Margaritifer Basin (Margaritifer Trilogy Book 1)

by Gregory Gates

  “I don't know, babe. I doubt $400 million would even scratch the paint on that one. Still, it might be enough to get the ball rolling. To put man’s footprints on Mars… now that would be something. That would be remembered. Eh, now don’t be shaking your head and rolling your eyes, it was just a thought. Hey, what do you think of the car? Pretty spiffy, huh? I know, it cost twice what we paid for the house, but I guess I can afford it now. And no, I’m not going to sell the house. That’s our house and always will be. So let’s not see your hand come up through the ground and wring my neck, okay?”

  Jeff walked around and stood at the foot of Marsha’s grave, “Well honey, guess I ought to be going. Things to do.” He sighed and stared at the stone, “I don’t know what God had in mind for us. Sure wish he’d explain it, ‘cause I'm stumped. If you happen to run into him, you might ask. I sure miss you.”

  Jeff walked slowly back to the car and drove home. He hadn’t visited Marsha’s grave in several months, and felt bad about it. But it was a good visit – one that he needed – and he felt better. As he left the garage and started toward the house Jeff stopped, turned around, stared at the big new Mercedes and shook his head. “Things are sure going to be different.”

  It was still early in the afternoon, but Jeff needed a drink. He passed on the beer, grabbed a glass, tossed in a few ice cubes and poured some scotch from the old bottle over the fridge. As he headed for the living room he noticed the flashing message light on the answering machine. He pressed the Play button and the machine announced, “You have 32 new messages. First message.” Jeff immediately hammered the Stop button, “32 messages? You’ve gotta be kidding!” He hit Play again and got the same announcement. The first call was from a reporter, as was the second, and third, and fourth. Jeff hit the Stop button again. He had given the lottery folks his phone number, but they swore that all his personal information would be confidential. How did all these reporters find him? He yanked open the desk drawer, pulled out the Long Beach telephone book and looked himself up. There it was, Jeffrey Grey, the one and only. “Damn.” The good news was that there was no address listed. He should probably thank Marsha for that. He let the answering machine sit. He’d call them back later… or not.

  Instead of dropping into the living room sofa to stare at nothing in particular, Jeff headed for the office, a spare bedroom he and Marsha had converted into a place to conduct household business. With no children and few guests, bedrooms, except for theirs, were pretty much a waste of real estate. He sat down at the desk, turned on the computer, opened Internet Explorer and entered the search word, “Mars.” It was a ridiculous idea, but he had time on his hands and nothing else to do.

  “Mars – Wikipédia”

  “Mars Exploration”

  “Mars Introduction”

  “Planet Mars”

  “NASA – Mars”

  “Mars pole dancing,” Hmmm, may have to save that one for later.

  87,600,000 results. This could take a while.

  Jeff had been teaching his students about Mars and the planets and the solar system for years and thought he knew a fair amount on the subject. He was wrong.

  He began reading. One link led to another. Mars exploration. Mars climate. Mars hydrology. Mars rovers. Flight to Mars. Hohmann transfer orbits. Mars perihelion. Newton’s 3rd law. Mars atmosphere. Delta IV rockets. SpaceX. Falcon Heavy, $90 million a launch. Low Earth Orbit. Geo Transfer Orbit. Escape velocity – C3.

  After four hours Jeff was exhausted, but he had learned three things: A manned mission to Mars was very difficult, a manned mission was very expensive, and a manned mission was… possible. He sat back from the computer and massaged his head. He suddenly wished he’d taken a masters or doctoral degree and learned how to do proper research. This would take some thought. Where to begin? The scientific method suggested he first needed a hypothesis. A hypothesis which could be tested with observable, empirical and measurable evidence, collected through observation and experimentation. Okay, so what was his hypothesis? That he could finance a manned mission to Mars? That seemed an oversimplification; he had to do better than that. How about, he could finance a manned mission to Mars with existing commercially available, off-the-shelf technology? Now there’s a thought. It seemed like every time NASA embarked on a new program the first thing they went about was spending billions of dollars inventing a whole bunch of new stuff. Jeff wondered if perhaps this could be done with what we have now; no new technology required, no ‘to be invented’. That should save a very large bundle of money.

