Man's Hope

by Zellmann, William

  Frank was given special permission and an escort to inspect the VM-T Atlant. The escort was a grizzled Air Force sergeant whose English was only fair, but who seemed very familiar with the VM-T, and very proud of it. "Iss fine airplane," the sergeant proclaimed. "Iss old, but fine airplane. Very strong" He looked sad. "Too bad iss now for scrap."

  When Frank, speaking slowly, told him that it was possible the VM-T might be renovated and fly again, the sergeant was delighted. He dragged Frank over, under and through the aircraft, often forgetting his English and rattling on in Russian. Frank asked why it was being stored outside. "Iss old," the sergeant replied. He told Frank that the plane had been stored indoors for many years, but had been moved outside several years ago to free up hangar space. Frank had misgivings about the old plane, especially with the outdoor storage. Though it was stored outside, the corrosion did not appear unrepairable. The engines had not been turned in many years, and were expected to be unserviceable. But Frank's heart leapt as the old sergeant told him that plastic transport pods that had held the Buran, other Buran-related equipment and even the huge Energia booster were still stored there. Frank began to hope the other VM-T might be in better shape, but he was reconsidering the practicality of even renovating this one, if necessary.

  At Frank's request, Gorneliev provided him a driver and authorization to visit Dyagilevo Air Base at Ryazan, about 100 miles south of Moscow. It was primarily a training base, but it also housed mothballed large aircraft, including the other VM-T.

  It was a long ride, and Frank hoped it would be worth the trip. It was. The VM-T at Dyagilevo had been carefully mothballed, cocooned to protect it from the ravages of weather and time. Engine inlets and outlets were plugged, and the entire aircraft had been painted with some sort of thick preservative. Frank had to take most of the condition report on faith; the thick coating prevented entry into the aircraft, and only special inspection ports existed for the base personnel to make certain the corrosion did not take hold. But those openings revealed shiny aluminum and equally shiny stainless on the engine parts.

  Frank hated to do it, but during the return ride from Dyagilevo, he called a business friend in the U.S. that did a lot of business in the Russian capital, and asked him to recommend a dependable agent in Moscow he could hire to negotiate some services for him. Naturally, the friend offered the services of his own agent, but Frank declined. Finally, he was reluctantly referred to a man his friend "heard was good."

  Then he had an idea, and decided to call Dr. Ternayev at Energia instead. When he explained his problem, Ternayev took less than a minute to retrieve the telephone number of a friend, an aeronautical engineer who formerly worked at Tupelev.

  "Formerly?"

  He could almost hear Ternayev's shrug. "He can become very passionate, and sometimes lacks tact. But he is an excellent engineer, and is easily qualified to do an evaluation. His English is not bad, either. Maybe not so good as mine, but not bad. If you would like, I will call Valery for you right now."

  Valery's examination of the first VM-T confirmed Frank's own; it was too far gone for economical renovation.

  There was a bit of a problem at Dyagilevo, though. The custodians did not want to break into the VM-T's cocoon to permit close inspection. It took a call from Gorneliev to make them agree.

  And the news was good. The careful preservation work had made the VM-T "easily" salvageable, to use Valery's term. "Though you might wish to upgrade the engines," he added. Even better, the Soviets had registered the VM-T's as civilian aircraft, and once renovated, the VM-T would be welcome at most any airport large enough to handle it.

  Frank called David at Baikonur, and told him to get back to Moscow as soon as possible to take charge of the renovation of the VM-T. As a U. S. Air Force officer, David was intimately familiar with aircraft maintenance, repair, and upgrading.

  "They've decided they will rent us a hangar at Ramenskoye to work on the Buran and the VM-T," he told David. "That means the VM-T will have to be brought up here by truck or rail, and that means removing the wings. At any rate, when you get it here, the VM-T is the highest priority. This was a 1960's bomber, which means it's probably a gas hog. Try to upgrade the engines to modern, fuel-efficient ones. We're more interested in payload and range than speed."

  David frowned. "Are you sure you want to go with a 40-year-old airframe?" he asked.

  Frank shrugged. "There's always a risk to everything. The secret to getting rich is to know which risks are worth taking, and which are not."

  "And you think this one is worth taking?"

  "Look at it this way, David. I'd have made the investment whether the deal included a VM-T or not. I threw it in because I always try to get maximum return, and I was already getting everything I expected. Gorneliev knew it, too. He threw it in to sweeten the pot.

  "So, you might say I got the airplane for free. As for its age, there are still DC-3's flying, and they were last built in 1937. These things flew over 150 flights hauling Burans, boosters, tanks, and who knows what all. It's a solid, dependable airframe. If you can upgrade it for half a million, I'll be a happy camper. How many AN-225 flights could I charter for half a mil?"

  David shrugged. "You've got a point. Okay, I'll do my best."

  Frank clapped him on the shoulder. "I know you will. You want to get into space again. Y'know, you might want to get checked out on it yourself, so you can pilot it."

  David's grin reappeared. "Now, that sounds interesting. Flying a shuttle from the outside!"

