Red Hope (5 page)

The next day he visited them at their lab in a
building that appeared to have more balconies than classrooms. Every building
on campus was wrapped in either evergreens or other scenic trees. Keller stood
near the main entrance dumbfounded by the beauty of the Stanford University
campus.

A voice came from the balcony above him, “Hey Mr.
Murch! Go in through the doors and we’ll meet you by the elevator.”

He was led into a futuristic rocket engine laboratory
buried deep inside this place officially called the Durand Building. Over the
next few hours, the grad students demonstrated a rocket engine that used very
little fuel, produced a modest amount of thrust, and ran for a long time.

The students had approached several government
institutions and corporations to raise some venture capital, but they hit a
brick wall. Nobody was interested. The students were told that demand wasn’t
there. The space industry was dead. They should focus their new technology on
more
Earthly
applications.

Keller thought differently. He hired them on the spot.
All three took a leave of absence from their PhD programs. That day saw the
birth of Murch Motors Incorporated. It had a total of four employees.

Those halcyon memories rattled around in Keller’s
brain as his Mustang raced along the freeway. Scotts Valley vanished in the
rear-view mirror and his past faded from his mind. Keller felt rushed like he’d
never felt before. He shifted through gears like they were bowling pins to be
knocked down.

“I’m driving like Steve McQueen, baby!” yelled Keller
as he roared down the road.

When he arrived at his office, Keller skidded into a
handicapped parking space and ran in without even locking the car doors. Still
in his pajamas, he walked briskly through the beige hallways and stopped at the
office that housed the three engineers who had created his wunderkind engine.
Keller now called the inventors his
Space Cadets
. He asked them how well
their rocket technology would work in the empty vacuum of space. He asked them
if it could get a ship to Mars.

They discussed the details and spent an hour running
some numbers. Not only would the idea work in space, but it would work even
better. The chief engineer told Keller, “The superconducting magnets would work
even more efficiently in the freezing temperatures of space. It’s a great way
to boost rocket performance.”

Keller didn’t know what that meant, but he nodded his
head as if he understood. Satisfied with their rough estimates, he gave them
the thumbs up to modify the rocket designs for the vacuum of space.

Keller picked up the phone and called his lobbyist in
Washington, D.C. Somebody answered the phone without saying anything. It was
quiet. Keller heard a sigh.

“Hello? Is this
Milburn
?” asked Keller.

“Yes it is. Who am I speaking with?”

“Um, this is Keller Murch. You know, the guy who pays
you a ton of money to influence the Congress critters?”

“Hi Mr. Murch, how can I help you today?”

“I need you to get me in touch with the NASA Director,
Chris Tankovitch. I have some valuable information for him. Is he in your
Rolodex?”

Milburn sighed. “Yes, but that is a very expensive
card in my Rolodex, especially after today’s press conference.”

Keller could taste the extortion.

“Look at it this way. I’ve asked you to sell my Murch
Motor technology to NASA for two years and so far you've been a pretty
worthless investment.”

“Be careful, Mr. Murch. Worthless is a strong word. I
don’t like strong words. Besides, didn't I put you in touch with the Russian
Defense Bureau? Have you met with them yet?”

Keller nodded instinctively. His fingers rattled on
his office desk top.

“Yes. Yes, you did. Look, just get me in touch with
the director and I’ll make sure you are well compensated.”

“How well?”

“Even
weller
than you are now.”

Keller hated going through lobbyists, but he knew that
high-level public servants couldn’t be contacted directly by third-class
millionaires like himself. Their office entry fees were much too steep.

“I’ll see what I can do. Have a good day Mr. Murch.”

That evening after dinner, Keller’s phone rang. It was
a Washington, D.C. area code. He took a deep breath and answered, “Hello, this
is Keller Murch from the Murch Motors Corporation.”

On the other end of the phone was the NASA director.
He sounded defeated and exhausted.

“Hi Mr. Murch, this is Chris Tankovitch. I’ve only got
a minute, but our mutual friend Milburn told me you have some information that might
assist in our mission to Mars?”

