America One - The Launch

by T I WADE

  Since his allies seemed to have deserted him to fight their own wars, all he could do was to thank whatever good fortune allowed each of his shuttle flights to get airborne. He had enough fuel for a dozen or so more flights. It seemed that the last transporter with solid fuel hadn’t arrived twenty-four hours ago. Maybe he had not been forgotten after all?

  The next week went by without anybody phoning him. The news of the disastrous attacks on Israel and South Korea was on the news all the time. He had seen the same pictures a dozen times; burning tanks by the dozens in the desert and hundreds of burnt-out blackened vehicles being searched by South Korean forces. The president stated that the U.S. Air Force had helped ally forces inflict this damage on the attacking forces in both areas.

  The latest picture showed the last tanks returning to Iran and several going in the direction of Syria. What the Israeli media was saying wasn’t shown on the American media channels, nor was the information released from Seoul. It seemed that the government could now restrict what news was allowed and not allowed on the world’s very simplified communications networks.

  Joe Everson had reported to a secret hearing in Congress telling them he had witnessed the capabilities of the most advanced weapons the world had ever seen. The five congressmen conducting the secret hearing, all the president’s allies, cringed at the information and did not sleep well. Many wanted to panic and immediately take out the “enemy” within.

  Astermine had used two or more, not one, laser weapon to destroy the enemy forces with more precision that the U.S. Navy or Air Force could achieve, and in less than twenty minutes. Everson did state that the two gunners he was in communications with were operating under his, and the FBI’s, direct instructions and they had done only as ordered. He also said that Ryan had halted the massacre, explaining that the head of Astermine thought of his lasers not as weapons, but systems for safe space travel. This detail was completely ignored by everybody listening.

  Everson was asked how many of these laser guns Astermine had, and their range capabilities. He was forced to tell the truth and stated that he had known of two lasers hitting targets, but there could be dozens up there. Ryan might have had other lasers to blast the enemy, but had not told Joe how many he had. Everson didn’t know that Bill Withers had seen Ryan’s gunners blasting rocks from hitting their craft in space at a distance of over 2,000 miles.

  The FBI agent was then asked how many spacecraft Astermine had in orbit, and he knew of three shuttles, two mining craft, and a large new space station Ryan was building 400 miles out in space. All telescopes were immediately ordered to find this new ship and, when they did, many astronomers were totally shocked at what they found.

  Three days later the hearing came to an end, and the president and all men in Washington met to figure out how to destroy Ryan Richmond, and Astermine.

  Nuking much of Nevada was one suggestion. This area had been used by the military for nearly 900 nuclear blasts. What difference would it make if one more was added to the tally? Deaths would only be a few thousand in small towns around the site, and nobody really cared about a few thousand lives. They had lost that many citizens every single year since the U.S. government had been at war with somebody. The nuclear fallout over a wider area was the only reason that saved Astermine from being nuked, and that still wouldn’t stop his laser guns, maybe aimed at the very room they were sitting in. Members of Congress were not paid to be brave.

  Sending nukes into space to destroy Astermine’s craft was the next possibility discussed.

  The next day as the fifth of Ryan’s eight necessary shuttles was launched into space, General Mortimer spoke to Boeing in Tacoma during lunch, and the C-130 was readied for action. It would take forty-eight hours to arm and get the heavy aircraft into the air.

  Meanwhile, Ryan had recomputed the orbit of America One so that whenever the C-5 took off from the airfield, she would be over Hawaii. By the time the shuttle was released, the spaceship was over the Atlantic, still having the area in her sights. He wasn’t taking any chances.

  The results of the secret hearing concluded with a decision to give Ryan one last chance to surrender, bring all his craft back to earth, and give himself up to be tried for crimes that took the men at the hearing a whole day to think up. They devised three main categories on which to indict him. He was: (1) a “danger” to National Security, which meant any government agency, could hold him without trial; (2) a “terrorist” working with a foreign terrorist agency, which meant they could transfer him without trial to Cuba; and (3) mentally insane, which meant they could throw away the key.

