NFI: New Frontiers, Incorporated: Book 2, the New Frontiers Series

by Jack L Knapp

  Martha had independently arrived at the same conclusion, a possible hoax. Both messages landed in the same file on Chuck’s desk, routine matters that he would deal with when he had time.

  Tesla’s report was detected in another location. This one recorded the message but didn’t acknowledge receipt. It never did. The NSA intercepted thousands of messages every minute, and most were never seen by human eyes. Eventually, Sven’s report found its way into a digest that reached the desk of a new, and eager, employee. She wondered what it meant, and decided to flag the message.

  #

  Chuck leaned back, massaging his temples. The headache was back. The chime from his intercom didn’t help.

  “Yes, Adelheid?”

  “Pete and Wolfgang are here, Chuck. Shall I show them in?”

  “No, we’re leaving. I’ll be gone until after lunch, so move my appointments. If it’s important, add them to the end of the list and I’ll see them before I go home. Otherwise, make room later in the week.”

  “Yes, Chuck.” Chuck grinned; he was certain she sighed, again, but this time she’d cut the connection before he heard. Sometimes she held the button down. Chuck made a mental note to send flowers. Good people were rare, it was worth a gesture of thanks to let them know they were appreciated.

  “Let’s go, guys. You can brief me in Lina. Rovaniemi first, right?”

  “Right. I’m flying right seat today, Chuck?”

  “You are. Time to get you out from behind that desk.”

  “I’m happy for the chance, that’s not a secret. Sometimes I wonder...”

  The three boarded Lina and began the checklist.

  “So what’s up, Pete?”

  “Lot of work, Chuck. Martha’s smashing the champagne today, then we’re visiting the design studio. We’ve got mockups, two versions, and scale drawings. See what you think.”

  “I don’t know what I think, Pete. For the first time, we’ll have ships I’m not qualified to fly. Cigar...the pilot’s course is being designed, so it’s not set in stone, but Martha’s people think the transition course will be at least four months long, maybe six.”

  “Jim Sperry didn’t take that long.”

  “No, but he got special treatment. He was one of the company’s first employees, been around since we started. He had individual instruction from day one, reactor classes in the morning with his copilot and operating engineers, simulator time in the afternoon. No days off for any of them.”

  “Jim’s a good man, really motivated. In a way, I’m glad he’s getting Cigar. First captain of Mantis, that was the first upgrade to the Insect class, now first captain of Cigar.”

  “He’s had a good career, but Jim says two more years. He wants to retire and do a lot of fishing. He only stayed around this long so he could command a nuclear ship. You remember, that was what Morty intended all along. He had to settle for fuel cell power because the small nuclear reactors weren’t available.”

  “Jim deserves it. We’re starting to lose people to retirement, Wolfgang. We need a ceremony, something nice, I’ll be there if I’m available, you handle it if I’m not. Maybe Frenchy, if he’s willing. Let our people know we appreciate what they did for the company. Something nice, more than just a watch and a handshake. Schedule a retirement ceremony once a month, okay? Make it happen.”

  “I’ll do that, Chuck. It’s good motivation for our new employees.”

  Takeoff was routine. Chuck and Wolfgang paid casual attention to the board, letting the computer fly the ship. They topped out above the stratosphere, then began descending toward the boreal forest far below. Off in the distance was Rovaniemi and north of that city, their leased field. Suddenly a red light flashed in the upper center of the display, accompanied by a musical voice. “Radar contact.”

  Chuck looked at the display, confused. “There’s nothing showing on the radar, Wolfgang. What’s going on?”

  “It’s that new long-range radar south of Murmansk. The Russians lopped off the top of a mountain and stuck it up there about a month ago. It paints us every time we take off or land.”

  “Search radar?”

  “We think so. There’s no indication it’s a tracking radar, part of an air defense missile site. It’s got more power and longer range, but as far as we can tell, it’s just a radar. Maybe they’re going to put in an airport.”

