Platinum Moon

Part One

Landing

On board PGM-1 in low lunar orbit

PGM-1, this is Flight Control. Initiate final checklist for de-orbit burn.

The flight controller’s call arrived on cue, one minute to the second after the small vessel crossed from the dark side of the Moon into a new lunar day. If everything went as scripted, PGM-1 would touch down on the gray lunar surface before passing from the sunlight back into the shadow of the Moon.

Roger that, Korolev. Lt. Commander David Anders USN (ret.) spoke with a well-rehearsed West Virginia drawl, an accent much beloved—and often imitated—by American pilots. Very little of the astronaut was visible except a crescent moon sliver of face and gloveless hands kept busy tapping keys on the command console. A gleaming white spacesuit littered with commercial logos encapsulated the remainder of Anders’ body and his head was wrapped in a tight-fitting Snoopy cap, also covered with logos. A microphone-tipped plastic reed protruded from beneath his cap, ending three centimeters in front of his lips.

Anders continued speaking slowly and deliberately, PGM-1 has initiated lunar landing subroutines. The de-orbit program is running. I anticipate confirmation of ‘Go’ status in three minutes.

Finally! Anders squandered a tiny measure of concentration to acknowledge the imminent fulfillment of a dream, a dream he had pursued for more than forty years. And this time it’s not another simulation! This time it’s real!

These jubilant thoughts scarcely affected the astronaut’s expressionless demeanor, his face revealing only the calm, focused confidence that comes from endless training, experience under fire, and the God-given instincts of a natural born pilot. Such tightly focused concentration was the trademark of a good pilot and allowed the suppression of irrelevant distractions—such as the mirthful chatter flowing from his two companions.

Very close on Anders’ left sat French metallurgist Dr. Mathilde Cholmondeley while Dr. Vipin Sachdeva, a South Asian chemist and asteroid geologist, was squeezed in on Anders’ right. Sachdeva and Cholmondeley had their noses pressed against the tiny portholes on their respective sides of the space capsule and were giving enthusiastic descriptions of the bleak moonscape in an incessant mélange of French and English, interspersed with an occasional burst of exuberant Hindi from Dr. Sachdeva.

Anders did not have a window. His view of the lunar surface was provided through a periscope extending up between his knees, supplemented by clusters of video screens streaming imagery from a large number of external cameras. Anders felt no need for an actual window; he knew perfectly well that the gray craters and pockmarked terrain of the lunar surface would look exactly the same whether viewed directly by human eyes or through the intercession of high-quality video cameras. Thus far everything looked exactly like the simulator imagery, evoking a vague feeling that he had already been here a thousand times before, a feeling that was simultaneously unsettling and reassuring.

Seeking to tune out the commentary from his shipmates—and to suppress metaphysical reflections about the difference between reality and hyper-realistic computer simulations—Anders began to enunciate portions of his landing checklist:

Korolev, this is PGM-1. Port side engine pre-burn diagnostics initiated, starboard side engine pre-burn diagnostics initiated, awaiting results of internal analysis. Primary fuel gauges indicate nominal levels of LOX and kerosene and the secondary and tertiary gauges concur.

Anders waggled his control wand and clicked a few of its buttons, causing the spacecraft to pitch a few degrees forward. He reversed the maneuver and reinstated PGM-1’s previous orientation. After similar verification of the yaw and roll controls, he resumed speaking.

Attitude control functionality checks out nominal and my concurrent systems check on the ‘fly by wi-fi’ is pinging up green.

Fly by wi-fi?

Anders had spent most of his early career driving the F-14 Tomcat, an ancient, now retired bird that was flown by mechanical linkages and hydraulic controls. By the time of his transfer from the Navy to NASA, Anders had also racked up several hundred hours flying the F-18 E/F Super Hornet, a ride that sported a fly-by-wire control system. Upon first flying the Super Hornet, Anders had considered fly-by-wire to be some sort of frakkin’ magic. And now, it was fly by wi-fi!

He continued his chanting; an almost shamanistic attempt to ward off failure, whether of man or machine.

Mission Control, port engine, pre-burn diagnostics check out nominal. Starboard engine, pre-burn diagnostics check out nominal. Fuel cell power reserves are at nominal levels and all life support sub-systems at optimal functionality. Switching over for back-up com check.

Anders again tapped at the command console. Now! Data pings are away, redundant telemetry flowing on auxiliary channels. Voice transmission on back-up frequency. Do you copy, Mission Control?