  Over the following few weeks Jeff read and studied everything he could get his hands on regarding Mars missions of all kinds and manned lunar missions; past, present and future. He soon discovered there were a number of mission plans already in existence; clearly a lot of people had similar ideas and had put a lot of work into the problem. Further, the various plans had certain similarities: a cargo launch preceding the crew launch by one 26-month launch window, a crew of six or more, proposals to manufacture fuel on Mars for the return trip, an economical Hohmann transfer trajectory, and landing a rather sizable ship on the planet. But landing that large ship seemed to propose the biggest challenge as the awkward combination of Mars’ atmosphere and gravitational pull made landing anything big extremely difficult, if not impossible, given current technology. So after giving the matter some thought, Jeff decided to go the opposite direction and take the minimalist approach: What would it take to put footprints on Mars and get those feet back to Earth alive? And do it using nothing but tested and proven systems and technologies. Forget all the rest.

  Jeff also quickly learned that the projected costs involved were frequently one to two orders of magnitude greater than that advertised by existing commercial vendors. SpaceWorks 2007 AIAA proposal, for example, suggested a cost of $14.13 billion for launch vehicles – rockets – to put a bit over half a million pounds of payload into LEO, or Low Earth Orbit, utilizing the Ares V. Yet according to SpaceX, eight Falcon Heavies could do that for $721 million, or about 1/20th of SpaceWorks’ estimate. Further, SpaceX owner, Elon Musk, in 2004 had suggested to a Congressional committee that if demand warranted a super-heavy rocket – what he called the BFR or ‘Big Fucking Rocket’ – the cost per pound to LEO might very well be reduced to as little as $500. That would cut the launch vehicle cost in the SpaceWorks proposal to a mere $261 million, less than 2% of their proposed cost. If this could be applied across the board, the total cost of SpaceWorks proposal dropped from $96.8 billion to $1.8 billion! Jeff assumed he was making some rather gross oversimplifications, but still there appeared to be a vast disconnect between estimated costs and reality. Certainly there was enough of a difference to make the project worthy of serious consideration.

  Further, Jeff noticed there were substantial weight reductions available – and it all came down to weight – by scaling back both the scope and ‘luxury’ of the systems. He didn’t need the Ritz-Carlton, Motel 6 would do quite nicely. Nor did he need a crew of six; two would do, four at the most. Returning again to SpaceWorks proposal, he noted their estimate of 10.5 tons for astronaut living quarters, a TransHab, for the outbound and return journeys; two of them, one each direction. Yet Bigelow Aerospace already had a couple of their Genesis modules in orbit that weighed only 1.5 tons. They weren’t big, but they’d do. And if he could use the same module for the round trip, he could save nearly 20 tons, or one entire $90 million launch.

  So Jeff started with SpaceWorks ‘Architecture’ list and began paring it down to size. He eliminated the frills and nice-to-haves, like a four-ton, $3 billion pressurized rover, reduced the weight wherever possible by utilizing more compact, yet available, systems, and plugged in advertised commercial prices. When all was said and done, what he found was quite a surprise: 257,600 pounds to lift and a total mission cost of $682.5 million! He could pay for half of that, and Bill Gates and Warren Buffet could cover the rest out of petty cash. Even if he was off by a factor of three, with some investmen
t from commercial marketing interests it was still very doable. And who wouldn’t want to have television images of their company logo broadcast back to Earth from Mars? Talk about a marketing bonanza…

  Friday, May 4, 2012 (T minus 1418 days)

  Jeff pushed back from the desk. There were two weeks of school left and he was a bit sorry he hadn’t quit his job immediately. Jeff felt he owed it to his students to finish the term but wondered if anyone would not have understood if he’d bailed right away? He once again looked over his work on the computer. Given that he was 27 years out of college and held only a B.A. in chemistry, Jeff was pleased with himself. His planning, assumptions and math were certainly not precise, but the bottom line was close enough to convince him it was worth a shot.

  At that instant, Jeff made up his mind. It may be lunacy, wishful thinking, or merely a fantasy but… he was going to Mars.

  So, now what?

  First of all he was going to need some help; that part was abundantly clear. Second, he’d need an organization, something official, a corporation or foundation or some such thing, “Hi, I’m Jeff Grey, Mega Millions Lottery winner,” wasn’t going to impress many people in the aerospace industry. He’d also need a place to work and the house in Bixby Knolls wasn’t it. He’d need plenty of space, with more space available on demand, and something that could make an impression… show he was serious. And he needed it all right away.

