But that did not mean Frank was careless. Armed, uniformed soldiers patrolled the site. The large combination hangar/assembly building was locked and patrolled by armed guards. Armed soldiers asked arriving guests for identification, and the Brazilian army was getting a lot of counter-terrorism training, using explosive-sniffing dogs, advanced metal and explosive detectors, and other advanced equipment and techniques. They had been drilling for weeks.
Those with American passports had their names compared to a list Frank had provided, and those not on the list were simply denied entry. Frank was sure that at least a couple of spies would gain entry anyway, but he actually did not mind. This was to be Frank's big announcement. All secrets – well, all but one – would be revealed, and he was making certain he would have the largest audience possible for it.
K2 was posed in front of the hangar, perfect for picture taking. She soared above her audience, brilliant white except for her black heat tiles. Her tail fin proudly displayed Frank's large picture of Earth as seen from the moon. A frail-looking ladder led to a platform near the ship's nose, and a rope barrier and armed soldiers kept her inviolate. Some forty folding chairs covered in bright white cloth faced the ship, also protected by the rope barrier.
Precisely at the announced time, the small personnel door of the huge hangar opened, and a column of dignitaries exited. They had been carefully guided to the guarded hangar, and treated to the finest of wines and food. Every cabinet ministry was represented, nearly all by the Minister himself, and the Vice-President was among the guests.
Frank spoke briefly, thanking his guests for coming, but mostly, thanking them for their steadfastness in the face of extreme pressure, for their faith in him. He also warned them that until the actual launch in two weeks, the fight was not over. The U.S. would not lightly surrender its dominance of space news. But he promised that today's ceremony and the excitement it would create would be something they would remember with pride for the rest of their years.
He called each of them up to the front and thanked them personally. Each was given a small gold Buran statue, engraved with their name, a 'Thank You', and Frank's signature.
Then it was time, and they formed up to file out the small door. Frank held the Vice President back for a moment. "A seat in the front row is reserved for you, Excellency. It is proper that you exit last, so that you can be properly escorted to your seat."
The vice President nodded. "Obrigado," he replied.
But as they exited the hanger, a helicopter with military markings settled to the runway. A man in a dark civilian suit exited the helicopter, and as he approached, Frank recognized the President of Brazil. Frank hurried to greet him as the helicopter lifted off.
Frank stopped a few steps from the President, and bowed slightly. "It is truly an honor that you could join us, Excellency."
The President smiled. "I would not miss it, Senhor Weatherly. If I am not mistaken, you plan to announce some rather spectacular news.
Frank smiled as he escorted the President to a solid chair, draped in white linen, in front of the first row. "It seems I am not unexpected," commented the President.
"We had hoped, Excellency."
Frank followed Susan up the ladder. Once there, he clipped a small microphone to his suit lapel.
"Good afternoon, Senhor President, Senhor Vice President, esteemed guests. Welcome to the christening ceremony for the first spacecraft to be launched without government support of any kind. We have received no assistance of any type from any government, except for assets or services we have purchased.
"I would like to say that this is the culmination of a dream for me, but it is not; it is, in fact, the end of preparations to pursue that dream, and the beginning of the pursuit itself. Those preparations began when a friend, David Tarrant, proposed an idea. We have spent over a year and over two billion U.S. dollars in pursuit of that idea, that dream.
"Those of you who have been kind enough to follow our progress in the independent media, perhaps think you're aware of that dream. I tell you now; you know only half of the dream, perhaps the least important half.
"David Tarrant, and the five other men I will be introducing shortly, does indeed plan to intercept a comet, Carson IV. But we have visited comets before, using unmanned missions. Why should we go in person?
"I tell you now: We go because Carson IV is not our goal; it is our transportation!"
"When they arrive at the comet, they will land on it, or dock with it, if you prefer. Then they will begin to tunnel into the ice that is comet's main body. It may even be necessary to rotate it, to insure that the bulk of the comet is between them and the sun.
