by Jeff Pollard
“That was a hell of a landing, sure, but I still think the little people in there would be scrambled.”
“Let's find out,” K says, holding his breath and walking toward the helipad. He reaches the capsule, pulls the hatch release handle out from a recessed position in the capsule wall, then turns the handle to trigger it. The pressurized capsule emits a blast of air and side hatch opens on the mock-up capsule. The interior cabin isn't much bigger than the trunk of an SUV. K reaches inside and pulls out a bottle of Champagne wrapped in a thin layer of packing insulation, one of sixty bottles that made up the simulated cargo.
“Looks alright to me,” K says as he peels off the padded insulation. He hands the Champagne bottle to Harding. “Would you mind opening it?” Harding starts peeling away the foil top. K leans into the cabin and extracts four Velcro bags from the cabin walls. He hands two of the bags to Hammersmith. She's not sure whether she's pissed at his crazy move or happy that it's working. The bags contain Champagne flutes. Harding pops the cork and the Champagne bubbles over, but K holds out the first glass and Harding fills it. In a moment, the four of them clink their glasses together. This celebration was supposed to take place on board the SpacEx recovery ship off the coast of California in a week.
“To the beginning of a wonderful partnership,” Harding toasts. Dexter Houston bursts through the stairwell door.
“Where's my Champagne?” Dexter asks.
“Here you go,” K says, handing Dexter the half empty bottle. “Sorry no glass.”
“Pretty good landing, huh?” Dexter asks, admiring his handiwork.
“Yeah, those computers are just incredible pilots,” Kingsley says with a smile.
“Right, those automated things, wow,” Dexter says.
“Let me get this straight, he sees the rocket explode into a million pieces,” Travis Clayton says as the crew walks towards the SpacEx hangar, “and you still get him to invest half a bill, is that right?”
“Let's just say, people are impressed by crazy stunts that endanger countless lives,” Kingsley says with a laugh. “Just as long as you pull it off.”
“So we all still have jobs?” Dexter asks.
“We're gonna get that next round of rockets, we're probably good for about a year or so,” Hammersmith adds. Behind them, a helicopter is picking up the capsule from the top of the roof, crews connect high-strength cables to rings in the top of the capsule. The first stage, recovered from the sea but damaged by a rough splashdown, is lifted by a crane at a dock not far away. The capsule and spent first-stage have a ticket back to California in a C-17 Globemaster, a military-surplus cargo plane SpacEx purchased at a significant discount. Meanwhile, Kingsley, Hannah, Hammersmith, Travis, and Dexter head for K's Beechcraft Starship private jet.
“You guys go ahead,” Kingsley says. “I'm gonna fly back in the T-38.”
Kingsley heads to the T-38, one of two that he owns. Dexter and Travis fly the Starship back to LA, while Kingsley flies alongside in formation. K wants the time to himself. Sometimes he was the outgoing playboy seeking adventure, and sometimes he would withdraw inside his own head and not come out for days or weeks.
K reflects during the cross-country flight in the solitude of his cockpit, looking out on the wide-open spaces beneath him. At altitude, farms look like messages to the gods, huge grids of perfect squares and circles. He had pulled it off, made a sale despite the rocket failing. They were still in business. On the other hand, they weren't pardoned from the cruel clutches of bankruptcy, rather they were given a reprieve, a temporary postponement. Kingsley knew that within six months they'd be wondering where the next check would come from. When he envisioned SpacEx, it didn't look like this. He imagined they'd probably lose one of the first three rockets, but not all three. Once they had put a couple of payloads in orbit, then they would have gotten customers for the Eagle 1, satellites under 1300 lbs. Plenty of companies have needs for small satellites and the low price-point would have been enticing. Those customers would have paid for the further development of the Arthur rocket as they maximized its capabilities and refined the design until it would have been easily and cheaply reusable. This development would have been accompanied by the development of the larger Eagle 5 with five engines and a much higher payload to low-Earth-orbit. The Eagle 5 would bring a whole new slate of satellite customers who would have paid for the development costs of the Eagle 9, all the while they would be getting better at using the Arthur and starting to reuse them. Within two years he'd thought they'd be launching an Eagle 9 and be poised to put a manned capsule into space. But now...there were no customers.
