Man's Hope

by Zellmann, William

  After that, he wasn't really surprised at the strip search. However, he was released only two hours later, before the reporters arrived, if, indeed they had been informed.

  A man was waiting at the Hilton to return the Toyota to Puerto Vallarta, but there were no reporters. After almost two years out of the country, perhaps he was overestimating his celebrity

  Frank ordered room service, since he was too tired to deal with a restaurant. He plugged in his laptop, and went to work. He cursed when he caught himself drifting off to sleep and realized it was 1 AM. He gave up and went to bed.

  Once inside the U.S., Frank had much greater freedom of movement, especially since he had access to a number of corporate and private aircraft. So he was relieved when Susan called him the next morning to discuss his flight plan to Chicago, to meet with Paul.

  "I had a thought last night," Frank said. "I may take a detour. See if you can get me an appointment with somebody at Space-X in Hawthorne, preferably someone in sales or engineering, that is familiar with the capabilities of their launchers."

  Less than three hours later, his room phone rang. "Mr. Weatherly? This is Elon Musk. I'm afraid Space-X isn't looking for any investors at the moment."

  Frank chuckled at the man's brusque manner. "And I'm not looking for investments," he replied. "I'm interested in assessing the capabilities of your launchers, especially the Falcon Heavy, in connection with a project I'm involved with."

  Musk's voice turned doubtful. "I see. Of course, the Heavy isn't quite ready for deployment, yet . . ."

  Frank sighed. "Neither is my project. Look, Mr. Musk, at present I am assessing the capabilities of the available systems. If you're not ready to discuss the Falcon Heavy with prospective customers, I quite understand. I'm actually on my way to Europe, to check out the Ariane 5; I had a stopover in San Diego, and thought I should consider Space-X. Thank you for taking the time to talk with me personally."

  "Wait! Wait," Musk said. "I'm sorry, Mr. Weatherly, I seem to have made some invalid assumptions from hearing your name. You're in San Diego? Why don't you grab a puddle-jumper and come on up to Hawthorne Municipal Airport? I'll have someone meet you with a car. I'm afraid I won't be there personally, but one the project engineers on the Heavy project will be available to provide any information you need."

  His visit to Hawthorne was productive. He left with a flash drive full of information about the Falcon heavy, and learned perhaps more than Musk had planned about its current state of readiness. He had Susan book him a charter flight from LA to Chicago. The Space-X people arranged for a helicopter to transport him to LAX.

  Ensconced in the plush passenger compartment of a Gulfstream 150, Frank began looking at the Space-X information on his laptop, but soon fell asleep. When he awoke, they were one hour out of Chicago Midway airport. He called Paul, to make sure he was expected.

  "Of course!" Paul replied. "I'm already here to meet you. Susan arrived from Dallas a few hours ago. I've been hitting on her mercilessly, but so far she's resisted my undeniable charms." Frank heard a slapping sound and a giggle in the background, and wished he could speed up his arrival.

  A wide grin suffused Frank's face as he saw Susan standing with Paul next to a late model Cadillac sedan.

  Susan was the kind of woman often described as "handsome." She had never been beautiful, or especially sexy, though Frank often thought that last was more due to her manner than her appearance. Her features were regular, and pleasant. Flecks of gray sprinkled her black hair now, but her face showed only a few laugh lines. She was immaculately groomed, as always; not a single strand of hair dared stray from her control. Her figure was trim, though not angular, with full, rounded breasts, which she made no effort to emphasize.

  Frank suddenly realized that he didn't even know how old she was, though he remembered that her birthday was April 13. He looked at her again, appraisingly. Early to mid forties, he decided. He made a mental note to try to find a way to ask her tactfully.

  He hadn't seen her in over a year, since they finished up the last details of his "retirement". But he was surprised at how his heart leapt when he saw her. He strode up to her with a huge smile, and stopped suddenly, a confused look on his face, as he realized he'd almost swept her into his arms. He reminded himself that theirs was strictly a business relationship, and he had no business touching her. Then he suddenly realized that he wished that weren't true.

