Rocket! An Ell Donsaii story 4

by Laurence Dahners

  Phelps - “Mizz Donsaii! A patent search doesn’t even turn up any new rocketry patents!”

  Donsaii - “Well that would be true. You can rest assured; however, that patent protection has been applied for. It’s just so recent that the application has not been made public as yet.”

  Phelps - “You don’t even have a patent?! It is entirely possible that a patent might not even be granted! All the more reason your investors may jump ship! I would strongly urge you reconsider before ILX reduces the offer.”

  Donsaii - “Sorry Mr. Phelps, but we really don’t have anything to worry about, either regarding the uniqueness of the intellectual property nor the confidence of our investors.”

  Phelps -“Ms. Donsaii you are going to regret this decision!” Phelps said ominously, then broke the connection.

  Ell’s eyes swept the room. “I would not characterize that conversation as a ‘negotiation.’ I would characterize it as more in the nature of a ‘browbeating.’ There was no question posed regarding what we might be willing to license for, or when we would be ready to license. There was simply an extremely undervalued offer which was rejected with no further offers forthcoming.”

  “Undervalued!” Dennison exclaimed. “Twenty five million dollars!”

  “Yes undervalued, Mr. Dennison. That offer to purchase D5R amounted to less than 10% of what ILX charges for a single orbital flight.”

  Dennison took a deep breath, but before he could say anything, Ell held up a hand, looked to Teller and said, “I believe I have the floor?”

  The President nodded.

  Ell resumed, “The next contact we had from ILX came in through the back wall of our building.” Video popped up on screens all around the room showing someone lifting a tarp off to reveal a hole cut in the back of a building.

  A spike of fear shot through Dennison. He hadn’t heard from Sonny since he deposited the hundred twenty five thousand in an account for him. But Sonny wasn’t very communicative under any circumstances. Dennison had only been worrying because he hadn’t heard anything about the expected “setback,” nor received his information about D5R’s tech yet.

  The camera, obviously on someone’s AI headband, ducked down to enter the building, then rose up in what appeared to be a machine shop. The lighting was odd, though some recognized it as typical for what is seen through self lighted infrared night vision goggles. A man wearing gloves and a stocking mask turned the corner into the machine shop and appeared startled to find someone there. He paused a moment, then reached into his bag and pulled out a roll of duct tape. He stepped toward the camera reaching out, obviously intent on restraining the person with the camera. A “pop” sound could be heard and the man’s muscles spasmed. He fell to the floor. Before his muscles began to respond again his hands had been professionally pulled back and plastic ties used to restrain them behind him. Then his ankles. Then the lights were turned on.

  Dennison shouted, “What does a break in at your facility have to do with ILX?!”

  Ell paused the video, raised a finger and waggled it back and forth, then the video resumed.

  The man’s stocking mask was pulled off and then his AI headband.

  Dennison’s stomach clenched. It was Sonny!

  Sonny was grabbed by the armpits and lifted into a sitting position, his back to one of the big machines. “So, Sonny Alston, who sent you?” It was a girl’s voice. Donsaii’s!

  She said musingly, “I see you’ve been in the ‘joint’ a couple of times. Breaking and entering seems to be a specialty of yours. But you went ‘up the river’ for beating up some guys in a bar.” There was a pause “Not a very nice person are you? You went up another time for using a weapon in a robbery? Hmmm.” She turned to pick up his back pack, then turned back toward him momentarily before she unzipped the front flap, “Hope you didn’t bring a weapon on this little jaunt cause my AI tells me you go up the river again if you are found carrying a weapon… Aw, Sonny, look at this.” She pulled open the flap to show him the gun within. “It’s starting to look pretty bad for you. Breaking and entering, theft of that rocket you’ve got outside, carrying a weapon as a felon.” She shook her head back and forth. “And this hose makes it like you were planning to commit arson. You sure you don’t want to tell me who sent you?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Are you the police? You haven’t read me my rights.”

  “Nope.” She said cheerfully. “So I’m not bound by all those rules that restrain them.”

