitalism as their green energy buddies benefit from this atrocious waste of taxpayer money. Americans really need to get outraged by these wasteful ventures. As we’ve seen time and time again, we the people are always stuck subsidizing the left’s losers. End quote.”
Kingsley hears Brittany's warnings, her years of threats if he can't restrain himself. He looks at Caroline and Hannah, seeing that they both know he wants to respond, he has something of value to say, something that needs to be heard. “If there are only two people in the world that want me to be me,” Kingsley thinks, “it's these two.” They look on, wanting him to show the best of himself, worried he'll restrain himself, sacrificing his integrity to placate market forces, to play to audiences, to avoid scandal.
“Do you have a response?”
“I have a question for Miss Alaska. If a company that's simultaneously reducing pollution, pioneering advanced technologies, leading the way towards saving the environment, all while employing thousands of Americans is a loser...then what's a winner? I'm going to venture a guess that this vacant politician has taken money from oil companies. The status quo is always against change. Jimmy Carter installed solar panels on the white house in the '70s, and Reagan took them down. Here we are, thirty some years later, forty years after landing people on the Moon, and we're still driving cars that run on gasoline, still burning coal to produce electricity, and there's a reason for it. It's not that it's impossible to replace these pollution producing energy sources.
It's because too many people stand to gain too much money from our continued reliance on resources that are of limited supply and extremely high demand. The oil, gas, coal, industries are making so much money that they can buy politicians to make sure that government's don't fund advancements in clean energy or sustainable solutions. So when the former governor of an oil-rich state says that an electric car company is a loser, what she's saying is that she really likes oil companies and 'hey all you oil companies, please give me money and I'll do anything I can to stop innovation from making your planet-killing resources obsolete.
And her whole attitude, that these meddling politicians that aren't businessmen are picking winners and losers and screwing with the holy free-market, is insanely stupid, because the free market is what caused the Exxon Valdez, the free market caused Deepwater Horizon. The free-market values the dollar and nothing else. While we as thinking, feeling human beings can care about more than just dollars. In a hundred years they'll ask what we did when the icecaps melted. And we'll have to find some way of explaining that we just kept on with business as usual because we didn’t want to ruin the economy. So, somehow caring about more than just turning a profit, trying not to poison the air and water makes us some kind of loser in the marketplace. Never mind that Tesla is not subsidized, we used development loans that we are paying back, and that Exxon Mobil turned 42 billion in profits last year, but was subsidized by the US government, because we need to pay them to keep the price of gas down low enough that they only turn 42 billion in profits, that's apparently okay by her. She's obviously just a shill in the corporate machine, someone who will do or say anything to get more money or power.
I mean, that's basically how you get to be a politician in the first place. You either have to be independently rich, an incredibly charismatic and engaging figure, or willing to sell your soul, or some combination of those. She's obviously not smart enough to get where she is by her merits. I wouldn't ride in a car she was driving for fear she'd try to use it as a weapon to kill a moose, and I definitely wouldn't ride in a car she designed. Why does anyone even care what she says about anything? What does she have to say of value, other than, yay Oil, boo Obama?”
But Kingsley doesn't say any of that. He bites his tongue. Instead, he says, “I'm deeply hurt by her statements. And I have to disagree with the former Miss Alaska. Next question”
“Why didn't you respond to Palin?” Caroline asks from the passenger seat of Kingsley's Starship the next morning as they fly over Pennsylvania.
“I didn't want the whole hullabaloo,” K replies simply.
“Hullabaloo?”
“It was the Wall Street Journal, the conservative rag that's published and sent to Earth from an alternate universe every day. Why do you care if I respond to that or not?”
“Just doesn't seem like you to bite your tongue like that, that's all,” Caroline replies defensively. She's going to just leave it be...but then can't help herself. “It's just that you ranted to me about it yesterday. Why didn't you say that to reporters?”
“I can only fight a war on so many fronts,” K says.
“Brittany's getting to you, huh?” Caroline asks. K doesn't respond. “You're not depressed are you?”
“Depressed? Have you ever seen me depressed? I don't have mood swings like most people. I'm too busy to sit around thinking about my feelings.”
; “It's just that...”
