by T I WADE
Russia and Moscow were the worst, where underground anti-government factions took advantage of the blinded “eyes” from above! The military in many first-world countries had been rapidly deployed and tried to keep the peace, often to no avail.
London was ablaze in many areas, as looters and small-time criminals tried to increase their territory and wealth. Nightly curfews became the norm all over Europe.
China, with its authoritative control over the masses, fared the best. Within ten days of losing their new space station the fourth, fifth, and sixth units of the project were launched into space. Each part had been designed to “stand alone” in space, and the parts they had lost were already being replaced. They would require only a year or so to get operative.
The Chinese government had continually warned the U.S. that there would be retributions for the loss of their spacecraft and dozens of satellites, however, the new Washington just told them to shut up and deal with it. The U.S. was on a state of high alert due to the not-so-veiled threats issued by the second most powerful country in the world, but the new Washington thought themselves invincible…nothing could touch them!
After each launch Washington sent letters of disapproval to Beijing. In response, Beijing increased its threatening tone. Tom Ward and the CIA were made point agency to set up a scenario of possible retributions towards China. Tom Ward was not quite the right man for the job as he began to send them blunt warnings from Langley.
All this was happening while Ryan was in Cuba. His crew aboard America One looked down on earth with trepidation, watching and listening to everything going on. The new Chinese launches worried them the most. They only received one message from their friends still on earth.
Three weeks after the last shuttle arrived, a single sentence was transmitted on Ryan’s old rarely used radio channel, from a launch site in Russia: “There is a plan in the works to get your boss to safety.”
Nobody in the U.S. government mentioned Astermine while Ryan was in Cuba. It was as if he had never existed. Two weeks after the last launch, Joe Downs sent a cameraman to Ryan’s airfield to take some new footage for the documentary. The man returned in the helicopter stating that only the runway and white apron remained.
Every building had been dismantled and carted away. Apart from the cement apron, runway, and the odd mound of dirt, where it looked like searches were made, everything was gone. It looked as if Astermine had never existed. Gone were the miles of fencing, the above ground fuel tanks, and even the gates. The desert looked like nothing had ever been built there. Joe Downs stated that the only reason anybody could guess that something new had been there, was the bright white aircraft apron, and the 10,000-foot runway, still in perfect condition.
Joe knew that this documentary, being made for the ex-president, could make him famous. Also, his life and the life of everyone working on the project would be in danger if word leaked out. He had explained to his crew of five that certain death would occur if one word was mentioned; absolute secrecy was the only thing that would keep them safe. Only eight people, nine when Ryan watched it on his flight to London, knew about it until CBS stupidly advertised the special documentary twenty-four hours before it was to air.
Washington got wind of it and the New York offices of CBS were searched and trashed by the NSA. Several prominent CBS journalists were jailed to force them to surrender any information they had about the transmission location of the documentary. Since none of them actually had any knowledge about the show, they were able to convince the brutish G-men they were not privy to any information.
Then, the NSA went after the local CBS station in Las Vegas. They arrived in a force of hundreds only to find a neat and tidy, but empty news building. There was nobody around, and an APB went out nationwide searching for the Las Vegas crew, who were already in Canada. The news crew were sending out over 400 DVD copies, each with a backup of the documentary, to every one of the 200 plus CBS affiliates around the world. Joe Everson was in charge of getting his agents to personally deliver two copies to each station for the Sunday night viewing. Then, he got on the plane bound for Cuba with his last copy.
Hours before the documentary was to be aired, the Oval Office tried to close down CBS. The president went on air to warn viewers that CBS was now a banned organization, and that the CIA and NSA would be closing down every station. Court injunctions citing First Amendment rights to freedom of the press immediately stopped the action. In several parts of the country the local police surrounded the news stations to prevent their being entered by other government agencies.
The writing was already on the wall as to what the president was up to. The people weren’t stupid, and slowly the net closed in.
