by T I WADE
Maggie immediately agreed; the two girls headed off with Ryan in the direction of Hangar Six. VIN decided to go and see how his legs were coming along in Hangar Five.
When he entered he was happy to see Suzi already suited up, and this time she didn’t look like Suzi. Her whole body was covered in silver and gold metal, and she was working on walking with the added weight.
“Come on VIN!” she shouted. “Your suit is ready too. This is so much fun!”
His excitement grew as first his new legs, then his lower suit was placed on him, and then the new upper portion with the addition of a backpack, a breast plate, and finally a new helmet that resembled those worn by commercial divers and that had to be screwed onto the neck of his suit by technicians. He looked into Suzi’s shiny face plate and, yes! Now he was beginning to look a little like Iron Man, but right now more like an astronaut, a diver or even a knight, and he felt like asking for his horse.
Standing there waiting for the dozen technicians around him to complete fitting him up, he felt happy. That morning during the run, and for the first time since he had been at the air field, he felt so useless without his legs. Even seventy-year old women were beating him on the run. He was a damn Marine! A Force Recon officer! One of the toughest and best there ever was in any department of the military. Now he was being passed in a two-mile race by half a mile, by the slowest old ladies on the base! One even limped when she walked around for heaven’s sake!
“Suzi, on Friday we are running with our new legs. I’m sick of being the last over the line!”
“I agree,” she replied through their intercom, and behind her new entanglement of metal and other products hiding her beautiful face. “We will be doing that, and without our new upper bodies. Just the lower set we have waltzed with.”
For the next two days they worked together, working every part of their new upper suits, getting them to work together with the lower parts they had pretty much perfected.
The suits were hot and cold at the same time. The metal was cold, but the skin’s ability to cool a hard working body was being hampered by the suits’ inefficient cooling systems, and the temperature in the hangar was reduced by ten degrees to the 60s to accommodate them. Suzi and VIN walked together, shook hands and punched each other, clanking metal on metal, and were even asked to head butt each other to see what would happen to the electronics after a hard hit.
Several times they sat together, cooling down and talking while their upper suits were removed to modify a part. They even held real hands to feel what it was like after holding metal hands, and often both had hair that was wet with sweat after really hard workouts.
Late at night on their second full day they sat and waited for a modification. Both had now been in their bottom suits for twenty-six of the last thirty-six hours; they were sweaty and had just completed a series of push-ups and jumping-jacks on the stage.
They weren’t normal push-ups; when VIN pushed his new arms to straighten them, his upper body had pushed itself a foot or two off the ground. On one jumping-jack, he just about hit a metal beam across the hangar ceiling twenty feet above his head, and nearly went through the wooden stage when he landed.
Equipment and people had toppled over and Suzi just sat there laughing, the force of VIN hitting the ground even propelling her off the ground. The scientists decided to decrease the power output of VIN’s hydraulics that did the work around his major muscles. Sitting there VIN decided to ask an interesting question.
“Suzi are we supposed to wear these suits all the time while we are in space?”
“No” she replied “only when we are space walking, or walking outside the spacecraft. We will have the oxygen packs fitted to our backs, and I believe we will be allowed outside for only three hours a day. It will take our partners an hour to help us on and off with our suits. Why?”
“Well, I was thinking. If we are to wear these suits, or even other types of suits in space all the time, and we remain out there….how will we….I mean humans ever be able to have kids in space….you know what I mean?” he said shyly.
“Herr VIN,” stated Suzi sharply and trying to look stern, putting her hands on her hips and staring at him directly in his eyes. “If I want to have children with you, I will rip off my suit, and then I will rip off your suit, and then you and I will have children, understand?”
Totally shocked, he couldn’t come up with a reply to this comment, and he just nodded. “You Americans,” she said looking up at the hangar roof and rolling her eyes. “You Americans are so weird when it comes to sex,” she laughed as she was called back to suit up again.
