****
Todd and forty other Al-Hatem employees stood stage left of Sheikh Nur as the man strode purposefully onto the auditorium’s massive raised stage. His audience consisted of hundreds of journalists, the occasional investor, and more than a few rivals’ industry spies to boot. Mounted on the wall behind him were several large, theater-sized LCD screens upon which flashed Al-Hatem Aerospace’s logo in trim black, green, and gold. This was the public unveiling of the Tower project, as speculation had run rampant over the last year as to what they were building in the UAE’s corner of the Empty Quarter and how.
Already construction had begun and, in the unlikely event that everything went according to schedule and on budget, the project would be completed in two year’s time. Skilled engineers and workers had swarmed the company’s facility to work under absurdly strict, often redundant degrees of security. Just last month unmanned surveillance drones launched by a covert Israeli espionage team had been detected and shot down at the outer perimeter of the Tower, before they could start transmitting valuable visual data. Slowly, ever so slowly, the four kilometer wide foundation of the Tower of Babel had expanded across the desert, creeping along, sinking its roots into the earth. Concurrently, a single massive spire had crept upwards from its center as workers, remote controlled drones, and robots crawled across its surface, building, adding ceaselessly to its already immense height and girth. Scaffolds spread as latticework across the surface of the Tower, appearing and disappearing rapidly like spiderwebs in a dusty attic.
Todd looked at Nur as he waved at the crowd, cheered and exalted with endless applause from the audience. Always the showman, he is. Look at him; he loves it. It had been six months since he and Nur had gone falconing on his estate, and Todd felt that he had grown very fond of the man, his boss. He looked at him now like a sort of father figure, though he couldn’t truly say if Nur liked him as much as he liked Nur; he hoped so.
The sheikh spoke into his wireless microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, investors, tech-savvy fans, and the press, good morning. It is a pleasure to be here today to announce the latest development at Al-Hatem Aerospace LLC. We’ve been planning this one since our founding, folks.” Todd noticed Nur’s accent was some sort of British English and American heartlands hybrid, at once easy going but well informed; educated, but friendly; designed to cultivate trust. He knew too that it was a conscious decision for him to speak that way; everything was premeditated with that man.
The lights dimmed behind the sheikh, and the massive screens shifted, the image of a colossal asteroid came into view in stark black and white. Part of its rocky body lay in shadow, the rest of the planetoid’s grey surface resembling nothing so much as a pockmarked potato. Nur spoke casually, gesturing at the image on screen. “My friends, behind me is MSO-17993-L7, a C-type asteroid approximately two kilometers in diameter. It is composed mostly of carbon and silicate, with some amounts of iron, nickel, iridium, and small amounts of other metals. Common enough materials here on Earth, and yet, it is priceless to me and my company.”
A voice spoke up from the crowd. An Irishman. “Did’ja call us here to look at pictures of a tuber your highness? We’ve all seen asteroids before.” Laughter from the crowd. The sheikh laughed with them, genuine mirth crossing his face.
“I did! I did. One second please.” And with that Sheikh Nur tapped a touchpad in the palm of his hand. The camera began zooming out. “This is live footage by the way, from one of our satellites.”
Still zooming out, there was a flash of light on the edge of the screen. Suddenly, there was Earth. In hundreds, thousands of shades of grey, white and black, there in front of them was the pearl of the solar system, illuminating in stark contrast the asteroid, dwarfed by its presence; it took up the entire screen. Nur spoke. “Here let me shift to color.”
Another live image, this one in full color flashed across the display, replacing the dull black and white. It was breathtaking. The asteroid, still grey but with shades of purple, brown, and metallic silver danced in front of a blue and alabaster marble. There was a surge of murmurs in the crowd, notes of panic. Another question, this time from a Frenchman. “What is the trajectory of the asteroid? Is it going to impact Earth?”
