Margaritifer Basin (Margaritifer Trilogy Book 1) (20 page)

“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.”

Malcolm got up from the table and
walked around for a minute. “Deb, your shop’s so full of suits it’s an obstacle
course. How many of them are ready for space.”

“Probably just about all of them.
And those that aren’t we could make ready on short order.”

“Fred, how’d you like to see that
expandable habitat on Mars?”

“Jeez, where do I sign?”

“How long would it take you to
build more?”

“Depends. It took three years to
build that one, but now that we know how to do it, we could probably churn out
three or four a year.”

“Jeff, you need airbags?”

“Yes we do. We’ll be using the Mars
Exploration Rover landing system to bring down a lot of stuff. In fact,
everything that’s under the weight limit, because it’s cheap.”

Malcolm nodded, “Okay then. Thank
you Mr. Grey, it’s been very enlightening. We’ll be in touch. Thank you
everyone,” and he headed for the door.

Jeff quickly stood, “And thank you
for listening.”

Except for Paul, the rest of the
ILC people stood, thanked Jeff and filed out.

Paul smiled at them, “You may not
think so, but that’s a good sign.”

Jeff reached out and shook his
hand, “I thought just being able to present our case was a good sign.”

Thursday, July 12,
2012 (T minus 1349 days)

Gabe walked into Jeff’s office and
dropped a stack of mail about six inches high on his desk.

“What’s all this?”

She smiled, “What do you think?”

“Oh god, not more resumes?”

“Yep. I think half the people in
Rhode Island applied.”

Jeff shook his head and sighed,
“All the more amazing since at least half of them can’t even write.”

Gabe chuckled, “Any more interviews
scheduled?”

“Yeah, another one this afternoon.
Looks awfully good on paper, but with a name like ‘Chrissie’ I dunno.”

“Chrissie?” Gabe turned and headed
toward the door, “Chrissie, oh Chrissie.”

“You’re not helping. Where do you
stand on your tuna can transhab proposal?”

“I’m wading through the life
support systems since Sue isn’t here to do it. Then I’ll need to calculate
energy consumption, resize the solar panels and do some mass calculations for
various dimensions.”

“Alright, but Bob Bigelow has
expressed a keen interest and I need to get back to him, so step on it. And you
know my concerns.”

“Oh yeah.”

“The last thing we want is to get
back there after a year and a half on the surface and find the thing has been
holed by a micrometeor and decompressed. We’ll be in no position or mood at
that point to have to scour the entire shell searching for a hole to patch
before we can climb inside and go home.”

“I know.”

“It’s got to be bulletproof, Gabe.”

“I know.”

“And it has to provide a
substantial savings somewhere; cost, weight, simplicity… something.”

Gabe displayed a little
exasperation. “I know!”

Jeff sighed, “I’m sorry, I don’t
mean to be a nag, and there’s nothing wrong with exploring avenues. In fact,
you’re right, as usual, and we need to look at this. We just don’t have the
time to waste on paths that lead to dead ends. We need to get it done and move
on.”

She smiled at him, “I know.”

“Alright then,” Jeff gave her a
wave of dismissal, “go away.”

“Humph.”

“Oh, wait a minute, one other
thing.”

“Yes?”

“Seems the Russians have done a lot
more work with LOX/methane engines than we have. I found this online. The
English synopsis sounded kind of interesting, but the article is in Russian.
Think you could find somebody to translate it?”

Gabe took the papers from him, looked at it and sighed. “Новое
поколение
ракетных
двигателей,
работающих
на
экологически
безопасного
топлива
«жидкий
кислород и
сжиженного
природного
газа (метана)». In
English,
The new generation of rocket engines, operating by ecologically
safe propellant ‘liquid oxygen and liquefied natural gas (methane)’
. This
is ancient history, but I’ll get you a copy. It’s available in English.”

Jeff sat with his mouth hanging
open and frowned. “You speak Russian?”

“Uh huh.”

“Fluent?”

“Uh huh.”

“I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell
me?”

She shrugged. “You never asked.”

Jeff nodded. “No, I didn’t, did I?”

Gabe shook her head.

“Amongst all your other
extracurricular activities, when did you find time to learn Russian?”

“I’ve always known it, my mother is
Russian.”

“Ah, of course. I didn’t know that
either.”

Gabe smiled. “Now you do.”

Jeff nodded and returned her smile.
“Go away.”

At the door she paused. “You didn’t
ask, but I’m also fluent in Swedish.”

“Huh?”

“My father is Swedish.”

He stared at her, mouth agape.
“Right. Uh, I don’t suppose there are any Martians in your family tree?”