At 8:00 p.m. Eastern Time, the documentary began airing. With all the hype and orders out of Washington surrounding the 30-minute segment, CBS had its highest viewing numbers ever; over 95 percent of the country watched the hideous acts of the president and his men. Even the president himself was glued to a set in the Oval Office, shocked by how much Ryan and Astermine had caught, filmed, and recorded of his dealings over the previous year.
He ordered Air Force One to be made ready. He wanted to fly to safety, but he didn’t make it; Marine One never appeared to pick him up. He was left to stew in the Oval Office.
Chapter 2
Space is beautiful this time of year
“Ryan to America One, Ryan to America One, do you copy? Over,” asked the boss of Astermine in the Russian station’s space command center. He had given his radio frequency to the radio operator; only Ryan and his main crew knew the code. The equipment, the room, and the surroundings around him were grey, cold and uninviting.
“America One to Ryan, VIN here, glad to hear your voice boss. Everything on schedule up here. When are you coming to join us? Over.”
“Earth-Exit has their last liftoff from Russian soil tomorrow, exactly twenty hours from now. I suggest you monitor it and send SB-III and her crew to pick me up. The whole package is ours. Tell Suzi that she will have to deal with Russian chocolate and powered milk, and I will have 500 pounds of other luxuries with me. I don’t yet know if Martin is joining me, but I doubt it. There is too much going on down here on Earth.”
“Roger that,” replied VIN. “We are still monitoring everything going on down there. The documentary aired a short time ago. We managed to patch into a live feed from Miami over to Europe on the only European satellite they have left, and there are already fireworks, big time, going on in Washington.”
“I was given a copy of the documentary. Our friend Joe Downs did a fantastic job. I have a few cracked ribs, but the doctor says that I’m fit enough to make the launch. I will need help as I will be fully suited up with zero communications aboard their freighter. You guys have twenty-four hours from the time of the launch to get me to the ship; you are expected to liaise with me at an orbital altitude of 300,000 feet. Mr. Noble, get Mr. Jones moving, he will need time to fuel up and prepare to reach the lower orbit. The orbit will be exactly the same around Earth as all the other Earth-Exit launches from Plesetsk Cosmodrome, so input data from the last launches into the SB-III computers. Igor and Boris will know what to do. SB-III will have to leave within a couple of hours to reach me in time.”
“Roger that,” replied VIN. “We are already doing what is necessary and will have your ride ready. Oh! One thing Jonesy told me to ask you: If that passenger isn’t on board, could you fill his weight with some of that good vodka the Russians make?”
Ryan smiled. He already had a case of French champagne from London, a case of the best Scottish Single Malt, and he was sure that the Russians at Plesetsk Cosmodrome could come up with a case or two of Mr. Jones’ passion. For the half billion dollars he had paid Earth-Exit for the four Russian launches into space, including this last one, a few extras were easy pickings.
An hour later Martin called Plesetsk to say that he wasn’t coming, something about the ex-president needing him, and Ryan got ready for hi
s ride into space. Not having Martin along gave him more time and space in the small, cramped two-seat area on top of the tiny supply vessel. It was a little larger than the first American capsules into space.
With limited media coverage around the world, and especially in rural areas of Russia, Ryan did not know what was going on in the USA, nor did he really care. What he did know was what Martin told him in his short telephone conversation: the CIA had finally found his New York bank account.
Only twenty-four hours earlier, Ryan had told Martin about the account as they left Cuba. When they reached London, Martin was paid what was owed him and an added amount for his troubles. Martin arranged for the transfer of Ryan’s New York balance minus one dollar to Earth-Exit’s account in Zurich, and then into Ryan’s own Swiss bank account. Over two billion dollars was saved.
Martin was happy to keep 10 percent, and Tom Ward was unhappy to find that Ryan had left him only one American dollar to confiscate and deposit into U.S. coffers. Also, all the bonus checks were paid out long ago, and Ryan felt relieved that he didn’t owe anybody any promised funds.
Thanks to Ryan, Martin Brusk was once again on his way to acquiring as much wealth as he had before the government had stolen his money.
