Back To The Moon Part 5

A checklist icon turned yellow on his monitor. The changing color caught his attention, which was why it was designed that way. The icon told Gesling that he needed to begin preparations for the rendezvous with the refueling satellite, now only eight orbits away. That was about twelve hours-he had plenty of time.

Slowly but surely, Newton's laws were guiding the Dreamscape Dreamscape and the refueling s.p.a.cecraft closer together. Once they attained the same orbit and were separated by only some tens of meters, the most difficult part of this flight would commence. and the refueling s.p.a.cecraft closer together. Once they attained the same orbit and were separated by only some tens of meters, the most difficult part of this flight would commence. Dreamscape Dreamscape would gently b.u.mp into the orbital gas station, lock on to its docking ring, secure a connection, and demonstrate how fuel could be transferred from one vehicle to another. Without the extra fuel, the would gently b.u.mp into the orbital gas station, lock on to its docking ring, secure a connection, and demonstrate how fuel could be transferred from one vehicle to another. Without the extra fuel, the Dreamscape Dreamscape would not be able to go to the Moon. While no fuel would actually flow this time, they would test out every system so that when the actual Moon flight occurred, they would be reasonably sure that no problems would keep the transfer from happening. would not be able to go to the Moon. While no fuel would actually flow this time, they would test out every system so that when the actual Moon flight occurred, they would be reasonably sure that no problems would keep the transfer from happening.

Again speaking only to himself, Gesling said, "If NASA can do it, then so can I."

About that time an icon labeled ISR Payload turned red, showing that it had priority in the mission timeline at the moment. Paul tapped the monitor and brought up the checklist for the Intelligence, Surveillance, and Reconnaissance package. Step one was to activate the system. This he did by tapping the appropriate key sequence. On the Lunar mission the ISR package would be controlled by the person in seat number 2B. It could be controlled by any of the seats, but the future occupant of seat 2B was the person who had trained for the ISR job. The job consisted of turning on a very nice twenty-inch commercially available telescope system.

The telescope was a Schmidt-Ca.s.segrain type with real-time digital-color visible video and false-color infrared video cameras. There was a full zoom capability and pan and tilt controls, all software-driven from the touchscreen on the back of any of the seats. With the planned ten-mile closest flyby alt.i.tude of the Moon, called the orbit's periapsis, the system could resolve an inch or two on the lunar surface. It couldn't read the license plates on the moonbuggies (if they had them), but it could give a pretty good image of the thing. At Dreamscape Dreamscape's 186-mile-high orbit above the Earth, it could resolve, at best, about fifteen inches per pixel on the camera-a.s.suming there were no atmospheric distortions in the way. In other words, the smallest thing the camera could see was the size of a beach ball. Although the system was designed for fun viewing of the Moon and for finding potential landing spots there in the future, Paul knew that the company had funding from other, more terrestrial, sources for flying future rapidly deployable spy missions. The Dreamscape Dreamscape was, in essence, a quickly deployable spy satellite that could be maneuvered to "locations of opportunity." Paul also understood that Gary Childers liked money, was, in essence, a quickly deployable spy satellite that could be maneuvered to "locations of opportunity." Paul also understood that Gary Childers liked money, Dreamscape Dreamscape needed lots of it, and the U.S. intelligence community liked the product they had, and they had plenty of money. s.p.a.ce Excursions had gotten contracts for undisclosed amounts from various DoD and three letter agencies to try out the system while in orbit around the Earth. Childers planned to create a fleet of these things that could be used for Moon missions, Earth-orbit tourist missions, and DoD missions; based, of course, on when the customers could pay. needed lots of it, and the U.S. intelligence community liked the product they had, and they had plenty of money. s.p.a.ce Excursions had gotten contracts for undisclosed amounts from various DoD and three letter agencies to try out the system while in orbit around the Earth. Childers planned to create a fleet of these things that could be used for Moon missions, Earth-orbit tourist missions, and DoD missions; based, of course, on when the customers could pay.