"They will do this because they will actually remain on the comet during its transit of the solar end of its orbit. If all goes well, they will emerge on the other side about two months later, with the comet outbound, toward the asteroid belt.
"Then they, or a relief crew sent to meet them, will ride Carson IV all the way to the asteroid belt. During the trip, which we estimate will take just over a year; they will affix ion drive engines to the comet, which they will use to guide it to a rendezvous with a selected asteroid.
"But no, this is not a mission to visit an asteroid. Rather, it is a mission to capture an asteroid, and return it to Earth orbit."
By the time he had finished, Frank could hear shouted voices, even on the elevated platform. He gestured with both hands for silence.
"When they arrive at our selected asteroid, the crew will move the ion engines from the comet to the asteroid, and will begin altering its orbit. We expect to anchor it to Carson IV, so the crew will still have access to the hydrogen and oxygen available in its water ice.
"We are uncertain as to the duration of the inbound trip; it depends on the asteroid selected, and orbit it occupies. But it will certainly be more than another year, possibly two. During the trip, they will again be tunneling, this time into the asteroid. They will be digging living spaces, ladies and gentlemen. By the time they arrive, we hope they will be 'driving' an almost ready-to-use real, true, space station.
When they arrive, they will use the ion engines to move the asteroid into a stable Earth orbit, creating an artificial second moon. Or perhaps we will choose to set it to orbiting just ahead or behind Earth in the same orbit, where it will become a permanent star. With the asteroid and the remains of Carson IV in a stable Earth orbit, we will be able to mine millions of tons of chemically pure minerals, yes, but also to tons of hydrogen, oxygen and water that can be used for further space exploration. We will have a stepping-stone to the stars!"
He paused, and saw pandemonium in the crowd. People were shouting, pushing, even fighting. Uniformed figures were beginning to head for the crowd. He frowned, and then shouted, "STOP!"
His amplified voice caused an immediate pause. "If you are unable to conduct yourselves in a civilized manner, I'm certain our friends in the Brazilian military will be happy to escort you to the exits. Of course, the planes will be leaving from inside the installation. I assure you, Sao Luis is a long swim, and Belem is an even longer hike. To our civilized guests, I apologize for the behavior of the barbarians among us."
"To continue," he said, returning to his normal tone, "There have been those that have opposed us throughout this project. I have been called a traitor, a lunatic, a terrorist, and many mixtures of the three. This opposition will not stop, nor will their attempts to stop us. Some will oppose us because they are in positions of power, and see us as a threat to that power. Some oppose us because they believe that the quest for space is consuming resources needed on Earth. Others oppose us because we have no 'official sanction'; we have no government sponsor to be 'responsible' for us. Some even oppose us for religious reasons. Tomorrow's newspapers will blare that I'm planning to 'steal' an asteroid for profit, or that I'm planning to ram it into the Earth and recreate the catastrophe that destroyed the dinosaurs.
"But please, allow me to tell you the real reason I'm doing this. T
he real reason I have gone to such extremes to avoid government entanglements.
"It has been theorized that in the development of any sentient species, there appear 'windows of opportunity'; periods of time in which certain developments must occur, or the species is doomed. I believe we are in such a window now.
"At present, mankind is restricted to one small planet. Humanity could be completely destroyed by another large asteroid impact. But I believe that man has a bigger destiny than that. I believe that man must develop the ability to travel in space, and he must do it now.
"And I do not mean a few up-and-down orbital trips, or a few days on the moon, or hooking a few tin cans together and calling it a 'space station'. I mean the ability to move easily within our solar system. If we can establish colonies in space or on other planets, Mankind will have passed another hurdle. No single cataclysm could destroy us.
"Our window opened in 1957, when the Soviet Union launched Sputnik. It will close when man can no longer devote the necessary resources to the project. If we allow this window to close, ladies and gentlemen, someday the last man or woman will die of starvation on his worn-out planet. It may not be for thousands of years, but if this window closes, man's doom is sealed.