The Russian ride was certainly far simpler than Ryan’s last launch aboard one of his own shuttles. He didn’t know if it was just because he was so weak, or if the rockets were that much more powerful, but he actually passed out from the pain and pressure to his ribs during the first few moments of launch.
He came around as the craft left the atmosphere and began its first orbit. Not having radio communications aboard the ship, he was totally helpless waiting for a long beautiful silver shape to catch up to him and, like in a James Bond movie, deposit the whole freighter into its cargo hold.
These freighters had been designed as unmanned transports. Yes, Martin Brusk had won the space race with the same sort of freighter months earlier, but that one had been upgraded over months for the flight. The Russians were told of possible human freight only a month earlier and nothing could be done to give the last freighter of its type any human-quality upgrades.
Ryan had one small porthole to look through, only four inches across. The porthole didn’t allow Ryan to see much going on outside. Nobody could tell him that SB-III was already closing in, 2,000 miles behind him and 100 miles higher. Jonesy needed only six hours to catch up to the lonely cargo, and he knew what liquid treasures could be inside.
This launch was the only chance Ryan had to reach space. The Chinese certainly weren’t interested in helping him, since he had refused their invitations to work together. NASA couldn’t even resupply the ISS, and had given up trying to keep the astronauts aboard alive. Ignoring urgent requests from the International Space Station to resupply them, Hal McNealy had easily struck a pencil line through the ISS project, and literally cut off all communications with the ISS. It was only six people and NASA and the president had far more important issues to deal with.
Unbeknownst to NASA, America One had already transferred cargo to the six poor astronauts now on death row. Asterspace III, with VIN and Suzi piloting, did not enter the ISS, but transferred life-saving food and water through the docking port. The ISS commander had begged the team to take them along. Everybody up there knew that the fate of the men had been sealed by Hal McNealy, and there was no chance Europe or Russia could supply them again before the crew died. But only Ryan could make that decision, and VIN and Suzi left, telling the international crew that once Ryan achieved space he would give the orders.
***
Ryan, alone and with no communications aboard the freighter, was feeling much the same way as the ISS crew were feeling, and that helped him make a decision.
***
“Captain Pete, we have Ryan in sight, we are 40 minutes ahead of schedule.”
“Roger that, Jonesy,” the captain of America One responded.
“Getting into my suit now,” stated VIN over the intercom from the rear of the cockpit. Maggie, the shuttle’s co-pilot, had turned to help him on with his helmet.
The three astronauts were thin and fit. Life aboard the growing, and still half developed America One was healthy and active. They were pale due to a lack of sunshine, but Suzi was working on a plan to rectify that. She and her team were working on sunlamps that furnished the correct sun rays so the crew could spend an hour every so often sunbathing and lying next to the pool.
Yes. A pool had been made in the top middle area of the living accommodations, and 360 gallons of water was part of the cargo below Ryan’s seat. VIN had seen a piece of the Chinese spaceship (it had Chinese writing on the side) float slowly past, mixed with other odd pieces of junk still hanging around. Suzi suggested that the round piece of aluminum looked like a round sauna, or an above ground swimming pool; that had given VIN and Fritz the idea to space walk out and get it. It could only be filled up once the ship was rotating and there was sufficient gravity to hold the water inside the up-side-down pool. A steel cover had to be screwed onto the pool if the rotations had to be stopped. Like everything else on the upper layer, everything was upside-down compared to the Bridge and the middle area of the ship.
At five to six feet across and four feet high, it was fairly easy to capture the piece of aluminum and bring it to the still open part of the accommodations area that had been damaged by the meteors; the build crew fitted it inside an accommodations cylinder before new cylinders were attached. Michael Pitt, Fritz, and Vitaliy and his team, sealed the pool into the cylinder upside-down. The spiders welded it to the ceiling of the cylinder and, with a few alterations, had it sealed and ready for filling when rotations would begin sometime in the future.
