Authors: Phil Stamper
The Gravity of Us (16 page)
Shooting Stars
Season 2; Episode 11
EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW: On this episode of
Shooting Stars
, NASA prepares to launch a satellite into space. In advance of next week’s season finale, we take this time to look back on another year at NASA’s headquarters, and we’ve brought in a new expert. (New episode airs 7/15/2020)
“Hello, and welcome to
Shooting Stars.
I’m Josh Farrow, and sitting opposite from me is a new guest to the show. Ariana Rogers, CEO and founder of the privately funded space program JET-EX, welcome to the studio.”
“Lovely to be here, Josh. I feel like I’m breaking some unspoken rule by appearing on your show—not that we don’t work closely with NASA, of course. But you’ve been in their back pocket for a couple years now, right?”
“Ms. Rogers, with all due respect, I think they’ve been in
our
back pockets. We’re simply fans of the Mars mission and the fascinating astronauts who bring this mission to life. The angle we haven’t explored at all is privately funded space exploration. If you don’t mind, I’ll jump right in to our viewer questions. For many years, privatized spaceflight groups like JET-EX were seen to be adversaries of NASA. Why do you think that is?”
“It’s a good question. In the end, we reach into the same pool of astronaut candidates, engineers, and other scientists. I understand the perception, but I think we truly haven’t seen
this kind of enthusiasm from within since the early decades of spaceflight.”
“Is it that competitive nature that drives this enthusiasm? Obviously in the sixties, Americans were focused on beating the Russians to the moon. Now the dream may be more nebulous, but there is still a great deal of competition. And it looks like you might be getting beat to Mars.”
“Ha, Josh. No need to be brash about this. We’re supportive of NASA’s mission, but the one thing we have that they don’t is secure funding. After Mark Bannon’s passing, there was a moment I legitimately thought the government would pull funding from the Orpheus missions. I mean, you lose one of your most famous astronauts and injure two others? It’s the kind of thing that makes lawmakers put a screeching halt to it.”
“Whereas you have the resources, being privately funded?”
“Yes. We take calculated risks, like anyone else, and we could always have shareholders pulling out, but there’s a lot more faith in us. Even from NASA—we’re actually building and testing a few pieces that will be a part of the Orpheus V launch. Either way, it’s not a competition. We’ve offered to help with the planning for Orpheus VI and are looking for other ways to collaborate in the future.”
“That is, if NASA
has
a future.”
When I wake, I feel the chill of the air-conditioning creep around my half-naked body. Through squinted eyes, I see Leon’s silhouette beside me, next to the bed. He pulls the covers over my shoulders and plants a soft kiss on my forehead.
He leaves the room, and I stay awake just long enough to hear the outside door click, to make sure he got out without being seen or heard. A sigh escapes my chest, and I feel remarkably great all over. I pull his pillow into my arms and breathe in his scent, steal the last of his warmth from the empty bed, and fall back asleep.
It’s still dark when my alarm sounds. It’s nothing short of magic that I’m not only ready to get up, but excited for this. I’m ready for my first of many launches over the foreseeable future. This satellite may be small, but it plays an important role in the whole mission—without it, they wouldn’t be able to land part of the ship on the Martian surface. Triangulation. Or
something. I should have paid more attention to Dad when he explained it, but to be fair, dads can make anything sound boring.
I check my notifications, which are flooded by followers who are excited for the launch. Everyone expects me to cover it, but for once, I don’t want to cover this story. I only want to share this moment with Leon.
My body feels light with energy. I’m excited to be with him again. I want to be with him all the time.
I never responded to his maybe confession of love, but I might be feeling it too. I’ve never felt this. I can’t control it, and that scares me. He left my room maybe thirty minutes ago, but I miss him. I actually miss him. An emptiness eats away at my chest, and all that’s left is the soft burning, yearning, wanting.
I finally leave my room, shower, and before I know it, I’m standing in the waiting area with my family. Our departure time was seven thirty, but I didn’t think to ask when Leon was supposed to get here. I only see a few families left. We’re all civil toward one another, and I’m stuck being more formally introduced to a few scientists I’ve met while doing video interviews for my followers. I don’t see him, which makes my chest ache all the more.
We file into a black car, and we join a caravan of similar cars that must last a quarter mile. This part of Florida is … sparse. It’s wet and swampy out there, but the dirt still seems dry. I could count the trees we’ve passed in this drive.
I realize this is the longest I’ve been with both of my parents
in a long time. It brings back a nagging question that’s been on my mind for a while.
“Dad,” I say, “can I ask you something about StarWatch? About the jet crash, and Mark?”
