FREE STORIES 2011
Space Hero
by Patrick Lundrigan
The space hero came out of the old Soyuz docking ring in a flight suit that looked so new you could have cut titanium with the creases.
"Just call me Rob," he said as an introduction, pocketing his sun glasses and shaking Jake's hand in a firm Naval Academy grip. He'd remind him later about the bone loss the long timers suffered.
Jake had the orbital shuttle ready to go, but the hero had to update his blogs and establish a downlink. "For the folks downstairs," he said, doing a tight half gainer over to the communication console.
Jake waited as Rob, or Robert Danforth, NASA astronaut and self-appointed ambassador of good will and public relations, downloaded a pocket cam full of videos from his launch and then set up for a live Q&A session with a class of third graders in Ohio. He answered the usual questions (how close are the stars, what does the Earth look like, can you see Ohio, how do you go potty) like he'd spent his whole life teaching kids about space. Jake wondered if NASA had a training program for that, since most of the current astronauts spent all their time on the ground. Jake hadn't done much PR in the past three years, with the business of space and keeping the manufactories running the sum total of his time, both working and free.
"We don't get many of you blue suiters up here," Jake said after the sendoff from Rob admonishing the kids to do well in school and pray.
"That'll change soon," he said, stowing his assorted com gear. "Once they pick the first crew." He gave a wink, as if he knew already who would make the cut for the first manned Mars mission. "I can't wait to see the ship."
"Let's see if our launch window is still open," Jake said, and led him though the hub, toward Freedom's main docking pod.
Wrangling a visiting NASA astronaut made for a difficult assignment. The old days of steely-eyed fighter jocks had gone the way of blank checks from the government and grand presidential visions of space conquest. Everybody upstairs these days had work to do, with some science thrown in if they had the time. Jake turned back, taking another look at the space hero. A few years back, when those third graders from Ohio were just future plans for their farmstead parents, Robert Danforth turned a shuttle launch disaster into a miraculous landing, bringing his damaged orbiter back with all hands. He put the American space program back in the news for a year or two, and launched his current career.
But he must've spent all his time doing the PR shuffle, or else he'd have known the first Mars ship and the "scheduled" first mission would remain a plan for a very long time. Jake's own manufactories had multiyear contracts that had to be completed before they'd have the robot-hours to get back to working on the Mars ships. The deep space tracking network didn't have a hertz of bandwidth to spare, with all the rovers and orbiters and the belt miners out exploring the Solar System. And robots and computers could explore the universe for a lot less cash then a tin can full of men.
Jake and Rob floated into the docking pod. Jake introduced Rob to the duty crew, and within minutes the old astronaut had them under his spell, telling stories, asking questions, handing out commemorative pins. He knew some of them from their days at NASA, before they'd "gone commercial." Jake turned to the main terminal as Holly broke from Rob's orbit.
"Sorry, we got a load of tourists coming in," she said to Jake, "you'll have to wait until they dock."
"Good news for you," Jake said, "More time with Mr. Right Stuff."
Holly swung around, one arm on the terminal. She tucked her loose hair back with her other arm and looked toward Rob. "I dunno. Nice to have a real astronaut visiting and not yet another zero-g robot jock."
"Well, if he gets tired of shaking robot claws over at Tri-Star, I'll send him back early."
Holly gave him a hip check, nudging him away from the terminal. "Let me make sure the Love Boat hasn't gotten lost," she said, calling up a panorama of navigation screens. "Two hours late, right on schedule. You'd think Astro-Disney would run a better operation." She picked up a headset and put on her official voice. "Astro Princess, this is Freedom traffic control. Docking cleared on port seven."
Updated telemetry came in, and Holly juggled the transit lanes, a dozen ships in transit, seventeen commercial habitats, a swarm of satellites, and the usual cloud of junk and debris that filled low earth orbit these days. Nothing got past her watchful eyes.
"Damn, a five-hour layover," she said. "Remind me to tell the eggheads to lock up the labs or someone'll grab a mouse to take home."