The final freighter due up from Russia was half full of rich Russian top soil. Suzi determined that they now would have enough, and that water could be the second best cargo with the soil.
Operation “Swimming Pool” was put into action and the Russians were happy to load the distilled water instead of the soil. Since it was only half the load, it wasn’t a last minute problem.
A heater was added to the inside of the inside step of the pool, and the pool project turned into a sauna/pool project. Suzi mentioned that Vitamin D would be a needed addition to the crew’s well-being, and suggested that the scientists develop natural sunlight to go with the swimming, or lounging experience.
The pool operation was ready for the water delivery and rotation, and Jonesy, aboard SB-III, was ready for the vodka delivery; but Captain Pete had ordered a dry ship until he received orders from Ryan.
Ryan forgot about time. He was sitting in a tiny area. The seat next to him was stacked with four cases of alcohol, two five-foot tall coffee bushes, their roots showing through the plastic bag, and two slightly smaller three-year-old cocoa trees with a bag of what Ryan was told were a dozen Earth midges, vital to pollinate the cocoa trees. He smiled at the small things humans deemed so important.
Down on Earth, he was now an extremely rich man. Hours before launch he had received a report from Zurich that several billion dollars had been deposited in his Swiss bank account from Amsterdam and Antwerp. A day earlier another billion had been deposited from Tel Aviv, and now his Earth value, in cash, was a little over ten billion dollars.
Deposits and payments from the deliveries of diamonds were more than his whole America One project had cost. He also realized that the money was totally useless to him, now in orbit around the planet. It meant absolutely nothing to him, and he wondered how long it would be in his account, before it too disappeared.
Also, if he arrived back to a vibrant, busy Earth society in a few decades, could he purchase a coke, or a beer, or even hydrogen gas for his shuttle with the money? Inflation would certainly play its part over a period of possible decades.
His dreaming was interrupted by a shadow falling over his small porthole, and a helmeted face peering through at him. He couldn’t see who it was, but hoped that the astronaut was friendly, and ready
to take him home.
VIN enjoyed his first spacewalk for quite a while. Space was really nice at this time of year. He saw the cramped Ryan in a full spacesuit staring back at him, got a thumbs up, and then floated back to set up the shuttle arm to lift the round freighter into SB-III’s hold. There was more room for Ryan in the shuttle’s cockpit, but Captain Pete suggested that the freighter be entombed in SB III’s cargo hold. It was a faster turnaround, and any air in the freighter’s compartment was valuable enough to be reused in America One’s cubes. Air was rare up there!
Any light around Ryan’s freighter disappeared as the cargo doors closed, and he was left with only one inside light. He checked his suit’s oxygen gauges, still on three quarters, and since he couldn’t take off his helmet by himself, knew that Jonesy would make haste to the mother ship.
Ten hours later, and after travelling as fast as the shuttle could between two points in space, Ryan could again see stars through the small porthole, and he felt movement as the arm lifted the whole freight capsule up out of the hold. It positioned him above a docking port and Ryan undid his seat belt for the first time in twenty hours. He hadn’t moved the entire flight. He had a slimy food pouch and one small liquid juice pack he could take sips from inside his Russian helmet; the old-fashioned spacesuit allowed him the most basic necessities. The trip had been extremely long and uneventful.
Now it was his turn to aid in the docking. He checked over the plastic covered control pages in English, connecting the Russian names under the simple docking system. VIN lowered him so that Ryan could latch onto and attach the outer hatch to the same outer hatch aboard one of the cubes of America One. The Russian Soyuz hatches always worked well. Ryan waited for several seconds as the lights turned to orange inside the mid part of the hatch and stayed on orange. He re-read his orders and realized that the time had come to mix the air in the docking port with the air in the capsule. He pressed a button, heard nothing, but after a few seconds saw the two lights flicker and then slowly turn to green. He picked up the aluminum hammer he was supplied and opened his inner hatch. The lights stayed green. Then he floated into the docking port towards the outer hatch and banged on the hatch three times, as he was supposed to, with the hammer.
