“Stop. Just stop, Dennis,” Amato said, raising his voice for the first time in the conversation. “You know me well enough to know I’m not swayed by threats. And, you of all people shouldn’t lecture me about recklessness. Reckless is purposely deceiving the public, expecting to get away with it. Reckless is building a web of lies over decades because you and your cronies can’t come to grips with the truth. Reckless is leading three brave people under your charge, yours, Dennis, to the slaughter.
“You sit in my conference room, hiding behind honeybees and innuendo, hoping it will all go away. You lie to me, you hide important facts from me, and now you’re upset because I walked into something you could have helped me avoid if you’d been up front and honest? That’s the definition of reckless, my friend.”
While there was no immediate reply from Pritchard, Amato could hear his heavy breathing through the phone. When he did speak, his voice was so filled with tension, Amato thought Pritchard’s head might explode. “Where are your CUBEs now? We know you deactivated their transponders.”
“They’ve gone on a reconnaissance mission.”
“Don’t get cute, Augie. This isn’t a pissing contest. There are C-130s in the air now, circling Mayaguana and Ascension, and a dozen blacked-out vans parked outside your HQ in Orlando, just waiting for the word to go. You tell me what you’re up to, or so help me God, I’ll hang up and let the Pentagon and the FBI take the reins.”
“Do it, Dennis,” Amato said, rising from his seat, tossing the half-consumed coffee cup aside. “Go ahead, do it! And within the hour, I’ll be live on every network, every news website, with a twenty-three-year-old story to tell.”
“You’ll be ruined if you do. You’ll spend the rest of your miserable life behind barbed wire on Guantanamo. That I can assure you!”
Morgan snatched the phone from the table and yelled into the receiver, “I’ll be there with him, Dennis. I’ll spill it all. Your ass won’t last ’til sunset!”
He raised the wireless handset above his head and threw it on the floor, splintering the plastic phone to pieces. Eyes ablaze, Morgan turned to Amato and said, “Let’s get going. No time to waste!”
Gentleman that he was, Morgan left a note for Benny, apologizing for the mess he left in the restaurant, and a promise to repay him for the destroyed phone. When he hopped in the rental car, Morgan said, “Get going, old man. We have a plane to catch.”
Inflight over the Pacific, Amato worked on a draft of a statement he planned to release before the plane landed in Los Angeles to refuel. When he finished the draft, he handed his laptop to Morgan and asked him to read it and offer his opinion.
As the former astronaut reviewed the statement, his face grew increasingly troubled. Amato noticed the pained look, but he waited until Morgan finished before speaking. When Morgan handed back the laptop, Amato asked, “Too strong?”
“You’re probably asking the wrong guy,” Morgan said, “but, yeah, I think I’d trash it, get a few hours’ sleep and start over again.”
“I’m surprised. I thought you’d be happy,” Amato said. “Don’t you want the lies to stop?”
Morgan kicked off his flip-flops and yawned. “I do, but this isn’t the right time.”
“But you heard Pritchard,” Amato said.
“Yeah, I did,” Morgan said.
“Well? Aren’t you concerned he’ll go through with his threat?”
Morgan pulled a blanket over top of his body and reclined his seat. “Nah. It’s not in his best interests to escalate the situation any further. It’s not in yours, either.”
Amato watched the retired colonel reach above his head and turn off the light above his seat. “What are you doing?”
“Grabbing some shut-eye. You should do the same.”
“You can’t be serious.”
Morgan lifted his head from the seat and glared at Amato. “What’s the most important thing to you? What do you want to happen? Do you want to get in a PR war with the White House or find out what’s on Callisto? Do you want to find out what your CubeSats can do or have the Pentagon take out your command center? Do you want The Rorschach Explorer to go gallivanting through the solar system or collect dust in your museum?”
“You know the answers,” Amato said.
