***2010***(0010)

“Looks like they did it!” said Ivan

“Big deal” replied Sergei. “Everyone’s been doing that for decades.”

“I am not impressed. These guys all fail sooner or later.”

“It looks like it was designed by high-school students.” The room was against him, but Ivan held on.

“Well. Nobody’s gotten this far yet.”

“The bar gets lower every decade. Think of what we could have done with modern tools.”

Five men watched as the payload drifted away from the second-stage.

“Not impressed.” said one. “Now can we get back to the game?” The four began to rise.

“Tell me Sergei…” Ivan looked him in the eyes. “If you had a chance to be involved, would you turn it down?”

Everyone looked at Sergei.

“That isn’t going to happen, so why get excited? Anyway, it’s a dream that died forty years ago.”

The game ended early that night.

***(0020)

Sergei was hosting the game tonight. As always, the topic of conversation had nothing to do with their work.

“It’s sadomasochism to combine an intellectual pursuit with getting your head pummeled.” Said Sergei. “It’s the dumbest sport ever invented.”

“True.” Grigori conceded after giving it some thought. “but it’s so in tune with the national spirit… and to do it well is an untouchable feat.”

“True.” Said Sergei. There were no further comments. The topic of chessboxing had been exhausted. The next hand was played in silence.

“There’s another launch tonight Ivan.” Sergei finally asked. “How come you’re not bothering us to watch it?”

“Because you’ve all shown me my future as a useless old cynic. Why fight the inevitable?” Nobody had a ready response to that.

“God. I didn’t mean to break your spirit.” Sergei said. “And if you remember, you won the argument with a knockout punch.” Ivan’s spirits couldn’t be lifted that easily, though.

“Even if I won the argument, that doesn’t stop you all from being right.” Again, nobody had anything to add. and they played on.

Four men pondered the situation as they handled the cards. The fifth was only slightly younger in years, but clearly far younger at heart. Eventually Sergei thought of something.

“Tell me Ivan… what is it that you fantasize about that keeps you so young?” The answer was unexpected.

“What I... used to fantasize about, was the old launch platform off the coast of Kenya.” They all knew it. It had been built and abandoned by Europeans sometime in the seventies.

“Ah yes.” said Sergei. “A low latitude, good weather, and an ocean to the East. It’s what we’ve all secretly craved since we were young.”

“No doubt you have some scenario worked out for utilizing the site.”

“Of course I did.” Said Ivan.

“But you’re not much younger than us, and we’re all slide-rule men.”

“That’s true, but we’ve all kept our skills mostly up to date… and maybe Africa needs people who can handle working in primitive conditions.”

“That’s us for sure.” said Sergei. Ivan continued.

“In any case, being old may be an advantage in this situation. Nobody would resist our departure.”

“You really have thought this through.”

“I’m guessing we’ll all be thinking this through…”

***(0030)

Two weeks later, Sergei showed up late, and he he wasn’t alone. The men at the table all laid down their cards and stood.

“Mr Corbel!” said one, bowing slightly. The others imitated the gesture.

“Sergei… I didn’t know you two were acquainted.”

“I don’t know Yuri well, but I report to him.” Said Sergei. “I mentioned the African site when he called me in to his office last Monday.”

“Do you have room for a sixth at the table?” Asked the newcomer. Everyone moved to accommodate him.

They sat, and the dealer dealt. It was Mr Corbel who broke the silence... Nobody could understand what he had said.

“That was ‘hello gentlemen’ in Swahili.” Said Mr Corbel. “I began learning it last week.” Ivan was the first one bold enough to reply.

“I never imagined that these four would buy into that fantasy… and I never imagined I’d be in the same room with you Mr Corbel.”

“Firstly, you must all call me Yuri… and the story of my involvement in your plan, if there is a plan, is a simple one.”

“There’s no plan sir, it was never more than fantasy. But with you involved…” Corbel lifted his hand.

“Please don’t get excited. Even with my involvement the probability of any sort of outcome is low.”

“It’s too late.” said Ivan. “I’m already excited.” The others all nodded. Corbel continued.

“What happened is that Sergei told me offhandedly about his friend’s childish fantasy, and after our meeting, I called a very old acquaintance at the university in Nairobi. He, it turns out, was preoccupied because he’s been losing many of his best students to American universities, and because many of them never set foot again in Africa.”

“But what does that have to do with the launch site?”

“Nothing, directly. Indirectly, who knows? I’ve accepted a teaching post there, I’ve had my vaccinations, and I depart next Wednesday.” The younger men sat shocked. Yuri continued.

“My job at the design bureau has been little more than honorary for the past ten years. And in any case, I’m overdue for retirement… My car will go to Sergei, and my house will go to my Nephew and his wife, who are already living there with me.”

“You must like your nephew.”

“No. I don’t.” replied Corbel, smiling. “But I love the rest of his family, and his children are the only thing that have kept me going for the past decade… Now I also have renewed purpose, and maybe an adventure!”

Little card-playing was done that evening. When the men rose to leave, Corbel pulled a small book from his pocket and showed it around. It was a Russian-Swahili dictionary.

“Sergei has one too.” Corbel said. Sergei pulled his out of a pocket, smiling. Corbel continued.

“It’s probably best if the rest of you don’t all buy these.” He cautioned the men.

“It’s surprising to hear you talk that way.” Said one.

“Why?” Replied Yuri. “Because I’m patriotic?”

“We all thought you were.”

“I am patriotic. However the government, understandably, can get somewhat possessive of people of our stature, and in our line of work. They... and others, might draw some fanciful conclusions should we all suddenly adopt so unusual an interest.”