Keller thought hard and said very slowly, “Director
Tankovitch, you don’t have to worry about how you’ll get the astronauts to
Mars.  I have the rocket engines that’ll get them there in less than a month. I
can show you a working prototype. No budget fight will kill this program.”

There was silence from Chris’s side of the phone.
Keller could almost see Chris doing mental calculations and schedule changes.

Chris answered, “I’m flying out to Arizona for some
interviews over the next few days. Let’s see, how about I come visit you at
your place on Friday morning?”

“That’ll work,” replied Keller.

“Okay, I look forward to meeting you Mr. Murch.”

They hung up. Keller grinned proudly. He was finally
doing something great.

Chris whispered to himself, “I hope this guy’s for
real.”

Keller picked the phone back up and dialed a very long
number. He tapped his foot while the phone went through various switchboards
and finally rang with a funny European ringtone. He looked nervously at his
watch trying to calculate what time it was in Russia. While the phone was
ringing, he chanted, “Please don’t be there, please don’t be there, please don’t
be there.”

“Hello! Yes, I need to speak with Tatyana. Is she
available? Oh rats, then can I leave her a message? Yes. Okay. This is her old
friend Keller Murch from America. Could you please tell her that I have to
cancel our deal and the shipment? No hard feelings. I’ll return the money in a
few weeks when it’s convenient for me. Alright, thank you.”

Unbeknownst to his employees at Murch Motors, Keller
was going to coast on the ill-gotten money from the Russians until the federal
contracts started rolling in from NASA; if they ever did. It was a simple plan
in theory, but he’d learn more when Chris Tankovitch visited him at his home on
the ocean.

Seventeen astronauts stood in the broiling desert sunshine wearing
prototype Mars space suits. They were waiting for a gunshot. Each made eye
contact with the others nearby as an unspoken acknowledgement that this was a
strange interview process. Rumor had it they would run straight through the
desert for one mile and at the end of that race the real interview would begin.

In the days leading up to the president’s big press
conference, NASA had been secretly contacting all of the astronauts who had
space shuttle experience and letting them know about the discovery. They found
thirty-two of them, but ten were either retired or in the process of retiring.

Due to prior commitments many from the remaining
talent pool couldn’t make this quickly assembled interview process. Right now,
only seventeen of them were standing in the late morning desert heat waiting
for the sound of that gunshot.

For the last twenty four hours they had been arriving
at the hotels just outside of Monument Valley to get ready for this day-long
process. Earlier this morning all of them had gone through an in-depth physical
along with a detailed background questionnaire. This site was near the rocky
outcroppings made famous by many Old West cowboy movies. NASA chose it for its
similarity to the Mars terrain.

 The astronauts could see Chris Tankovitch talking
with a group of NASA personnel. Somebody must’ve told a joke because they all
laughed just before Chris picked up his megaphone and walked out in front of
the interviewees.

 “Thank you all for coming here today. As you know, we
are trying to find a crew for the first human mission to Mars. Each of you has
a chance to make it onto that rocket. We’ll be choosing two of you to make that
voyage. Just getting here today,” he paused and looked up and down the line of
candidates.

He continued, “Just getting here today to this interview
means that you are the best qualified individuals that our country has to
offer. You should be proud.”

Chris looked up at the Sun and wiped the sweat from
his brow, lifting some papers to shield his eyes.

“When I fire off the starter pistol, I want you to run
straight East through the desert as fast as you can for about a mile. We’ve
laid out some markers for you to follow. At the end you will find a mockup of
some Mars housing units. We didn’t have a lot of time. They’re just trailers. I
apologize for the rudimentary nature of this test. So, just find the trailer
with your name written on the door and go inside. Alright, okay. Good luck.”

The astronauts looked around one more time at their
fellow interviewees standing next to them. Everybody was drenched in sweat in
their suits. This was very unrealistic because the real temperature on Mars
would be one hundred degrees below zero.

One interviewee named Adam had correctly guessed they
would be put through some pointless test like this; he’d stuffed his suit with
ice-filled Ziplock bags including inside his helmet. He was quite comfortable.
Another named Molly had coated her arms and legs with the ice gel bandages that
athletes use. These two astronauts were ready.