“What?”
“Hannah told me that you attempted suicide, and I didn't believe it. I can't imagine you doing that.”
“For the last time, I wasn't trying to kill myself. Yes, I crashed a plane on purpose, no I was not trying to kill myself.”
“That doesn't really clarify the situation,” Caroline says.
“I'm fine.”
“Are you really never a little depressed? Never down or glum or anything?”
“I get down,” K defends himself. “I'm not a robot.”
“Tell me about one time you've been depressed,” Caroline dares him.
“I have feelings,” K says defensively.
“Alright, then give me one example.”
“Okay. . . After the launch of the second Eagle 1. We knew we'd only have money for three tests, and if we had some success, we'd get some satellite contracts and that would pay for the next stage of development. When the first one launched, it lost control and was destroyed by the range safety officer. So we couldn't even recover it to study it. But we knew we had two more test flights. We half-expected the next two flights to be successful. Spending a month getting ready for that second launch, and we're counting down to liftoff and hoping that in an hour we'll be maneuvering a test article in orbit. And it lifts off, but it only gets about four hundred feet up and BOOM, it shook the launch control building. And since it blew up right after liftoff, it rained down bits and pieces of our baby, right on the launch pad. So we spent the afternoon, me and about half the company at that point, walking over the grounds, picking up every little piece of aluminum, circuit board, everything we could find, because maybe in all this wreckage there might be a clue to tell us what went wrong. And we knew we only had one more shot at this and if it didn't work, we were done. It felt like walking through a murder scene and picking up pieces of brain matter. Like Jackie as she tried to pick up the pieces of Jack's skull. Quite a morbid scene.”
“That doesn't count.”
“Why doesn't that count?” Kingsley asks.
“Don't you think it's a bit odd that I asked you for an example of when you have been depressed, and you told me about a rocket exploding and not about your parents dying?”
“What are you my shrink?” K asks.
An hour later, Kingsley's phone rings. “It's Hammersmith, you want me to answer it?” Caroline asks.
“Sure.”
Caroline answers, and she and Brittany converse for several minutes without Caroline relaying any information to Kingsley. After a fifteen minute conversation, K reaches for the phone in Caroline's hand. “What?” Caroline asks.
“Does she want to talk to me?”
“We hung up already.”
“Did she have a message?”
“She wanted me to tell you that you need to get an actual paying customer on the next flight or they're gonna be in trouble,” Caroline says.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Well, do you know anybody that's interested. This is kinda your thing, you're flying free and then hooking us up with rich people, so have at it, who you got?”
“Well,” Caroline says, a hint of mischief in her voice. “There is one person. He's interested, but it might be awkward.”
“Why awkward?”
“We used to date,” Caroline says.
“Great, let's go see him, where to?” K asks.
“Great?”
“Yeah, you hung out with a pseudo-ex of mine, now I get to give you hell. Where to?”
“Las Cruces,” Caroline says. K's spirit falls out of his face.
“Branson!? You dated Branson!?”
“Briefly,” Caroline admits. “I could never shake the feeling that I was just an accomplishment. A royal notch on his belt. That's what happens when you date someone that climbs mountains and flies around the world in balloon.”
“What makes you so sure you're not a notch on my belt?” K asks.
“Well, at first, I was suspicious of your dare-devilish charm, but the more I get to know you, the more I realize you don't do anything because of what people will think about you. You really don't care what anyone thinks about you.”
Kingsley and Caroline land at Spaceport America in Las Cruces, New Mexico at four o'clock in the afternoon. He taxis the plane to one of several empty hangars that look like they'd never been used. Kingsley and Caroline find that WhiteKnightTwo, the carrier plane that hauls SpaceShipTwo to its launching pad in the sky, is the center of attention as technicians are working on the mating mechanism where SpaceShipTwo is attached. Overseeing the work, they see the back of Richard Branson's head. “I'd recognize that blond mullet anywhere,” Kingsley says to Caroline. “Hey Virgin!”
“Caroline!” Branson says excitedly before kissing her cheeks. “Kingsley,” Branson says simply, offering a handshake and a sly smile. “What are you two doing here?”
“Just thought we'd stop in,” K says.