Paul ran the ISR telescope through its test sequence and then played around with it for the allotted thirty minutes he had available in the mission timeline. As he rolled around the planet, he could see Florida coming into view. He zoomed in on the Cape at the launch pads there and could see the Ares Vehicle a.s.sembly Buildings. He could see motion around the pads like a flurry of ants on an anthill. A few minutes later he was over the Atlantic Ocean and couldn't find much to look at. He put the system on auto and closed the icon on his screen. To close out the checklist for this item, there was only one other thing he had to do. He unstrapped himself and practiced floating back to seat number 2B, where he checked that he could control the ISR system from there. All was well. Check Check. He floated his way to all the seats and ran through their operation.

After the basic ship checkout and the occasional fun full backflip, he made his way back to his seat up front. It was time to start prepping for the rendezvous with the fuel depot. All the motion through the ship had made him a little dizzy, and he needed to strap himself in and focus to keep from getting motion sick. Microgravity was fun to him, but Paul knew to be careful until he was well adjusted or it could lead him down a dangerous and gut-wrenching path.

At launch plus fifteen hours, the Dreamscape Dreamscape had completed ten orbits, docked with the refueling satellite, separated, and was preparing to fly home. Childers was ecstatic. The had completed ten orbits, docked with the refueling satellite, separated, and was preparing to fly home. Childers was ecstatic. The Dreamscape Dreamscape had performed flawlessly. In just a couple of months, if this landing went smoothly, he would be sending his first paying customers on a trip around the Moon. had performed flawlessly. In just a couple of months, if this landing went smoothly, he would be sending his first paying customers on a trip around the Moon.

His soon-to-be partners were rea.s.sembling in the VIP area after a celebratory dinner and an abbreviated night's rest to await the dawn landing of Dreamscape Dreamscape. Childers had already gotten verbal and e-mail statements from all seven investors of their excitement and plans to invest in the company. He would soon nail down the dollar figures and the paperwork, but it looked as though all seven in attendance would fully commit to the Moon-landing partnership, giving him and his company the money needed to begin work on s.p.a.ce Excursions' next venture before the first one was even complete.

Looking out the windows, Childers, O'Conner, the VIP entrepreneurs, and the press gazed expectantly at the sky. The sun was barely above the horizon when they caught the first sight of the Dreamscape Dreamscape winging its way back from s.p.a.ce. Applause broke out everywhere, even in the control room, though there the applause was brief due to there still being much work for them to do. winging its way back from s.p.a.ce. Applause broke out everywhere, even in the control room, though there the applause was brief due to there still being much work for them to do.

The vehicle glided onto the desert runway and bounced only once before rolling to a complete stop. As the air temperature began its daily rise from simply uncomfortable to totally unbearable, astronaut Paul Gesling opened the doors of Dreamscape, Dreamscape, and awaited the portable stairs that would allow him to walk again on terra firma. and awaited the portable stairs that would allow him to walk again on terra firma.

Childers didn't rush to greet his pilot; he was too busy chatting up his new partners, taking their enthusiastic congratulations with appropriate modesty, deflecting credit to his engineers and to Gesling. Childers was an expert at working a crowd, large or small.

The Honda van on that mesa fifteen miles away was also bustling with activity. The roof antennas were being retracted and the hardware fastened down for travel. They had miles to go that day and a mountain of data to organize and send to their faraway homeland. As soon as they got to the local cyber cafe, their mission would be accomplished. Li was glad. He preferred cloak-and-dagger missions to require at least a cloak, if not the dagger, too. This was just too easy.

Chapter 12.

Launched twelve months previously on an Atlas V unmanned rocket, the thirteen-thousand-kilogram Lunar Mapper s.p.a.cecraft had been doing its job of mapping the Moon with quiet precision. Flying just fifty kilometers above the lunar surface in an orbit carrying it from pole to pole, the s.p.a.cecraft's high-resolution cameras photographed most of the lunar surface. Multiple overflights of the same terrain at different times during the lunar day, and with a slightly different viewing angle due to the Moon's slowly changing orbit, allowed stereoscopic images to be created of most of the lunar surface. With Earth-based processing, a 3-D map of the Moon was created.

