by Jack L Knapp
Chapter Twenty
“So where’s the power plant? All I see is what’s on the wings, and you just told me they weren’t jets.” The inspector sounded testy. It appeared that he’d come a long way for nothing and wasted time in the doing.
“The plane uses a proprietary device. For now, how it operates is a company secret, but I’m prepared to demonstrate that it works. I can tell you that we use two of the devices in this plane. I’d like to start by taxiing, if you’re ready.”
“Wait a minute, okay? So if the turbogenerators aren’t somehow providing thrust, what do they do?”
“Short answer, they keep the batteries charged. There are battery packs in the aft compartment, plus the thrust units. Turbos charge the batteries, the batteries power the...well, we call them Sneyd-Tesla Impellers. The full name involves the inventor and the man who inspired him. I guess it won’t hurt to tell you that the original concept was first proposed by Nikola Tesla. But the proof is in the flying. What say we give it a try?”
“Are those batteries you mentioned fully charged?”
“Sure, we always start out with them charged and the turbogenerators recharge them in flight. Why?”
“Suppose we don’t turn on the turbochargers. Would the batteries provide enough power to taxi?”
“Well, yes. We’ve done extensive testing on battery power alone. But I won’t take off unless the turbos are operating.”
“But you did mention ground testing, taxiing. So let’s just get in and see how that goes.”
“No problem, strap into the copilot’s seat. I’ll let you familiarize yourself with the controls before we take off, but you shouldn’t try to fly until you’ve had a familiarization course using impellers. They’re not magic, and if you don’t know what you’re doing, the system can be dangerous.”
“Everything is dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing. Show me what you’ve got, hoss.” The inspector had spent a lot of time in Texas, and it showed.
Will pointed out that the flight controls worked just as they had when the plane flew using the turboprops. “One thing, the turboprops are computer controlled. They throttle up under max load, throttle down during cruise.”
“Another uncertified system?”
“I suppose you could call it that, but don’t worry. We’ve got at least an hour’s reduced-power flight time on battery alone. That’s plenty to get us back to the airstrip.”
“But we’re going to do taxi tests, so that will deplete the batteries, won’t it?”
“I’ll run the turbos to top off the batteries before we take off.”
“Any problem with me doing the taxi tests?”
“Nope, knock yourself out. The stick by your seat controls the impellers. Just push straight ahead to accelerate, pull back to slow down. Throttle control is that wheel on the side. Pay attention to that gauge, it shows remaining battery charge. It’s based on percentage of full charge, so don’t let it drop below 50%. Otherwise, the airstrip is yours and you can taxi to your heart’s content.”
The inspector cycled the ailerons, watching through the cabin windows. He wasn’t able to see the elevators work, but could feel the vibration as they moved from stop to stop. Cycling the rudder produced the same sensation. “You need to put mirrors up where a pilot can see the tail assembly, hoss.”
“I’ll make a note of that, inspector.”
“About those impeller things, how many hours have you operated them?”
“Total, all units, we’ve got several thousand hours. We’ve never had a failure that was attributed to the impellers. There were problems early on, mostly in the instrumentation and control systems, but not the impellers.”
“You’ve got a logbook, logbooks? You mentioned ‘all units’. I take it that means you’ve got more than one of the impellers?”
“We’ve got several. Two of them are in the back.”
“Takeoff speed?”
“She gets light on the wheels at 65 knots, higher than you might expect. Part of it has to do with the altitude, but the batteries are heavy. So are the impellers, for that matter. Even so, we’re 3250 pounds under max gross. So keep the taxi speed under 65, okay?”
“Understood. Alright, the turbos are off, we’re on battery alone. Just push forward?”
“Right, take it slow until you have a feel for the controls.”
“Roger. Do I need permission to taxi?”
“You’ve got it. This is our only airplane, so you won’t run into traffic.”
The inspector gingerly pushed forward on the control stick, but nothing happened. “What am I doing wrong? That throttle thing you mentioned?”
