Shattered Legacy

by Shane R. Daley

  “And you think Senator Wilcox is involved?”

  “If it’s politically based, it’s someone with juice.”

  Ristau looked down at his desk for a long moment. He shook his head. “I don't recall him saying -” Then he looked up. “Actually, he did mention Templar when I spoke with him last.”

  Tyler leaned forward. “What did he say?”

  “George was pissed that NASA was still behind schedule and over-budget on the unmanned lunar probe. He mentioned the success of Templar’s space program and asked me if I knew how Sinclair was doing.”

  Tyler could not keep the disappointment from his voice. “That’s it?”

  “I think the Senator would love an invitation to the space center. If Wilcox had his way, he'd probably gut NASA and turn the whole program over to you guys.” Ristau tilted his head as he noted Tyler's reaction. “That wasn't what you wanted to hear, was it?”

  “Does Sinclair have any other enemies in Washington?”

  “Over the years, the old man has either hired or bought out anyone who’s stood against him. He’s funny like that. Sinclair is a nice guy, but you know that the old man always gets his way, no matter what.”

  The conversation died away. The two men were silent for a few moments.

  Ristau shuffled a few papers and leaned down to open a desk drawer. “Well, it's certainly been good to see you, Samson. Perhaps we can get together another time.”

  “Javier, why did you quit the company?”

  Ristau glanced up, and his expression darkened. “I had medical problems, Samson. You know that. Hell, I’d probably be dead if it weren’t for you.”

  “I just took up some slack. That's all.”

  “You did more than that. If anyone ever knew how badly I was falling apart during that SEC investigation -”

  “No one knew,” Tyler said evenly. “No one will ever know. I owe you my career, Javier. And I never stopped being your friend. Why did you stop being mine?”

  Ristau said nothing.

  “During that SEC investigation, we played nasty, mainly because we thought we were in the right.” Tyler took a deep breath and released it. He looked at his old mentor expectantly. “Well, Javier, were we? Were we in the right?”

  “Samson, I can't tell you -”

  “It wasn't the stress that was doing you in.” Tyler approached the desk and lowered his voice. “You knew that something was wrong with the company, didn't you?”

  Ristau looked down and straightened a few more papers. When he lifted his head, his expression was pained.

  “At first, I thought we were innocent.” Ristau leaned back and spread his hands. “We all thought the case was bogus, that somehow we had stepped on the wrong bureaucrat’s toes or some disgruntled investors were pushing the regulators.”

  Tyler nodded. “Yeah. And I was the one who pushed for us to get aggressive with our defense, to play rough.” He looked his old mentor in the eye. “Did my self-righteousness blind me to the possibility that we could have been guilty?”

  “Samson, I can't -”

  “Did we ever manipulate our SEC filings?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Were we faking our numbers?”

  “I told you, I don’t know!”

  “But you quit the company right after we settled.”

  “I almost had a nervous breakdown,” Ristau snapped back. “That’s why I left.”

  “I think you found out what was really going on, and the guilt was eating away at you.” Ristau looked away, and Tyler continued, his voice growing louder. “I need to know what was going on back then.”

  Ristau folded his arms across his chest and shot Tyler a glare. “Let's just say that I can live my life better not knowing what really happened.”

  Tyler leaned forward. “I need answers, Javier!”

  “And I can’t give them to you!” Ristau shouted back.

  Tyler scowled. Rather than find out the truth, Javier Ristau had chosen to run away from it. Tyler decided that he wasn’t going to follow that same path. For better or for worse, he was going to get to the bottom of this.

  Ristau sighed. Then he slowly stood and came around the desk. “Listen, Samson. Whatever happened back then, we did what we thought was right. We won the battle we needed to win.” He headed for the door. “The truth is I don't know if the company was playing it fast and loose with the public offering. I don’t care anymore. I left Templar Enterprises, and I'm happy. Now if you can’t handle things -”

  “I can handle it.”

  “You’re still young enough to be idealistic, Samson. I helped you get on the fast track because you had done right by me. Maybe that was a mistake. All I can say is that I can't help you on this. I’m finished with Templar and I have nothing to say about my time with the company.”

  Tyler regarded Ristau warily as he met him at the door. Then he offered his hand. “Thanks for your time, Javier.”

  As he opened the door, Ristau asked, “So what made you think that Senator Wilcox was involved with your problems?”

  “A source.”

  “Well, I think your source is off on this one. Whatever’s going on, watch your back. Just remember that you’re just a small cog in a larger machine.”

  Lynn and Perry were waiting for him in the hallway. Tyler glanced back at his old mentor. “We should have had this talk a long time ago, Javier. See you around.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Outside for less than a minute, and already sweat soaked his neck and back. The dry desert heat was marginally better than the soggy humidity of southern Florida, though Noah Gettleman perspired in both climates.

  He walked briskly across the crowded parking lot toward the main administration building. Even in an age of instant communication, face-to-face meetings were sometimes a necessity. The three voicemails and two e-mails Gettleman had left over the last twelve hours had gone unanswered. He could only be ignored for so long.