The scientists at NASA's Ames Research Center in Mountain View, California, had been studying the images for weeks as they worked to narrow down the landing-site options for Bill Stetson and his crew. They knew the landing would be somewhere near the Moon's equator, selected because it was easier to reach this region of the Moon than the higher lat.i.tudes, and because that was where the Apollo missions had explored. They knew that it could be done, so doing it again would be the best and safest way to begin the return of NASA's astronauts to the Moon. For NASA's critics, it would just be another example of NASA's inability to do anything new and different.

On this day, the site-selection team was preparing their final recommendation for NASA Administrator Calvin Ross. Ross had been appointed by the President and had the distinction of being the only former United States senator to be appointed as NASA Administrator. The President had not made NASA a priority, and appointing his former colleague in the Senate, one who had recently been defeated in his reelection campaign, was a signal that he was not taking the direction of America's s.p.a.ce program seriously. Ross was neither an engineer nor a scientist. Before becoming a senator, Ross had been an attorney at a prominent Billings, Montana, law firm. Many viewed Ross's appointment as a simple payback for some previous political favor or favors. Few in NASA appreciated his political savvy, and fewer still realized how hard he fought for the agency.

The lead scientist for the site-selection team, Dr. Henry Morton, was standing before a wall-sized mural of the Moon made from images returned from the Lunar Mapper s.p.a.cecraft. He was wearing 3-D gla.s.ses and studying carefully no less than six potential landing sites.

Morton was a career scientist from the prestigious Lunar and Planetary Inst.i.tute in Houston. He began his career in the late 1970s, when exploring the Moon was no longer "hot." In fact, at that time, studying the Moon was considered career suicide. Funding for lunar research had dried up with the death of Apollo, and Morton kept his interest alive by winning small research grants and by convincing his management to keep his work funded, although at an embarra.s.singly low level. Morton had quietly waited in the wings until interest in the Moon resurfaced in the mid-2000s. He then quickly rose in prominence to become America's leading expert on all things lunar. It helped that he was also virtually alone in the field. Without consistent funding for lunar science, there simply weren't many others around. It was easier to be a big fish when there was a small pond. And the pond for lunar science had been very small indeed.

"You'd think that since the 1950s we'd have developed a better way to view 3-D than by wearing these G.o.d-awful gla.s.ses," said Morton to no particular member of his team. They were all a.s.sembled and themselves looking at the wall mural. And, without surprise, no one responded directly to his comment. He was p.r.o.ne to complaining about the gla.s.ses.

"I'm just amazed that we can see Surveyor and all of the Apollo sites," was the closest thing to a response. The comment came from one of the junior members of the team, Saul Britenstein. He continued. "Look here. As I've been saying, if we land near the Apollo 17 site we can show continuity with our last mission, and maybe even bring back the picture Cernan left on the surface. Wouldn't that be cool?"

"And the science benefit is what?" asked Mariam Upchurch, senior member of the team. Morton had heard that she had begun her career as a lunatic lunatic, as lunar scientists were sometimes called, back in the early 1980s, when even the International s.p.a.ce Station was yet to be built. Upchurch was interested in the science return of Project Constellation, not the cool technology and the "fun" things that the astronauts might accomplish there. She also had absolutely no inhibitions about sharing her strongly held opinions.

"We've been through this all before, people," said Morton, quickly losing patience with the continuous disagreement among his team about where the Altair should land and where people should again walk on the surface of the Moon. Morton showed his visible frustration by entering what many had come to call his "lecture mode." To an outside observer, his demeanor would have appeared astonishingly similar to that of a parent lecturing a recalcitrant teenager about the dangers of having unprotected s.e.x.

"We know we have to be near the equator. We know we want to be near one of the Apollo sites because we want to bring back a piece of hardware to a.s.sess how being on the Moon affected it. And Apollo 11 is out of the question. It will be a historical landmark, and we aren't to mess with it in any way." Morton broke out of the lecture mode to ask a real question. "Saul, other than the picture, what's the benefit of going back to Taurus-Littrow and Apollo 17?"

Morton considered Britenstein to be brilliant. In fact, the twentysomething scientist from the University of Arizona was on Morton's short list of future recruits for the Lunar and Planetary Inst.i.tute. Britenstein was tall, frighteningly thin, and certainly not among the most attractive half of the human species. Morton more than once wondered how such a brilliant and obviously awkward young man had managed to marry the quite attractive medical student that was his wife. But Morton didn't want to be distracted by that that thought at the moment. thought at the moment.