  They compiled a list of at least a dozen laws that he had broken; some dated back as far as 1812, such as one that asserted no citizen could have more powerful weapons than what the United States Government had at that time.

  On the third day after the hearing Ryan’s fourth-from-final necessary shuttle left earth with 4.1 tons of rich, black Washington state top soil, something the police roadblocks had not yet decided was a threat to national security.

  The president headed into the final day of discussion and suggested that Congressman Dickens phone Ryan for the last time to give himself up, and if not, the marines would be deployed to capture the airfield.

  Before Congressman Dickens could phone, the president issued orders for armed forces to prepare for an all-out attack on five square miles of Nevada, without telling the local police, or the state government of their plans.

  Dickens called Ryan, who was sitting in a virtually empty airfield. Besides Ryan the only people remaining on the site were twelve security guards; several members of his ground control team, pilots and astronauts; twenty family members ready to fly up on the last flight; and his team of shuttle refuelers, three of whom were experts in all types of combustion engines, and were remodeling the ten vehicles down in the cavern to work on pure alcohol.

  A week before the phone call, five special fuel tankers had arrived at the airfield from California at midnight. The drivers remained at the first gate while Ryan’s crew drove the trucks to the remains of Hangar Seven, and four hours later returned empty tankers to the owners. The owners of the trucks, all from Los Angeles, were paid in cash and left without asking any questions.

  What very few knew was that 50,000 gallons of pure alcohol had been pumped into two long-term storage tanks in Ryan’s secret cavern. These two tanks were designed to store pure alcohol, the only fuel that would survive for decades underground in perfect storage conditions.

  Having the best scientists in the world, they knew exactly how to change both the diesel engines on the Bradleys, a troop carrier, two air force jeeps, the airfield’s fire truck, ambulance, and a few used jet engines down there to run on pure alcohol. The safety vehicles already worked well above ground, to prove that the modifications had been successful.

  The two Audis also needed converted fuel delivery systems, and onboard computer changes to allow their high performance engines to run on their new fuel; the experts had been down in the cavern for a dozen nights converting the vehicle systems.

  Also over the last few hours, Ryan had given out three dozen large bonus checks to the penultimate group of his team before a bus arrived to take the 82 personnel to California. Only Lieutenant Walls and eleven of his men remained as security staff.

  “Congressman Dickens, good to hear your voice,” Ryan replied on speaker phone with Kathy holding his hand next to him. “A decision by Congress on what to do with me and my team I assume? Death by long-range accidental nuke, or a long-term jail cell in Guantanamo for treason, for whatever you guys are going to call my disappearance from society? Which one is it going to be, Congressman?”

  “The latter I’m afraid, Mr. Richmond, unless you come in peacefully, bring all your craft down back to earth, and allow U.S. troops to take over your airfield,” replied the Congressman calmly.

  “And how long have I got before you take away my freedom, Congressman? And what about the company employees I
have on site, and their safety?”

  “The president is a kind person. Many here at Capitol Hill wanted to nuke you, but your friend, his predecessor, has become a major problem, and the current president also intervened on your behalf. Mr. Richmond, we want your whole project, including all the scientists who work for you. Mr. Richmond, we don’t want you. The United States government wants Astermine and, by God, we are going to get it. The president also wanted me to remind you that he has been lenient with you, and given you more time than he anticipated.”

  “Only because he got all the glory sorting out those two potential wars, and has certainly been happy to take all the praise,” Ryan replied.

  “You have twenty-four hours, Ryan, or we are going to blow that United States Air Force C-5 out of the sky, next time it goes up.”

  “Then you will not get my spacecraft back, as I have three spacecraft and lasers that need to return inside the shuttle’s cargo holds. They cannot reenter without the shuttles.”

  “Oh!” stated the Congressman thinking for a few minutes and having discussions with others. “So how many flights will you need to return all your laser equipment up there? We want all your shuttles and mining craft.”

