SKYEYES

by Edward Es

  “I don’t know, Bud, I’m kind of getting caught up in all this. There’s something really exciting about it.”

  Bud starts to raise his dander but is halted by movement at the smaller entrance door. In flows a string of Secret Service, followed by President Stamp. The warehouse grows quiet as he makes his way to the podium and directly up to Kirshner, taking his hand firmly.

  “Werner!”

  “Mr. President. An honor, as always.”

  “Last time we saw each other I was trying to talk you into staying with NASA. Now I really wish I’d been more persuasive.” Stamp pulls forward the person he brought with him. “You know Dr. Cole, of course.”

  Kirshner shakes his hand. “Terry, it’s been too long.”

  Stamp puts his hand over their clasp. “We’ll talk later. Right now, let’s get this thing underway.” He signals to an aide who steps to the podium, raising a hand to get everyone’s attention, as if they weren’t staring anyway.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States.” Stamp quickly quells the applause with a gesture for everyone to sit down.

  “Four score and seven years ago... oops, sorry. Someone said, ‘what’s he here for,’ and I thought he said ‘we won the Civil War.’” Only a smattering of polite laughter. “I see, well, I’ll have to place your senses of humor on the most wanted list.” This time a better laugh.

  “Actually, I want all you people in the scientific and law enforcement communities to set your minds at ease about a couple of things. There’s been understandable concern about national security. Yes, there were a few difficult moments, but rest assured that everyone who needed to know has been told exactly what this is, and all panic buttons are up and locked. Secretary of Defense Corollo assures me that everybody’s at ease. The reason I came out here was to let the people of this somewhat surprised country know that things are under control, and I’ll have a short press conference about it tonight.”

  He pauses, looking around. “You all know Tom Holmes was, is, an old friend of mine from college, back when almost anybody could get in.” Now an honest laugh. “The worst thing Tom’s done here is put some people at risk, not the least of which was himself, in preparing and pulling off this... mission. To be sure, he’ll have to answer to me, as well as others, when we get him back down here. But the matter at hand right now is just that. Getting him back. And to this end I have committed, as much as reasonably appropriate, our resources at NASA, including,” as he points, “Dr. Terry Cole, who most of you know, and many others of you that have been kind enough to come here to volunteer your help. So let’s get down to the business of finding out what the heck happened.”

  Stamp motions to Kirshner, puts his arm around the Doctor’s shoulders, and feigns hitting him on the jaw. “This is Dr. Werner Kirshner, who directed project development at NASA when I was just a little President bouncing on my daddy’s knee. He left NASA when I took office, which I took personally. Doctor?”

  Stamp withdraws, leaving Kirshner uncomfortably quiet at the podium. A short round of applause rises until everyone realizes that perhaps it’s not warranted under the circumstances. The Doctor pushes keys on a laptop computer next to the podium and a photo of Noah 1 sitting on its pad projects onto the screen behind him.

  Bud shakes his head in disgust. “For chrissake, they’re tryin’ to make a hero out of the old buzzard.”

  Sid whispers a hint of rebellion. “There’s a lot of people out there who think he is.” Bud scowls at him, the disapproval becoming more and more strained.

  “Thank you, Mr. President, for allowing me this opportunity. I realize I could be in quite a different place.” A prickly quiet settles in the room. “Although at this point the launch vehicle is not of that much consequence, this was a conventional Titan platform, resembling the 3c model, with different solid propellant boosters. Minor modifications to the nozzle assemblies provided more efficiency, and therefore greater payload capability. It was powered by standard hypergolic fuels used in the Titan programs, aerozine and nitrogen tetroxide. For those of you unfamiliar, these fuels ignite on contact and need no cryogenic temperature environments. Although they render lower specific impulse, and are therefore less efficient, it was necessary that we retain on-demand launch capability, in the manner of strategic warhead delivery systems.” This analogy, alluding to the clandestine events of Tom’s departure, makes both the Doctor and the crowd uneasy.