  “Notify me if it changes. Wolfgang, it’s your call. If the Russians are watching Rovaniemi, that could be a problem. We could move the base if we had to. We’d still be flying out of Rovaniemi when new ships are delivered, but everything else could be shifted farther to the west. Sweden, maybe, or Norway. Greenland could work too. I’d prefer to keep the base in the north or south, a cross-polar course is the shortest way to reach Asia.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Starting descent now.”

  “Time to check my messages.” Chuck opened his laptop and scrolled down. “This is interesting. Sven Nelsen...I remember that name, but it’s tagged routine so I’ll look at it later.”

  #

  Mark walked into the briefing room and looked around approvingly. Most of his time was spent upstairs; this time, a small collection of military officers and a civilian deputy assistant secretary waited.

  “Thank you for coming. The president has approved a tasking. The Air Force is tasked to provide intelligence, so plan satellite coverage accordingly. Your packet contains the operations order. If there are questions, see me later. I’ll just summarize briefly to let all of you know what your part in the operation is. Area of interest, southern Caribbean, item of interest, a ship. The mission statement is Appendix One of your briefing packet. Ship registry, Liberia. Crew, mixed nationality. Cargo, unknown. Identity of master, unknown. Location, unknown, suspected to be northbound from eastern South America.”

  “Drug smuggler?” The speaker was a burly commander wearing the uniform of the US Navy.

  “Possibly.” Mark’s answer was immediate, smooth, and meaningless. He’d gained a lot of experience during his political career; appear to answer a question while always leaving escape room.

  “Tasking, US Navy and Special Operations Command. The packet contains your warning order. Two destroyers, two RHIBs and crews, SEAL qualified.”

  “Two boats and crews? One should be enough.” The speaker was a stocky Navy Senior Chief Petty Officer. Conspicuous on his uniform, he wore the SEAL trident, commonly known as the ‘Budweiser’. Not all SEALS like the name, especially when a non-SEAL uses it.

  “Two,” Mark confirmed. “It’s that important. Mission, board and search. Depending on what you find, take the ship into custody and escort it to the nearest US Navy base, Guantanamo excluded.”

  “Why the Navy? Drug interdiction is a Coast Guard mission. They’ve got specialized equipment and experience.”

  “But the Navy has more experience with SEAL operations. This has to go off fast and quiet, we don’t want reporters involved. First priority after boarding, shut down communications, then search the ship. Do it quietly. If you find what I expect, take the ship into custody. Use of force authorization, as appropriate. The mission is capture, not sink. Any questions at this point?”

  There were none, so Mark continued.

  “Appendix two, equipment and personnel. Appendix Three...”

  #

  The sun dropped toward the horizon as Chuck shook hands with the visitors. The small, private ceremony was almost over. Cigar, the first of her class, resembled the Giant series but was powered by a single SMR. A number of other changes had been made, some visible. The four wings were now thick stubs, the eight impellers on the wingtips huge. The wings were, in essence, specially-shaped containers for high-pressure oxygen. Cigar was expected to fly among the inner planets; the extra oxygen would be needed.

  Martha stood on the service gantry’s platform and swung the champagne bottle, suspended by a line attached to an overhead support. It smashed satisfyingly against the prow; the bottle had been pre-scored to ensure i
t didn’t bounce off, unbroken. Her speech was short and practiced: “I christen thee Cigar. May you voyage safely among the planets.”

  For a moment, it seemed that the gantry was moving away from the ship. Martha grabbed the rail, then realized that Cigar was sliding away. Balanced by the four smaller impellers in the nose, she drifted just high enough not to drag the wingtip skids, located between the impellers. Clear of the observers, she accelerated vertically, on her way to the moon. The cargo, two small modular reactors, had been loaded the evening before. Cigar would land them on the moon, then return to pick up two more.

  Far above, a brilliant blue flare signaled transition through the Van Allen belts. The glow faded, but never died out entirely. A tiny blue comet curved away, now on course to intersect the moon’s orbit.

  Chuck walked away, depressed. She was going where he could not go. He remained tied to his offices by responsibility, not so visible as chains but no less real.