He sits up straight.
“Um … sure?” Dad replies. I worry that what I’m going to ask is too much, and maybe that he doesn’t want to think about them, but he turns to me in an open way.
So I take a breath and ask.
“Did it ever feel to you like StarWatch was
looking
for a catastrophe? I keep trying to figure out if they’re really on our side or not. I don’t think they even know.”
“Well, whether they’re on our side,” he says with a chuckle, “I think we can safely say no. They care about themselves; they care about ratings. But I don’t think they’d wish someone’s death over it.”
“But something doesn’t add up,” I interject. “They were so supportive at the beginning. They influenced the bill that secured funding through the rest of the Orpheus program or whatever. That teaser video with Mr. Bannon … they did everything they could to make Bannon and this whole program look like a safe bet. They got attention for being NASA’s biggest supporter. And now, they’re treating it like NASA is on the verge of collapse and focusing on—”
I’m cut off by his sigh. “Man, I don’t know. Those first videos were kind of tacky. They played both sides—the bill was bipartisan, but people were
bipartisanly
against it too. Yes, I made that word up.
“Anyway,” he continues, “for the Republicans, they hated that we’d be pulling from the military’s budget. Democrats worried that once this money dried up, NASA would take funds from education and social programs. Why should we explore space when we could fix our broken health-care system?”
There’s a wave of silence that passes through the car. That’s a good point.
“Can this be just between us? Not on your show or even to your friends?” Dad asks, and I nod. “The late sixties were not great times in America. We were in an endless, pointless war that took so many lives. Kennedy’s promise was the one thing all sides of the political spectrum could agree on: that we’d get a man on the moon by the end of the decade. StarWatch thought that fervor could work for them. They thought they could replicate it in our current political climate. NASA just wrote the checks.”
“So that’s where the sixties decor comes from? StarWatch did this?”
“That’s what Mark told me at least. That’s why we’re in these fancy houses with midcentury furniture and record players. And that’s where StarWatch’s video, painting him as Mark Bannon, a True American—someone who could unite the country after the disaster of the past few years—came into play.”
It dawns on me. “They got too much power?”
“I think that’s why they’ve been treating your father so poorly,” Mom cuts in. “They thought Bannon was the best fit to head the first mission.”
“StarWatch was trying to pull strings, which is why things have been … weird with all of us. Your streaming that didn’t help them. But I think it put us in NASA’s good graces.”
We get out of the car, and we’re ushered into a fenced-in area beyond the launch zone of the satellite. It’s pretty small for a launch. I knew we were sending up a vaguely human-sized satellite inside a giant metal tube, but I couldn’t stop my mind from imagining big shuttles and massive launches.
To my right, behind the crowd, StarWatch is setting up. They’re finding the right angles to shoot us in the rising sun, and I imagine StarWatch meetings where the producers wonder why people don’t tune in anymore and decide the answer is to twist the knife and cast a dark cloud over the program. It’s all nonsense.
After we walk out into the viewing area, they shut the door beyond the fence. I scan the crowd and look out past the barbed wire.
I take in the scene and realize I’m standing around with some of the most impressive minds in the country.
And for the first time, I include my dad in that. To see him here, respected by his peers, even respected by his country, makes me smile. Everything I thought from before—the families accepting us, the country being bored by us—was wrong.
I separate from my parents and slide past kids and spouses and dressed-up astronauts. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Grace shaking hands with a guy in a suit. Leon must be close.
They’ve started the countdown, but I want to get to him first. I push past people, and my chest burns with anticipation.
Finally, I catch his eye and he smiles at me. As I glance to the right, I spy Kiara as she sets up her camera behind him. She nods to me, and I know what they want.
Their new angle.
It’s the perfect picture. The perfect thing to revitalize the waning interest in the launch. Young love and a shuttle launch. I stand next to him, our backs exposed to the camera. Faces pointed upward. As the satellite lifts off, I slide my fingers between his and squeeze.
It’s beautiful, and perfect, until the satellite explodes in the sky.
For a moment, it’s peaceful. We’re barely knocked back by the blast, like a strong but very warm gust of wind blew through us, and then the multibillion-dollar antenna becomes nothing but some smoking ash in the field beyond the barbed wire.
After the shock registers, Leon lets go of my hand and rushes up to get to his mom. People shout orders at me, to get back, to move toward the door, to do … something. I can’t concentrate, and everyone’s moving in different directions.
“This is the nail in the coffin for NASA,” I hear one of the astronauts say, loud enough for too many people to hear.
