I was ground-bound the following day. While Danica worked the simulator alone, I badgered the computer for one more pilot and one more propulsion engineer. It is an unenviable task trying to find someone with just the right qualifications who can be persuaded to accept a mission that will take them away from everyone and everything. People with immediate family are unlikely to make that commitment. Those trying to advance their career or continue postgraduate education do not wish to be out of sight and out of mind for that long. Beyond that, the arrest records and personality profiles sometimes set off other types of warning bells. When you are light years away in open space, you can’t call the men in white coats to come get them.
What I really needed was a medical doctor with piloting skills. Even though background checks and DNA evaluations make the threat of unexpected illness almost nonexistent, and the medical programming used onboard spacecraft these days being quite incredible, it’s still not a substitute for a real EMT or doctor. The person we needed didn’t have to be current with their practitioner certificates. We just wanted someone with the touch. There was one name on my list that seemed to be too good to be true. Reeves Walker, call sign ‘Doc’. He was a non-practicing MD who had worked with the Blue Angels. Strangely, he had no history of combat flying or combat training, and yet they had accepted him. He had an extensive background in aerobatics. Unfortunately for me, he was married. I put off calling him thinking there was no way. He was married, retiring from the drill team life, probably wanted to lie back on the beach. Come to think of it, that’s what I had been doing, damn it!
I bit the bullet and dialed him. The number was in Texas. It took six rings before he picked up.
“Walker.”
“Mr. Walker, my name’s Adrian Tarn. I’m with the space agency. Have you got a minute?”
“Let me take a table away from the bar. Hold on a second. What did you say your name was?”
“Tarn. Adrian Tarn.” I looked at my watch. It was 10:00A.M. Texas time. This wasn’t starting out so good.
“Okay. Oh damn, I spilled my beer. Wait a second. Okay, go ahead.”
“You are in Texas, right?”
“I was the last time I looked out the window.”
“Well, I’ll get right down to it. I need a pilot.”
There was a long pause. “Reeves?”
“What kind of pilot you need?”
“Space.”
Another long pause. “Space? You need a space pilot?”
“They are sometimes called astronauts, Mr. Reeves.”
“I know what the hell they’re called. You just don’t get someone ringing your damned phone asking for one too often. You know what I mean?”
“I might as well tell you right up front, it’s a twelve-month mission, approximately.”
“How’d you get my number? You sure this isn’t a joke? Did Dean put you up to this?”
“Have you ever heard of the Griffin, Mr. Reeves?”
Another pause. “Hell, I do remember that. It was Sam Hudson trying to make a spacecraft into a damn airplane. That all fell through on him.”
“The prototype was built and it’s been refitted. That’s what you’d be flying. Is there any chance you could come to Florida and work in the simulator a little bit and see if you’re interested?” I leaned back in my seat and suddenly realized I wasn’t sure if I was interested.
“This is a serious offer?”
“Twelve months worth of serious.”
“This is got to be a sign from God. I got separated from my wife of twenty years a couple months ago. I still don’t know what I did wrong. I was gone a lot, sure, but she knew all that. She just kind of decided she wanted to go a different airway. She’s made it clear there isn’t going to be any reconcile, so I can’t think of anything I rather do than get as far away from here as I can. It’s gotta be a sign from God.”
“So you’ll come in and give it a shot?”
“Where you at?”
“The south gate at KSC. The Genesis facility.”
“What the hell. Gimme a couple days. I’ll be there.”
I hung up extremely worried that I had reached the wrong Reeves Walker. I raced over to Mary Walski’s desk, handed her his picture and asked her to double check and make sure I had signed on the right person. I wondered how to handle it if the wrong guy showed up at the gate. Back at my desk, I sat nervously drumming my fingers, promising myself I’d be more careful with the propulsion engineer.
RJ barged in and plopped down in a seat. “I get a break while they set up the next program. By the way, I’ve now worked with and briefly spoken with… Mr. Paris Denard.”
“Oh yeah? What do you think?”
“You’ve got a problem.”
“Damn straight.”
“The man does not bond well.”
“I wish it was only that.”
“He is sincere and forthcoming in that you cannot trust him.”
“Just what we need.”
“How’s the crew roster coming along?”
“Other than that, you mean?”
“Any new candidates?”
“Yes. I just called in a guy who’s supposed to be an MD and a stunt pilot and it sounds like he’s going to show up in an old pickup truck with a beer in one hand and a hound dog in the back.”
“Why’d you do that?”
“Would you please shoot me and put me out of my misery?”
“Hey, some have already tried that and are now the worse for it. Don’t look at me. Has this guy got any space in him?”
“I don’t really know. I wanted a doctor so bad I thought if I could just get someone who was a real flyer we could nursemaid them through the orbital stuff.”
“Hmm. They’re going to be calling us the Vomit Comet 2.”
“Not too worried about that. Stunt guys spend their lives going from eleven positive Gs to five negative Gs and back again. Plus, he’s in his fifties so he’s middle-aged. Your blood vessels start getting stiffened up around then so G’s and weightlessness don’t mean as much.”
“How about a propulsion engineer since the one we just got appears to be a loony-tune?”
“The stunt pilot shook me up so bad I haven’t been able to get going on it. I’m glad you stopped in.”
“Dr. Smith prescribes lunch with beer.”