A serious face from the sheikh, a look of parental concern. “No. No, certainly not! For the last eight years we’ve been slowly adjusting the trajectory of this celestial body, bringing it into orbit about Earth’s gravity well. Approximately 35,786 kilometers above sea level.” Nur looked offstage at Todd and winked. “That’s 22,236 miles for you imperial unit minded folks. Using rocket motors and RCS thrusters attached to its surface via multiple missions launched by Al-Hatem, the asteroid has been placed in a stable, high geosynchronous orbit above central Asia. Its orbit will not decay for ten thousand years at least, guaranteed. Nor will it be brought anywhere near other artificial satellites or the international space station. We are all quite safe, as are your television channels and your GPS.”
“Was your company even incorporated eight years ago?”
Sheikh Nur smiled. “I’ll leave it to the dedicated journalists to discover the answer to that question. Suffice to say, it was all done legally.”
“Do you plan on mining the asteroid for precious metals? For gold and platinum?”
“No, we have other plans for our ‘potato.’” The image shifted again, the screen displayed an architectural graphic of the Tower, though it was more akin to an artist’s interpretation of what the Tower would be in two year’s time. Todd noted that the image was suitably impressive, but vague enough, lacking in detail, to not give away any company secrets.
“Now I know what some of you are thinking: ‘impossible; an impossible thing.’ But I’m here to tell you, my friends, that it is possible, because we dared dream it so: a space elevator. Some of you suspected already. Indeed, the ‘cat’s out of the bag,’ as they say, in certain professional circles. But it will happen. In two year’s time MSO-17993-L7 will serve as a counterweight for our tether, which will enable us to climb into the heavens far cheaper than modern rockets currently allow.”
He says it so forcefully, they want to believe him, Todd thought. The images behind Nur began moving, an illustrative cartoon displaying the elevator, transporting peoples, goods, and cargo, traveling up and down the cable into high earth orbit. A second graph, displayed in the corner, compared the costs per kilogram of a conventional rocket to the tower’s elevator. The murmuring became a dull roar, and hands went up as the press started rapidly shouting more questions. “Well, I suppose we’ll take some more questions directly then. Yes, you.” Nur pointed at a South African reporter.
“Is this all an elaborate joke? I mean a space elevator? Really?” The crowd chuckled.
“No, I assure you it is not. Your fact checkers and science consultants will confirm what I’m saying, and the fact that the counterweight is in Earth orbit. As well, various intergovernmental aerospace defense entities such as NORAD were notified once the asteroid drew close to Earth.”
Another hand. “Sheikh Nur Al-Hatem, are you afraid of the political situation in the Middle East affecting this project’s long-term operational status and success?”
“Not at all. We at Al-Hatem aerospace are quite comfortable with the current political climate on the Arabian Peninsula, and with our partners in the UAE government and elsewhere. Point of fact, many of us with the company believe the success of this space elevator, or the Tower, as we have taken to calling it, to be instrumental to a true and lasting shift towards peace and economic stability in the region.”
“How have you managed to so vastly leapfrog your competitors, like Alcaeus Space Systems and other private and publically funded aerospace agencies, with this next generation tech?”
Nur looked offstage to a woman who was serving as a discrete backup interpreter. She spoke softly into a microphone, which transmitted a definition into his hidden earpiece. “I think I know what you mean by ‘leapfrog,’ sorry I haven’t
heard that one. Well, we have some of the best and the brightest in the aerospace industry and related fields working for us. And honestly this technology was already there in disparate parts, we just brought it all together and provided the resources and initiative necessary to get it up and running.”
“Well, it isn’t up and running yet, is it? Nothing’s been accomplished yet, except your endangering other companies satellites and space-bound operations.”
“Again, I assure you, every step of this project has been taken with extreme caution and utmost care.”
It continued on like that, Sheikh Nur bantering back and forth with the reporters. Some questions were serious while some were not. Todd took it all in from the sidelines, amused, depressed, and excited at various stages. The asteroid, or the ‘potato,’ was real. The project was real. They’d been busier than ever over the last six months and things were going to get even more interesting with the world’s eye watching for any failure, any setback.
