The Man Who Sold Mars (2 page)

Mr. Beacon much less surprised greeted
us, “Hi Stephen.  Evelyn.  Robert.  How’s the war?”

“Like all wars, never good.”

Dad had just returned from a deployment
fighting in the Vietnam War, which was raging and sadly would continue for
another six years leaving millions of Vietnamese and Americans dead and
wounded.

Mr. Beacon nodded, “I hear you.”

I held up my Lunar Module.  “Mr. Beacon,
I’m going to be an astronaut.”

“You’re a smart kid.  You can be anything
you want.”

Mrs. Beacon glanced at Mr. Beacon with
what I later learned were bedroom eyes and hurried he said his goodbyes to us,
“Well!—I’ve got to go.  Good seeing all of you again.  Stay safe Robert.”

“You too.”

A few brief moments later, absorbed, I
played with my space fleet . . . and, from an open window of the Beacon’s
bedroom soft sexual noises drifted out.  At the time, I didn’t know what they
were or what their cause was, but my parent’s hearing them, with alarm, glanced
at me.  I was absorbed in my play, and ignoring them.  As the Beacon’s volume
and intensity increased . . . tremendously to the point that people a block
away probably could not ignore them, I broke from my toys.  “What are they
doing?”

“Exercising.” My mom said quite quickly.

“Like you and dad.”

My mom turned beat red with
embarrassment.

“Only not as good.” was my father’s
response.

I didn’t know why, but mom turned to dad,
scowled and whispered, “Behave.”

The sounds coming from the Beacons
bedroom died down and I returned to my play.  A moment later our tranquility
was interrupted by Mrs. Beacon’s angry words.

“Blow job!!  You want a blow job!!!  I’ll
give you a bow job when — when young Stephen walks on Mars.”

This was a term new to my eight year old
ears, but as it was intimately connected with my promise to be the first man to
walk on Mars, I turned towards my shocked parents.

“Mom.  Dad.  What’s a . . . “ 

I paused to think of those exact words
again and in silence and dread my parents looked for an appropriate answer once
I phrased the question.

But dad didn’t wait for me, “Ahhhh.  It’s
an exercise your mom does really, really, really well.”

Shocked and surprised, mom half playfully
slapped him on the arm and whispered, “Stop it.”

Still staring at the open bedroom window,
I spoke with my parents.  “It must be really special.  Mrs. Beacon is going to
wait until I go to Mars to do it.”

My dad suppressed a laugh, “The way your
mom does.  Yes it is—-“

My mom was not pleased with his joke
under the circumstances and meaning business said, “Robert Young.”

And my dad held up his hands in surrender
. . . Near surrender.  He grinned, “But it is.”

Mom scowled at him.

Satisfied with the answer I returned to
my play with my space fleet.

Sudden without prelude, the sounds of the
Beacon’s “Exercising” picked up with an awesome intensity.

Again, I stopped my play and this time I walked
towards the Beacon’s home, across the unfenced lawn our families shared,
towards the open window with slow curious steps, to prevent accidentally
disturbing them.  “They sure exercise a lot.”

My parents stood watching me, not knowing
what really to say or do.  So mom did the wise thing and called me back.

Stephen, Honey, come play.

I stopped.  But intrigued I stood there.

Breathing hard I heard Mr. Beacon ask,
“Who’s your daddy?”

I was shocked.  “He doesn’t know who his
wife’s dad is?”

My parents were speechless.

“Who’s your daddy?”

“Oh, God!  You are.”  Mrs. Beacon said
nearly out of breath.

My eyes widened with greater shock, “Mr.
Beacon is Mrs. Beacon’s Dad?  And he didn’t know.”

Very hurried my mom said, “Stephen,
dear.  It looks like it’s going to rain.”

“It sure does.  And hard.”  My dad added.

I glanced up at the skies, saw they were
as clear as could be, and mentally questioned whether it would rain.

Mom called me again, “Honey, it’s going
to rain and we should eat inside.”

Evelyn, you are so right about that.  “Stephen
get your ships.  We’re going inside.”  He then said to himself. “I have got to
talk to the Beacon’s about the benefits of air conditioning.”

Mom smiled at me, “Stephen honey, pick up
your toys and bring them in.”

Still glancing at the skies and studying
them, I broke from studying them and the “intriguing” sounds of the Beacon’s
and walked towards my space fleet.  While I reached for my prized Lunar Module,
the atmosphere took on a surrealistic feel.

And, I looked up to see a version of
myself 19 years older, at 27 years, dressed in a U.S. Marine Corps flight suit and
accompanying g-suit, helmet in hand, and like my dad also a captain, step right
in front of me at eight and my space fleet.

I climbed into a Hornet, an F/A-18, 56,000
pound, Fighter/Attack Jet at the Naval Air Station Fallon Nevada and flashed
down a runway into the clear blue skies towards the Weapons and Tactics Center
Range, WTCRC, Tonopah Test Range.

High above the Mountains, in a “Hard” 1 v
4, I alone was engaging four Air Force F-16’s in Aerial Combat Maneuvers, ACM.

An F-16 and I passed head to head.  I applied
full power, pitched my 18’s nose up.  Climbing and turning to intercept the “Bogie”
it happened.  My engines gave a horrific wail of internal destruction and
cataclysmic failure; a multitude of cockpit alarms went off as other systems
failed en mass and fires erupted throughout the compartment.  The Hornet’s nose
pitched down and the jet trundled out of control.  Instead of delivering me for
drinks and prime rib at the officers club, my jet and I had a rendezvous with
the grounds of the Rocky Mountains.

My jet was lost.  To prevent dying with
it, I reached up for the ejection handle and pulled.