Chris Tankovitch fumbled around in his jacket pockets
and produced a rather bedraggled starter pistol. He’d borrowed it from the
local high school. He walked over to the side to avoid getting trampled. Chris
received a nod from one of the other NASA personnel and raised the pistol to
the sky.

Kapow!

Seventeen engineers and scientists took off running
through the desert, each footstep sending up a rooster-tail of dirt. Chris
laughed out loud and said to his fellow coworkers, “Have you ever seen so many
nerds getting so much exercise?”

Contrary to Chris’s comment, many of the astronauts
had kept in good shape since the shuttle program ended. However, they still
stumbled and flopped through the desert at the pace of drunken sailors. The
uneven ground and limited helmet visibility was wreaking havoc on their
journey.

Within the first ten seconds, three of them tripped
over cacti and another landed spread eagle into a patch of horse crippler
cactus balls, screaming out in pain. The ice-water infused astronaut named Adam
saw the poor competitor struggling to climb out of the prickly cactus spines
and considered helping him. However, he realized that getting to the test
trailer quickly may be part of the test. Adam frowned as he jumped over the
struggling competitor and kept running.

At the end of the mile the ground rose up quickly to a
ridge. As they came barreling over the top, most tumbled end over end down the
hill. When all was said and done, loud groans and shrieks were heard as they
stood up one by one, some grabbing their backs and limping. Three standby
ambulances were waiting nearby.

Just beyond the bottom of the ridge were four white
industrial trailers with metal steps leading up to their doors. The vehicles
were still attached to the large pickup trucks that had pulled them to this
remote patch of desert flatland.

The oldest looking trailer was located at the end of
the group. The door squeaked open. Molly stuck her head in and then backed out
to re-read the names list to make sure she had it right.

“Come on in,” invited a friendly voice from inside.
She walked in and saw a sagging banquet table which had bent under the weight
of many heavy boxes and many years. Several chairs were arranged around the
table; two were occupied by NASA personnel. She removed her helmet and set it
on the table before flopping into the seat.

“Ahhhh,” she said as she closed her eyes and soaked in
the frigid air conditioning.

Adam arrived just a few seconds later. He walked
inside and saw the table and the three occupants just sitting there quietly.
Adam removed his helmet and a water bag fell out of it and splashed open on the
floor. He jokingly remarked, “Excuse me, that’s never happened before.”

Water bottles were handed out and they both chugged.

Molly looked into her bottle and said, “I don’t know
if cold water ever tasted this good.”

Each trailer had two NASA personnel in it. One man ran
a video camera; he rarely spoke. The other one held a clipboard and was clearly
in charge. Adam saw the clipboard guy’s name tag and introduced himself.

“Hi Bill, my name’s Adam and it’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too mister…,” said Bill as he looked
down at his clipboard to learn which last name belonged to an ‘Adam.’

Adam beat him to it.

“Alston. Adam’s my first name.”

“Yes, nice to meet you Adam. You can just call me the
Clipboard
Man
. It looks like you and Molly are the only people to make it to this
trailer.”

The cameraman pried open the window blinds and looked
out to see if any others were coming.

“I doubt anybody else made it. I guess that sprint was
harder than we expected. Oh well.”

Clipboard Man flipped through his paperwork and pulled
out a sheet with questions written on it.

“Today you two are part of a group interview. We
didn’t have time to build a real simulator, so we’re going to just simulate a
situation instead. An emergency meeting in the Mars living quarters. You got
it?”

Molly and Adam looked at each other and nodded.

“So, oh yes, I forgot one thing. Due to regulations, I
have to ask each of you a standard competence interview question first. I
apologize, this is just bureaucratic policy. You first Adam. Can you tell me
why manhole covers are round?”

Adam looked confused. “What?”

“It’s a standard question. Please answer.”

Adam looked around the room and then blurted out, “I
suppose it’s so the manhole cover won’t fall into its own hole?”

The Clipboard Man smiled.

“That’s a good answer Adam. Now for Molly.”

She smiled and replied, “Okay, fire away.”

“You have eight basketballs. Seven of them weigh the
same. One is heavier. You have an old-fashioned, teeter-totter balance scale
that you can only use twice. How do you find the one ball that’s heavier than
the rest?”

Molly smiled uncomfortably.

