“Problems?”
“A psychiatrist has diagnosed me with cyclothymia, a mild bipolar disorder. Another says I may be a prodigious savant, with an IQ of either 200 or 50, he’s not sure which.”
Jeff squinted at her. “Uh, with a Ph.D. from Caltech, I’m guessing it’s probably not 50.”
Gabe smiled sheepishly. “Periodically I have… episodes.”
“Episodes? You’re not a closet axe murderer, are you?”
She grinned and shook her head. “No, it’s nothing like that. Every once in while I just kind of come… unhinged. You saw an example of it last week when I stormed out.”
“Hey, if I’d been you I probably would have come a bit unhinged too. That was quite a bombshell I dropped on you.”
“No, it’s not that, it’s that sometimes I just can’t help it. I can’t control my emotions and just lose it. And there’s more.”
Jeff started to get concerned. “I’m listening.”
“I have eidetic memory, but only for things that are important to me. Problem is, I can’t always tell what’s really important. I can play through a piano concerto once and never have to look at the score again. I can tell you every word of our conversation the day we met. I can tell you what socks you were wearing – navy blue argyle.” She looked up at him. “But I can’t tell you what clothes I wore yesterday. In fact, when I was a kid, my mother sometimes had to remind me to get dressed before I went to school. And I can’t tell you who the President of the United States is. It just doesn’t register.” She bit her lip. “I can do logarithms in my head, to six significant digits, but last month it took me two hours to balance my checkbook. I’d made two deposits and wrote twelve checks. I just couldn’t keep my mind on it for more than ten seconds at a time. But once I’d completed my research at MIT, I sat down and wrote my master’s thesis in one weekend – 312 pages – and never once referred to my notes.”
Jeff started to say something but she stopped him. “There’s a reason Dr. Vlohakis recommended me. He thinks you’re probably a nut, and he’s sure that I am. He’s scared to death I might come back next semester for postdoc work. He figured this might be a good way to get rid of both of us.”
Jeff grinned. “Well, he may be right about me, my sanity is yet to be determined, but what’s his problem with you?”
Her shoulders slumping, she sighed. “I embarrassed him.”
“Oh? How so?”
“He recommended me for the intern job at JPL and I messed up.”
“Care to explain?”
“I was a colossal pain in the ass.”
Jeff chuckled.
“I had an overrated opinion of myself, and I nitpicked everything. I was right, but I was insufferable. When my boss told me to back off, I’d have a tantrum and stomp out screaming and crying. After about the third go-round, he fired me and called Vlohakis and told him he never wanted to see my face around JPL again.”
“Are you gonna do that here?”
She shrugged.
“Gabe, I’ll make you a deal. If I promise to listen to you – even your nitpicks – will you promise to back off if I ask you too?”
She smiled and nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
Jeff looked at her thoughtfully. “Okay, I can’t ask for any more than your best. And what about you? Do you think we’re nuts?”
She smiled softly and shook her head. “No, just… different.”
“Different works for me.” He paused for a moment, gazing into her eyes. “You feel up to proving the shrinks and the academic eggheads wrong?”
Gabe grinned and nodded. “Yes, I do.”
“Alright then. Come on, let’s make history.”
“May I have that drink first? I think I need it.”
Jeff returned her grin. “Yeah, definitely.” He took her hand and headed toward the bar. “Oh, if need be I’ll be happy to remind you to get dressed.” He glanced at her elegant, statuesque figure and caught her eyes. “Or not.”
Gabe laughed.
Monday, June 25, 2012 (T minus 1366 days)
Jeff opened the door at Cindtronix for Abby and Gabe. “Morning, Bob. Have a good weekend?”
“Hey Jeff, just fine. How about you?”
“Great. Say I’d like you to meet a couple of my team members. This is Abigail Nolan and Gabriel Frederick.” Turning to them, “Bob Masse, my flight instructor.”
Bob reached across the counter and shook hands, “Pleased to meet you.”
“Bob, Gabe here also needs to learn how to fly. I’d like you to give her the second slot I had reserved today, and get her started with an introductory flight. And put it all on my tab.”
“Well sure, glad to.”
