Luna (2 page)

2 | Shipmates

“Mr. Burton, it’s a pleasure to welcome you to Outer Limits!” Blake Garner’s ebullient facade greeted James as he stepped inside the room. Other than the space entrepreneur, there was no one else in here. James found this odd since the purpose of his visit was to meet the rest of the team he’d be sharing the spaceship with. Sharing the moon with, he reminded himself.

Blake wrapped his arms around the FAA man who ducked back in surprise. It wasn’t a typical greeting for a federal employee, and the two did not even know each other. James hoped Blake wasn’t drinking or worse, but realized he was probably just high on excitement, or more accurately, as was often the case, he was high on himself.

And why shouldn’t he be? Blake Garner was about to lead humankind into a new and exhilarating era, was about to launch what would likely be the most important industry since computers. Well, that’s not entirely accurate, though, is it? James thought to himself. Because while Blake was certainly a pioneer, he wasn’t the only one in the running. In fact, Blake’s primary competitor in the race to bring the moon to the common man (or at least the rich one), was already in space, probably even on the lunar surface as they spoke.

James knew that this competition of sorts was something that made Blake extremely nervous—his arch-rival, Kennedy Haig, founder and CEO of Black Sky, L.L.C., had what amounted to at least a three-day head-start to obtaining clearance to take the first paying passengers. And with all seats on the first lunar flight, should it be green-lighted, already booked and paid for—for both companies—Blake knew full well that a three-day head start was all one of them needed to be crowned the winner in the space-experience-buying public’s eyes. Sure, there was room for more than one player, but to be the first mover represented enormous intangible benefits.

Critics of both Blake and Kennedy charged that space tourism would be a fad, something that would fade with time like online social networks or drive-in movies. But the feeling was that there were more true believers than skeptics. After all, the market had clearly spoken, the stock prices for both space companies shooting for the stars in lockstep with their actual efforts. Analysts had continuously pushed the predicted date back, from 2025 a few years ago, to 2030 as recently as last year. Yet here it was, 2024, with the market showing no signs of shedding its upward momentum.

Blake Garner, estimated net worth of $12.7 billion, beckoned for James to follow him back into his private oval-shaped office, which could have easily been mistaken for a wing at Hayden Planetarium. Well-above their heads, a dome-shaped projection screen created a night sky, alive with slow-moving stars and planets, with the occasional comet or asteroid sweeping across the blackness.

James looked toward the curved walls for light fixtures but saw none. A pair of lamps sitting on opposite ends of his polished black desk illuminated a small section of the office like headlights. James waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark, hoping he wouldn’t need to take any notes in here. He could probably peck one out on his smartphone, but he disliked using that thing for anything more than making phone calls.

“What do you think?” Blake said, motioning around the absurd room.

The question struck James as odd, the words of a man plagued by terrible insecurity.

“Extraordinary.” It certainly beat the hell out of the government offices he’d worked in the last few decades, that was for sure. Then again, he wasn’t sure how much real work he could do in a place like this. Seemed more like some kind of fancy den or high-tech man cave. But when you had thirteen billion to your name, James supposed you could call your office whatever the hell room you wanted.

Blake motioned to a black leather chair across from his desk while he rounded the monstrous slab of furniture and took a seat. He moved like a man half his age. Not quite fifty, Garner was a self-proclaimed adrenaline junkie. When he wasn’t scuba diving Australia’s Great Barrier Reef or climbing mountains in the Himalayas, he could usually be found jumping off buildings or out of planes. At least that was how the media portrayed him. And for all his feigned modesty, he didn’t seem to mind. His piercing blue eyes seemed to sparkle with energy as he spoke.

“So, I understand the training went remarkably well!” There was that unwavering enthusiasm again. James recognized that it could be infectious, and it even seemed genuine, but he found it to be almost tiresome, like that guy at a party who needs to take it down a notch. Except for Blake, that party never ended.

Not only that, James mused, but Blake said it as though he’d taken a forty-hour bartending course, not just returned from Moscow following seven straight days of intensive space training, just as the first space tourists would pay for the privilege to do. James couldn’t see why. It was a fairly grueling mish-mash of classroom lectures, spacecraft simulator exercises, and physical fitness training. Personally, he had found none of it particularly vexing when taken individually, but as a whole, and combined with the Russian travel, it was certainly taxing. And now the real test was about to start.

James was about to tell him how it had gone well, no problems, thanks, when a voice made to sound as though it had to travel millions of vertical miles suddenly broke through a speaker on Blake’s desk.

“Sir, Martin Hughes to see you.”

“Thank you, dear. Please escort him back.”

James’ interest crept up a notch. Martin Hughes was a star, at least insofar as scientists could be stars. A world-renowned atheist, though he referred to himself as a “secular naturalist,” Hughes was at the very top of his game. He’d written several international bestsellers on topics in the field of astrobiology, but also on philosophy, free thought and the fact that we no longer needed an idea such as god to explain the “miracles” of our natural universe. His was an interesting voice, but James couldn’t help but wonder if Blake had chosen him for the mission precisely because his very presence would be so controversial. The more controversy, the more media time. Blake was no stranger to this concept.

