by Jack L Knapp
The Ship
Book One, The New Frontier Series
By Jack L Knapp
COPYRIGHT
The Ship
Book One, The New Frontier Series
Copyright © 2015 by Jack L Knapp
Cover photo by Bigstock
Cover by Mia Darien
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your sole use, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work.
Disclaimer: The persons and events depicted in this novel were created by the author’s imagination; no resemblance to actual persons or events is intended.
Product names, brands, and other trademarks referred to within this book are the property of the respective trademark holders. Unless otherwise specified, no association between the author and any trademark holder is expressed or implied. Nor does the use of such trademarks indicate an endorsement of the products, trademarks, or trademark holders unless so stated. Use of a term in this book should not be regarded as affecting the validity of any trademark, registered trademark, or service mark.
Table of Contents
Chapter One 5
Chapter Two 11
Chapter Three 16
Chapter Four 22
Chapter Five 28
Chapter Six 34
Chapter Seven 42
Chapter Eight 47
Chapter Nine 55
Chapter Ten 63
Chapter Eleven 73
Chapter Twelve 81
Chapter Thirteen 87
Chapter Fourteen 92
Chapter Fifteen 94
Chapter Sixteen 101
Chapter Seventeen 107
Chapter Eighteen 112
Chapter Nineteen 118
Chapter Twenty 122
Chapter Twenty-One 127
Chapter Twenty-Two 132
Chapter Twenty-Three 137
Chapter Twenty-Four 142
Chapter Twenty-Five 147
Chapter Twenty-Six 152
Chapter Twenty-Seven 158
Chapter Twenty-Eight 163
Chapter Twenty-Nine 168
Chapter Thirty 173
Chapter Thirty-One 179
Chapter Thirty-Two 184
Books by the author: 190
About the Author: 191
Chapter One
“Good morning, Mr. Jindae.”
Panit Jindae glanced approvingly at his secretary. Always efficient, always cheerful, always well turned out, she was an asset to any executive.
“And good morning to you, Mrs. Stendall. Any phone calls or faxes from our friend this morning?”
“He’s certainly no friend, Mr. Jindae; a right pain he is. I’ve tried to get rid of him, but he doesn’t want to take no for an answer. Maybe he finally got the message. No faxes, no phone calls this morning. So far.” Mrs. Stendall was English, and from time to time her speech reflected that.
“We can hope, Mrs. Stendall. Did the division reports come in yet?”
“No sir. I’ll check with communications right after I get your coffee. If they’ve arrived, I’ll bring them in. The Jamaican this morning?”
“Why don’t we try the Kenya AA for a change?”
“I’m sorry sir, the shipment hasn’t arrived yet. We have the Kona and a new shipment from Costa Rica if you’d prefer that to the Jamaican.”
“The Costa Rican, then. Newspapers?”
“On your desk, sir. I’ll have the coffee ready shortly.”
Panit nodded and pushed through the door. Hanging his hat and coat on the hooks, he sat down at his desk to begin his day. He scanned through the headlines, then went to the business section. He read several of the articles, concentrating, occasionally making notes on a legal pad. The notes would be filed with others about recent developments in the transportation industry. Not all had to do with auto manufacturing. Panit knew that occasionally things that appeared unrelated would impact some of the company’s divisions. Attention to such details had brought him from engineering to sales and from there to his current job.
Half an hour later, savoring his coffee while looking through the newspaper’s financial section, he became aware of an annoying buzz. It was ridiculous. Considering what the company paid for his fourteenth-floor office, surely maintenance could keep the climate control system functioning? Pressing the intercom, he asked Mrs. Stendall to notify maintenance, then tried to concentrate on the article he was reading. The comments regarding recent automotive design and the effect on marketing were unfortunate, if true. Still, perhaps the upturn in the economy might revive sagging sales?
The buzzing got worse. Intolerable, really! “Mrs. Stendall, did maintenance ever respond?”
“Sir, they say it’s not the climate system. It’s coming from outside.”
“We’re fourteen floors above the street! Are they using jackhammers down there? Even so, we shouldn’t be hearing this!” Fuming, Panit walked to the window. Normally the view over the lake calmed him, allowed him to concentrate on managing the different manufacturing sections. But not this morning.
A clumsy-looking thing floated outside the window. He looked at it wide-eyed and the graybearded fellow sitting in the middle actually waved at him! The nerve...
“Mrs. Stendall!”
#
A second cup of coffee did nothing to settle his nerves. Panit impatiently drummed his fingers on the desk. The newspapers, forgotten, littered the desktop, the reports he’d been waiting for were now in his inbox. He’d get to them later. He would be taking lunch in his office today, working, but for now his thoughts were on that mysterious flying thing.
“Any sign of him, Mrs. Stendall? Do you think it’s that annoying Sneyd person?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Jindae. I pointed down at the entrance, he nodded, but then he flew away. He may have had to find parking or something.”