"Well," began Britenstein, "it was from this area that Schmitt found the rocks that gave us the best history of the Moon to date. I think there is more to be gained from going back here and collecting more samples for comparison. I've shown you the data, and most of the selenologists agree. If you want to better understand the formation of the Moon, this is the place to start. Or, restart, as it were." It was not Britenstein's most eloquent response, but they had all seen his data before. There was no need to repeat it to this group.

Morton, still peering through his 3-D goggles, was looking closely at one of the few lower-resolution images on the Moon mural. Though the Lunar Mapper had been in orbit about a year, there were still a few areas on the Moon that had escaped multidirectional imaging. Some of the gaps were caused by one-of-a-kind mission anomalies; others were caused by the vagaries of the Moon's...o...b..tal rotation rate and the slow evolution of the s.p.a.cecraft's...o...b..t around it. The portion of the image at which Morton was staring was one of those low-resolution areas that would soon be corrected with an upcoming flyover of the s.p.a.cecraft.

"Look at this," said Morton. His tone was inquisitive, and this drew more of a response from his teammates than his frequent, though never really negative, wry comments and complaints.

"It almost looks like there is another lander here. See the odd shape of this rock? The reflectance data I just pulled up doesn't match a natural rock formation. It looks more like the remains of a s.p.a.cecraft. But the image is simply too poor to make it out. I looked in the catalog, and there are no known missions that landed near here, neither Soviet nor American. And if the Europeans or j.a.panese had done it in the last several years, then we would know about it. Very odd."

"Hmm," Upchurch responded, "do you think we've found a crashed flying saucer or something? Hardly likely. More likely another 'Face on Mars' that will go away when we get the better imagery. I'd recommend you forget about it for now."

"Probably not aliens, you think?" Britenstein laughed. "If the data rate were higher, we could watch the Altair land on the surface almost as soon as it actually happens. The cameras on this bird might even be able to resolve Stetson as he takes his first walk across the surface. Now that that would be cool." would be cool."

"Mariam, you're right. With only low-resolution data, we cannot recommend the site for a landing anyway. Too risky...Too bad," Morton added. "Now, back to the task at hand. We have two excellent choices that meet all mission criteria. Which shall it be?"

The debate resumed, and the remains of China's failed attempt to land a robot on the Moon remained undiscovered.

Meanwhile, some 240,000 miles away in lunar orbit, the Lunar Mapper s.p.a.cecraft was following its slowly repeating trajectory around the Moon. Its camera was working flawlessly after nearly a year on the job. If someone had been there looking around, they might have noticed a glint on the horizon, occasionally captured by the s.p.a.cecraft's primary camera. The camera was pointed toward the lunar surface, and not out into deep s.p.a.ce. The glint was photographed a few more times over the next several minutes as the images were sent back to the Earth in nearly real-time by the s.p.a.cecraft's...o...b..ard telemetry system. Data a.n.a.lysis was not conducted in real time, so there was no one looking when the small projectile collided with the Lunar Mapper s.p.a.cecraft at a relative velocity of four kilometers per second. While the projectile was traveling at less than half the velocity of a s.p.a.cecraft in low Earth orbit, it was moving eight times faster than a bullet, packing sixty-four times the destructive energy. The collision obliterated the little mapping s.p.a.cecraft.

Only after the data stopped did anyone look at the last few images sent back to the Earth from lunar orbit; it was then that the "glint" was observed and the idea put forward that the Lunar Mapper was victim to either a piece of s.p.a.ce junk or an errant meteorite. Both were incredibly unlikely events, but the reality was something so unlikely that no one even considered it.

