Red Hope: An Adventure Thriller - Book 1 Read online

  Flying behind Tommy’s truck was a hover ship powered by the MM10 rocket engines. Today, it was piloted by a once great millionaire, a man who was only a week away from going bankrupt and losing the company he’d poured his life savings into.

  Chapter 3

  Many books have been written about how to motivate people. They run the gamut, from achieving personal wealth to simply avoiding the loss of what we’ve scratched together in life. When you get down to it, though, it’s really just about greed.

  We’re all greedy in some way. Scientists and engineers have a special kind of greed: an insatiable gluttony for interesting knowledge. For them, reading an encyclopedia fires off their dopamine sensors. Discovering that pumice rocks can float tickles their prefrontal cortex. Interesting facts feed them and nourish them, motivating them to do something with that knowledge. Often, it’s just to prove to their buddies that they can do something better or faster, sometimes at any cost. And that is why cutting edge scientists and engineers often die poor.

  However, when the rare one avoids calamity and achieves greatness, they can remember the very moment when everything clicked, or at least when the initial obsessive-compulsive spark ignited.

  For Chris Tankovitch, the Director of NASA, that event was an unusually warm winter evening in 1986 when he witnessed a once-in-a-lifetime event. While most people were going to bed, Chris and his dad packed their cheap wobbly telescope into the trunk of the family Chevette. Chris was holding a box filled with Doritos and Coke in his lap. Reverse didn’t work, so his dad had to open the door and kick forward on the ground with his foot.

  His dad paused the car halfway down the driveway and turned his head toward young Chris.

  “I want you to know this is a special event. Your mom is furious that I’m keeping you up this late on a school night.”

  “I know, but this only happens every 76 years. It’s either now or when I’m like 90 years old!”

  With that, they backed out into the road and drove north out of town in silence. As time went on, they saw fewer and fewer buildings. Street signs gave way to county road signs. At the very edge of town, they passed a lonely church where one window was still illuminated from the inside.

  “I wonder what that person’s dealing with,” asked his dad quietly.

  Rare streetlights illuminated the dashboard like slow flares shot from a boat. Chris and his dad followed the directions that had been spoken to them over the home phone by the astronomy club president. Each turn took them deeper into darker and darker territory. The Chevette buzzed down the road through the inky shadows.

  His dad still wore his flip-up shades from earlier in the day. He leaned his head toward Chris and blurted out, “This place is really remote. Keep your eyes open for Big Foot.”

  Young Chris rolled his eyes.

  Finally, after what seemed like forever, they took a wide turn and saw red dots of light moving all around. Bingo.

  The bright lights of the big city make it nearly impossible to see the stars. Regular flashlights have the same effect on your eyesight when trying to use a telescope. However, red light has no effect on night-vision sensitivity. That’s why everybody at a stargazing party puts red filters on their flashlights. Chris was holding his version in the car, anticipating that night’s event.

  The Chevette rolled up next to some other rusty cars with Ohio license plates and stopped. Chris turned on his red flashlight while his dad pulled the telescope from the trunk. On this unseasonably warm winter night, nobody needed a jacket. They walked over to the gathering crowd, their feet crunching over the gravel. Within minutes, they set up their telescope and drank in the total blackness of the rural sky.

  The club president asked everybody to gather around as he waved his hands around like a shaman. He explained that they would need nothing more than their hands to find Halley’s Comet that night. To demonstrate, he climbed up on a ladder so everybody could see him; he was illuminated by a dozen red flashlight beams. From his pulpit, he delivered the instructions for viewing.

  “Just raise your closed fist up above your head. Stick out your thumb and pinky towards the ends of the Big Dipper. Swivel it all around your pinky half a turn. Your thumb should be pushing on the comet.”

  It was just that easy.

  After Chris found it once, it was impossible not to instinctively look at it again and again. It was even more spectacular with binoculars which made the long tail really glow. The telescope was almost overkill, but he tried that, too, of course.

  Maybe it was the smell of the damp winter fields. Maybe it was the excitement of seeing something so rare. Or perhaps it was the MSG-laden snacks and caffeinated Coke, but something in Chris’s brain clicked that night.

  The view of that Halley’s Comet sky burned like a living photograph in his mind. He was keenly aware of the sound of the footsteps on the gravel, the low hum of people chatting, people laughing, and telling off-color jokes that would be unthinkable three decades later.

  Chris was hooked on astronomy. It would become an obsession with astrophysics. No other subject would top that interest for the rest of his life. From now on, Carl Sagan and Stephen Hawking would be his biggest heroes.

  The grown-up version of Chris was happily rolling that memory around in his head when he got a tap on the shoulder. It was from the stage assistant in the Public Relations office at NASA.

  “Hi, Director Tankovitch. We’ve got the teleprompter set up. The press conference is gonna start in about two minutes, okay?”

  Chris smiled nervously and said, “Thanks, Jim. Hey, can you get me a bottle of water?”

  Jim raised his palms up and said, “Where’s the please?”

