Up and Down (33 page)

Eugene held his own but could not always disguise his frustration and anger that Landon was unintentionally showing him up in virtually every aspect of the training program. Even though it was not really essential for the citizen astronauts to understand the math and physics underpinning lift-off, launch trajectory, orbit, gravity, and re-entry, Eugene clearly struggled, while Landon knew it all backwards and forwards.

By the end of the first month, it was clear to anyone on the inside who possessed the most primitive powers of observation that Landon was the star of the program. Eugene could see it too.

There were also increasingly invasive medical examinations to ensure that neither Eugene nor Landon was unfit for the mission or would carry anything untoward into space, from malaria and measles to flu and fleas. They both got clean bills of health although Eugene, perhaps as penance for being such a royal pain in the ass, and in a spasm of ironic symmetry, apparently had a very impressive inflamed hemorrhoid. The medication worked quite effectively, but regrettably, Eugene was still a pain in the ass when the doctors were done. Despite
TK
’s penchant for publicizing every morsel of good news even remotely related to the Citizen Astronaut program, there was no “Crank’s Hemorrhoid
A-Okay” news release, though I did come up with a draft just to entertain Landon.

In week five, Commander Hainsworth and the rest of the crew of the space shuttle
Aeres
arrived in Houston from the Kennedy Space Center in Florida to commence full crew training with their citizen astronauts. As planned, Martine Juneau became Landon’s mission buddy, and they were a match made in … orbit. They got along very well and were quite the team during the many training exercises.

One of the highlights that Landon had been eagerly anticipating was the simulation of weightlessness on the famed Vomit Comet. It was a repurposed jet liner with most of the seats removed. Wall-to-wall padding turned the plane into one long cushioned cylinder. All astronauts make several sorties in the Vomit Comet and invariably return to Earth deeply grateful for the soft walls, ceiling, and floor.

The pilot climbs to a lofty altitude and then carves a parabolic arc in the sky. As the nose moves from pointing upwards to pointing downwards, the passengers experience weightlessness for short periods of time. The pilots learned early on to remain strapped into their seats for these particular training flights, flying dozens of these parabolic circuits in one flight. You can find several YouTube videos of astronaut trainees somersaulting in mid-air from one end of the plane to the other, and catching floating Smarties in their mouths during these brief interludes of weightlessness. Why the name Vomit Comet? Well, one hardly needs to
ask. Let’s just say that human digestion of food works best in the presence of gravity. Human ejection of food works very well in the absence of gravity. After five decades,
NASA
had learned a thing or two about humans in space. It seems that a predictable portion of astronauts will suffer space sickness during their missions. It feels much like sea sickness, but you just can’t lean over the deck rail to throw up. Other than a few rides on the Vomit Comet, there are few pre-flight indicators to help determine who will get sick. Some astronauts will and some won’t.

Based on my recent Beaver flights, I realized that I can feel queasy in a swivelling office chair. So I elected to stay on the ground when Landon and Eugene were scheduled for their flight. Thanks to built-in cameras on the plane, I was able to sit in the control room with two
NASA
instructors and watch the in-flight proceedings live on a large monitor, while my feet remained firmly planted on terra firma. I’d said goodbye and good luck to Landon and Eugene on the tarmac as Martine Juneau led them up the steps and into the plane. They would be the only three astronauts on this flight.

It took about twenty minutes for the plane to take off and reach the required altitude. From the safety of the control room, we could see the padded section of the plane with a couple of rows of seats at the rear, where Martine and the two citizen astronaut trainees were sitting. We also had the plane’s audio feed piped through to us. We heard the pilot say that they were ready to start the first parabola. Seconds later, we watched as
Landon, Eugene, and Martine, resplendent in their orange coveralls, unbuckled their seat belts. They held on to grab straps to secure themselves during the plane’s climb. Martine was a true professional, offering support and guidance to both rookies. Landon had a giddy look on her face and seemed about ready to burst with excitement. On the other hand, Eugene was already a shade that I don’t think I can adequately describe using only the standard colours of the spectrum. And the fun hadn’t even started yet. Looking at Eugene, I wondered if facial pallor might be a good indicator of who was predisposed to space sickness. The pilot’s voice crackled through the control room speakers indicating the first arc was about to begin. Then Martine was floating freely, pushing herself off the walls and literally flying the length of the cabin. She grabbed on to a strap at the far end and gave Landon the high sign. She needed no encouragement and let herself float, completely weightless. I have never seen a happier person in my life. She just beamed all the way to Martine at the other end, turning over in the air and getting a sense of her own body in this new state. Then it was the gifted athlete Eugene’s turn. He pushed off the floor, shooting directly into the ceiling, head-first. The padding enveloped his head so that for a split second he actually looked decapitated. He floated back down and bumped his way along to join the other two. You could tell even before the pilot confirmed it that the first parabola was done. Martine and Landon settled onto a padded bench to await the next period of weightlessness. Eugene
missed the bench and hit the floor. He tried to make it seem as if he’d meant to land there, but with one leg folded at a ligament-straining angle beneath him, I don’t think anyone was fooled.

Over time, the two rookies seemed to get the hang of it. Martine could tuck and do somersaults, and even performed full layout spins. It was kind of like synchronized swimming, without the water, sequins, and nose clips. Landon was in her element. She eventually seemed nearly as comfortable when weightless as when subject to the force of gravity. She was very coordinated and could easily follow the procedures and exercises that Martine directed. Eugene also completed everything he was supposed to, but looked as if he might die at any moment.