Could this really be such a big setback?
I can’t find my parents, and I can’t find Leon anymore because I’ve been brought back into the building. Concerned murmurs flood the small office space, and some scientists sprint back and forth.
I don’t want to be alone right now. But everyone’s left me. Or I left them.
So I do the only thing that will calm me down, make me feel like I’m in control. I get out my phone and start streaming.
“Okay, so, here’s what I know. It’s, um, eight fifty in the morning. We’ve just had the launch of the antenna that would help direct Orpheus V to a safe landing on Mars. That launch saw disaster, as it exploded a couple miles after it blasted off from the ground.” I pause to breathe. It becomes a pant. “All the astronauts appear to be concerned, and some have even hinted at an indefinite delay of the program. I’ll track down someone who can speak to why the explosion happened.”
I look off the camera and think I see my mom in a corner.
“I’ve got to go,” I say. “I have to find my family.”
I cut the connection and sprint across the tiled floor, dashing around still-scurrying scientists, until I meet my mom on a bench. She looks at me, and I see the panic across her face. It’s still fresh; she’ll need some time to really wrap her head around what just happened.
“We’re okay,” I say. “At least we’re all okay.”
“I can’t go through this anymore.” She shakes her head. “I mean, your father almost dies in a jet crash, and the first launch I’ve ever seen turns into an explosion? How are any of us supposed to handle this?”
I can fix this. I can fix this.
“Let’s go back to the hotel. Is Dad here?”
“He had to go. All the astronauts did.”
The caravan of black cars is stalled outside the building, so
we get in one and I give the hotel name to our driver. Mom’s calmed down some, and I think removing her from the situation must have helped. But that doesn’t stop the panic from settling in my body.
Something feels wrong. Everything feels wrong.
When we get back to the hotel, there’s nothing I want to do more than get in bed and breathe Leon in some more. Mom goes to take a shower, so I walk next door and knock a few times. No response. I knock harder.
The door opens, and Kat steps out.
“Hey, everyone okay?” I ask.
Her face tells me the answer before she says it. “No, not really.”
“Can I see Leon? I mean, if that’s okay with him?”
“No, well, yeah. He’s just really wigged out by the whole thing.”
I don’t really say anything, but she lets me in anyway. I make my way to their bedroom. He’s facing away from me, sitting on the bed and holding his knees.
“Is there anything I can do?” I ask. “I know you’re super upset, but are you … worried about future flights, or angry at NASA? Or—”
“I’m sad,” he says. And the way he says it makes me sad. “Like, I know that sounds juvenile, but I’m so sad. It feels hopeless, like there’s this big gaping hole in my chest, and it’s slowly eating me from the inside. It’s like this anytime something bad happens, but also when good things happen too. Last night”—he lowers his voice—“was so amazing, but even
when I was with you, holding you, it was like this … haze was over me. You were so close to me, and I’m fucking in love with you, but that doesn’t fix it. Nothing does.”
I sit on the bed, a reasonable distance away from him. His jaw is set in a hard line. His brows are furrowed.
“I’ll help you, however I can. I swear. I’ll do anything. You want me to help you find a new therapist? My mom just found one online who she likes, but there have to be physical offices around here. I know I tried to kiss you that first time you were upset, but I want to be here for you in whatever way actually works.”
I stop myself from telling him I love him too. Even if I do mean it. Because, fuck, I do love him. I love him so much—but I can’t tell him now. I can’t tell him this in an attempt to try to patch him up, pull him together. He deserves so much more than that.
I kiss him on the knee.
“What was that for?” he asks, laughing.
“Well, I can’t kiss you on the lips because that’s probably insensitive, but I can’t
not
kiss you right now, so I figured knee kisses were the most unromantic thing I could possibly do, so it wouldn’t be seen as me making a move to make you feel better.”
He leans forward to his knees and gives me a kiss on the lips.
“At the risk of sounding incredibly clich
é
,” Kat says, “could you two get a room that is preferably not mine?”
I turn my head toward her and roll my eyes. “Fine, I’ll go.”
Leon rubs the back of my neck. “Not to bring things down, but you know things could be changing, right?”
“What do you mean?” Kat asks.
“They might cancel the whole mission. Either of our parents could get laid off. Anything could happen, and then we’d be gone.”
“I’m not leaving you,” I say, even though I know the possibilities. “We don’t have enough information to freak about this. Let’s just … enjoy what we have. Trust me.”
“I trust you.” He keeps looking down, so I sigh, then stand.
When I go to squeeze through the door, Kat gives me a quick hug before jumping into the spot next to her brother.