“Then get me a pillow and turn out the rest of the lights,” Morgan said. “Dennis Pritchard’s not doing anything rash unless you do something rash first. In fact, if I were you, I’d eat a big old slice of humble pie and put out a conciliatory statement...after you get some rest.”
“What?”
Morgan yawned again and closed his eyes. “Just think about it, Augie. If you’re right about Callisto and the clicks, you have a chance to rescue the only people we’ve ever lost in space. To find out what happened to them and bring closure to a big hole in the hearts of their families and anyone who worked on the mission. Is it worth risking all that to win a news cycle?”
14: TEETERING ON THE BRINK
Private Aviation Terminal
Los Angeles International Airport
Los Angeles, California
July 23, 2018
While Amato waited in a private suite for his plane to refuel, he put the finishing touches on an email to Dennis Pritchard:
Dear Dennis, in the interest of defusing tensions, I am writing to provide you a confidential, advance copy of a memo I intend to distribute to my employees this evening. It is my hope that you, the president and your national security colleagues will find my words satisfactory for the time being. Regards, Augie
Attached to the email was a PDF file with the employee memo, a document that endured several revisions by Paul Morgan after Amato followed his prescribed sleep regimen.
My Dearest Colleagues,
The events of the last few days have undoubtedly generated concern inside and outside of our company, concern that unfortunately whipped into a hurricane of fact and fiction over the past forty-eight hours.
I am partly responsible for the hurricane in that I was unavailable to directly address the events and the subsequent questions when they first arose. I know you have shouldered a heavy burden as a result, and for that I apologize.
But I aim to set things right, inside and outside our company, and the first step in that process is to separate fact from fiction. To that end, here are the facts:
On July 21, A3I launched a CubeSat probe into Earth’s orbit with the intention of testing a new, experimental propulsion system. As has been reported in the press, the test was a success. The CubeSat traveled to the Moon in record time, exceeding our expectations.
On July 22, A3I launched an additional eight CubeSats that met up with the July 21-launched probe with the intention of testing two additional experimental components, a new radiation shield concept and a software program that would allow A3I to manage the nine probes as a coordinated fleet in deep space.
Early this morning, prior to commencing the tests of the additional components, three of A3I’s probes were struck by uncharted space debris and were destroyed. The same space debris also disabled six telecommunication satellites in high Earth orbit.
A3I’s six remaining CubeSats were undamaged and left Earth orbit to conduct tests of the radiation shield and fleet management software, and further evaluate the performance of the experimental propulsion system in deep space.
As to the fiction that has blossomed around these events, addressing them one by one would prove futile. For each one we debunked, two more would sprout up. Therefore, we shall concentrate our focus on the facts as we work with NASA, U.S. Space Command and other interested parties to examine the chain of events that led to yesterday’s unfortunate, temporary disruption of telecommunication services with an eye toward improved charting of space debris in Earth’s orbit.
Tomorrow, at noon EST, we will hold an all-hands meeting in the Living Universe garden where I will make additional remarks and take your questions. For our other A3I colleagues around the globe, we will live-stream the
proceedings. Later in the day, I will hold a similar session for the international press in the Gateway Museum auditorium.
Finally, despite the controversies that have dominated public conversation about A3I and our CubeSats over the past few days, I am extremely excited by the possibilities our experimental technologies may herald. Though we will not be in a position to make judgments for months to come, if successful, these technologies may put us in reach of launching The Rorschach Explorer within the next year or two.
Warmest Regards,
Augustus Arturo Amato
A3rospace Industries Corporate Headquarters
Orlando, Florida
July 24, 2018
The email reply from Pritchard arrived early the following morning, as Amato prepared to meet with his board of directors and executive team.
Dear Augie, thank you for your message and memo preview. Both prompted considerable relief from all parties on my end, though, candidly, there are those who consider your plan to meet with the press premature and ill-advised. Setting that concern to the side, there are still questions on our end that demand answers on yours. I propose we meet to discuss tomorrow or the day after, preferably on neutral ground, away from the media. Yours, Dennis.
