Launch on Need by Daniel Guiteras (small books to read txt) 📗

external relations, and finally we’ll hear from education. So, Tim, we’ll start with you.”

Tim Stevens looked up at Atherton, somewhat surprised. He had expected external relations to be called first; nonetheless, it did not present a problem for him because he was ready. From his briefcase he pulled out a folder containing seven copies of his two-page plan. He stood and passed them around the table, and drew looks from nearly everyone seated. To Stevens, they all seemed stunned—not by anything he had done, but by the predicament NASA was in. Stevens was about to turn things around.

“I want you all to have an open mind about what I’m about to present to you. I know it’s different than what we usually do when we have a publicity problem. Hopefully, by the time I’m done, you will see that this predicament, this rescue mission, or disaster,” Stevens said, gesturing to Atherton, “whatever we call it, is radically different from anything we’ve faced as an agency.”

Atherton watched Stevens carefully, well aware that he had hired Stevens against the urging of several of his advisors. “He’s not NASA pedigree.” “He has no history with the organization.” “There are a lot of people within the organization who would be a great public affairs director,” they’d argued.

Atherton had conceded to all their points regarding Stevens and his work history being nearly entirely in consumer electronics marketing rather than aerospace. But on Atherton’s first meeting, Stevens had displayed a certain energy that distinguished him from the NASA cloth. He was different than those who had worked their way up and had demonstrated loyalty to the organization, and who knew all about the organization’s history. Atherton thought it might be easier to get out-of-the-box thinking from someone who was actually outside the box.

“He’ll learn as he goes,” Atherton had assured his advisors, knowing full well that Stevens was younger than usual for the position and had significantly less aerospace experience than those before him. “Besides, he’s in marketing. He won’t be building rockets or Mars rovers. I’m confident his different perspective can freshen us up. In trying to understand various processes, he’s likely to ask us questions that will make us examine why we do things the way we do.”

As Atherton listened to Stevens now, the way he was treating the “disaster” as a problem in need of a solution, he knew he had made the right decision.

“I was up most of the night preparing this, so if there are any glaring errors or omissions, please forgive me,” Stevens said as he opened up his PowerPoint version of the document they were holding.

“Historically, we’ve taken a defensive position whenever we’ve gotten into trouble,” Stevens said, after cueing the introduction slide of his presentation. “When I say ‘we’ve’ I’m of course referring to NASA as an organization, and not necessarily to those seated here. Looking back over the years, I suppose one could argue that the defensive stance has worked reasonably well. But today I’m proposing we try a different approach.” Stevens paused for effect. “What if we were to take this disaster and turn it around so that it worked in our favor?” Atherton nodded his head and sat straighter in his chair, his posture encouraging. He did not know where Stevens was heading, but he liked the sound of the presentation so far.

“At this point we don’t know what’s going to happen with Columbia, frankly, and, whether or not we will be able to rescue the crew. Either way, rescue or not, we’ll be forced into a Shuttle Program stand-down while the foam problem is fixed. There will be no way around that, but of course I think we all agree it’s something that must be done. What we do have direct control of, however, is what we’ll do after the stand-down—that is, what we as an organization will do in the future. Will it be enough for us to just go on building the International Space Station with no other goal, or purpose, or vision? I say we can work this disaster to our advantage. What if instead of taking a defensive stance—where we give the media and public only minimalistic updates on how the crew of Columbia is coping with the wait for Atlantis, where reporters stand on the outside of the orbiter processing facility and speculate on the progress of Atlantis’s preparation for launch—we let America see the secretive depths of NASA like never before? What if we forestall the media’s desire to sling mud by offering unprecedented access to launch-vehicle processing, astronaut-training facilities and the launch complex?”

Atherton and everyone else seated at the conference table wore an expression that to Stevens looked like relief. They appeared relieved that maybe Stevens had found a way to handle the biggest mess the agency had ever seen. With barely a pause to let the group consider what he’d revealed of his plan, Stevens continued with the details.

“We’re gonna have what, 20 to 25 days of launch preparation? That’s an eternity for the media and the American people. That’s 20 to 25 days of programming content that we can control to our advantage. It’s a chance to teach the American people what we think they don’t know about NASA.

“A typical news story peaks by about the fifth day of coverage, as viewers begin to tire of countless video replays—the family stranded on a roof as flood waters rise and helicopters circle. It’s dramatic and captivating at first, but soon the TV anchors run out of new ways to analyze the situation, interest fades, and the story is lost.

“This situation with Columbia is significantly different. I mean, here we are six days into the story, and we’re just getting started. No one knows for certain what the fate of the astronauts will be, we all have to wait—and that’s what makes this story so compelling. When the president of the United States says the seven-person crew won’t survive unless we go get them, well, that’s pretty