“Well, perhaps. The board meeting, I can’t skip that. If he shows up, ask him to wait. I’ll be back as soon as possible.” Panit headed for the executive washroom to prepare for the meeting.
He hoped to bring the morning’s strange happenings to the attention of the chairman, but today’s meeting was being conducted by the vice chair. The agenda was full, meaning that the meeting ran overtime--again--so Panit got back to his office later than expected.
The graybeard sat in the reception area, waiting, beaming. And so he should; he was finishing a cup of Panit’s excellent (and expensive) coffee. Panit unobtrusively signaled Mrs. Stendall, then walked into his office. She came in moments later.
Panit raised his eyebrows and she replied, “It’s him. His name is Morton Sneyd and he confirmed that he’s the one that’s been annoying us. He says he’s invented something new and revolutionary. That’s the device that was mounted on that platform he was driving. Do you want to speak to him, Mr. Jindae?”
“I suppose I’ll have to. You say his invention was attached to that craft, whatever it was?”
“Yes, sir. The noise isn’t from his device. That came from a small diesel generator. That stainless-steel boxy thing in the middle was a bank of batteries. He claims his device flie
s, and I suppose that’s confirmed. He also says it doesn’t use jets or propellers. One of the maintenance people saw it, and he’s familiar with machinery. He said there was an external tank of fuel strapped in front of the generator, but no jet exhaust or any sign of a propeller system.”
“Well, then. Show him in, please. If he wants another coffee or a doughnut, give him one. I’ll have a cup too, please.”
“I’ll see to it, sir. He’s already on his second cup. He said it was ‘right tasty’.” Panit snorted derisively and sat behind his desk, waiting.
Mrs. Stendall held the door and Morton Sneyd walked in.
“You’re a hard man to see, Mr. Jindae!”
“There’s a reason for that, Mr.--Sneyd, was it?”
“Right, Morton Sneyd. Call me Morty.”
“All right, Morty. You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to see me, so what’s on your mind?”
#
Morton Sneyd, by most accounts, was a failure. His neighbors and acquaintances often wondered why his wife remained with him. It had not always been that way.
Thanks to an ROTC scholarship, Morty graduated from Texas A&M with a Master’s degree in Mechanical Engineering and a commission as a Second Lieutenant in the US Army. The university had found him part-time work that helped Morty support himself while in school.
He had enough credits in mathematics for a minor, and briefly considered majoring in that subject. But employment opportunities for mathematicians were limited, while mechanical engineers started out picking and choosing which of several companies they wanted to work for. And in any case that would have to wait, because the Army insisted that he now live up to his part of the bargain.
Being an officer was better than being a private, and if Morty refused the commission, he stood an excellent chance of being drafted. Plus he would have to repay the Army for the costs incurred while he attended TAMU. Texas A&M University provided the Army with many of its artillery officers, and in the end he’d gone along with what his advisors suggested and accepted a reserve commission in Artillery.
At least, there was no war going on at the time. The Korean ‘police action’ was finished for all practical purposes. There was no peace, only an armistice, but the North Koreans had lost most of their military assets and their Chinese and Soviet allies were not enthusiastic about investing more equipment and personnel in the effort. It was unlikely that anything would happen anytime soon in Korea. For the time being, there was no enemy for the US Army to fight.
Morty soon found himself immersed in classroom work at Fort Sill, Oklahoma, taking the prescribed course for artillery officers entering on active duty. From there, he’d gone to Fort Chaffee, Arkansas, for duty with the Field Artillery Training Center. With no war ongoing, the Army found itself once again short of funds. Transfers were rare.
The experience left Morty with an abiding distrust, even resentment, of authority.
Instead of guns and firing sections, Lieutenant Sneyd was soon involved in the minutiae of recruit basic training. Occasionally he would conduct an inspection, always while accompanied by one of the NCO’s responsible for actually training the men, and occasionally he would be called on to resolve disciplinary or other problems associated with turning civilians into soldiers. But most of his day was occupied with paperwork.
A loner with few friends and no close associates, he did the assigned work and spent most of his off-duty hours studying physics. In this way he became interested in the work of Newton, Einstein, and a relative unknown named Nikola Tesla.
He finished his obligatory tour of active duty and was released to the Army Reserve. Morty was glad to see the last of the Army, and likely the few officers who knew him felt much the same about Morty. Not everyone is suited for military service, and the tour of duty with the Training Center had forever changed his thinking.
Morty tried to restart his interrupted career after leaving the Army. He sent out résumés and soon had a number of job offers.
He worked for a year at Ford, part of a team designing parts for brake systems. He did not find the work challenging or interesting. Junior engineers did most of the technical drawings while senior engineers decided which of several options would find their way into the final design. A complicating factor was that Morty’s engineering skills had grown rusty while he was in the Army, which didn’t endear him to his supervisors. At the end of a year, he quit Ford.