  “My shuttles are all on the ground, so they need to launch. I will need six to eight flights, three to return with my mining craft, three to return with the laser weapons, and at least one to return with the crew I have up there…. and it seems that the crew of the ISS is going to die, unless one of my shuttles gets some supplies to them, so eight flights over twenty-four days.”

  “I see that the Russians sent their last freighter up yesterday, and so did the Europeans. I assume these were your supplies, and not for the ISS?”

  “Correct Congressman, these were the last supplies I need in space. My supplies here are virtually depleted. My rocket fuel is not getting through, thanks I assume to the government, so let me have my last three truckloads of solid fuel, and then I can do as you ask. Congressman Dickens, I cannot fly into space and return with my spacecraft. I don’t have wings.”

  “So you have stopped other freighter craft supplying the ISS for your own needs?”

  “No, Congressman, I contracted with the two authorities and paid them to carry my supplies into space months ago so that I could complete my project within the president’s time limit of January 15th. Now that the United States of America has destroyed everybody’s last forty years of space work, and I’m sure that Mortimer is taking bows for his brilliant orders to fire nukes against incoming asteroids at zero altitude..…”

  “Screw you, Richmond!” exploded a new voice on the line.

  “As I thought! I have half of the government listening in, the wrong half I believe,” laughed Ryan.

  “Carry on, Richmond, I haven’t got all day,” continued Congressman Dickens.

  “As I was saying, Congressman and half of Washington, I paid them to speed up the needed supplies for my project. Can’t Martin Brusk help you supply the ISS? Isn’t his company part of NASA yet?”

  “He only has one more flight available and that launch rocket is still in Russia,” answered Hal McNealy, also listening in. “It will be ready to fly in about a month. The ISS crew will be dead by then.”

  “And nuking me would have got them fed?” stated Ryan sarcastically.

  “So, what do you want, Richmond?” asked Dickens.

  “Congressman, all I ever asked for was time, nothing more. I told you, once my project is finished, I promised to be here to greet you as you arrive to take my company over. I need the flights to return the transportation equipment up there inside the shuttles. Which part of that don’t you guys understand?”

  “If we allow your launches to continue, then I want air force aircraft watching everything you do, within your airspace,” interrupted General Mortimer.

  “General Mortimer, I will give you one warning. If any military aircraft, especially laser-loaded C-130s, fly within fifty miles of my airspace, I will have all seven of my craft up there shoot them down, from 200 miles. Don’t piss me off; I’m sick of your bullshit.”

  “You have seven lasers up there?” asked Dickens. “Mortimer, shut up!”

  “Ryan, you have an aircraft approaching from the west,” stated Allen Saunders, currently in orbit with Jamie Watkins in the unarmed SB II being unloaded over the Pacific. “The mother ship will be over the horizon in ten minutes. Looks like a military aircraft, a C-130, 28 miles out at 30,000 feet. You also have three jets incoming from the north. They are fast and their radar marks look like F-22 Raptors at 40,000 feet, 110 miles north of you.”

  “So you already have aircraft incoming, Mortimer?” Ryan interrupted. “They have 30 seconds to head back, or the three F-22s will be hot metal and your C-130 will have no tail. Mortimer, I warned you once. I will not warn you again. You want to go to war? My lasers up there will flatten every government building, including the White House, Capitol Hill, and the Pentagon, where I believe you are calling from, within an hour of your aircraft attacking me.”

  “Mortimer, who authorized these aircraft?” asked Congressman Dickens.

  “The president, and I told you Dickens we should have nuked Nevada. Who cares about a few astronauts in the ISS, or people around the airfield?”

  “Actually, I do General,” Ryan replied. “I am a concerned American civilian, and one that is getting really pissed off. Mortimer all I can say is, Make My Day!”

  “He won’t blast us, he’s bullshitting, Congressman,” replied the fuming general.

  “Mortimer, he is not bullshitting, I know him well. Richmond, you have three weeks, get these weapons of mass destruction down to earth, and you had better keep your promise about being there when we come to get you,” stated a voice Ryan recognized as the President of the United States of America, and the phone went dead in his hands.