Five hours later, and with a couple of hours of sleep, VIN was again suited up for the next morning’s run. He wore his lower section only tightly bound around his waist for support. Both he and Suzi wore two T-shirts, one underneath the binding supports and one over to hide the straps and mid-body mechanics from the tank-building workers in the specially fenced off area where they would be starting work. Under the T-shirts, oversized jogging trousers were worn to hide the leg metal, and then VIN placed new track shoes over his new metal feet. His feet were still a couple of sizes larger than his old feet, and he looked a little out of proportion–a six-foot tall person with size fourteen track shoes instead of his usual ten and a half.
He was excited having his first opportunity to walk around outside with the new track shoes, waiting for the start of the exercises. Even though it was still dark, the workmen could be heard a quarter of a mile away behind Hangar Four, tools clanking, and machines already moving dirt.
Jonesy was still only half awake and didn’t notice any changes to VIN, apart from the motorbike helmet. The two new Air Force girls arrived and also looked half awake. Even the technicians who had just put him together arrived in their exercise clothes and joined the group waiting for the exercises to begin.
As usual a voice shouted out orders, first for them to form up in loose formation and then shouted for the organized squads to warm up. VIN looked for Suzi and saw her, hidden underneath a tracksuit with a hood. She looked a little bigger, and slightly overweight compared to the others around her; the scientists looking in her direction were trying to see who this unfamiliar person was.
Ryan arrived, headed over to his usual spot in front and did not seem to notice Suzi or VIN.
They began the exercises and VIN tried his best to look normal. He just felt so much more powerful, and his push-ups were fast and rhythmic. His jumping-jacks were harder to control and even with an extra fifty pounds of added weight around him, he felt strong and struggled to jump less than a foot or so high.
“Something eating your butt?” asked Jonesy during the third round of push-ups. “You look like a fat, friggin’ horse dancing around in a jumping ring. Why are you wearing that helmet? You haven’t guzzled all our beers have you? You are putting on weight, kid!”
“Well, you look like you have lost weight, Mr. Jones” VIN joked, speaking like Ryan did to Jonesy. Your stomach looks flatter, you look fitter, and you seem to be able to jog for a change.”
“I’ve spent the last four days on a constant damn workout routine. I’m not giving up my senior pilot position away to that tall colonel she-pilot. I reckon I can out run anybody here today.”
“Bet you can’t,” replied VIN.
“How much you want to bet?” Jonesy panted, sounding serious as they began the last set of jumping-jacks.
“How much you got, Mr. Superman?” replied VIN. “I think you will lose to Superfraülein, Ryan, and the two Air Force chicks. They are all fit and fast. Hell, maybe I might even try running for once and whip your butt, Mr. Fancy Pilot!”
Jonesy sniggered and said nothing. He knew that only four days wasn’t enough to get super fit.
The whistle blew and the group all began heading in the usual direction across the apron and running towards the runway.
VIN took it easy and slowly let his machinery get used to the tarmac surface beneath his feet. He ha
d been warned to stay on the asphalt, not close to the edge, and even with new non-slip track shoes he had to get used to bringing his feet down and connecting with the dark, hard surface below him.
It took time and Suzi slowed to allow him to run with her. “Look up VIN, don’t look down. Let your brain make the calculations it has done all your life. Look, look at your friend Jonesy! He is chasing Ryan and the two girls like a dog after a rabbit. We can see them now!”
VIN’s head came up and as he watched, his friend headed out in front of them. Jonesy was the last in a forward silhouetted group of a dozen; as the light grew brighter over the horizon VIN could see further than just the area around him.
He was getting a rhythm. It was almost like his real legs were back, but with little to no feeling. He tried to imagine that his real legs were there, looked at Suzi, smiled, saw the old lady who usually limped in front of him and forced his body to go faster.
“Not too fast Herr Olympic runner,” laughed Suzi as she did the same to keep up with him. They swept past the first lady, and began overtaking groups of people.
“Not too fast VIN,” stated one of his technicians as he passed another group. “Remember, stopping is half the work.”
Suzi caught up to him and laughed. “Your running form looks good. Your butt looks very, very good. How is my form?” she asked and suddenly she sped ahead, nearly running down a few scientists in front of her. VIN studied her running technique, She looked a little over weight in the lower body area, or like a winter runner heavily clothed. What was important was that Suzi looked like an everyday girl in Central Park jogging in winter. What really surprised him was the speed she actually put on to get in front of him. It didn’t look real. It looked like she just shot forward, her stride doubling in length. He concentrated on turning the corner carefully, and then headed along the runway end. He looked for the leaders; they were already a hundred yards or so past the second turn and there were four of them, Ryan still in the lead.
