Authors: William R. Forstchen
At Howland and Jarvis Islands, both American possessions, NASA was now preparing to make its own efforts at Pillar development, not for direct commercial use (though Victoria was quick to point out that a tower at Howland could act as a support relay, just like a very high “pole” to link to brace an electrical line over to California). With these sites further advances could be tested in structure design and the now very hot topic indeed of deployment of energy from space. The parking lots of Goddard and Langley were again full to overflowing.
The strengthening as well was for the lofting of the long-anticipated “Five Hundred Mile Hotel,” Franklin accepting that the public relations value of such a facility would help continue support. Though NASA was less than amused, Franklin had even agreed to the first “space diver,” at a cost of an even one million, taking the jump from that small hotel at five hundred miles, capable of housing but a dozen couples at ten thousand dollars a night.
Without NASA it would have, of course, been impossible. But on the other hand, the understanding of commercial usage was an interesting hybrid in which both sides were learning to work together. The famous actor and his buddy, an equally famous director, had the first reservations at the hotel once it was in place, and from there the actor had played his trump card, reminding Victoria he had once promised to pay for her ticket up to the module as long as he got first dibs as a visitor afterward. The actor and director had their slots for a trip all the way to film a documentary.
Going up as well to the five-hundred-mile mark would be her father’s favorite composer, Constance Demby; she and Franklin asking only in return that it might inspire her to compose yet more dreams in music, perhaps in honor of all those who gave their lives since the 1960s to reach the heavenly heights.
The Pillar’s potential was about to start growing at a near exponential rate. The critical steps of just getting it in place, keeping it aloft, and in a situation in which it could be saved even from a near total catastrophic collision with objects in orbit had been achieved. The Pillar was also guarded by a rotation of ships of the United States Navy and the Australian and New Zealand navies, and surprisingly, in a curious gesture, the Chinese had offered to help, as long as there was a clear understanding that their tower would be safeguarded as well.
As the day approached for her to return to space, she indeed felt torn.
She cherished every moment spent with her mother and working with Franklin. But the crowds, the media, the demand, which she reluctantly agreed to, to tour the States, and appear before yet another Senatorial hearing, were diverting her from the work that she wished to continue in the still-monastic-like conditions at the top of the Pillar. The comm links, the environment, the hands-on experience of being up there, she felt, made her a far better manager of Franklin’s vast efforts than constantly being in the spotlight on earth. She could now understand how the likes of Gates, Jobs, and others cherished seclusion so they could continue to work. Jason had shared with her a quote from one of their favorite authors, J. R. R. Tolkien, who, after his epic work gained global recognition, had lamented, “It is not the interruptions that bother me, it is the fear of interruptions that are such a distraction.”
The week before she was slated to go back up, there was a dinner at the White House, which was indeed an honor. She sat at the head table with the president, her husband, and their two wide-eyed teenage daughters, who said that meeting her was far more cool than some egotistical Grammy winners the week before. Often during the meal her hand would brush against her mother’s beneath the table and they would hold tight, especially when the president spoke of her father and then her mother who had started the dream while still in graduate school and let their example and courage be a light to the current generation.
It was a confusing sea of faces. Heads of various divisions of NASA who grasped her hand warmly, the honor she then felt when introduced to the few elderly Apollo crewmen, one of them tearfully telling her “You’ve taken us back up, a dream I’ve harbored for fifty years.” And then he embraced her.
And finally she saw Jason, standing near Franklin, and her heart did skip a beat, eyes going damp. There was a young woman at Jason’s side, looking properly elegant for such a function, and she saw their hands brushing together. It was Gretchen, the young lady who had guided the first wire down from space. Victoria’s and Jason’s eyes met briefly; he tried to smile and she turned away to hide her feelings of confusion and loss, even though she knew the decision to break up was much more hers than his.
