Mission: Tomorrow - eARC (33 page)

In the final leg of our journey together, the sister of a dead astronaut determines to honor his legacy and settle on Mars as a . . .

TRIBUTE

by Jack Skillingstead

NASA died two hundred and three nautical miles above the planet Mars. It died when Daniel Chen, the last surviving crew member of
Pilgrim 2
, ran out of breathable atmosphere. At that point, Chen pulled himself close to the nearest camera lens. Even though NASA was not sharing the feed, hackers inevitably populated it across the internet. Millions witnessed Chen’s death. He was a beloved figure, a brilliant scientist as well as a twenty-first century Will Rogers dispensing wisdom and humor on the talk show and lecture circuit, in books and web TV specials.

Chen’s face contorted in gasping agony, veins standing out on his forehead, eyes popping, red with burst blood vessels. He spoke three words on his dying breath:
A stupid waste
, after which he rolled away from the lens. Five dead astronauts drifted in fisheye perspective. It was the latest in a string of catastrophic failures.

A stupid waste.

Millions heard Chen, but his words were aimed at one person: his sister. Nevertheless,
a stupid waste
became a popular catchphrase, often heard in Congress and the Senate chamber. Most notably it was invoked by the senior senator from Ohio when he exhorted his colleagues to defund the ninety-year-old space agency, declaring it nothing more than a fiscal black hole into which a substantial portion of the nation’s treasure (at that point less than one quarter of one percent of the budget) was annually dumped without any reasonable expectation of a return on the investment. In short, NASA itself had become
a stupid waste
.

The Agency continued to operate, if only on the margins of relevancy: paid consultants to private industry, managing historical archives. Even data retrieval for existing satellites and robotic missions was contracted out. For America, except in the private sector, manned space flight was as dead as the crew of
Pilgrim 2
.

Karie
.

Getting there was the best part of the Nova Branson Orbital Resort. That’s what Karie Chen thought. The orbital provided one-percenters with breathtaking views and nude zero-G “tumble bays,” among other attractions. Everyone loved it, even the ninety-nine percent of the population who would never visit the thing. Maybe they enjoyed the idea of movie stars nude free-falling against the real stars.

Karie rode a Nova Branson shuttle launched from a facility in the middle of Ohio farm country. The senior Senator deemed the commercial space port a great boon to the state economy and an invaluable asset to the ever expanding space tourism industry: in short, the exact dead opposite of
a stupid waste
. It was all of that, Karie supposed, but for her it was mostly a great ride. From inside the launch facility she couldn’t see the giant advertising displays that placarded the perimeter fence. Nike, Wal-Mart, Time Warner Direct Holo Vision, Amazon’s Everything Experience—whoever had the money. Rocket launches still drew the Earth-bound. They paid for bleacher seats and bought cheap souvenir trinkets mass-produced in China—the last country on Earth with an active manned space program not driven by commercial interests.

Three million pounds of thrust lifted Karie and half a dozen millionaires into a cornflower blue sky. The roar scattered grazing cows in surrounding fields. Three minutes in, the boosters kicked them past seventeen thousand miles per hour, crushing Karie into her seat, flattening her eyeballs—
the price of paradise
, according to Nova Branson’s literature. Karie’s once-shattered and badly healed knee throbbed in perfect agony. It didn’t matter. Lips skinned back in a fierce grin, she inhabited the pure joy of vertical acceleration. It had been too long.

***

After hard dock everyone unstrapped. Released from gravity, movers and shakers became floaters and drifters. Karie was a stranger among them. Aside from cordial greetings back at the launch facility and a couple of don’t-you-look-familiar glances, the other passengers had mostly ignored her—the expected tribalism of the rich. The chip on Karie’s shoulder turned it into classism— that’s what Danny would have said. But then, Danny had gotten along with everyone.

Last to leave the shuttle, she pulled herself through the tunnel into Nova Branson’s visitor processing bay. A resort agent in a pale green jumpsuit greeted her with a winning smile. “Welcome to Nova Branson Orbital.”

“Thanks.”

The agent accepted Karie’s pass card and performed the required retinal identity verification. She’d already gotten the hell verified out of her before lift-off.

“You’re all checked in,” the agent said.

“What a relief.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Never mind. Look, I thought somebody was going to meet me.”