Hard decisions were coming.
The cheapest thing to do would be to launch another Eagle 1. Assuming it actually worked, and K didn't know if they would discover the flaw in the Eagle 1-3 or know how to fix it. A successful flight would hopefully bring in some customers. Then again, if they failed a fourth time on the same rocket, then they'd be dead in the water. They could skip straight to the Eagle 5. If that worked, it would prove the viability of the Eagle 1 as well and bring customers at both small and medium payloads. If K had more money, he knew the right thing to do was to stay with the Eagle 1 until it worked, then move on to the next step. No skipping, no shortcuts. But now he was forced to choose between taking a shortcut or going bankrupt. But which step do you skip?
The Eagle 1 first stage is essentially the second stage of both the Eagle 5 and Eagle 9, so that production line will stay open regardless. But opening up the line for the 5 or the 9 will take time and money. If they start trying to build the 5 now, they might launch one, with five of the valuable Arthur engines, and find that a flaw in a single one of those engines ruins the chances for the other four. More engines means more things to go wrong. So the Eagle 9 entails even more risk. But, the Eagle 9 has the payload to put a mannable space capsule into orbit, while the 5 is not powerful enough to launch people. So the Eagle 9 is much higher-risk and much higher-reward.
Meanwhile at Tezla, they were still having trouble with battery packs not lasting more than a few dozen charges. SolCity was up and running, but was still small time.
Kingsley compares the status of he and his companies to where he thought they would be. He imagined changing the world, killing the gasoline powered car, sending people into space. Instead he looked more like an NBA player that had made millions but was broke after spending it all on bad investments like recording studios, clothing lines, and shitty restaurants.
They had been keeping up with the sun as they flew west. The sun stayed put on the horizon, blinding them most of the way home. But now the sun is just barely above the horizon, glowing a dark orange. Kingsley stares into the sun, thinking about the way the blue light is being scattered out by the thick slice of atmosphere it's traveling through. The effect, called Rayleigh Scattering, causes a red-shift in the color of the sun while simultaneously creating a blue sky. Kingsley thinks about seeing that sunset dozens of times a day from orbit, or better yet, seeing a smaller sun set on Mars.
“Go ahead and land first,” Kingsley says to Dexter and Travis over the radio.
“Roger,” Dexter calls back. Kingsley banks away, giving the Starship some room as Dexter lines up with the private runway.
Kingsley stares ahead, staring into the red sun, mesmerized. He takes his hands off the controls, sitting back in his seat. The T-38 slowly noses down, losing altitude while only a couple of thousand feet above a dense forest.
I'm having some kind of trouble here,” Kingsley says. He closes his eyes and puts his hands on his ejection controls.
“Say my name,” Dexter replies from the other plane.
“What?” K asks.
“Just say it,” Dexter insists over the radio.
“Dexter, I'm having some trouble,” K says.
“Come on man,” Dexter urges.
“Houston, I've got a problem,” K says dryly.
“What's your situation?”
“The controls are acting weird. I wonder if the
re's something wrong with the fly-by-wire. The computer's acting up I think,” K says, eyes still closed, hands not on the controls.
“Have you tried switching to the backup?” Dexter asks. Kingsley doesn't reply. He opens his eyes, seeing trees rushing at him as he loses altitude quickly. He makes no attempt to grab the stick.
“K? Kingsley,” Dexter says on the radio. Dexter turns the Starship and discovers a plume of smoke coming out of the dense forest just a mile or two away from Kingsley's house.
“Oh god,” Dexter says quietly.
“What is that?” Hannah asks, very worried, standing behind the pilots. “What am I looking at?”
“Are we there yet?” Brittany Hammersmith asks, waking up in the back.
“I think we lost K,” Travis says quietly.
“Kingsley, come in,” Dexter says on the radio.
“Where'd he go?” Hammersmith asks, rubbing her eyes.
