by Jack L Knapp
Giant was finally unloaded, and the captain walked to meet his counterpart. Presenting an electronic register, he held it while the Chinese scanned the list, then nodded. He pressed the buttons in a sequence known only to the Chinese, accepting the delivery. The captain nodded, then both turned away. Chuck boarded Lina and brought her to a hover, waiting. He fell in behind Giant and trailed the big ship, splitting away after they reentered atmosphere. He landed half an hour later in Brisbane and was soon home, playing with the toddlers.
An hour later, the children off to bed in the care of the nanny, Chuck joined Lina on the veranda.
“Where did Frenchy disappear to? Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Will either.”
“They’re having a boys night out.” She clicked her tongue, disapprovingly. “It’s a celebration. Will’s doing a lot better, although he still hates to fly. But that may change too, it’s just too soon to tell.
“So it’s just you and me tonight?” Chuck waggled his eyebrows expressively. Lina glanced at him, surprised, then understood. “One more glass of wine and maybe we’ll see, big guy.” The two smiled at each other.
#
Pete was waiting when Chuck reached his Reykjavik office. “Come on in, maybe Adelheid can scare us up a cup of coffee. I thought you were in Rovaniemi.”
“I was. I’ve spent the last six weeks there. Before that, I was in India for a few days, South Korea, then Brazil, South Africa...there were days I didn’t know whether I was coming or going.”
“Really, all those places? Why don’t you tell me about it.” Chuck hung his coat in the closet and sat down. Adelheid brought cups, a carafe of coffee and pastries, then vanished silently through the door. Pete’s visit had upset her itinerary.
“It’s the new impellers. The South Africans make the coils, the Koreans machine the rotors. We get frames from Brazil, some other parts from India...Bangladesh too, I forgot that. Anyway, we get parts and subassemblies from all over and I wanted to make sure of the quality before building the new units. Final assembly will be done here or in Rovaniemi. I thought of doing it in the cave, but decided to leave that alone. It was a good bolthole when we needed it, and who knows? We might need it again. There are people at the ranch, but no one’s staying in the cavern. There’s not a lot to see down there anyway.”
Chuck nodded. “Good thinking. I can’t see us needing it, but I won’t sell the old place. Are they keeping the brush cleared from the cemetery?”
“They are. There’s a guy that rents out goats, he brings his flock over every month and they keep the area around the ranch house clear.”
“Goats?”
“Goats. They’ll eat anything.”
“Well, whatever works. About the impellers?” Chuck glanced at his watch.
“I told Adelheid to clear your appointments for today, that’s why she’s pissed. We’re going to Japan.”
“We are? Why?”
“I’m going to make sure the spec book they sent was accurate, you’re going to beam appreciatively and bow a lot. The first shipment of reactors is ready. The Finns worked up a modification based on the specs, it’s mostly a variation on the Giant class but with a SMR instead of fuel cells. Different wings too, they had to be strengthened so we could mount the larger impellers on the ends. The tanks are still in the wings, but they all contain oxygen now. The Cigar class, that’s what we’re calling them in-house, can make it to any of the inner planets. The extra oxygen will come in handy. Anyway, as soon as I confirm that the SMRs are what they say they are, the Finns will start work. Six weeks to two months, they say.”
“That fast?”
“They say they can do it, and I’m not going to argue. It’s amazing how fast things happen when you tell people to spend what they need to. They subcontract a lot of stuff, just do final assembly in Finland.”
“We’re probably overpaying them. Lots of new millionaires in Rovaniemi.”
“Reykjavik too.” The two grinned at each other.
“What about you, Pete?”
“Tell you the truth, Chuck, I quit working for the money a long time ago. Now I do it for the fun of it. I’ve got bank accounts, investments, so have my engineers. Even the mechanics are doing well. It’s good business, because they’re loyal to NFI.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I’ve certainly got more than I’ll ever need, so I understand about not working for the money. I think Frenchy kept doing it because he knew people needed to get off Earth. I’m doing it because a million people depend on me.”