“Martin!” Blake jumped out of his chair and extended his arms for an embrace, one James noticed that Martin returned without reservation. “Wonderful to see you.” Martin was a large man, though not overweight, but he was taller than both Blake and James. His bald head reflected the planetarium light from the ceiling.

James stood in greeting.

“Martin, I’d like you to meet my government watchdog.”

James frowned, but he had to give the man points for his directness. It was basically true.

Hughes stood stock-still, scrutinizing James’ face before saying, “Well-trained watchdog, I hope?”

An awkward silence hung in the room while Blake and Martin waited for James’ reaction. Finally, Hughes laughed. Blake joined him. The sound created a strange, awful echo in the colossal room.

“Kidding, my dear boy,” Hughes said in his thick British accent. “I had to summon something droll for our first meeting lest I come off like some haughty old Englishman.”

You do anyway
, James thought but refrained from saying. He was not afraid of offending anyone, but if he was to travel to the moon (and hopefully back) with these people, then he wanted to make damn sure they got along as well as possible. No need to incite anyone over some silly perceived slight.

Martin dismissed any further comment with a wave of his hand and sat in one of the large black leather seats. Blake and James also reassumed their seated positions.

The two men looked at James, both waiting for him to speak. The meeting, he suddenly realized, was primarily for his benefit. Rather, the FAA’s benefit. Strike that – for the benefit of all civilian space travelers.

“So,” James began, “what exactly is your interest in this expedition, Mr. Hughes?” It seemed like a non-threatening enough ice-breaker, a softball for the celebrity atheist. James expected a lengthy diatribe on the importance of space exploration to the progress of humankind, but he didn’t receive it. Instead, all Martin said was, “Life.”

“Life?” James glared at Blake. What the hell was he talking about? They all needed to understand each other perfectly, this was no time to wax poetic, or philosophical.
Because surely he didn’t mean—

“The meaning and significance of life,” Blake cut in, giving Martin a hard stare. “Man’s place in the universe—are we alone in the cosmos, and all that. Martin, here, expresses such thoughts much more eloquently than myself, but that’s about the gist of it, right old chap?”

Martin tipped his head slightly to one side and eyed first James, then Blake. “That’s right. And to make myself as open as possible to channeling those eloquent thoughts, I think it’s time I turn in early. Just wanted to stop by and meet the watchdog, as it were.”

Martin stood, shot James a sly smile and then exited the room.

3 | Celestial Body

Moments after Martin Hughes exited stage left, Blake told James there was someone else he wanted him to meet prior to Launch Day. James retook his seat and watched as Blake played with the buttons on his control panel.

“Ready,” he informed his receptionist.

James swiveled his chair toward the door but it didn’t glide open. Instead, a panel in the wall behind him swooshed to one side, revealing a ridiculously large monitor, every bit as mammoth as a movie screen. Blake ran his fingers over a few buttons until an image of a rock face appeared. Then an individual stepped in front of it, and James automatically rose to his feet.

Blake said, “Mr. Burton, I’d like you to meet Asami Imura, PhD, our selenologist.”

She was stunning. Dressed in red athletic gear emphasizing every curve, Asami stood facing the camera, her big bright intelligent brown eyes staring at the camera like pools of scalding hot coffee. Wavy black hair cascaded over her shoulders.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Burton. Or might it be Dr. Burton?” She practically sung the words.

“No, just mister.” Burton had a bachelor’s degree in business administration. He wasn’t particularly proud of it, but it had been enough to land him a steady job at the FAA, one he’d kept for his entire career, and that was a rare enough thing these days.

“James is our FAA rep who will be riding along to the moon,” Blake informed her.

Riding along, huh?
Although James had told himself that’s exactly what he’d be doing, somehow coming from Blake it had an offensive ring to it, like he was merely dead weight, nothing more than a rubber stamp to be taken into space and back so they could carry on with their business. But he remained silent, admiring the woman’s sleek form on the rock wall.

Blake said, “Catch you in the middle of a climb, did we, Asami?”

“Oh, it’s beautiful today, Blake. You should be here.”

“I’d love to be.” Blake studied the background. “Looks like you’re at West Blue Mountain again.”

“Right, my fave spot,” Asami said.

West Blue was the highest peak in the San Mateo Mountains in the southwestern part of New Mexico. The southern half of the range was extremely difficult to get to, so traffic in the area was always light. Asami appeared to be alone.

“We won’t keep you,” Blake said to the screen. “Just wanted to make introductions.”

Asami clipped a rope to a carabiner and then eyed the camera. “I look forward to the launch, gentlemen.”

“As do we.”

