My perception of astronauts was always skewed. I know why i fell in love with them, why i dreamt and imagined and pretended to be one for so long. My simple six year old mind could neither contain nor completely comprehend the overwhelming, endless scenarios of prospective battles against supremely powerful space monsters hellbent on destoying the solar system, or discovering lost galaxies buried deep inside dying clusters of stars.
New worlds awaited, when i was six years old; an infinite array of colorful kingdoms i could claim for myself and my obviously enormous personal army. I imagined them all; Oceanic planets surfaced with swirling blue streaks that swooned in great circular storms; Tiny moons made of volcanic rock that sat against the horizon like an apocalyptic city made of stucco; Worlds of dirt that concealed huge circus freak towns and tunnels where you could walk your three headed dog and stay cool because the sky was made of fire and brimstone. I
imagined them all, and i knew i would only conquer each one as an Astronaut.
The countless hours spent exhausted in training classes doing unsolvable math equations, the years spent learning the risks and calculations, the international respect and glory for having achieved what so few have, the actual job of it, the honor, the brain that was needed .... i didnt know about or even care for any of those things.
I wanted the glory.
I wanted the violence.
I wanted to blast ruthless aliens from a dropzone door with a laser machine pistol while floating through zero gravity. I wanted to plant bombs on enemy space stations after doing somesault kicks that vaulted me through the black abyss. I wanted to put the massive suit on, piece by piece, with its clicks and straps and compartments and rockets. I wanted my face concealed behind that golden frontal plate mask.
I imagined them as a faceless army of indestructable elitists; men -- or at the very least, creations in the imitation of man -- who traversed through the galactic empires, stomping out the competition under their moondusted bootheels. I would be part of a specialized group -- like GI Joe or A-Team -- each member being responsible for a certain area of expertise unmatched by any imitator.
It was obvious to me that my specialty would be the Gun Guy; my obsession with super soakers and homemade pistols put together from old toilet paper rolls was almost as strong as my Astronaut fetish. I would be the point man, first to enter alien bases with both barrells firing wildly, knocking out smooth-lit ceilings, destroying doors and walls like a deisel truck. I would probably be the strong silent type, speaking only when there was something extremely obvious to say. I wanted to crush skulls against the ground of meteors while i sent shotgun rounds into the endless blackness of space.
Then, one day, i realized something about the Astronaut. Other kids would say in class that shared a similar affiliation with the desires to spacetravel; however their motives were peace and proclamation; interstellar unity and discovery. I shook my head, concluding these stupid children would become merely the mechanics who made the ships i would comandeer on my super-violent journeys to the outer rings of the universe.
But it didnt feel right anymore. It felt suddenly childish and immature. It felt like i should grow up.
As i aged i still studied the space men, keeping notebooks of names and acclomplishments that i began to quietly admire, the fire inside me extinguishing down to small sparks and kindling.
By high school the remnants of my obsession manifested through the occasional reading of a sci-fi novel, something like Hyperion or Old Man's War. The pulpy character cliches and ten-gee violence was a very occasional trip into the imaginary; a trip i began to take less and less. That was when i discovered Heinleins book.
I first read it when i was 18, on a plane from New Jersey to London, and then i read it again three months later over a four day vacation in Lausanne. It started to take me back, grasping me with intense scenes of rocket-thrusters and hoovercraft crashes at high speeds, the protagonists all fair game to the death traps taht awaited them. I fell in love with it. Rasczak's Roughnecks were the elite unit that i shouldve been a part of, and i started to daydream.
I read it again in Bolivia, under the skies diamond blue canopy, watching as silent jets slowly left their temporary mark on the horizon. I read it again after that, in Connecticut, home for the holidays and stuck inside during a snowstorm.
But it wasnt until i met the Astronaut that i realized how important Heinlein's book was.
