Occasionally, there’ll be an anomaly that the operator cannot fix—say, an overheating transmitter as the sun bakes the side of the bird facing its rays. The operator desperately tries to coax the bird to turn so more heat-dissipating material will protect the affected part, but to no avail. When the operator finally realizes he (or she) can’t resolve the anomaly on his (or her) own and turns to the supervisor on duty for help, they don’t yell “Help” or “Mayday” or “SOS”; they look up from their screens and wave their hand to beckon their leader to their station. The expert then quietly rises from his/ her own computer station, walks to the unhappy operator, and bends down to look at the flashing red numbers to which the operator is pointing on the computer screen. These are code for the problem occurring halfway around the world and thousands of miles out in space. The supervisor reaches over and moves the computer keyboard where he or she can tap the “backspace” key to clear the command column, then types in a series of numbers and letters to command the bird to take healing action. Both watch the numbers on the reporting display change as the action takes effect and the bird is saved. Then both go back to their normal work.

The battle was fought without anyone speaking a word. Welcome to the silent world of space.

Is it surprising that such people have made little impact on the guys with guns and bayonets, or that the warriors have had little understanding of how space can support their operations?

When I arrived at SPACECOM, I very quickly found the reason for this. It was fear. The space people were afraid that the mean, ugly warriors would laugh at them for being geeks, and the warriors were afraid the space geeks would laugh at them for being stupid. I knew I had to do something.

First, I accused the space people of doing “a war dance in their own tepees.” That is, they were busy creating systems to support military operations, but they were not out marketing their wares, for fear they’d get laughed at or rejected. Then I publicly announced that I was Geek Number One and that I was going to learn all I could about their black art. Since I had some experience getting shot at, I figured this was one geek the warriors would not reject. Then I started marketing the wares space could provide the warriors.

At the same time, I made sure that the often hobby-shop efforts of the space people actually related to the needs of the folks pulling triggers in anger.