“Right, push the thumbwheel forward, watch the gauge until it indicates 25%. As soon as that stabilizes, you can use the stick. Bring your power up first, then push forward on the stick.”
“Got it.” The thumbwheel was answered by a low rumble that climbed to a whirring noise. “That noise, is that your impellers?”
“Right, we haven’t managed to engineer that out. Eventually, as we improve the system, we think it can be made to operate silently. Anyway, the turbos will hide the noise after they’re powered up.”
The Twin trundled down the runway, responding to the rudder after it picked up speed. “Seems like it steers just like any other plane. No torque effect at takeoff?”
“It flies like any other plane. Instead of jets or propellers, the impeller provides the forward thrust. As for torque, that’s why we use two impellers. They’re designed to eliminated that, but since we’re still experimental we don’t intend to take unnecessary chances. Takeoff power is 86% impulse...we consider 100% to be emergency power...and that’s plenty, even loaded to max gross. Oh, and you won’t need brakes to stop; just pull the stick back past neutral to reverse. The impellers work either way.”
“Okay, I’ll take it back to where we started. Start your turbos now. As soon as you’re satisfied with the battery charge, take her up.”
#
Chuck glanced at the new paint on the front cowling. The bold EXPERIMENTAL stood out against the white paint. He performed a walkaround inspection, glanced at the windsock, then climbed in. Thumbing the impeller power wheel, he set it for 50% and listened to the whining noise build as he buckled in. A switch on the control panel was labeled START, and as soon as he pressed it the computer started the port engine, and as it began to rev, the starboard engine too.
Satisfied, Chuck cycled the flight controls, watching through the external rear-view mirrors, then moved the thumbwheel forward until impeller power registered 86%. Pressing gently forward on the control stick, he felt the plane accelerate. Leaving the stick full forward in its detent, he took off. Climbing rapidly, he throttled back to 50% power as soon as he reached cruise speed. Trimming up the controls, he settled in for what he hoped would be another boring flight.
#
Mel finished stripping the computers and the battery compartments from the King’s frame. The first test flight had revealed a problem; the four batteries blocked the airflow between the upper and lower decks, allowing heat to build up inside the frame. The engineers were working on a solution, but whatever they came up with would require stripping the interior components down to modify it.
He’d been working alone for the past month. Lina chatted with him briefly, then left for the main building where she was doing something with Morty in the mysterious assembly section. Chuck was busy flying the Twin, building logbook hours Mel supposed; he hadn’t been back to the hangar since that last conversation.
Mel walked over to the trailer later that afternoon, taking a couple of beers. Maybe Chuck would open up if someone made an effort. But the trip was wasted. Chuck wasn’t there, and apparently hadn’t been there in some time. Worried, Mel went back to the hangar. Where was Chuck living? Was he even staying on site?
Mel went over to the main building the next morning. A pair of guards controlled access to Morty’s assembly area, and Mel’s name wasn’t
on their list. They were willing to tell him that Morty and Lina were inside, as was Joe, the engineer Frenchy had hired. Whatever they were doing in there, it probably had to do with the new man’s specialty, and they didn’t want visitors. Mel figured it likely had something to do with Morty’s spacecraft, because that was what Joe had worked on out in California. Disturbed, Mel walked down to the main guard shack, located where the road entered the campus.
“I’ve been looking for Chuck. You know who I’m talking about, right?”
“Sure, he’s one of the pilots. He comes through the gate occasionally, but he spends most of his time around the airplane. I think that’s what he does, anyway; we don’t put things like that in the log.” The guard checked his list. “Nope, he finishes flying late in the afternoon and only comes inside after that. He doesn’t usually stay long, an hour at most, then he leaves again. Want me to try his radio?”
“No, don’t bother. It’s not that important.”
