Margaritifer Basin (Margaritifer Trilogy Book 1) (41 page)

“Well, we happen to
have a piano here,” the curtains on stage parted unveiling a grand piano. “Can
we get you to play something for us?”

Gabe stood,
“Alright.”

As she began to
stand, Jeff leaned toward her and whispered, “Break a leg.”

She whispered back,
“I’d prefer not to.”

“What are you going
to play?” Jay asked.

Gabe paused, “The
Miller’s Dance from
The Three Cornered Hat
by Manuel de Falla,” then
walked to the piano. 

As she concluded the
final flourish the audience broke into an enormous applause. Gabe stood and
took several bows then quickly walked to rejoin the group that was now shaking
hands with Jay Leno.

“Ladies and
gentlemen, the
Ares
Expedition: Jeffrey Grey, Gabriel Frederick, Abigail
Nolan, Susan Lú, and Christine Mallory.”

Sunday, October 27,
2013 (T-877 days)

            Jeff picked up the phone. “Yeah, Chrissie.”

            “Boss, ULA just called. They’re going to be
assembling
Pathfinder
and the Atlas V next week and they want to know if
we’re going to be there.”

            “Ugh. We’re gonna be there for the launch, but
the assembly is their job. We’d probably just be in the way; not to mention
acting like a bunch of long-tailed cats in a room full of rocking chairs. I
don’t see a reason for us to be there for the assembly, but ask Gabe. She may
want to go down for it. I dunno.”

            “Will do.”

            A minute later Jeff’s phone rang again. “Yeah,
Chrissie?”

            “Gabe said the same thing you did. She’d like to
go, but doesn’t have the time.”

            “Okay, well, there’s your answer. Call ‘em back
and tell ‘em we have complete confidence in their abilities. Oh, and ask them
kindly not to dent the fenders, that’s the only one we’ve got.”

            “Right.”

            Their first launch was 41 days away and though
Jeff wanted desperately to hover over every step of it, he had other things to
do.

            The phone rang again. “Yeah?”

            “It’s Abby, boss. We’re all in the MCC, waiting
for you.”

            “Okay, be there in a minute.”

            Jeff left his office and ran down two flights of
stairs. “Sorry everyone. Gabe, run it from the top.”

            What were once Wrentham House’ theater and
recreation rooms was now a single 36-foot wide by 26-foot deep room, loosely
modeled after the White Flight Control Room at NASA’s Johnson Space Center in
Houston, Texas. Arrayed across the south wall were three 165” LCD displays with
a three-foot high, three-foot deep stage running the width of the room beneath.
Filling the center of the room were sixteen control consoles in three rows and,
at the back, 14 theater chairs in a single row on a raised platform.

            “The very top?” Gabe asked.

            “Yeah. Start at T minus 60 seconds.”

            “Oh god,” Abby groaned. “Again?”

            “Yeah, again. We’ve got 41 days and if we screw
this up I’ve got nothing to show for a third of a billion dollars. So, what say
we get it right?”

            Gabe nodded. “Okay, Atlas V 521, SLC-41 at Cape
Canaveral, T-60 seconds and… counting.”

            Abby began the countdown sequence. “ULA Launch
Director reports green board, weather clear, range clear, we’re Go for launch.
Power to internal, 50 seconds. Pressurization complete, 35 seconds. Guidance to
internal, 15 seconds. T-9, ignition. 3, 2, 1, we have liftoff. The clock is
running.”

            Gabe now took over. “T+4 seconds, Mars One Alpha
has cleared the tower. T+13 seconds, roll program initiate. T+34 seconds, roll
program complete. T+50 seconds, core throttle-down. T+55 seconds, altitude 4.7
kilometers, velocity 430 meters per second, throttle 57%. T+85 seconds, 11.8
kilometers, 530 meters per second. Two minutes thirty seconds to booster
jettison.”

            They all stood quietly watching the simulated
launch on the displays.

            “T+235, booster throttle-down,” said Gabe, “and,
booster sep, and core throttle-up to 100%. 104 kilometers, 3650 meters per
second.
T+277 seconds, fairing jett.
Go at five minutes.
T+328 seconds, MECO, main engine cutoff. And, staging. 178 kilometers, 5,850
meters per second. T+347 seconds, second stage ignition, thrust is Go on all
engines. 200 kilometers, 6,380 meters per second, and we are Go at six minutes.
And now not much happens for about eleven minutes until SECO, second stage
engine cutoff.”

