13
PANEL DISCUSSION
For an early morning panel, Thrasher thought, we’ve got a good audience. There must be two hundred people out there. Of course, “early morning” meant ten a.m. But after the night he had spent with Victoria, it felt like sunrise.
Tired but happy, Thrasher couldn’t suppress a self-satisfied smile as he recalled their gymnastics in bed together. She was still curled up in his bed snoozing contentedly when he quietly left for this meeting.
The moderator was introducing the panelists sitting along a long table draped with hotel-issue white tablecloths. Of the six panelists, two were former astronauts—one male and one female—an executive from Lockheed Martin Corporation, a Congressman from Cook County, a women from NASA’s public affairs office, and . . .
“. . . and last but not least,” the moderator said, “Mr. Arthur D. Thrasher, founder and CEO of Thrasher Digital Corporation.”
The ostensible topic for the panel was “How Can Space Advocates Influence the Nation’s Space Program?”
Thrasher thought he already knew the answer: Very little, if at all. But he listened patiently as the other panelists ran through all the clichés about grass-roots involvement and political action.
“Congress does listen to the voters,” the Congressman was saying. He was fairly young, his hair still dark, his face lean and earnest. “But you’ve got to realize the tremendous pressures there are on us. Advocates from every part of the nation, from industrial groups and farm lobbies, from foreign nations, even, are constantly pressuring us to enact laws that will help them.”
“So where do we space advocates stand?” the moderator asked.
“You’ve got to get more voting power behind you,” the Congressman replied. “Your influence is directly proportional to the number of votes you can swing your way.”
One of the former astronauts, with handsome silver-gray hair, looked down the table at the congressman. “We’ve got thousands of citizens involved in the space movement. I mean, just look at the turnout for this conference.”
The congressman nodded, but said, “Look, I understand that most people like space. They want to see a vigorous American space program. But they want lower taxes, too. And they want jobs, they want their communities to be safe from crime, they want health care—nobody’s against space, but they just don’t have space high up on their priority list.”
The discussion surged back and forth. Thrasher listened in silence. He had heard it all before, for years and years.
At last the moderator looked down the table in Thrasher’s direction. “Mr. Thrasher, you’ve been very quiet about all this. How do you feel about it?”
Thrasher straightened up in his chair and reached for the microphone on the tabletop in front of him with both hands.
“I’m more-or-less a bystander here,” he began. “I’ve been a member of several space advocacy organizations for many years. I agree with the Congressman: until we can bring a million marchers to Capitol Hill, Washington isn’t going to pay much attention to us.”
“That might work for civil rights or some other cause,” said the Lockheed Martin executive. “Space advocacy is different.”
The NASA woman said, “That kind of populist pressure might actually do more harm than good.”
Feeling mildly disgusted, Thrasher looked out at the audience and said, “As long as you depend on the goddamned government, your space program is going to be run for political reasons. Hell, President Kennedy started the Apollo program to take the public’s mind off the Bay of Pigs fiasco.”
“That’s not true!” the NASA woman flashed.
“The hell it’s not,” said Thrasher. “Okay, we went to the Moon to beat the Russians. Once we got there and planted the Stars and Stripes, Washington’s interest in space evaporated.”
The Lockheed Martin executive said, “Perhaps interest in human spaceflight fell off, but we’ve done a magnificent job of exploring space with robotic craft.”
“But that doesn’t get the public excited,” Thrasher countered. “That doesn’t translate into votes and political power.”
“It’s important, though.”
“Sure it is. But it’s not enough.” Turning to the Congressman, “You say people are worried about jobs. The biggest boost to the American economy that Washington ever made in peacetime was the Moon program.”
“But it cost the American taxpayer more than twenty billion,” said the Congressman.
“And pumped trillions of dollars into the economy,” Thrasher countered. “Computers, medical monitors, new materials . . . the whole cordless power tool industry began when NASA realized they wouldn’t be able to run an extension cord from Tranquility Base back to Cape Canaveral.”
The audience laughed heartily. Thrasher knew he was preaching to the converted.
One of the astronauts asked him, “So what would you do if you were running the space program?”
“I’d turn as much of it as possible over to private enterprise. Let the goddamned government develop the new technologies, that’s what they’re good at. For the rest of it, private enterprise.”
“We already have private firms supplying transportation to and from the ISS,” said the NASA woman.
“Do you think private enterprise could take us back to the Moon?” the moderator asked.
“Yes,” said Thrasher. “Or to Mars, for that matter.”
“To Mars? Private enterprise?”
“Why not?” Thrasher challenged.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” said the female astronaut.
Hunching over his microphone, Thrasher said, “Look, we know how to build rockets. We’ve had years of experience of keeping people alive in space, aboard the International Space Station.”
“But Mars . . .”
“It’s a different order of magnitude, I know. But private enterprise can do it. The goddamned government isn’t going to.”
The audience roared its approval. They got to their feet and applauded wildly.
The moderator, grinning, waited for them to quiet down, then announced, “I think that’s a great note to end this panel discussion. We’ve just about run out of time.”
“No,” Thrasher said. “The time for Mars is just beginning.”