by Terry Fallis
“But after more than a hundred space shuttle missions over the last thirty years, slowly but inexorably, the extraordinary has become ordinary. It’s still the same highly skilled, heavily trained group of overachievers who get to fly, but the public has lost interest. We’ve seen too many launches and too many landings. The average citizen has almost nothing in common with the brave test pilots, aerospace engineers, scientists, doctors, and other very special men and women who ride the shuttle into orbit and stay for weeks, sometimes months, on the International Space Station. We can’t relate to them or to what they do. The thrill wanes. It’s become routine.”
I paused for a moment, plotting my next move.
“We agree with you, Kelly, that landing more articles in newspapers and more stories on TV are unlikely to convince the public to leap back on NASA’S bandwag … er … bandrocket. We need something more to re-animate average Canadians and Americans.”
I paused again.
“We actually need to give average citizens the chance to ride the shuttle into space, sitting next to the test pilot and nuclear physicist.”
I punched the remote and the Citizen Astronaut title morphed to life on the slide in a very modest and restrained animation, free of sound effects.
“We want to launch the Citizen Astronaut contest here in the United States and in Canada. It’s kind of like Willy Wonka’s golden ticket but the prize is not touring a chocolate factory on foot, but orbiting the Earth in the International Space Station.”
Kelly was still listening and even nodded a few times as I walked the group through the still hazy details.
• There would be one American winner and one Canadian winner.
• Citizens over the age of eighteen would be eligible to submit one entry each online.
• The contest would be supported by a fully integrated media relations and social media campaign to spread the word across the continent.
• The two winners would be chosen in random draws overseen by a major accounting firm. Just like the Oscars.
• The winners would have to complete successfully a basic citizen astronaut training program before having their flight status confirmed.
• Both winners would have assigned mission duties to complete while in orbit.
• Of course, both winners would be required to sign the mother of all liability waivers.
Kelly sat perfectly still with her hands clasped on the table in front her. I was nearly finished. I’d described the idea and how we would make it happen in as much detail as I knew at that moment. It was time to wrap up.
“In the end, we seek to rekindle the public’s support for NASA and excitement about space exploration by actually giving the public a chance to leave this Earth and experience space travel. And we’re not talking about some eccentric billionaire businessman who bought his way onto a Soyuz flight after training for six months in Russia. We’re talking about opening the possibility of space travel for a farmer in Saskatchewan, a secretary in Halifax, a convenience store owner in Wichita, or a crossing guard in Savannah. It gives every American and Canadian citizen a stake in the space program, and a stake in NASA. It’s their chance to do what they’ve only ever watched and dreamed about. That is how you return space exploration to the top of the public’s agenda and keep it there.”
I sat down slowly, keeping my eyes on Kelly. I felt my knees knocking together under the table. I didn’t look at anyone else. Kelly was nodding very slowly while keeping her eyes on me. I took it as a good sign. But for all I knew, she was deciding which expletive to employ when blowing our plan out of the water.
“So let me see if I understand your idea,” Kelly began, speaking very deliberately. “You want to invite any American or Canadian citizen to enter a contest where two winners would actually fly on a shuttle to the International Space Station, conduct experiments or complete other mission-related tasks, and then fly back to Earth before returning to their regularly scheduled lives? Is that really your idea?”
“Um … yes, that’s it in a nutshell,” I replied.
She just looked at me as she thought it through. She raised her right hand, palm facing forward.
“Gentlemen, questions?”
A ripple of energy passed through the panel – a very small ripple.
“Do you know how much it would cost to train complete neophytes to fly safely in space?” asked the CFO, who must have finally tuned in while I was presenting.
None of my colleagues was rushing to respond so I felt compelled to say something that in the most optimistic light might approach an answer. But I really don’t think light comes in such an optimistic variety.
“No, I confess I have no idea. None whatsoever. But wouldn’t it be considered a good investment if the contest reinvigorated public support for NASA, and then Congress felt compelled to open up the funding tap again? That’s the outcome we’re aiming for.”
The CFO said nothing. Kelly nodded again. Then Scott Chandler roused himself.
“Son, do you know what a 20G Centrifuge is?”
I was actually being asked a question by an astronaut who had set foot on the moon. Had I known I was to be in the presence of a lunar explorer, I would have worn my “Apollo astronauts do it in one-sixth gravity!” T-shirt. My heart was pounding.
“Yes, sir. I’ve visited the one you have at the Ames Research Center in California,” I replied. I snatched a look at Amanda and I could tell she was impressed. “It’s used to train astronauts and fighter pilots to withstand the g-forces experienced when flying in high-performance fighter jets and spacecraft.”
“Very good.” He nodded and smiled. “Well, that centrifuge at Ames is always well-stocked with barf bags for those with weaker constitutions who can’t hold their lunch past five Gs. I think your idea belongs in one of those barf bags.”
“I see,” I said, still not quite clear. “I don’t suppose you mean that in a good way.”