Morty drifted from job to job for the next few years, doing competent work but never really excelling. Between jobs, he began offering his services as a consultant. Morty had found his niche. Consulting provided the income to finance his hobby of tinkering, and the companies he worked for had no grounds for complaint. Morty worked on tasks he found interesting, and consulting provided sufficient income to support him and the new wife he married shortly after leaving General Motors, his last full-time job.
Mary Ellen worked as a clerical assistant in an accounting department, and this provided enough regular income to support the two of them. It became obvious early on that Morty would likely never be a wealthy man, never become a pillar of the community. Still, he was a good father to their children and a devoted husband to Mary Ellen. One of his more successful consulting jobs had brought him enough to indulge her in a lifelong interest. Morty bought a small ranch, rundown, but with enough grazing and water for the horses she loved. He worked on the ranch between jobs and helped Mary Ellen care for her small herd of horses.
The small family was reasonably happy during the 1960s as the children grew up. Eventually, they left home and moved away, never quite happy in the small west Texas town where Morty and Mary Ellen had settled. Eventually there had been a grandson, Chuck, and he’d become close to Morty and Mary Ellen.
Charles, Chuck as he preferred, had spent his summers from the age of six on the small ranch with his grandparents. His parents were, charitably, not good with children. It was not a loving relationship. Chuck found the affection his parents could not provide when he visited his grandparents’ small ranch. Morty spent time with him, teaching him about nature and showing him about the ranch and the town, while Mary Ellen taught him to ride. Chuck returned the following summer, and soon the pattern was established. He lived with his parents while school was in session, then left for the ranch as soon as school ended. His parents never seemed to mind; indeed, they vacationed during the time Chuck was away.
It was during the time between Chuck’s junior and senior years in high school that Mary Ellen contracted brain cancer. She’d gone in to the optometrist to complain that the new glasses he’d prescribed weren’t working well. The optometrist had spotted something, referred her to a specialist, and he had given her the bad news. He’d been straightforward with them.
“There’s not a whole lot we can do. The tumor is deep inside the brain where we can’t get at it. Because of the blood-brain barrier, none of the drugs we use for chemotherapy can get at the tumor either. I’m sorry.”
“Doctor, how long?” Morty asked.
“I’m sorry. The best I can do is give you a guess. It’s not long.”
“How long, doctor?”
“Perhaps six months. I’m sorry.”
“What about one of the cancer centers? Maybe there’s some sort of experimental procedure?”
“Morty, you don’t have insurance. None of the experimental programs are accepting additional patients who don’t have insurance. M.D. Anderson is probably the best cancer hospital in Texas, but it’s my understanding that they don’t even accept Medicare. So far as I know, they’re not working on this type of cancer anyway. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks for being honest, doctor.”
Morty took Mary Ellen home and cared for her as best he could. A month later the cancer took her sight, and three months later it took her life.
Morty immersed himself in his work, seeking the only solace he’d ever known. It was during this period that he discovered an obscure set of notes Nikola Tesla had made regarding an
idea he’d had. Unlike many other discoveries, Tesla had never developed this one. But the notes intrigued Morty.
Chuck did not return to the ranch that year. He graduated from high school and began looking for a job.
While studying Tesla’s notes, Morty finally discovered something revolutionary, something that promised to erase his previous failures. But Mary Ellen was gone now and Chuck had gone off looking for a job, so there was no one he could share his success with.
Morty’s first efforts didn’t produce much, but there was promise. He kept working, spending all his free hours between consulting jobs. As soon as the jobs were finished, he headed for the ranch to try out the new ideas he’d come up with
#
Morton Sneyd strolled out of Panit’s office an hour after he’d entered. He nodded at Mrs. Stendall, poured himself another cup of coffee and snagged the last doughnut on his way out the door. She raised her eyebrows at this bit of effrontery, undecided whether to be amused or irritated. The soft chime of the intercom caught her attention.
“Yes, sir?”
“Contact the chairman’s secretary, please. I need to see him as soon as possible and a telephone call won’t do. This is important, and it needs to be kept strictly confidential.”
“Sir, we’ve had calls from a reporter. He heard about that flying platform. What should I tell him?”
“Laugh it off, Mrs. Stendall. I saw that thing! A flying bedstead? Ridiculous.”
#
Sol Goldman was a few minutes late. The meeting with Jindae had run over the time he’d allotted, but it might be important so he’d allowed the man to keep talking. The other three members of the foursome were ready when Sol arrived.
None of them liked being kept waiting, a trait shared by Goldman himself.
“Shall we get started? I had a meeting I couldn’t skip, but we should still have time for a full eighteen holes. I’ll probably have to leave after that, another meeting, I’m afraid.”
“Sol, you’re the chairman. Can’t you delegate some of that to the CEO?”