“Not that I’m complaining, but, you know, that’s a lot
harder than Mr. Alston’s question.”

Clipboard Man laughed and responded, “Yes, but you’re
a lot smarter too. You have a PhD in flight sciences and you’re a medical
doctor. Mr. Alston here only has degrees in geology and engineering.”

Molly blushed and then set her mind to thinking. She
stared at the table while the neurons in her brain built new paths to answer
the question.

“Okay, I’ve got it. Put three balls on each side of
the balance. If one side of the balance drops, then the heavy ball is among
that group of three. Now take two of those three balls and put them each on a
scale by themselves. If they balance, then the heavy ball is the one that I
didn’t weigh. If one side of the balance drops, then that’s the heavy ball.”

Clipboard Man raised his eyebrows in surprise.

He asked, “What if your original weighing with three
balls on each side shows them all to be in balance?”

“Well, then the heavy ball is among the two that I
didn’t weigh originally. It’s a simple matter of putting one on each side of
the balance and seeing which side of the balance drops.”

Clipboard Man raised his head and said, “Call me
impressed. Not even Director Tankovitch got that one right.”

Clipboard Man leaned down and pulled another sheet of
paper out of his briefcase and put it on his clipboard. Molly glanced out the
window to see the beautiful rusty red landscape around the trailers. The dust
from the running of the astronauts was still floating by.

“Okay, now that those questions are out of the way, we
can move onto the situational question test.”

Clipboard Man drank some water and then continued.

“Imagine that you’re on Mars and you’re ready to
return home to Earth. However, you’ve just noticed that your oxygen condenser
has broken and you will run out of breathable air in two days, long before you
get back to Earth. Find a solution.”

Adam and Molly stared at each other wondering who
would start talking first.

The cameraman adjusted his video camera on the tripod
and then added, “Okay, so you’re a team about to run out of oxygen and you need
to discuss what you’re going to do. It’s okay, go ahead.”

Adam was the first to break the uncomfortable silence.

“So, Molly, it looks like we’re up a 50 million mile
creek without air.”

The two NASA personnel chuckled.

“But seriously, we only have oxygen for two days,
right? Do we have any auxiliary oxygen tanks left over from the excursions on
the planet?”

Molly quickly responded, “We do. We have four tanks
that are full.  However, those will only add another day or so.”

Adam asked, “What if we tap into the oxygen fuel tanks
for the rockets?”

The NASA personnel were feverishly taking notes like
they were observing wild animals.

Molly replied, “If we used the oxygen from the fuel
tanks, then we wouldn’t have enough rocket thrust to get back to Earth.”

“Well, what if we got rid of every non-essential item
to lighten the load. Would that decrease how much fuel and oxygen we have to
use during our escape phase?”

Molly smiled, realizing what Adam was getting at.

“Yes, that would reduce our runtime on the rockets and
would leave us extra oxygen. However, who knows if that would be enough to get
us to Earth?”

Adam concluded, “Then perhaps we could lighten the
load and use the rockets sparingly once we left Mars orbit and tap what was
left in the tanks to use, you know, for us to breathe. It might not be enough
to last us the entire trip, but at least we’d last longer.”

Molly added, “We could also dial back our oxygen use
to below the standard levels. We could keep it at just above when hypoxia
effects kick in. It would be like living halfway up Mt. Everest. Slightly light
headed, but still conscious.”

Clipboard Man nodded his head.

“Yes, yes, I like what you two did there. That was
clever.”

Clipboard Man looked back at the cameraman to make
sure he was still recording. The cameraman gave him a thumbs-up. Clipboard Man
was happy with their answers and said, “Okay, let’s move on to the next step
here.”

He turned to look at Adam.

“Could you please step outside for a minute? We have a
few things to discuss with Molly here. We’ll invite you back in and you two can
switch places.”

Adam stood up, grabbed his water bottle, and walked
out the door. It slammed shut behind him. He sat on the bottom step and guzzled
more water as the mid-day sunshine roasted his salt and pepper colored hair.

“Now, Molly, you were scheduled to be on the very last
space shuttle launch, right?”

“That’s right. I trained for over a year.”

“And why weren’t you on it?”