later," Debra said, "businesses--not nations--are going to have to take the lead in outer space. It's why I devoted my entire career as a researcher to conceptualizing my thruster in the first place. I thought that someone with large high-tech industrial assets, and a proven desire to put money into somewhat unorthodox venture capital enterprises, would be up for breaking open a new era in human civilization--permanent exploration and colonization of the solar system."
Groomer and his cohorts just stared.
"Which," Debra continued hesitantly, "leads me to a question of my own. Of what possible interest could my project be to someone like
you,
Mr. Groomer?"
"You said it yourself," Groomer replied, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head. Over the course of the presentation, he'd taken his jacket off, loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. Something neither Chaffetz nor Broadwell had done.
"Beg pardon?" Debra said.
"New Zealand versus Burbank," Groomer said. "I mean, who the hell takes a tour to Burbank? Now, New Zealand, whole different story. For Americans especially, New Zealand is an almost mystical destination. Think of all the movies that have been shot there over the years."
Debra waited. She wasn't putting it together yet.
Groomer suddenly sat up and pushed himself away from the table--a surprisingly deft maneuver for a man of his apparent age--and stood up. He went around the table and aimed a finger at the image of the beautiful gas giant planet behind the ship.
"That's New Zealand," he said, tapping the screen. "Mars? Mars is a dustbowl. And the many robot landers we've had slow-poking all over the surface since the turn of the century have made Mars
boring.
We've all seen the pictures and the movies that the probes have radioed back. So, I think you've got it precisely right, Doctor. Why go to Burbank when you can get to New Zealand for not much more?"
"Which still doesn't--"
"Answer your question," Groomer finished for Debra. "I know. Why the hell does a TV guy care about going to Jupiter? Well, to be honest about it, I think it's going to be the greatest, most-watched reality show of all time!"
Debra almost dropped the clicker in her hand.
"You want to turn the Jupiter mission . . . into a trashy reality series?"
Groomer's adventurous smile hardened.
"Sure. Why not?"
"Well," Debra said, "I mean . . . it's just that . . . reality television is . . . I mean, my God, we're talking about junk food for the brain!"
"Would you be less offended if I said this was going to be a
nutritious
televised snack?"
"Like, educational?"
"Sure. We put together an intrepid crew of diverse personalities, including pilots, scientists, and anyone else who might be fit for the trip, and we do segments along their route. Each week the audience gets a half hour of the mission's best material. With a little directorial massaging for drama, of course."
"This won't be a damn crab boat plowing through swells off the coast of Alaska," Debra said. "Have you watched footage from the International Space Stations? Even I get put to sleep by that stuff."
"Trying to un-sell me on the idea?" Groomer said, his eyebrow going up.
"No!" Debra stammered. "No, it's just that . . . this is like Apollo, Mr. Groomer. It's got to have
dignity.
I'm proposing something more awesome than humanity has ever attempted before."
"And the first couple of Apollo missions were must-see programming," Groomer said. "Every TV set in the country was tuned in for Apollo Eleven and Apollo Twelve. But, sooner or later somebody is going to do what you propose to do, and after it's been done three or four times, it's going to get ordinary. It always does. But the first time . . . there's never, ever another chance for a first time."
Debra considered.
"Is your broadcasting corporation ready to put its money where your mouth is?" Debra asked. "It might cost billions."
"Hundreds of millions at the worst," Groomer said. "And maybe not even
Groomer and his cohorts just stared.
"Which," Debra continued hesitantly, "leads me to a question of my own. Of what possible interest could my project be to someone like
you,
Mr. Groomer?"
"You said it yourself," Groomer replied, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head. Over the course of the presentation, he'd taken his jacket off, loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. Something neither Chaffetz nor Broadwell had done.
"Beg pardon?" Debra said.
"New Zealand versus Burbank," Groomer said. "I mean, who the hell takes a tour to Burbank? Now, New Zealand, whole different story. For Americans especially, New Zealand is an almost mystical destination. Think of all the movies that have been shot there over the years."
Debra waited. She wasn't putting it together yet.
Groomer suddenly sat up and pushed himself away from the table--a surprisingly deft maneuver for a man of his apparent age--and stood up. He went around the table and aimed a finger at the image of the beautiful gas giant planet behind the ship.
"That's New Zealand," he said, tapping the screen. "Mars? Mars is a dustbowl. And the many robot landers we've had slow-poking all over the surface since the turn of the century have made Mars
boring.
We've all seen the pictures and the movies that the probes have radioed back. So, I think you've got it precisely right, Doctor. Why go to Burbank when you can get to New Zealand for not much more?"
"Which still doesn't--"
"Answer your question," Groomer finished for Debra. "I know. Why the hell does a TV guy care about going to Jupiter? Well, to be honest about it, I think it's going to be the greatest, most-watched reality show of all time!"
Debra almost dropped the clicker in her hand.
"You want to turn the Jupiter mission . . . into a trashy reality series?"
Groomer's adventurous smile hardened.
"Sure. Why not?"
"Well," Debra said, "I mean . . . it's just that . . . reality television is . . . I mean, my God, we're talking about junk food for the brain!"
"Would you be less offended if I said this was going to be a
nutritious
televised snack?"
"Like, educational?"
"Sure. We put together an intrepid crew of diverse personalities, including pilots, scientists, and anyone else who might be fit for the trip, and we do segments along their route. Each week the audience gets a half hour of the mission's best material. With a little directorial massaging for drama, of course."
"This won't be a damn crab boat plowing through swells off the coast of Alaska," Debra said. "Have you watched footage from the International Space Stations? Even I get put to sleep by that stuff."
"Trying to un-sell me on the idea?" Groomer said, his eyebrow going up.
"No!" Debra stammered. "No, it's just that . . . this is like Apollo, Mr. Groomer. It's got to have
dignity.
I'm proposing something more awesome than humanity has ever attempted before."
"And the first couple of Apollo missions were must-see programming," Groomer said. "Every TV set in the country was tuned in for Apollo Eleven and Apollo Twelve. But, sooner or later somebody is going to do what you propose to do, and after it's been done three or four times, it's going to get ordinary. It always does. But the first time . . . there's never, ever another chance for a first time."
Debra considered.
"Is your broadcasting corporation ready to put its money where your mouth is?" Debra asked. "It might cost billions."
"Hundreds of millions at the worst," Groomer said. "And maybe not even
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