Confrontation

by William Hayashi

  As he left the podium, Milton made his way through the crowd toward the president. When he reached Laughlin’s side, he whispered in his ear, “Do you want to get out of here and go someplace quiet?”

  Laughlin smiled and said, “Are you kidding? I want to see Dr. Roscoe eat their lunch!”

  Milton led the president’s entourage through several hallways to the reception room, arriving just in time to see the mission crew arrive through a different door. Most of the crew went over to a table filled with refreshments, then stood around waiting for the media to be let into the room.

  Laughlin spotted Roscoe getting a cup of coffee and made his way over to the table.

  “Ready for the deluge?” he asked, after they shook hands.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be. Anything you want me to not say, Mr. President?” Roscoe asked, a twinkle in her eye.

  “You know better than that. You’re on your own. Say whatever comes to mind. After all, you already have the job. The press isn’t going to be able to do a damn thing about that no matter what you say. Again, my thanks for leading this mission, whatever the outcome. Oops, here they come, looking exactly like sharks about to devour some crippled prey. Well, they’ve got their work cut out for themselves. Have at ’em,” Laughlin said, chuckling as he moved off.

  Nearly the entire contingent of media surrounded Dr. Roscoe, all rudely shouting questions at her. Dr. Roscoe waited them out, not saying a word as the questions got louder and louder. After a few moments, as the gaggle of press realized that she wasn’t going to answer, the questions slowed down, then quieted.

  When everyone was silent, Dr. Roscoe spoke up, “Now, if you all can act like adults, I would be happy to answer a few questions before I leave.”

  The din rose immediately as everyone tried to force Roscoe to pay attention to their question. She sadly smiled and just shook her head. As they refused to quiet, Roscoe began to push her way toward the exit. As they quieted, she stopped and asked, “Do all of you act like this with the President of the United States?” When no one answered she continued, “Then what in the hell makes all of you think shouting at me is acceptable behavior?”

  There was an immediate undercurrent of muttering, some indignant, with one of the men saying loud enough for Dr. Roscoe to hear, “Who the fuck does she think she is?”

  She raised her hand, stopping all conversation.

  “Who said that?” she asked. When no one answered, she said, “In that case, all you men may be dismissed.”

  “What?”

  “Hey, no way!”

  “That’s not fair …”

  “Really?” She said. “Tell you what, let me answer that rude fuck’s question. I’m the mission commander of Project Jove. I am a woman, a black woman at that, and I don’t have to put up with that kind of bullshit from anyone, least of all some cracker with white entitlement issues.”

  The entire room was silent, the rest of the crew edging over to cover Dr. Roscoe’s back.

  “You will treat me with respect whether you want to or not. Now, all you men clear out, since none of you have the stones enough to point out the man who made the remark.”

  The male members of the press all started muttering as they looked off to the side where the offending question originated. One of the men finally threw up his hands and said, “Fuck it, I don’t need to put up with this bullshit,” and stalked out of the room.

  Everyone was silent until the door closed behind him, then they all looked at Dr. Roscoe, waiting for her to make the next move.

  She looked around the room, then said, “I would be happy to take a few questions.” Pointing to a woman closest to her, she said, “You may go first.”

  “Dr. Roscoe, on behalf of my colleagues I would like to apologize for what just happened. And, I would like to ask you the question that nearly everyone around the country is wondering, why you? What led you to be selected as mission commander? It is unusual, almost unheard of as a matter of fact, that an academic would be selected to lead a mission like this.”

  “Good question,” Roscoe began, causing laughter to break out around the room. “When President Laughlin invited me to the White House to offer me the position, I was even more surprised than all of you,” she said, tipping an imaginary hat toward the president across the room.

  “But when you think about it, one of the primary goals of this mission is to try to establish contact with the group most are calling the separatists. It’s no secret that everyone would love to have some kind of normalized relationship with that extraordinary community of people.

  “I served on President Bender’s commission tasked with formulating an overall strategy for dealing with the separatists, It’s no secret that I was against sending soldiers into space to confront those people when they were living on the moon. It was stupid in the extreme.”

  “How so?” asked a man with Associated Press credentials hanging around his neck.

  “For two reasons. The first is that sending armed soldiers immediately shows hostile intent, not a desire to open a dialogue. And second, if you live on the moon, and it appears that you’ve been there for over a generation, it’s a certainty that you have technologies and abilities that outstrip anything we have here on Earth.

  “President Laughlin and NASA are not going to make the same mistake twice. I’m a civilian, an academic, and I’m black. Whether you like it or not, we can all agree that sending a white face to try to establish communication with the separatists would be a foolish choice. Their final message to us as they left orbit was as unambiguous as could be. They are through with looking for any kind of racial equality in this country, and for good reason. Your behavior when all of you came into the room should be a reminder just how we, I mean blacks, are reminded whenever possible of our second class status in this country’s pecking order.

  “The United States military can’t coerce these people into compliance, this country cannot browbeat those people into submission, and this country cannot steal their technologies for white corporations to get rich off of. The shoe is completely on the other foot,” Roscoe concluded.