“Abby already flies, so she’s here on a slightly different errand. Can you point her in the direction of whoever it is that we can rent a hangar from?”
“Yeah, sure. You buying a plane?”
“Already did.” Jeff pointed out the window to short-term parking, “That Citation.”
“Holy crap! Pardon my French ladies. That’s yours?”
“Yeah, told you I was gonna get one.”
“Yeah but, jeez! Everyone around has been wondering who belonged to that. Nice plane.”
“Yeah, it’s fun. Picked it up in Wichita on Friday.”
“So, who flies it?”
“Abby,” nodding his head toward her.
Bob’s eyebrows went up as he glanced at her. “Wow. I’ve been flying for 40 years and never even flown a turboprop. Maybe I should be taking lessons from you.”
Abby grinned.
Bob gave Abby directions to the airport administrator’s office then headed for the door for Jeff’s flight lesson.
Before following, Jeff turned to Abby and Gabe, “We’ll eventually need space for another plane or two…”
“Two?” said Abby, looking a bit puzzled.
“Yeah, in addition to a C90, I’m thinking when another one of us gets type rated maybe we’ll get a Citation X, just to give us some additional speed and legs.”
“Ooo…kay.”
“Anyway, we’ll need more space so ask about pads that may be available that we could build on.”
“Right. Got it.”
“Oh, and don’t forget to show Gabe the plane.”
Gabe smiled, “Uh, yes. By all means.”
When Jeff returned from his lesson, Abby and Gabe were waiting for him in the Cindtronix office. Abby smiled, “So, how’d it go?”
“Great. Hey, we’re flyin’. Okay Gabe, you’re up. Have fun.”
She took a deep breath, “I don’t mind saying, I’m scared to death.”
Abby smacked her on the back of the head, “Show some backbone girl, it’s easy.”
Gabe gritted her teeth and followed Bob to the plane.
Jeff turned to Abby, “So?”
“Well, they’ve got some hangar space available, but nothing big enough for a CJ3.”
“Figures. How about building space?”
“That, they have plenty of.”
“Okay, job opportunity. Pick a spot and get a hangar built. Hmmm…” Jeff stood tapping his fingers on the counter for a minute while he thought.
“What?”
“You know, we’re also gonna need a couple of mock-ups. Trainers. Command module, landing module, ascent module, at the very least. Might think about putting all of that in one big hangar here.”
“Didn’t you say you could get space over at the Naval Station?”
“Yeah, but this might be more convenient. And if we have to build anyway…”
“We’ll need to figure out how much space we’ll need.”
“Yeah. Work on it.”
“Got it.”
When Bob and Gabe returned, Jeff and Abby were waiting for them on the tarmac.
As Gabe climbed out, Abby pointed at her and nudged Jeff, “Jeez, look at her. She looks like she just saw a ghost.”
Gabe gingerly walked up to them, carefully measuring her steps.
Abby laughed, “Hey, you look a little pale. What’s the matter, flying not agree with you?”
Gabe shook her head, “The good news is I didn’t throw up or wet my pants. The bad news is I spent the past hour thinking about doing both at the same time.”
Jeff smiled, “You’ll get used to it. Come on, let’s get back to the office, we’ve got work to do.” He waved at Bob, “Thanks, we’ll see you again tomorrow.”
Gabe’s jaw dropped, “Tomorrow?”
“Yeah, crash course. Full immersion.”
“Oh god.”
Gabe stood in the conference room staring at the drawings that remained untouched on the dry erase boards.
Jeff could tell the wheels were turning in her head, “What’s on your mind?”
“Oh, just curious. These tuna cans, how are they constructed?”
“Well, we need to take a look at that. Conventional wisdom would be aluminum, but I’m thinking of maybe a Kevlar/carbon fiber laminate for the pressure shell; lighter and stronger.”
“And more expensive.”
“Yeah, but we could also make them a bit bigger, which we’d probably be grateful for in pretty short order.”
“And what else?”
“Oh, maybe an inch and a half of Aerogel insulation and a thin aluminum outer shell. Then some kind of flexible coupling to join them, solar cells on the roofs to augment the larger arrays, life support, blah, blah, blah. We’ll need to get started on a design pretty quick.” Jeff’s cell phone rang. “Jeff Grey.”
