Radiation Hazard (The Stasis Stories #3)

by Laurence Dahners

  Arya rolled her eyes, “And I suppose you memorized them?”

  Kaem shrugged acknowledgment.

  Emmanuel had known his son was smart, But a photographic memory? He opened his mouth to ask, but Arya quietly said, “Lee’s on her way back,” a signal that cut off the discussion.

  As Lee slid into her seat next to Arya, Kaem said, “Hey, now that we have this piece of land, we need two smaller parcels for the legs of our tripod. Could you work with Gunnar on finding some? He figured out how to find these after all, and I think it’d be nice to get some more land that needs remediation.”

  Lee nodded. “Maybe we should talk about the parameters of the kind of land we need?”

  Kaem frowned off into the distance a moment, then said, “Consult with our aerospace engineer and let me know what you come up with.”

  Lee rolled her eyes, “I should’ve known.”

  Kaem looked at Arya, “Don’t forget to file for our fees for remediating the toxic dump parcel.”

  She gave him a look. “I’ll consult with our business person and see what it’ll take.”

  He snorted a laugh. “You do that,” he said with a huge smile.

  Gunnar said, “We should talk about where we’re going to put the blimps and vacuum chambers on the new land.”

  Kaem frowned, “Do you have any parameters in mind?”

  Puzzled, Emmanuel thought, It’s as if Kaem’s telling these people what to do.

  “Near one of the farmhouses so we’ll have some office and living space while we’re getting started.”

  Kaem nodded.

  Maybe Kaem’s been put in charge of this one small team at Staze? Emmanuel wondered.

  Lee said, “I’m thinking this leg of the tripod should take off from close to the western side of the parcel so it’ll be at substantial altitude by the time it enters the airspace over the neighbor’s land.”

  “Sounds good to me. Can you and Gunnar get together and talk over where each of you’d like to set up?”

  Tripod? Emmanuel wondered. A tripod with altitude? What in the world are they talking about?

  “Sure,” Lee said, responding to Kaem’s suggestion. She tilted her head, “I’m thinking we need legal help. There’ve got to be permits we’re going to need to build this thing. I’m starting to worry that we should’ve consulted someone before we bought the land. What if there’s something about this location that’ll make the tripod impossible?”

  Kaem shrugged, “We still need a big area for what we’re doing. If we have to build the tripod somewhere else, that won’t be the end of the world.”

  But, Emmanuel thought, even if this is a small team, it seems like it’s a team that’s deciding important things.

  ***

  George Meade stared across his desk at Tibbets. “No, there’s no possibility that Seba got access to our CAD for the experimental engine. The one you had on your laptop’s the only one we’ve let leave the building.”

  Then George listened with growing dismay to Norm’s description of how Seba skimmed through the design drawings and within minutes started pointing out errors in their thinking that led to obvious improvements in the design. Resisting an impulse to drawl, he said, “Such as?”

  Norm halted his headlong description, “Sorry? Such as what?”

  “You’ve been giving me a headlong description of what Seba did without any meat in it. What errors did he find and how did he recognize them?”

  “Well, first of all, he didn’t let me take him through the drawings. He just took over the trackball”—Norm didn’t want to admit that Seba’d used his own trackball—“and started running through them himself. Um, he was going so fast I had a hard time keeping up with what sections he was reviewing, much less what he was looking for.”

  “You think it’s surprising he can view a CAD?”

  “Sir, he’s not even studying engineering.”

  Meade blinked, remembering now that Seba was a physics student. He waved that away, thinking Seba must have had some on the job experience with CAD drawings one summer or something. “What errors did he find, Norm? I haven’t got all morning.”

  Norm described how Seba’d found the dimensions of the combustion chamber and nozzle throat on the drawings without slowing his scrolling long enough to read them—at least Norm felt sure he couldn’t have read them as fast as sections were paging past. From that Seba’d calculated that an 11.3% decrease in the cross-sectional area of the throat of the nozzle would improve efficiency and accused them of forgetting that Stade was strong enough to take the extra stress. He’d also said they could improve the efficiency of the nozzle by extending it another seventeen percent. He’d reminded Norm that the extra nozzle length would be massless vacuum Stade so the extra efficiency would come at no efficiency cost.

  Even more interesting was the idea that Staze would cast the entire back end of the rocket with seven rocket engines integral to it “for improved aerodynamics and to “lighten the rocket with the buoyancy of additional vacuum Stade while it’s in the lower atmosphere.” Staze wouldn’t charge more for that, but GLI would have to build a much bigger and more expensive mold for the back end of the entire rocket.

  When George scoffed and pointed out that they wouldn’t be able to gimbal such motors for thrust vectoring, Norm replied that Seba said it’d be more efficient to put vanes in the engines’ exhaust for vectoring.