  He flushed deeply, lost in confusion. Then he got hold of himself, and his professional smile appeared as he greeted her warmly. But he could have sworn there was a touch of disappointment in her eyes as they did the typical business hug and cheek-kiss.

  Frank was glad they had almost an hour's ride ahead in Chicago traffic; he had been unprepared for the rush of emotion Susan's appearance had touched off. He was off-balance and confused, and he would need the time to gain back his equilibrium, and to try to figure out just what had happened. He didn't really feel that way about Susan, did he? Well, he had been thinking a lot recently about how he missed her calm competence, her intelligence, and her humor. And, yes, the sway of her hips as she walked. But sex? Love? He decided he needed to seriously consider whether he wanted a . . . well, a romantic relationship with Susan, and if so, how to do it without putting the unfair pressure of an employer on her. Indeed, he had a lot of thinking to do.

  Susan, though, was her usual calm, competent self. It was she who had decided to rent a limo instead of using Paul's car. She was sure they would want to talk on the way to Paul's home. She was, as usual, correct.

  Paul pulled the divider window closed to isolate the driver, and then said, "Frank, there are some great new rocket motors out there, and we can even get ion engines. But none of the current crop have been made to lift something as heavy as Shuttle, and everything that is big enough is 'retired' and out of production. It's not looking good.

  "Well," Frank said, "Spaceship 1 was launched from an aircraft. If you could lift your ship to 35 or 40 thousand feet before lighting off the rockets, you could save a lot of onboard fuel. The fuel in the lift plane wouldn't matter."

  Paul shook his head. "Everybody since the nazis has played with that idea. I'm afraid it just won't work."

  But the only other options Paul could come up with was either buying a launch from the Russians or ESA, or an ion engine.

  Frank shook his head. "We may end up buying a couple of launches," Frank said. "But I don't want to buy the launch of the ship itself. As soon as we try to schedule a launch for a ship, all hell's going to break loose. Let's not give them any head starts." As for the ion engine, Paul admitted that current designs lacked sufficient capacity for lift off, although they might prove useful for the rest of the mission.

  David had been struggling with the problem of a hull for the spacecraft. He hadn't been having a great deal of luck, either. "Shuttle was the only design that had been a true spaceship, and not just a capsule," David reported dispiritedly by phone. "I've even asked discreetly how much a new shuttle hull would cost. I didn't believe the estimate." He shook his head with a sour chuckle. "To show you how desperate I am, I've been checking into whether we could modify an aircraft fuselage into an acceptable space ship."

  Frank's eyebrows raised. "Do you think that's practical?"

  David shrugged. "Hell, I don't know. Maybe something like the SR-71; that's almost a space ship already. But it's designed to be mostly engine. Face it, that's a desperation move. But we damned sure won't be able to pry a shuttle away from any of the museums that got one."

  Frank frowned. "I thought I remembered that the Russians built a shuttle, too."

  "That's right!" David shouted. "I've got to call Sergei" he hung up the phone.

  Paul and Frank continued discussing the Russian Shuttle. Paul didn't even remember it; he began frantically pounding his computer keyboard. Silence dragged.

  Chapter 2

  David called back in less than an hour, sounding embarrassed but happy. "I forgot the time differen
ce," he confessed. "On the bright side, though, I learned some great new Russian curse words!"

  Frank grinned. "Good for you. I never got past nye kulturni. That always seemed to do the job for me. Who's Sergei, and what did you find out?"

  "Sergei Andorovich. Works at Baikonur Cosmodrome, the Russian space center. I'm planning to recruit him when I go to Russia. Oh, by the way, I need to go to Russia. Sergei's promised me a punch in the nose for not remembering the Buran shuttle. Especially since they built almost a dozen of them."

  "Really? I don't even remember hearing about it ever flying."

  David's grin was wide. "Well, it did, and it didn't. It flew once. Did two orbits. But it's the only spacecraft ever to orbit and soft land under remote control. Nobody ever took it into space."

  "Why not? Didn't it work?"

  "The Soviet Union fell apart is what happened. Things got kinda busy in Russia, and space exploration was 'way down the list of priorities. And then a few years later a hangar collapsed and destroyed the one that orbited."