  “You can’t make me a deal then either.”

  “Sure I can…” she paused. “I…” she paused again, “can just let you go without pressing charges.”

  “Why would I trust you?”

  “Well, you’d just have to look into my honest eyes and see if you could. Course, the alternative is to go up the river for sure, isn’t it?”

  The man glared at her for a minute. “General Electric.”

  “What’s GE got to do with this?”

  “They hired me.”

  “Now, now, now, GE didn’t hire you, somebody hired you. Maybe they work at GE, maybe they work somewhere else? Who is that somebody?”

  She leaned near to him to pat at a lump in his pocket. The man lunged up to head butt her. To everyone’s astonishment she easily dodged him.

  She leaned back, “Sonny, Sonny, Sonny. That wasn’t nice. I have to tell you, the encryption on your AI wasn’t very good. My AI has extracted its memory, including the secret recording you made of your conversation with Mr. Dennison from ILX. I guess I’ll just go ahead and call the police.” She stood up and stepped away, just as a couple of beefy security types trotted in the door, out of breath. “Hey guys,” she said to them, “please keep an eye on Mr. Alston here for me, would you?” She left as the security guys narrowed their eyes at him and then one of them squatted down to check his restraints…

  Dennison lunged to his feet, so angry he was shaking, “I can’t believe you are trying to imply…”

  Ell simply waggled her finger again and tapped her ear. She said, “Mr. Dennison used an odd accent in his surreptitiously recorded meeting with Mr. Alston, but even without an AI’s confirmation, I believe that you will all recognize his voice.”

  Dennison - “We’ve got a problem suited to your unique skills.”

  A pause where nothing is said.

  Dennison - “There’s a facility called D5R in the Research Triangle Park in North Carolina that supposedly is launching rockets to orbit with some new kind of technology.”

  Another pause where nothing is said.

  Dennison - “They need to have a ‘setback.’ We need samples of the tech.’”

  Another pause where nothing is said.

  Dennison - “How much?”

  Alston - “Ten grand just to look it over and price it.”

  Ell said, “So, Mr. Dennison claims to have attempted to negotiate a deal. But, actually, through Manfred Phelps, made a single, ridiculously lowball, offer. Then he arranged for a common criminal to attempt to steal our technology and provide us a ‘setback.’ The police tell me that the night that Mr. Alston broke into our facility, Mr. Dennison transferred $125,000 to an offshore account that was closed an hour later. Mr. Alston had already dragged a fuel hose into the building from the tank farm out back when he was apprehended. He has admitted to the police that the ‘set back’ he had planned involved running kerosene into the building through the hose and starting a fire. At the end of the kerosene hose stood a device that was set to generate sparks after a delay of one hour.”

  She took a deep breath. “Mr. President, D5R is willing to license this technology to other companies, nonexclusively, at rates that will allow those companies to do what they’ve already been doing but at tremendously reduced cost. Even ILX may obtain a license, but only if Mr. Dennison, Mr. Clarkson and Mr. Phelps are relieved of their positions.”

  Ell looked at the people from the ILX board. “The police are almost ready to file their charges against Mr. Dennison anyw
ay. I doubt you want to have a felon leading your company.” The board looked grim.

  The room was dead silent. People in the room looked at Dennison as you might regard something particularly disgusting you had found on your shoe. His face was completely ashen. He licked his lips and said, “That video has been doctored. I never said that to anyone…”

  President Teller looked as if he had a very sour taste in his mouth…

  ***

  In his ear, Phil’s AI said, “You have just received instructions to leave this class, get your travel kit with clothing etc, for one week and report to the main entrance.”

  “Leave class?!”

  “Yes, the orders come from the Director’s office.”

  Phil shook his head, he did not want to fall behind on his training. On the other hand, you didn’t get assigned missions by pissing off the director. He put up his hand and when the instructor recognized him said, “Sir, I have just received orders from the Director’s office to report to the main entrance.”

  The instructor rolled his eyes and said, “Well, you’d better go then hadn’t you.”

