The Ship: The New Frontiers Series, Book One Page 20

  “About time you got here, Chuck. I thought you pilots were faster than that!”

  Yes indeed, there had been changes. Chuck smiled and walked to where Lina waited.

  #

  Four months had passed since Chuck’s cross-country solo. The Twin Otter now carried four battery packs in the cabin, arranged in two stacks of two. Four impeller units hung from swivel mounts attached to floor-to-ceiling racks installed specifically for holding them. Instead of pressing against the wing spars, the impellers now pushed against the frame of the fuselage. Chuck thought about it for a moment, then realized that the mounts were positioned near the fuselage’s center of balance. Were the new impellers powerful enough to lift the plane straight up, perhaps with no need for a takeoff roll?

  Two turbogenerators had been ordered and the manufacturer had promised delivery within thirty days. Will didn’t expect to encounter problems; the turbogenerators were, after all, no more than an adaptation of a tried and true design that burned the same fuel as the turboprops currently fitted to the plane.

  The latest-model impellers were manufactured using an improved, highly automated assembly system. The same group of engineers who’d built the improved Bedstead now supervised a system of computer-controlled welders and robots that took the parts coming off the lathes and three-dimension printers and assembled them into a complete impeller that needed only fitting within a protective housing. Not yet at full production, the plant had already produced more impellers than were needed for the moment. They were stored for later use; Morty had plans for them.

  The cavernous plant was separated by walls into two main areas, plus a smaller storeroom off the assembly area for the impellers. There was no door in the wall between the main areas, so people working in the manufacturing plant could not directly access the larger assembly section. Access to each area was gained solely thorough doors leading outside. The doors were twenty feet apart and a pair of guards manned a control booth between them. Assembly was Morty’s area, and Chuck was the only person other than Morty’s team allowed inside. Lina consulted with Morty but had not yet been granted direct access; the two met in the hangar building’s break room, and Lina did most of her design work by computer anyway.

  The workers in assembly had rollers, brakes, cutters, and other machines for forming sheet metal. Salvaged titanium and aluminum parts were trucked to a wide rear entrance, offloaded, inspected, then the useful pieces were taken inside and reformed. During this time, guards kept people away from the door, and a canvas-like curtain prevented anyone from seeing what was being worked on inside. Rejected aluminum or titanium pieces were held until there were enough of them to make a shipment worthwhile, then trucked into Clovis. The metal joined shipments bound for recycling plants, where they would be melted and shaped for reuse.

  Behind the curtains, a skeletal framework occupied most of the space in the center of the assembly room. Oddly-shaped pieces of sheet metal lay here and there about the floor, and other pieces stood against the wall. Morty’s empire was organized, not that an observer would realize it immediately.

  The storage room opened off the assembly area. Completed impeller assemblies had been palletized and stacked inside, waiting to be installed on the machine in the center. Chuck looked at the apparent chaos on the floor and glanced at Morty. “How long, you think?”

  “Six weeks if we get the small nuclear power plants, but Frenchy is having trouble with Los Alamos. Someone’s dragging their feet, which means that someone is putting pressure on them. He thinks it might be the same bunch that caused him so many problems a year ago. Anyway, he’s spoken to a Chinese group, but he still hopes that the national lab will come through.”

  “Yeah, I can understand that. But at least he may have an alternate source. What about the space suits you ordered? You designed those, didn’t you?”

  “Not exactly. I worked with their designers, but they did the actual work. These will be minimalist suits, they’ll keep your body under pressure and there’s enough air for an emergency, but that’s all. Unless you’ve got the accessories, that suit is only good for about an hour. And if you need a potty break, you’re out of luck.”

  “I’ll remember that,” muttered Chuck. “Go before there’s an emergency, right?”

  “You’ve got it, Chuck,” grinned Morty. “It’s a crappy job, but if you want to get rich from space travel, someone’s got to go out there and do it.”