Mel thought about the strange events, then called Frenchy. Someone had to know what was happening; suppose Chuck had developed some sort of delayed PTSD? Whatever had happened between Lina and him, maybe it was more of a shock than Mel realized at the time. Since he was barred from the assembly space, he couldn’t even talk to Morty about it. As for Lina, she hadn’t said anything before, so maybe she still didn’t want to talk about Chuck.
#
Mel shut off the lights in the hangar, then rolled up the large door. It wasn’t as easy as before; Chuck was missing and while Lina was now in the hangar, she had gone to bed for the evening. Whatever she was working on with Morty, it left her tired at the end of the day so Mel was reluctant to ask for her help. He flipped the night-vision goggles into place, then powered up the Bedstead; the King was still waiting for a solution to the cooling problem. Moments later he cleared the fence and headed out, following the new, longer, course he’d laid out. Accumulating additional use data was still important.
An hour later he passed near a man sitting motionless atop a small rise. Not Chuck; this man had a horse tethered a few yards behind him, grazing while the man watched. This had to be one of the ranch’s workers. The men no longer worked with cattle but were still employed, watching the rangeland around the factory campus. Mel slowed, responding to a sudden impulse. He parked the Bedstead on a flat area and hiked back toward where he’d seen the watcher.
“Hello up there! I’m friendly. My name’s Mel and I work at the factory. Got a minute to talk?”
“Shore. Reckon I’ve heard the name. You sit tight, I’ll be right down.”
Mel heard a stirring from the hill and moments later, the man rode his horse down the slope to where Mel waited.
“How did you spot me in the dark?”
Mel hesitated, then replied. “Night vision goggles. How did you find me? It’s even darker down here.”
The rider chuckled. “I didn’t. But Pard here, he sees pretty good at night. He either spotted you or smelled you. Anyway, what can I do for you?”
“I was wondering if you know a friend of mine, fellow named Chuck Sneyd.”
“Shore do, I saw him earlier this evening. I stopped off to bring him a meal and a jug of water.”
“He’s living out here?”
“Yep, got himself a tent. He’s got a burr under his saddle about people trying to sneak up on y’all. He mentioned it to us, so we watch the area while he catches some sleep. He usually wakes up and takes over the watch after midnight. I’d be careful, was I you. He’s packin’.”
“Really? He’s armed while he watches?”
“Got him a pistol. I prefer my Winchester. That ol’ 30-30 ain’t let me down yet, and I’m plumb used to it by now. Want me to give him a message? I’ll see him when he wakes up.”
“You could tell him his friends are worried. I haven’t seen him for a month, maybe a little more. Just tell him you talked to Mel. He’ll know who I am.”
“I’ll do that, Mel. I’m Port, but you might see Mitt or Roy if you’re out and around. We swap off. I’ll be at the line shack one more day, then Mitt takes over for me.”
“Thanks. I’ll be going, but maybe I’ll see you again.”
“You be careful, now. Sometimes the critters out here in the brush ain’t friendly.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that. See you around.” Mel turned and headed back to where he’d left the Bedstead. What would the rider think if he heard the whine, or worse, saw the silhouette against the stars?
Best to stay low until he was well away. It shouldn’t be much of a challenge, using the goggles. I wonder if Port has goggles? He didn’t say, but if I was riding after dark, I’d have a pair. I wonder if he can see me, even in the dark?
At least the mystery of where Chuck was staying was solved. But living in a tent and watching the area behind the factory was strange. Was it simply that he didn’t want to face Lina, or was it something else, maybe PTSD? Could this compulsion to keep watch have something to do with their breakup? Or had something else happened since then?
Mel finished flying his route, then returned to the hangar. He closed the door, turned on the lights, then changed out the batteries for fresh ones. After connecting the chargers to the depleted batteries, he entered the trip into the vehicle’s log book and headed for bed.