  Wolfgang and Pete found him there half an hour later.

  “You all right, Chuck?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little let down. I wish Morty could have been here.”

  “I know what you mean. What did you think of the mockups?”

  “I think the toy-top shape has advantages over the thin saucer. Pete?”

  “I agree. It’s not aerodynamic, but it’s got enough power to land on Earth if it had to. You know the story, given enough power...”

  “Even a brick will fly!” chorused Chuck and Wolfgang. Chuck smiled for the first time since Cigar launched.

  “The Finns like that shape better. Not as easy to build, maybe, but in any case, the final assembly will be done on Luna. I’ll fax them the go-ahead. Cigar is...well, it’s a brute, that’s what it is. I don’t know what to say about Frisbee. I guess I’ll just wait until it launches.”

  “How long, Pete?” Chuck asked.

  “Six months to a year. She’s a big bastard, no getting around it. Even on Luna we’ll need special handling gear. As for an assembly building, you’re going to need the biggest one ever built. Storing the SMR’s on the moon makes sense, but we’re still a long way from building Frisbee. I’ll be hiring another crew. Architects, I think, plus engineers. Where do we find people who can design a building for the moon? It has to hold pressure and be stressed to support weight in a sixth of a gee. I wonder...you mentioned a Chinese base, I wonder what they’ve been doing?”

  “Good question. It’s time I paid them a visit, this time officially. I’ll see if Giant’s free, maybe one of the other ships with guns. Or install guns on Farside. There’s no room on Lina, she’s cramped as it is.”

  Pete nodded slowly, then said, “Suppose we armed all the ships? Everything except Lina.”

  “Why?” asked Chuck.

  “That Russian radar bothers me, the one that lit us up as we were coming in to Rovaniemi. Radars are expensive, they need crews. Why put a radar out in the back of beyond? The Russians already know what we’re doing, so why a new, very powerful radar?”

  “You think they’d try to shoot us down?”

  “I think I’d rather be prepared if they try. But if they launch an air-defense missile, I don’t think there’s a lot we can do. But antipersonnel guns, to keep hijackers at bay, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Approved. How much weight are we talking about?”

  “I’ll let you know when I find out. Not the Alpha pods, they’re too heavy and I don’t think we’ll need them. Something lighter, but effective.”

  “Just keep me informed. No reason to announce this, see if you can fair over the installation. Make it a nasty surprise that we keep in our pocket until we need it.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chuck decided the best way to deal with the puzzling message was with a phone call. Text or fax might work, but voice allowed greater flexibility. Sven answered after the second ring.

  “I’m Charles Sneyd, NFI. I’m not sure I understand your report.”

  “You’re Chuck, Morty’s grandson?”

  “Yes. Do I know you? Your name sounds familiar.”

  “We met once, I think. I spoke to your grandfather, but you were there. I was sorry to hear he’d passed on.”

  “Thanks. I miss him, a lot. You still work for the company, right?”

  “I’m the captain of Tesla now, I took over after Jim resigned. Anyway, I think it’s time to scrap the ship. I hate to do it, but I don’t think she’s worth repairing. Even the frame members and hull plates are showing wear, they’ll need to be replaced.”

  “Scrap a spaceship? We’ve barely got enough for our current needs! And why would frames and plates need replacing?”

  “You don’t remember, do you? Tesla’s ocean-going. It was your grandfather’s idea, but Frenchy and Will were there at her maiden voyage. With the new propulsion, I mean.”

  “Now that you mention it, I do remember something. I was supposed to go with Will and Frenchy, but I was hospitalized for a few days. I took Frenchy’s job; did you know that?”

  “No, I’m pretty much out of the loop. I haven’t been able to contact anyone who knows anything. I send reports, but all I get is ‘Message received.’ Well, and a message saying the impeller models on Tesla have been discontinued.”

  “I’m not surprised. Most of our models are new. Tesla would have versions that are at least five years old now, maybe six. How are they working out?”