“Hey Jeff, Paul Andovar.”
“Hi Paul. Good to hear from you. I was starting to get worried.”
“Yeah, sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner but I’ve been talking with a few folks, taking their temperature on your plan.”
“And?”
“Well, obviously there’s a lot of skepticism, but also a lot of interest. With all the budget cutbacks over the past few years, the aerospace industry has been suffering and there are a few players who may just be willing to go out on a limb to get the fires stoked up again. Something like this, if well received by the public could, as you say, open a whole new chapter. I’d like you to come down again and meet with a small group of folks who are willing to hear you out. Would Thursday morning be convenient, say around ten?”
“We’ll be there. Can I bring a couple of my people – folks that are a bit smarter than me?”
Paul chuckled. “Sure, no problem.”
“Also, is there an airport around there? I’m not keen on making that drive again.”
“Nothing commercial this side of Newark, which is some distance.”
“We have our own plane, all we need’s a big enough airstrip.”
“The Commercial Air Terminal at Dover AFB is only a few miles from us.”
“That’ll do. Can somebody at ILC pick us up, say, 9:30-ish?”
“No problem. I’ll pick you up myself. One thing, you need permission to land at Dover. I’d call them today.”
“Got it. I’ll put my pilot on it. And Paul, thanks. Really appreciate your efforts.”
“My pleasure. It’s an exciting proposal. Look forward to seeing you Thursday.”
“Same here. Bye.”
Gabe raised her eyebrows, “Who was that? Sounds interesting.”
“Yeah, it is. That was Paul Andovar, Marketing Director at ILC Dover. I met with him last week and he wants us down there Thursday morning for a meeting with some other interested parties. Sounds promising. Where’s Abby?”
“In the office working on something.”
Jeff yelled toward the door, “Abby! Got a minute?”
She hollered back, “Coming.”
Jeff turned to her as she walked in the door, “Have another job for you.”
“What’s up?”
“The three of us are going down to Dover, Delaware Thursday morning for a meeting with a group of folks at ILC Dover. They’ve been a major NASA contractor for years and make spacesuits, inflatable habitats, airbags like the ones used to land the Mars Explorers and some other stuff. I met with their Marketing Director last week and we were just invited back for a second interview, so to speak. We need to fly down to the Commercial Air Terminal at Dover AFB and be ready for pickup at 9:30 am. Seems we need permission to land there. That something you can take care of?”
“No problem. I’ll get the permission and file a flight plan. What are we gonna talk about?”
“The whole nine yards. Let’s have all our ducks lined up and make a good impression. This could be our big break.”
“Roger that.”
Gabe nodded, “Sounds good.”
As Abby headed out the door she said over her shoulder, “We’re gonna need a secretary.”
Jeff grimaced, “Yeah, I know. It’s on my list.”
Thursday, June 28, 2012 (T minus 1363 days)
Jeff, Abby and Gabe landed at Dover Air Force Base at 9:00 a.m. after a 50-minute flight from Quonset. Jeff was all grins, “Last time I came down here it took me six hours on the freeway. This is great!” Abby taxied to the Civilian Air Terminal, parked the Citation, and they waited in the terminal for Paul.
Besides Paul, at the meeting from ILC were Malcolm Reynolds, General Manager; Debra St. John, Project Manager, Spacesuits Division; Fred Dyson, Project Manager, Inflatable Habitats Division; Steve Weymouth, Project Manager, Airbags Division; and Gary Langley, Business Manager, ILC Houston Operations.
Paul introduced everyone around the table and got the ball rolling. “Jeff, I’ve already discussed your proposal with everyone here and I think we have a basic understanding of what you have in mind. It is, to say the least, an incredibly ambitious undertaking. We are, as you may well imagine, more than a bit skeptical about the prospects for success. Nevertheless, as ILC’s brain trust, we’re fascinated by the prospect of getting back in the space business. ILC, along with many other aerospace firms, has been sorely affected by the past few years’ NASA budget cuts and what effectively amounts to the demise of the U.S. manned space program. What we’d like from you is enough detail on your mission plan for us to reasonably assess the likelihood of success and what you see as ILC’s role.”