#
Chuck’s strange behavior was never far from Mel’s mind during the next two weeks. At one point, he spotted Chuck. He had just left the gate and was headed around the south fence. His limp was more pronounced now; whatever he was doing, it wasn’t helping his knee. But Chuck had rebuffed his earlier efforts to talk and he was a grown man, able to make his own decisions. Mel sighed and headed back for the hangar; the engineers had finally come up with a system of ducts that should keep the interior of the King cooler. It should be ready for a flight tomorrow.
As it happened, Mel didn’t get to test the new model.
Lina woke him later that afternoon. “Mel, I need your help. Do you know where Chuck is?”
“I think so. Why, is something wrong?”
“Chuck’s not answering his radio. Mel, Morty died this afternoon. I need to let Chuck know.”
“Shit. What happened?”
“He was working on the ship, helping install the rear hatch, and he just fell down. We called the nurse practitioner, she stays here during the day now that we’ve got people working. She thinks it was a heart attack. There was nothing we could do, he just fell down and when we got to him, he wasn’t breathing. We called her and she tried to revive him, but he didn’t respond. We’ve called for an ambulance, they’ll pick up the body and take it into Clovis, but I need to let Chuck know.”
“I think I can find him. Is Frenchy here?”
“No, he’s in Santa Fe. There was some sort of problem with the state and taxes. Will flew him up there.”
“Give them a call. I’m sure they’ll get here as soon as they can. I’ll find Chuck.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Morty’s body had been taken to a funeral home in Clovis. Chuck sat in the assembly room, head hanging. He’d taken the news stoically at first, then suddenly broke down, unable to contain his emotions. He fought his tears unsuccessfully, then wept for a time before regaining control.
“I’m going to need some time off, Panit.”
“I’ll let Frenchy know, Chuck. Is there anything we can do?”
“I can’t think of anything. I’ll have his body shipped back to Andrews and take it to the ranch. My grandmother is buried there and I think Morty would have wanted to be with her. There’s a small cemetery behind the house, maybe half a mile back. He took me to see it when I started working with him. He planted wild flowers and kept the weeds cut before, but I don’t think he’s been back since we started the company. There’s no telling what it looks like now.”
“Are you sure you can find her grave, Chuck? It’s probably overgrown by now, and you were only there once.”
“I can find it. I got to know that area p
retty well during the summers I lived with them. There’s also a stone that stands out above the low weeds that are common around there. Dammit, I should have been with him. He worked too hard, I tried to get him to slow down but it was always a chore. Maybe if I had been here I could have done something.”
“Chuck, Morty was an old man. No one can hold off death forever. He went fast, according to what I was told, and he worked on something he loved right up to the end. He probably never knew what happened. Death doesn’t get any better than that. Unless you were standing right by him with a set of charged paddles, there was nothing you could have done. And maybe the paddles wouldn’t have worked.”
“I keep telling myself that, but I was wrapped up in my own concerns. I never even stopped to talk to him the last time I was here. I just flew the plane and...well, I was doing something else too, but the range people could have handled that. I wanted to get away, I just couldn’t handle what happened with...”
“With Lina. I heard, Chuck. She’s unhappy too, and she couldn’t even find you when Morty died.”
“Panit, I didn’t have anything I could say to her. There was nothing more for either one of us to say. I tried to explain, but...anyway, that’s water down the river. We’re just different people, I guess. We just don’t see some things the same way. She sees things the way a college student does, but I was a Marine before I was a student and Fallujah changed me. I guess there’s no going back for either of us.”
“I wouldn’t give up on her just yet, Chuck. Anyway, Frenchy and Will are on the way, estimated arrival time is about two hours. Do you have time to talk to them?”
“I guess so. I’m not sure how long it will take to get Morty home, to Andrews I mean, and there’s nothing I can do until that’s taken care of. I need to make a phone call, see if the funeral home in Clovis can handle it. If they can’t, someone in Andrews can. One more thing, I want a military style headstone for Morty. There’s a simple stone for my grandmother, but I want one that mentions Morty’s service. He never went overseas, but he served and it shouldn’t be forgotten. That’s important to me.”