She shook her head. “None that I
know of.”

He smiled. “Uh huh. Go away.”

She left Jeff to his resumes and
from down the hall he heard her snicker, “Chrissie.”

Jeff stared at the door after her,
shaking his head, then muttered to himself, “Good grief.” He returned to the
stack of resumes, never imagining finding a secretary could be so hard. But
since he was looking for a secretary that was also a public relations expert
and marketing wizard, and could write like Tolstoy, speak like Margaret
Thatcher, looked like Ann Coulter, knew that LOX wasn’t something you ate on a
bagel, and was willing to live in the basement of Wrentham House… perhaps he
was expecting a bit too much.

Just before 1:00 that afternoon the
doorbell rang and from somewhere in the house Abby called out, “I’ll get it.”
Shortly thereafter, Jeff heard the elevator followed by footsteps heading his
direction.

Abby peeked in, “Boss? Your one
o’clock is here.”

“Thanks.”

A slender, good looking,
20-something brunette, about five feet six with big brown eyes, stepped into
his office.

“Hi, I’m Jeff Grey. Come on in.
Have a seat.”

“Thank you.” She took a seat on the
sofa opposite Jeff’s desk and glanced around, “This place is unbelievable. It’s
beautiful.”

“Thank you, we like it. Chrissie,
is it?”

“Christine, but everyone has always
called me Chrissie.”

“Good. Your academic resume is most
impressive. But I hope you’ll forgive me for asking why, with a Boston College
Communications degree emphasizing public relations, are you applying for a
secretarial position?”

Chrissie grinned sheepishly, “Well,
P.R. can be a difficult field to break into. Entry level jobs, when you can
find one, usually amount to little more than ‘gofer.’ And, among the ‘useful,
but not required’ talents mentioned in your ad was public relations. Just
reading between the lines, I got the impression the job might entail a bit more
than just dictation and filing.”

“Hmmm, very perceptive. Indeed it
does, a great deal more. I see you spent your junior year studying abroad? Tell
me about that.”

“I spent a year in France at the
Sorbonne. It was… enlightening. The French have a rather different perspective
on communications then we do. A lot of the French journalists and writers seem
to put form before function. But it was good, I enjoyed it.”

“Then you speak French?”

“Yes.”

“Fluent?”

“Pretty much, with a New England
accent.”

Jeff smiled, “Very good. That could
come in handy. Any public speaking or broadcast experience?”

“Not really. I never had much interest
in broadcast journalism or public speaking; I was mostly content just to write.
I was in a couple plays in high school, but that’s about it.”

“Stage fright?”

“No, not that I remember. It was
fun.”

“Okay. Tell me, what is it you
really want to do? What does your crystal ball tell you? What’s in your
future?”

“Well, eventually I would like to
get into public relations. Go to work for a large PR firm and work with clients
– be they individuals, organizations or companies – to help them present their
best image, be it of themselves or their product.”

Jeff nodded, “Alright, we would
probably get you some experience in that arena. Um, we work here, at Wrentham
House, but you live in Providence. That would be quite a commute.”

“I’m flexible. I wouldn’t mind moving
down here for the right job.”

“Okay. Though we work here, the job
would entail a great deal of travel: days, weeks, we’re not up to months, yet,
but that may come, and often on the spur of the moment. As you may imagine,
that can be very hard on personal relationships. Would that be a problem?”

“No, not at all.”

“Good. How are your computer
skills?”

“Pretty good.”

“Word processing? Database?
Spreadsheet? Email? Task lists? Web development?”

“I haven’t done any web
development, but the rest, yeah.”

“That’s fine. I don’t suppose
you’re a pilot?”

“Like, an airplane pilot?”

“Yeah.”

“Uh, no. Sorry.”

“No problem.” Jeff sat silent and
stared at her for a moment. “What’s LOX? Capital L-O-X?”

She cast him a wide-eyed puzzled
smile. “Uh, liquid oxygen?”

Jeff smiled and nodded, “Very good.
You just took the lead going into
Final Jeopardy
.”

Chrissie grinned.

He sat thinking for a moment
longer. She had no experience, but neither did he, and he liked her. “Alright
Chrissie, here’s the deal: we are an aerospace company and are in the process
of organizing an entirely commercial, privately funded manned mission to Mars,
with crew launch tentatively schedule for a bit less than four years from now.
Our team is singularly dedicated to that purpose and has absolutely nothing
else on their calendars for the next six and half years – through the
completion of the mission. We not only work here at Wrentham House, we live
here – all of us. We live and work like a family, not a company. And I would
expect you to join the ‘family’ and participate – for the duration – with the
same enthusiasm and dedication that everyone else here has.”

