THE CAMBRIDGE ANNEX: THE TRILOGY

by Peter Damon

  “50% though! Shouldn’t we renegotiate?” Paddy pressed.

  “For why? Have they sold us short in some way? Have they not given us everything they promised? Or did you never imagine such a small piece of junk would fetch five million?”

  “Yes, but we’re the ones risking our necks to make their space all the more cleaner. Seems to me we haven’t become spacemen at all, Frankie. Just garbage collectors!” Paddy pressed.

  Frank looked about him, both angered and saddened by the expressions he could see around him. “The deal is struck. I’ve shaken on it, and that’s final. We want out, then we earn enough to get our own ship,” he told them.

  “That’s what, fifty, sixty of those things,” Bert calculated.

  “If they hold that price, which they won’t,” Tess pointed out. “You want the big money, then best bring them in before the others do. Once the buyers see how many of them there are, the price will drop, you can be sure of it.”

  The men nodded and moved away in small groups as they began forming partnerships for salvage work. Tess looked towards Frank with a sour look. “You’re going to have problems with that one, Frankie,” she warned him.

  As if he didn’t already know that.

  “You did well today Tess. Why don’t you try putting the cart before the horse and find me the biggest clients, and we’ll get them what they want?” he suggested.

  Tess grinned up at him and walked away to begin her research. Meanwhile, Maddy gave up on her calm reserve to jump up and down in glee. In the space of less than an hour she had earned herself 625,000 US Dollars. She flung herself towards Frankie and held him tightly, no longer caring who might see them.

  August 19th.

  The British Navy had long since handed over the task of shipbuilding to others and, strictly speaking, the property on the south side of the Clyde was no longer owned by Her Majesty’s Navy but by the company contracted to maintain its fleet of coastguard vessels. Nevertheless, by the time a small and innocuous Mediterranean ferry cruised up the Clyde early that morning, the sixty acre site just east of the Clyde tunnel was firmly in the control of the British armed forces, their normal partners in the ship-maintenance trade confined to their own offices on the western edge of the large property.

  Workers were given letters as they turned up at the gates, advising them to return home and wait for instructions. They would continue to receive their pay and benefits, and would not be needed at the yard until further notice.

  A convoy of trucks arrived, ferrying the portable cabins in which the Royal Engineers would stay while they worked on the refit, while two coastguard frigates settled in at the quayside to offer further facilities in addition to those already available at the naval plant.

  As the armed forces settled into their new but temporary facility, a box van arrived. It arrived from directly above, speeding down to limit its exposure to air-lanes as much as possible, before landing softly on a piece of unused ground within the new security compound.

  Thomas and David got out and stretched, their smiles a little forced as they nodded nervously towards the men rushing over to meet them.

  “Welcome. It’s a pleasure to meet you Sirs,” the sergeant told them, he and his men stopping in front of them.

  The twins shook hands while making their way to the rear of the van, there to open the rear doors and reveal the large oval table they wanted setup in the main project office.

  “What exactly is it?” asked the sergeant as he watched his men gently unload it.

  “The ferry’s control board,” one of the twins told him. “It’s like a CAD system, but with an emphasis on control and monitoring,” he was told. “We’ve preloaded a lot of the ferry’s details, together with the facilities we’re going to need to add. Putting the control board in right at the beginning will help us ensure we get everything done right,” they explained.

  Stanley wandered over with the senior forces people to begin introductions while, in the background, workmen were already boarding the ferry to begin removing its interior while heavier equipment was moved into place to remove larger external items, such as the lifeboats, masts and the chimney. In a very short time, the ferry would be reduced to its basic steel structure so that it could be refitted as the twins desired.

  +++++++++++++

  “I still don’t like it,” Brendan said to Paddy as he watched him point the laden SUV towards the earth.

  “What’s there not to like?” Paddy asked, palms turned up and out. “The ARC is still getting a pretty penny, and we get a proper income for our efforts. After all, it’s us taking all the risks.”