The Lunar Mapper s.p.a.cecraft, set to continue taking high-resolution images of the Moon for at least another half a year, was the victim of a piece of depleted uranium deliberately sent to collide with it. The uranium projectile that impacted the s.p.a.cecraft had been launched several days before from China. The launch was hailed by China as a lunar flyby mission that would use the Moon to slingshot the s.p.a.cecraft toward the sun for future solar-weather observations. But unbeknownst to the rest of the world, the real goal of the mission was stopping all high-resolution mapping of the Moon for at least the next two years. Building upon their demonstrated capability to destroy a satellite in Earth orbit, which they did in 2007, China had quietly developed a capability to intercept and destroy any s.p.a.cecraft in the Earth-Moon system. Lunar Mapper was the first target; no one in China a.s.serted responsibility for the attack or even acknowledged that an attack had taken place. And though a.n.a.lysts in the National Reconnaissance Office later suggested in appropriately cla.s.sified memoranda that China was responsible, no one at NASA had a clue.

Chapter 13.

Calvin Ross was alone in his top-floor office at NASA headquarters in Washington, D.C., when he received a text message from his friend and former Senate colleague, the Honorable Karen Anderson of Texas. It was just 7:30 a.m. and most NASA workers were still in the middle of their morning commutes. Ross had arrived in the District early and worked out at his favorite gym just down the street. He was in top physical and mental condition, working out each and every morning for at least forty-five minutes before reporting to work.

First running his hands through his full, though now graying, hair, Ross picked up his BlackBerry from between the picture of his wife (whom some called a trophy wife because she was fifteen years his junior and looked great in a tennis outfit) and the digital frame scrolling through twenty years of family pictures.

The message was blunt: newsome to request nasa cut to pay for education budget increase. first moon flight to be last?

"Ha!" Ross laughed out loud. "So, Newsome is going to pay back the teachers unions by killing the one thing that might inspire some of America's kids to become interested in science and technology." NASA's eighteen-billion-dollar budget was very visible, though very, very small compared to the overall government budget of just over three and a half trillion dollars. But it was considered "discretionary," meaning that it wasn't part of Social Security, Medicare, or National Health. As such, the politicians were free to grandstand and make claims of saving the taxpayers money by cutting it. The reality was stark. If all of NASA were canceled, the money saved wouldn't even pay for the annual growth in spending of the Medicare program, and the unemployment that would follow would create extreme recessions in many states across the country-at least ten of them. Unfortunately, though it made little difference in the overall federal-budget situation, NASA's visibility made it a ripe, juicy target. Ross shifted in his seat, pondering which hotline to activate and which political favors to call due. After, of course, he got the full story from the NASA Legislative Affairs Office.

Though he had no technical background, and certainly no lifelong interest in s.p.a.ce or s.p.a.ce exploration, Calvin Ross was nonetheless going to protect his budgetary turf. NASA was his to manage, and he was going to manage it, and its full budget, using every skill he possessed and every political maneuver he could manage. For Ross, it was a matter of personal pride to keep the agency under his care from being cut. He was playing "the game," and the rules said that he would be a winner if he kept others from eating his pie. He liked this game and was considered to be good at it, even if his former const.i.tuents didn't recognize and reward him for it with reelection.

He had lots of friends in the Senate, and he was about to enlist their support-and that of the legion of Washington lobbyists who had an interest in keeping lucrative government contracts funded and pumping money into their sponsors' coffers.

Ross looked at the message again before responding. ok. if it is a fight he wants, then we'll give him waterloo. Satisfied with his somewhat dramatic response, Ross sat back in his chair to once again run his hands through his hair.

"He won't kill us without a fight!"

That night, instead of being alone in his office, Ross was in the company of ten others. Five were aides to senators with NASA facilities in their districts. The other five were the dreaded aeros.p.a.ce lobbyists, present to help preserve the pieces of the budgetary pie that they thought were rightfully theirs. All were discussing the proposed NASA budget cut.

Ross had laid out the scenario to the group shortly after they arrived, some still sporting the remains of a hastily eaten dinner on their carefully pressed Oxford cloth shirts. One of the staffers looked like he'd just been awakened from a night's sleep. Or perhaps he looked like he hadn't slept at all.

Another, a vivacious and piranhalike aide to the Honorable Senator from Texas, looked like she was ready for a night on the town. Dressed totally in black to match her jet-black hair, the neckline on her blouse dipping into dangerous territory due to too many b.u.t.tons not fastened, she was the kind of staffer Ross had successfully avoided throughout his tenure in the Senate-though it had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed.