  “So, what you’re saying is that you, or at least someone like you was the only possible choice to lead this mission if the people you’re going to meet are even going to deign to accept any kind of relationship with their birth country?” asked the CNN reporter.

  “What do you think?” Roscoe countered. “For any rational person, given the fact that they managed to build and hide their community on the moon for so long, and given their farewell message, this may well be nothing more than a fool’s errand; the phrase comes up often. But it’s foolish not to try, especially in light of the tremendous resources that have been expended in the creation and construction of the Jove spaceship. Take Dr. Milton at his word that even though the impetus for building that spaceship was to meet these people out in the asteroid belt, that ship is also man’s entrée into long-term exploration and habitation outside Earth/Moon space.”

  The assembled media representatives were quiet, absorbing what Dr. Roscoe was saying.

  She continued, “Look around me, look at this crew. Don’t think that we don’t know exactly what’s riding on this mission, what we’re supposed to accomplish. I just started training with the crew two weeks ago, but in that time I have grown to respect each and every one of them, as well as the thousands of engineers and support personnel at NASA and our partner, Global Space Technologies.

  “This mission is the most complex, and therefore most dangerous ever undertaken, and I will easily admit that at night, when I get back to my bunk, I have my own personal doubts about whether or not I’m equal to the task at hand. But if I’m good enough for President Laughlin and Dr. Milton, then I’m damn well going to step up and do my level best to make it happen,” she said, then paused, waiting for the next question.

  “Dr. Roscoe, have you gi
ven any thought to what you all would do if the separatists refuse to talk to you at all? Wouldn’t that signal a complete failure of the mission?” asked a Fox News talking head.

  Dr. Roscoe laughed, “You folks at Fox just can’t help yourselves, can you? Of course not. The technologies that went into the Jove spacecraft are more than sufficient to send the ship to Jupiter, Saturn, Mars or Venus, probably farther if needed. So, the answer to your question is no. No matter what kind of reception we get, the mission still has dozens of objectives, not to mention the hundreds of experiments that we’ll be conducting during the trip out and back. I’m being trained in botany, something I’ve always wanted to have the time to learn but never got around to. My own math training is going to come in handy in the study of orbital dynamics and some of NASA’s ongoing gravitational studies.

  “And don’t forget that a representative of the United Nations will be along on the mission. Someone with highly developed negotiating skills is going to be a bonus for me, especially. I’ve been told that I can be a little prickly,” Roscoe said ironically, sending the entire room into gales of laughter.

  She reached for her coffee cup, took a sip then grimaced as she found it had grown cold. Crewman Grier took the cup from her hand and fetched a fresh cup from the urn.

  Milton, who had been hovering just outside the circle of media people pushed his way toward Dr. Roscoe. When he got to her side he said, “How about you all chat with the other members of the crew and give Dr. Roscoe a brief respite? In the press kits you were given when you checked in, there’s an email address for the project’s media relations office. I promise any question sent there for Dr. Roscoe will be answered, or perhaps what we’ll do is aggregate all the questions and then send out a detailed summary of answers to all of you.”

  Several members of the press surged toward Dr. Roscoe to shake her hand, respecting Dr. Milton’s entreaty, a couple even apologizing for the earlier ugliness. Dr. Roscoe took it all with good grace, and returned their well wishes warmly. As the reporters dispersed to chat with the rest of the crew, Milton led her to Laughlin and they adjourned to a conference room down the hall.

  Once the Secret Service secured the room, the three gratefully sat down at one end of the long table. An agent asked what each wanted to drink, then radioed for everything to be brought to the conference room.

  “Well, wasn’t that special,” Laughlin said, starting a round of laughter. “Remind me to never get on your bad side,” he said to Roscoe.

  “Can’t imagine you ever acting like a rude little four-year-old,” she replied.

  “At least that’s the last one of these pressers for a while. Your training schedule isn’t going to afford you or the rest of the crew time for much more of that kind of nonsense,” assured Milton.

  “Either of you worried about someone recording my colorful language?”

  “Not in the least. If anyone asks me I’ll inform them that what you said was a hell of a lot kinder than what I was thinking,” Laughlin assured her.

  Milton laughed, and said, “I was actually hoping you were going to spank them a lot worse than that. Did anyone see who that guy was who left?”

  “If I’m not mistaken, it was one of the columnists from the Wall Street Journal, and good riddance to him. The guy’s an asshole,” Laughlin said dismissively. “No harm, no foul. He was looking for trouble, he found it, and he got thrown out on his ass.”

  “I don’t know how you do it, Mr. President. They weren’t any worse than in the White House press room, but it just pissed me off,” Roscoe said.

  “You get a thick skin when you’re in my position. But there’s no reason for you to have to put up with that crap. I think you handled them just fine, not to mention you have a lot more important things on your plate from here on out.

  “It’s up to Dr. Milton and me to run interference for you until you leave orbit. We hired you, so to speak; we’ll take the heat. I want you concentrating on your training, leave everything else to us,” Laughlin said.