  Brendan knew that. Paddy had mentioned it on more than one occasion. And a share of one million Euros was a hell of a lot better than a share of 25,000 Euros, which would be the case if the sale went through the ARC.

  “Frankie ...” Brendan began.

  “Don’t talk to me about fucking Frankie. Fucking Frankie this and fucking Frankie that. I’ve had it with fucking Frankie!” Paddy cried angrily.

  “Find me the fucking place, will you?” Paddy told his business partner, changing the subject.

  Brendan keyed in the name of the small town they had selected, and brought it up on Paddy’s screen where he could select it for the SUV to automatically head towards it.

  “It’s not like we’re all one big team, like we used to be,” Paddy told him, drawn back to the subject of Frankie. “I mean, Maddie and Mickey get the new spacesuits to help them move about, but where’s mine, eh?” he asked. “Don’t I rate a new suit? Aren’t I as good as them two?”

  Tollenbury in Essex was a small town, little more than a village, with a large expanse of salt marshes, mud flats and reed beds between it and the coast. It was a desolate place at the best of times, and certain to be empty at night. However desolate and remote, Brendan would be relieved to get there.

  Paddy brought the SUV down while still over the North Sea, then turned the vehicle towards the English coast to skim the waves while still doing over 500 kilometres per hour, the display from his screen lighting his grinning face.

  They slowed as the black line of the coast appeared, and rising slightly to sweep over the sea defences, dipped down again over the flats, searching out the headlights that would be their signal.

  “There,” Brendan pointed to the light showing on his port side monitor.

  Emily was there, an overcoat protecting her from the chill sea breeze that still came in off the sea, despite it being mid-summer in England.

  “Hey, Emily!” Paddy cried, dropping from the SUV to hold out his arms in welcome.

  “Paddy!” she squealed, and rushed to hug him.

  Brendan, also dropping from the SUV, looked cautiously towards the three others waiting beside their large covered truck. He nodded towards them in greeting. “You the buyers, then?” he asked.

  “We are,” said the middle woman. “What have you got, and what do you want for it?” she asked, her accent too indistinct for Brendan to place it.

  “A satellite,” Paddy told them, and went into the cab to rotate one of the halogen lights towards the rear, then turn it on.

  The buyers stepped forward to look more closely at the metre long body decorated with antique solar panels.

  “Very nice,” the woman told him, examining it with a keen eye. “I guess none of us know what this is worth, so I’m willing to give you three million Euros worth of diamonds right now for it. Alternatively, you can wait until I sell it on, and then receive 80% of whatever it is sold for,” she explained.

  Paddy glanced toward Brendan, then Emily. “We’ll take the three million,” he agreed.

  August 22nd.

  Leanne saw Michael across the entrance hall of the new Business Annex in the Cambridge airport and blew a sharp whistle to get his attention.

  “So that’s your SUV parked outside,” he said, shaking hands and looking at her companion.

  “This is Sally Locke, our latest recruit to the electronics
team,” Leanne explained.

  “Mr Bennett. A pleasure to meet you,” Sally told him formally.

  “I remember your CV. Quite impressive,” he told her. Sally was in her mid thirties, and had already worked on the development and build of four satellites, including one that Cambridge had lifted just a few months previously. Although her degrees had been issued by Cambridge, a lot of her study had been completed on secondment, first to Berkeley, and then to MIT. Where Leanne had originality, Sally had experience. Michael anticipated big things once the two began to work as a team.

  “I guess you’re going to be helping to get all our satellites into action,” he told her.

  “We’re popping into Nam-Gu to pick up those parts you ordered, then we’ll let the Cranfield mob continue to set up the standard communication satellites while we work on those special ones you wanted,” Leanne explained. “Sally has some good ideas on how we can make them more valuable a tool,” she explained, “and I need to finish work on the laser communication system I’ve been promising.”

