“Data-link check.” Masters checked to be sure that the booster was still exchanging information with the launch computers. The check was all automatic, but it still took several long moments. Finally: “Data connection nominal. Two minutes to launch window/’ Masters turned to Colonel Foch. “We need final range clearance, Colonel.”
Foch was staring intently at one of the screens on the console, which was displaying atmospheric data relayed from the White Sands Missile Range headquarters through their extensive sensor network. “I show the winds at the maximum Q limits, Doctor Masters,” he said. “We should abort.”
“Roosevelt says he’s a go,” Masters replied, ignoring the warning and checking the readouts again. “Let’s proceed.” Jon looked at Kaddiri as he hit the intercom button. “Helen?”
She removed her oxygen mask as she walked back to the command console. “It’s pretty risky, Jon.”
“Helen, ‘pretty risky’ is not a ‘no.’ Unless I hear a definite no, I’d say we proceed.”
Foch cleared his throat. “Doctor, it seems to me you’re taking a big chance here.” He glanced at Kaddiri, expecting a bit more support from someone who obviously wasn’t sure of what Masters was doing, but he got nothing but a blank, noncommittal expression. “You’re wasting one of your boosters just to prove something. This isn’t a wartime scenario…”
“Colonel, this might not be a war we’re fighting, but to me it’s nothing less than an all-out battle,” Masters said. “I have to prove to my customers, my stockholders, my board of directors, and to the rest of the country that the ALARM system can deliver its payload on time, on target.” He turned to Foch, and Kaddiri could see a very uncharacteristic hardness in Masters’ young face. “I programmed these boosters with reliability in mind — reliability to deliver as promised, and reliability to do the mission in conditions such as this.”
Foch leaned forward and spoke directly at Masters in a low voice. “You don’t have to tell me all this, Doctor. I know what you want. You get paid if this thing gets launched. My flight parameters insure both safety for ground personnel and reliability of the launch itself. Yours only covers the launch. My question is, do you really care what happens after that? I think you care more about your business than the results of this mission.”
Masters glared at him. He whipped off his baseball cap and stabbed at Foch, punctuating each sentence: “Listen, Ralph, that’s my name on that booster, my name on those satellites, my name all over this project. If it doesn’t launch, I take the heat. If it doesn’t fly, I take the heat. If it doesn’t deliver four healthy satellites in their proper orbits, I take the heat.
“Now you might think you know my contracts, Ralph. You’re right — I do get paid if Roosevelt-One is launched. I get paid if we bring it back without launching it, too. I’ve already gotten deposits for the next six launches, and I’ve already received progress payments for the next ten boosters. But you don’t know shit about my business, buddy. I’ve got a dozen ways to fail, and each one can put me out of business faster than you can take a pee. I
Helen Kaddiri was surprised. She’d never seen Jon so wound up. He was right about the pressure on him and the company — there were more than a dozen ways to fail. Friendly and unfriendly suitors were waiting to snap up the company. The aerospace sector had fared very poorly in the recent U.S. economic mini-recession, and it was worsened by the declining outlook on all defense-industry stocks with the advent of
But Jon Masters had always let the pressure roll off his back. He paid lip service to the concerns of his board of directors and partners, and treated military experts like Foch and scientists like Kaddiri as part of his road show. He listened only to those who agreed with him. Sometimes he seemed too busy having a good time to see the danger in what he was doing.
