Marcus White said, ” ‘We’, Rosenberg?”
“Yes.” He looked uncomfortable, the candlelight shining from his glasses. “If there’s a ship going to Titan, I want to be on it. I’m best qualified. Isn’t that what this is all about?”
White grinned. “Hell, yes. I’d go myself.”
In the silence that followed, the others stared at him.
“When I walked on that lava plain south of Copernicus, with Tom Lamb, I sure as hell never figured I’d only get the one shot at it. There would have been an extended-Apollo program, with lunar orbital missions, and long-stay shelters hauled up by dual-launched Saturn Vs, and all the rest. And then more: flyby flights to Venus and Mars, the space station, permanent colonies on the Moon, eventually landing flights to Mars itself…
“But the whole damn thing shut down, even before Armstrong stepped out at Tranquillity.” He put down his drink, and the fingers of his big hands knitted together, restless. “I must have talked about my Moon trip a thousand times. Ten thousand. And the one thing I’ve never managed to put over is how it feels not to be able to get back. Ever.” He grinned at Benacerraf, embarrassed, uneasy. “They should shoot us poor fucking Moonwalkers in the head. Anyhow, it won’t be me. I realize that. Christ, I’m seventy-four years old, already. I’m a grandpa three times over. But I’ll tell you, I’d just like to see one more guy lift off out of the gravity well and go someplace — plant Old Glory on one more moon — before the last of us sad old Apollo geezers dies of old age.”
“And,” Mott pressed, “if we don’t succeed? — if Earth doesn’t jump for the bait? If we set out, and they just let the space facilities rust? What then?”
Marcus White leaned toward Mott over the table. “The question for you is, having heard that — would you go?”
Mott thought for a moment. She opened her mouth.
But, Benacerraf noted, she didn’t immediately say no.
White leaned back. “You know, they used to ask us a question like that, during our interviews for the Astronaut Office. Marcus, would you submit to a two-year journey to Mars? Suppose I tell you that the chances of surviving the trip are one in two. Do you go? Absolutely not, said I. One in ten, maybe.” He looked at Mott. “I got it right. The point was partly to see how dumb I was, how foolhardy. But also to find out if I had it in me.”
“What?”
“Wanderlust.”
Rosenberg said, “Being an astronaut on this mission won’t be just another job, a line on your resume. This will be about going somewhere, where nobody else has ever been. Making a difference. What the job used to be about.”
White laughed. “That,” he said, “and glory, and fast cars, and the women.
“I get it,” Siobhan Libet said. “This isn’t Apollo. It’s a Mayflower option.”
“Maybe,” Barbara Fahy murmured. “The Mayflower colonists went because they had to. They did it because they couldn’t find a place to fit, at home.”
Marcus White grunted. “There sure as hell has been little enough room on Earth for astronauts, since 1972.”
Rosenberg said, “The costs don’t have to defeat us. We don’t need any massive technical development. We use chemical propulsion, existing technology wherever possible. For instance, the Space Station hab module for the journey shelter.”
Benacerraf nodded confirmation of that. “The thing’s been sitting in a hangar at Boeing, intact, since 1999. It wouldn’t take much modification…”
Rosenberg said, “You’d wrap a cut-down Shuttle orbiter around it. With the hab module in the cargo bay, you’d use the orbiter’s OMS and RCS for course corrections, and the main engines for the interplanetary injections.”
Angel and White exchanged glances.
White said, “A Shuttle orbiter to Saturn? Well, why the hell not? It’s the nearest thing to a spaceship we got.” He turned to Rosenberg, grinning. “You know, I love the way you think.”
Angel said, “How are you going to get a Space Station hab module down to the surface of Titan?”
“Easy,” Rosenberg said, chewing. “Titan has a thick atmosphere, and a low gravity. You’d glide the hab module down, inside your Shuttle orbiter. Which is why you’d take the orbiter. The aerosurfaces would need some modification, but—”
“Holy shit,” Libet said. “You’ve worked this out. You’re serious, aren’t you, kid?”
Angel said, “Okay, so this is just a mind game, right? A bull session. Maybe you’re right, Rosenberg. Maybe you could do that quickly and cheaply. But not if you wanted a man-rated system.
Siobhan Libet said, “But we aren’t talking about the kind of assured safety we have in the current program, Bill. We know this whole thing would be risky as hell.”
Bill Angel said curtly, “I’m talking about some kind of entry profile that would actually be survivable.”
“It wouldn’t have to be,” Rosenberg said.
Marcus White groaned and helped himself to some more wine. “Oh, shit,” he said. “He has another idea.”
“Send the orbiter down to Titan unmanned,” Rosenberg said. Then it can land as hard as you like.”
“And what about the crew?” Angel said.
“All you need is a couple of simple man-rated entry capsules,” Rosenberg said. “Remember, we aren’t talking about any kind of ascent-to-orbit capability; it’s a one-way trip.” He grinned. “You still aren’t thinking big enough, Bill.”
“And you,” Angel snapped back, “are talking out of your ass. An entry capsule like that is still a billion-dollar development. We just don’t have that kind of resource.”
Rosenberg looked flustered, and Benacerraf realized that for the first time he didn’t have an answer.
She felt an immense sadness descend on her. Is it possible that this is the hole that destroys the proposal? That, after all, it ends here?
How sad. It was a beautiful dream, while it lasted.
They argued for a while, about requirements and likely costs. It started to get heated, with gestures illustrated by pointed chopsticks. Barbara Fahy held her hands up, palms outward. “Hold it,” she said. “I hate to say it, but I think I have a solution.”
Benacerraf frowned. “Tell me.”
Fahy looked around the table. “We use the most advanced entry capsules we ever built. Apollo Command Modules.”
Marcus White was laughing. “Oh, man. That is outrageous. Just fucking outrageous. It’s beautiful. Man, I love it.”
Fahy said, “All you’d have to do is refurbish the interior, maybe fix up the heatshield, reconfigure for a Titan entry profile.”
Benacerraf said, “Marcus, where’s the old Apollo hardware now?”
White was trying to be serious, but grins kept busting out over his face. “There were three series of Command Modules: boilerplates, Block Is and Block IIs. The Block IIs flew all the manned missions; they contained most of the post-fire modifications. The Block IIs is what you’d want to use.” He closed his eyes. “As I recall, Rockwell built twenty-five Block II CMs in all. Okay. Of those twenty-five ships, eleven flew on the Apollo Moon program. Three more flew manned Skylab missions, and one flew on ASTP. Fifteen, right?”
“Where are they?” Benacerraf asked. “Museums? Could we refurbish an Apollo that’s already been flown?”
Angel frowned. “I don’t see how. Those things were pretty much beat up by the time they were recovered. You got the ablation of the heatshield, thermal stresses throughout the structure, salt-water damage from the ocean recovery. The heatshield alone would be a hell of a reconstruction job.”