The flight was cut short a few arcs early, thanks to Eugene. There’s a procedure commonly used by women when putting on perfume. I can’t explain how or why I know this, but I just do. Anyway, they will spritz a cloud of fragrance directly in front of them, and then walk through it to ensure an even application. Well, Eugene put his own unique twist on this manoeuvre. While floating through the cushioned cabin, he honoured the plane’s nickname and threw up his hearty breakfast. Then for good measure, he continued floating and passed completely through his own vomit cloud, ensuring an even, full-immersion application. What had been completely
in
him was now completely
on
him. By then, given my tender constitution, I was halfway to throwing up myself. Landon immediately pushed off the back wall and reached Eugene in one quick flight. There wasn’t much she could
do until the plane levelled off and they once again gained their original weight. So she just held his hand to steady him and seemed to be talking to him. Martine grabbed the microphone off the wall and spoke into it, I assume to curtail the flight. With gravity reasserted, the three strapped into their seats for the landing.

I waited on the tarmac as the metal staircase was rolled up to the plane and the door swung open. Out came Martine, followed by Landon still leading Eugene by the hand and still talking to him. He looked a little out of it. He’d changed into blue coveralls and Landon carried a big clear plastic bag with his contaminated orange ones. His overall look had improved to “gravely ill.”

“I was sick as a dog this morning,” Eugene mumbled. “In my condition, I should never have been allowed to get into that puke plane.”

“I thought your stunt was very impressive, Mr. Crank,” Landon soothed. “Not many would have the coordination and spatial ability – while weightless, remember – to capture every last molecule of your airborne breakfast in a single pass. Yet you did it. The plane is still spotless. You saved the crew a massive clean-up job, and I think you should get points for that.”

Eugene burped.

Landon winked at me as she escorted Eugene to the van for the drive back to the Johnson Space Center. I was careful not to look too closely in Eugene’s hair. But I can report that the smell was absolutely paint-peeling.

Amanda called that night and I could barely hold it together recounting the day’s events. It took me ten minutes to tell a four-minute story, because I couldn’t stop laughing. We chatted for about an hour and a half. She told me that Diane was really stepping up and doing a great job as the overall account director of the
NASA
project. Diane had celebrated her promotion by buying yet another new pair of freaky glasses. I can’t really remember exactly how Amanda described them, but feathers, two watch batteries, and pressurized neon were mentioned. There was no news about Crawford Blake since his abrupt departure from the company. He’d apparently taken a long trip to Europe and hadn’t been heard from since. I told Amanda that Kelly Bradstreet had spent a long time, one on one, with Eugene Crank the day it had all gone down. He claimed Blake had only suggested he enter the contest. He insisted he was completely unaware that his name would be drawn. Kelly wasn’t sure she believed him, but at least Eugene seemed marginally more cooperative thereafter. I said nothing to Landon about it all. She was too deeply immersed in her training and there was really no reason to tell her.

“Do you have any regrets about sending the incriminating photo to Margot?” I asked.

“It took me a long time to muster the courage,” she replied. “I had worshipped Crawford Blake for years and tried to model my career path after his. But the more we worked together, the more I realized that he’s really not that smart. He’s just a bully
and a blowhard who looks good in a suit. I don’t want to get ahead at
TK
by being a bully. After my last few encounters with him, particularly on the Landon question, it was an easy call to send the photo. And Margot was really supportive. I really think I’m in a stronger career position now than before. So thanks for passing it along.”

I realized after I’d hung up that we’d only talked about work for the first twenty minutes or so. After that, we just talked. It was nice.

Turner King continued carpet bombing the media to keep the program front and centre in the minds of Americans and Canadians. And I did my job in Houston, sticking close to Landon as she sailed through it all. At least once each week, I escorted Landon and Eugene to the media studio at the
JSC
for satellite interviews on talk shows and public affairs programs across the continent. I would work with them both to polish their key messages and hone their delivery. I showed them how to avoid the standard traps journalists would set, from “the long pause” to the “relax, it’s over, chat.” We covered them all. A
NASA
videographer accompanied the citizen astronauts throughout their training. I would review and sanitize the footage we released almost daily. I also took the lead on our social media channels, tweeting up a storm about Landon’s training exploits. In short, I coordinated with the Toronto
TK
office so that Amanda and her team could keep the Canadian media on a steady diet of Landon Percival.

At the end of each week in the training program, the
TK
polling team went into the field with U.S. and Canadian tracking surveys to monitor awareness and probe public opinion. Landon was pulling great numbers in Canada and her ratings were growing steadily. Deeper analysis of the cross-tabs suggested that most Canadians were appalled that there were still sporadic protests at the
JSC’S
main gate about Landon’s sexuality. Of course, the survey results were not for public consumption, but the insights certainly informed our ongoing communications plan. As for Eugene, well, the
TK
D.C.
team did a masterful and seemingly impossible job, transforming him from a petty and arrogant jackass in reality into a swaggering Captain America in the eyes of his adoring fellow citizens. The real problem was that Eugene Crank completely swallowed his own
PR
. He believed the artificially enhanced image of himself that
TK
manufactured on
TV
. He conveniently erased from his own mind the daily reality of his mediocre performance in the training.

Best of all, though, the client was happy. In fact, Kelly Bradstreet was thrilled with all the coverage and with the polls that showed public engagement numbers approaching those last seen in the halcyon days of the Apollo program.