Cent: Dress up

It had been a busy week, and it wasn't slowing down yet.

This morning I had transfered three boxes of cargo and four people from the Johnson Space center to the ISS Leonardo module and returned Misha, Kate, Oleg and Commander Elliot to Earth per the new Apex Orbital contract. I must have been a sight, in jeans and sandals and my Stanford sweatshirt... not exactly NASA issue. They each had been jumped directly to a waiting gurney and whisked away to Medical to begin the long convalescence needed post mission. Nasa officials had arranged for me to duck out of sight before the newsies could include me with my new friends from the ISS.

On my monster of a list was acquiring a jump site for Star City, the Roscosmos training center, also the location for cosmonaut post mission recovery. There was no reason for our Russian friends to not go directly home.

I couldn't see Joe until the weekend, but I sent him a shmaltzy email from our com station at Kristen. I then donned the mask and prebreather rig for the orbital job later that morning, including the new wireless mike bluetoothed to the speaker on my belt. It gave my voice an echoey quality that I didn't like, but at least I didn't have to either scream to be heard, or hold my breath, raise the mask and purge after I said something. I looked through the (almost) daily list of offers that came through the website; mostly appearances at this party or those awards, occasionally something interesting like a TED talk or an interview by someone I really respected. I turned them all down, though. Not only was Dad paranoid about being somewhere planned in advance, I was just as leary, having escaped from the no-shit dungeon of a mad billionaire entirely too soon ago.

Tara was doing a fair job of keeping up with the mailed crap that came in, but she, like all of my besties, was still in school and needed time on her own to get through it. Apex needed to put out a 'Now Hiring' sign and darned quickly.

Grandmother was at the other com station conferring with her producer. She liked to keep 'My World', her TV show, as closely under her control as her contract would let her. "It needs to have a flavor that tastes good to me, or what's the point?" she'd said. The medical aides had received training from the network as video and sound techs, or just enough to operate the equipment used for her show. They were receiving an additional stipend from the producers of the show for their work.

I stayed out of their way. Mom was on duty as the station Jumper, and I went up towards the light to talk to her about continuing to be my backup for future planned missions. We were having problems making our minds up about the future of the company now that our cover was blown and the world knew that jumpers were popping around the planet… and into orbit around it.

"I want to restart our NGO work." She said. "Now that we don't have to hide how we get food and supplies into hard areas, we can work with other groups so they can distribute what we bring in. We've had offers to partner up with the International Rescue Committee and Care International. It's something that your Dad and I can do that will have a high impact per time spent, and Cent, it's really the thing that I started and love the most. However, your Dad and I agree that we should completely back your contracted work." She gave me a gimlet eye and added, "Don't take that as carte blanche to load us up. We all have lives."

"Speaking of lives," I said, "Could you ask Dad and Wanda to start looking for a business manager? I don't want to be the decider on how much to pay people and be responsible for all the corporate B.S. We're a company, we need a CEO."

She looked startled. "I thought you liked being in charge!"

"I like doing stuff. I don't want to make sure stuff gets done. I want us to decide where we're going; I just want someone else to dot the eyes and cross the tees."

Mom looked thoughtful and said, "I'll mention it to them. It will take some time to find the right person, I think."

I looked at my watch and said, "Gotta go. Cory's waiting on me." Mom waved, and I jumped to the new Matoska company offices. Cory met me at his office, and I thanked him for filling in for Dad as safety and Capcom.

"It's no problem, and to tell the truth, I kind of miss it." He said. "I like that now that everything is out in the open about your operations, I can do everything from this office. Um, why can't your Dad do this again?"

"He's meeting with realtors. We need groundside offices too, not just our warehouse. I'll be right back."

I jumped in my suit and gear and supplies, stacking them on the floor or along his couch as needed. Cory and I ran through the checklist. It was kind of nostalgic with him; Cory had been my first enabler and partner in my orbital ambitions. As we worked, he complained about the skyrocketing price of the EAP fibers that he needed for the suits. "There's only two companies manufacturing the ionic types with ECP cores, and those investors that I turned away got together and bought one of them. I'm talking to a company that makes much smaller ones destined for medical actuators trying to get them to ramp up the size I need… but it's an almost entirely different manufacturing technology. I have lawyers working on it." He showed me his crossed fingers.

Today's mission was our first real contracted retrieval; a six year old satellite used to analyze micrometeors in orbit for potential biologic matter. There were instruments aboard to detect such, but since I could get the package down, the University of Maryland had contracted Apex to deliver OEL#1 to the Johnson space center.

Corey gave me the thumbs up when we finished the checklist and I jumped through my adaptation sites to my standard orbit, like always. I hit the redial button on our Iridium phone and called him, for once.

"Spacegirl calling Capcom, I'm in standard orbit, how do you read?"

"Capcom here. You sound great. Ready for the target location?"