"But if we can jump through this window, mankind has an opportunity to go on to fulfill whatever destiny he can imagine.
"This is why I'm doing this, and why I'm doing it this way. Ladies and Gentlemen, this will not be an American mission, or a Russian mission, or a Brazilian mission, or even my mission, although I hope to recoup much of my investment from the orbiting asteroid. This mission is my legacy to mankind. This is Man's mission!" Again, he was forced to wait for the shouts and cheers to subside.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, I would like to ask Ms. Susan Andrews to formally christen the ship that will bring us the stars!"
Susan picked up the bottle of champagne, and placed a microphone on her dress. She stepped forward, and swung the bottle. "I christen thee . . . MAN'S HOPE!" The last, the name of the ship, was a shout as the bottle shattered, but she was unprepared for the huge roar of shouting, cheers, and applause that erupted in response. The pandemonium showed no signs of subsiding for more than ten minutes.
Finally, Frank again stepped forward, as the hubbub slowly died. "I should mention that Man's Hope has a sister ship." He said. "She's not yet ready to fly, and perhaps she won't, for awhile. But I wanted to let you know there is also a Man's Dream.
"But now, it's time to introduce the brave crew who has volunteered for this incredible adventure. They are planning to risk their lives, and to spend the next three years of them crammed into a tiny tin can, or sealed into an icy cave, to help pursue Man's Hope.
"The Buran was designed for two pilots and up to six 'passengers', in a compartment directly beneath the pilot's cabin. We have two pilots and four 'passengers' – except that none of them are passengers, they are crew members, and the mission cannot succeed without them."
He nodded, and David began climbing the ladder. "It is appropriate," Frank said, "that the Commander of this mission be the man with the original dream. Ladies and gentlemen, David Tarrant, U.S. Air Force, retired, and a former Shuttle astronaut."
David reached the platform, stepped forward, and waved, grinning. Frank had been forced to promise David that he would not have to say anything in order to get him up there.
"The Deputy Commander is also experienced in space. Yuri Kozunov, Colonel of the Federal Russian Air Force, retired, and International Space Station cosmonaut." Yuri was tall, slim, and sandy-haired. His smile and wave were tentative, and he hurriedly stepped back.
"Dr. Raoul Jerroult, of France, is a psychologist and medical doctor. On a three-year mission, his skills will be invaluable." Raoul was short and rather pudgy, with a large, ready smile.
"Ronald Mbele, of Kenya, is a mechanical engineer, and will be responsible for maintaining and servicing Man's Hope." Ron was a tall man whose scarred face testified to his tribal heritage. He was an Engineer, but mostly, he was a tinkerer, and seemed able to fix anything mechanical with a toothpick and a piece of wire.
"Yoichiro Kuzuki, from Japan, is an Electrical engineer, and a master electronics technician. He will be responsible for Man's Hope's electronics, computer, and communications systems." The small, thin man stepped forward and bowed, unsmiling.
"And finally, Rodolfo Ancara, from Brazil. Rodolfo is an astronomer and a space scientist. He will be our navigator and Communications Officer." Rodolfo, or 'Dolf', was a handsome, dark-haired man of medium height. David said Dolf was so pretty that if you looked up 'gigolo' in the dictionary, you would find his picture.
Frank did not enjoy public speaking before large groups any more than David did. Once the introductions were complete, he simply said, "That concludes our ceremonies, ladies and gentlemen. I will be available for my scheduled interviews starting in half an hour." He plucked the microphone from his lapel, and led Susan down the ladder.
There was a crowd waiting at the bottom, but he escaped by claiming he must attend the President. He found the President in conversation is Dolf Ancara, with both of them jabbering away merrily in Portuguese. The President smiled at Frank and slipped easily into English.
"Quite a show you put on, Senhor Weatherly," said the President. "I was not aware that one of your astronauts was Brazilian."
