Moon For Sale

by Jeff Pollard

  “Yes!” Kingsley shouts, pumping his fist.

  “They got this far last time,” Bob Koke says hopefully, referring to the landing that resulted in an Eagle 9 getting stuck in shallow waters for two days. The views switch to a feed from a robotic camera near the landing pads, seeing both rockets coming in on their final descent. They slow down rapidly as they drop below 500 feet. Their downrange velocity is only a few meters per second and they are almost directly above their respective pads.

  The rockets look perfectly under control, and seconds away from landing. But then the near booster begins to waver. It pivots back and forth, trying to halt its horizontal velocity. The slight wavering, a back-and-forth movement, amplifies. Each time the rocket goes back-and-forth, it ends up worse off than it started. What began as a slight wavering quickly becomes a wild oscillation, the result of which is that both rockets appear to be under perfect control and then just before landing they abruptly enter a series of over-corrections and lose control. The far rocket's severe over correction over stresses the engine mount and the landing engine abruptly dies and the rocket plummets the final forty feet, breaking the deployable landing legs and smashing all 9 engine bells into the concrete landing pad. The near rocket points almost totally horizontal, back toward the sea, and crashes on its side, partially disappearing into wet marshy ground.

  “Yes!” The Kokes jump up and celebrate, high-fiving each other, pumping their fists, shouting all kinds of things. This celebration is interrupted when a glass cube containing a light bulb smashes into the wall just beside them. Kingsley, pissed, threw his Edison Achievement Award at the Kokes, luckily barely missing them.

  “You're just a sore loser,” Bob Koke says, still happy from his victory. The Kokes march out, pigs in hand, gleeful. Caroline glares at Kingsley.

  “He did it,” Kingsley says, pointing at little Griffin.

  “I thought that was a major award,” Hannah asks sarcastically.

  “Martha Stewart has one,” K mutters, “so it can't be that great.”

  Chapter 18

  “PIO,” Kingsley says as he puts on a tie.

  “What the hell is PIO?” Caroline asks, “and why does it mean you have to go to the launch?”

  “Pilot induced oscillation,” K says.

  “So it was the pilot's fault?” Caroline asks, following K as he heads down stairs.

  “Well, autopilot.”

  “So it was auto-pilot induced oscillation?” Caroline asks.

  “Yeah,” K says.

  “What is that?”

  “Same thing happened in the testing of the YF-22. There's a slight delay between giving the command and it actually happening. So say you're flying along straight-and-level. Then your nose drops a tiny bit, so you pull back on the stick. You let off the stick when you get back to level, but then the plane continues nosing-up above level. So now you push the stick forward to nose it down. You stop at level, but it keeps going below the horizon. It's because of the delay. And this oscillation can just keep getting worse until, well, you lose control.”

  “So why does that mean you have to go?” Caroline asks, following K out the back door as he heads for the hanger and his brand new Saker S-1 personal jet and a cross-country flight to the LCF.

  “So I can be the pilot,” K replies. His expensive shoes click on the cobble stone stairs that cut between redwood trees and lead to the hangar.

  “Why you? You have pilots that work for you, they can do it,” Caroline says.

  “I've been doing this maneuver in simulators since 2006. None of these pilots have even known what FSR is that long.”

  “And so you, Kingsley must personally go to Florida for four days, and it's a complete coincidence that this is the period of time that my mother is staying in town.”

  “Yes,” K replies as he hits a button on his key-chain and opens the hangar door.

  “They all said, yep, we need Kingsley. None of us can possibly do it,” Caroline says sarcastically as they enter the dank hangar. K stops, turning to face Caroline who had been following after him.

  “Look. This is my last shot at this. I'm not going to stay here and watch a livestream of my future crashing or succeeding. I'm going to be there for this. And I'd rather fly it myself than rely on a computer. If I crash it, fine, that's on me, but at least I controlled my destiny.”

  “And you need to be gone four days for that?”

  “I mean, I want to get more simulator time and-”

  “That wasn't really a question,” Caroline interrupts.

  “Okay, I need to be there for two days, the other two days are just a coincidence that it gets me out of staying in the same house with your mother.”

  “I knew it,” Caroline replies as Kingsley climbs the stairs built into the side of his Saker S-1 and up to the cockpit. “Why don't you like my mother? She's not a typical mother in law.”

  “No, she's not, she's a princess.”

  “But not like a stuck-up princess-princess. It's just a title. She's not some harpy evil mother-in-law.”

  “I like her just fine,” K says as he keeps his head down, powering up the computer systems. Caroline climbs up the ladder, leaning into the cockpit, looking K dead in the eyes. This insistent look always makes Kingsley uncomfortable and causes him to spill his beans. “She doesn't like me,” K finally lets that off his chest.

  “What? She loves you,” Caroline says, not totally convinced of it herself.

  “No she doesn't. And it's all Wendy's fault too. She thinks I'm a womanizer.”

  “You are a womanizer.”

  “She thinks I'm a philanderer then.”

  “Doesn't that mean the same thing?” Caroline asks.

  “I don't know. It sounds dirtier.”

  “She likes you.”