Amato typed a quick response before leaving for the board meeting.
Dennis, I agree a meeting is in order, as I have questions needing answers as well. Let’s shoot for the day after tomorrow. I will propose a time and a neutral location later this morning. Also, so that you are not surprised when we meet, Paul Morgan will be with me. He is now under my employ and a member of my mission team. Augie
The applause began as soon as Amato entered the Living Universe garden’s courtyard. Lining the perimeter of every path were the majority of the thousand employees who worked at A3rospace Industries’ headquarters complex. Those who hadn’t been able to grab a spot along the processional route looked down from the balconies of the surrounding buildings or congregated on the plaza-level patio above the sunken courtyard.
As Amato walked through the throng of excited, cheering employees, he smiled and waved. He hadn’t known how his employees would react to the intercompany memo, so he was somewhat surprised by their ebullient reception.
It was a stark contrast to the chilly atmosphere Amato had encountered when he addressed his board of directors and executive management team earlier that day. To a person, they were disgruntled about Amato’s lack of transparency regarding the incidents arising from the SatFleet space trials and even angrier about Amato’s disappearing act amid the crises that followed. Yet, by the time the early morning meeting concluded, with their frustrations expressed and questions answered, they had given him a standing ovation.
As he neared the steps of the Gateway Museum, Amato couldn’t help but wonder whether the courtyard vibe was influenced by comments from a joint White House/NASA/U.S. Space Command press conference held after Amato’s exchange of emails with Pritchard. The first social media post from a major news outlet hit the Internet less than five minutes into the briefing:
“NASA chief Pritchard says A3I not to blame for yesterday’s satellite crash derby. Confirms A3I claim of uncharted space debris as culprit.”
Other outlets followed shortly thereafter with their own updates:
“NASA honcho Pritchard downplays talk of alien encounter with A3I probes. Says no credible evidence to support claim.”
“Top dog at NASA claims UFO in satellite tracker image actually mass of magnetic particles ejected by A3I CubeSat engines.”
“Pres. Jennings hails new Amato engine. Says private biz like A3I key to future space exploration but better coordination with NASA needed.”
Amato climbed the steps and reached into his suit coat pocket to check once more for his handwritten notes. Through the glass-encased walls of the museum, he could see more employees. They waved and smiled at him as he arrived at the podium at the top of the steps. There, he greeted Aerospace Industries’ vice president of media relations. After a brief conversation, the PR executive signaled to activate the podium microphone.
As she leaned forward to speak into the microphone, large projection screens on each side of the podium displayed a close-up shot of Amato. A roar went up…as did hundreds of arms attached to cell phones, each with cameras trained on Amato. Over the clamor, the media relations executive said, “Greetings, fellow A3rospace Industries colleagues around the globe! It gives me great pleasure to introduce our president and chief executive, Augustus Arturo Amato.”
The time was 12:00 p.m. EST on the dot.
NASA Headquarters
Washington, D.C.
Pritchard spent the better part of an hour watching the network newsfeeds leading up to Amato’s late-afternoon press conference. Thus far, the combined efforts by Amato, Pritchard, the White House and the Pentagon had gone a long way toward calming the near hysteria sparked by the media’s portrayal of the previous days’ events.
There had been a moment of doubt when Pritchard learned Amato had allowed employees to record his all-hands meeting, but later he realized the genius behind the move. Amato knew his comments would leak out. What better way to minimize hearsay than to make sure his recorded words spoke for themselves. The leaked clips of the meeting also provided another benefit — they diluted the media hype surrounding the upcoming press conference.
Of particular interest to Pritchard was Amato’s deft handling of questions regarding aliens. One employee had asked, “Mr. Amato, there have been all kinds of rumors about UFOs chasing our CubeSats. Some say UFOs blew up our three CUBEs yesterday. What do you say?”