“Would you like to talk to customer service?”

“Naw. I think I’ll have a look around.”

Karie pushed off—and almost butted heads with a man gliding recklessly in by the same passage. “Hey—” The man caught her, which changed both of their trajectories. Karie banged her knee on the bulkhead, yelped, bit her lip hard enough to break the skin. A tiny crimson drop wobbled by her face.

“Sorry about that,” the man said. “I’m Jonah Brennerman. Alistair’s my father. Are you all right?”

Jonah offered his hand and Karie shook it. He was about forty years old, ten years her junior. He had one of those man-boy faces.

“I’m fine. Can I have my hand back?”

“Of course. Father’s waiting. I’ll take you there. Afterwards meet me in the rotation lounge. The spin maintains a one-third Earth gravity simulation. Called Forward View. Ask anybody how to find it. You’ll love Nova Branson, at least that’s what Dad is hoping.”

Jonah pushed into the passage. She followed him to what he called the conference room.

“Word of advice? Let Dad do the talking.’

“Sure.”

“He likes to be in charge, is all I’m saying. If you want this to happen as much as I do, you need to be ready to compromise.”

“Got it.”

Jonah smiled. “Good luck. See you at Forward View. I can’t wait to get this thing started.”

Hand straps festooned the padded walls. The northern hemisphere of Earth appeared in a circular view port.

“Hello?” Karie said.

A holographic projector flickered on. A man, aged sixty, appeared. Athletically fit, virile streaks of gray. In reality the head of Nova Branson Corporation was pushing ninety and had been out of view for decades. Karie checked her temper. A little seeped out anyway.

“Mr. Brennerman, you insisted on a face-to-face meeting.”

“And here we are.”

“Actually, here
I
am.”

“Alas, my physical limitations preclude me from space travel. But I wanted you to enjoy my orbital firsthand, encourage a change in perspective.

“I’ve been in space before.”

“Perspective in the sense of attitude, Ms. Chen.”

Karie tried to make her smile look natural. She was here for something only a man like Alistair Brennerman could afford to give. “Of course I’m grateful. Getting into space isn’t easy these days—not without a funded mission.”

The projection wobbled. For a moment Brennerman’s voice fell out of sync with his lips. “Tell me why, exactly, you want to go to Mars.”

“To fix what my brother helped break.”

“A morbid contest of sibling rivalry?”

“It has nothing to do with sibling rivalry. The
Pilgrim 1
habitat is still on the surface, waiting for someone to unpack it. The crew of
Pilgrim 2
is dead, but that shouldn’t invalidate the mission goal: a self-sustaining beachhead on Mars. Mr. Brennerman, America is squandering its potential by playing around in Earth orbit. Until the Chinese last year, no one had even stepped foot on the moon since 1972—eighty years, for God’s sake.”

“Nova Branson is not America.”

“It is, actually. Along with every other global corporation with roots in the United States. You run
everything
. I’m just asking you to invest in the pioneering spirit that used to define us. You can push the frontier.” She was talking too much. Worse, she sounded like a used-car salesman. Karie’s pitch lacked the sincerity she genuinely felt.

She tried again: “Listen. After the
Pilgrim
disaster and congressional defunding, NASA mothballed
Pilgrim
3
and
4
. But they are viable spacecraft. You could get one at a fire-sale price and cut expenses further by reducing the crew.”

“Are you quite sure you’d be up to the rigors, Ms. Chen, in light of your injury and, excuse me, your age?”

“I’m perfectly fit for the mission.”

“Of course. And Jonah insists on you. I think he’s star-struck by your celebrity. Hero of the
Phoenix
debacle.”

“Jonah? I don’t understand.”

The holo wobbled out of sync again. “You are not in the least bit impressed by my resort, are you?”

Karie sighed. “It’s an impressive technological achievement.”

“But?”

“But it doesn’t accomplish anything.” Okay, Karie thought, stop talking. “Earth orbit used to be the frontier. You don’t even do any science here. We have to keep pushing outward.”

“Yes, as I’ve often heard you say. I think you must wake each morning with the words already on your lips. Have you ever, for a moment even, considered you might be mistaken? Because you’re wrong about the frontier. This is the greatest business frontier in history.”

“Not my field.”