  “She wishes you would marry some European duke or prince so you can expand the house of Grimaldi. Like Prince Guillaume, the hereditary grand arch duke-ness, you know, the Luxembourger.”

  “He's younger than me,” Caroline protests.

  “Yeah, like a year younger, and he's first in line. He'll be king when his dad dies. King Guillaume and Queen Caroline of Luxembourg. That's what your princess mother wants.”

  “You're so wrong,” Caroline insists.

  “Am I?”

  “Yes. For one thing, Luxembourg is led by a Grand Duke, not a king. So even if I was married to the Grand Duke, I would only be a Grand Duchess, and that's not much of a title bump. Secondly, Guillaume is married already, and thirdly, he's like my fifth cousin twice removed or something.”

  “You could have married him, and that's what your Mom's thinking about.”

  “But we're cousins, we would never get married,” Caroline insists.

  “Do you know who he's married to?” K asks.

  “I was at the wedding,” Caroline replies. “Stephanie something. She's Belgian.”

  “And his seventh cousin,” K adds.

  “How do you know all that?” Caroline asks.

  “I have files on all the guys you ever dated,” K replies non-chalantly.

  “You what?”

  “I didn't want a repeat of the Richard Branson experience.”

  “Did you hire those private detectives to spy on me?”

  “No! God damn, I'm not that nuts,” K replies. “I had an intern do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Google you,” K replies. “She spent about a month Googling everything about you, put together a timeline of all the men, and one woman, you've been romantically linked with.”

  “That was just a rumor,” Caroline replies defensively.

  “So then I had her put together a briefing on each of those guys. Basically I've read the Wikipedia page for every guy you've dated. That's not that crazy. It's all on Wikipedia.” Caroline glares and Kingsley can't help but fill the uncomfortable silence. “Hey, you went to Wendy behind my back. This is way less bad. . . I'm gonna star
t the engine now, you might want to climb down.”

  “You really have to go?”

  “I'm landing this last chance at FSR,” K says.

  “Well, while you're gone, my mother and I will be discussing baby names, and you might just get left out of the decision entirely.”

  “I'm sure you'll pick something respectable,” K replies.

  “I'm thinking about naming her Queensley,” Caroline says, then gives K a peck on the cheek and climbs down.

  “Don't do it,” Josh implores, standing over Kingsley's shoulder at the pilot's console in the Launch Control Facility. K is surprised by Josh's tone and turns to give him a puzzled look.

  “You said that like I was standing on the edge of a roof and you were telling me not to jump,” K says.

  “Maybe that's the situation we're in,” Josh replies.

  “No it's not,” K says.

  “We fixed the PIO, trust the updated software, trust the auto-pilot. It'll work.”

  “It might work,” K replies. “And it might work if I do it myself, and since this is my last chance, I'd rather it rest on my shoulders.”

  “Okay, I understand that perspective,” Josh says, biting his tongue. “But...”

  “But what?”

  “Don't do it.” A group of people in suits enter the control room.

  “Who's that?” K asks Josh.

  “That's the ULA people,” Josh replies. “Here to pretend like they're important because they're paying us to send this cargo to the ISS. How did we end up doing this for them anyway?”

  “Long story,” K replies. “Is Hendricks here?”

  “Who?”

  “The president,” K replies.

  “Well the guy in the middle with the goatee is the president,” Josh replies.

  “What happened to Hendricks?”

  “I don't know,” Josh replies. The ULA contingent spots Kingsley at the console despite him keeping his head down and they head toward him.

  “Anthony Parks, president,” the goateed man introduces himself with a forced smile and gives Kingsley the firmest, most strangling handshake he has ever received.

  “Mr. Pretorius, hotel manager.”

  “What are you doing at the console? Micro-managing?” Parks asks smugly.

  “Piloting the first stage.”

  “Is that why the last one, well, all of them, crashed?”

  “The last one was due to an auto-pilot PIO issue,” Josh interjects.

  “Don't bother, he doesn't speak nerd,” K says and turns back to his panel.

  “Just try not to crash it on John Travolta's house,” Parks says, hinting that he knows quite a lot about Kingsley.

  “What happened to Hendricks?” K asks.

  “I took her job.”

  “Descriptive, thanks, that really provided me with more information,” K says sarcastically. “I know you guys are trying to undercut me again. You bought a BA330, and you're trying to sell tickets to your space hotel cheaper than mine.”

  “Free market,” Parks replies simply.

  “Is that why you sell things at a loss? In order to screw a competitor.”

  “Free market baby, I love it,” Parks replies.

  “I had a deal with Hendricks. I bailed you guys out of this jam with NASA, and in return you weren't going to undercut me anymore. What happened to that?”

  “Like I said, Hendricks is gone.”

  “How the hell are you supposed to deal with a company when there's a new president every six months?” K asks Josh. “I guess that means I'll just never again be doing any kind of deal with ULA, because you won't have this job in six months anyway.”

  “I don't want to make any deals with you,” Parks replies.

  “Okay, so, how about you guys launch your own cargo to the ISS,” K says.

  “What would that cost us, like seventy million? You're trying to intimidate me with seventy million? Is that a joke? You can't even cancel the launch anyway, you need it, this is your last shot at first stage return or else you lose reusability.”