  As launch director, Noah Gettleman's responsibilities extended beyond the actual launch and mission of his spacecraft. He was ultimately in charge of thousands of details and had to deal with a million and one potential problems. This current situation fell under the 'potential problem' category.

  The Media Relations Department had given a news crew permission to set up cameras just outside the main doors of the Vehicle Assembly Building. Unfortunately, while placing reporters near the VAB made for dramatic film shots, it was an extremely dangerous place to be during a launch. Allowing camera crews directly beside the orbiter was outrageous. The thruster backwash and exhaust fumes from the Naiad were toxic and hot. People could be hurt or even killed.

  Gettleman was about to give the media director a tongue-lashing he would not soon forget.

  “Doctor Gettleman!”

  He glanced back to see Tony Kanavos hurrying up the walkway.

  “Ah, crap,” he muttered.

  “Doctor Gettleman,” Kanavos repeated breathlessly as he slowed his pace to a jog.

  Gettleman turned around, squinting in the sun. Kanavos came to a stop before him, dressed in his technician overalls. He looked gaunt. Dark rings hung under his eyes.

  “What are you doing here at this hour?” Gettleman asked.

  “I worked overtime, sir. I was just heading home when I saw you leave the tower. Where you headed?”

  “Building Seven.”

  “I’ll walk with you, then.” Kanavos fell into step beside the launch director. As they headed toward the glass-enclosed entrance, Kanavos glanced around and said in a low voice, “I did a little more research on that … problem of ours.”

  Gettleman kept his eyes forward and quickened his pace.

  Kanavos kept right up with him, oblivious to the fact that Gettleman was trying to ignore him. “You were right on the money. Repair records were definitely altered in the zero-level database. I found more archived records. I think you should check it out yourself.”

  “Have you told anyone else abou
t this?”

  “Of course not.”

  Gettleman nodded slowly. “Good. Thank you for your help, Tony. Your job is done.”

  The tech fell back a pace, frowning. He waited a moment for more, and when nothing else was said, he asked, “That's it? I get a 'thank you?’ You aren't even going to tell me what happens next?”

  “No.” Gettleman stopped and turned. His face was red and slick with perspiration, though it was not all from the desert heat. “You kept your end of the deal, Tony. Now I'll keep mine. Consider your personnel record cleared and your transfer on the way.”

  The younger man stared with narrowed eyes. “They got to you, didn't they?”

  “What?”

  “No.” Kanavos raised a finger, then jabbed it at Gettleman's chest. “I put my neck out for you.” The technician was shaking his head, his jaw set. “Uh, uh. I'm not walking away from this.”

  “Tony -”

  “Now that you know something big is going on, it's your duty to find out what’s happening, to see this through to the end.” As he spoke, his voice grew louder, catching the attention of others nearby.

  “Don't lecture me, son. I have other problems to deal with right now.”

  Kanavos pushed back his cap. “Like what?”

  Gettleman let out a breath, and he seemed to relax just a bit. “Like crispy-fried journalists, for one thing. Listen, I spoke with the agency director about our problem. Our engineers know about the cracks in the engine cowlings. The issue has been and will continue to be monitored.”

  Kanavos searched the older man's face. “Do you really believe that? What about the maintenance records?”

  Gettleman lifted his eyebrows at the younger man's skeptical frown. “We have to trust our people, Tony. I shouldn't even tell you this; I’ve already taken up the matter with our legal department.”

  “And what did they say?”

  “They'll need proof before they can do anything.”

  Kanavos spread his arms. “Then send them the proof I gave you!”

  “It’s not that easy, Tony. You have no idea what kind of trouble this will stir up.”

  The two stood silent for a long moment. Finally, Kavanos blew air between his teeth. “And if something goes wrong on the next launch, will you be able to live with yourself, knowing that we had the chance to do something?”

  Gettleman failed to meet the other's questioning gaze. He turned and headed up the walkway toward the glass doors of the entranceway.

  “Are you willing to bet on that?” Kanavos called out. “Are you willing to risk people's lives?” The technician stared after Gettleman's departing figure and shook his head, hating the uneasy feeling that he was now totally and completely out of the picture.

  ***

  The engineer tentatively stepped behind the podium, stealing a glance at his watch before squinting at the harsh row of ceiling lights that obscured his view of the hundred or so audience members. He was dressed in blue slacks, a rumpled white shirt, and a paisley tie. Hesitantly, he peered over his rimless glasses and leaned forward to the microphone.

  “Good morning.”

  His voice boomed throughout the auditorium, startling the audience. He spent the next few moments adjusting the microphone volume. “Thank you all for coming down,” he continued in a distinctly softer voice. “I know we’re all waist-deep in work right now, but we thought it was time to let you in on some important developments.”

  The auditorium was packed, and Gettleman cursed himself for being late. He quietly slipped in through the side door and made his way across the front aisle. In the dim light, he nodded greetings to several colleagues before settling into his reserved seat in the front row beside Jack Kroft. Gettleman would have skipped this meeting had Kroft not strongly ‘suggested’ earlier that he attend.

  So here he was, listening to yet another project manager drone on about future launch timetables. At that moment Gettleman realized with a start that at least some of the people in the room must have been aware of the Naiad’s engine cowl flaw. He glanced back at the crowd, wondering how many of them knew.