“Can you conceive of any circumstance under which you might modify your obvious disdain for Nova Branson and the profitable future of orbital recreation?”

“I’m not disdainful. I’m
impatient
.” Karie had drifted too close to Brennerman’s holo. Her shoulder interrupted the projection, fracturing organized light. She looped her wrist into a hand strap, pulled back, and the holo resumed its integrity.

“For a round-trip ticket to Mars,” Brennerman said, “will you be capable of recanting your impatience?”

“Recanting how?”

“Renounce your current and often-stated opinion about orbitals. Lend your unqualified endorsement of orbital recreation, Nova Branson in particular. Participate in a public campaign which will include interviews, public forums, ghost-written books, and so on.”

Karie stared. “I thought not,” the holo said.

“Mr. Brennerman—”

“My son wishes to go to Mars. He wishes to go to Mars with the hero of the
Phoenix
. He admires you. Which suggests a lack of admiration for his own inheritance, since you and I are very much at odds. So this is my price for a trip to Mars. You vigorously and publicly embrace what I’ve accomplished, and intend to go on accomplishing, with Nova Branson. Do so and you may orbit the Red Planet as a tribute to your brother. That’s how you will put it. A tribute to your brother. And that will be the end of it. If the Chinese want Mars, let them have it.”

Karie was quiet, then said, “You know what it is, Mr. Brennerman?”

“Eh?”

“This kind of wasteful development of Earth orbit. It’s like the prairie towns that sprang up after the frontier moved west. Those towns were mostly saloons and bordellos, places to get drunk and get laid while pretending you were in the midst of something wild. The difference between then and now is the wealth of the customers.”

“Nova Branson has been in business a very long time, Ms. Chen. My grandfather started it, my father developed it, and I have been a loyal steward of the legacy. We did not succeed by indulging romantic notions such as your ‘pushing the frontier’ mantra.”

“So you brought me up here just to slap me back down.”

The Brennerman projection smiled. “I’ll tell Jonah you weren’t interested.”

She worked the lecture circuit. People still paid to hear her talk about
Phoenix
. She had been in command. Mission: to rendezvous with a robotic vehicle that had successfully captured a small asteroid and established itself in lunar orbit. One of
Phoenix’
s fuel cells ruptured. The explosion crippled the ship and killed Karie’s pilot. Despite her shattered knee, Karie babied the spacecraft back to Earth, saving herself and the three scientists on board. Her knee never healed properly. NASA declared her unfit to fly, even as they praised her heroism. That was ten years ago.
Pilgrim 2
should have been
Karie’s
mission. Instead they selected Danny, the public relations star with no flying experience, two fully functioning knees, and a popular following in the millions. Privately, Danny told Karie he was glad she was grounded. Watching her almost die on
Phoenix
had been unbearable. When he saw the hurt look on her face, he immediately took it back. “Hey, I didn’t mean it that way.” But it stung. Sibling rivalry, Alistair had suggested. But it wasn’t that simple.

Now, during a Q & A session at Wyoming State University, an old guy in the second row stood up and the usher handed him the microphone. Karie pegged him right away. Leather jacket, cap with “US NAVY Ret.” blazoned across it: aging space buff. Mostly that’s what she got these days.

“I have a comment and a question,” he said. “The comment is: We need NASA back. The
real
NASA!” Applause rippled through an audience who wouldn’t be there if they weren’t already in the same nostalgia camp. They always wanted to hear about Karie’s heroic save of the stranded
Phoenix
scientists. She complied, then switched to her message about the future of exploration. At that point she usually took a few jabs at Nova Branson, among others. Tonight she skipped the jabs. Karie had been thinking a lot since her return from the orbital resort.

“And the question is,” the old space buff continued, “how do we
get
it back?”

More applause. Karie’s anger surged—more at herself than anyone else. The applause wound down. She raised the microphone. “NASA isn’t coming back.” Microphone feedback whined through the hall. Karie winced, held the mic farther from her lips. “The agency that took us to the moon is dead. You should get over the idea that NASA can—or needs to—happen again. Because it won’t.” She paused and let them grumble. “And we don’t need it to come back. The future of manned space flight exists right now, the technology, the infrastructure. The privatization of space flight is here right now. What our entrepreneurs lack is a
vision
without dollar signs.”