  #

  Chuck took off in the modified Twin Otter late that afternoon. His course took him north, skirting the mesa to the west of the plant. He intended to chop power to the turboprops after circling the tiny hamlet of Broadview, bleed off airspeed, then turn south after passing Grady, and conduct the rest of the return flight on impeller power alone, landing an hour after sunset. Reducing airspeed allowed him to conserve battery power for the longer flight back to the airstrip.

  He completed the southbound leg and turned east, the plane now silent. Perhaps that was why he spotted the slight movement on the ground. He glanced at his gauges and decided he had enough battery reserve, so he fed power to the impellers and banked around to have another look. Perhaps it was a bear; they often came down from the hills when their natural food crop failed, looking for scraps and an occasional unwary pet to substitute for what nature hadn’t provided.

  But this was no bear. What would a guy in camouflage be doing hiking through the desert? Chuck wondered. There’s nothing out there for the next ten miles except the airstrip.

  Curious. He resumed course and landed ten minutes later, coming in with the impellers pitched up. He controlled the plane’s attitude using the mushy elevator, the reduced airflow barely maintaining control. The next planned modification wouldn’t even need that; two small impellers would be mounted forward of the cockpit to control pitch. The main impellers could then be tilted fully upright, allowing the Twin to land vertically like a helicopter.

  Chuck tied down the Twin and walked to the hangar. “Mel, see if you can get Will on the radio. Ask him if he’ll service the Twin, fuel it up and swap out the batteries. I’d appreciate you giving him a hand if you can take the time.”

  “Sure, Chuck. No problem. Is there something wrong?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. I think I’ll take the Bedstead out and have a look. I spotted a man on foot west of here and I can’t think of a good reason why anyone would be walking out there. He might be lost, but I don’t understand how he got this far. I’ll take along a case of bottled water. Not much natural water out that way and he could be dehydrated. I’m going to need access to the locker too. I want the night vision goggles, and I’ll probably take a few other things as well. Just in case, you know; maybe he’s not lost.”

  “Sure, go ahead. You know the combination. Maybe you might consider taking Lina as a second set of eyes.”

  Chuck thought about it. “Good idea. I’ll wake her up and she can go along if she wants. Just a cruise in the moonlight; should be fun, I think.”

  “Chuck, you sure you saw someone out there? This isn’t just a way to get some stick time in the Bedstead, is it?”

  “Not a bad idea, but not this time. Something about the way that guy was walking looked funny. Could be nothing, but I’ll feel better if I check it out.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Mel, can you give me a hand in the break room? I need to rehang the privacy curtains.” Lina carried a basket filled with clothing when she walked into the hangar.

  “Sure, give me a minute to finish tightening this bolt.” Mel laid the torque wrench aside and straightened up from where he’d been working on the Bedstead. The two walked to the lounge, Mel bursting with questions, Lina not disposed to explain. She set the basket on a table, then began shoving the futon she’d used before into place as Mel brought out the curtains from a cabinet. Finally, he couldn’t hold his curiosity in check.

  “You’re moving back here?” Lina nodded, not trusting herself to speak. “Okay, if you want to talk about it, I
’m a pretty good listener.”

  “Not now, Mel. Maybe later.”

  #

  Lina was sleeping when Chuck came in to the hangar. He nodded at Mel, then picked up a cup of coffee from the break room. He noticed that the curtains were back in place and drawn to provide privacy, but said nothing. He took his coffee over to where the Bedstead was parked and began unstrapping the equipment locker he’d loaded the previous evening. Mel watched, trying to avoid the appearance of snooping, but Chuck worked without comment so Mel decided to forego questioning him.

  Half an hour later, the locker once again secured behind the locked door, Chuck came back into the hangar bay. “I’ll be working on the Twin Otter, Mel. You need any help with the King before I take off?”

  “No, I’m almost finished. The four extra impellers are hung, the extra battery compartments are in place and hooked up to the main bus, and the new computers installed and checked. I’ll finish up what I’m doing on the Bedstead, do a quick checkout, then install the batteries. I might take it out tonight for a quick test, but if not it’ll be available for a test run tomorrow night. You’re not interested, Chuck?”