  He changes slides, showing a view of the capsule being lowered by crane onto the booster. “The payload module, however, is entirely original in design. You will note that there was no escape tower assembly.” This information starts a round of mumbling in the audience. “Mr. Holmes did not feel the option for escape was... feasible for him.” Kirshner pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and dabs his forehead to the accompaniment of a few coughs from the audience. “The capsule is made of advanced grade metals and synthetic polymers, giving it a high degree of strength at reduced mass.

  “For this reason…” The next slide is a high resolution computer graphic of the Earth. With the punch of a key, a caricature of the Noah 1 is seen launching from the area of Utah and traced behind it a representation of its path. “...we were able to achieve a retrograde orbit, which, as many of you know, requires considerable more energy.”

  With another keystroke comes a similar rendition, this a live portrayal of the capsule’s present path. “Here is our current position in the parking orbit.” The next slide is a blueprint cross section of the capsule. “The computer system on board is extremely sophisticated and entirely self contained, more powerful, in terms of navigational programs and systems management, than the space shuttle. The electrical system is supplemented by a retractable solar array, capable of sustaining the ship, for practical purposes, considering life support constraints, indefinitely. There is oxygen and food to sustain one person for approximately three weeks.”

  The next slide is an artist’s rendering of the Earth, surrounded by satellites. “Communication is maintained directly through the system of satellite transponders which are part of the Holmes cosponsored telecommunications array placed in orbit over the last decade. As for reentry…” The Doctor’s next slide shows the Earth and Moon with a figure eight path drawn around them. Flustered, he quickly moves through this, past several similar pictures, until he gets to one that shows a reentry path. “…we have the same solid propellant deceleration package used in the Gemini missions, utilized for reentry from Earth orbit. The heat tiles, however, are a derivative of Carborundum, duplicating those of the space shuttle. Reentry will be accomplished, as it was in all other missions, by rotation about the capsule’s displaced center of gravity, concluding with a similar parachute drogue system as was used on the Apollo vehicles.” After a few moments of silence, the crowd begins talking among themselves. “Now, I’m sure you all have questions.”

  Nearly everyone raises their hand. Kirshner takes a strategic breath, choosing a woman. “Yes, Dr. Reynolds.”

  “What system are you using for position updating on the spacecraft, and for navigating?”

  “We do have transponders on board, although we used them primarily to warn the ATC system during the launch, since we don’t have ground based tracking. We are primarily inertial, with triple laser gyros, coupled with redundant flight management computers updating continuously from the same Global Positioning System in general use by commercial aviation. Finally, however, the computers contain an extremely aggressive three-dimensional model of cardinal celestial navigation points as well as Earth and lunar positioning models. The craft can navigate extremely accurately, in other words, entirely on the position of the stars and our own Earth. All three of these position fixing systems are resolved by the computers to a final coordinate that should be true within one meter.” Next hand. “Dr. Geckler?”

  “You mentioned a three week supply of life support, but you haven’t to
ld us the plans for this... mission. How long do you plan to keep him up there?”

  This makes the Doctor visibly uneasy. “I must say first, that when I said the computer system was self contained, I meant that literally. Mr. Holmes has complete control over the mission from his capsule. I can do nothing from down here at this point. There is a function that will allow reversion to ground based command, but only if there are no inputs from the capsule for an extended period, some sixteen hours, in case of incapacitation. As for what his plans are, that is entirely up to him.”

  This invokes a hush. Another hand goes up and Kirshner fields the question.

  Kirshner sits on his desk, tapping a pencil, watching through the window as the audience disperses in pockets of conversation. An FBI agent stands guard at the closed control room door and Bud sits at another desk, defiantly in control of the situation. The door to the office opens, President Stamp walks in, and Bud dutifully stands. Stamp looks at the agent, then at Bud.

  “OK, Meyerkamp, the standoff’s over. I want your men out of here. We need to stop interfering with the Doctor’s work.”

  “Oh, I see. It’s work, now. At what point did we skip from the conspiracy stage, hurdling over federal offenses, directly to ‘work’ without passing Go?” He glares at the Doctor. “And don’t bother with the Get Out of Jail Free card.”

  “I beg your pardon?” asks Kirshner.

