by Jeff Pollard
When Kingsley was twelve, both of his parents were killed in an airplane crash in South Africa. Young Kingsley wrote to the Airline, asking for the flight data recorder telemetry. The twelve year old was going to look into the crash and see if he couldn't fix the problem himself.
When Kingsley was flush with cash and ready to go about solving all of the world's problems he'd been immersing himself in since childhood, he found a problem he could solve.
Tezla was largely the brainchild of another man, JB Strubel, who created a way to link hundreds of Lithium ion batteries to achieve unprecedented battery life. The company was floundering, teetering on the verge of bankruptcy, and with little hope of attracting investors to a project nobody thought could be successful. Who would have thought that the electric car revolution would be spurred on by a small start-up? No, of course it would be the big car manufacturers. But Kingsley saw how unwilling big companies were to embrace change and with it, risk. Kingsley went to Tezla and overhauled their thinking. “Kingsley drives this think-bigger mentality,” says Strubel, “As engineers we tend to want to keep things small, but Kingsley is always imagining something so large it’s terrifying, and he’s incredibly demanding and hard-driving.”
Tezla switched from trying to produce a simple, small, economical car to producing the fastest production car in the world, a sporty, agile, dream car which just happened to be electric. The investors and orders started rolling in. The first 10,000 Tezla Rs were purchased five years before the first production model rolled off the line. That's the power of “cool,” that comes along with thinking big.
Pretorius started SpacEx in 2002 and oversaw the development of a vehicle from scratch. He had a basic idea of what he wanted, how it should be done, but he surrounded himself with the smartest people he could find. Kingsley willingly traded off performance to save cost. He patented nothing because he didn’t want competitors—especially China—to see even hints of his technology. “The Chinese just laugh at us, because we come up with ingenious new designs, then publish them for all the world to see in an attempt to keep them ours...they just read the blueprints and copy it.”
“I’m head engineer and chief designer as well as CEO, so I don’t have to cave to some money guy,” he says. “I encounter CEOs who don’t know the details of their technology and that’s ridiculous to me.”
When his first three attempts at launch failed, he lost millions of dollars; his personal fortune was at risk. But he saw opportunity instead of defeat—every failure just meant more data and more chances to identify the problems and fix them.
And fix them he appears to have done. He launched his Eagle 1, a much smaller version than the one that sent up the Griffin in May, on his fourth try with a team of eight in the control room. Since then, he’s four for four with his Eagle 9. “Silicon Valley gave me both capital and a way of running companies that are efficient at innovation,” he tells me. “It’s Darwinian there—you innovate or die.”
The result: He’s offering to send a 10,000-pound payload into geosynchronous orbit for $60 million, compared with a United Launch Alliance Delta flight cost of $160 million or a Space Shuttle flight of $1 billion. If he can get “full and rapid reusability”—if he can figure out how to recover not just the Griffin capsule, but the first stage of his Eagle 9, and eventually the second stage—he’ll have done what no one has ever done before: created a fully reusable rocket for which the fuel costs only $200,000 per flight.
“Humanity will always be confined to Earth unless someone invents a reusable rocket,” Kingsley says. “That is the pivotal innovation to make life interplanetary, and I think we’re close—check out the designs we’ve put out on Twitter and the website, which we’re going to start testing soon.”
The difference between Pretorius and everyone else is that passion and ambition. When Tezla nearly went bankrupt, he took over the company and risked his personal fortune, pouring $75 million into the company. As production delays have eaten into Tezla’s cash, some analysts have doubted the company’s viability. But Pretorius renegotiated the terms of a government loan, sold shares in the company and seems to have fixed its production delays. Now Tezla has the potential to dominate the electric-car category.
Making a lot of money on an electric car or resupplying the ISS or even launching satellites cheaper than anyone else isn’t his goal. Pretorius wants to bring about the end of the internal-combustion engine, make coal power obsolete, re-invent public transportation, and make humanity a multi-planetary species. He just might save the planet.
“The goal of SpacEx has been to advance technology to create a self-sustaining colony on Mars,” Kingsley says, “We have a long way to go and this is really hard work. It’s the most difficult thing humanity has ever done, but also the most interesting and inspiring. Do you want to live in a future where you’re confined, or a future where we are constantly reaching toward the stars? I'm going to retire on Mars.” Pretorius gives a little nod, a trademark head bob that says that’s the way it is, and swivels back to his computer.
In the end, though, the biggest issue with making us interplanetary isn’t even rocket technology but the biomedical issues of long-term living in a place with low gravity and high radiation. Even space missions of ten days have radical effects on the human body, including changes in muscle mass and bone density and figuring out how to solve that problem is profound. “What happens when you carry a child to term in one-sixth or one-third of the Earth’s gravity? We don’t even know the questions to ask.” Pretorius acknowledges those issues, but fiercely believes every problem is solvable.
“I think we could get a colony on Mars with 80,000 people, and get the price for a ticket down to $500,000 a person.” That's what he's thinking about on a daily basis. Not about stock prices or marketing. No, this CEO is dreaming big.
