Years have disappeared in the
white-hot dust, yet somehow I still remain. The flights are several
a day now. Sometimes I still marvel at the growth, but more often I
just cover my ears. Why are so many eager to get off this beautiful
blue orb hanging in the sky, I wonder. Young men in their hard
prime, young women in their comely loveliness shelled by hard
exteriors. They can't wait to go out into the void, be pummeled by
weightlessness and radiation sickness. The future beckons, and
nothing can stand in their way.
I suppose I was that way once.
But I was too old before space became a destination for the masses.
Birthed along with Sputnik, my hopes soared along with the rest of
our generation. A lifetime of survival followed. Space was for
the astronauts. Fans like me sat back and watched, waited for the
wonders that were supposed to follow, but never came. Finally, in
my 50's, I moved to New Mexico, to a desolate strip of desert that
held out hope. Hope that someday, regular commercial space flights
would happen.
The first few years were pretty
slow. A tourist flight one week. A NASA suborbital shot the next.
But I hung around, finding odd jobs cleaning and driving a tour bus.
And then a breakthrough in propulsion tech happened: someone found
the perfect combination of electromagnetic and chemical reaction, and
managed to contain it in a smaller vessel. And then the race was on
to occupy the Solar System, before someone else got there first.
An inventor came out of nowhere.
After his standardization of swappable L-ion battery packs for cars,
and construction of a hundred exchange stations, he made his first
billion. (Just pull in, swap out your Lion pack for a charged one,
and off you go, juiced up for another hundred miles).Then, he set his
sights on space. His system for paving America's roads with electric
cars was not repeated with spacecraft – at least not at first. But
he kept at it.
When he tested his first
successful hopper-rocket with the new propulsion pack, everyone
thought it was a stunt. The second time, the world was watching, and
they were suitably stunned. The third time, he had to go into hiding
afterward. The one who opened up space to the masses was arguably as
popular as Jesus Christ for a time.
I was there, when the hoppers
hopped. And when the tourist cruisers followed. An early crash
disaster was horrible to witness. But that only slowed things down.
When the first asteroid with a gold core was discovered, things
really got crazy. Thank god they finally built a couple more
spaceports on the coasts, and re-purposed Cape Canaveral and Edwards.
Our routine here in New Mexico settled into a steady twenty or so
flights a week.
Now, the once-deserted Spaceport
is surrounded by glass and diamond coated skyscratchers, and I have
my own little spot just off the main terminal. I get to spin poetry
and song into an entertaining weave for the traveling masses. They
throw coin, nugget and currency into my basket, along with
cash-cards.
I was born when the whole space
thing started, and I want to live until we reach the first Star.
They keep saying the mission is just around the corner, but I am
already pushing ninety. Wish they would hurry things up; I can't
wait forever, people!
- end