by T I WADE
“I agree,” replied Ryan. “Mr. Noble wrote that there are billions of tiny fragments and as of today, they have recorded pieces bigger than a large building. One piece, the crater they were mining, seems to be on a closer trajectory to earth. DX2014 was supposed to pass by at 600,000 miles. Could this piece of rock come 600,000 miles closer to earth in ten weeks?”
“I would suggest you get your Hubble friend to start following it,” advised the man in the white coat. Ryan’s phone rang. It was the CEO of Earth-Exit, Martin Brusk, a man whom he admired, and had only met once before.
“Ryan, Martin Brusk, Earth-Exit. Do you have a minute?”
“Of course, Martin. Congratulations on your achievement in getting to the ISS. I’m sure the government is falling over itself to get you contracted into working with NASA.”
“Yes, a little too ‘falling over itself.’ They are becoming pretty demanding on what the president wants. I honestly believe he thinks he owns the company. That was one of the reasons I wanted to talk.”
“Go ahead, Martin, I’m listening,” replied Ryan shaking the scientist’s hand and waiting for him to leave the room, shutting the door behind him.
“Your remark about the president’s interest in Earth-Exit didn’t go down well with him, and he wanted to know where this information was leaked from.”
“Simple. From the normal Securities and Exchange Commission open reports for general public viewing. Maybe you should remind him that any sizeable sums invested into companies are usually open for the general public. I went through the list of your major investors and surprisingly found his name three times totaling $50 million. I don’t know why the last government didn’t bring up the president’s investments before he was elected. Still he has done nothing wrong or illegal, or made investments subject for scrutiny.”
“I was hoping you would say that,” replied Martin. “He seems to think Earth-Exit and he are at loggerheads over his investments in my company. His major problem now is the payment the government is offering to purchase Earth-Exit, to make it dissolve into the new NASA program.”
“I’m sure his profit will now cause him further embarrassment with many middle class Americans who are broke and struggling to make ends meet. So, what did you call me about? How can I help Earth-Exit Martin?”
“Simply by selling NASA your company, Ryan. Not only will it take the president off my back, but it will allow you to purchase my company, Earth-Exit, and have me as a colleague. We could work together, and the president will not only have less scrutiny of his profits in the sale, but you will get me, my company and all our ideas for future space travel.”
“I think that is a just reward for handing over my company to the government. May I assume the president put you up to this?” asked Ryan smiling.
“No, this is the only way I’ve figured out to be bullied less by the president’s men. I don’t know much about your successes, Ryan. You keep everything hidden away in that airfield of yours. I must congratulate you on your mining expedition. It seems that you had the most profitable, most forward thinking ideas of the space race.”
“Joe Bishop, Gary Mortimer, Tom Ward, Les Dickens. Those names ring a bell? Ryan asked.
“Yes, you can include Hal McNealy to that list, the new Director of NASA. They axed Bill Withers for no apparent reason. He was the smartest administrator NASA had, and many will vouch for that. Yes, they have all been sniffing around here. These guys seem to be the president’s new goon squad. Even though he is number two, Gary Mortimer seems to be in charge of the Pentagon. I think his boss, the Chief of Staff, is just waiting to retire. I saw on television that they have also visited you in Nevada.”
“Yes, Bill is starting work here next week. Maybe you can tell me why there is all this fuss over our companies going to space.”
“Maybe, you need to be filled in on some new stuff,” replied Martin. “I’m in Silicon Valley right now and taking off for New Mexico in a few minutes. If you let me, I could swing by.”
Ryan suggested that was a good idea, especially if the CEO of Earth-Exit had something private to say. In this new day and age, you never knew who might be listening in.
Two hours later a modern Gulfstream came in from the west and Ryan had it parked out of the sun in Hangar Three, under the Galaxy’s wing.
“Welcome. Earth-Exit is keeping you fit and healthy I see,” greeted Ryan, shaking the younger man’s hand.