Frank shrugged and smiled. "We didn't announce the selections until yesterday," he said. "We had over a hundred candidates." His smile faded. "Please do not assume that Dolf was selected because he is Brazilian. We used dossiers without names or nationalities, and selected by majority vote by number."
"By the way, sir," he added, "We have agreed not to use the terms 'astronaut' or 'cosmonaut'; too many nationalistic connotations. We hope they will be the first of many thousands, of both sexes. So we merely call them 'Spacers'."
They chatted for a few more minutes before the President was drawn away to talk with his many well-wishers. Frank turned to Dolf. "I have to go be interviewed, Dolf. Would you please attend the President? If he wants a tour, show him everything. Nothing is off limits to the President, Okay"?
Dolf smiled. "You got it, boss. Even the uh . . ." he whirled a finger in the air.
Frank smiled. "Especially that. I told him I expected to get one. If we try to hide it, he'll know it. It's important to me that he knows we'll be completely honest with him."
Dolf nodded, and headed off toward the group around the President. Frank had to head in the other direction. He had an appointment, and he was late. He had promised the 'friendly' reporters and the 'friendly' newspapers that each of them would get a personal, "exclusive" interview. They were scheduled for fifteen minutes, every twenty minutes.
Chapter 7
His first appointment was with a blogger who had supported him from the first vague reports right up to the present despite the access problems it caused him with NASA people. He was a thin, pimply-faced young man of about twenty, and he was clearly excited about meeting Frank.
When Frank entered his office, the young man sprang to his feet and hurried forward. "Mr. Weatherly!" he cried, with the air of someone meeting his favorite rock star. "It's a real honor, sir. That's her? That's the actual ship that will be going into space? It seems kinda small."
Frank rescued his hand from the man's frantic pumping, walked around his desk, and took his seat. "If I remember right," he said, "I think she's about 122 feet long. All the Buran specs are available on the Internet. We didn't change her dimensions."
The young man took out a notebook, and flipped to a blank page. "Are you concerned about using a spacecraft built in the eighties?'
Frank shrugged. "The only thing on Man's Hope that's old is the airframe. Everything else aboard her has been updated. And the airframe has been inspected rivet by rivet. So, no, I'm not worried about her."
"Why did you decide to buy Russian spacecraft?"
"We were looking for true space ships, not capsules. Of cours
e, all the American Shuttles had been given to museums. Actually, we were seriously considering trying to convert an aircraft fuselage when one of us remembered the Russian shuttle. We checked and found that several were still around, so we asked about buying them."
"What do you mean by 'true space ships'?"
Frank chuckled. "Something besides a conical tin can with seats," he replied. "Seriously, to me, a 'space ship' is a vessel. Something that people can actually get up and move around. Something that will carry a meaningful cargo load, and that can perform a real function, not just go up and down on the end of a roman candle and a parachute."
"How did your updates affect the payload and performance?"
Frank smiled. "An excellent question. I'm glad you asked. The Burans were already built using very lightweight metals. But by using state-of-the-art electronics, control systems, and ion maneuvering engines, we were actually able to reduce the maximum weight by a full 25%. This allowed us to increase the payload by five tons, and still enhance the performance. We are hoping that the Hope will achieve Geostationary Transfer Orbit without requiring a maneuvering engine burn. This, of course, gives a much greater maneuvering margin in matching orbits with the comet."
The young man was scribbling furiously. Frank wondered why he hadn't brought a recorder, but he didn't ask. By the time the man had asked a few more questions and scribbled the answers, his time was up. He looked distressed, and Frank felt sorry for him. But he was on a schedule.
Frank found that most of the reporters asked the same or similar questions, and few of them were as technical or as knowledgeable as those of the first young man.
"Did you really pay a hundred million dollars for the Burans?"
"No. I entered into an agreement with the Russian government and several companies that resulted in me investing a hundred million dollars in an ongoing spaceship project."
"Did you really say you wouldn't buy American junk?"
"No. I had to careful about the U.S. technology transfer laws, which limited my ability to buy American products."
Man's Hope Page 13