I said I was and he gave me the specs I needed and the ten second countdown. Suddenly I was in the earth's shadow above Jacarta, looking at the nightime world, highlighted by cities and roads and all the occupied areas. I disconnected from my leg our latest acquisition, an adapted Lowrance Marine radar in a mostly transparent pressured housing. The company had steadfastly refused to give it up for an endorsement, so the bloody thing had cost over 20,000 dollars and was the size of a breadbasket, with and aluminum radome on one end and a screen on the other

It did, however, work, up to 36 miles. I scanned around while waiting for Corys' callback and found the satellite behind me in a higher, slower orbit. I slewed around and jumped nine kilometers, zeroing in. Cory called me and I asked, "Has the client verified vacuum at the target?"

"Not yet. I just got them on the line." He paused. "Okay, Maryland, you're here with Spacegirl."

I said, "Doctor Nichaelson? Spacegirl here. Do you read me?"

A gruff, elderly voice said, "Yes, I'm here at the Space center. Do you have our bird?"

"Not yet. I'm closing in on it, though. Could you verify the chamber condition?"

"Yes, it's sterilized and in vacuum. Awaiting your delivery, young lady."

"Stand by." I could see it now, a dark, irregular cylinder half again my height. It had a mottled appearance rather than the standard dark metal, and I killed my closing velocity to stationkeeping three meters from the thing. I carefully noted our exact heading and moved to the same distance forward of its' path. I then twinned to the target location inside the large vacuum chamber at the Johnson facility face up to the ceiling, adjusting to 1.5 meters above the landing pads. I let the bird approach me slowly, and when I touched it, it disappeared.

I spun the target twin around and looked at the floor. The satellite was resting on a pad a yard high covered with a sterile tarp with the UMD logo in the center. I had missed that center by maybe… three inches. I never thought I would have a reason to be grateful to Hyacinth Pope, but this method of transport did cut down on the possibility of something heavy falling over onto me. I stopped twinning, hung in space and said into the mike, "Please verify successful delivery."

The voice was not so gruff now. "Yes, we have it. It's still transmitting, we're going through shutdown procedures now. Thank you, Spacegirl. Anytime you're in Maryland, please stop by. We'd love to thank you in person."

"Apex thanks you for your business, sir. Have a nice day!" I clicked off and had Cory call Tech Sergeant Mertens, our U.S. Space Command liaison and report retrieval of the UMD bird. She paused after taking down the info and said, "General Stirling would like a word, if you've a moment." I said I did, and hung there in the beautiful darkness until the General said, "Cent? Are you there?"

"Yes, General." I replied. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, my bosses thought it might be a bright idea to let you know, in conjunction with Apex Orbitals' remediation policy, what space debris is considered most dangerous to the orbital environment, either due to close calls or potential breakup. They've had my command list the top 30 targets that they would like you to prioritize. They know your weight limitations, and are willing to pay for tethers for you to attach to the larger problem children."

I frowned. "Do I have Space Commands' guarantee that all these birds are dead? I don't want the Chinese to scream at me for deorbiting one of their spy sats."

"The bird owners or past owners have been appended to the list, and it's been sent to the info address for your approval or action. My staff agrees that if you're going to be clearing out our space, it's best to have you rank your targets by problems they cause. This is a request, of course, Cent. But it's practically your front yard, so…"

I laughed. "So, best to keep the trash out of it. I understand. We'll take your list under advisement, General. Cent out."

I had one more appearance to make this day, so I jumped back to Corey's' office and went through the doff checklist with him quickly. I left the equipment with him until he could check it over and took a long shower at the warehouse. I jumped from there to the cliff house and finished drying off, then getting dressed in, what was for me, business casual. I applied makeup carefully and stood up straight in front of the mirror, trying to look as adult and take charge as I could.

I then jumped to the Rayburn House Office Building in Washington. I exited the women's bathroom at 2pm and walked calmly the forty feet into conference room A. Where NASA was fighting problems that I had caused.

I didn't cause any stir as I entered; people tend to see what they are used to seeing. I was here without any patches or Nomex coveralls, no fishbowl helmet on my head, but with heels and a skirt. For me, it was practically a ghillie suit. The cameras, both video and still, remained trained on the row of House Representatives sitting above the witness table. One man was watching for me, though, sitting at that table, and he turned and whispered to his companion. The both of them had to wait on the third man, who was giving a statement.

"... has always been at the forefront of technological progress. Changing times always creates opportunities, gentlemen of the Congress, but those opportunities seldom come without serious planning. NASA needs more time to evaluate its position in space exploration with the advent of new techniques offered by private industry. The office of International and Interagency…" By this time, his arm had been discretely poked and his companion leaned over to whisper in his ear. He turned and looked toward me and looked relieved.

"Mister Chairman, I would like to invite an unscheduled speaker to offer her advice on the subject. May I have her called?"

The Chairman looked a bit nonplussed, but rolled his hand in a 'go ahead' gesture while saying, "Mister Administrator, this is your statement time. You may share it as you wish."

The witness called over the Bailiff and handed over a Post-it note. The bailiff took it over to the chairman who didn't seem to recognize the name, but said all the same, "This committee calls Millicent Rice to the witness table."

He was in the minority. There was a murmur as I got up and walked to the table; the previous witness got up and courteously bowed me into his seat at the microphone and took another chair further back.

I sat and scooched closer to the mike with my statement in my hand. Grandmother had helped me with the wording and toned down some of my more off-color reactions.

"Mister Chairman, my name is Millicent Rice, also known as Spacegirl."