Awaiting a reply, Anders paused to allow his radio transmission to travel from low lunar orbit through an EML-2 relay sat having line of sight with Earth, and thence onward to Korolev. The delay gave him a moment to acknowledge that PGM-1 remained on the far side of the Moon, although they were already in sunlight. They had originally intended to land during a full moon, but a recent change in plans meant that during tonight’s landing, the various peoples of Earth would see a gibbous orb in the night sky.

Momentarily, Korolev’s reply reached PGM-1, after passing through an Earth orbit com sat before being routed through EML-2 for relay to PGM-1. PGM-1, this is Flight Control, we read you on the back-up com link. Signal strength and data flows are five by.

I copy that and read you five by as well. Back-up radio function is declared nominal, redundant telemetry are confirmed.

So far so good...

Next up was a series of visual sightings to verify the automated navigational display. Using his periscope, Anders located several pre-selected geographic features on the lunar surface. One after another, he centered a landmark in the crosshairs of the optics and squeezed a trigger, activating the Canadian-made LIDAR system. A tiny pulse of laser light burst from the emitter and raced toward the lunar surface, striking the chosen location. An infinitesimal portion of that laser light was reflected back and detected by a well-crafted slab of Canadian silicon. By tracking the time intervals and knowing the precise orientation of the laser pointer, PGM-1’s on-board computers could calculate the exact range and bearing to each landmark. Once that data was collected, apply some basic high school trigonometry and voila! PGM-1’s position was meticulously ascertained. To some, that might also seem like magic.

Anders toggled his microphone. This is PGM-1. We just passed Copernicus and are over-flying the Mare Insularum. Eratosthenes bears 317 degrees by 51 degrees, range 37 kilometers, which is precisely where our silicon buddies predict it should be.

We copy that, replied Flight Control.

Visibility was perfect, of course, with an unlimited ceiling. PGM-1 was traveling through vacuum with no wind gusts or driving rain, sleet, or snow to obscure his view or disrupt his trajectory. Today, PGM-1 would track true to the rules written by Sir Isaac Newton, and unlike the deck of a flattop, which pitched, rolled, and slithered every which way from the swells found on the open ocean, the surface of the Moon would remain motionless, behaving exactly like the giant rock that in simple truth it was.

Too easy, Anders indulged yet another brief idle thought. This lunar landing stuff is almost too easy. None of the contingencies thrown at him during the simulations were occurring and the landing was proceeding flawlessly. Anders almost allowed himself to acknowledge the running commentary that continued to gush from Sachdeva and Cholmondeley, as they remained captivated by the tantalizingly close lunar landscape. But not yet, no, not yet, he had a mission to fly.

Flight trajectory remains nominal; engines online and ready for ignition; fuel status checks out as nominal; all life support functions remain within appropriate parameters; nominal diagnostics for the RCS maneuvering thrusters.

Anders glanced at his video screens. Every landmark and feature was exactly as he had been trained to expect: gray jagged peaks, deep ravines, and those razor sharp lines that divided light from shadow—a phenomenon caused by the lack of atmosphere to diffuse and soften the sunlight. This unfiltered, undiffused sunlight revealed a lifeless, colorless world choked with a nearly monotone gray dust and yet... and yet! It was still the Moon, a place of untold romance and mystery. But now, Anders thought even as he continued aloud, All remaining systems confirmed as up and running, but now it’s different. This time it really is the Moon!

His checklist complete, Anders took a self-satisfied breath, toggled his mic switch and said, Mission Control, PGM-1 declares ‘Go’ status for de-orbit burn. Anders paused and spoke again. Repeat, PGM-1 declares ‘Go’ status for de-orbit burn. Do you copy, Flight Control?

Russell Office Building, United States Senate

Barbara Anders checked the time. How could she not watch?

Barbara had received temporary exclusive use of a small ancillary office within Senator Walthorpe’s office suite, a privilege offering a measure of privacy to deal with her conflicting emotions. Of course, her being Senator Lawrence Angstrom’s personal protégé had helped motivate Senator Walthorpe’s chief of staff in making the room available to her.

Barbara closed the mini-blinds to darken the room’s only window and turned on a small TV. As the flickering images took shape, the former Mrs. David Anders winced at the network’s overwrought musical score and ostentatious animated graphics, but she continued to listen as a talking head from the Global News Network (GNN) intoned, Stay tuned for continuing team coverage of humanity’s return to the Moon.