  Phil wasn’t sure whether the eye roll was because he’d asked permission or because the Director’s office had seen fit to remove him from the instructor’s class.

  When he got down to the main entrance he found two of the more senior astronauts waiting there too. He recognized Chuck Lane who was an Air Force Academy grad about fifteen years his senior. He’d been a fighter pilot before opting for astronaut training. Phil introduced himself and they shook hands. They’d all apparently received similar instructions. Lane introduced Phil to Zeke Potter, who also turned out to be an academy grad with flying experience. None of them knew where they were going or what for but they all had their travel kit with them. Phil said, “Hope it’s something good!”

  Zeke shook his head sadly, “It rarely is my friend, it rarely is.”

  One of the ubiquitous vans showed up and took them to the airfield where a Lear Jet waited. They were welcomed aboard by one of the pilots who, when questioned said, “I’m supposed to take you to the Bahamas.” I don’t know much more than that and I’m not sure I’m even supposed to tell you that much. The three of them rode in comfort in a cabin with seating for nine. They raided a well-stocked pantry, taking a few drinks to the pilots who finally confessed that they were going to a private island in the Bahamas that had its own airfield. At that point they reached a dead end on either the knowledge of the pilots, or what they were willing to tell.

  Phil leaned back and waved his Coke expansively. “The Bahamas! Can’t be all bad.”

  Zeke morosely shook his head. “Such naiveté.”

  At sunset they landed on a small island and were shown to rooms in a large whitewashed mansion by a staff of very polite native Bahamians. They were offered a dinner of locally caught snapper and eagerly agreed. While they drank High Rock Lager on a huge patio and waited for their food another jet landed. It appeared to be another Lear Jet but the engines had a bizarrely high pitch.

  Silence settled and the sound of the surf below the porch took over. Phil tried again, “A beer, the Bahamas, someone cooking fish. Can’t be all bad.” He looked at Zeke out of the corner of his eye.

  Zeke looked pleasantly relaxed. Nonetheless, he said morosely, “Just wait for the other shoe to drop.”

  Chuck snorted. “Give it up Zabrisk. Potter here has a deep suspicion of things that go well and feels that the only antidote is moaning about how bad the future will be. He’d be complaining if you hung him with a new rope.”

  Phil leaned back in his chair, “Well, I’m happy.”

  Zeke moaned piteously.

  A waiter brought out their fish and was followed by a slender man with a crew cut carrying a plate for himself. He said, “Hey, you guys must be the astronauts. I’m Robert Braun.” He pointed to another man behind him, “This is Gene Mort, my assistant. And those guys,” He pointed to a group of four behind Gene, “are our aircraft mechanics, ‘Joe,’ ‘Manny,’ ‘Meg,’ and ‘Dennis.’”

  The mechanics waved and sat at another table, Braun sat with the astronauts and leaned forward, “Do you guys know what you’re doing here yet?”

  The three slowly shook their heads.

  Braun grinned and rubbed his hands together, “We’re going to fly up to the International Space Station Saturday!”

  “What?” Chuck exclaimed.

  Zeke moaned but said nothing.

  Phil’s hair stood on end. Did Braun work for the company that had rescued the Space Station?!

  While they ate, Braun gleefully told them that he did indeed work for the company that had “rescued” the Station. However, he explained that they had done it with a small, AI piloted, rocket.

  To their wide-eyed consternation, he explained what “ports” were and how they allowed a small rocket to fly all the way to orbit. “But we haven’t flown a manned flight yet.” Braun said, “You guys are here to help us figure out if we’re ready to do so.”

  Apparently, in the morning they were to inspect a new spacecraft and evaluate it during an unmanned flight to orbit. They were to use their aeronautical and space experience to determine whether they felt it was safe enough for a “manned flight.”

  Phil said, “Why am I here? I just started training.”

  Braun stared at him. “Really?”

  Phil nodded.

  “Sorry, I have no idea.” He shrugged, “My understanding was that we were getting experienced pilot-astronauts.”