“Not as good as the Nevada desert is doing for you, Ryan,” replied Martin smiling. Both men had great respect for each other’s knowledge of their trade.
Martin Brusk was a few years younger than Ryan, a thick-set man of South African descent. His blond hair was cropped short, and his brown eyes shone out of his dark, suntanned face. Martin looked like the Californian he was, raised just outside of San Diego as a teenager. He wore khaki Bermuda shorts, brown boaters and a T-shirt showing the ISS being docked by his own spacecraft. The lightest part of his brown arm was the solid gold Rolex glistening in the sun. He was casually dressed compared to Ryan’s usual attire of open necked polo shirt and well-pressed khaki Dockers.
His headquarters were in New Mexico, a place Ryan had wanted to locate his company, but two space companies so close together wouldn’t have been a good idea.
As usual, Ryan showed Martin over to the bar where he knew a cold milkshake on a hot desert day was always the best medicine for the heat. The temperature in the middle of July was 112 degrees. Thank god it was a dry heat.
“So, you say Bill is about to start work with you?” asked Martin.
“Yes, he’s arriving next week, Tuesday I think, driving up from Huntsville, Alabama, in an RV.”
“I could have flown him in if he wanted me to,” added Martin. “I owe him enough favors.”
“Me too, but as you see I don’t have Gulfstream Jets, just an old Dead Chicken that the government might want back pretty soon, if I cause any more trouble.”
“But hasn’t your whole deployment into space been designed around that C-5 in your hangar?” asked Martin.
“Yes, my weakest link. I even offered Mortimer 50 million dollars for the ‘Dead Chicken’, as my pilots call it, and he countered with 500 million, ten times what it cost to build. Why is this greed suddenly emanating from Washington? A 65 percent tariff on importing rock from space, and they offer me 21 million dollars per load of radioactive waste, knowing that my profit will be zero. What is wrong with this new government?”
“Remember when the president ran for office promising the reduction of costs and a decrease of the growing debt?” Ryan nodded. “He told me himself that this would be his major plan for his first few years in office. There are no costs he can obliterate in the government, the military cuts has got them down to minimums, so the only other way he can reduce government spending is to take over private business. He has set up a plan to rid the country of private businesses he thinks the U.S. doesn’t need, like our space companies.
To get elected he made huge commitments to very powerful people, and they are holding him to his promises. He is already thinking about his reelection chances four years from now, and he doesn’t care how many people he puts out of work to make sure he stays in the Oval Office. Ryan, between you and me, I believe he is going to monopolize every large profitable business in the country, turn them into government controlled units, and assume the success of these takeovers as his own.”
“He or his government is buying your business?” asked Ryan.
“Was; until you spoke up on national television about his personal interests in my company,” replied Martin. “Now I have been ordered to persuade you to sell your business to NASA, and he will fold Earth-Exit into your business. He wants his 100 million dollar profit payout and I’ll be rewarded with thanks from a loyal government for stealing my company.”
“Being Commander-in-Chief, he has the Pentagon behind him,” Ryan added.
“Correct, this guy is pure greed. I think he has a kind spot so
mewhere in his heart, but no bigger than one of those tiny rhodium stones you brought back from your mining expedition.”
“Just greed?” Ryan asked.
“No, personal greed is his main motivation, but presiding as president and running a country to increase his own success and that of his supporters, is his second motivation. I’ve spoken to two CEOs in the steel industry who have come up against the strong-arm tactics of Tom Ward and Joe Bishop. They were forced to sell for fifty cents on the dollar a month ago and have yet to receive any deposit or payment for their businesses, both worth over 100 million dollars. Also, the IRS is going through their corporate tax returns searching for any unpaid taxes. By the way, Ward and Bishop’s superiors have been warned by the Oval Office to stay out of the secret presidential affairs Ward and Bishop are undertaking. They have open hunting licenses on private American business, and the hunting season has just begun.”