  Frank told Gorneliev that he would accept the Energia test model as one of the two 'operational' orbiters cited in the contract, and the Dyagilevo VM-T to satisfy that part of the contract. Gorneliev sounded pleased, and referred him to someone at Dyagilevo who could arrange the transfer to Ramenskoye. Unfortunately, that individual did not speak English, so his secretary translated. After frequent mention of Gorneliev's name, the man agreed to work with David on moving the big aircraft.

  Chapter 4

  "Weatherly?" the voice on the phone said, without preamble. "Frank Weatherly? The great Capitalist Yankee Imperialist Pig himself?"

  "Ah," Frank replied with a smile, "This must be Oh-Wow Bernardez, Protector of the Downtrodden and general Pain in the Ass. I haven't talked to you since that college reunion, what, ten years ago? Fifteen?"

  Joao Bernardez chuckled. "More like fifteen. You were still working on your first billion."

  Frank chuckled. "And you were still planning to seize power in Brazil and become a benign despot."

  "Yes, well," Joao replied, "that did not work out. It seems the downtrodden prefer freedom to a dictator, even a benign one. Who'd have believed it?"

  "Well," Frank said consolingly, "You did make it to Deputy Minister of Development, Industry, and Trade. That's not bad for someone who only got a 'D' in Economics."

  "Pah!" Joao replied. "Those capitalist fools of professors could not see that socialism is the only truly egalitarian system."

  "Y'know, Joao," said Frank, "If you really believed that crap, you'd be running for President, running around making speeches to the Amazon tribes."

  "All right," Joao replied in his accentless English, "You didn't call me after fifteen years just to trade insults. What do you need, and how many of your billions can I get to provide it?"

  Frank chuckled. "I'm already going through those billions quickly enough, thank you. But I may be able to send a few million Brazil's way. I'm working on the biggest project I've ever tackled, and Brazil can be a part of it. For right now, I need an introduction and an appointment with someone high up in the Brazilian Space Agency. The higher the better. And the sooner the better."

  "Oh, no," Joao groaned theatrically. "Frank Weatherly is taking over space. The rest of the world might as well cancel their programs now, and save the money."

  "Well, maybe not quite," Frank replied, his tone turning serious. "But I do need your help, Joao. Brazil is uniquely situated to be a key player in this project, and Br
azil could definitely benefit."

  Joao's bantering tone faded to match Frank's seriousness. "Okay, Frank. It happens that I play a lot of golf with the Deputy Director, Afonso Matines. Where are you? How long will it take you to get here? 'Here' being Brasilia, of course."

  After spending three days in Moscow waiting for a Brazilian visa, Frank arrived at the Brasilia International airport only two hours after Susan arrived from Atlanta.

  Actually, the delay did not bother Frank. He called Susan, and had her start on her own visa. He was jolted by how much her voice affected him, and by how much he looked forward to her joining him in Brazil. But he had plenty of backed up work he'd been ignoring since arriving in Moscow. His brokers were complaining that his Russian investment could lose him over a million dollars due to the lowered prices he would receive by selling shares quickly. Frank's return e-mail reminded them that they were brokers, and that if they couldn't shift some shares around without losing a million dollars, he needed new brokers. The tone of succeeding e-mails rapidly changed, and it suddenly appeared he might actually make over a million from selling a different mix of shares.

  And on, and on. Frank had quickly forgotten that he had spent the last two years devoting almost twelve hours a day to monitoring his investments. He was tipped off that a broker for Space-X was quietly trying to find out about Frank's space-related investment activity, and smiled to himself. Thanks to his success in Russia, Frank expected that a Buran would be ready to lift before the Space-X Heavy was operational. Of course, if the Russian mission had failed, he might have been counting heavily on that booster; and he still might need it to launch unmanned supply missions.

  At any rate, the questions were beginning, and would soon develop into rumors. Soon Frank would start getting phone calls from other wealthy investors, trying to find out if Frank was getting in on the ground floor of something good. Frank smiled. In a few months, he had a feeling there would be a surge in space investment, similar to what had happened a few years earlier with Space-X and Scaled Composites. But those companies were closely held, while the Russians were actually courting investors. He wondered if his project had already begun showing results; reigniting interest in space development, and freeing up investment money that the worldwide "American recession" had locked down.

  Joao picked them up at the airport and delivered them to their hotel. He was a dark man in late middle age, with a gleaming, toothy smile.

  As Frank dismissed the bellman who delivered his baggage, Joao dropped into one of the suite's comfortable upholstered chairs.

  "All right, Frank," he said, "I've gone along with this so far, but now you want to talk to some pretty high-powered brass. It's time to tell me what's going on."

  Frank nodded with a smile. He gave Joao a summary of the plan, and briefed him on the status of the Buran purchase. "Now, I need a launch site." He concluded, "and I'd like to use Alcântara."

  Joao was frowning. "But why Brazil? Why not take it to ESA? They have a launch site a few miles north of ours in French Guiana."

  Frank sighed and his smile turned sad. "I'd really rather explain that at the meeting, so I don't have to repeat it. Suffice it to say that I'm prepared to spend millions to lease ground at the Launch Center, build a launch pad large enough to launch a space shuttle, and build a huge hangar and assembly building."