“Putting housewives and shopkeepers in space alongside astronauts who have trained their entire careers for a single shuttle mission diminishes all of us and the legacy of the original seven astronauts, who, by the way, were all friends of mine.”
Crash and burn. I was dead.
Well, it was clear we’d lost the astronaut vote on the panel. The role of astronauts has been a topic of much debate right from the earliest stages of the space program. During the Mercury program, the original seven astronauts mentioned by Chandler had felt that they were just human ballast being shot into space in a tin can and that their considerable aeronautical skills were being ignored. They wanted more of a role in the mission. They wanted to “fly” the rocket, not just strap in for the ride. So suggesting that inexperienced civilians should “tag along” for a mission made space flight seem just too pedestrian for the likes of the former Apollo commander. Even in the shuttle era, this remained an issue. On-board computers had the power to guide the shuttle through re-entry and land the shuttle safely without an astronaut ever touching the stick. Yet every single mission has ended with the commander actually “flying” the shuttle to a dead stick landing. Screw the computers.
“Thank you, Mr. Chandler.” Kelly intervened to put me out of my misery. “Further questions?”
The NASA Administrator piped up next.
“I understand how my colleague feels, but the unfortunate reality is that Congress is squeezing us so goddamned tightly now that I’m looking for spare change in my office couch. Right now, it is not a good scene. It is downright ugly. To make matters worse, Congress has access to all the polling we’ve ever done, so they know the public has drifted away. So the slashing and burning continues. Do you really think we can bring citizens back to us simply by holding out to them the slim prospect of a trip to the space station?”
“Yes, sir, I truly believe we can.” I hoped I sounded more convinced than I felt.
Kelly asked many more questions about how it would all work and I skated my way through them with a little help from Aman
da, Diane, and Michael. Crawford Blake was no help. He was still fuming, with arms folded, and wanted out of there. He had gathered up what little he’d brought and seemed to be leaning towards the door.
“Well, thank you for your presentation,” Kelly said as she stood up. “Do you have hard copies for the panel?”
Diane jumped in fast as Amanda reached for the copies in her bag.
“Um, no, unfortunately we don’t have them with us. Our printer blew a gasket just as we were printing your hard copies this morning. But I received a text during the presentation that they have fixed the problem and the copies have been couriered to you to arrive by the end of the day,” improvised Diane.
Very smooth. I realized that the printed decks in Amanda’s bag did not include the big idea – my big idea.
“Thank you,” Kelly said. “I know you’ll be wondering about next steps. Yours was the final pitch, so we now have some thinking to do, and we’ll be back to you one way or another soon. Likely within the week.”
She paused before continuing.
“And I’m sorry I prematurely cut off the presentation earlier. NASA can only succeed in this if we try bold and creative approaches. The run-of-the-mill media relations program that I thought was the extent of your proposal is something we can do internally, in our sleep. So let me close the meeting with some friendly advice. Don’t bury the lead next time. Start with your big idea.”
“What an unholy bitch she was!” shouted Crawford Blake after the team had reconvened in the TK boardroom an hour later. “I very nearly pulled the plug and took us out of the running. What a bitch! And where did she come from anyway? Didn’t we do a recce on who’s running the show over there?”
Diane, Amanda, and I stole a glance at one another. Crawford was the one with the contact inside NASA. Why didn’t he know? I decided not to ask. He stomped around the boardroom spitting Mississippi vitriol. Diane, Amanda, and I were getting ready to head for the airport to return to Toronto. With Crawford hovering on the border between livid and apoplectic, the sooner we bolted the better. Amanda had already integrated my slides into the presentation and the printers were spitting out copies ready for binding and rush delivery. So I figured we were free and clear to evacuate. Not yet. Crawford stopped, turned, and faced us, with his hands flat on the table.
“And Amanda, I’m not a big fan of freelancing such a big presentation the way you and David did back there. I really didn’t appreciate being shut down like that in front of the potential client.”
“Come on, Crawford.” Diane leapt in to defend her team. “Amanda did exactly what you would have done. If we still have any chance of winning this account, it’s because of Amanda and David.”
“I’m so sorry, Crawford, I panicked. I didn’t mean to cut you off. I was just trying to save the business and I suddenly remembered I had David’s slides on my computer,” Amanda explained, looking as if her career were flashing before her eyes.
Crawford paused and dropped into a chair at the table. When he spoke, it was no longer tinged with anger.
“You didn’t look panicked to me. You took charge. You reminded me of me, even though it was at my expense. I’ll get over it, eventually,” he joked. “And if we score the account, I’ll get over it even faster.”
Diane and Crawford then launched into a separate conversation, speaking in code about TK operational matters. So I turned to Amanda, who still seemed wired from the pitch. It was the first time I’d been able to speak to her since we’d walked out of the NASA meeting.
“Great save when Kelly was about to gas us,” I said. “We were cooked, and you saved us. And your hand-off was so smooth, I didn’t even know that I had the ball for the first minute or two.”