  “What are you talking about?” asks Stamp.

  “Never mind. I’m just kind of confused about the chain of command here. I realize you’re the President and all, but I wasn’t under the impression I took orders directly from you. I’ve got a crime scene here.”

  Stamp walks over to Bud, puts his arm around his shoulders, and leads them both over to the door. He speaks quietly, between them. “Commander in Chief, Bud. That’s another name for my job. I send armies out all over the world and do really big things. Somehow I think I can tell you to knock off this pit bull mentality you’ve gotten over all this, and ‘sit down, shut up, and take it ease,’ as my Italian grandmother used to say. You’ve done your work, and you were right all along. Now I’m ordering you, as your beloved President, to take a few days off. Besides, I talked to Herlihy and he said we’re not pressing any charges, against anybody. Yet.”

  He slaps Bud on the back and walks toward Kirshner. Bud looks at the both of them, then motions for his man to follow, their exit punctuated by an exclamatory slamming of the door. Stamp breathes a sigh of relief. “Boy. Who needs a few good men when you have just one of those? Now, let’s go downstairs and have a little talk.”

  Kirshner and the President enter the control room to find a Secret Service agent who stands to attention. With a gesture from Stamp, he leaves without a word. Kirshner falls into his chair and pushes another toward Stamp. On the screen is the view of Earth, the soundtrack now faintly playing Come Together.

  Stamp listens. “Is he... playing that from up there?”

  “He insisted on it being a, how shall I say... business venture, on paper. A remote broadcast booth, so to speak.”

  Stamp nods in admiration. “I see. Sort of a world crisis and tax deduction, all wrapped up in one. Yes siree, that’s Tommy for you.”

  “I think it had more to do with giving something back to his viewers. He always believed that the common man, the citizen who paid for the space program, never got enough back from it. Personally, that is. Never really was able to enjoy it.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, I’ll buy about one tenth of that. Not that that tenth isn’t... commendable.” He leans forward. “But let’s ‘cut the crap,’ as our dear friend Meyerkamp likes to say ad nauseam. What’s really going on here?”

  Kirshner purses his lips, pondering. He reaches up to the keyboard and with a few entries brings up the images he rushed through during the briefing: the model of the Earth showing the figure eight trajectory to the Moon, around the back, and returning. Stamp stares at it, then looks back, pursing his lips as well.

  “I see. And when is this going to happen?”

  “Actually, it was programmed as an option. An option, I’m afraid, he’s likely to take. As you probably know, there are certain windows for translunar injection, having to do with the relative positions of the Earth, Moon, and vehicle. In terms of energy management and life support envelopes—”

  Stamp holds his hand up. “Please, Doctor. The Apollo for Dummies version.”

  “Two hours.”

  Kirshner opens his desk drawer and pulls out an ashtray and cigarettes, offering one to Stamp who hesitates, looking up at the stairs and back. The President takes one cautiously as Kirshner reassures him with a raised hand, lighting them both up. “Don’t worry, no one will come down here.”

  Stamp takes a drag. “I only do this when I’m feeling helpless. Not very often. Elaine would have a fit, not to mention the Surgeon General. It would cost me poll points.”

  “Your secret is safe with me.”

  Stamp relishes another drag, with guilt. “I take it you can talk to him whenever you want?”

  “I can ring him. Whether he answers or not is up to him.”

  “Are the lines secure?”

  “Three lines, all encrypted to RS level four military.”

  Stamp blows a soft, rolling smoke ring. “Beam me up, Wernie.”

  Kirshner reaches over to his panel and punches a console mounted phone pad.

  Tom is torturing Zion with a rubber ball he keeps suspended just out of pawing range, the cat tethered to the overhead panels by thin ropes attached to a makeshift harness around his midsection, secured by a velcro strap. Tom sips on a container with a straw and squirts some into Zion’s mouth, the cat licking at suspended water droplets. The buzzer startles both of them. Tom answers by activating the speaker phone.

  “Crew lounge.”

  “Good evening, Tom. At least it’s evening here. How’s it going?”