I was in a bar in Baton Rouge, on a Tuesday night in the weeks preceding hurricane Katrina. I had flown down from New hampshire the day before to visit a friend, and we were planning to drive across Louisianna and Texas -- all the way to El Paso -- to visit several others. He was working the evening shift that night, so he suggested a really good bar downtown where i could just chill and eat some food.
Very uncrowded, and brightly lit by massive wall-lights, I ordered a NewCastle and sat at the bar with Heinlein's book, unfolding the top off of a pack of cigarettes. I was reading for awhile before he sat next to me -- the Astronaut -- and after he ordered a pint he glanced at the book in my hands.
"Ah," he said, his voice weathered and mature. "Starship Troopers, eh?" I looked up and grinned, the corner of my mouth curling upwards.
"This is my fifth time reading it," i said. "i love it."
"They love it too, over at NASA." He took a long sip of his beer and breathed, refreshed. "Its hot out there, tonight, man."
"You work for NASA?" i said, sipping my own beer. I was no stranger to bar conversations, and this one was shaping up already to be immediatley promising.
"Used to," he said, looking at me for the first time. Light crayon blue eyes twinkled beneath a slightly wrinkled face. He wore a graying high-and-tight haircut. He appeared to be about 50. "Back when i was your age, jeez ..." he trailed off. "I was in the thick of my training when i was your age. Joined the Airforce straight outta highschool ... wanted to fly jets. You in the service?"
"No, sir."
"Well I was. Aced all my testing. Was flying test missions by 1977, new stealth planes, all that."
"How'd you get involved with NASA?"
"Well," he said, sipping his beer. I offered him a cigarette, which he took. "One day, couple fellas from NASA approached my CEO, offered me a possible position. Went over to Jacksonville, Florida, trained for about 25 months. Bunch of us were down there; most didnt finish. I met all the requirements."
"So you've been to space?"
"I've been all over space. Logged over 600 hours in the black. Did four flights, 85, 88, 90 and 93."
"Jeez," i said, figuring this guy was full of shit. He took a massive swig of his beer, draining the cup. "Can i buy you a beer?"
"Sure," he said. "My name's Richard DeCorey, pleasure to meet you."
"I'm Jake," i said. "Pleasure to meet you. I was obsessed with astronauts, growing up." He chuckled.
"They all say that," he sipped his new, free beer.
"No but i mean, really obsessed." I smiled, looking absently at the oak bar counter. "I thought it was like GI Joe or something, you know. Blasting aliens." He laughed hard and lit a cigarette.
"Where you from Jake?"
"Up north, near Boston. Down visiting friends."
"And readin' Starship Troopers for the fifth time," he said.
"Exactly."
"Like I said," he nodded at the Heinlein book. "They love that little piece of work over at the cape. Everybodies got at least two copies." He chuckled.
"Why?" i said after a moment. He shrugged.
"I guess because Heinlein was really the first to envision what it would really be like if we found something out there. He was a pretty technically savvy gentleman; a lot of the things he invented in that book have become either realities in our world, or there's some sort of construction goin on to create it. Like the suits." "
"Oh, god," i said. "I love the suits. The drop pods ... Its so badass."
"Heinlein was really the first to come up with all that. Now it just gets copies by everyone, from those Alien movies with Sigourney whats-her-name to those Halo video games the youngers guys play in the engineering breakroom."
"Nasa engineers play Halo?"
"Nasa engineers do everything normal people do."
"Except send people into outer space."
"That's perfectly true," he said. He nodded again to the book. "If we ever do discover intelligent life, i'm afraid the only way its going to end up is the way he envisioned it, the way he played it out." he took a long sip of beer. "Total destruction. Total war." He slapped my shoulder and excused himself for the bathroom. I glanced at the bartender, who had heard part of our conversation.
"Is he full of shit?"
She smiled and shook her head. "No. He's the real deal. He always says that someday we'll find another world."
"And it wont be pretty," i said.
"It wont be pretty," she said.
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