There were more ceremonies in that final week before heading back up, one that was particularly joyful: her mother was asked to be a keynote speaker at Goddard, to share the story not only of the Tower but of her personal life—how she had come to Goddard, what it meant to her now. Goddard was thriving, and as they pulled into the parking lot, Eva nervously laughed that it was like the days she had heard about, when finding a parking spot was a real pain. But not today, as they were waved through the gate and guided to the main lecture hall, though she did insist on first stopping at what had been her building. She asked for some privacy, for only Victoria to come with her. They stepped into the corridor, but news of her arrival had raced ahead, a small crowd gathering, some of them friends of long ago. She shook hands politely, talked briefly, and then asked for a few minutes alone, the crowd understanding and quietly dispersing.
She led Victoria down a corridor that she remembered well, approached an office, and slowed. Someone, guessing her intent, had unlocked the door, and a security guard standing farther up the corridor, blocking off curious onlookers and smiling, nodded for her to go in.
There was a plaque on the door:
The Office of Dr. Erich Rothenberg. Mercury, Gemini, Apollo, and Pillar Programs. Guide and Mentor to so many who were blessed that he came into their lives.
The office was untouched; someone apparently came in every week or so to dust and vacuum, but otherwise everything was in place as she remembered it. The fading photograph of the young German-Jewish soldier, a British commando in front of a hangar at Peenemünde, V-2 rockets behind him. He and Von Braun, shaking hands in front of the first mockup of the Lunar Module. A photo of him and his wife, shading their eyes against the glare, watching as
Apollo 11
rose from the launch tower. And then one that cut so deeply that they both began to cry. A photo of him, standing almost like a proud parent behind Gary and Eva, an infant Victoria in Eva’s arms, and on a table before them his silly model of a tower made of straws.
Eva looked out the window; the tree was still there that a young gangly Victoria had sat under, intent on her old-fashioned laptop on the day she and Gary had come to his office, utterly defeated after the hearing in front of Proxley. And then, just looking at his table that served as a desk, recalling the first less-than-pleasant encounters and arguments with her future husband. Her heart had told her even before he seemed to catch on that there was something between the two of them far more profound, and Erich knew it too.
She put her fingertips to her lips, kissed them, then touched the photo of him standing proudly behind them.
“Thank you for the dreams you gave us. Thank you for the lives you set before us,” she whispered in Ukrainian, and looked back at Victoria, who extended her arms and embraced her mother, whispering a quiet thanks to Erich as well. There was a small package on the desk, labeled: “For my beloved friends the Morgans, you know what to do with it.” Eva handed it to Victoria with a smile and then, as if remembering something, reached into her purse and drew out another small box, plain, battered, unadorned, and gave it to her daughter.
“I think you know what these are; you know what to do with them.”
Victoria opened both, wide-eyed and in tears, closed the boxes, put them in a pocket of her blue NASA flight coveralls, and kissed her mother on the cheek.
“I’ll see that it gets done.”
* * *
Her mother’s speech at Goddard stunned Victoria. She had made it something of a humorous talk at the start: memories of arriving there, the Cold War barely over, the hassle one day when an overofficious administrator actually tried to hustle her out as a spy until Erich intervened, exploding with defensive fury for one of his interns so that the administrator actually appeared to crawl away—an image that drew laughter from most of the audience, especially the younger ones. And then she shifted to what Victoria knew was in her mother’s heart but had not been so openly articulated until now.
“Do you truly realize what you are doing here at Goddard, Langley, JPL, White Sands, Houston, and Kennedy, my dear friends, as you work? We call it the ‘hard science,’ the ‘real numbers’ that transform shapeless pieces of metal, carbon, and human flesh into voyagers to the stars.
“It is not just about going there and then coming back. No, it is about going and staying. But far more than that, it is about going and transforming.
“On the day Columbus sailed, did anyone on the docks of Cádiz say, ‘There goes the future hope of humanity’? That a day would come when, rather than three small ships sailing forth, thousands of ships would return, the skies overhead all but darkened by thousands of planes to save the Old World from true darkness bred in the heart of our Europe? On the day Columbus sailed from Cádiz, did a single person in my home country of Ukraine declare, ‘Ah, someday they will come back to help save us, to help us become free, and then together we shall work to go to the stars’?