“There,” Travis says quietly.
“We don't know that,” Dexter replies. Hammersmith looks out the cockpit windscreen, seeing the fire.
“He crashed!?” Hammersmith asks.
“He has an ejection seat,” Dexter says.
“Did you hear a mayday?” Travis asks rhetorically. Hannah collapses into a seat. He circles the area, looking for any positive signs, finding none.
“We're low on fuel, we better land,” Travis says.
“No!” Hannah insists, “we have to keep searching!” Her eyes have been frantically scanning out her window for a parachute, something, anything.
“We're on fumes,” Dexter replies. After landing, they taxi into his hangar and park the Starship. They do this without speaking, not wanting to admit the obvious. Kingsley was dead. What did this mean? Would SpacEx die with him? Hannah sobbed while the others were still, silent, stoic.
Dexter and Travis break their silence as they go through the final checklist, shutting down the Starship. They say nothing more than is necessary. “You don't have to wait on us,” Dexter says to the women in the back, but the women don't move. They finish shutting down the plane and prepare to exit. “Come on,” Dexter says, helping Hannah to her feet. The four of them walk up to the front of the house where their cars are parked.
They walk together slowly on the walkway leading up to the house from the hangar. The sun had since set, but the lights on Kingsley's back patio lead them through the trees.
“What took you guys so long,” a voice asks from the patio.
Hannah rushes toward the patio, partially blinded by the bright lights. “K!?” Hannah calls out.
“Yeah?” Kingsley asks. He's eating a steak and drinking a beer. Hannah runs to him, hugging him as hard as she can, crying tears of joy.
“Long time no see,” K says sarcastically as Hannah cries on him.
“We thought you were dead,” Dexter says, astonished.
“I ejected,” K replies, trying to take a bite of steak with Hannah still draped over him. “Want some dinner?”
“Are you alright?” Travis asks.
“Sprained my ankle I think, but other than that,” K replies. “Come on guys, sit, I'll have Jarvis make you some steaks.”
“We thought you were dead,” Hannah says.
“Well, I'm not,” K says simply. “Do you get this emotionally attached to all your bosses? You must really like your job Beth.”
“Hannah,” she says.
“I know,” K replies.
“What the hell is going on over here!?” a voice shouts from the side of the house.
“What's up John?” Kingsley asks.
“What's up John?” John Travolta says sarcastically, “You know exactly what's up. Grow up, Kingsley.” Travolta marches away to his house a quarter mile down the road.
“Fuckin' Travolta,” K says, rolling his eyes.
Chapter 2
“I'm hoping that's not a euphemism,” Robert Downey Junior says to Kingsley in Kingsley's Vegas penthouse which is currently pretending to be the site of Tony Stark's after party.
“It's whatever you want it to be,” Kingsley replies.
“What's your track record?” RDJ asks.
“Track record?”
“How many flights, and how many have been successful?”
“Depends,” Kingsley replies, sipping space Champagne.
“On what?”
“How you define success.”
“How many people have you put in space?”
“Zero,” Kingsley replies.
“This is some sales pitch.”
“I'm not much of a salesman,” Kingsley replies.
“At least you didn't call it space tourism like Richard Branson. I go the whole spiel yesterday about how popular space tourism is going to be, I could be the first space tourist, blah blah blah. Who the hell wants to be called a tourist? So you're not a totally terrible salesman.”
“I learned that lesson the hard way,” Kingsley replies.
“How so?”
“You know Caroline Junot?” K asks.
“The princess of Monaco?”
“I think she's a duchess, but yeah, her,” K replies. “She told me not to call the customers tourists.”
“That woman is ridiculous,” RDJ says. “Like re-populate the species ridiculous.”
“That's what I said!” K replies.
“I'd repopulate the hell out of that planet,” RDJ says.
“I could take her to Mars, we could start a race of Martians.”
“You should offer her that, she might think it's romantic, though the inevitable incest in the following generations might burst that bubble a lit bit,” RDJ replies. “Jon, when are we gonna shoot this thing, what's taking so long?”