Barbara sighed, having turned on the television just in time for a commercial. The promotional announcement was touting proprietary ring tones as an inducement to sign up for satellite radio and television with GNN’s parent, the Global Satellite Broadcast System.

Subscribe now! a disembodied voice shouted while the text crawl read: Only $19.99 per month for radio and $59.99 per month for basic video.

Barbara sighed more loudly.

Subscribe now to the first truly global satellite television network and receive streaming content on your mobile receiver anywhere in the world. Subscribe now and as our special gift receive a collection of ring tones to demonstrate your support of space exploration.

Flashing text filled the screen: Subscribe now!

This is so damn tacky! Barbara quietly muttered to the empty room. Thank God Congress wanted no part of this media circus! And to think our President had the audacity to suggest that we collaborate with such nonsense!

As the commercial ended, a GNN presenter appeared split screen with a live external shot of the PGM-1 spacecraft. You are watching live images, the announcer said, coming from a robotic camera pre-positioned on the lunar surface. At this very moment, PGM-1 is almost directly above the Alpha site, the landing zone originally selected for the first human mission to the Moon since 1972. As we know, the Alpha site was de-selected after Lunar Materials determined that today’s landing zone will offer better prospects for the discovery of intact asteroid fragments, fragments expected to contain platinum group metals.

Barbara knew this already. Despite extensive robotic preparation of the Alpha site, it had been rejected at the eleventh hour, replaced by today’s location.

Such amateurs! Barbara recalled that Lunar Materials LLC had spent several billion dollars to pre-position supplies, robotic assets, and a prototype device to extract oxygen from the lunar regolith at the Alpha site only to later decide they had chosen the wrong location. Bozos! She thought contemptuously. NASA would never have made a mistake like that!

While watching the live video, Barbara noticed sunlight glinting off PGM-1. It dawned on her this was the same sunlight now filtering through the mini-blinds she had just closed. The same sunlight was illuminating both locations even though PGM-1 was on the far side of the Moon, many millions of miles away, piloted by a man chasing an adolescent dream, a selfish, foolhardy dream that had required the sacrifice of his military career and his marriage. Barbara watched PGM-1 travel away from the Alpha site cameras as she continued listening to the GNN presenter.

PGM-1 will soon move beyond Alpha site camera range and emerge from behind the Moon into direct line of sight with Earth. Very shortly thereafter, Lt. Commander David Anders will initiate a de-orbit burn and PGM-1 will descend from lunar orbit. After the initial burn, the engines will periodically fire at fractional power allowing the landing module to trace a graceful trajectory until it reaches a location a few meters immediately above today’s landing zone. Once there, PGM-1 will hover briefly followed by a smooth and gentle touchdown.

A smooth and graceful touchdown! Barbara spat out the words. How the hell did Hewitt finagle ITAR approval for those engine specs? Without the illicit transfer of American technology, there was no way Harold Hewitt and Lunar Materials LLC could have possibly developed those deeply throttling rocket motors, and without those motors, PGM-1 could never have been built.

Barbara’s question had more than rhetorical significance. ITAR regulations were intended to prohibit the export of vital technology to persons located outside the United States and therefore several of her fellow Senate staffers were examining Hewitt’s corporate acquisition of a handful of privately held X Prize Cup contenders as well as the astonishing circumstances surrounding State Department approval of the export of design data related to those deep throttling, fully reusable kerosene rocket motors.

A simple mistake, was the official State Department position, an explanation that failed to impress Senator Theodore Walthorpe or Barbara’s political mentor, Senator Lawrence Angstrom. These senators (and many others) were firmly convinced that Harold Hewitt had found less than legal means to obtain the controversial export approval. She also had no doubt that the administration had been criminally negligent in their lax oversight of Hewitt’s shenanigans. But thus far, hard evidence was lacking.

Barbara’s attention returned to the television, now streaming live video from inside PGM-1. Barbara saw the three Lu Mat astronauts, their attire encrusted with advertising logos. It had been over a week since she had last seen Dave on live video, that occasion being the unpleasant images of her former husband ascending a lift on a service tower immediately prior to boarding a Shenzou spacecraft at China’s launch facility in the Gobi Desert.

Why, Dave? Why?