“But it was far more than that—far, far more. It was to open a world; and, yes, at times the cost was tragic, and that must be remembered as well. But to open a world where any could speak to God as they pleased, and know they were free to do so … To believe that, though born in poverty, even born in slavery or the dark legacy after slavery ended, that their children might rise to dreams as yet undreamed of … That the grand experiment, never before attempted successfully, that people of all races, creeds, and religions could live together as one …
“And think of our creative spirits unleashed in this new world. The arts, the music ranging from the likes of Copland and my husband’s favorite, Demby, to jazz, rock, and, all right, whatever noise it is that some of you listen to today with those silly pod headphones permanently stuck in your ears.”
That did gain some laughter, more than a few who had kept one earphone in while listening with the other feeling embarrassed for a moment.
“Think of art and painting. The freed grandeur of the artists who captured the landscapes of the Great West, and then to film which at times could so enlighten and change us with classics that showed us the best of what we could be, or just entertain, or to serve as a warning, and, yes, some of them even inspired us to keep reaching for the dream of flight and to journey to space. I daresay many of you are here because of a novel you read as a kid by the likes of Clarke, Heinlein, Asimov, and the beloved Bradbury, or movies of starships traversing the universe that you saw as teenagers and dreamed you could be part of that.
“I am giving to you now, as one of my favorite creators of such shows used to say, ‘presented for your consideration’”—and there was a chuckle as she lowered her voice, trying to imitate Rod Sterling—“‘what is ahead for all of us.’
“Therefore, my friends, ‘presented for your consideration,’ the challenge ahead for the Goddard team. As you do the hard numbers, as you work the science and math, take time to look out the window now and again, to dream, and to consider how all this will change humanity fifty, a hundred years hence. The depressing decades of a belief that we are in a downward spiral, of limits to growth, of eventual collapse, are over at last! My daughter’s test of beaming electricity straight from space to earth has proven a success. Soon, rather than megawatts, it will be gigawatts and then hundreds of gigawatts. The old paradigms are at an end, as surely as wood gave way to coal, coal to oil, and now, oil to solar energy—limitless clean energy to fuel the development of the twenty-first century and know that it all started here.
“‘Presented for your consideration.’ Dream now of how your hard work shall, for the better of all humanity, give us a twenty-first century that shall far transcend any century before us.
“I thank God for you, my fellow dreamers at Goddard. But I ask you at times to pause, to gaze out the window, and to realize just how wondrous it is what you are creating.
“Take a moment to look and to dream and to think of how different all our lives shall now be, thanks to your work. The dream is still alive and together we shall set the pathway to save this planet—our cradle, as Tsiolkovsky put it—and”—she paused and for a moment appeared to tear up—“who my husband quoted in his final moments, ‘and let us reach for the stars.’”
The standing ovation echoed in Victoria’s heart long after they had left Goddard.
Her mother then returned to her office in Seattle—to take care of a few things, as she put it—while Victoria finished out a whirlwind tour. She had forgotten how many promises she had made to visit various schools while doing her daily broadcasts, and was delighted with the way she was mobbed, and took a secret delight in embarrassing the brazen young man who had asked “how it was done” up there, reaching into her satchel and pulling out a roll of toilet paper and tossing it to him. He did get back at her though, by asking her to autograph it and then saying he would never use it.
Always her message was the same, be it wide-eyed fourth graders or AP science high school students. Dream big. The field was as wide-open to women as to men—she was living proof of that, as was Singh, still in command of the station above—and regardless of the world one was born into, the model of Franklin Smith. With the Pillar soon to be open with functional paying traffic, plans were already afoot for launches to the moon and the building of a tower there, to Mars, and some at Langley were pushing for more research on plasma and ion drive engines that could cut the transit time from launch atop the tower, without having to haul hundreds of tons of equipment upward at a quarter of a million dollars a kilo to what was now costing less than five hundred a kilo and was expected to eventually drop to ten dollars a kilo in the years to come, when the tremendous cost of this first functional tower was paid off.