  Because it takes Mars nearly twice as long to orbit the sun as Earth, launch windows appeared only every 26 months, give or take. The next window was winter 2013, barely 19 months away. After that, spring 2016, not quite four years. Jeff was 49 years old. In four years he’d be 53. Add another two and a half years for the trip and he’d be around 55, give or take. He figured time wasn’t on his side. If he waited another two years, he’d be around 58 when it was all over. Yes, John Glenn was 77 when he went up in the Shuttle, but he’d been in space before. Besides, it should be enough time. And it’s a lot easier to push it back than forward. Further, the 2018 opposition was very close, thus considerably shortening the trip home. That would probably be welcome.

  Getting help was going to have to wait until after school was out. There simply wasn’t time between now and then to research the kind of people he wanted and conduct interviews, but he could contact a lawyer first thing next week and form a corporation; that should be easy enough. Jeff thought for a minute then brought up a search window on the Internet and typed in “Grey Aerospace.” No results. Okay, so much for that question.

  Alright, so where to work? The strip mall on the next block over? No, singularly unimpressive. A high-rise in Century City? No, it’d take two days through traffic to get to work. The Mohave Air and Spaceport? No. The Mohave Desert? No way. Houston or Orlando, near Cape Canaveral and the Kennedy Space Center? NASA’s centers? No. NASA’s involvement will be minimal at best, why setup camp next door to them? Jeff thought he needed someplace quiet, but not too quiet. Large, but not too large. Near an airport, but not too near. He hadn’t traveled much, he didn’t even have a passport, but he scratched his head trying to envision, well… just the right place. He thought hard back to places he’d been and tried to fit the puzzle pieces together.

  “Hmmm, how about Newport?”

  Jeff had spent some time at the Naval Education and Training Center, Newport, Rhode Island while he was in the service. It was a delightful place and seemed to have everything he wanted, though it was at the opposite end of the country from Long Beach. Oh well, a small matter. Newport also had one of the world’s largest supplies of mansions. That could work. Jeff went back to an Internet search window and entered “Newport Rhode Island mansion for sale,” just for the hell of it.

  “Another beautiful Newport, Rhode Island house has hit the market. Wrentham House was recognized in 2008 with the Rhode Island historic preservation and heritage commission award. The granite and brownstone oceanfront estate, which was originally known as Indian Spring, was the first collaboration between Richard Morris Hunt, legendary founder of the American Institute of Architects, and esteemed landscape designer Frederick Law Olmsted. The 14,400-square-foot mansion was created in 1891 for yachtsman and defender of the America's Cup, J.R. Busk. The twenty-two-room masterpiece on five acres was recently restored and is located on Ocean Avenue with prime water views. This home is listed at $12.75 million.”

  Wow! That could do. Jeff brought up the listing and carefully looked over the floor plan and numerous photos. Ten minutes from downtown Newport, ten bedrooms, fifteen baths, fifteen fireplaces, library, den, billiard room, recreation room, theater, elevator, wine cellar, and a living room-dining room-kitchen complex that could hold his entire Bixby Knolls house, with room to spare. The architecture and grounds were drop-dead gorgeous, high on a bluff overlooking the Atlantic Ocean just across the street, and it was only a quarter mile from the Newport Country Club. “Oh – my – god.” He sent the broker an email, “Call me tomorrow about Wrentham House and we’ll discuss price. Jeff Grey.”

  Around eight o’clock the next morning Jeff was awoken by his cell phone. “Mr. Grey? Ann Collins, Collins & Associates, realtors. I got your email regarding Wrentham House. How can I help you?”

  Jeff rubbed his eyes, “Good morning. Sorry, still asleep. Late night.”

  “I could call back later, if you’d prefer?”

  “No, that’s fine. Yeah, Wrentham House, nice looking place. Where’s the garage?”

  “Ah, you have a keen eye. There isn’t one.”

  “I didn’t think so. Looks like there’s a pad at the end of the west wing. Could that be converted into a garage? I realize the house has significant historical value, but if it was done right…”

  “Yes, it’s possible. It’s already been discussed with the Newport building department by the current owner, and they’re agreeable if it’s done in a manner in keeping with the building’s original architecture.”

