TARAWA: SOL 372
“IN THE OLD DAYS,” PETE CONNORS WAS SAYING, “EVERY piece of equipment was made to order. Every vehicle, every sensor, every nut and bolt was built specially for the project. That’s why space exploration cost so much.”
The mission controller was strolling along the beach with two reporters, giving them a “background” briefing for the upcoming launch. To their right the surf boomed against the atoll’s reef, and beyond that the blue Pacific stretched as far as the eye could see beneath a balmy sky dotted with puffs of white clouds. To their left, the squat conical shape of a Clippership rocket sat on the launch pad, embraced by a steel spiderwork of scaffolding, swarming with busy technicians.
“It’s still not cheap,” said the woman reporter, raising her voice to be heard over the brisk wind and distant surf. The wind and humidity had tousled her auburn hair. She wore slacks and a long-sleeved blouse, despite the warm sun.
Connors gave her a toothy grin. “No, it’s not. But it’s a lot better than it used to be. Orders of magnitude cheaper now.”
The male reporter, young but already paunchy and balding, had a serious frown on his face. “Yeah, but no matter how you put it, the replenishment mission isn’t launching as scheduled. When will you launch?”
Without missing a beat, Connors said, “We’re looking at next Monday now. Might be a nighttime launch, we don’t know for certain yet.”
“But the launch window—”
“We’ve got a fair amount of flexibility there. With the additional specific impulse that nuclear propulsion gives us, we can widen the launch window considerably.”
The woman asked them to stop for a moment. She took off her shoes, shook sand out of them, and stashed them in her copious shoulder bag.
The male reporter asked, “Is a week long enough for you to stock the spacecraft with everything you need?”
“You mean the backup power generator?” Connors nodded vigorously. “That’s where our logistics policy pays off. We’ve kept backup items in inventory since the original launch, back more than a year ago. The backup nuke is on its way here from the States, and we’ve ordered a replacement for it, just to keep our spares inventory full.”
“Do you expect another failure of the nuclear generator?” the woman asked.
Connors smiled his widest. “No. But then we didn’t expect the one that did fail to bug cut on us.” Of the several hundred men and women working for the Second Mars Expedition on Tarawa, Connors was one of only five who knew that the nuclear power generator had been sabotaged. He had no intention of letting that number grow to six.
“So you’ll be able to launch on Monday?”
“Looks that way,” he said, nodding. “Even if it’s a few days later, that’s no sweat.”
“And the flight itself will take five months to reach Mars.”
“Right. They’ll land just about three weeks before the original eight are scheduled to leave Mars.”
“What about the scientists?” the woman asked. “How are they handling this delay?”
“They’re impatient to get going, of course,” Connors admitted. Then he spread his hands out to sweep the beach, the lagoon, the breathtaking sky. “But waiting another week here isn’t exactly breaking their hearts.”
Both reporters laughed.