  Frank was getting excited. "Tell me about the rest of them."

  "Well, I can't give you all the details, yet. I haven't had a chance to do any Internet research. But it seems they built quite a few of them for testing, and training, and of course for later use. Sergei's not sure what happened to all of them, but he thinks there's a couple of them at Baikonur, and he says there's even one in Gorky Park in Moscow. They use it as an attraction, an amusement ride."

  Frank was really excited, now. "So, how soon can you leave for Russia?"

  There was a wide grin in David's voice. "As soon as you can get me a visa and book me a flight!"

  "Ah," Frank replied. "For that I must invoke the mighty magic of Susan Andrews. I wouldn't be surprised if she turned out to know President-For-Life Putin personally!"

  It took even the magical Susan almost a week to complete the arrangements and book David's fight to Moscow.

  It was yet another week before the phone in Frank's Chicago hotel rang. "For your information," said the voice on the other end, "Baikonur Cosmodrome is not in Russia! It's in Kazakhstan, a whole 'nother visa. And the town isn't Baikonur, it's Tyuratam. Baikonur is just the space center."

  "David!" Frank said happily. "At least you remembered the time difference this time."

  David laughed. "Sergei took care of that. Anyway, he was right. There are at least two of the Burans here. One's been sitting outside for a long time, but the other one is covered in dust in an unused hangar. I've seen it, and I've even been aboard it. And Sergei got me quite a lot of information. Did you know there's a Buran fan club in Russia? They keep track of what happened to every one of the orbiters. They even have a website.

  "Anyway, I need to know if you have any contacts in Energia, or Molniya, or in an outfit called Antonov Airlines in the Ukraine?"

  "Sorry, no. I really don't do a lot of business in that part of the world."

  "Well," David said, "Maybe you should start. At one point, they also considered launching the Buran from an aircraft. They even had Antonov build them the world's largest airplane to carry the thing. They dropped the air launch idea for some reason, but they used the AN-225 to move the Burans around. The AN225 is still the largest aircraft in the world, and it's still flying. It's owned by Antonov Airlines, and they hire it out to haul really big and heavy cargo. And it still has the attachments to haul a Buran."

  Frank snapped to attention in his chair. "Really? You're not kidding?"

  "No kidding," David replied. "I'll bet a rich, high-powered business executive could arrange to use it, assuming you could get a Buran or two in the first place. The reason I asked about Energia is that they built the special booster to lift Buran into space. I'd bet they still have the plans, if they don't actually have a couple of motors lying around. They were also involved in the planning for the air launch."

  Frank was grinning into the phone. "If you were a rich, high-powered business executive, the first thing you'd do is convince the Russian government to allow a team to go to Baikonur and Moscow to study every detail of the Buran. And then you'd hire someone to find out the location, condition and owner of every Buran still in existence, and the chances and cost of buying each of them. You'd also get some feelers out to Energia about sending someone to discuss the Buran launch program. Then you'd talk to Antonov Airlines about that aircraft. You said it was the AN-225? I'll google it and check it out. You'd better start looking for accommodations for about five people for a month or so. And don't plan on hurrying back yourself. It sounds like most of this project just moved to Kazakhstan."

  "Will you be coming too, Frank?"

  Frank considered. "Probably not. If we can do a deal for one or two Burans, we'll have jumped our schedule a year ahead. I've got to start working on the operational aspects. We're going to need a launch site, and a location to start building a base to work on those Buran's you buy. I'll check around and see if I can come up with some contacts in the Russian space program that can help you out."

  "Well," David replied, "we've got Sergei, and he's a true believer, now. He's been introducing me around. But most of the people he can introduce me to are mid-level scientists. We're going to need access to the bosses to get anything done."

  David called again about three weeks later. He was having little luck getting access to the higher levels of management at Baikonur, and those he had been able to contact had been noncommittal. He and Sergei felt that Frank would have to come himself.

  "Okay," Frank replied. "Nothing has a higher priority than those Burans. I'll be there as soon as Susan can make the arrangements."