“We're rolling!” Director Jon Favreau says.
“You're rolling on that?” RDJ asks. “I hope you don't mind the whole planet knowing about your repopulation plan.”
“I'm sure she doesn't watch deleted scenes, she's got too much classy shit to be doing.”
“You know what, sign me up,” RDJ says.
“To the repopulation plan?” K asks.
“Space. Put me on the list,” RDJ says.
“Alright,” K says.
“How long's the line?”
“Including you?” K asks.
“Sure,” RDJ replies.
“One.”
“I'm the guinea pig?” RDJ asks. He takes a sip of space Champagne. “I'm having second thoughts.”
“How about a discount for being a first adopter?” K asks.
“Yeah, just what I want, a discount ride on a recycled rocket. That's like handing out coupons for half-off vasectomies.”
Kingsley was in Vegas for the convention of Commercial Space Travel. This was the first ever convention of its kind. Every company with a pipe-dream was represented, with a presentation booth and a turn to show a promotional film in the theater. More than forty companies were there in all. The visitors included dozens of celebrities and countless rich people, but most importantly, NASA officials. NASA would be awarding five contracts to help the selected companies develop their technologies. All told, the five contracts totaled only 400 million dollars, not a huge sum when talking about space programs.
The problem these companies were trying to overcome was that the shuttle was going to be retired next year, and its replacement was years behind schedule, leaving NASA with no way into space other than than hitching a ride on the Russian Soyuz.
Back in 2004, in the wake of the loss of the Space Shuttle Columbia, President Bush announced the new Vision for Space Exploration, which became the Constellation Program. The program called for the shuttle to remain in service until 2010 to finish construction of the International Space Station. In the mean time, NASA would push ahead in developing a new space capsule called the Crew Exploration Vehicle (CEV), as well as a new family of rockets, called Ares. The new technology would come online in 2014, and by 2020 return Americans to the Moon and eventually to Mars.
The Ares
rocket family consisted of the Ares I, which used an upgraded shuttle Solid Rocket Booster as the first stage, topped by a cryogenic second stage. The Ares I would have a payload to orbit of 25 tonnes and would be used to launch the CEV. Meanwhile, the heavy lifting would be done by the Ares V, which looked like the shuttle, but without the orbiter. Ares V used a stretched version of the orange External Tank with five Space Shuttle Main Engines on the bottom, and flanked by a pair of upgraded and elongated Solid Rocket Boosters. Rather than the side-mounted shuttle, the Ares V would then be topped by an upper stage using an evolved version of the J-2 engine that powered the Saturn V's third stage. The Ares V could theoretically put 188 tonnes into orbit, much more than the 120 tonnes the Saturn V of the Apollo program could manage.
So in the Constellation program, an Ares V would launch, putting up a large payload like a lunar lander and that upper stage with ample fuel still remaining. The Ares I would launch the crew in the CEV. The two would then rendezvous and dock, and then the upper stage of the Ares V would fire again, sending the stack off to the Moon or deep space.
In designing the CEV, NASA asked a number of contractors for proposals. The requirements for the spacecraft were that it be large enough to carry six astronauts and survive re-entry at a Mars return velocity. The CEV was to be used both for missions to deep space, but also for routine missions ferrying crew to and from the ISS.
The shuttle was not very well equipped for either of those missions. The shuttle orbiter is far too massive to be used for missions to deep space, and it wasn't designed to be storable in space for long periods of time anyway. That meant visits to the ISS of only about a month, whereas the Russian Soyuz capsule could stay docked to the ISS for up to a year. The shuttle was also quite expensive to launch and was total overkill for the simple job of transporting people to and from the space station.
Since NASA was finally moving away from the shuttle and back to a much lighter space capsule, that meant leaving low-Earth-orbit was again an option, and it also meant that ferrying crew to and from the space station could be done with much cheaper launches of smaller rockets. So in designing proposals for the CEV, contractors walked the line between providing a capable spacecraft that could go beyond low-Earth-orbit, as well as being small and light enough to fit on existing rockets like the Delta IV Heavy or Atlas V.