  “Uh huh. Okay. I did some research and noticed that the house was listed less than a year ago for $9.9 million; same description, same pictures. And now the asking price is $12.75 million. Tell you what, Ms. Collins, tell the owners I’ll give them $10 million, cash, today. Call me back,” and Jeff hung up the phone and went back to sleep. It didn’t take him long to realize that with money came a certain degree of power.

  Jeff finally woke up around ten, showered, dressed and fixed some breakfast. Near noon, his cell phone rang again, “Mr. Grey? Ann Collins.”

  “Hi. Sorry about the earlier call, I’m grumpy in the morning.”

  “No problem, I’m not really a morning person either. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to see the house? I could arrange a showing at your convenience.”

  “Ms. Collins, I’m in California. I’ve seen all I need to see and can’t make it to Newport right away.”

  “I see. Well, the owners have considered your offer and state they couldn’t go less than $12 million. There has been a great deal of additional work done in the past year.”

  “Uh huh. Okay, seems like we’ve settled on $11 million. Call me back with a ‘yes’ Ms. Collins… or don’t call back,” and he hung up again. Jeff really liked Wrentham House and wanted to buy it, but he was going to need a lot of deal-making skill in coming years, and this seemed as good a place as any to start.

  Less than an hour later the phone rang again, “Ann Collins, Mr. Grey. The owners have agreed to $11 million.”

  “Excellent. Draft some paperwork, letter of understanding or whatever, and fax it to…” Jeff suddenly realized he had no fax machine, but he gave her his home phone number anyway. “and I’ll wire a deposit immediately. I need this done as soon as possible, so let’s expedite escrow. I’ll pay cash, so that should speed things up a bit. Can you also send me a list of current service providers? Gardner, housekeeping, that kind of thing? I’ll need to keep that going. Also, can you recommend a first-rate interior decorator in Newport? Looks like I’m going to need some furniture. I’ll see if I can fly out there
for a day or two next weekend. Light some fires under it, Ann. And, thanks.” They concluded their business and Jeff immediately grabbed his car keys and headed for Radio Shack to buy a fax machine.

  That afternoon Jeff booked a flight on United that would put him in Providence around midnight Friday. He’d have to find a substitute for his Friday afternoon class, but most everyone at school was getting used to his newfound eccentricities by now, and understood. He’d spend the night in Providence, buy a car first thing Saturday morning and drive to Newport. Then fly home Sunday afternoon. It would be a whirlwind weekend but, given what he had in mind for the next few years, probably not the worst. Besides, he’d just bought an $11 million house and was anxious to see it.

  The following Friday night Jeff found himself standing on the curb at T. F. Green airport in Warwick, Rhode Island. He hailed a taxi, “Westin Hotel.” At 8:30 Saturday morning he climbed into another taxi, “Herb Chambers Cadillac.” He paid the cab fare and walked straight into the showroom. Looking around he immediately spied a dark blue Escalade ESV All-Wheel-Drive Platinum Edition with beige interior. “Sweet.” He turned to the approaching salesman, who had yet to open his mouth, and pointed to the car, “I’ll take it, and I’m in a hurry.”

  Owing to its elevation and setback, Wrentham House could not be seen when approached from the east on Ocean Avenue. Jeff turned into the driveway and started up the hill, anxiously glancing up the escarpment for his first view. Rounding the bend at the top of the hill, the home’s north façade suddenly came into full view and Jeff slammed on the brakes, “Wow.” From east to west, brownstone trimmed granite stretched across the top of the plateau for more than 150 feet and, including the mostly subterranean lower level and the attic rooms in the west wing, comprised four stories. On the ocean-facing south side, two massive conical-roofed towers adorned the corners of the main wing, while a third was inset into the angle created by the northeast corner of the main wing and the diagonally set east wing. Jeff was reminded of photos he had seen of English and French baronial manors; Wrentham House was so much more than a ‘house,’ but not quite a fortress. He slowly drove around the circular drive and stopped in front of the large double-door arched entry alcove, got out and stood for a while with a wry smile, just taking in the grandeur of the place. All the photos he’d seen didn’t do it justice. It was glorious. It was perfect.