Obviously, Amato had been prepared to answer the question. Pritchard assumed he’d even had the question planted. His answer was a thing of beauty. “I say we’re bound to run into alien life sooner or later. In fact, we may have already run into so-called UFOs without knowing it.”
He paused and scanned the audience, his tone turning professorial. “You see, we tend to look at the universe with our own views of what constitutes life, what conditions must be present for life to exist. We go to planets and moons and look for signs of life that fit our preconceptions. Microbes in ice or rock, chemical compounds, those sorts of things. Such views lead us to believe that nothing could survive in the vacuum of space, because nothing on Earth could survive in space.
“But isn’t that an arrogant way to look at the universe? Might there be life-forms that are electrical that can withstand the cold of space? Ones made of magnetic plasma that don’t need oxygen? Ones made up of cosmic rays that have arisen from the slurry of forming suns? Or forms we can’t even comprehend? Say, ones that exist in another dimension we can’t perceive or detect?
“I’ve been a betting man all my life, and I’d wager everything I own that we will discover life in the universe, and we’ll be surprised that many of the aliens we encounter are unlike anything we consider alive by our Earthly standards.”
The same questioner raised her hand again. “So, are you saying our CUBEs did encounter UFOs or not?”
When Pritchard had seen the smile creep across Amato’s face in the video clip, his stomach cramped. “Dear God, don’t say it, Augie. Please don’t say it.”
“If you mean, did we see alien ships? Flying saucers filled with twelve-legged green humanoids or the like? No, we did not,” Amato said. There was a wave of laughter from the crowd surrounding the cell phone videographer.
Amid the laughter, a new voice, more cynical, spoke up. “What about the satellite tracker image? The one showing something following the CUBEs?”
The audience quieted quickly. The cell phone video shifted to locate the person asking the question. On the recording, Amato could be heard, asking, “What about it?”
The video image landed on a young man gripping a roving microphone. The look on his face was defiant. “First, the Pentagon said it was a hoax. Then, NASA said it was real. Then they said the blip chasing the CUBEs was matter ejected by the engines. I don’t beli
eve that for a second.”
As the cell camera panned back to Amato, he said, “I’m glad you asked about that.” In a tone suggesting he was untroubled by the antagonism of his inquisitor, Amato continued. “I haven’t spoken to anyone at NASA about the image yet, but if I understand their explanation, the satellite-tracking system that captured the image detects electromagnetic radiation. If so, I can understand why they believe our CUBEs were somehow involved. Our new propulsion system does produce high amounts of electromagnetic radiation. It’s quite possible the CUBEs produced a cloud of radiation in their wake, sort of a manmade solar wind.”
The earnestness with which Amato answered the question melted the brooding millennial’s dander like ice in hot water. In both exchanges, Amato had not closed off the possibility of aliens, yet hadn’t acknowledged the existence of UMOs. And he’d left enough wiggle room in his answers to allow him to maneuver to modified explanations when the truth about UMOs was revealed. Well done, Pritchard thought, well done.
So well done, in fact, the talking heads and gas bag experts on Pritchard’s television had gravitated away from their earlier UFO obsession. That wasn’t to say that discussion of aliens had disappeared, just that the conversation had shifted from paranoia about alien involvement in the events of the last few days to a debate about Amato’s alternative view of life in the universe.
Pritchard was certain journalists at the press conference would dig at aliens with more gusto than Amato’s employees had, but unless one of them popped up with a surprise leak from someone in the know about the UMOs, Pritchard was sure Amato could handle anything thrown at him.
As he watched Amato step to the lectern on his television, Pritchard could visualize Amato’s answers now…
“Really, now, haven’t we covered that already?”
“Are you suggesting we received UFO assistance to build our probes?”
“It’s a blip on a still image. Are we to believe a blip on an undersea sonar image is proof of aliens hiding at the bottom of the ocean? How often are such blips proven to be natural formations? Or interference of some kind?”
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