The meeting was a cla.s.sic Washington business meeting with the usual cast of characters. Calvin Ross was in his element, and, of course, he had a plan. He always always had a plan. Sometimes the trick was in the implementation part of the plan. had a plan. Sometimes the trick was in the implementation part of the plan.

"Ahem!" Ross cleared his throat and raised his voice. "Now that we know what the son of a b.i.t.c.h wants to do with the NASA budget, we can stop him. We all know that head-to-head we will lose in any public fight over spending between NASA and Education. Our kids are failing, right? They were failing when I was in school, and they are still failing, despite billions of dollars and decades of patience. No, if the public has to choose between going to the Moon and their little Johnny learning to read-as ridiculous as the choice would be-we will lose.

"No, we can't win that way. But we can convince some of our colleagues that the aeros.p.a.ce jobs in their districts will evaporate if our budget is cut." Nodding to the exhausted-looking staffer, Ross commanded, "Ned, pa.s.s out the data you collected earlier today."

Ned, far from being asleep, leapt to his feet, opened the backpack carelessly slung over the back of his chair, and began pa.s.sing out a neatly stapled set of charts that clearly showed where each and every dollar of NASA's budget was being spent. The first page was a map of the United States with each state highlighted. Typed within each state was a dollar figure-the amount of money in NASA contracts that flowed into that state in the last fiscal year-along with the names and thumbnail images of its two senators. On the next fifty pages were enlarged images of each state, broken down by congressional district; again, within each district, was a dollar figure. And beside each congressional district was a thumbnail image of its representative.

No senator would come away without knowing how much money was at stake in their state. No congressman would remain ignorant of how much money poured directly into his or her district. This was the political game played with its most basic currency-cash.

The last two pages of the handout contained a summary of NASA's Constellation program, describing exactly how they were about take Americans back to the Moon for the first time in over fifty years.

Ross, ever prepared, had read the history of Apollo. He knew very well that the decision to cancel Apollo had been made before Neil Armstrong ever set foot on the lunar surface. The politicians in 1968 decided to pull the rug out from under NASA at the height of its success, and a half century had pa.s.sed before NASA was able to rebuild the capability it had before most of the people in the room were even born. Ross was not about to let history repeat itself on his watch.

If Bill Stetson or any member of the technical leadership at NASA had been in the room, they would have been apoplectic. For them, seeing over a decade of technical work and planning, the product of thousands of highly trained engineers and scientists working overtime, reduced to less than two pages in a set of over fifty charts would have been simply too much of an insult. This was especially true since only one person in the room even bothered to take the time to look at them. All the rest were too busy looking over the dollar amounts on the various pages. Ross had briefly considered having the NASA Chief Engineer be part of this closed-door meeting, and as he watched the people in the room, he knew he had made the right choice in not inviting him. He would have had a seizure and/or bored the living h.e.l.l out of the staffers with rocket-science talk while all they wanted to know about were how many votes they were buying.

Ross, sensing that the a.s.sembled were now aware of exactly what was at stake, dug in deeper. "In the committee, we can count on at least thirteen of the sixteen votes we need to kill Newsome's amendment to the budget. All thirteen in our column are either real supporters of s.p.a.ce exploration, G.o.d bless 'em, have a NASA field center in their district, or at least have a major contractor working on the Moon program in there somewhere. It's the other three we have to worry about."

Glancing up from his notes, seemingly unaware of the large ketchup stain adorning the collar of his designer shirt, the aide to the senator from Florida chimed in. "Senator Booker needs support for this year's farm bill. His state has a lot to lose if the subsidies for making corn-based ethanol are cut. I'm sure a few senators could voice their support-after we let him know why he's getting it." Mr. Ketchup pulled his eyegla.s.ses down to the tip of his nose, tilted his head forward and spoke directly to Ms. Piranha. "That would mean your boss would have to eat a little crow and ease off on her comments about pork spending in the farm states."

"I'll see what we can do" was her only response.

Ross watched and inwardly smiled. He knew that her boss would do what it would take to get support for NASA. Her state simply had too much to lose if the money for the Moon contracts stopped flowing. Losing thousands of jobs just before one's six-year term in the Senate was about to be over didn't do a lot for one's reelection chances.