Her eyes grew wider with every
word.

“You are correct, it’s not just a
secretarial job. I will need you to be the voice of the company. We will also
need you to juggle a bunch of schedules, handle communications, and do a lot of
research. The job pays $80,000 a year to start, with full benefits: health,
dental, life insurance, vacation, 401(k), expense account… the works. Plus,
living here, I effectively pay all living expenses. But I need to have a
rock-solid commitment. I need to know that I can count on you today, tomorrow,
next year and, most importantly, four, five, six years from now when I am
two-hundred million miles in space. Interested? Oh, and the job starts
immediately, if not sooner.”

Chrissie started coughing.

Jeff looked at her quizzically,
“You okay? Can I get you a glass of water?”

She waved her hand, “Ahem, no,
thank you, I’m fine. Wow.” She swallowed hard, “It’s just not quite what I expected.
Uh…” She looked down, panting, then back to Jeff, “Yes! Oh yes, I am
interested.”

“It’s a hell of a commitment. I
will not be pleased if you, well… change your mind.”

“I won’t let you down.”

Jeff stood up, “Alright then.” He
walked around the desk and shook her hand, “You’re hired. Welcome aboard. Come
with me.”

She followed him, apparently
speechless, down the hall. They took the elevator to the lower level and across
into the big office.

“Gabe, Abby, I’d like you to meet
Chrissie Mallory, our new keeper of all things administrative: secretary,
public relations, communications, research, scheduling… and whatever else we
can think of. Chrissie, this is Lieutenant Commander Abigail Nolan, ‘Abby,’
aeronautical engineering and pilot, and Dr. Gabriel Fredrick, ‘Gabe,’
aeronautics and applied physics.”

Abby and Gabe greeted her. “Hi,
it’s about time,” said Abby.

Jeff smiled, “Chrissie, missing at
the moment is Dr. Susan Lú, our flight surgeon who is presently in Oregon and
won’t be back till the end of the month.”

Abby turned to Jeff, “She gonna be
here with us?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. Say, don’t put her in that
closet down here. How about giving her that room in back upstairs with us.”

“Fine with me.”

She turned back to Chrissie,
“You’ll be a lot more comfortable up there, and not so secluded.”

Chrissie smiled, “Fine.”

“When do you start?”

“Right now, I guess.”

Gabe nodded, “Excellent. We can use
all the help we can get.”

“Alright, on that note, I’ve got
things to do,” Jeff said. “Can you two show Chrissie around and bring her up to
speed. She won’t need all the technical details, at least not right away. But
anything to do with systems status, particularly as it relates to scheduling,
mission and flight plan, vendors, partners, etcetera, she’ll need to know. And she’ll
particularly need to be in the loop – when we get around to it – with anything
having to do with mission and ground control. When we’re gone, she’ll be our
advocate, and the only one in the building wearing a mission patch.”

Abby and Gabe both nodded,
“Gotcha.”

Jeff turned to Chrissie and put his
hand on her shoulder, “When the time comes, our lives may be in your hands.
Remember that.”

Abby smiled at her, “Welcome
aboard.”

Saturday, July 28,
2012 (T minus 1333 days)

Abby hollered from the front hall,
“We’re back!”

Jeff, Gabe, and Chrissie leaped up
from the conference room table and rushed upstairs.

“You’re here!” Jeff ran up and gave
Susan a hug, followed by Gabe, then he introduced Chrissie. “Glad to be done
with it?”

Susan smiled and nodded, “Yes. It’s
nice to be finished, and good to be back.”

“How was the flight?”

She beamed. “Wonderful. I love the
plane. It’s the first time I’ve sat in the cockpit of an airplane and,” she
grinned at Abby, “it was quite an experience.”

“Well, great. Forget about your
stuff, we’ll help you with it later. Come on in, we’ve prepared a little
celebration.”

They all filed into the great room
where a spread was laid out on the dining table: Russian caviar, chilled king
crab, prime rib, an assortment of fruits and breads, and a jeroboam of ’97
Bollinger R D.

Chrissie filled glasses and handed
them out.

“First, a toast,” Jeff announced,
“before Abby gets smashed.”

“Better talk fast,” said Abby,
laughing.

“Well, we’re all here. And I mean
that two ways: the team is complete, and we’re all that there is. We know
what’s ahead of us, and it is up to us to get it done. This was
my
idea,
but it is now
our
mission. We don’t do business the way other companies
do, but then no other company has ever been in our business or attempted to do
what we are going to do. Susan, welcome home. Five hundred and five days to
first cargo launch, one thousand three hundred and thirty-three days to crew
launch. Let’s get her done.”