“That tells me why they all arrived on my airfield twenty minutes after my first load of precious metals arrived.”
“Not to mention the fastest bill ever to be passed by Congress; a 65 percent import tax on space metals,” added Martin. “I’ve heard that the Congress and the president are pressuring the Senate to pass this bill, but the media in Washington is taking an interest, purely because it was drawn up and passed the House so fast; and, it’s purely a law against your company, Astermine. So, if you have any more cargoes of treasure from space, I would guess you have less than a couple of weeks to get them down here before the government slaps on enough taxes to not make it worth your while.”
“The former president told me to get into bed with the media. He believes it’s my only blanket of protection against being robbed by this new government,” Ryan replied.
“Yes, he told me that after you had the media event here in Nevada last month. He also told me which media guys to trust, as many trashed him during the last election, and he believes that they were on the other side.”
“I have the media twenty minutes away if I need them,” Ryan stated.
“I have two news teams out of Santa Fe who are ready at a moment’s notice,” added Martin. “They certainly hate that Joe Bishop and are after him. There are several guys digging up as much dirt as they can on this NSA guy.”
“Send them over here,” smiled Ryan. “I have a few juicy stories from some of my pilots.” As he said that there was a knock on the bar’s door, and Allen Saunders walked in. He looked shocked at who was sitting with Ryan.
“Allen, good to see you again,” said Martin getting up to shake the former general’s hand. “Retired Air Force General, I hear?”
“As of yesterday, Martin,” Allen replied. “I’ve been here a week, and as soon as they heard I had contracted to work here, they expedited the paperwork to get me out.”
“Usual government policy these days,” Martin replied.
“You know a lot about Joe Bishop?” Ryan asked Allen. “Come sit down. I believe Mr. Brusk here is an ally, and not the enemy.”
“If you need more dirt on the dirt bag, I know a major in Dover Air Force Base in the fuel supply section who knows a lot more,” replied Saunders. “He was terminated early because he ratted on then Lieutenant Colonel Bishop stealing fuel. Also John Jones, one of the pilots in Ryan’s flight crew, could enlighten you on Bishop.”
“Is he around?” Martin asked. Allen didn’t answer, he let Ryan do that.
“Unfortunately, he is, shall we say, currently on a high altitude mission,” replied Ryan.
“May I assume that he is around that ancient Russian Space Station you so cleverly saved from reentry?” smiled Martin.
“I thought you might be one of the few who would understand my interest in saving that space platform from destruction,” returned Ryan, also grinning. Martin would certain know the value of having one’s own space station, and Ryan was the only person in the world to have his own bit of real estate in space.
“That was to be my third mission, after supplying the ISS. It was going to be either Earth-Exit or Astermine which would deter that sucker from destroying itself. It just wasn’t worth it for the Russians to do anything. Only Bill realized what its value was and there you were, with far better shuttles than any of us; I assumed you took it to a mid-level orbit. And, then at the same time, you return with enough jewels to get the British Royal Family excited!”
“No, the next reentry will make them drool,” laughed Ryan. How about a second Cullinan Diamond on earth, and another stone twice the size? That should make every royal family sit up and take notice, as well as the new King of America.”
“Do you have any reentry craft needing to land in Russia any time soon?” asked Ryan.
“Keep treasure out of the U.S.? Now that’s an idea, Ryan. I could fake an emergency reentry landing in Russia due to mechanical failure on my next mission. For a little bounty, I could handle an extra 1,000 pounds of weight on a reentry, no more.”
“Good, then if I need to have a ride out into space, and as many reentries into Russia as I need in the future, can I rely on you, Martin, for let’s say, half a billion dollars U.S.?”
“For that amount, Ryan, which is double the current value the government has estimated my one and a half billion dollar operation is worth to them, you have my word as a friend of space.”