In every group of lobbyists, there was always one who looked the part. In this case, it was Dr. T. Rathbone Smythe of the Aeros.p.a.ce and Aviation Advocacy Committee, or the AAAC, as it preferred to be called. Smythe could have been forty, fifty or even fifty-five years old-old enough to convey experience and authority but not too old as to appear out of touch. With carefully groomed salt-and-pepper hair, and only a hint of a receding hairline, a finely chiseled face and an ever-present tan, Smythe was the type of person who inspired confidence. Living up to his aristocratic-sounding name, Smythe was also a smooth talker and was comfortable making small talk with just about everyone. He was an equal with the elite and a paternalistic supporter of those with lesser social status. Smythe could play the game at all levels. He cleared his throat and entered his opinion into the conversation.

"I can get the other two votes. Senator Lipman is running short on cash for his reelection campaign, and I think our members can step up to the plate to make sure his coffers get refilled." Smythe looked at the handout showing the funds being spent in a certain Northeastern state-the one which the senator in question called home.

"Good." Ross nodded.

"It would help if these numbers were a little higher." Smyth aimed the comment directly at the NASA Administrator.

"I guess it would." Ross smiled, slightly bemused. "Mr. Smythe, there isn't anything I can do about that. Believe it or not, the career civil servants who make these sorts of decisions are usually quite honest in their reviews, and I could go to jail if I were to try and influence the peer-review process.

"In addition, as you are well aware, contracts are awarded in a compet.i.tive process that sometimes takes years from start to finish. Even if I could influence the process, there simply isn't time." Ross didn't want the conversation to go in this direction, especially with so many potential witnesses in the room. He had to shut down that line of discussion before it went places that he didn't care to go.

"Calvin, I wouldn't dream of asking you to do anything unethical. I'm just saying the tasks themselves need more money." Smythe made a convincing response. He took Ross's hint and moved on. "The other vote, well, let's just say I think I can convince another member of the committee to oppose the amendment." He took a long pause before continuing. "Let's just say that a favor is owed."

Ross, again running his hands through his hair, looked around the room at the faces of the aids and lobbyists gathered there. Washington's finest, Washington's finest, he thought to himself before speaking out loud his final thoughts. he thought to himself before speaking out loud his final thoughts.

"Let's do it, then. The amendment will be offered sometime next week. Can we get the support to kill it in place by then?"

One by one, heads in the room nodded-all of them. When compared to the overall federal budget, NASA's budget was small. But when put on an individual or corporate level, its eighteen-billion-dollar annual appropriation was still enough to make many people rich, and it was simply too much to be ignored by anyone with half a brain. And these people, and the ones they represented, certainly had more than half a brain when it came to the dog-eat-dog of politics.

One week later, the amendment offered by the Chair of the Senate Appropriations Committee, an amendment to reduce wasteful spending on a boondoggle program to explore the Moon and to channel the money instead into Education for the nation's vulnerable youth, went down to defeat. The Honorable Senator Newsome, the author of the amendment, was not pleased.

Watching from the gallery, NASA Administrator Calvin Ross was was. He had protected his turf and shown that he still had what it took to be a player in Washington.

Chapter 14.

Stetson heard the news from his Houston office, as he was reviewing the latest landing-site recommendations from Dr. Morton's team. Like most in his generation, Stetson was an expert at mult.i.tasking the inflow of information. Instant messages, e-mail, tweets, texts, and a customized s.p.a.ce news feed scrolling across the lower portion of his computer screen and cell phone were simply part of his everyday life, and he didn't seem fazed by the constant flood of often-irrelevant data. One headline scrolling across his computer's news bar did catch his eye.

s.p.a.ce race heats up as chinese launch unmanned mission to the moon He glanced away from Morton's charts and clicked on the headline.

Following in America's footsteps, the Chinese government today announced the successful launch of their own unmanned mission to the Moon. The s.p.a.cecraft, said to be identical to the one that will carry Chinese taikonauts to the Moon in the future, will be controlled robotically. The Chinese Minister for s.p.a.ce said that the mission would test all of the systems required to send a crew to the lunar surface. "This mission will be the final dress rehearsal before China is the first country in over fifty years to have its citizens walk on another planet," the minister said. There is not yet any official reaction from Washington, but independent experts widely believe America will win this new race to the Moon despite the recent technical difficulties with NASA's lunar dress rehearsal and the rumors starting to circulate that the launch scheduled in two weeks may again slip.