  “Actually, it was evening for a little while, now it’s dawn again. This retrograde orbit really makes things seem like they come around in a hurry.”

  “I envy you, my boy. I envy you. Listen, there’s someone here, an old friend of yours. He’d like a few words.”

  “Not the Budman, I hope. I think we’re all talked out.”

  “This fellow carries a little more weight, and a lot less aggravation.”

  Stamp’s voice comes across with a reasonable Bones impression. “Aye, Captain, the phasers are locked! We’ll never make warp speed before the Klingons catch us.” Tom winces. He grabs Zion and fastens him to an overhead velcro parking strip, fashioned for the very purpose of cat stowage, then switches to the feed from the control room and activates his camera. Tom’s face appears on the screen. “Holy smoke, Tom. We were the Top Trekkies at MIT, but don’t you think you’ve taken it a little far?”

  “Mr. President. I saw on the news you were headed out there. Are you that bored, or are we in that much trouble?”

  “The last time you called me ‘Mr. President’ I recall losing six electoral votes. Something about reservation land in New Mexico.”

  “I warned you not to mess with sacred ground. Bad medicine.”

  “Yeah, well, I made a mistake. Now, let’s be sure we keep you from making a bigger one.” No response. “I know all about your little ‘side trip’. Don’t worry, it’s just between the Doctor and me. But really, you’ve done quite a thing here already. You’re a goshdarned working man’s hero. Now don’t be a fool. What would it prove?”

  “This is personal. You don’t understand.”

  The President looks at Kirshner, takes another helpless drag, then puts the cigarette out in the ashtray. “Listen, we had quite a NASA party out there. Kirshner put on a real show for them. Never saw so many pencil-necked geeks in one place. I had to wear a pocket protector just to fit in.” Kirshner looks down at his pocket protector. “I’ve assembled a team t
o help get you down, against some pretty strong objections, I might add. In fact, it seems there’s quite a rally in the international space community offering to lend a hand. Kind of a ‘brotherhood of man’, touchy-feely sort of thing. Whad’ya say you go ahead and spin around up there for a while, then we’ll get you home so I can personally take a big bite out of your ass. Make me look good.”

  Tom leans back in his seat, putting his hands behind his head, and looks out the window. “I can’t promise anything. Thanks for the help, though.” Stamp looks at the Doctor again, in resignation. As they both look back at the screen, Zion’s tail sweeps down. Kirshner lurches forward in his seat, dropping the cigarette from his mouth.

  “Oh, no! This can’t be true! You got that goddamned cat up there?”

  Stamp shoots a look of humorous pity toward the Doctor. “Oh boy. You’ve really got your hands full.” He turns toward the monitor. “Godspeed, Tommy. Elaine and I will be prayin’ for you.” He pats Kirshner on the shoulder and leaves.

  The Doctor struggles unsuccessfully to contain his temper. “Christ, Thomas! We put in all this effort, and now we’ve got a one hundred million dollar litter box? Are you out of your mind? Let me rephrase that. You are out of your mind!”

  Tom pulls the cat down and scratches his neck. “Take it easy, dear. Everything’s under control.” He takes a gallon size Ziplock, puts it over the cat’s rear end and clamps it with two chip clips, making the scratching sign on his palm at the camera. “Remember?” Kirshner looks away in disgust. “Besides, if I didn’t take him, I would’ve given him to you.”

  Tom takes Zion and puts his face in the camera, filling the screen with a pink nose and whiskers. Kirshner sneezes and waves at the sight in frustration as the screen goes dark and Tom signs off, laughing in the background. Kirshner takes a pile of papers and throws them in the air.

  Watchman Lookout rests on an eroded foothill just east of and under the Watchman, a humbling monument that stands guard over the entrance to the canyon. From the west, the Watchman looks like a giant chiseled crown, from the east, a rock castle. The trail to the lookout takes a considerable, though not strenuous hike, tracing outcrops of sandstone that formed the plateau over millennia. Darkness is fleeting as the Moon, now waning, threatens to rise over the East Temple, and a meteor shower streaks across the night sky in a dazzling display of celestial fireworks.