I laughed. “God, I didn’t need a doctor, after all.”
“Don’t be too sure. I prescribe beer for everything.”
We took the Vette to Marlin’s on the Pier. A server in a tiny short pink skirt with an overfull blouse took our orders without writing anything down. She was so well endowed I could not remember what I had ordered as soon as I had given it. She had a thick southern drawl in her voice that was intoxicatingly sexual. It forced me to keep looking up at her cherry red lips, which was a good thing, otherwise RJ and I would have both been staring at her blouse, though she did not seem to mind.
“Why have I never been in here before?” RJ asked, when she had left.
“When she comes back, should I tell her you’re interested?”
“She knows. She has us both on the tip of her little finger. She could make us roll over and beg with a single wink.”
“Speak for yourself. She wouldn’t need the wink for me.”
“When she comes back, should I tell her you’re interested?”
“You know better. There’s a data analysis woman out there somewhere who holds my leash.”
“That’s right. Does she know about this trip yet?”
“Shit.”
“Well, that answers that.”
After lunch, we left a preposterously large tip and headed back to Genesis. I came up on the guard shack too fast and got chewed out by the guard. He knew who I was but had no reservations about dishing it out, and told me he’d write me up right there in his shack if I ever did it again. I was impressed and humbled. RJ laughed all the way inside. As I opened the door to my office, I heard RJ call out from the TCC, “Hey Terry, Adrian go
t bawled out by the guard.”
At the computer, I pulled up what was left of the list of current propulsion engineers and suddenly realized I had been subconsciously skipping over the female names. Men always have this image of delicate little fingers decorated with long nails, attached to elegant, dainty arms not made for wrenching things. Maybe Danica was right.
There was a name on the list that sounded familiar. Erin Duan. Where had I heard that? I called it up and scanned down the search list results. One in particular stood out. ‘Stealth 2 Uses JATO Power To Set New Hybrid Land Speed Record at Bonneville.’ I sped-read the article. They hadn’t actually used JATO-assist rockets to supplement the power of the vehicle. The motors attached to it were real solid rocket boost motors. Once lit, there was no turning back. At the end of the article, the three propulsion engineers who had dared to let someone drive something like that were listed. The last name was Erin Duan.
I sipped coffee and mulled it over. The rest of her dossier was superb, solids, liquids, turbine, jet turbine, amp-light, and tachyon. They were all there. The land speed record thing had just been a hobby. I called up a photo. It was a bit disappointing. Maid of honor at her friend’s wedding. Long white gown with a lot of shiny clear stones. Ivory blonde hair past the shoulders. She could have been modeling the outfit. Tiny lips, pert nose, bedroom blue eyes. This could not be a propulsion engineer. The marital status line said ‘single’. How could someone who looked like that hold a PHD and still be single? She had to be in her late twenties. After the Reeves ‘Doc’ Walker fiasco, I didn’t want to set myself up again. But, why was I worrying? There was no way she’d accept. Looking like that, single, young, advanced in her field. No way. I could call her and cross her off the list real quick, maybe exchange a sports car story or two and clear my mind of her. I leaned back, flipped my phone open and punched in the number. Probably wouldn’t get her anyway.
She answered on the third ring.
“Ms. Duan, my name is Adrian Tarn. I’m with the space agency. I’m calling because I’m looking for a propulsion engineer for an upcoming mission.”
“Okay. I’m in. Where do I report?”
I nearly fell out of my chair. It left me speechless. I did not have a prepared response. I had just won the Publisher’s Clearing House giant bonanza. The cameras were rolling. The world was waiting for a response. The spotlight was on me.
“What?”
“I said okay. Count me in. Where do I check in?”
“But you don’t know what the mission is, or how long even.”
“Hang on a second. Let me tell my boyfriend before he leaves.” She yelled with her hand over the phone. “Hey Brad, I’m going into space.”
An irate voice cut in from the background. “What the hell are you talking about now?”
“I’m going into space. I just signed on.”
“For Christ’s sake, Eri. If you do this, that’s it. I’m not taking any more of your shit. I’m out of here.”
“Well, okay then,”
“Well, okay. I’m leaving right now. Good-bye”
She yelled, “Good-bye! Good riddance!”
A door slammed.
She came back. “Sorry about that. I’ve been trying to get rid of him. It was perfect timing. So where do you want me?”
“Are you okay, really?”
“Just fine. I’ll pack up and head your way and you can explain everything when I get there. If there’s a problem, we’ll see.”
“Have you heard of the Genesis facility?”
“Yep. Between KSC and the Port Canaveral inlet. I’ve spent so much time at the space center; I even know all the tunnels.”
“When can you be here?”
“Take my cat to my parents. Let them know. Maybe leave tomorrow. What kind of engines? I can’t wait to know that.”
“Stellar Drive.”
There was silence for moment. “This isn’t a joke is it? There’s no such thing.”
“There is now.”
Silence again. “Oh my God. If I can be there today somehow, I will.”
“See you soon, Erin.”
“Count on it.”
I hung up the phone and sat up straight with a big grin on my face. That was it. I now had a full crew complement with the exception of Bernard’s Denard. All I had to do was wait for him to crash and burn, or abandon him somewhere and go with seven.
Or so I thought.
Chapter 10