  "Stop in Moscow on the way," David said. "Sergei and I are getting the feeling that the only way to break through this brick wall is at the Federal Space Agency, Roscosmos."

  Two weeks later Frank was on an Aeroflot flight to Moscow, wishing he'd chosen a western airliner. It was a long flight, and he wasn't impressed with the service, even in first class. Sheremetyevo International Airport was modern and clean, but the cab ride into the city took over an hour due to congestion.

  He had consulted several business associates who had been doing business in Russia. Three of them had given him the name of Dmitri Gorneliev, a Deputy Head of Roscosmos, and one had volunteered to call Gorneliev and pave his way. Like all the senior leadership at Roscosmos, Gorneliev had both space program and military experience, though his bio on the Roscosmos web site did not indicate a current military affiliation.

  Since he had arrived during normal office hours, Frank called the number he had been given. Gorneliev's English-speaking secretary surprised Frank by telling him they had been expecting his call, and giving him an appointment the next day.

  Frank was surprised to find himself rather nervous when he arrived for his appointment ten minutes early. He was kept waiting less than half an hour before being shown into Gorneliev's office.

  Gorneliev seemed to be in his early fifties, fit, with a broad slavic face and an equally broad smile as he welcomed Frank. He was dressed in a conservative western-style business suit, and his English was excellent, almost accentless. He offered Frank coffee, which he refused, and then walked around his desk and resumed his seat.

  "It is an honor to meet the richest man in the world," Gorneliev smiled.

  Frank shook his head. "Barely in the top dozen," he replied. "And this project is likely to knock me off the list altogether."

  "Ah! And it is this project you wish to discuss with me?" Gorneliev asked, obviously braced for a sales pitch.

  Frank frowned, thinking hard. Finally, he shrugged. "Yes, sir." He hesitated. "Sir, I hope you'll excuse me. I spent most of the flight over here composing a truly impressive sales presentation. I was going to impress you with my good intentions and convince you that selling me nearly the entire Buran project would be in your nation's best interest.

  "Now, I find myself too nervous to deliver that wonderful presentation. I have not been nervous in a business meeting in thirt
y years, and that leaves me at somewhat of a loss. So, I'm going to dispense with that slick presentation, and just go with honesty."

  "I have been a space enthusiast since I discovered a science fiction book in my school library at age 12. The '60s, '70's, and '80's were an uncertain time for both our nations, sir, but science, especially space science, developed by leaps and bounds. Mankind progressed. The entire world captured the dream of space, and the spin-offs changed everyone's lives for the better."

  Frank paused for a moment, deep in thought, and then raised his head with a smile. "I read on a Russian space website that the USSR was very suspicious of the U.S. Shuttle program, and could not imagine any nonmilitary reason for its development. This surprised me a bit, sir. I guess I was naïve. I think most Americans of the time envisioned the shuttle as a mostly civilian project. I and thousands like me could see that by simply pressurizing the cargo bay and building in life support, the shuttle could be a real interplanetary ship. Not just a three-man capsule, but a real spacecraft.

  "However, your people saw it as a threat, and I suppose it was, or could have been. It spurred your Buran program. Americans of the time made jokes about your imitation shuttle and called it a bald copy. I, for one, was delighted. If both the superpowers built interplanetary ships, why, we would have a moon colony in a decade, and probably a Mars colony in another.

  But the Soviet Union fell, taking pressure off the U.S. space program, and a series of accidents, American and Russian, convinced our governments to concentrate on less aggressive, less expensive programs, like that silly International Space Station. The operative words became safe and cheap. Both nations moved past the shuttle, and backward to capsules." He shrugged. "Oh, I've seen the Roscosmos and NASA websites, that crow about Mars missions. But with the only real spaceships in museums and scrap yards, I, at least, doubt they will ever occur."

  He smiled at Gorneliev, and pulled out his laptop. "If you'll excuse me just a moment, sir," he said, His fingers blurred as they skipped over the keyboard for a moment. Then he reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a flash drive. He plugged it into a port on his laptop, waited a moment, and then removed it.