Public controversy had exploded across the United States upon the airing of those images, a controversy fueled by Beijing’s relentless propaganda capitalizing on the fact that an American military officer had traveled to Gateway Station on board a Shenzou spacecraft. Many in the media had made strident objection to the American flag emblazoned on the shoulder of Anders’ spacesuit, as if it were just another commercial logo and some pundits openly bandied about the word traitor, which was a word Barbara had used herself, in private conservation with Dave.

Walking out on me was one thing, but walking out on NASA, trading your Navy commission for that logo-plastered spacesuit and agreeing to fly from China of all places. On board a Shenzou! And just look at you, Dave. You look like a goddamn NASCAR driver!

On the lawn outside the Nehru Museum, New Delhi, India

At 11:00 p.m. local time, Priyanka, South Asia’s hottest new singing star, pranced out onto a mobile stage, her entrance greeted with laser lights, elaborate pyrotechnics, and loud cheers from her adoring fans. Out in the audience, Sandip Dhokolia was impressed by the superb choreography and precisely timed entrance that was being expertly captured and displayed on six oversized video screens scattered around the venue. At the moment, Sandip was more impressed with the finely tuned professionalism of Priyanka’s production team than he was with the glamorous young woman whose image was being streamed live on those six giant screens.

Priyanka’s high energy, high-tech entrance was itself framed by the illuminated white dome of the nearby Nehru Planetarium and by the classical stone and stucco facade of Teen Murti Bhavan, a building originally known as Flagstaff House and erected in the early twentieth century to house the chief military commander of the British Raj. After independence, India’s beloved Nehru had occupied these same grounds and buildings as his personal residence until they were donated for museum purposes. Today the museum campus provided an historic and symbolic setting for Priyanka’s concert; a setting marvelously enhanced by a luminous stone white gibbous Moon, hanging high overhead.

Sandip, a graduate teaching assistant and Ph.D. candidate in economics, clapped politely as the pop star walked back and forth across the stage waving to the crowd. The two undergraduate students who had accompanied Sandip to the concert, Himesh Agarwal and Vijay Zakaria, were rather more demonstrative. Vijay enthusiastically shouted out his adulation of the young woman even as Himesh showed open amusement at his classmate’s fanatical intoxication with the popular singer.

After receiving extended accolades from the crowd, Priyanka paused at center stage, placed the palms of her hands together, and bowed briefly to the crowd. She stood erect, smiled and pointed up at the chalk-white orb, calling out to the audience, Can you believe it? She paused, pointed again at the Moon, and repeated her words. Can you believe it?

In response to Priyanka’s cue, the video screens cut live to streaming imagery from inside PGM-1 and a close-up shot of Dr. Vipin Sachdeva. His Snoopy cap was saffron colored with green and saffron bands on each arm of a gleaming white spacesuit, a spacesuit cluttered with commercial logos representing companies seeking to appeal to the subcontinent’s burgeoning consumer class.

Can you believe it? Priyanka said for a third time. Very soon, our countryman will find himself within a vessel at rest upon the surface of the Moon!

The video screens tracked Dr. Sachdeva as he turned his eyes away from the porthole and sought out the camera. He took several ritual breaths and composed his face into a serene countenance. Placing his gloved palms together and bowing his head slightly, Sachdeva spoke a single word in Hindi, the English phonetics being Nah-mah-STAY. Priyanka turned toward the closest of the giant video screens, pressed her own palms together, and returned the greeting. Namaste, she said.

On the lawn at the Nehru Museum, some in the crowd erupted with cheering. Others placed their own palms together and bowed with respect toward the video imagery of the South Asian astronaut. Sandip’s feelings were ambivalent. On one hand, he longed to join those who were offering acknowledgement of a shared inner divinity with a fellow human being—a fellow human being who was about to land on the Moon. On the other hand, to make such a display would be inconsistent with the chic and trendy atheism that permeated his university community.

Yes, Namaste could be translated as a simple Hello, yet the word simultaneously presented a wealth of religious, spiritual, and cultural significance.

Sandip looked up at the Moon and indulged a fantasy of seeking out PGM-1 although he knew he couldn’t possibly see the spacecraft with his naked eyes. Lights from the city and the concert had also conspired to drown out nearly all of the stars. But not the Moon! Sandip knew billions of stars were out there, even if unseen, perhaps offering allegory for a parallel truth that he and every one of his fellow concertgoers, as well as Dr. Vipin Sachdeva, shared a common inner divinity even if that reality wasn’t always apparent to the unaided eye. Sandip’s conflict remained as he longed to share the spiritual bond that would be formed exchanging the word Namaste across a video link, and yet he was torn by skepticism if not cynicism at the tawdry commercialization of these ongoing events.

