“This is good stuff, Paul. What else? What about the desert?” Gary asked. Caroline just shook her head at the both of them.
“Well, they landed in the desert, right? What do kids want to find in space? What do old people want to find? What does everybody want to find? Aliens! Everybody wants to see aliens, dammit all to hell. Don’t lie and say you don’t.”
“Uh, Paul,” Caroline muttered.
“Let him finish, Caroline.”
“So, nobody really believes we’d find aliens on Mars, but what about life? We might find life. At least water, which everybody wants to believe is the key to finding life. Any kid with a good pair of binoculars can look at Mars on a clear night and tell you where you should land your spaceship if you want to find water.” Paul looked around to see if they understood him. The businessman and the marketing major didn’t seem to get it. So he told them. “The polar ice cap. There is an ice cap on Mars. Oh, some of the planetary guys will tell you that it is all dry ice, but others will tell you that it can’t be all dry ice. Some of it must be water. The odds are at least better that we’d find water at the edge of the ice cap, where it meets the desert, rather than in the middle of the bone-dry desert! The Mars Reconnaissance Orbiter, the Phoenix, the Opportunity, all of them saw evidence of water. The MRO took pictures of what looked like lakes, the Opportunity took pictures of puddles of water, and the Phoenix actually had water drops form on it and the camera sent back images of the droplets running down the structure on the thing. But how many people in the general public know that? NASA’s PR people suck.”
“You about done, Paul?” Gary smiled at him. “If you need me to, I can get Burt Rutan on the phone, and you and he can go off on NASA and how they screwed us out of going to space. It would be therapeutic for both of you.”
“What?” Paul was surprised. “I thought you were on my side.”
“Paul, I’m on the side of my company making a whole bunch of money,” Gary said, not really tongue-in-cheek. “And if it means we need to cheerlead for NASA for a while, then that is the side I’m on. I don’t really care if they have done what they should’ve done in the past. They are what they are, and they are the nation’s space agency. We are a space company. Therefore, all things space are good! Sis boom bah! Rah rah rah!” Gary waved his arms like he was wielding pom-poms.
“So, what are we saying?” Paul asked.
“Don’t be so slow, Captain.” Caroline smiled at him. “This is marketing, Paul. We have to market ourselves positively. Negative campaigns are never as successful as positive ones. All things space are positive. They must be. From now on.”
“You understand us, Paul? I let you vent for a while. That’s good sometimes. But it must be done in private. Now, forget about all that and start studying the cool things, the unique things, the amazing things that NASA has done and is doing. They are sending four people to the Moon within a year from now. That is pretty damned amazing.”
“I see,” Paul said, still not really seeing.
“Make sure you do, Paul,” Caroline added. “Thinking about the cool things when you discuss NASA will change that expression on your face.”
“You don’t get it yet, Paul,” Gary said. “Focus on the good NASA is doing overnight, and then you’ll see. Have a safe flight out. I’ll see the both of you tomorrow.”
Chapter 7
Paul Gesling was glad to be back in Nevada and away from his metaphorical near-death experience at the hands of CEO Gary Childers in Kentucky. The desert was familiar territory and one in which he felt perfectly at home. And he also preferred being on the “engineering” side of the massive facility and not the “passenger training” side. He wasn’t due to be there with the whiny rich brats, aka customers, until tomorrow.
Gesling, like most Americans, had watched the moderately publicized landing of NASA’s Altair the day before with a mixture of amazement and disappointment. Amazement at what humans could accomplish when challenged and that we were finally on our way back to the Moon. Disappointment with the time it took for America to get back to where it was in 1972. Overall, the landing was flawless—except that there were no human astronauts on board. That in itself was a big enough flaw to keep people from tuning in. Americans, hell, the rest of humanity, could not care less about another robot probe sending back video images of a place that it seemed nobody would ever set foot on. On the other hand, playing it up as the precursor to the very near manned flight did spark some optimism around the country. At least it boosted Paul’s flagging enthusiasm about what he and his crew were soon to accomplish themselves. They were about to take five paying customers on nearly a weeklong fly-around of the Moon. It was to be their own Apollo 8 moment.
He was on his way to a press briefing. The NASA unmanned Moon landing had boosted interest in all things space related, and Space Excursions was high on the list of many reporters for that “next day” follow-up story.
Gesling walked into the conference room that had been modified to accommodate the press and was immediately startled by the number of reporters there. He had expected maybe ten or twelve, most of them local, but the room was packed with what he quickly estimated to be fifty or more. There was standing room only in the drab tan-paneled makeshift press room. He recognized the big names like CNN, Fox News, and the networks, but there were others: China Daily, the London Times, and the Times of India, to name a few.
Already at the podium stood Gary Childers and Caroline O’Conner. Kentucky had come to Nevada. Although he wasn’t late, Gesling was the last one to arrive, and he hoped it didn’t leave a bad impression with Childers. He and Childers were on shaky enough ground as it was. Paul walked briskly to the front of the room and stood behind and to the left of his boss.
“So, as we can all see,” Childers said, “our brilliant captain has arrived, and so I’ll turn this over to him.” Childers motioned at Gesling to step up to the podium.
“Ahem.” Paul cleared his throat to buy some time so that he could remember what he had planned to say. “Good morning. Thanks for your interest in Space Excursions. I’m sure we all saw NASA put on quite a show yesterday by landing the Altair on the lunar surface.” There were sounds of affirmation, some heads nodding, but there was little in the way of enthusiastic applause—typical reaction from a press corps only interested in drama to sell advertising time.
“We’re very pleased with our nation’s success and look forward to seeing the test flight successfully completed. That said, we’re gonna beat ’em to the punch. And”—Paul paused for his own dramatic emphasis—“we’re gonna do it with people. Real live human beings that are customers who paid to train and become astronauts.” Despite what some bloggers had to say, Paul and Childers and the rest of the company did not view the government’s space endeavors as competition, and he only wished them well. Hell, Childers had originally begged NASA to sell them a seat on their mission, but NASA had for all its existence resisted sponsorship and commercialization. The original space tourists used Russian flights. The Russians understood capitalism, or at least commercialism, better than NASA. That was a funny bit of historical irony in Paul’s mind. But in the end it came down to dollars. Space Excursions was in the business of making money and commercializing space. It was the government’s job to explore and do the costly endeavors of space science. It was industry’s job to follow and turn the public investment into profit through commercialization wherever it could.