Chuck sipped at his coffee and thought. “I could hire an experienced manager. They leave one company, end up managing another one. Some succeed, some fail. I could offer enough money now to hire one of the successful ones away from whoever they’re working for. Some are probably good people, but there’s no way to be sure. Could I turn the company over to them and still sleep nights? People like that work for themselves, not for their employees. I thought military people were different, and maybe the junior officers are. But by the time they put stars on, they’re managers and politicians, not soldiers. Maybe not all of them, but too many are. That million people I mentioned, they may not know me and I don’t know them, but I’m still responsible because NFI indirectly pays their wages.”
“Chuck, you’re going to kill yourself if you’re not careful. And then who will take over?”
“I’ll watch it. You ready to go?”
“Sure. Next stop, Japan.” Pete put down the half-empty cup and the two left for the hangar.
#
The president was not happy.
“Who the hell picked those people? Congress? Project Los Angeles, my ass. Project lost, more like it. Bunch of...goddammit, they don’t even have a plan! How do they expect to come up with that impeller thing?”
“They’re the best we’ve got, Mister President. Can I get you a scotch?”
“Make it a double. I don’t know, the people who designed the bomb were probably just as feckless. But if that asshat in charge doesn’t produce damned quick, he’s hosed. I’ll fire his ass, it’s not as if there was a shortage of generals.” The president drank some of his scotch and sat down. “Thanks, I needed that.”
“Mister President, I mentioned a group some time back. I’ve also heard a rumor, something to do with an intercept. NSA noticed something. Do you remember me mentioning it?”
“Yeah, I figured you’d tell me when you found out something more.”
“The group is working on their own plan. I hired a man named Forberger to represent us and he seems to have gotten their attention. We’re talking senior ministers now, cabinet-level people on their part.”
“So who do they represent?”
“China, the European Union, and Russia are the main players. The EU...I can’t say I’m impressed, but I think the Russians and Chinese are serious.”
“Are they? And minister level, Mark? You’re sure of that?”
“Forberger is sure, and I trust his judgment. He tells me he’s pushing them hard.”
“Set up a meeting, next week. I want to talk to this Forberger.”
Mark took out a notebook and made a note.
“There was also a rumor, I mentioned that before. I don’t have confirmation, but I think it’s worth looking into. I may need operatives.”
“Delta force, you think?”
“SEALs, Mister President. NFI bought a ship, it was before they built their factory. The ship was appraised before they bought it, the original owners intended to scrap it. It was old, rusty, so I wondered why someone would want the thing unless it was the scrap metal value. But if NFI disposed of it, I never found a record. There are records listing the transfer of money, but after that, nothing.”
“Why would they buy a ship? You’re talking about a seagoing ship, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You said they were short of money back then. Why spend it on a ship? What can you do with a ship? You know what this reminds me of? Drug cartels.
They buy an old ship and load it with drugs. If they get one trip out of the thing, they’re in the black. I wonder if that’s what Fuqua did? Could he have been smuggling dope?”
“I don’t know, Mister President. It’s just that the name popped up and NSA’s computers made the connection. I think it’s worth looking into.”
“Do what you need to do, Mark. Can I put off whoever I’m supposed to meet with next?”
“Yes, Mister President.”
“I thought maybe this project thing might work. It’s just another waste of money. Congress pats themselves on the back, picks out a nice piece of pork, but nothing’s happening and nothing’s going to happen.” The president was depressed, and it showed.
“It’s not about that company, it’s about the future of this country. Study your history. We became a great country because we had great people and natural resources to work with, land, water, coal, oil, metals, timber. But all that existed before we got here, and nothing was done with it. It was people that made the difference, people with vision! But that was then. Our people...well, you know what they’re like now. We have entrepreneurs, sure, but there’s no Henry Ford, no J. P. Morgan.”
The president sipped moodily.