Jake did a flip, moved in closer to her ear. "Trade ya," he said.
by Patrick Lundrigan
The space hero came out of the old Soyuz docking ring in a flight suit that looked so new you could have cut titanium with the creases.
"Just call me Rob," he said as an introduction, pocketing his sun glasses and shaking Jake's hand in a firm Naval Academy grip. He'd remind him later about the bone loss the long timers suffered.
Jake had the orbital shuttle ready to go, but the hero had to update his blogs and establish a downlink. "For the folks downstairs," he said, doing a tight half gainer over to the communication console.
Jake waited as Rob, or Robert Danforth, NASA astronaut and self-appointed ambassador of good will and public relations, downloaded a pocket cam full of videos from his launch and then set up for a live Q&A session with a class of third graders in Ohio. He answered the usual questions (how close are the stars, what does the Earth look like, can you see Ohio, how do you go potty) like he'd spent his whole life teaching kids about space. Jake wondered if NASA had a training program for that, since most of the current astronauts spent all their time on the ground. Jake hadn't done much PR in the past three years, with the business of space and keeping the manufactories running the sum total of his time, both working and free.
"We don't get many of you blue suiters up here," Jake said after the sendoff from Rob admonishing the kids to do well in school and pray.
"That'll change soon," he said, stowing his assorted com gear. "Once they pick the first crew." He gave a wink, as if he knew already who would make the cut for the first manned Mars mission. "I can't wait to see the ship."
"Let's see if our launch window is still open," Jake said, and led him though the hub, toward Freedom's main docking pod.
Wrangling a visiting NASA astronaut made for a difficult assignment. The old days of steely-eyed fighter jocks had gone the way of blank checks from the government and grand presidential visions of space conquest. Everybody upstairs these days had work to do, with some science thrown in if they had the time. Jake turned back, taking another look at the space hero. A few years back, when those third graders from Ohio were just future plans for their farmstead parents, Robert Danforth turned a shuttle launch disaster into a miraculous landing, bringing his damaged orbiter back with all hands. He put the American space program back in the news for a year or two, and launched his current career.
But he must've spent all his time doing the PR shuffle, or else he'd have known the first Mars ship and the "scheduled" first mission would remain a plan for a very long time. Jake's own manufactories had multiyear contracts that had to be completed before they'd have the robot-hours to get back to working on the Mars ships. The deep space tracking network didn't have a hertz of bandwidth to spare, with all the rovers and orbiters and the belt miners out exploring the Solar System. And robots and computers could explore the universe for a lot less cash then a tin can full of men.
Jake and Rob floated into the docking pod. Jake introduced Rob to the duty crew, and within minutes the old astronaut had them under his spell, telling stories, asking questions, handing out commemorative pins. He knew some of them from their days at NASA, before they'd "gone commercial." Jake turned to the main terminal as Holly broke from Rob's orbit.
"Sorry, we got a load of tourists coming in," she said to Jake, "you'll have to wait until they dock."
"Good news for you," Jake said, "More time with Mr. Right Stuff."
Holly swung around, one arm on the terminal. She tucked her loose hair back with her other arm and looked toward Rob. "I dunno. Nice to have a real astronaut visiting and not yet another zero-g robot jock."
"Well, if he gets tired of shaking robot claws over at Tri-Star, I'll send him back early."
Holly gave him a hip check, nudging him away from the terminal. "Let me make sure the Love Boat hasn't gotten lost," she said, calling up a panorama of navigation screens. "Two hours late, right on schedule. You'd think Astro-Disney would run a better operation." She picked up a headset and put on her official voice. "Astro Princess, this is Freedom traffic control. Docking cleared on port seven."
Updated telemetry came in, and Holly juggled the transit lanes, a dozen ships in transit, seventeen commercial habitats, a swarm of satellites, and the usual cloud of junk and debris that filled low earth orbit these days. Nothing got past her watchful eyes.
"Damn, a five-hour layover," she said. "Remind me to tell the eggheads to lock up the labs or someone'll grab a mouse to take home."
Jake did a flip, moved in closer to her ear. "Trade ya," he said.