In Kingsley's vision, the program would start with a pioneering group of only a few people. The first step in a colony would be to see if food could be grown. Plants need carbon dioxide, water, and sunlight to grow. Mars has plenty of CO2 and enough sunlight, but the water would probably need to be brought along...at first. It's thought that plenty of water ice would be found under the martian soil. If that were true, then the colony might become totally self-sufficient. They could grow their own food, breathe the oxygen produced by the plants, dig up new water as well as recycle their waste water.
The biggest hurdle then would be to survive the punishing radiation present on the martian surface thanks to the lack of a powerful magnetic field like the Earth has because of its molten iron core. In fact, once such a base were up and running, the colony could even produce rocket fuel to return visitors back to Earth. Methane can be produced in-situ, or on location. Of course, getting this self-sustaining base up and running would be a huge hurdle. They would need to build transparent domes, greenhouses to grow food. They would need to drill down to the sub-surface ice. They would need tons of equipment to accomplish all of this. And they might be going without a return ticket home until they produce the rocket fuel needed for the job. If they can't accomplish all of these goals, then the trip might be a one-way ticket.
Still, that doesn't stop Kingsley Pretorius from thinking there will be people willing to undertake the mission. And he's busy making it happen. The next generation rocket engine on Kingsley's drawing board includes one major change: the fuel. The next generation rocket will use methane, the very fuel that should be easily produced on Mars.
Kingsley's already gearing up to make the Martian colony a reality, even though he's yet to put a single person in space. If you think his idea for a Martian colony sounds impossible, tell that to ULA or GM. Ten years ago they were laughing at this big-dreaming wunderkind who said he would beat them at the game they've been playing for decades. Now he's on the verge of fundamentally changing the market. Kingsley isn't going to rest on his laurels. He's in Kingsley's world, dreaming big, solving problems that don't even exist yet, and he's not doing it because he's out to
become uber-wealthy. He's doing it because it's the only thing he knows how to do: dream big.
“I got goosebumps, it's that good,” Hammersmith says. “Why on Earth didn't we ever get good press when we were starting out? I mean, every article was about how we're pissing on NASA and arrogantly saying we know better, blah blah blah, but without ever pointing out that, you know, we do know what we're doing. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to see that congress's porky meddling isn't the most efficient system in the world. We're getting good press!”
“I've never seen you this excited before. And I've seen you pretty excited,” Kingsley says. Brittany gives him a suspicious look.
“Normally I'd call out your shenanigans, or whatever, but I just don't care,” Hammersmith says, with a bigger smile than Kingsley can remember.
“So I take it this is good for us, money-wise,” Kingsley says, turning back to the console. The Griffin 2 is over the Indian Ocean, closing in on the ISS, at a distance of 50 km now. The ISS, with its football-field sized solar arrays is visible from the Griffin (it's also visible to the naked eye at night, in fact, it's the brightest object in the sky, save the Moon, you should look up at it sometime). The ISS cameras can't quite pick out the Griffin yet.
“You bet your ass it's good money-wise,” Hammersmith says.
“Good, because I just spent ten million dollars on a vacation,” Kingsley says.
“You spent ten million on a vacation?!” Hammersmith. “To where? Jupiter? You know what, I don't even care. You're not bringing me down K. I'm quite happy.”
“I'm going into space,” Kingsley replies.
“I don't...is that a joke or something?” Hammersmith asks.
“He's going on SpaceShipTwo,” Dexter says from the next console, concentrating on piloting the Griffin.
“You're...flying Virgin Galactic to space?” Hammersmith asks.
“Yep, I'm going on the first flight,” Kingsley replies. “Thought I'd do a quick sub-orbital hop before I go up for real on Griffin 6.”
“Okay, two things,” Hammersmith says, getting ready to scream at Kingsley. Dexter and K smile at each other. “Why do I suddenly feel like a headmaster at a primary school?”
“Because you're predictable,” K replies.
“Are you going to ground him?” Dexter asks.
“Go on, keep sniggering like little boys, it's quite laughable,” Hammersmith says. “Ha-ha-ha,” she announces, as if she were laughing.
“Is that how you laugh?” Dexter asks.
“I'm not letting you bring me down.” Dexter and K continue inching the Griffin closer to the ISS. Hammersmith tries to bite her tongue, but can't any longer. “Okay, fine, I'll say it. You can't fly on Virgin Galactic.”
“Aw shucks mom, am I grounded?” Dexter asks.
“What was that voice?” K asks.
“The beaver,” Dexter replies. Brittany and K give him funny looks. “It's one of those yank things.”
“Okay, first of all, why would it cost you ten million dollars!? I thought it was two hundred thousand? And secondly, why are you spending ten million dollars at all, we've talked about you keeping your finances in order so that you have the liquidity to maintain control of your companies and not have to take on unwanted investors.”
“It does cost two hundred thousand,” K replies.
“But you paid ten million for something that cost two hundred thousand, why am I not surprised?”