As if reading his thoughts the video boards cut away to a short commercial segment. Sandip sighed. More commercials! He directed his attention back toward the stage where Priyanka had stepped off to one side and was sipping from a bottle of water, waiting to begin her brief concert. The concert was scheduled to end shortly before the touchdown of PGM-1 on the surface of the Moon.

Watching Priyanka, Sandip thought about his parents and grandparents and the parents and grandparents of his many students. The vast majority of those prior generations had lived humble lives as impoverished agricultural workers, in tiny villages far from any city. But now their children and grandchildren (including students such as Himesh and Vijay!) were preparing for high-tech professional lives embedded in the twenty-first-century global economy. Here in India—perhaps especially here in India—everything remained familiar yet was astonishingly new. The conceptual circles that had constrained the lives of their ancestors had been shattered and a seemingly limitless future stretched out in front of them. Sandip wondered what future would await his own, as of now, purely hypothetical children or perhaps his grandchildren. Today the exploration of space and the opportunity to expand human presence and the human economy to the Moon, to Mars or perhaps beyond was not too much to hope for and Dr. Vipin Sachdeva was living proof that such a future was within grasp of his own people.

Sandip’s thoughts were again interrupted, this time by the antics of Himesh and Vijay. Although merely a graduate teaching assistant, Sandip considered the young men to be his students and felt responsible for their behavior. It displeased him to hear Himesh taunt his classmate.

Vijay, Himesh said. I wonder what Priyanka thinks about your proposal for marriage? Do you think she’s even read it? So tell me, how many pages did you write to her? Ten? Twenty? Remind me, Vijay, how often did you write and re-write that letter?

Sandip saw that Vijay was willfully ignoring his teasing so-called friend. Thousands of young men just like Vijay routinely filled Priyanka’s postal box with earnest proposals of marriage and some of Vijay’s rivals were probably in attendance tonight, in this very crowd. I wonder if Vijay has realized that yet, Sandip idly mused. Sandip knew of another Priyanka, an undergraduate student, who rather fancied Vijay, but since she was a mere college girl rather than a singing super-star, Vijay had taken little notice of her.

When will these ads be over? Vijay demanded to know. A growing restlessness in the crowd suggested many others shared the young man’s frustration.

Not soon enough! Sandip muttered in reply.

Sandip shared Vijay’s dismay with the rampant commercial marketing, yet it was difficult to be entirely disapproving. If buying consumer products endorsed by Lunar Materials LLC was part of the price paid for opening the heavens to one’s children, how could that not be a worthwhile exchange?

Very soon, a fellow South Asian would be on the surface of the Moon. That was unimaginable ten years ago. No! Even five years ago, the prospect of an Indian citizen (a Hindu!) flying to the Moon so soon would have been unthinkable. Yes, India was pursuing an indigenous space program funded by the taxpayers of his nation and in a few short months, the Indian space agency (the ISRO) was scheduled to launch its first crewed capsule from the island of Sriharikota, located on the Bay of Bengal. Still, without the ongoing collaboration with Harold Hewitt and Lunar Materials, how many years or even decades would have passed before one of his countrymen would have reached the Moon?

The current round of advertisements ended with computer-generated images of the Indian flag being planted on the barren gray lunar surface. Sandip’s heart raced at the sight and at the prospect that soon, very soon, there would be a real flag colored white, green, and saffron and bearing a blue wheel—the Ashoka Chakra—flying on that beautiful lustrous orb. All across India, hundreds of millions of people—his countrymen—had gathered for events very much like this one with Priyanka. His nation had come together to celebrate the arrival of Dr. Sachdeva on the lunar surface.

Sandip couldn’t identify a single logical reason why he should care so passionately about the upcoming lunar landing. But he did care, and as an economics student taught to respect human rationality, Sandip found himself very much wanting to know why.

On board the FGB-2 command module, at the EML-1 Gateway Station

Colonel Sergei Gerasimenko, together with Captain Li Xueshen, a taikonaut from the People’s Republic of China and Dr. Cristina Ferreira de Mediros from the nation of Brazil were monitoring the progress of PGM-1 from the FGB-2 command module maintaining station at the EML-1 Gateway, 58,000 kilometers from the Moon and 335,000 kilometers from Earth. At the present moment, they had no direct line of sight with PGM-1 or the Alpha site, both of which were on the far side of the moon. Nonetheless, continuous communication was maintained through a few satellites in Lissajous orbit around EML-2, and those satellites had direct line of sight with humanity’s communications grid in low Earth orbit.