  He laughed, pointed his trigger finger at Chris, then disappeared past a bank of light stands.

  Chris was lucky in many regards. Most men have thinning hair by the time they’ve reached their mid-forties, but he did not. Chris nervously ran his hand through his mop of hair. He couldn’t remember if he’d washed it that morning; the past week had been a whirlwind of daylong meetings with Congressional members and NASA officials. However, the fossil discovery was still unannounced. Chris and the president had agreed to eventually release a few of the photographs along with some basic information.

  Earlier that morning, the public relations team at NASA had sent out a press release to the major news agencies with the headline, “NASA to Announce Modest Changes to Existing Exploration Plans.” Chris had purposely created a bland press announcement to make it all the more exciting when he dropped the Mars news bomb. Anything this exciting would typically require approval from the executive branch, but this was his chance to be a shining star among the scientific community.

  Unbeknownst to Chris, the press suspected something was happening because the president had cancelled his regular press conference that very morning.

  Chris peeked out from the side door and saw people tiredly looking at their watches and checking their text messages. Most had been at the White House waiting for the president’s press conference when he cancelled it; their bosses sent them here instead. Even with that, only half the chairs were filled.

  Chris laughed at them for being bored. He was about to drop one of the most historically significant speeches from a public official right in their lap. It was because of this pressure that he was struggling with his opening sentence.

  Perhaps a heavy, self-important and boring statement about how mankind always wanted to fly? Perhaps a funny one-liner? He thought about the most memorable opening line he’d ever heard. It was from the best man at his wedding who stood up, already drunk, and started with, “Some people say Best Man is just a label.”

  Chris shook his head and thought, Nah, I’ll just go with something boring.

  He felt another tap on his shoulder. He turned around expecting to see the stage assistant with a bottle of water and said, “Thank you for the wat…”

  His eyes jammed wide open. Standing there was a smiling President Dagge
tt Jennings. Secret Service agents were filing into the hallway and into the back of the NASA press room. The executive entourage had just arrived.

  The president smiled as he put his hand on Chris’s shoulder.

  “Chris, my speech will only last five minutes or so. I would appreciate it if you would stick around to answer the follow-up questions.”

  Chris’s mood plunged. The air had been punched out of him. Even though Chris had battled to keep the Mars planning missions funded through all the tight budget years, his old classmate was about to take all of the credit and crush his moment of glory.

  Chris threw together some words.

  “Well, hang on, wait, no, see, I have my speech ready to go. Look over there, DJ. It’s already on the teleprompter!”

  Chris instantly realized his blunder of using the president’s old college nickname. The president noticed it too; he was also puzzled that Chris would actually try to argue his way back into the spotlight.

  “First of all, it was DJ back when I was cheating off your physics exams in college. I thought we already went over that. It’s Mr. President now. And I had them turn off the teleprompter. You really shouldn't try to trump me on this, okay? I’ll be reading from a napkin. It’s not a bad speech for something I threw together on the drive over.”

  The president unfolded a crumpled napkin with handwritten scribbles on it.

  Chris’s face wrinkled into a mild panic. He blurted out, “But I’m the director of NASA. I think it really should be me making this presentation.”

  The president’s smile turned into a stern frown.

  “Look Chris, you are my old friend. But managers don’t make these kinds of announcements. Presidents do.”

  They both stood behind a curtain to the side of the stage. Chris looked like a child who had just been scorned.

  The press noticed that the president’s personal press secretary had stepped up to the microphone. They had been expecting to see the public relations assistant for NASA. The audience swung around in their seats to face forward. The room was now rumbling with chatter. The press secretary announced two simple rules:

  “No cellphones. No noise. After the president is finished, he will be leaving and NASA personnel will answer your questions.”

  The president grabbed Chris’s arm with a two-handed executive handshake. He put on his big political smile and winked.

  “Cheer up, Chris. Watch how it’s done.”

  The president walked across the front of the room to the microphone and adjusted it to his height instead of Chris’s lower stature. He took a deep breath, scanned the audience and coughed once. After he set his napkin down on top of the lectern, his expression became more serious.

  “On July 20, 1969, the entire world held its breath as American astronaut Neil Armstrong stepped down a ladder and put the first human footprint on the Moon. I was just a toddler at the time, but I remember that moment clearly. My mother was crying because she knew that we had reached a moment in human history where things would never be the same. We could not go back to being content with our Earth-bound lives.”

  The president paused for effect and drank some water from a glass.

  “Here we are, almost five decades later. We’ve maintained that wanderlust by sending machines to Mars to find things that can amaze us and motivate us. A short while ago, one of the most important discoveries in history occurred. Although we did not find signs of current life as we had hoped, we found something just as amazing. We found evidence of previous life. Abundant life. Complex life.”

  He leaned down closer to the microphone.

  “Intelligent life,” boomed his voice from the speakers.