***(0040)

“You’re all here, and earlier than usual this week.” said Sergei, as he entered the dining room.

“Can you guess why?” Said Boris, who was this week’s host. Sergei Smiled.

“Of course you’re all anxious for news.” He said, taking the seat that had been made ready for him. “And you will not be disappointed… But shall I deal first?” Someone thew a poker chip at him.

“Alright.” said Sergei. “Let me start then by reading the email that Corbel sent two days ago”

Dear Sergei,

Arrived late Sunday evening and was met at the airport by professor Kamburu, who oversees all physical sciences at the University. He took me to the on-campus quarters in which I am now living.

Monday I was guest lecturer in Kamburu’s advanced undergraduate physics class. Most sciences here are taught in English, In which I am capable. The students applauded me afterwards and then presented me with a gift bowl.

On Wednesday, I gave a talk on the early days of space exploration, in the school’s main auditorium. I’ve Spoken on this subject many times in English. This time I added some material of special interest to Africa, and I said some words in both Swahili and Kudu. The room was packed, and there was even a small press presence.

Kamburu has warned me, delicately, not to venture out into the city unescorted until I am better acquainted with my surroundings. He needn’t worry, I am jealously guarding my health and safety now, something I was not doing a month ago. It is quite possible that I am presently the happiest man on Earth. Excuse the brevity of this letter, but there is much to do. More news when I have it.

<<Godspeed friends>>¹

Yuri

The men were all smiling.

“It looks like you’ve read that letter several times.” said Boris, pointing at the well-worn printout in Sergei’s hands. Sergei nodded.

***(0050)

“Perhaps Sergei should host every week so that the rest of us don’t have to wait in suspense.” said Ivan, who was this week’s host. They watched the door as they played.

When Sergei arrived, he apologized for being so late, took his seat, and began to read.

<<Greetings Sergei,>>

This Tuesday at 17:00 I attended a meeting of the University Rocketry Club. Three young men showed up, one of whom is a political science major. Their faculty advisor, who teaches plant biology, has never attended a meeting. The annual budget is $30- US.

At first, the boys were too embarrassed to have me watch their activities, but I was eventually able to persuade them. They took me to an empty lot adjacent to the Campus, and there they launched two rockets.

Each rocket consisted of a store-bought solid motor, with a nosecone cut from a plastic hot-sauce bottle that has a narrow, conical top. There were also fins cut from a square-sided plastic bottle. Everything was held together with heavy tape. Their launch-pad was a wire coat-hanger that had been straightened and stuck into the dirt, and along which rode a straw affixed to the rocket. For ignition, they used a piece of dry grass that had been drizzled with fuel from a cigarette lighter.

Both launches were successful, and the boys allowed me to keep one of the rockets as a souvenir. I explained to them how they could achieve more stable flight by weighting the nosecone, and told them that this was mark-1, and that by mark 10, they would have something that they wouldn’t be embarrassed to show to anyone. I then bought beers for all from a local vendor, and we drank them by the launch pad (photo attached).

I called in some political favors, and am now the new faculty advisor for the club. I also got the university to increase the budget tenfold. Mark-1 now sits in my new office next to a signed photo of me, Korolev, and Kruschev, standing in front of an early Vostok. There is so much more, but alas I haven’t time!

<<Godspeed friends>>

Yuri

***(0060)

<<Greetings Sergei,>>

For this Tuesday’s club meeting, I purchased an electronic wall projector, as the university owns only two, and one must fight for them. Word had gotten out that last week’s meeting was fun, and the classroom where we met was filled.

I began by showing a photo of Goddard and one of his early rockets, the usual lead-in to explaining the counter-intuitive aspects of stable flight. I kept my presentation more technical than it needed to be, and by the end, only ten remained in the room.

Two of the boys (Almost all physics and engineering students here are male) seem particularly promising, however one, named Masinga, has been accepted for transfer at MIT. He was already wearing their t-shirt, and carrying around a map of Boston. It is only through an extravagant effort that I was able to convince him to defer entry for a semester. How well I now understand professor Kamburu’s frustration.

The one female in the room was a Master’s candidate in field-biology. She explained to me that rockets are sometimes used in obtaining aerial photos for the counting of animal populations. Such rockets are costly. We all decided that such a rocket would be our goal for Mark-3.

There is no machine-shop on Campus. The only metalworking facility is a corner of the carpentry shop that is set up for the welding of railings and security grates. A couple of club-members have assigned themselves the task of seeking grants and donations. Their first score was a site-license for design software from a vendor in Europe. Now they are working to procure computers capable of running this software, as well as machines for fabrication. For the moment, though, we must make do with what can be scavenged from the university’s garbage.

Professsor Kamburu holds a high status in the University, so his help will go far. He also has government connections, though they are complicated by his activist past. He is thrilled with my contributions, and is busy working to entice more “celebrity professors”. Conditions are spare and funds for salaries are low, so he will not have an easy time.

The need, In East Africa, is mostly for Civil and structural engineers. The University’s program is almost nonexistent, and most engineers are trained abroad. As I’ve mentioned, the best of these students often do not return. You might mention this to your friend Boris, who I believe has done site preparation work, and who should have the skill-set needed to teach an undergraduate civil engineering class here. It is a difficult move, but a rewarding one. I’ve retained my status as world’s happiest man for almost two months now.

<<Godspeed friends>>

Yuri

“You have children, don’t you Boris?” Asked Ivan.

“I have a son, but he’s living in Texas, and married to an American… The difficult thing will be convincing my wife.”