“I know. You had this look on your face that did not inspire confidence, initially,” she replied. “But then I could see the penny dropped and you were off. David, I have to admit, you did a great job presenting your idea. You nearly convinced even me this time. I still think it’s a long shot but you did really, really well for your first pitch.”
She smiled at me. A real smile.
“Thanks. I’m just glad you remembered you had the slides. We’d have been sunk without them.”
The boardroom door swung open and Xena the Warrior Princess, aka the TK receptionist from the lobby, stepped in.
“Crawford, there’s a Kelly Bradstreet on line two for you.”
We all raised our eyebrows in unison. Crawford Blake reached for the phone as my stomach tightened. It was frustrating only hearing Crawford’s side of the conversation.
“Hello, Kelly, it’s Crawford Blake. Long time, no see.…
“Thank you. And I apologize for my abbreviated outburst. We’ve all been so excited about the NASA pitch so it was tough to hear your initial reaction before we took you through our big idea.…
“Yes. Yes. And yes, Diane does have amazing taste in glasses.” Diane beamed.
“Uh-huh. Yes. You did? You are? Well that’s just fantastic news. We didn’t think we’d hear until at least next week.…
“Yes, you’re right, time is tight. Of course we can start right away.”
The phone still to his ear, Crawford gave us the thumbs-up and I experienced my first new business high. It was a surprising feeling of pure elation. Amanda made me do the fist bump. I missed her fist the first time but came around a second time and made contact. Crawford waved his hand to silence us.
“I thought it was all over when the ex-astronaut was so, um, colourfully critical of the idea.…
“I see. Well that’s good to hear.…
“Yes. I understand. It’s completely your call, and that will be fine with us,” Crawford said, looking at me. “Yes, he’s based in Toronto.…
“Okay, that’s just great. We’ll watch for the paperwork and get together next week to kick it off. We’ll also hammer out a more detailed plan. Thank you for this news, Kelly. We’re all in orbit around here – pun intended. And we’ll do everything we can to justify your faith in us.…
“We are, too. Oh, and again, sorry about my reaction in the room today. I was a little hot because I knew what was still to come and that you would just love it. Turns out I was right.…
“No problem. You were well within your rights. Okay, well, we’ll get started. Bye for now and thanks again.”
He calmly replaced the phone in the cradle and held his hand there for just a second or two before leaping to his feet and pumping his fist so hard I feared he might dislocate his shoulder. Then he whooped a few times and did a brief but disturbing victory dance that was a little bit bump and grind and far too much Curly from The Three Stooges. It was actually quite frightening, but it really didn’t matter.
“Okay, folks, we can ditch the Project Crimson code name and tell the world that we’re NASA’S agency. We won,” he said, still catching his breath.
“Here’s the deal. Despite grandpa astronaut’s reservations, we won it on the Citizen Astronaut contest idea. The only catch is that there’ll be a condition in the NASA contract that young David here plays a senior role on the account team,” he said turning to me. “You impressed them. Congratulations.”
Amanda looked befuddled for just an instant, but then recovered.
“Okay, but I’m still running the Canadian program, right?”
PART 2
CHAPTER 4
“You’re looking fried and frazzled, Lauren.”
Oops. I was sitting across the kitchen table from my sister. She supported her forehead with the palm of her right hand and twirled a spoon in her tea with her left. She was not pleased.
“Thanks, jackass. That makes me feel so much better,” she said. “You’d look like crap too if you were up every half-hour through the night dealing with whatever Mom’s got going on at that precise moment. It could be pain, hallucinations, a congested chest, missing meds, or my favourite, a bedpan malfunction. Sometimes she calls and then doesn’t know why when I get there.”
Shit. I am s
uch a tool sometimes. Okay, often.
“Lauren, I’m so sorry, I meant it, you know, sympathetically. Honest, I did. I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but now that I’m here, I can find out. Let me stay here for a few days and you take a break at my place,” I offered again. “I’m here to share this. That’s why I came back.”
Lauren paused and then made eye contact for the first time since I’d arrived a few minutes earlier.
“David, you’ve been working 24-7 ever since NASA landed. We’ve barely seen you,” she replied. “Look. I know you’re serious and you mean well, but it just makes more sense for me to do this. You’ve got a big-time job now and I’m only part-time in a sleepy library branch. Besides, I don’t really think Mom would be that comfortable with you positioning her bedpan or changing her Depends. Her dignity is already in short supply these days.”
Ouch. That hurt. There was silence but for the clink of stirring spoon against teacup. I waited, knowing it was coming. There it was, the sound of guilt screeching to a halt and parking on my chest with a jaunty “Okay, I’m here. What did I miss?”
“I’m sorry I’ve been a bit out of touch the last month. This NASA project is huge and demanding. I’ve never worked so hard in my life, and it’s weighing pretty heavily on my rounded shoulders. We’re all working from the crack of dawn till 10 at night, every day. When we launch the contest next week things should slow down … somewhat.”
Lauren didn’t even look up, but kept stirring.
“So, is she feeling any better at all?” I asked.
She almost gave herself whiplash snapping her head up to stare at me, incredulous.