  Sally nodded, clearly excited by the prospect of working on the new satellites. “Well, as they’re going to be equipped with every type of monitoring equipment we can imagine, picking up the full electromagnetic spectrum, backed up by completely new software to report on movement, then I would suggest making them ‘roving’. That way, if a unique event occurs somewhere on the planet, and I’m thinking meteorological event, then we can move to record it. You have no idea how many people will love us for offering such a facility,” she explained.

  “That sounds like an excellent idea. Just ensure the very first is hovering somewhere close to the International Space Station,” he warned. “Otherwise, welcome on-board Sally,” Michael grinned.

  +++++++++++++

  Michael watched the black SUV move sedately to the southern end of the small airport, and then come to a slow halt. It was the first time he’d seen a vehicle rise from a spectator’s perspective, and he nodded to himself as the vehicle rose, smoothly accelerating into the sky. It was a cloudless day, and he could follow the black dot some distance, until it disappeared from view.

  He returned his attention to the reception hall and watched it fill with 14 professors from various Cambridge colleges, and then slowly empty again as the staff moved them into the main conference room.

  Michael followed and took his place beside the screen and facing the seated professors. “Welcome everyone,” he said, and waited for the lights to dim and the video to start before he continued.

  “You are about to enter the most revolutionary college in the history of Cambridge University,” he told them, while the video did a poor job of showing them what it was like to move from earth’s atmosphere out into space. “Five hundred kilometres above the earth,” he said. “A container ship that currently orbits the earth six times every 24 hours,” he explained. “I say currently, because we change it when we feel like it,” he said, and shrugged as they nervously laughed.

  “The ship has 250 guest suites, and a further 15 suites specifically for yourselves. The ship also has 10 laboratories, 6 workshops, 24 tutorial rooms, 4 libraries, an auditorium, 8 meeting rooms and a further 8 offices, not to mention a hospital, a surgery, a chapel, and a gymnasium,” he recited. “Supporting you, and the college, is a staff of 84.”

  “Contrary to what you may have heard,” and he waited a moment for the video to begin showing images from the inside of the ARC. “We have gravity, electricity, drinking water, normal food, normal toilets, and we sleep just like everyone else does; in comfort and warmth,” he said, and smiled at the awkward laughter of his audience.

  “However, we float in space. Temperatures outside range from 250 degrees Celsius to minus 250 degrees Celsius. If the temperature doesn’t kill you, then the vacuum will. If, for some unheard of reason, neither of these kill you, be sure that the UV will. It will just take a little longer. So you will find your access limited. Until you’ve shown basic competences, you will not be allowed any closer than within 3 doors of outer-space. If at any time you grow bored of living in an area resembling a Nevada hotel, just tell us, and we’ll transport you back down again. Thank you,” Michael finished.

  “But we will be allowed in space, won’t we?” one of the professors asked.

  “If you exhibit the right competences,” Michael agreed. “You must understand; you will be living in the most hostile environment known to man. For this reason, we regulate the life of everyone on board. For example, you will be expected to spend at least 35 minutes in the gym each day. The restaurant is good, but it is not A La Carte. If we think it necessary, we will provide a special diet for you. It is not negotiable. Alcohol is strictly rationed and limited to evenings, and smoking is not permitted, anywhere.

  “However, the facilities are second to none, and if you need a weightless environment for a test, we can provide it from within the ship within seconds. Should you want an experiment launched into space, or sent into the earth’s upper atmosphere, we can do it in minutes. The equipment is the very best, and if we don’t yet have something you need, then we will obtain it for you.”

  Michael remained in the airport facility to watch the 14 men and women march to the bus, most in conversation with their neighbours, most carrying their few clothes and personal effects in a small backpack. 14 more people to worry about, he thought. And in a couple of weeks there would be 100-odd students joining them.

  The bus drove around the perimeter road and stopped on the southern side of the airport. Michael could almost picture the steps the driver would take to convert and test the vehicle. He watched it rise and nodded, then turned to make his way to his own vehicle.