Blown free of my ship, the jet careened
below exploding on impact with a mountain peak not too far below, becoming an
instant scrap yard, and a monstrous fire bloom raced up towards me —

Where with amazing speed born of horror,
dressed in a space suit wearing a patch woven with Earth at it’s center and the
flags of all its nation’s surrounding it, I pulled myself through a dark, dark
corridor in a space craft in zero gravity, while from behind a demon fueled
fire flashed towards and engulfed me as I heard sirens two voices entwined as
one spectral voice say, “Stephennnnnnn.  Come to meeeeeeee.”

In terror, my heart beating out of
control, I bolted out of my sleep.

Dripping with sweat, I reached for a
remote control and soft subdued lighting illuminated my large, penthouse
bedroom, the place thanks to Selena’s touch was of lavish wealth and elegance,
a tapestry of the new and antiquarian, masculine, but with her feminine
influence, a place with an amazing view of the New York City skyline that would
be at home as a wing in the Paris’
Musée du Louvre
, Louvre Museum.

But, none of this mattered.  I was
troubled, concerned, and contemplating.  This dream was occurring nearly
nightly for quite some time.  There was a message in it.  And, I knew what it was.

I lay back in bed and reached for the
prized Lunar module of my childhood on my nightstand.  Holding it above me, I
studied it, while a myriad of questions tumbled through my troubled mind.  I
then held it against my chest, while the thoughts continued on and on
unceasing.

When the night that seemed so long as if
morning would never come ended, Randolph, the doorman, held the door open for
me, as I with much on my mind, valise in hand, exited.

“Good Morning, Mr. Young.”

“Good morning to you Randolph and thank
you.”

“You are quite welcomed, sir.”

I continued on to a waiting limo.  The
chauffer opened the door and I entered to see Se, Selena Luce, an extremely
beautiful woman of charm, grace and centuries of breeding, and Gardner Semet, a
hardboiled financier from the streets of New York.  Greeted by their smiles, I smiled
back and sat.

Gardner put aside his
Wall Street
Journal
and very excited asked, “Ready for the big day.”

Selena took my hand, “I am.”

Subdued and distant I answered, “Yes.”

# # #

Very concerned, Stephen’s hand in mine I
studied him.  “Did you have that dream again?”

He didn’t answer.

His silence was an affirmation of the
answer.  “Stephen, you need to do something about it.”

“What?”

Gardner’s eyes blazed.  “See a
therapist.  Mine’s excellent—“

“You’re sleeping with her.”  I said while
Gardner’s eyes blazed with greater fire.

“So what, the therapy worked.  My
nightmares—“

“What I have is not a dream.  It’s a
call.  A premonition?  Something.  It’s not going away.  And I think if it
does, it’ll be replaced with something . . . Ugly?  Uglier.”

Sincere Gardner glanced at him, “Stephen,
kidding aside—“

Stephen feigned great enthusiasm.  “This
is a landmark day. Let’s talk about happy things.  Your kids.”

In silence, Gardner and I looked at him
with extreme concern.

He squeezed my hand and held it close
against him.  I loved him so much.  I smiled.  “Selena, how’s Patricia and Lady
Macbeth coming.  Quite an accomplishment for a twelve year old and all those
lines too.”

# # #

My two friends continued studying me,
each mentally debating whether to continue or whether to make me confront the
terror that came nightly in my dreams.

# # #

Then I melted.  I always did, glowing
with undying love for him. 

# # #

And despite the great worries I wrestled
with, they could see me pledging my undying love to her.

“Patricia’s doing well.  It’s a greatly
scaled down version of
Macbeth
, written in contemporary English.  And.
it’s creating quite the family competition in a good way, with Catherine
playing the role at Juilliard.”

In silence and with great concern,
Gardner continued studying and worrying about me his old, old friend.

# # #

As did I as I spoke of my family.

Along with Selena and Gardner, in “The
Conference Room” of the corporate offices of “The Group”, at what was
essentially a large ring shaped table, composed of 50 arched segments separated
and spaced to allow easy entry into the center of the room, I sat at a
breakfast meeting with 49 of the wealthiest people in the world covering all
the world’s ethnicities, among them Selena, Gardner, Greg Tomsho, Allan
Matsumura, Michael Hemmingson, George Carleton, Kevin Fay, Camilla, Leday,
Sunny Sahijwani, and Leanne Tobias, while their staff and security dined and
awaited in the background.

At the ring no one was superior or
inferior and everyone could see everyone and everything.

It was time and I stood at my segment.

“As you see from the financials before
you and the transfers to your accounts this morning, this has been a more than
banner year for The Group.  Our profits exceeded our expectations by more than
three hundred fold.”

They applauded and Sunny stood.  “All
through your exceptional leadership and vision.  And to thank you, we all voted
before the meeting to provide you with a bonus worthy of your accomplishments. 
Please take a look at your monitor.”

I looked down and was shocked.

“He’s speechless.  Another landmark day.”
Said Allan Matsumura

The crowd laughed and I joined them.

I bowed to both halves of the ring. 
“Mazeltov!  Muchas gracias.  Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you.  I will make
quite a few school boards happy this year.”  I glanced at the amount again. 
“Wow.  Quite a few.”

Once more, the crowd applauded.

I continued.  “As you review your
packets, you’ll see we’ve outlined a number of targets and objectives for the
New Year.  I have one that I have not included.  It’s Mars.”

# # #

Oh, God.
  Gardner and I knew where he was going
literally and figuratively and silently slunk in our chairs in anticipation of
the war that would soon follow.

Greg Tomsho asked, “What’s Mars?”

And Leanne asked, “The Candy Company?!”

# # #

I further explained my point.  “It’s the
fourth planet of our solar system.”

Shocked at the implications the audience
fell into a frigid silence.