  A quick knock on the door distracted them as a Secret Service agent brought in coffee and some pastries on a tray. He distributed the cups, set the pastries on the table, then excused himself.

  They all took cautious sips of the steaming liquid, then Milton passed the plate of pastries to the president.

  “We have to assume the separatists know everything about this mission, at least everything that’s in the press. To believe otherwise would be foolish,” said Laughlin.

  “Then I wonder what they think of me as mission commander?” Roscoe said, with a chuckle.

  “Perhaps that we’re not making the same mistake as the last time?” suggested Milton.

  “Once this mission is launched, the next item on my agenda is the lunar lander program. We have to get those boys up there back home. We’re damned lucky that only one has died, and every day they’re still stranded is a reminder of the disastrous mistake made sending soldiers in the first place,” declared Milton.

  “Thankfully, we’ve had no problem getting the funding you need for the prototype and the two spares. Everyone wants to get back to the moon to see what else might have been left behind. From the high-resolution satellite imagery, it appears that there’s two other installations, only they’re too far away for the SEALs to investigate. We have to get there first,” Laughlin said.

  “We know of course that the Chinese are the closest competitor to our program, but given the setbacks they had on their own orbital station, it’s hard to gauge where they are with their hardware. We’re less than two years from getting there and back; around the same time Jove is scheduled to return,” said Milton.

  “Does Jove have any role to play in the lunar mission?” Roscoe asked.

  “No. However, if we have a viable lander that can drop to the surface and return to a lunar orbit, development on one configured to do the same on Mars shouldn’t be very hard to accomplish either,” Milton replied.

  “I hate to break this up, but I have to get back to Washington. I will say this, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Dr. Roscoe, you’re a real delight. Don’t ever change!” offered Laughlin. “Paul, a pleasure. I don’t get down here nearly enough.”

  “It’s not like you’re retired or anything, Stu. Drop by any time, you’re always welcome. Are you heading back to your quarters, Susan? If so, I’ll walk you back on my way to the office.”

  “That would be nice,” Roscoe said, getting to her feet. “Mr. President, thank you, for everything.”

  “I’ll see you before you head into orbit. Until then, don’t let Paul here work you too hard.”

  “I promise, Mr. President.”

  The three shook hands and went their separate ways, Dr. Roscoe thankful that Dr. Milton took them out through the back hall, avoiding everyone else.

  Chapter 12

  CHANGES

  As Patrick adjusted the harness holding him safely in the GST orbital shuttle, he thought that other than the fact that he was wearing his fifteen-million-dollar NASA space suit, the trip was starting out just like any commercial airline flight.

  The GST orbital spacecraft was a two-stage vehicle, the first lifting the whole aircraft to 80,000 feet using regular jet engines with rocket-assisted takeoff. Then the passenger module ignited its engines, shed the lifting body to fly back to Earth and propelled the second stage into low earth orbit (LEO). The GST fleet of eight shuttles had made more than a hundred successful flights into orbit and, with the exception of two aborted second-stage burns for safety reasons, without any incident of note. When it was time to return to Earth, the shuttles re-entered the atmosphere just as NASA’s original shuttle fleet did, gliding into a landing on any of the three specially-built runways at the Kennedy Space Center in Florida, Edwards Air Force Base in California and at White Sands Space Harbor in New Mexico.

  The fleet was based at the Kennedy Spac
e Center to facilitate easy access for the Jove project personnel. The GST shuttles were responsible for transporting the project personnel and smaller items like computer modules or consumables to the orbiting Jove facility. The heavy lifting of the Jove spacecraft components and the orbital crew quarters was done by modified Ares rockets.

  With the trip into orbit lasting such a short time compared to any cross-country commercial jet flight, and the fact that those on the ship went from more than five times the Earth’s gravity to microgravity conditions where passengers were essentially weightless, there was no food or beverage service on the flight. Probably for the best, Patrick thought, given that not everyone’s stomach reacted well to the absence of gravity.

  He was surprised at how calm he felt sitting there waiting to launch into space. He wasn’t exactly sure whether he was merely resigned to the fact that he was finally heading off-planet, or if somewhere inside he had a hidden desire to have hands-on contact with his creation. Without his designs, the trip the Jove crew and spacecraft were undertaking would have lasted almost twice as long using conventional rocket propulsion.

  “Five minutes until launch,” came the announcement over the intercom.

  Everyone aboard self-consciously checked and rechecked their harnesses, some pushing their helmets a little farther under the seat ahead of them.

  The windows were small and round, barely five inches in diameter. The sunlight began to swing from one side of the windows around to the other side of the cabin as the shuttle taxied into position for takeoff.

  Patrick unconsciously gripped the ends of the seat’s armrests, then laughed to himself as he saw his seatmate doing the same. He vaguely knew the younger, attractive woman next to him; she was an IT specialist in communications. He was struggling to remember her name when she said, “Emily Stratton,” as if reading his mind.