  Joao whistled. "I think I'd better expand the guest list. Can you hold off another day so I can put it together?"

  The large conference room that Frank and Susan entered at the Ministry of Space was nearly full. In short order, Frank was introduced to the Deputy Minister of Space, and Deputy Ministers from Science and Technology, Foreign Relations, Joao's own Development, Industry and Trade, and finally Defense, accompanied by a uniformed General. The last two were the ones Frank really wanted to impress. He was about to offer the others things that they wanted. But several space-related development attempts in Brazil had been killed by the military, who had originally controlled the space program, and still had a strong voice.

  Susan had prepared information packets for each attendee, and several were leafing through them when he arrived.

  Frank thanked them all for coming, and then launched into his briefing on his program, including the Buran purchases and the support of NPO Molniya and RKK Energia. "This program is real, gentlemen," he concluded, "and I am prepared to spend millions to make it happen."

  The Deputy Minister for Defense asked the obvious question. "Why Brazil? Why not America? Or Russia? Or ESA?"

  Frank took a deep breath. "I have been told I have a lamentable lack of faith in my fellow man," he said. "In this case, I don't trust NASA and the U.S. government. For years now, I suspect it has been U.S. government policy to have a finger in every space enterprise that shows signs of life.

  Mostly, they do it by "giving" it money and then demanding information and decision-making authority in exchange. If the program shows the possibility of a success, they either tie it up with a government contract, or throw cold water on it by loudly withdrawing their support, or using the technology transfer laws, as they did with Brazil and the Sealaunch project.

  Basically, they either control it or destroy it, all the time managing to look like a benign neutral. They are the big dog on the block, and they plan to stay the big dog.

  "Now," he continued, "I need a launch site. But this is my, well, my obsession, I guess. I don't want it to be an American program, or a Russian program. I want it to be mankind's program; truly international in scope. That's why I can't just use Baikonur, even though at least one of the Burans is already there. If we launch a Russian-built ship from a Russian launch site, in the eyes of the world it becomes a Russian project.

  "But America has a lot of weight to throw around, and no visible scruples. If I'm to make this work, I'll have to launch from a country that:" He began ticking off points on his fingers. "A: is neutral, tied to none of the superpowers, B: has a strong economy, reducing the chances of successful U.S. blackmail, C: Is free, independent, and proud. Brazil has built the fourth largest economy in the world, and you've done it without becoming either a Russian or a U.S. lackey. D: has a real, functioning space program, and finally, E: is militarily strong enough to enforce its neutrality.

  "Brazil has two other features that make it desirable to me, personally. Once the program gets underway, and the rumors start flying, I fully expect the U.S. government to come after me with search warrants and arrest warrants, for any charges they can dream up; probably violation of the technology transfer laws, for a start. They're going to want to use the charges and warrants to get inside my program; and I don't want them there. So, I find the facts that Brazil has no extradition agreement with the U.S., and that the military provides security at Alcântara most comforting."

  It was the Minister of Science who asked, "You've told us what's in it for you. What is in it for Brazil? Why should we wish to take on the United States? At the moment we are, as you would say, in a state of benign neglect. What will make it worth waking the sleeping giant?"

  Frank paused. "I think that I will be able to enhance your space program's capabilities enough to make Brazil a major player. At the moment, you compete with a number of other, smaller countries for the launches of small, light satellites, because your launch pads are small.

  "But I cannot use a small launch pad. The Energia/Buran will need a big launch pad; big enough to launch the Buran, or the American Shuttle, or the Ariane 5, or any other large booster or manned program. As you know, ESA has a launch site in French Guiana. Yours will be closer to the equator, and have the capability of launching manned missions, which they cannot, at the moment. That means you could bid for jobs that now go to the U.S. or one of the other big boys.

  "Once it's built, I could not pick up that launch pad and remove it if I wanted to, and I don't. The manned mission will also necessarily involve state-of-the-art control and monitoring systems that are not easily removable. Brasileiros will be trained t
o work on this expanded site. In other words, gentlemen, I'm offering to upgrade the Alcântara Launch Center to the capability of launching any booster system in the world, manned or unmanned, and train your people to run it, at no cost to your government."

  "What about the technology transfer laws you mentioned?" asked the General. "NASA used that nonsense against us before. What's to stop them doing it again?"

  Frank smiled. "Simple. We will use little or no U.S. technology. My ships and boosters are from Russia. We will purchase computers, tracking and monitoring systems from ESA, or from Japan. I have set a firm rule that we will purchase nothing from the U.S. that is technological in nature. Frankly, once they realize they can't get to me, I expect them to seize any of my assets or shipments left in the US, and block exports to me, and maybe even to Brazil."

  The Deputy Minister of Foreign Relations snickered, and Frank smiled. "I know, the percentage of your trade with the U.S. has been dropping for some years. I believe it's barely ten percent of your international trade at the moment." He glanced at Joao, who nodded.

  But it was Joao who asked, "What guarantees do we have that you won't run out of money in the middle of your project, and leave us with a half-developed launch pad?"