Boone has paused, and Helen, who had spent some time organizing the best answers to any questions she might be asked, riffles through her collection. It was often effective to mirror language, so Helen could go with “I like what you’re saying about manifesting dreams. The history of space exploration is the history of people going ahead, of saying, ‘This is what we will do.’”
“Let me ask you another question.” Boone moves to put his hands in his pockets, but there does not appear to be adequate room for them there, or his jeans are too starched. “What would you say is the most important component of a mission?”
Helen has this answer ready. “Clear objectives, thorough training, good and effective communication between crewmembers.” This was true, or true-ish. Most of being an astronaut was not going to space, so if given the opportunity, Helen would go to space for no specific purpose and with a crew of anesthetized yaks.
“We have a clear objective.” Boone smiles. “MarsNOW isn’t exactly ambiguous. As for training, we are about to begin a very intensive four-year program. The first portion of this is something we’re calling Eidolon.”
The significance of the name, if there is one, escapes Helen. She employs a PIG-inflected “mmhmm?” and tries not to look like a Rapunzel.
“A seventeen-month simulation of the mission,” he says. “This isn’t another isolation study. It’s taking the regular simulation training methods to a new level, one that matches the unique challenges of a Mars mission. We want to give ourselves, and our crew, a chance to work in the most realistic conditions possible. The training simulation imagines a six-and-a-half-month outbound trip, thirty days of Mars, and then nine months back. We’re condensing the Mars portion from the actual eighteen months to thirty days because we already have a lot of good data from other Mars analogue studies. What we’re concentrating on are the conditions of getting there and back. So, this brings me to the third thing you mentioned. The crew of a Mars mission will operate with more autonomy than any other in history. The right crew will define the success of this mission as much as the technology. For the first mission to Mars, the right crew is the technology.”
There are occupations where declamations of wild enthusiasm are wanted, and ones where they are not. You do not want to hear your brain surgeon shout, “This is my dream!” over your gurney as they wheel you into surgery. At NASA, the too obviously gung ho got weeded out. You didn’t go on and on about how you wanted to go to space so bad. You clobbered people over the head with your qualifications and then talked about luck when you were selected.
“That’s very well articulated,” Helen says. “In my experience, the most successful and happiest crews on the space station were the ones where everyone considered working well as a team member to be the first goal of their personal performance. The longer the mission, the more important this is, the more simple acts of consideration and helpfulness become, as you say, part of the technology of the mission. I’m fortunate to have had three chances to see just what people are capable of when they come together to work for something greater than themselves.”
Too much? Well, she is not sad anymore, or dehydrated.
“Do you think astronauts are born or made?” Boone asks.
Oh, for heaven’s sake. Well, several options. This could be the place for Helen to say things about how there was nothing special about her, people had granted her the opportunity to give her best. Since Boone had mentioned how far women had come, it might be nice to say that she stood on the shoulders of all the women before her, women who had made her generation the first that didn’t have to prove they were better than men, who could trust that they would be judged on their own merits, neither singled out for privilege nor ignored out of bias. Sally Ride’s refusal to be the sole astronaut of her crew awarded with a bouquet of roses had led to female astronauts being able to knit in space if they felt like it. But that sort of thing worked much better with speeches made to women.
Boone could also be asking a literal question on the subject of nature versus nurture. He’d titled his autobiography Me and My Quarks.
“Both,” says Helen.
“I know NASA wants you to stay on as Chief Astronaut,” Boone says. “And we all know where NASA’s nose is going to be pointed now, no matter how people feel about it. What I don’t know is how you feel about spending the rest of your career selecting which members of the United States military would be the best people to drill on the moon.”
Rescue me, thinks Helen.
“It won’t surprise you to know that we’ve been having a lot of discussions about you here,” Boone says.
“I hope they’ve been good discussions.” If something is being dangled in front of Helen now, she must not snatch.
“Very enthusiastic discussions.” Boone produces a black Sharpie from the back pocket of his jeans and begins striding silently across the lobby to the double doors that lead into the laboratories. For a wild second, Helen thinks that their meeting is over, and he is going to leave her under a Playtex poster. That she would have a lot of trouble handling this—she could handle it, but it would be tough—gives her a clue about the extent to which she’s been trying to game her expectations.
Still, she’s not going to trail after Boone. Helen takes a few steps into the center of the lobby and then holds her ground.
“I’m not unaware of the speculation in the community,” Boone says over his shoulder. “We’re four years away from our optimum launch window. It’s when we’ve said it would happen. So who’s going to go?”
Boone draws two columns of three horizontal lines directly on the wall behind him.