“I didn't have a reservation,” K says.
“Yeah, so he paid Arnold Schwarzenegger ten million for his seat,” Dexter Houston adds.
“Wait, hold on, I'm having one of those feelings in my brain, what's that called, oh a thought,” Hammersmith can no longer fight the urge she frequently gets to lecture Kingsley on just, you know, basic math. “You're the one who's always trying to get cool celebrities to sign up. Why didn't you just trade him a ticket for a ticket on a Griffin?”
“I did, that was part of the deal,” K replies. Steam starts shooting out of Brittany's ears as her brain cells begin to flash-boil.
“So you paid him ten million dollars to fly on a Griffin? You really are the worst salesman of all-time. You know how they say there's a sucker born every minute. It's true, because you've got your little swimmers in every sperm bank in North America.”
“The ten million was for a seat on the inaugural flight. That's why it cost that much. He wanted forty million before I threw in the ride on the Griffin.”
“Why do you have to be on the inaugural flight?” Hammersmith pleads.
“Because it's the first one, it's the historic one.”
“Men, always whipping out their phalluses and marking their territory in the history books,” Hammersmith says, “It's a wonder all history books aren't just chunks of paper with every page stuck to each other cause they're covered in the piss of a million men.”
“Aren't they?” K asks. Hammersmith just walks away indifferently.
“I think you might be turning her bi-polar,” Dexter says.
“She's just bi-curious,” K replies.
“What does that mean?” Dexter asks as he activates nitrogen reaction control jets, slowing the Griffin by just a few meters-per-second, but enough to kill the relative velocity, parking the Griffin 5 km away from the ISS.
“I don't know,” K replies, turning on the auto-pilot hold that keeps the Griffin properly oriented and maintaining it's distance from the station. “Houston, Hawthorne,” K says.
“Go ahead Hawthorne,” a voice from mission control says from Houston.
“We're parked at five kilometers, request permission to proceed to one kilometer rendezvous,” K says. There's a long silence. “Do you copy Houston?”
“We copy, hang on,” the reply comes. “That's a negative, Hawthorne, maintain five kilometers.”
“What the fucking fuck are these mother fucking NASA ass-douches doing,” Kingsley goes off on a rant that continues with words too crude for these pages.
“Hawthorne, Houston, we've got you on VOX. You've got a hot mic.”
“I know the mic is on you fucking fairy dicks,” K replies. “I wanted you to hear that!” Dexter unplugs K's headset.
“Cool your jets, K.” Dexter says.
“You know what's going on don't you?” K asks.
“They just want to wait a minute, just hang on,” Dexter says.
“No, this is ULA. They probably offered the mission director a huge salary to come work for them starting in six months, in return he's going to fuck us over on this. They're gonna come up with some bullshit excuse to say that it's not safe to approach the station.”
“They do need to confirm that our brand new space-ship isn't going to have some bug or something and then go crashing into their 100 billion dollar space station that can't maneuver to get out of the way.”
“They're using that as an excuse to fuck me in the ass,” K replies. “They're gonna say there's some slight anomaly in our orbit or they've spotted some fleck of paint coming off or some bullshit, then decide it's not safe to approach. So then, we'll launch Griffin 3 and then that one will get to one kilometer, and they'll decide it's unsafe to dock. So then we'll launch Griffin 4, and then finally they'll let us dock. It's gonna take us four launches and 250 million dollars to do what we could have done in one. Those ULA dicks.”
“Well, throwing a tantrum isn't going to help,” Dexter replies.
“You know what will help?” K asks.
“What?” Dexter asks suspiciously.
“Go ahead and dock it,” K says.
“What?”
“Dock. Dock the damn thing. You said it yourself, they can't maneuver the thing out of the way. Just go ahead and dock it. There's absolutely no reason to believe that the Griffin isn't working perfectly. It has done every thing we've asked it to do precisely. Now dock it.”
“I'm not gonna dock without clearance from NASA.”
“You work for me now, not NASA,” K replies.
�
�Hawthorne, Houston,” Mission Control says. K goes to plug in his headset, Dexter throws K's headset over the console, keeping it away from K.
“Go ahead Houston,” Dexter says.
“At this time we recommend the Griffin retreat beyond 100 km safe-zone. Consider rendezvous successful.”
“Is there a reason for this recommendation?” Dexter asks.
“We feel the Griffin has exceeded it's safe approach distance. Any closer approach will be too dangerous, over.”
“I told you. Did I tell you, or did I tell you?” K asks.
“Copy Houston.” Dexter says.
“Dock it anyway.” Kingsley says.
“K...”
“That's an order,” K replies.
“Do I need to grab Hammerdick and get her to wrangle your huge testicles?” Dexter asks. “We're doing so well, don't screw it up with some stunt.”
“Dock it,” K replies. “If we dock it now, they can't then come back and say it's not safe to dock with a straight face. Let's shove our Griffin right down their throats. Do it.”
“I won't do it,” Dexter replies.