  Kroft leaned over and spoke softly from the side of this mouth. “You’re late.”

  “I had to speak with Steve Burkett.”

  Kroft eyes narrowed. “Media relations? Was it anything important?”

  Gettleman ignored the question.

  As the speaker finished his opening remarks, a projection screen behind the podium lit up with a spinning image of Templar Enterprises' corporate logo.

  “I’d like to introduce our Agency Director, Jack Kroft.”

  With an effort, Kroft pushed himself up from his seat and walked to the stage. Strained applause sounded from the crowd. He briefly shook hands with the speaker as they crossed paths. He moved behind the podium and took a moment to arrange his notes. Then he looked up and gave the audience a broad smile.

  “Thanks for coming here today. This is probably the last time we’ll all be together before the Naiad returns, so I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you all for a job well done. The world has been watching us, and you've done a remarkable job.”

  He paused as the crowd broke into light applause. Then the projection screen flashed to an image of the Naiad in orbital flight above the crescent earth.

  Then the agency director ran through more particulars of the mission, mostly for the benefit of the press, who occupied most of the first two rows.

  Gettleman felt that the back-patting could have waited until after the mission was completed. He was glad that he was not giving the speech, though in all reality, he should have been the one on the stage. But Jack Kroft wanted the job, and when it came down to it, Gettleman really didn’t mind. Public speaking was not one of his strengths.

  A long silence brought Gettleman back to attention. Another schematic drawing appeared on the screen. Gettleman frowned. It looked like a variant of the current orbiters, a prototype he had seen in conceptual proposals.

  Kroft gestured to the image. “Final design drafts have been completed for the Orbital Transport Carrier. The OTC is a modified Templar Enterprises Orbiter with an expanded cargo bay designed specifically for passenger service. It will become the premier space tourism and transport vehicle of the twenty-first century. Like our current orbiters, the OTC Mark Two will take off and land like a conventional aircraft.”

  More murmurs ran through the crowd. Gettleman crossed his arms and hunched back in his seat. To announce the next-generation orbiter before the first had even completed a successful mission was a bit audacious. The OTC was at best a year off, and that was assuming everything went as planned and their funding remained intact. Those were some big assumptions, even for a bureaucratic optimist like Jack Kroft.

  “We plan to shop the OTC to several aerospace companies with the hopes of creating a joint manufacturing venture. Several companies have expressed interest. But that, of course, is in the future.” Kroft closed his folder and smiled. “Right now I have a very special guest who would like to share a few words with us.”

  Kroft stepped to one side of the stage as the image of W. Sinclair Dorian flickered and appeared on the giant screen. He sat in a high-backed chair behind a large oak desk, apparently at his private office in his home. He waited, motionless, for nearly ten seconds before he spoke.

  “I’d like to congratulate everyone,” he began with a smile. He cleared his throat. “Thanks to your trailblazing work, we took the first steps in realizing the full potential of private space flight. Today, dozens of private corporations are joining us in creating a new, vibrant industry of space exploration.”

  There was a round of applause, but Dorian hardly paused in his speech. “In times to come, you will be able to say to your children and grandchildren that you were there at the very beginning. You were there when Templar Enterprises opened up an entire new world, and when, for a shining moment, we alone held the determination and will to succeed - to forge a new era of human exploration.”
r />   Gettleman frowned. He noticed that the sky outside the window behind Dorian was dim. It appeared to be either the light of early morning or early evening. Since it was mid-morning in New Mexico, it must have been around noon in New York. Though no one had suggested otherwise, Gettleman suspected that Dorian's message had been prerecorded.

  Dorian continued. “I know that I’ve been given a lot of credit for Templar’s success. But as I've said before, our success is due to you and to the millions who support and believe in us. To those of you gathered today, I would like to personally say 'thank you'. Be proud. We’re making history.”

  The image faded from the screen as the audience broke into thunderous applause. A few members stood, quickly joined by others. Soon the entire room rose in a standing ovation. Gettleman looked around and slowly stood to join in the applause.

  Jack Kroft returned to the podium and, over the noise of the audience, thanked everyone for attending. As everyone began filing out of the room, Gettleman remained seated, staring at the large, blank screen, thinking.

  Exploration was about risk. It was about putting everything on the line for the big payoff. Sinclair Dorian understood that.

  The Naiad was by far the largest, most expensive spacecraft ever built. It was without peer. If it failed, no one would build another craft like it for years, perhaps decades. If Gettleman raised an unnecessary alarm about the craft’s safety, he could do terrible damage to the reputation of the program.

  But if he kept silent and something happened…

  He bounced his fists off the arms of the chair. He wondered what Sinclair Dorian would do in this situation. Would he blow the whistle or would he keep his mouth shut and hope everything worked out all right?

  In truth, Gettleman had no idea what Sinclair Dorian would do.

  Or what he would do himself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “Welcome back.” Cindy Robertson gave a small smile from behind her desk as Samson Tyler returned from his lunch break. “These are for you.” She handed Tyler a large stack of slips.