            “Boss?” Abby said.

            “Yeah.”

            “Why do we need to keep going over this? This
part is entirely in the hands of launch control at the Cape.”

            “Two reasons. First, this command center has
never been tested and we need to make damn sure it works as designed and does
what we need it to do. Second, if Alpha loses an engine on ascent, we’re going
to have to think fast and work quick with ULA to adjust the burn of the
remaining engines to get this hunk ‘o junk into the proper orbit. If Alpha ends
up in the wrong orbit we’re totally screwed. So we have to know not only what
is supposed to happen, but also what we’re going to need to do if something
doesn’t go exactly as planned.”

            “Okay, I’ve got that. I understand that part. But
shouldn’t we be working on casualty control? You know, the part about what if
an engine fails?”

            “Oh, we will – until we’re sick to death of it.
But we need to walk before we run. So we take it one step at a time.”

            “Okay, sorry. It’s just getting… so close.”

            “I know.” Jeff winked at her. “Gabe, how we
doin’?”

            “Projected cutoff at 17 plus 55.”

            “17:55 Rog. And what’s the projected time for
the second burn?”

            “89 plus 20.”

            “And how long’s that burn?”

            “19 seconds. We are Go at 15 minutes.
SECO in 2 plus 50.”

           
Chrissie came running into
the room. “Rasmussen’s out. 91% strong support for the mission.”

            Jeff smiled. “Whoa! That’s interesting.”

            “And you got a call from Senator Landers’
office. He’d like you to call him as soon as convenient.”

            “Convenient? That’d be about five years from
now. Okay, I’ll get back to him shortly.”

            “Good morning, Senator. How are you today?”

            “Just fine, Jeff. Say, that was a great job you
folks did with Leno. If nothing else, you may have turned Gabriel into a
national celebrity.”

            Jeff laughed. “She was so nervous I’m surprised
she was able to make it over to the piano without falling.”

            “She was great. You all were. Have you seen
Rasmussen’s polling numbers this morning?”

            “Yes sir, just a few minutes ago.”

            “91%. I know plenty of people here in Washington
– and I’m one of them – that would kill for numbers like that. And someone else
has taken notice. Are you busy Friday night?”

            “Senator, a month from now we have four launches
over just seven days. We’re kind of busy day and night. All of ‘em.”

            “Jeff, I think you’ll want to take the evening
off for this. I just got off the phone with the White House Chief of Staff. The
President has decided to get involved with your little venture, but he wants to
do it in a congenial atmosphere rather than beating his shoe on the bully
pulpit. So he’s invited you to the White House for dinner Friday night, along
with a few of the other major players in government. Maybe we can all hash out
our differences over prime rib.”

            “Uh, wow. Okay, yeah, I guess I can squeeze
that
into my calendar. Good grief.”

            “And bring your whole crew, he wants to meet you
all. Six o’clock at the East Wing. Don’t be late.”

            “Not even fashionably?”

            “No, not even fashionably.”

            “Okay. Uh, what’s the dress?”

            “Ah, glad you asked. Black tie. The President
likes formal dining, even though we’ll probably be in the Family Dining Room,
owing to the small crowd.”

            “You’ll be there?”

            “Yeah, I’ve been invited as well.”

            “Who else?”

            “I’m not sure. Probably the major players in
space policy: Vice President, the head of NASA, President’s Chief Science
Advisor, a couple Congressional Committee heads, you know, the usual suspects.”

            “Good god.”

            “Yeah, well, here’s your chance to make your
case.”

            “Right. Okay then, we’ll see you Friday.”

            “Okay. Make it good.”

            “Yes sir. And, thanks.”

            Jeff hung up the phone, sat in shock for a
minute then sighed deeply. “Oh brother.” He hurried back downstairs and into
the control room.

            Abby glanced up at him from her console. “Jesus,
boss, you look like you just saw a ghost.”

            “Close. I don’t suppose you guys have evening
gowns?”

            “Huh?”

            Gabe’s eyes opened wide. “I haven’t worn an
evening gown since my high school prom. What’s up?”

            “Well, we’ve been invited to the White House for
dinner on Friday night.”

            “
The
White House?”

            “Yeah, that one.”

            “Oh my god.”