Bolivar was there too, and he motioned to Todd to the fire exit. They were scheduled to go hit some balls at the driving range that afternoon, a rare break from the usual engineering schematics and computer simulations. Fifteen minutes later they were at the range, each hoisting a bucket of golf balls and their club bags.
“So, what did you think of all that?” John picked up a driver and began stretching his shoulders, taking a few practice swings. “I think the sheikh really enjoys that kind of thing too much.”
Todd nodded and placed a ball on a white wooden tee. “Yeah, I think he really does.”
A solid whack and Bolivar’s first ball went flying. “There were more than a few American reporters there. How do you think they’ll take the news back home?”
“I suspect there’ll be an uproar for a couple of days. Congressmen will lay into NASA and never blame themselves for missing the boat, or for the lack of funding. It’ll be forgotten by the next news cycle.” His driver swung down and around, the ball arcing high into the sky before falling. A little to the left.
“Do you think they’ll do some digging on us? We could be villainized for what we’re doing, you know. ‘Americans working for the enemy’ and all that.” Whack.
“I suppose, but Al-Hatem is not America’s enemy. This isn’t the cold war.” Todd swung again. Better.
“Still. Your typical American isn’t a fan of the Middle East, on average.”
“Yeah.”
Bolivar swung again, a graceful curve from his driver, the ball sailing clear across the sky. He’s a better golfer than me, Todd thought.
John stopped after his swing and looked up. “Sometimes I feel like I am betraying my country. You never get that feeling?”
“Well, I mean I gave America a lot, you know? I put in my time at NASA. And all it got me outside of the missions themselves was a disinterested public and some pay cuts.” He slowed his swing, settling his arms, took a sip from his water bottle. “And this is something more, I think; something beyond nationalism. Look at our project team. Look at Al-Hatem. You’ve got the whole of humanity working on this thing. This isn’t one country, or one team. This is something else.”
John looked back at his golf club, placed another ball on his tee. “You’re right, of course.” Another swing, another lovely hit. “I just don’t...I just don’t want to hurt anybody back home, in their wallets. Economically. You know.”
“Sure. Sure, I understand what you’re saying. I think the whole planet is in for a bumpy transition if we actually get this thing off the ground… which we will. What with this and climate change, etc., according to Anne.”
“How’s Anne doing? My wife still raves about her casserole...”
Todd interjected. “That was my casserole, thank you very much! Anne just took credit for it.”
“Haha. I see how it is.” Both men laughed, golfing in comfortable silence for a time. It was peaceful there at the driving range, hardly any clouds in the sky; there rarely were in this country. Nothing but endless turquoise blue and waves of sandy dunes stretched to the horizon. It was just another perfect day in the Rub al Khali.
Eventually, John spoke up again. “Well Todd, I appreciate you letting me air my concerns to you. I hardly think of you as my immediate supervisor anymore.”
“That’s how I like to run things. Nice and casual.” He smirked.
“Well, but think about what I said...about our friends, our families back home. Please?”
“I will John. But I need your head in the game. The first five Solifuges are going to be launched up to the asteroid in three weeks, for construction on the anchor.”
“Talk about mission creep.”
“I know, but we’ve delivered a great product, and the higher-ups want to see what it can really do. I need you on this one.”
“I hear you, boss.”
“Good.” Todd whacked another ball; it was a terrific drive. The white dot flew like a rocket, traveling on and on. He didn’t even see where it landed.
****
On the road back home that evening, Todd couldn’t shake what Bolivar had said. Was he endangering his family and friends back in the U.S? Would the press do some digging, find out that he had switched teams for better pay, had abandoned his country? It won’t look good no matter how you spin it. He also grew concerned about John. Should he ask him to step down, or to take a leave of absence? He couldn’t have one of his project team members naysaying the mission at this critical juncture. Doubt spreads like wildfire on a team like this one. He’d seen it happen before, at NASA; it had almost scuttled a rover launch. He resolved to talk to John again tomorrow during their lunch break.