Gerasimenko and his two companions were closely following the live video coming from the Alpha site cameras and from PGM-1. If there was any disappointment at not being among the three humans to first return to the Moon, it was well hidden and in any event, PGM-1 would return to Gateway within the week. Thereafter, the three of them would have their own opportunity to travel to the lunar surface.

Be a good sherpa, Gerasimenko silently reminded himself. Even when a sherpa carries a paying customer to a Himalayan summit—on his back—an essential aspect of the deal is that all accolades are to be heaped upon the patron. In this case, that meant accolades had to be distributed in the manner chosen by Harold Hewitt and his associates at Lunar Materials LLC. It was the Golden Rule. The man with the golden checkbook writes the rules. Gerasimenko gave a virtual shrug. No matter, the opportunity to be the sixteenth man to step out onto the surface of the Moon wasn’t bad compensation.

Gerasimenko’s thoughts were interrupted by Anders’ transmission. Mission Control, PGM-1 declares ‘Go’ status for de-orbit burn.

Gerasimenko smiled as he recalled the many practice sessions in which Anders inadvertently simulated a radio call to Mission Control, which was in Houston, Texas, rather than the Center for the Control of Flight (or Flight Control) located in Korolev, a suburb of Moscow, Russia. During those training exercises, such miscues were often met with a bemused reply from the flight controller: Ah, sorry, sir, wrong number. Shall we transfer your call to Houston?

Gerasimenko smiled more openly after Anders’ voice again filled the FGB-2 module.

Repeat, PGM-1 declares ‘Go’ status for de-orbit burn. Do you copy, Flight Control?

The cosmonaut toggled his own microphone. Praise the Lord, Gerasimenko signaled. Our pilot has finally called the right country!

We copy that, Gateway, radioed the flight controller. But Colonel, please! Maintain radio discipline. The entire world is watching and, ahem, listening.

"Da!" Gerasimenko said with a smile. Radio discipline.

Gerasimenko felt a trifle mischievous taking that shot at Anders. The simple truth remained, however, that Russian expertise was responsible for the more critical elements of the mission and its architecture. He also knew that GNN was streaming all content on a timed delay and therefore his comments would remain in the historical record, but only after the fact and not as part of the global broadcast. Gerasimenko looked directly at the primary camera on board the FGB-2 and winked, in case Anders decided to toggle over to the Gateway video feed.

The Korolev flight controller stepped in to assert control over the moment. PGM-1, this is Flight Control. All sub-stations at Korolev confirm ‘Go’ status for lunar de-orbit burn. The board is green. PGM-1, you are ‘Go!’ for lunar landing.

Russell Office Building, United States Senate

Today, for the first time in more than forty years, human beings will be landing on the Moon! Global enthusiasm is sky-high and the Lunar Materials media consortium estimates that by the time PGM-1 touches down on the lunar surface more than one and a half billion people will be watching the landing, an endeavor undertaken in the spirit of global cooperation rather than Cold War competition.

Bullshit! Barbara Anders shouted at the television. What this crap is about is money, making money from a goddamn media circus! A media circus based on showing up NASA and the United States of America!

The TV presenter ignored her outburst. We at GNN, together with our affiliates are proud to join the other participants of our worldwide media consortium in bringing you live coverage of this historic event. Soon, PGM-1 will land on the Moon as part of a common journey undertaken by nations united from all around the globe, united in a multi-national commitment to discover, harvest, and utilize lunar resources for the betterment of all humanity. To open humanity’s ‘Eighth Continent’ and harvest those resources to enhance standards of living around the globe, beginning with Harold Hewitt’s quest to find and recover platinum group metals from intact fragments of nickel-iron asteroids scattered about on the lunar surface.

Barbara had reached her limit with this commentator. She punched the TV remote more or less at random and was rewarded with the face of Pierre Levesque, a prominent French critic of U.S. policy, speaking in French!

Bastard! Barbara said. But she lingered, unable to resist reading the real-time translation scrolling across the bottom of the screen. Levesque’s face was beaming and his voice was cheerful and buoyant, almost giddy with joy, further fueling Barbara’s anger. In spite of herself, she read the scrolling text that translated Levesque’s words.