It was time to increase speed, and his mind wanted more power and got it. He caught up to Suzi and overtook her before they reached the corner to turn right and head back the way they had come. She realized his move and stayed abreast of him. Now they were passing people quickly.
“Suzi, make your legs pump faster. Your strides are far too long and don’t look right.” Suzi did as he suggested and her speed increased as she pumped her legs up and down faster and harder. Now they were catching the forward runners and passing them pretty quickly.
Then VIN saw the two pilot girls fifty yards ahead and Jonesy a few yards behind them putting pressure on them. The “she-pilots” as his partner called them, still looked fresh looking back at Jonesy every few seconds, playing with the older man. Then the girls noticed VIN just behind his partner, and Suzi without her wheelchair, and their eyes enlarged; not believing what they saw both looked forward to put on speed to catch Ryan only a hundred feet or so ahead of them.
VIN surged forward, catching his partner in seconds. He hoped nobody had seen his spurt, it was probably a little faster than that 100 meter champion guy in the recent Olympics, and he came up on Jonesy’s shoulder breathing hard. Jonesy, not looking around added more speed not to be overtaken by this runner whoever it was, and couldn’t believe it when he realized that it was the “kid” and the wheelchair girl. He looked at them with a weird and unbelieving expression, and then returned to concentrate on the girls in front of him, pushing his legs to go even faster.
VIN spurted forward and caught up to the two girls in a few seconds. He knew Jonesy did not believe his eyes, but he didn’t care. He smiled at the girls, who slowed not believing that this Marine with no real legs could outrun them and their disbelief allowed Jonesy to quickly catch them.
Then it was the big prize: Ryan. “Let me go first,” asked Suzi and spurted ahead of VIN. He followed her watching her stride. It was so weird, this girl, who certainly wasn’t a professional runner, getting so much speed out of her legs, and hardly breathing with the effort.
Ryan was now fifty yards ahead and had only a few hundred to go before the apron. Suzi looked over to make sure that they were now out of sight of the workers, and suddenly VIN’s jaw dropped as he watched her catch up to Ryan in less than a dozen strides and then slow. She leaned over slightly to breathe down his neck. Her acceleration was so fast, that he wanted to try it and his brain gave the orders; suddenly he felt himself spring forward and catch up to both of them so fast that he had to slow down before cannoning into them.
Ryan turned around and smiled at them. “Enjoying yourselves?” he asked. “I was hoping to keep it a little secret around here, but I suppose a Suzi-without-wheelchair beating me says it all!”
After the run, many came up to congratulate them, especially the scientists from Hangar Five. Others stayed away, not believing that a human, a human who looked overweight, could run so fast.
Jonesy, who had just barely outrun Maggie and Penny, stayed away from VIN, not knowing how to handle this new man…or robot?
Over breakfast VIN was approached by a scientist. “Ryan wants you at 8:00 sharp for a meeting in Hangar Seven.” VIN nodded, thanking the man, and looked forward to seeing what was going on in a new hangar for a change.
At 8:00 sharp, he showed his name badge to the sentry guarding the side door to Hangar Seven and went in.
Much like Hangar Six, there were silver craft on short legs in the middle of the hangar, three craft this time instead of two, and in separate sterile rooms. As in Hangar Six, the craft had several white coats working outside and inside each one. These craft were smaller and slightly shorter than the shuttles in Hangar Six.
“These must the actual space craft we are to go mining in,” VIN thought to himself.
Ryan entered with Jonesy and Colonel Sinclair. Ryan walked up to where VIN was standing, and the pilots followed him. They were facing the front of the low space craft, its three legs only about a foot long. They could see into the three forward and side windows, and into the cockpit on each craft. The flight cockpits were smaller than in the shuttles, only two seats with just enough room for the pilots to lie down flat between the instruments and the rear docking hatch sticking out of the cockpit’s rear wall.
