Kaufman’s jaw goes slack for a moment. While ratting out someone else isn’t my preferred strategy, I’m forbidden by threat of imprisonment from explaining to him that I was never a government operative.
“Any personnel working here in a government capacity have to be approved by a board member with an appropriate security clearance. You were not. This isn’t directed at you, but the Feds went around us.”
“There was a time constraint…from what I understand,” says Amin, making his best feeble attempt to point out the situation.
Poor Amin. I can see that this is killing him. He’s a flake and an oddball, but he’s also a straight shooter. He may exaggerate his version of reality to get a point across, but he’s not a liar. Watching me have to cover for him is torturing him.
“My point is, Dixon, that we can’t have someone here serving two masters,” Kaufman replies.
“Except the FAA folks, Gallagher and whoever it is that sold our thruster control system and spacesuit tech to the Chinese,” I shoot back and hit my foot.
If I’m trying to fly again, my mouth just screwed me over.
“We can’t retain anyone working for an outside agency without approval from the board or a court order. This was in your contract with iCosmos.”
Damn. This isn’t about letting me go up in space again. This is about firing me.
I think through the terms of what Flavor and the other spooks told me. It’s a weird position to be in where telling the truth will send you to Federal prison.
I’m sure technically I could have a lawyer fight the government on my behalf and remove any gag orders. But there’s the chance I’ll lose and have them as enemies. You don’t want enemies that have black sites for people they disagree with. Been there, done that.
“I’m no longer working as a special operative,” I reply. “My dedication is and always has been the furthering of the iCosmos mission. There were extenuating circumstances.”
“Circumstances that would have damaged the US/iCosmos station and possibly grounded us forever,” says Vin, trying to defend me.
Kaufman nods. “I understand that. But our policy is there for a reason. If your intelligence agency employers put in a formal request, we would do our best to abide by it.”
I choose my words carefully. “I don’t have any intelligence agency employers. I am not currently a government employee, consultant or anything.”
“This may be correct, but you signed a document to that effect when you came to work for us. That document also states that you have to notify us of any change in that status through appropriate channels.”
“So that’s it? I’m done here?”
“It’s policy, David. Neither Vin nor I have the authority to say otherwise.”
Yeah, and all he has to do is put his finger on the speakerphone by his elbow and call four other board members and it’s changed.
But he won’t.
Kaufman isn’t a bad guy, from what I know. His job is to present authority and accountability. If iCosmos looks like a puppet for the CIA or whomever, it affects their mission. This isn’t a company about rockets. It’s dedicated to sending humanity to the stars. Not just Americans. Everyone.
“So you need me to resign?”
“Yes…that would be easiest.”
The alternative is to quietly let me go and hope the press thinks that it was all part of the plan.
“Okay.”
“We’ll give you our standard severance package, even though you’re not entitled to it…technically. I’m not sure what compensation your government employers provide you, but between them that should give you enough time to find employment elsewhere.”
Sure it will. Maybe I’ll take an imaginary cruise with my imaginary government check while I assess the job offers I’m going to get after being let go by the biggest name in space because they didn’t trust me.
Stop it, David. Bennet and his son both died. His grandchildren lost a dad and Peterson’s fiancé has to send out cancellation notices for a wedding.
Remember, you’re the lucky one.
Eight
Jettison
Laney Washburn waves me away as I walk around my truck to open up the passenger side door for her. She steps out, places a slightly shaky foot on the ground and manages to make her way towards the tailgate.
“It’s not a feminist thing,” she says, pulling herself onto the bed next to me.
“I figure you’re in training,” I reply.
“Something like that.” She wipes a few strands of hair out of her eyes as the Cape wind blows across the bay.
When I first met her two months ago, she was a space blogger covering my launch. Colored streaks in her hair, glitter-covered shirt, she approached space with all the enthusiasm of a teenager with a pop idol crush.
Her personality was big and loud, the crutches she used to get around because of her MS seemed like just one more affectation.
She’s a pretty girl with straw-colored hair. In some ways she’s far more mature than her twenty-three years, in others she has a child-like vulnerability about her.
“I miss the colored hair,” I say, realizing she looks rather…um normal.
“It was a phase.” She glances down at a notification on her phone. “T-minus two minutes.”
Across the waterway stands an iCosmos Monoceros rocket. The very, very big brother to the Alicorn I road into space, this is the heavy-lift rocket they use to send up space station parts and NASA’s deep space hardware.
From here it’s still a tiny speck. But in just over a minute it’ll light up the afternoon sky as it sets fire to millions of gallons of methane, sending it into orbit.
“What’s onboard?” I ask.
“US/iCosmos parts, I think.”
“You think? I thought you had the inside track?” Last time we spoke she’d been offered a job at iCosmos in their astronaut program.
“I didn’t take the offer,” she says, staring across the bay.
“What? Vin promised me astronaut track for you.”
“And that’s what he offered.” She shakes her head. “I want to go into space, but not like that.”
“As an astronaut?”
“As a charity case.”
“Laney, you’re more qualified than anybody I know. You’re the reason we pulled off the mission. I can’t believe it.”
“I want to go because I belong there, not because somebody gets to feel good because they checked off some charity case checklist. When you went to the K1 space station the last time, would you have wanted me as your wingman?”
“Yes,” I reply without hesitation. “Basically, you were.”
“Okay…going back to when you had to ditch the Unicorn and bail out. What would have happened if that was left to me?”
“That was a rather unusual situation.”
“And that’s what being an astronaut is about. Being mentally and physically capable of handling those situations. I don’t want to be…”
“Cargo?” I point to the Monoceros. “Most of the people who are going to go up in that thing are cargo.”
“But they have a purpose. They’re going up to build the US/iCosmos station. I just don’t want to be a token.”
A bright ball of fire erupts from across the bay and starts to ascend towards the sky as the Monoceros begins its journey to space.
“I think you’re being ridiculous. Somebody has to go first.”
“There have been plenty of people with disabilities in space. I want to work there and be an asset.”
“Trust me, you would be.” I get the feeling she’s holding something back.
The noise of the blast rolls across the water and fills the air.
“Wait? Is this about me being let go?” I say over the roar.
Laney keeps watching the rocket as it breaks through a cloud layer. “It’s complicated.”