  August 24th.

  Michael brought the Range Rover down onto the manicured lawn of a spacious house just outside of Abohar in the Punjab province of India. The sky was a bright blue and it was near to 35 degrees Celsius outside the vehicle. The lawn sloped downward from the house, British built some 100 years before and clearly showing its colonial heritage.

  A dark skinned man, thin to the point of frailty stepped onto the veranda to wave to them from the shade.

  “Well, I guess he doesn’t mind us parking on his lawn then,” Heather said, and looked towards Michael, waiting for him to nod.

  I guess not,” he agreed, his manner and constantly moving eyes signs of his distraction.

  “What’s the matter, Michael? This was your idea,” she reminded him.

  “I know,” he sighed. “I just don’t like the odds. I’m left with the feeling that this is a wasted trip,” he admitted.

  “He invited you. He must have a reason,” Heather reminded him before reaching for her door handle.

  Michael opened his own door and the heat hit him.

  It wasn’t so hot on the veranda. The house had been built on the rise of land for a reason, and it was angled to catch the cooling breeze. A servant brought iced tea out on a tray, then bowed before departing again.

  “Welcome. I am Swami Adeela,” the thin man said, smiling warmly before greeting them with a small bow. “Come, have some iced tea,” he urged.

  The sat in comfortable cane furniture and admired the view over the surrounding farmland before thanking their host for the refreshing tea.

  “That is a very strange car that you drive, Mr Bennett,” Michael was told.

  Michael nodded. “One of the few able to get me home again,” he admitted.

  “So, the ARC is your home now?”

  “I think so,” Michael agreed, and sipped the tea.

  Swami Adeela nodded and looked towards Heather. “Do you know the sex of your child?” he asked.

  “I want to be surprised,” she grinned.

  The Indian grinned in return.

  “You will raise the child on the ARC then?” the Swami asked.

  Heather and Michael exchanged glances. Both parents wished it, and yet both were aware of the message it would send to the other couples on the ARC. Even more daunting than c
reating a university college and space academy in space, was the creation and running of a crèche while in space.

  “I see you have considered the implications,” the wise man said, and nodded as he put his tea cup to one side.

  “I cannot give you what you want, Mr Bennett,” he explained. “No one can. Unlike other faiths, Hindus do not manage Gurus for the good of the faith or personal ideals. They are not a resource to be assigned to a district, a town, a house or a person.”

  “I thought perhaps that the ARC might be judged an exception,” Michael suggested.

  The Swami shook his head and smiled. “There are no such things as exceptions, Mr Bennett. Purushartha is not developed by living in an enclosed shell 500 kilometres over our heads. Purushartha are the goals we strive to attain; virtuous living, profit or success, and pleasure,” he explained.

  “I didn’t look for development,” Michael explained. “I looked for extension. If the ARC is an extension of human-kind, then surely its faiths must also be extended,” he suggested.

  “The problem we have, Swami,” Heather explained, putting her tea cup delicately onto the tray in front of them, “is that we don’t particularly like any of the alternatives. We wish to provide some facility for our guests to find comfort, peace, and perhaps private counselling where they feel the need for such, but we don’t want to align ourselves with bodies that may want to make profit out of any perceived allegiance that may bring.”

  The Swami nodded, inclining his head. “I understand the previous incumbent provided a management role also, and helped maintain the facilities and the management of them.”

  “He did,” Michael agreed. “We’re looking to find someone to replace that role too.”

  “And have not found anyone?”

  “Well, it’s not an easy role to fill,” Michael explained.

  The Swami straightened for a moment, and nodded to himself. “I have a student. He is familiar with the Dharma and Veda. Should someone want to seek him out to learn more about Karma, of Atman and Dharma, then he can provide these things. More importantly, he was a building maintenance engineer for fifteen years working for a contract firm that provided maintenance for large buildings in the San Francisco area. Although he ended that life to come here to study, he may be interested in this role you seek to fill.”