“Checking in on your competitor huh?” Branson asks.
“You know we're not competitors right?” K asks.
“Not me, them,” Branson points. At the far end of the hangar, a Sierra Nevada Dream Chaser space plane sits on a rolling base. “They're doing another series of drop tests.”
“Will they figure out how to actually make landing gear that work this time?” K asks as he walks towards the Dream Chaser like he's gravitationally drawn in by it, leaving Caroline and Richard behind.
“You still dating this goofy bastard?” Branson asks.
“You still a dick?” Caroline asks with a smile.
“I can't really help that, now can I?”
Kingsley circles around the Dream Chaser, running his hands along the skin, analyzing the design, surveying the decisions made. The Dream Chaser is heavily based on the canceled X-38, which itself was based on older American and Russian designs such as the Russian Spiral spacecraft and the American HL-20. Sierra Nevada Corporation had licensed the knowledge NASA had built up when they did most of the testing required to put the X-38 into production prior to its cancellation. A principle of the International Space Station is that there must always be at least as many seats in return craft docked to the station as people on board. The Soyuz capsules can remain docked for months, holding three seats. While the shuttle was still flying, the orbiter could take seven people to the station, but the orbiter could not remain in space for more than a month. It was not designed to be storable in orbit, thus when the shuttle went back to Earth, it had to take home as many people as it brought up.
The idea was for the shuttle to take up the X-38 in its cargo bay, dock it to the station, and be stored there indefinitely, only to be used in case of emergency. The seven seat X-38 would allow a large crew to remain at the station even after the shuttle went home. The X-38 was not designed to land at a runway, but rather to be supported by a large parafoil as it lands on deployable skids on a dry lake bed. However, the Dream Chaser is meant to be re-used often as a shuttle to and from the ISS or any space station that might come along. As such it will land on gear on a runway, not relying on a parafoil or the wide open space of the lakebed. As such, the Dream Chaser will require much more flight testing, which is why it's in a hangar in Las Cruces, waiting to be mated to WhiteKnightTwo.
After surveying the external features of the Dream Chaser, Kingsley enters the cabin. The hatch is located at the rear of the ship. In space, it will dock butt-first, with the cockpit facing away. The cabin is only fitted with the front two seats, no sign of the accommodations for the passengers or even how the seats will be laid out. In fact, the inside of the ship is so far from completion that the floor is made of plywood.
A woman sits in the right-seat, reading an email on her iPad.
Kingsley knocks on the wood floor and says, “is this a spaceship or a wagon?”
“Jesus!” The woman jumps. “You startled me,” she says, turning around. “Kingsley!?” She's starstruck, jumping up to greet him,
nearly whacking her head on a bank of switches on the ceiling. “Wow, it's a pleasure to meet you, I'm a big fan.”
“Thanks. And you are?” K asks.
“Oh! Right. I'm Mary Johnson, well, MJ, people call me MJ,” she says blushing, shaking K's hand for longer than necessary.
“And what do you do?” K asks. MJ is in her late twenties, and her lack of social skills reveals that she is an engineer.
“I was just reading an email, do you want me to show you around?!” She offers excitedly.
“Sure,” K says, still bent over in the ship the size of van. “But I meant, what do you do at Sierra Nevada. I'm guessing an engineer.”
“Right. I'm one of the assistant managers of flight testing,” she says.
“Let me ask you something,” K says, he stops, sitting down on the wooden floor. MJ follows suit, sitting down. “You guys are flying on the Atlas V, which is what like 150 million dollars?”
“Right.”
“Why haven't you been interested in the Eagle 9, I can put you guys in orbit for half that price.”
“Umm, that decision is way over my head,” MJ says nervously.
“Yeah, but you must have heard something.”
“I think the Atlas has more payload to LEO than the Eagle 9,” MJ says.
“It does,” K says, “we top out around 11 tonnes, while the Atlas V, in varying configurations, can go up to about 30 tonnes. But last I checked you guys were at 11 tonnes. So are you really deciding it's not worth it to find a way to make it lighter to open it up to a launch vehicle that's a third of the price? I mean, if you think it's costly to make it lighter, launch it a few times on a ULA rocket and talk to me about costly.”