  “I don’t think I’ll have time, Mel. I’ve got my hands full with the Twin Otter. Will’s got a guy coming in later this week to inspect the modified system, and if he gives us the okay, we’ll paint ‘Experimental’ on it and start flying legally. Mostly we need to put hours on the system and I’ll be doing half the flying. Too bad you don’t have a pilot’s certificate; it’s a fun bird to fly.”

  “I’ve got my hands full here, Chuck. I’ll be running the tests on the King after I get the batteries installed, and more-extensive tests on the Bedstead. That’s quite a bit, but Lina will help. She’ll also be working with Morty part of the time, helping with a design project. I’m not sure what it is, but they’ve been doing quite a bit of talking. I wasn’t sure you’d heard about it, being busy with your flight training, so I thought I’d mention it. Anyway, I’m hoping I can start altitude testing later in the week, either the Bedstead or the King. Funny thing about that; if the computer is just a little off, you start to sideslip and it begins to go where you aren’t pointing it. The instruments might be the problem. I’ll look into it, but if the deck isn’t level, the computer can’t control the flight. That might be a bug, the computer thinks the deck is level when it sends commands to the impellers. It’s the old problem, garbage in, garbage out.”

  “Yeah, we had that problem early on, that’s why we went with computerized control. The computers fly the craft, the pilot flies the computer, but you still need a pilot when things start to go haywire.”

  “Gives a whole new meaning to ‘fly by wire’, doesn’t it?”

  “It does. But it’s the same as the new fighter jets, they’re all computer controlled too. From the F-117 on, most fighters are too unstable for a human to fly unaided. It’s all computer control in the new ones.”

  #

  Frenchy was not happy. He was discussing the holdup from Los Alamos regarding the mini-reactors.

  “Here’s the thing, Frenchy”, Mark said. “You’ve got two strikes against you. One, you have to certify that the reactors won’t be used in flight. That’s pretty much a requirement, even if it’s not in the law. Congress won’t allow it. Their constituents remember rockets blowing up and the talk since then is about whether a spacecraft with a reactor on board might blow up on its way to space.”

  Mark, Frenchy’s chief legal officer, had been attempting to negotiate with officials from the Los Alamos National Laboratory to acquire the compact fission reactors Morty wanted.

  “We’re not using rockets, Mark. I explained that.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Frenchy. It’s too easy to convince people there’s a danger, whether one exists or not. That’s half the problem. The other half is worse.”

  “Go on, Mark.”

  “You’ve got political opposition, Frenchy. I won’t call them enemies, but it’s close, and they’re spending money. That money is buying opposition to whatever it is you’re doing, licensing, fees, taxes, you name it. You’ve only started to feel the itch. Politicians love money, they’ll do whatever it takes to keep it coming.”

  “It’s that bad, Mark? Do you know who’s leading this opposition?”

  “No idea. There are several players, including the company you once owned a part of. When you pulled out, that send the stock prices down and people lost money. They haven’t forgotten. Payback is what they live for.”

  “Has to be Sol, then. The bastard cheated at golf too.”

  “I’ve heard that name. I don’t know how involved he is.”

  Frenchy thought about that for a moment. “Depends on whether he’s feeling threatened. Different divisions of the company are involved in manufacturing engines, including engines for heavy equipment. I’m not sure if that includes marine systems, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find it does. Sol’s not above dirty tricks, although whether he’d involve himself in anything illegal...I don’t know. I just don’t know. Like I said, I watch his golf card when I play with him. And anyone who would cheat at golf...well, we’re not talking big bucks. It’s pocket change to Sol. But I saw it happen more than once, and to me that means it’s not an accident. Sol will do whatever it takes to stay on top.”

  “Does your group have the money to put on a lobbying blitz? Hire several firms to grease the ways?”

  “Not any more. We thought we did, but there have been holdups, glitches, things like the agreement with Los Alamos. We thought it was a done deal, but now it’s unraveling.”