  After a sleepless night, the astronauts were horrified to find that the craft being sent into orbit was a modified Lear Jet! Chuck and Zeke began listing all the reasons why that was a terrible idea and would never work. Braun met each objection with a well-reasoned explanation. Chuck rapped the wing, “Without ceramic tiles it’ll burn up on re-entry!”

  Braun looked at him in exasperation. “Have you been listening? It’s already re-entered four times! With essentially unlimited fuel, we simply retrorocket until it gets down to where it’s just beginning to engage the atmosphere. Then we point the nose up so that the rocket’s thrust maintains that altitude while continuing to reduce speed until it’s moving slowly enough to tolerate the airspeed. Then we lower the nose and let it ‘fly’ into the atmosphere!”

  Zeke grunted, “The tires are going to fail in vacuum.”

  “Once again! It’s been to space and landed four times. The tires have spun fiber and are vacuum tolerant. But, we use ports to lower the pressure in them after take off and re-inflate them before landing. We’re still planning to change them before the manned flight though.”

  Eventually convinced that it might be possible, if all this “port” stuff actually worked, the astronauts inspected the modified Lear Jet. They had the mechanics open and close panels and answer questions. While they were doing that the other Lear Jet took off and turned back towards the States.

  Late morning they launched “Amelia” again, watching her turn west and climb at an astonishing rate that had Zeke shaking his head. Then they trooped back inside to watch the screens at the control station as the sky went from blue to black and the curve of the Earth became apparent. When Amelia reached an altitude of 200 miles, the instruments showed the cabin was still pressurized. In fact it maintained the 8,000 ft altitude pressure using only about 10% of the ports that had been installed to pressurize the cabin and compensate for leaks. It did it without the blowers being activated at all. All the equipment on board apparently still functioned. Zeke sat down at the duplicate controls and undertook some maneuvers—rolls, accelerations, end over end flips and decelerations. Then he morosely got up and let Chuck fly it some. Eventually, they had the AI turn it for home and trooped in for a late lunch.

  Phil took a nap to make up for his lost sleep the night before and when he got up saw Zeke out going over Amelia with the mechanics again. Phil went for a swim. When he got back up to the airfield, many panels were still off Amelia and Zeke had his head up inside th
e underbody of the plane. From behind him Chuck said, “Zeke may piss and moan, but there isn’t anyone that’s more careful or more thorough. If he says it’s safe to fly—it’ll be safe to fly.”

  That evening as they sat down to dinner, Braun said, “So what do you think guys? Is it safe for us to take it up tomorrow?”

  Chuck and Phil both looked to Zeke who sat frowning at his paella. Finally he shrugged, “I guess so.”

  Braun exploded, “You guess! Did you find anything wrong, or not?!”

  Chuck laid a hand on Braun’s arm, “Dr. Braun, ‘I guess,’ is as good as it will ever get from the chronically gloomy Major Potter.” He patted Braun’s wrist, “Take what you can get.”

  “Well then, are we ready to take her up for a manned flight tomorrow morning?”

  Zeke shook his head, “Chuck and I’ll take it up alone the first time.”

  Braun said, “I built it, I’ve got to go.”

  Zeke rolled his eyes.

  Chuck said, “It’s just crazy to risk a lot of people on the first manned flight. It’s also poor planning to take passengers on a test flight. If something goes wrong, Zeke and I will be worrying about our passengers, not how to handle the bird.” He looked back and forth at the others. “How about this. What you really want is to get up to the ISS tomorrow night, right?”

  Braun shrugged, then nodded.

  “OK, in the morning we take it up to 65 miles, ‘the edge of space.’ We do it in an oxygen atmosphere and pre-breathe O2 before we go so that if there is a decompression we won’t get the bends. If something happens, we can get down quickly and we’ll be prepared for it. We come back and land, if everything went smoothly, we go up in the afternoon with you guys.”

  Braun said, “I should go too. In an emergency bag if you want, but I know Amelia’s systems better than anyone, if you’re in trouble, you’ll need me.”