Ryan was shocked at the lousy valuation Earth-Exit had received to be taken over, and realized that his own value, without the C-5 to fly his shuttles into space could be far less than Earth-Exit had been offered. They had their own space rockets launching his payloads into space, although only half a ton at a time.
He would be lucky to be offered a hundred million dollars! The exact figure a certain group had discussed somewhere in Washington just a day or two earlier.
Martin left shortly afterwards and Ryan seemed happy and unhappy at the same time. Watching the Gulfstream rise into the air he explained to Allen that it was good to have a potential ally who could get into orbit and back, but too many people were getting too close to him, knowing about his missions. Ryan always kept the secret of his real mission to himself and his inner circle.
It was time to see if any messages had arrived from space.
****
VIN was coding a message in Astermine Two. Jonesy was in a foul mood in Astermine One. They had decided to give the asteroids another forty-eight hours to either attract the dust around them, or for the particles to head off in their new directions. Jonesy was unhappy due to his girl being in the other craft, and having none of the alcohol stocks in Astermine One. He was not happy, until VIN told him that he needed a walk and that he and Maggie had seen an interesting stone pass across their windshield.
“That’s it!” shouted Jonesy. “We don’t need to waste two days. VIN, I can tether you like a dog on a leash and you can collect the jewels floating around out there; they’re more the size of Maggie’s new wedding ring. What do you say partner? Once we are done, we can swap craft and you won’t have to listen to old Frank.”
Both members of the other crew thought the idea had merit. VIN just enjoyed floating around. “Great idea, Jonesy. Do you have any water skis in your boat? I’ve always wanted to try water skiing. Throw me a line and I’ll buzz around like Darth Vader and collect all the diamonds I can. I haven’t used my walking time today. Let’s do it right now, the stone that passed us was about the size of a golf ball.”
Within an hour, and with Maggie following the golf ball-size stone slightly faster than they were keeping pace with the asteroid, VIN climbed into the docking port and waited for Jonesy to ready his line.
With the easy maneuverability of the spacecraft thrusters, and also because they were getting closer and closer to earth, VIN could easily be picked up if he floated off; also, they needed less and less fuel to return to Ivan, now just under two million miles away.
On Jonesy’s command VIN let go and, with his jet pack on for the first time this mission, he drifted towards Astermine One. He was aiming for the
docking bay and was only three inches off when Jonesy touched the switch to open the roof doors.
“Opening cargo hold roof doors now,” Jonesy communicated as he allowed the craft’s roof doors to open wide enough to allow VIN into the third compartment inside the cargo hold. Once in, he closed the door while VIN, using his helmet light, tied down the one or two loose canisters.
VIN exited, reentered and did the same inside the fourth compartment; two canisters in there needed securing. He took a third canister with him as he left while grabbing onto the long cord Jonesy had allowed float over the roof. Everything was now tied down in the holds and Jonesy could leave the roof doors open so that the cord connected to his partner would stay within the vertical doors if he directed Astermine One slowly and carefully. It would also help VIN keep the Kevlar cord away from the thrusters on either side as VIN secured it along the roof.
Slowly Jonesy used the thrusters to get closer to Astermine Two, about half a mile away on his starboard bow.
“How’s the skiing?” Jonesy asked him.
“Just remember I can’t slow down very quickly. This jet pack doesn’t have the same size thrusters you have, so be gentle and warn me. The skiing is very picturesque. Also I’m about fifty feet out from the rear of the craft, so stay slow and glide to the left or right when you see a stone. Or even better, go underneath it and I can rise up like a space shark you warned me about at the Beer Can, and put it in my silver canister’s mouth.”
“I still have the bigger one in view,” interrupted Maggie. “The diamond is about fifty yards ahead of me and there are two smaller ones close to it. I’m slowing slightly and I suggest you swing in front of me. I will keep the nose pointing in the general direction.”
VIN now felt like he was in traffic. He had a spacecraft in front of him turning in front of the other one and he was in the middle.