  “All four aircraft turning and heading west,” stated Allen over the intercom.

  Ryan’s face was white with rage, and he was shaking. One part of his brain was angry, and he wanted blood. The other half told him that he had just won the race to get himself into space, or anyway, the equipment he needed. Kathy just held his hand and let him be.

  To achieve his dream, he would need a little help getting to America One from a little jail cell in Cuba. Cuba didn’t have any flights into space, but he knew one airline that did.

  The two ground control team on duty saw Ryan’s face and threw him a half-full bottle of vodka. They were the only two left to man the control center, as the orbits were controlled from the computers in each craft; ground control was purely to help with takeoff and reentry. The others were underground in Hangar Seven, fiddling with the engines, and taking stock of the supplies they would return to in a few decades, if nobody found them.

  Taking a long swig and handing the bottle over to Kathy, he was reminded that his drinking habits now resembled the Mr. Jones of old.

  It would be his last swig of vodka in Hangar One; that night the crew would begin packing up the computers for delivery in the same flight the crew would be taking.

  Mr. Jones and Ms. Sinclair were around somewhere; he picked up the bottle and he and Kathy left the building to find drinking buddies as the last three fuel trucks arrived from nowhere at the second gate.

  The next morning and back to his normal self, he watched the C-5 takeoff with the trustworthy Bob Mathews at the controls; a pregnant Penny Sullivan and Michael Pitt were flying into space with a cargo of 4.1 tons of distilled water, several frozen chocolate cakes, and containers of chocolate milkshake. Also on board was one member of Ryan’s ground control team heading up. With them was Martha Von Zimmer, the first member of the European Space Authority Ryan had employed years ago. Martha had a PhD in Astrophysics and was a single thirty-five year old female friend of Suzi’s from Berlin’s university. Her job was to find the crew in America One a new place to live somewhere out there.

  At the same time as the liftoff, the last European unmanned freighter, fil
led with eight tons of liquid hydrogen, and the smaller Russian cargo unit holding two liquid tons of xenon, were collected by Asterspace III and connected tightly onto America One.

  Ryan had scheduled two flights of water, a flight of liquid oxygen, a flight of helium, and one more flight of topsoil before he had everything he needed up there. If the president was to keep his word, then he would be able to launch two flights of luxuries before the crew needed to depart on the final flight, and the C-5 and its crew would return to Creech Air Force Base.

  The six flights of luxuries were not going to happen, so he decided on one flight of two tons each of beef and pork, and then a mixed cargo of the chocolate, frozen milk and butter. At least Suzi could have her chocolate cake for a year or so.

  The next four flights went off as planned. The airfield was now really becoming empty. Ryan decided that since there was nobody to have a morning run with other than Kathy, it would be his last run.

  He decided to run around the eastern half the runway, looking at the deserted accommodations still there at the end of the runway where the Customs and Excise team, and then the air force personnel had stayed. That already felt like a lifetime away and the place looked like a little ghost town.

  He still didn’t feel relaxed. Kathy needed to pack, so he decided to walk around his entire airfield instead of taking the electric golf cart, which was already in the cavern. Nearly everybody was gone, or packed and ready to go.

  The kitchen was clean. The chef and baker were going into space with the crew and had thoroughly cleaned it; it looked as new as the day they started work. The three massive freezers and half dozen walk-in refrigerators were clean, empty, and their doors were left open. He remembered the two Christmases here in the food hall, both happy affairs.

  Then Ryan walked over to the three-story accommodation block. Only the C-5 flight crew and astronauts stayed there now, nine people. The next flight, SB I, was to be flown by Allen, Jamie, and Ryan’s wife-to-be, Kathy, accompanied by one space rocket motor engineer; the shuttle would not return. SB II with Penny and Michael flying would go up seventy-two hours afterwards with two of Martha Von Zimmer’s team of astrophysicists, and also stay in space. Only Jonesy and Maggie, Bob Mathews and his two air force flight crew ladies would be the flyers left on base, with Bob Withers still in detention of course.