"What the h.e.l.l?" Stetson cursed before picking up his cell phone and calling Jim England. At first, he didn't think his friend was going to answer. The phone had just started to roll over into voice mail when he heard the familiar Southern drawl of his colleague. "Yeah-us, h.e.l.lo?"

"Jim, this is Bill. Did you hear about the Chinese launch? It's on the ticker now."

"Yeah, I heard. I haven't gotten anything through channels, only what I've seen on the Net. Looks like we're going to beat 'em-but not by much. I doubt they can turn around another launch before you go. If they hadn't decided to play it safe with a test, we'd be looking up at a Chinese Moon in a few days."

"Luck, all right. I really don't like the idea of us being second to anyone in s.p.a.ce, and this is all just too close for comfort. And can you believe that Senator Newsome? We're not even on the Moon yet, and he tried to pull the rug out from under us. I wonder if he will say anything about the Chinese." Stetson could barely contain himself. As he spoke, his voice grew louder and his posture stiffened.

"Well, try not to let it get your goat, Bill."

"I'd like to get that senator's goat and barbecue it. Maybe we should send him to China for a few years. That would teach him about how their politicians and people feel about s.p.a.ce and s.p.a.ce exploration. Over there the astronauts are treated like heroes and the public demands more of their s.p.a.ce efforts, not less."

"Yeah. And I guess I have to give Ross credit for saving us on that one. Did you see his testimony in Congress? He really stepped up and made a compelling case for exploration-how could they have voted for that cut after they heard from him about all the technical benefits we'll get from going to the Moon?"

"Yeah," Stetson reluctantly agreed. "You're right, you know. I originally thought Ross was just another politician who didn't give a rip about NASA. But he did come through for us. It was nice to see rationality win on that one."

"Bill, I'm gonna switch gears on you, buddy."

"Go."

"s.p.a.ce Excursions is launching next week-on Monday."

Stetson's posture relaxed, and he leaned back in his chair. He had a lot of admiration for s.p.a.ce Excursions. They'd come out of nowhere and built an impressive system for taking tourists into s.p.a.ce. And they'd done it all in about ten years. He didn't know Gary Childers personally, but he respected him nonetheless. He thought to himself, That man is a leader. Why isn't he running NASA? That man is a leader. Why isn't he running NASA? And then he answered himself. And then he answered himself. Because he makes a lot more money running his business than he would working for the government. Because he makes a lot more money running his business than he would working for the government. This all happened too fast for England to notice that his friend's thoughts had wandered. This all happened too fast for England to notice that his friend's thoughts had wandered.

"Jim, I wish them all the best. The Chinese haven't even sent anyone to fly by the Moon and an American company is about to go. That means not only NASA will beat them there. A bunch of lunatic, freewheeling, money-hungry capitalists will get there ahead of them, too! I'm all for it. G.o.d bless America!" Stetson said, very animated.

"Bill, the press is all over this. You really need to read the blogs more often. They're all about how this guy Childers is going to the Moon for a fraction of what it cost us-and the taxpayer-and how we should just turn over all of NASA to private industry."

"And, you know, sometimes I think they're right. This whole thing has has taken too long. We should have been there years ago!" Bill replied. Stetson could tell it was time for his friend to get agitated. These two had this discussion, or one very similar to it, at least five times a month. It wasn't boring; they loved it. But before, it was just hypothetical. This time real people were about to fly in real rocket ships to the Moon. One ship was going to carry tourists on a joyride around the Moon. The other was going to carry scientists to its surface. And the latter was much more complicated, and expensive, than the former. taken too long. We should have been there years ago!" Bill replied. Stetson could tell it was time for his friend to get agitated. These two had this discussion, or one very similar to it, at least five times a month. It wasn't boring; they loved it. But before, it was just hypothetical. This time real people were about to fly in real rocket ships to the Moon. One ship was going to carry tourists on a joyride around the Moon. The other was going to carry scientists to its surface. And the latter was much more complicated, and expensive, than the former.