            “Yeah, that’s what I said. Chrissie, looks like
we need to do some shopping. Anything around here?”

            “Newport? I dunno, might be a bridal shop in
town.”

            “We’re going to the White House for a formal
dinner, not getting married.”

            “Okay, how nice do you want? Madison Avenue?”

            “There’s nothing closer than New York?”

            “Um, let me think.” She scratched her forehead
for a minute. “Oh, there’s a Valentino Boutique in Boston. I’ve never been in
there, couldn’t afford the cover charge, but they should have some nice stuff.”

            Jeff nodded. “Alright, let’s go shopping. Make
sure we give them time for any fitting that’s necessary.”

            Abby gasped, “Valentino? Oh lord.”

#

            “What do you think?”

            Jeff turned around and nearly fell over.
“Oh-my-god! Jeez, Gabe, that is drop-dead gorgeous. But, uh, you don’t think
maybe that’s a bit much cleavage for the White House?”

            She shrugged.

            Chrissie sat gaping at her. “That’s the most
beautiful dress I’ve ever seen.”

            Standing six foot three in heels, Gabe stood
grinning in yards of gathered black silk crape, strapless, a square opening at
the cleavage and flared from the waist to the floor. “They don’t have a lot
that’s long enough for me. But I kind of like this.”

            Jeff coughed. “Yeah, well, it’s certainly a
statement.”

            Abby came out of the dressing room wrapped in
tight fitting floor-length silver-grey silk, strapless, gathered at the bosom,
and slit down the front of each leg with a flourish of shimmering silver lace
lamé beneath, and elbow-length white gloves.

            Jeff dropped into a chair. “Oh good lord. You
guys trying to start a riot?”

            Abby frowned. “What, you don’t like it.”

           
“
Au contraire
mon
cheri
,
it’s
spectacular
.”
He turned to Susan. “And what are you doing
just sitting there?”

            Susan smiled. “I’m fine. I have something to
wear.”

            “Okay.” He turned to Chrissie, “And what’s your
story?”

            “I didn’t think I’d be going.”

            “Whatever gave you that idea? Of course you’re
going. Go find something to wear.”

            Chrissie leaned over and whispered, “Uh, boss,
have you seen the price tags on this stuff? You don’t pay me as much as you pay
them. I can’t afford these.”

            Jeff rolled his eyes and smiled. “Chrissie, this
is a business expense, it’s on me. Go find a dress.”

            Abby turned to Gabe, “Wow!”

            Gabe grinned. “You like it?”

            “You’re gonna give some old geezer a heart
attack.”

            Jeff laughed. “That might not be so bad, so long
as it’s the right old geezer.”

            “What about you, boss?”

            “Oh, while you two were rummaging through the
racks I got fitted for a tux… and solved world hunger.”

            Gabe frowned. “We didn’t take that long,” and
turned to Abby, “Did we?”

            Jeff smiled. “Never mind. Chrissie, move it. And
you two… shoes, bags, whatever. Let’s not make a career of this.”

            A short while later Chrissie emerged from the
dressing room in a two-tiered strapless pale mauve taupe silk number, topped
with a gathered ‘belt’ of fabric cresting the bodice and wrapped around her
upper arms to the back, and accented with full-length moss green gloves. She
swished out in front of Jeff and twirled. “Well?”

            Jeff grinned and nodded with approval. “Oh yeah,
that’ll do. Splendid. Okay, we about done here?” Jeff turned to the young sales
attendant that had been helping them all afternoon. “Marcie, is it?”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “You want to total all this up and we’ll be on
our way. Thanks for your help.”

            “Oh, you’re very welcome. I’ll get you a bill,
but it will be a few more minutes until we’ve finished the fittings.”

            “Fittings? You fit gowns?”

            “We fit
these
gowns.”

            “Right. Okay, when can we have all this?”

            “It should be ready by Thursday.”

           
“No, no, no.
‘Should’ won’t
do it. The five of us are having dinner with the President at the White House
on Friday. So we need this by Thursday, absolute latest. Wednesday would be
even better. Hmmm?”

            Marcie swallowed hard. “Ah, yes. Of course.
Would, uh, Wednesday afternoon be satisfactory?”

            “Fine. Thank you. Why don’t you get me a bill
and we’ll settle up while the, uh, fitting continues.”

            “Of course.” And she scurried off.