  “It’s a national lab, Frenchy. That means politics is involved. They might lease the power plants as back up to your wind and solar system, but count on it, that’s all they’ll be doing. Los Alamos will send their own engineers and they’ll work with your people as far as siting and so forth is concerned, but they’ll control how the equipment is used. Last I heard, the idea was to lease a power plant for ten years, then swap it out for a new one. They intend to take the old one back to Los Alamos for refurbishing. It’s basically a nuclear plant in a box, which means it’s easily replaced.”

  “That’s why it appealed to us. I guess we’ll have to look elsewhere to solve our power needs.”

  “Frenchy, why not just go with conventional systems? If you can’t get nuclear plants, use diesel, turbogenerators, maybe even fuel cells. Those aren’t under the thumb of politicians. Would they work for you?”

  “They might. I’ll look into it, Mark. Anyway, thanks for meeting with me today.”

  “It’s what you pay me for, Frenchy. I just wish I could give you better news.”

  “You’ve given me an honest report, Mark. I can’t ask for more than that.”

  #

  Sol was puzzled, but not particularly alarmed. He’d expected a report by this time, but had heard nothing. He looked at the cell phone again, but there had been no calls. Getting up from his desk, he walked over and looked out his window. The plant spread out, much of it visible from Sol’s office. He’d often found the view soothing, but not this time. Why hadn’t Walter called in? Had he run into trouble of some kind?

  Well, Walter was reliable, even if a bit too independent for Sol’s taste. He would call when he had something to report. Sol dismissed it from his mind and went back to his desk. He was soon back studying the production report, the problem with Walter pushed to the back of his mind.

  #

  The Twin Otter was undergoing modification yet again, this time getting the craft ready for the inspector. A lightweight bulkhead, located immediately behind the front cabin, was being bolted into place. This isolated the crew cabin from the impellers and battery packs in the rear of what had formerly been the passenger cabin. The oversized outer door, removable for hauling sport parachutists to altitude, now served to swap out depleted batteries for fresh ones. Will hoped that the inspector would be satisfied with a flight test. If he insisted on inspecting the propulsion system, the craft migh
t not get the certification they needed. If he was satisfied with the Twin’s demonstrated ability to fly using the impellers, the system would remain secret. Eventually someone would find out, maybe even figure out how Morty’s invention worked, but every day, every year of delay was golden.

  The bulkhead job was finished by midafternoon. Will inspected it, then took the Twin Otter up for a short test hop and pronounced himself satisfied. Cutting it a little close, he thought. The FAA inspector will be here tomorrow morning.

  Will fueled up the wing tanks, then parked the Twin and tied it down to the eyebolts in the parking area. The plane was as ready as possible, but it would be up to the inspector to decide if that was good enough. Will had talked to him while Chuck was busy getting his license, but that might not make a difference. Inspectors were highly professional and usually sticklers about rules, unwilling to sign off on the paperwork unless they were convinced a plane was airworthy.

  #

  Mel stifled his curiosity. He’d left enough openings for Chuck or Lina to open up about the rift, but neither would confide in him. Chuck had come closest. “I think she discovered I wasn’t the man she thought I was. I wish it had been otherwise, but I guess it’s better to find out now than later. Anyway, good luck with your testing. I’ll be tied up for the next two days. Will and I are going to be flying the Twin Otter. If the FAA inspector passes it as an experimental model, we’ll be able to fly it legally. I figure within two years, certainly less than five, we can have light aircraft flying on impeller power alone.”

  “Good luck, Chuck. I’m sorry you and Lina couldn’t make a go of it. She’s been down since you two broke up, but maybe, with a little more time...”

  “I’ve been down too, but there’s nothing to be done. I did what I had to do...” Chuck’s voice trailed off as Mel looked at him quizzically. “I’ve said too much, Mel. Let’s drop it, okay?”

  “Okay, Chuck. Again, good luck tomorrow.”