  “I can easily change the destination,” K replies. “Send the cargo over to my space hotel instead of NASA's. Then you default on your promise to supply the ISS with cargo, and then you might have to explain to the press why it is that your rocket company is paying a different rocket company to do your job for you.”

  “Yeah, you might do that, but then again, you need that hundred million we're paying you, so you'd only be screwing yourself,” Parks replies. “I'm gonna go get a good seat so I can watch the fireworks, good luck with your launch.”

  “So that went well,” Josh says as the ULA contingent heads for the VIP room overlooking Launch Control.

  “I'll bet you that guy doesn't even know what specific impulse is. CEO of a rocket company, probably never even took a physics class. And the handshake, Jesus, tried to break my hand, who does that?”

  “My dad has a saying about that,” Josh says, “Firm handshake, limp dick.”

  “Something like that,” K replies.

  “So I was thinking,” Josh says. “. . . Don't do it.”

  “This again?”

  “Trust the auto-pilot.”

  “I'm gonna show that neanderthal how a real CEO operates,” K says as he shifts his concentration back to his piloting station, getting settled into his chair, hands on joystick and throttle, preparing to pilot a rocket. But the countdown is not quite to twenty minutes, leaving him and Josh in an awkward silence as Josh takes the seat next to K.

  “So, did you see the Democrat convention?” Josh asks.

  “I don't much like the theater,” K replies.

  “They announced the running mate,” Josh says. “Probably the next VP and thus the next person to be in charge of NASA,” Josh tries to tease any kind of reaction out of K.

  “Yeah?” K says, unmoved.

  “Well, if you don't care, I'll just shut up.”

  “Fine, who is it?”

  “Who?”

  “The next VP,” K says, annoyed.

  “Walken,” Josh says.

  “Lorne?” K asks. Josh nods. “Now that is interesting.”

  “Told you,” Josh says.

  “He's pro-space, pro actual competition, he's a Keynesian. He believes in stimulus, not this austerity bullshit,” K says.

  “What does that mean?” Josh asks.

  “Didn't you ever take economics?” K asks.

  “No. Did you?”

  “No,” K says.

  “Then how do you know about it?”

  “I read,” K declares loudly. “Americans,” he scoffs.

  “So what's a Keynesian?”

  “I don't want to give a lecture right now,” K replies.

  “We got seventeen minutes,” Josh replies. “Give me the tweet version.”

  “You have an economy. People work, people buy things, right?”

  “I'm totally with you so far,” Josh says.

  “If you tie your level of government spending to the level of tax revenue, say always balancing your budget, then that means in recessions, when times are tough, you then lay off workers and make everything even worse, and when times are good, you spend more and hire more people. This leads to a boom-and-bust cycle. Instead, let's reverse that, when the economy suffers, spend more, go into debt. When the economy is good, pull back and pay off some of that debt, so that when something goes bad, you'll have the ability to go into more debt to stimulate the economy.

  If I was President, well, if I was king in 2008, when the market collapsed, I would have initiated a massive stimulus program, building massive infrastructure programs, huge solar plants, renovate our entire electrical infrastructure, invest in fusion power research, quintuple the NASA budget, the hyperloop, self-driving electric cars, you name it. We'd put so many people back to work, we'd have gotten a lot of useful work out of it, and we would have been out of that recession in three years, ea
sily. And we would have come out the other side as the world leader in manufacturing electric cars, solar cells, and all kinds of technology that we can then make billions off of for decades.”

  “Didn't they do a big stimulus thing?” Josh asks.

  “It wasn't that big,” K replies.

  “Wasn't it like a trillion dollars?”

  “It was only 900 billion dollars,” K says.

  “Only,” Josh says sarcastically.

  “We have a fifteen trillion dollar economy. When that juggernaut slips into a depression, you're gonna need to spend a lot to fix it.”

  “If people have this figured out, why do we keep doing stupid things?”

  “Because rich people don't want to pay high taxes. Why do we still have oil subsidies instead of investing in solar power? Because rich oil companies pay the politicians to make sure they can keep making record profits. It's all about money.”

  “And Walken is a Keynesian?” Josh asks.

  “Right. So maybe he pushes for a bigger budget for NASA or tries to increase spending on solar, wind, electric cars, you name it.”

  “What if the Republicans win?”

  “Then it's more fracking, oil pipelines, no science funding, laws to make contraceptives illegal, porn-blocking software, and an exit strategy for the gay problem,” K replies.

  “Maybe the Republicans will announce a big plan to send all the gays to Mars,” Josh says hopefully.

  “That would help business,” K muses.

  “Maybe we should lobby the Republicans to do it. The Koke's would definitely go for that. How many launches would it take to send all the gays to Mars? What's the gay payload to TMI (Trans-Mars-Injection) for the Eagle Heavy?” Josh asks.

  “Current upper stage or the next version?” K asks seriously.

  “Next,” Josh says, struck by how seriously Kingsley will take a joke if it involves the rocket equation. “Oh, and the Republican gay transporter doesn't need like air or water or anything, just assume it to be a block of gays of uniform density.”