Todd pulled his silver SUV up to a two-laned roundabout, waiting to merge into the flow of vehicles that revolved around a large concrete and steel statue, a piece of modern art commissioned by the company; the artist a student from one of the nearby universities. Waves of motion in the steel implied expansion and strength simultaneously. The corporation’s planned community used roundabouts instead of traffic lights when necessary for their entire transportation infrastructure; it was said roundabouts improved the flow of traffic. They’d installed sculptures in the center of every one of them. Not a fan of this particular piece, thought Todd as he surveyed its bulky mass and jutting lines.
Todd’s rear window abruptly shattered, jagged pieces of glass exploding into the car’s interior. In an instant, Todd went from critiquing an art student’s term project to adrenaline-fueled panic. Fuck. Did someone rear-end me? Ducking quickly while glancing in his side mirror, Todd saw a hand pointing something out of the driver’s window of the car behind him, heard gunfire. Bullets bounced off his car’s aluminum frame quite close to his head. Fuck. fuck fuck fuck. He kicked the gas pedal down, not even looking to see if he was clear to merge into the roundabout, still keeping his head below the window line. Thankfully he had pulled ahead during a lull in traffic, and his path was clear. Raising his head slightly, Todd circled the statue, looking for the exit that led home. What the hell is happening? They’re trying to kill me! More gunshots rang out from behind him, distant this time.
With an urgent, alarmed tone of voice, Todd verbally instructed his car to call the police. A voice in Arabic answered almost immediately. All he could manage in reply was an accented imperative: “Awayne! Help me!” The voice on the other end of the line started barking orders or questions, Todd couldn’t tell which. Swerving out of the way of a tractor-trailer, he saw the rise of his apartment complex not two blocks away. He accelerated, jamming down the pedal purely on instinct. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, dancing back and forth between lanes, he aimed for the front entrance of the high-rise. If I can get inside, building security will protect me.
Todd slammed on his horn, hoping to God that the few pedestrians strolling down the sidewalk in front of his building would get out of the way. Thankfully they did, a cluster of women screaming as they noticed the car barreling toward them at 120 kilometers an hour. At the very last se
cond Todd hit the brake pedal, simultaneously pulling up on his handbrake. It would be a hell of a maintenance bill, but he figured his life was worth slightly more than the company car. The compact SUV swerved right, skidding loudly on its tires as it hit the sidewalk’s curb at an angle. The car’s momentum lifted it up on two wheels before crunching its frame back down on the pavement as it came to a jolting stop. Chancing a glance out his glassless rear window, Todd saw the gunman’s car was only fifty meters behind, and closing. He wouldn’t have time to exit the vehicle and get inside the apartment This is it. I’m sorry Anne.
There were more gunshots, firing right next to him. They sounded different. Another caliber? Todd looked up. Someone was firing back at the gunman’s car. Security! No wait…
And suddenly Samam, his family’s cook and live-in maid was kneeling, firing a pistol across the hood of his car, using its damaged frame as cover. She was wearing her green hijab like always. Where did Samam get a gun? Where did she learn to shoot?!
A well-placed shot pierced the gunman’s front right tire as it approached the apartment building, the tire bursting loudly. Todd could see only one masked figure inside the matte black car, holstering his gun in order to grab the steering wheel. The attacker’s car wobbled from the crippling hit and peeled away, wary of the sudden onslaught of return fire. Now the apartment security guards were rushing outside, one on his radio calling for backup. The gunman accelerated away, heading down the main thoroughfare before turning down a side alley, vanishing behind a coffee shop storefront. Just as quickly as the attack had begun, it was over.
“Mr. Wittry! Are you all right? Are you hurt?” Samam opened the passenger side door; he hadn’t even thought of locking it.
“I’m...I’m fine. I’m okay.” Todd patted his chest, felt the back of his head. Only a slight trickle of blood where a sliver of glass had cut him behind his ear.
The Prophet's Ladder Page 10