"Today we are witness to what marvels can be accomplished when the nations of the world unite in peaceful cooperation, rejecting the pursuit of hegemony. At this very moment, an American officer, retired from his nation’s military, is guiding the PGM-1 lunar landing module toward the surface of our Moon. Accompanying him is an Indian scientist, Dr. Vipin Sachdeva, and Dr. Mathilde Cholmondeley, an exceptionally skilled metallurgist from my mother country, France. The people of France are enormously proud that Dr. Cholmondeley will be the first human female to place her feet on the Earth’s moon.

"Later, after sixty-five hours on the lunar surface, the PGM-1 spacecraft will return its crew to Gateway Station where they will service the spacecraft, re-fuel, and rotate crews. Soon thereafter, a second sortie landing will be conducted at the Delta site where Russian cosmonaut Sergei Gerasimenko, taikonaut Li Xueshen from the People’s Republic of China, and Dr. Cristina Ferreira de Mediros from the nation of Brazil, will become the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth people to walk upon the surface of the Moon.

I remind you of our scheduled broadcast of that upcoming landing and we look forward to bringing you continuing coverage, but now, before I continue, let us pause to review the biographies of these six heroes, our six representatives of a common humanity.

Photographs of the six astronauts filled the television screen together with six national flags showing their nations of origin.

It’s the fucking United Nations up there! Barbara Anders barked at the empty room.

Dave, Dave, how did you ever get yourself tangled up with Harold Hewitt? Harold Hewitt, of all people? You had it made. If only you’d just taken that transfer to the Pentagon you’d be an admiral by now!

On board PGM-1 in low lunar orbit

Anders felt a tiny sense of annoyance impinge on his emotional calm. Of all people, Sergei, Colonel Gerasimenko, should have known better.

Two years ago, Anders had made it perfectly clear that running a tight ship, NASA-style, was a prerequisite for his acceptance of Harold Hewitt’s offer to resign his officer’s commission and join up with Lu Mat. Presumably, that attitude was part of why Hewitt’s offer had been extended in the first place. But now, even after nineteen months of employment with Lunar Materials and after fifteen months of extensive training for this mission, Anders remained shocked at the casual attitudes of his civilian co-workers and the Russian professionals who had partnered up with Hewitt to undertake a lunar landing.

Anders scowled. Going to the Moon was serious business. Human spaceflight required that missions be run with strict adherence to a well-rehearsed script. No surprises and no improvisation. Anders forced himself to squelch that train of thought. It didn’t matter. He had a job to do and that required focus.

He muted his microphone and turned to chastise his two mirthful companions. Dr. Sachdeva, Dr. Cholmondeley. Quiet, please.

Until meeting with the Russian cosmonaut’s gentle gibe, Anders had successfully tuned out their presence even as they babbled away, describing the moonscape rushing beneath them. Anders understood that being one of the first three human beings to return to the Moon since 1972 was a pretty good reason for emotional excess, yet safe and successful spaceflight demanded that they follow the script, always follow the script, and that meant avoiding needless banter.

He repeated his command. Quiet, please.

Cholmondeley opened her mouth to protest the rebuke, to remind their pilot that hundreds of millions of people, perhaps more, were eagerly watching and listening to the first-hand commentary from PGM-1 as it approached the Moon. But Sachdeva lifted a finger to his lips to support Anders’ request for silence and his fellow scientist glumly nodded her acquiescence. Anders made no response except to release the mute key on his microphone.

Flight Control, this is PGM-1. All readouts continue green. I re-confirm ‘Go’ status for de-orbit burn. Primary chronometer reads six minutes until the descent window opens. Flight Control, do you concur?

Another short pause ensued to accommodate the speed of light.

PGM-1, this is Flight Control. We concur with a continuing ‘Go’ status. There is less than one minute remaining until you clear the horizon and establish Earth LOS. We confirm six minutes remain until the window opens for de-orbit burn. Analysis of telemetry confirms that the automated nav com has the landing ellipse zeroed in. The transponders from the cargo module are all pinging and we concur with the trajectory plots running on the PGM-1 onboard computers. All sub-stations at Korolev continue in ‘Go’ status.

I copy that, Flight Control, Anders replied.

PGM-1, the landing window is opening in less than six minutes. When you’re ready, call the burn.

That’s a roger, Flight Control, Anders replied. I’ll call the burn.

Anders knew this assertion was but a fig leaf to cover the illusion that