One scientist in a full sterilization suit was working on the windows of the first one, making a six-foot tall, three-foot wide space-type docking hatch rise and fall six feet, using hydraulics from inside the craft by opening and closing a switch on the control dash.
“Welcome to Astermine 1, Astermine 2, and Asterspace 3,” Ryan said pointing to the three craft in order. “We do everything in twos or threes. We always have a backup, in case something happens to delay the movement or schedule in space.”
“Why the names Astermine and Asterspace?” asked VIN.
“The first two craft are being built to mine the asteroids in space, VIN. The third is a cargo transfer craft with an open plan cargo area,” Ryan replied.
“It doesn’t look like these guys are meant to reenter,” added Jonesy.
“Correct, Mr. Jones. These three craft, each under four tons in weight, are flown up in the belly of the shuttles and have been designed to remain in deep space to work. You remember the panels in Hangar One?” Ryan asked. All three nodded. “The plan is to get a space platform or mother ship built from those panels into space as soon as possible. The orbit of this space platform will be a geosynchronous orbit, or a geostationary orbit, far higher than the U.S. military GPS satellites and higher than all of the geostationary media or cable satellites. Our geostationary orbit will be 22,497 miles above earth, far higher than the GPS system at about 12,000 miles, and a dozen or so miles higher than the highest communications and media satellite earth currently has. We will have the highest geostationary satellite ever put into orbit.
“That is where these three craft will dock, be refueled and resupplied. They will never need to return. The two shuttles in Hangar Six will transfer supplies to our space platform or mother shi
p to complete it; once it is habitable, it will also be used to supply these Astermine spacecraft so they can go into outer space on different missions.
“This altitude will hide our new supply station from any ever-searching telescopes and cameras. Since the military-built GPS system looks down at earth and not into space, I believe we will be hidden from all but ground telescopes and any other instruments looking upwards. Space is very large up there at 22,500 miles. Even for powerful telescopes on earth, looking for our mother ship will be like looking for a needle in a haystack. I’m planning to locate our space platform directly behind the oldest and largest communication satellite up there, and hope it will be in its shadow from much of earth. I pray nobody finds us while we are building it.”
“Can they do anything to the platform you build that far up?” VIN asked.
“No, but they can cut us off from here, hence so much security,” replied Ryan.
“Won’t they figure something out when we send up flight after flight of equipment to build this platform of yours?” asked Jonesy.
“Yes, but we will tell them first about dozens of necessary practice flights, and alternately outfox them with exits and reentries from the shuttles to make them think that we flew up one shuttle and hours later the same shuttle reenters. Hopefully, they won’t realize that it is not the same shuttle reentering. We start this charade with the first flight into space. The shuttle will be rigged to eject a load of explosives; when the explosion occurs, we say it was our first attempt, and we tell them our first mission was a failure. I expect that this ‘failure’ will enable us to launch twenty to thirty practice or training flights before they start getting edgy and want to come and see what is going on.”
“A couple of dozen flights could be a lot of equipment shuttled up there,” suggested Maggie.
“Well said, Ms. Sinclair! If I can get thirty or more flights up there before trouble begins to boil, we have a slight chance of success. Also our success depends heavily on the upcoming presidential election. I have a good friend in the current president, but the opposing candidate doesn’t like me very much. I also have some aces up my sleeve which will buy us time; three to be precise. If a new president is elected at the end of this year and we are forced to tell the government about our mining operation, it could mean the end of my control of the company. I have a plan to use our mining treasure as a financial bartering tool, and hopefully divert their interest from a couple more ‘practice’ flights, to allow us to finish our project before private parties inside the U.S. government and military intervene. Once we start flights into space, we must move as fast as possible. And by the way, Ms. Sinclair, Mr. Jones, we are going to need at least one, maybe two more teams of flight personnel within the next few weeks. This time I want former military pilots like you, Mr. Jones, or at worst, ask the Air Force for one backup crew by telling them that you guys are heading off into space. We actually need four full space crews, and a crew for the C-5. The C-5 crew doesn’t need to know our space plans. Suzi and I are spending time in the simulators and can always be used as backups to the backups, if you know what I mean, but I don’t think Suzi or I will ever be as good as you two, Mr. Jones, Ms. Sinclair.”