Jeff nodded, “Fair enough, and thank you all for sparing us this time. I sincerely hope we’ll make it worth your while. In a nutshell, what we envision is a high-risk, minimum cost, minimalist approach using existing off-the-shelf proven and available commercial technology and systems. Nothing fancy, nothing exotic, nothing… big, and nothing to be invented. We have the technology to do this, we’ve had it for years. NASA and the federal government, largely owing to a couple of shuttle disasters and the associated negative public opinion, have essentially achieved a state of analysis paralysis. Without suitable motivation, I don’t envision any worthwhile manned space exploration program in our lifetimes, maybe not in our children’s lifetimes. Our goal is to achieve something that will stir the public and serve as a catalyst to get things going again. Yes, it is risky, very risky. But, no pain, no gain. And this can be done.
“Our target budget for the complete mission is one billion dollars, though I suspect it will ultimately be closer to two or three.”
A wave of chuckles and sighs rose from the table, accompanied by a lot of eye rolling and head shaking.
Debra St. John threw up her hands, “That’s ridiculous. It cost that much just to launch the shuttle to low orbit to service the ISS for two weeks.”
Jeff nodded, “Yep, it sure did. Anything the government touches is very expensive, but we’re not the government. Five years ago SpaceWorks produced an AIAA proposal for a manned Mars mission that was generally well received and came in at $96.8 billion.” Jeff shoved a stack of papers across the table where everyone could reach a copy, “Here’s my version. I’ve provided direct, verifiable, workable substitutes right down the list and it costs $1.8 billion. Go ahead, research it, do the math. But then, you don’t really need to, do you? Because you’ve already done it, at least in par
t, many times. And you know I’m right.
“Ladies and gentlemen, you don’t need the Concorde to get from Los Angeles to New York. You can get there in a clapped-out 1963 Volkswagen. It may not be as fast or as safe or carry as many people or as much luggage, but it can get you there! And that is the entire point.”
Jeff paused to give the group time to look over the plan.
Malcolm Reynolds looked up after a moment, “You do seem to have most everything covered, but there’s no redundancy. No safety measures. No backups.”
“That’s correct. Sounds kind of like the Apollo Program, doesn’t it? I can see there are a few of you at this table old enough to remember the moment when Neil Armstrong first set foot on the moon. How many people were complaining of a lack of redundancy then? Kennedy said we were going to do it, and we did. Now I’m not Kennedy, but I say we are going to do this, and we will.”
“And what if you don’t come back?” Debra asked.
“Then I would hope that someone would stand up and say, ‘At least they tried. Let’s try again and do better.’ Let’s be honest, the mission does not need to be entirely successful to be… successful, in a manner of speaking.”
“And that’s a risk you’re willing to take?”
Jeff, Abby and Gabe simultaneously responded, “Yes.”
All heads snapped up and looked furtively back and forth at Abby and Gabe. “You two are going?” Paul asked in astonishment.
Gabe nodded. Abby smiled, “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Jesus.”
Jeff smiled, “Well, he’s not on the crew manifest, but I trust he’ll be with us.”
Malcolm chimed in, “Okay, I get the picture. It may – may – be feasible. For now I’ll grant you the benefit of doubt. What do you want from ILC?”
“What I want is, first, to know if ILC Dover wants its name and logo emblazoned in big bold letters on our suits and habitats when we broadcast live video from Mars? And, if so, what’s that worth to you?”
“Ah, so you are looking for money.”
“No! I am not. At least, not in so many words. Look, you guys have been in business for a long time. You’ve developed countless systems, some of which you’ve sold, and some of which you haven’t. But I’d imagine that somewhere around here you’ve got a warehouse chock full of prototypes, demonstration systems, test systems, unsold stuff as well as a whole lot of things that you’d love to field test and prove. Interested in putting your inflatable solar arrays and antennas to the supreme test? Essentially we’re offering ILC the marketing opportunity of a lifetime for only the cost of a bunch of stuff that you’ve already fully amortized, or products that you’re looking to sell that might just benefit from the mother of all promos.”
Margaritifer Basin (Margaritifer Trilogy Book 1) Page 16