“Sure they got rich, Morgan and Ford. But they cared about the nation too. Now? It reminds me of Rome toward the end, the country hasn’t yet fallen but not we’re not growing either. No vitality, Mark. The natural resources are gone, the ones that were easy to get. Our problem is finding the best way to use what’s left, and since it’s cheaper to buy from Chile or Argentina, we import everything. The country’s been poisoned, even the land is not what it was. Farmers have to use more poison just to make a damned crop, people don’t want to work hard on a farm...hell, they don’t want to work at much of anything! Sit around an office, shuffling paper.” The president sloshed more scotch into his glass. His hand shook.
“Farmland’s salty now. It comes from too much irrigation. We even import food nowadays. This country fed the world, Mark, now we can’t even feed ourselves. Our influence...we don’t have any. We can’t get rid of the aircraft carriers, we just keep paying more for every new airplane, and we can’t stop, we can’t even slow down. I understand Churchill a lot better now than when I read about him in college, trying to hold off Hitler on the one hand and hang on to the empire on the other.
“I refuse to let it happen. I’ll be goddamned if I let history view my administration as the one that let America down. Space, that’s where the future is, and Sneyd is standing in our way. I’ll do whatever it takes, Mark.” The president smashed his hand on the desk.
“I feel like getting drunk! How about you, Mark, want to join me?”
“I’ll see about rearranging your schedule, Mister President. Perhaps later. If you’ll excuse me?”
“Yeah, go ahead.” The president finished the glass and poured himself another.
Mark paused by the secretary’s desk on his way out. “No visitors. The boss is indisposed. Better alert the Secret Service guys.”
“Again?”
Chapter Twenty
Sven Nelsen was content.
NFI had been good to him; the former first mate had satisfied the requirements for a master’s license, then worked a year under Captain Sperry. Sperry had moved on to command a spacecraft and Sven had become Tesla’s second captain. Now, Master at the age of 54, he had few ambitions unrealized. If there was any shade of disappointment, it was because he found the task easier than anticipated. It was also vaguely unsatisfying. Sven considered briefly what being master of a ship with sails had entailed, the numbers of men needed, storage of salted or pickled food, barrels of fresh water, the constant need for maintenance...
But Sven had his own maintenance concerns. Four impellers hummed contentedly along, as functional now as the day they’d been installed. But only four; small leaks in the outer container allowed humid sea air to enter, and parts had rusted or corroded. The first impeller had failed after six months of use. Jim Sperry, at that time master of Tesla, had ordered a replacement and swapped out the defective unit, replacing it with the ship’s only spare. A return message had promised that a new unit would be forthcoming within a month, but that hadn’t happened. Two months later, Jim tried telephoning directly. But Morty had died and Frenchy and Will were out of contact. A month later, he tried contacting the company again, only to find the telephone disconnected.
Left with no option, unwilling to see the ship fail, with no resources, Jim had resigned. He sent a report, which was acknowledged. No human saw it; the reply came from an automated server. Sven took command, reported this fact, and received his own acknowledgement. With no orders to the contrary, with shipments already contracted, Sven took Tesla to sea. He had no spare impeller, but he still had eight that still worked, the same number they’d had at the beginning.
And so the routine was set. A radio report continued to be submitted twice each day, once at noon, the other at midnight. The date and time were entered, as were the ship’s coordinates. The date and time of the response from NFI was also logged. Routine requests for replacement impellers were no longer being sent; a single response, a month after Sven became the captain, carried the message ‘No longer available’.
But Tesla’s impellers still worked, the diesel generators thundered their reliable song, and Sven loved being in command.
Eventually, other impellers failed. Vibration opened tiny holes and corrosion set in. In each case, Sven ordered the defective impeller placed in storage where it joined others that had failed. After the third failure, he’d ordered the casings opened to see if he might salvage parts and make one good impeller from three defective ones. But by then the corrosion was advanced; sea air is unforgiving. And anyway, no one on board knew how the impellers worked, so the idea of perhaps making new parts to substitute for ruined ones never got beyond a fleeting thought.