  A journalist from the LA Times jumped out of his chair and ran out the back of the room trying to get the early scoop on the news. He realized that the president hadn’t finished and slid to a stop to turn around. He stared at the president, caught between the urge for more information and the urge to flee.

  The president continued, “I’m going to have my office manager Francine hand out a packet of photographs to you right now that show what we found. Francine, if you could, please.”

  Confidently, his assistant Francine walked around passing out small packets of black and white high-resolution photos. The members of the press grabbed at them. Each photo showed what looked to be shimmering rocks at first. However, closer inspection showed human-like fossils embedded in the side of a large gem-encrusted boulder. The photos were labeled A, B, and C. However, there was no photo D included in the packet. That one was still being kept secret by the president and would not be released to the press just yet.

  Chris stood patiently to the side of and behind the president, putting on an effective fake smile. Even he had to admit that the president could turn on charm like a light switch. People listened. In hindsight, Chris realized it would’ve been inappropriate for him to give this speech.

  The president started up again. “What you are looking at are photos taken by the Mars Curiosity rover several days ago from a site called Elpmis-63A. It’s in a small canyon. I’m told it is part of the Pahrump Hills outcroppings. Those things you see that look like human hand, arm, and skull fossils are believed to be from a previous, um, society for lack of a better term.”

  Several journalists raised their hands trying to ask the obvious question; what else did the Curiosity rover find? The president ignored them and continued speaking.

  “The desire for mankind to explore other worlds has always been there, but we are a species that sometimes needs a little motivation, a little push. What you have in your hands is a truckload of motivation. An explosion of push. I have been in meetings with our NASA director, members of Congress, and the Pentagon all this week.”

  The president drank the rest of his water to prepare for his bombshell statement. The LA Times reporter ran out the door of the room. He thought he had his scoop, but he was about to miss the best part.

  “We will be shifting some budget around and reallocating some funds, but I am here today to say that we are going to send people to Mars. Now, my advisors tell me that one year from now our planet and Mars will be unusually close in their orbits. They say this rare launch window only happens every 26 months. So, I am making a promise to the American people today. One year from now, by the end of next autumn, I propose that we put a man or woman on Mars to learn all that our ancient neighbors on the Red Planet have to teach us. I want to know what important lessons they have to share.”

  He coughed to clear his throat.

  “Let me be clear. Before another year passes, just before the next presidential election, we will send astronauts to the surface of Mars and will return them safely to Earth.”

  Chris’s eyes widened and his mouth gaped open. Several news cameras caught his unflattering reaction and would use it on the front page of tomorrow’s newspapers.

  The president just promised something physically impossible, and it would be Chris’s job to either make it happen or fall on his sword trying. He knew that the president did this only to guarantee his coming re-election. A reversed October Surprise.

  The president continued, “These developments are new, and we will be giving out details as we have them. Now I leave you in the competent hands of our NASA Director Chris Tankovitch to answer your questions. Thank you.”

  The president gave a confident nod to the crowd and walked directly out the side door, leaving Chris all alone at the microphone. The next 30 minutes of questioning were unpleasant for the NASA director. The press wanted all the details for this so-called one-year Mars mission.

  Chris pointed to the journalist from the New York Post who asked the final question.

  “How much planning have you had for this mission so far?”

  Chris looked downward to carefully arrange his words.

  “Let me answer that and a lot more. Um… ever since the Moon Program, we’ve had a small team of engineers going through scenarios with regard to a Mars mission. That team
size has fluctuated over the years, but it’s always been there. They’ve even had test settlements in the Southwest to study the basic ins and outs of living in such a remote location. So we’ve done a lot of planning already. The only catch is the travel.”

  He continued, “Our existing rockets have very limited fuel. This means that it takes a long time to get there. That is our greatest challenge. As far as personnel go, we have a great group of veteran astronauts from the shuttle program who would be very qualified for this mission. As the president said, things are new and still in flux. I’ll have a lot more for you in the next few weeks. Thank you all for coming here today.”

  The press launched a battalion of questions toward Chris as he slumped off the stage and out the door. He wandered down the hallway looking for an empty room. Knocking on each door, he finally found a room that wasn't occupied, walked in, and collapsed into a sofa.

  Chris was trying to get his head around all that had just happened. He missed all of the glory, but got all of the daggers. A sound of shuffling footsteps came down the hallway. Jim, the stage assistant, walked past the open door, but doubled back after he saw Chris sitting dumbfounded on the sofa.

  Jim rotated his head to read the name plate next to the door jamb and said, “Oh, there you are Director… Sally?”

  He laughed as they both realized Chris was in some random NASA employee’s office.

  “I’m a bit late, but here’s that bottle of water that you asked for.”

  “Hah, yes, thank you, Jim,” Chris said quietly.

  Chris opened the bottle and chuckled at the absurdity of President Jennings’ plan. After all, it currently took six to nine months to travel to Mars. That means it was mathematically impossible to send astronauts there and return them before the next presidential election. Well, not unless you had a time machine or some kind of miracle rocket engine that ran forever.

  Chapter 4