Just like that, Asami blinked off the screen.

Blake turned to James and winked. “Wanted you to get an eyeful before she dons that unflattering spacesuit.”

James forced a conspiratorial grin, wondering how many of the sexual allegations Blake faced throughout his meteoric rise were true. A good number, he was sure. Yet somehow his tawdriness seemed to complement his public image: the poor billionaire playboy lost in a constant search for true love.

The FAA man addressed Blake. “Dr. Imura works for you?”

Garner shook his head. “No, our VP of Marketing – whom you’ll be meeting soon – brought her aboard in order for Dr. Imura to offer her
independent
critique of our little travel operation. Quotes from an expert for the promotional materials, the website, brochures, television spots. Dr. Imura is formerly with NASA, which of course means she’s studied the moon her entire adult life having never gone into space. So she’s very enthusiastic to work with us.”

James nodded.

Blake barely hid his disgust as he segued into his next topic. He grimaced and cleared his throat as he hunted for something on his desk. “So,
James
, can I call you Jim? Like a cigar?” Blake slid open a drawer and held out a Cuban. The gesture was a minor one coming from a billionaire, but the implication was both clear and dangerous. Would a government official accept a gift from the owner of a company he was here to regulate?

“No thank you, and James is fine.” Burton was no stranger to these kinds of offerings, the ones that were small enough to pass off as an oversight (“It’s the same polite gesture that I would afford to anyone I’m about to start working with”), if they were called out on it. He always turned them down, even though he knew that plenty of his colleagues did not. Everybody had a line somewhere, and for many, small tokens of appreciation such as cigars were not on the wrong side of it. But not for James. His whole career he’d played it clean and he wasn’t about to change that now, only weeks from retiring.

Blake frowned and stuck the cigar back in the drawer, sliding it shut with a
snap
. “Look,
Mr. Burton
, thus far Outer Limits has always had a good working relationship with the FAA...”

James nodded. This much was true. Blake continued.

“But up to this point we’ve been working with your superior, Guy Patton.” Blake paused to watch James bristle at the word “superior.” The unspoken question was,
Why you?

“Patton was chosen early on to join you,” James explained, “but six months ago we were informed he didn’t pass the physical. Vision problems. So now you’re stuck with me.”

After a lengthy pause during which he stared at James, Blake continued. “Anyway, I’ll be blunt. We tried to get Pete Stenson but he’d already been roped aboard Black Sky’s flight. You have a reputation for being a real stickler for details, even for a government bulldog.”

Damn that Stenson.
James had little doubt that had he been in his place, Stenson would be smoking that cigar right now, probably toasting Blake with his fine liquor over there in the ivory-accented cabinet. But Stenson wasn’t here. He was already on the moon with Black Sky, doing his own job the way he saw fit to do it. And there was nothing James could do about that. Nothing except do
his
job the way he saw fit.

He shrugged, his attitude unapologetic. “I do my job to the best of my abilities. I keep people safe. When a citizen steps onto a commercial airliner, they assume it’s safe to do so. They have no way to really verify that for themselves, and they don’t know about the processes that go into making it safe, and they don’t care. The price of a ticket is supposed to have safety built into it. In the same fashion, when they step onto a spacecraft, including one of yours, they’re going to assume it’s as safe as it can possibly be. And the small role I have in that process is one I take very seriously.”

“I assure you that Outer Limits takes it very seriously as well. After all, I myself will be going on not only this trip, but the first tourist lunar landing also.”

“Mr. Garner,” James began as he opened a spiral bound notebook, “this will be our final meeting before the launch. Allow me to confirm: Five passengers, including you, me, Dr. Hughes, Dr. Imura, your VP of Marketing—Suzette Calderon, right?—plus your three professional astronauts for a total onboard count of eight.”

“Correct. Mr. Burton, may I ask you a question?”

“Please do.” James held his pen poised above the notebook. Blake met his gaze.

“Are you frightened?” James rolled his eyes as he let his pen rest.

“Of course, somewhat. Who wouldn’t be?”

“Good. Fear’s important. It’s what keeps us alert to danger. If you don’t feel fear, you’re either a god or a sociopath.”

James stared at him, the image of calmness. “I assume, then, you’re experiencing a great deal of fear as well. Although you have been up there before.”

Blake smiled, rubbed at the heavy scruff on his right cheek. “Me? No, I don’t experience fear. Not like that anyway, not the kind we’re talking about.”

In James’ head, he dismissed this as sheer bravado. Blake was creating an indelible image of himself for the media. Still, he had to wonder just what kind of vision the entrepreneur had for himself, how he wanted to be portrayed.

“What are you then? A sociopath or a god?”

Blake grinned, his eyes genuinely alight for the first time that day. “Well, James, I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait for this mission to play out.”

“What, no hints?”

Blake shrugged. “Let’s just say that I’m not sure the two are mutually exclusive, and leave it at that for the time being.”