A fourth failure joined the others.
But the remaining four impellers worked as they always had, and there was no sign of failure. Tesla no longer had the reserve of power her designers had intended, but even so, the old ship was faster than most tramp freighters. Sven, lacking other instructions, carried on, hauling cargo, hiring new workers, purchasing diesel fuel, oil and replacement parts for the generators when needed. These events were duly reported and receipt of the messages acknowledged.
The last failure had occurred more than a year ago. Four large marine-version impellers, designed for Tesla but also for other ships that had never been purchased, drove the ship at a cruising speed of eight knots, with a maximum of fourteen knots. Best fuel consumption dictated the slower speed, but at least he still had something in reserve.
Sven had his command, he was at sea doing what he loved, so he was content.
#
Pak Susilo entered the bridge and stood politely, waiting while Sven finished updating the ship’s log. The radio operator would copy the information into his own log and transmit it at noon.
“Pak.” The honorific pleased his Indonesian sailors, and Sven was happy to oblige. He’d never quite understood their naming customs; some had only one name, some several, and if there was a system Sven had never found it.
“Adi.”
“Is there a problem, Pak Susilo?”
“It may be so, adi. Can the adi come now?”
“Certainly. Let me call Pak Iskandar to the bridge.”
Ten minutes later, Susilo leading, Sven found himself examining plates on the ship’s starboard midships side. The plates were moist.
“What am I looking at, Pak Susilo? Is this a problem?”
“I have inspected the bilge, adi. It must now be pumped twice daily.”
“Unusual. Do you suspect a leak, sprung plates?”
“The plates are not sprung, adi. They weep.”
“Is it condensation, Pak? The air is humid, warm, but the sea is cooler.”
“Only a few plates weep in this way, adi. They are thin. There is rust.�
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“You’re saying we need a drydock, Pak? The plates need to be replaced?”
“There are frames too, adi. There is corrosion between the frame members and the plates. My crewmen cannot get to it.”
“How many plates, Pak?”
“Perhaps twelve, adi. This is one of the worst.”
Sven looked at the water. A drop formed as the moisture collected, then flowed slowly down the curve of the old ship’s side. It didn’t look dangerous. But if enough was accumulating in the bilge to require twice-daily pumping...
“Keep an eye on it, Pak Susilo. If it gets worse, we’ll head for Puerto Rico. I’d prefer to finish the voyage if possible, then look for a dry-dock.”
“I have seen it before, adi. Other ships. This one is old, a very grandfather of ships. She tires, adi.”
“Can we make it to the United States, Pak Susilo? Or should I divert to Freeport in the Bahamas? They have dry docks there.”
“I think the United States is possible, adi. But within one year, there must be repairs.”
“One year it is. I’ll notify the company. We’ll discharge our cargo and head for Boston or Philadelphia in ballast. I’ll let the company decide which location they prefer.”
“What of the crew, adi? Repairs will take months.”
“The crewmen will have jobs, Pak Susilo. I will see to it. The company does not lay off workers.”
“I will tell the men, adi.”
Sven rubbed his forehead. Repair? How much longer would his impellers last?
There was really only one thing to do. He opened the log and began typing. This message would be longer; there was a lot of information to enter. The usual short signal, compressed into a one-second burst, would not suffice.
Receipt of the message was acknowledged. It was not routine, so the server kicked it out. A clerk looked at it, decided this did not concern him, and forwarded it on. Eventually it made its way to Martha’s desk. The message made no sense. Finally, she forwarded it to Wolfgang, Director of Flight Ops. He had never heard of a ship named Tesla. He reviewed the classes, operational and projected: Farside, Insect, Giant, Cigar. This name didn’t fit anywhere. Was it a hoax? Maybe Chuck should know. Wolfgang forwarded the message and soon forgot about it. The Finns were experiencing delays in shipments of the complicated cable wiring systems...