  “Five aren’t. Four are as good as the day we sailed. The others failed because sea air got to them, the bearings seized up. They were rusty, corroded, and some of the bearings just fell apart. The other four work fine, but I think it’s time to salvage what we can. The hull can bring in a few dollars as scrap.”

  “You think it’s that serious, this business with hull plates?”

  “I do. So does my chief engineer. He’s my below-decks supervisor, and I trust his judgment.”

  “With no propellers, there’ll be questions raised. I see only one option at this point, salvage the propulsion system, then tow the hulk to the shipbreakers.” Chuck avoided mentioning ‘impeller’.

  “I see what you mean. Storing them in a warehouse wouldn’t guarantee their security.” Sven was also being cautious. “There are a couple of secure locations I can think of, since you mentioned a spaceship.”

  “Yes. I thought of that too.”

  “So we go ahead and salvage her. What about the crew?”

  “We’ve got jobs for the men if they want them. They might prefer to find another ship, but if they’re willing to retrain, we don’t lay good people off, not without giving them a choice. As for you, there’s a school you might be interested in. We’re always looking for candidates with proven judgment. You qualify. You could be captain of a different kind of ship.”

  Sven hesitated, thinking.

  “Good to know. That was one of my questions. Pak Susilo thinks we’re okay for perhaps a year, so I think it’s okay to finish the current trip. I agree with his call, but the longer we wait the more dangerous it becomes. We’re controlling the leaks for now, but I wouldn’t want to risk Tesla in a storm. I’ve only got two more stops to make, consignments to deliver, but I won’t take on more cargo. I figure two weeks to Boston after we offload the last of the cargo. Can you have the arrangements made by then? I could put in at Charleston before that if you think that’s best. A crew could pull the...ah, propellers...in a day or two and strip out everything important in a week. Could you have a crew available in, say, a week to ten days? I can’t give you a specific time, because I may not be able to offload immediately. Harbor masters decide who gets dock space.”

  “I’m sure we can. I’ll get back to you by next Monday. By the way, I really appreciate the job you and your men have done. It was important work.”

  “Good to know. I won’t keep you, Chuck. Thanks for calling.”

  “Take care, Sven.” Chuck broke the connection and laid the phone down. Maybe this was one of the times when he should consult Fr
enchy. Today was Wednesday, and he’d be in Brisbane by Friday afternoon.

  #

  The five members of the National Security Council were waiting when the president arrived. They stood politely until he had taken his seat and waved them into their chairs. He took a sip of water from the waiting glass, and began.

  “It’s time I brought you in on something I became aware of last month. There have been feelers from Russia, China, and the European Union; the contacts have been low level up to now and nothing substantive has been agreed on, but this may be an opportunity.”

  The president glanced around the table. The vice president looked bored, the rest attentive. Well, the vice president wouldn’t be involved. If she became part of this, the president, wouldn’t care anyway. The term ‘over my dead body’ came to mind.

  “You should know that Project Los Angeles is likely to be a bust. Congress supports it so I won’t make a fight of it, but I think it’s more pork than possibility. That leaves us with a problem, what to do about space.”

  The secretary of defense was making notes or doodling on his pad. It was hard to tell from the president’s seat. A quick thought flashed through his mind: Was it time to replace the SecDef?

  “NASA can’t do much, considering what the funding cuts did to their budget. That leaves us at an impasse, with NFI blocking our way into space. Rockets have limits, and we’ve just about reached that point with ours. Rocket ships can take us to the moon, they already have, but they can’t take astronauts to Mars and bring them back. The costs are simply astronomical.”

  The others smiled and the president grinned.

  “My scientific adviser tells me that our budget won’t support building a base on the moon. Not just NASA’s budget, but the entire national budget. We could get the astronauts there, but we couldn’t support them. We’ve been paying the Russians to carry our astronauts to the ISS, and some think we should pay NFI instead. He also says that there’s a consensus among the scientific community that NFI already has a base, but short of sending a rocket to orbit the moon we can’t be sure. If they have one, it’s on the far side. The Chinese may also have something up there. They hired NFI to do something, but the Chinese won’t say what it was.”