  When George pointed out that the entire rocket would land on top of those vanes, Norm just said, “Stade’s strong enough to tolerate the touchdown, though the vanes could damage the landing pad. Besides, Seba points out that unless you have delicate cargo like passengers to land, you can just crash the booster into the ocean. Can’t damage or corrode the Stade. It’ll save a lot on fuel and eco-damage. And…” Norman looked reluctant to bring up this next, “Even landing on land, since the fuel tanks’ll be nearly empty, the buoyancy of the vacuum Stade components of the rocket means lower atmosphere landings will be nearly weightless.”

  George frowned irritatedly, “What do you mean ‘lower atmosphere landings?’”

  “Um,” Norm said, looking very uncomfortable, “he thinks we should put a vacuum Stade launch platform in the upper atmosphere. Launching from up there would take a lot less fuel and do a lot less environmental damage.”

  George gave his head a sharp shake to clear a sensation of dizziness. “How high in the atmosphere?”

  Norm shrugged, “Depends on how light we can build the platform. He’s hoping a hundred thousand feet. About 19 miles.”

  “That’s… crazy. Workers’d have to be in space suits. They wouldn’t be able to get anything done.”

  “I said that too. He says crank the platform down to about a mile. The altitude of Denver. The workers do everything down there in shirtsleeve weather. If you built it like a big cup it’d keep the wind out and keep anyone from falling over the side. Then when you’re about ready to launch, you let the platform go up as high as it’ll go, carrying the loaded rocket up with it. Launch from up there.”

  Norm glanced up from his notes, apparently decided Meade was paying attention, then continued. “When the rockets come back to land, we’d have the platform back down at a mile of altitude so craft buoyancy would slow the descent. The cup’ll make a good target for landing that you couldn’t skid off of. If you missed the cup, with the right design the rocket would be light enough that it won’t pose much of a threat to people on the ground. Um, using since we’re using hydrogen and oxygen we could vent the rest of the fuel to increase buoyancy and prevent a crash.”

  Meade rubbed his forehead to forestall an incipient headache. “We’re going to have to redo everything aren’t we?”

  “I think so, yeah… I just can’t figure out why I didn’t think of these things. They seem, um, obvious now.”

  “Seba’s a freaking genius.”

  “Sir, do you think Seba really did all those calculations on our design… um, in his head while he was running through the
drawings? ’Cause I’ve gone through and checked. That eleven percent decrease in the throat and 17 percent increase in the nozzle, those are not only better, they’re optimum. That’s why I… thought he must’ve had access to the drawings beforehand.”

  “Yeah.” Meade sighed. “If he can do that kind of stuff we’re going to have to talk to Seba a lot more than we have been, aren’t we?”

  “Sir, about that,” Norm said reluctantly. He explained that Seba wanted Norm putting in his fifty percent on Staze projects, or for GLI to pay ten grand an hour for Seba’s time.

  At first, Meade thought that was a ridiculous amount to pay for Seba’s time. Then he admitted that ten thousand would have been very much worth it for the advice they’d gotten this time. Then he decided that having Norm there working at Staze would be a lot better. Norm would be bound to pick up some ideas for free. Whatever benefit he provided Staze would be far outweighed by the benefits flowing back to GLI. Looking at Norm, he said, “Honor your contract with them. Learn everything you can while you’re there doing their work. But, before you leave you need to come tell the design team everything you just told me.”

  And I’ve got to brief Branzon on all this, Meade thought. Probably have to fly up to Seattle… He shook his head, Hope the big man’s in a good mood.

  ***

  Dr. Raiens stepped into the room. She was pleased that she remembered Kaem Seba, the light-skinned young black man she’d met earlier in June. A darker-skinned older man was with him. Seba introduced the man as his father. She reviewed the chart, “Ah, yes, sickle-thal. And you want gene therapy without radiation or chemo for marrow suppression, right?”

  Seba nodded.

  “If I remember right, you already understand this is very expensive, but you feel you have a way to pay for it?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “My company’s agreed to pay for it. Um, they gave me a half-million dollars and already I’ve deposited it with your financial counselor. They’ll also cover cost overruns due to complications.”

  Raiens noticed the wide-eyed look the older Seba gave his son. “Ah yes,” she said, smiling. “As I recall, you were quite emphatic that it is not drug money, right?”

  Seba grinned back. “That is emphatically true.”

  “When do you want to start?”

  “I got your scheduler to put me on for tomorrow. Told her you guys would want to get started before I got cold feet.”

  She cocked her head. He didn’t look worried. “Are you getting cold feet?”

  “No. But now that I’ve got my life arranged around it, I really want to get it done.”

  “Okay. Let me run through my spiel. Then you can ask questions, okay?”

  ~~~

  As they left the building, Emmanuel turned to his son. “This is going to cost more than the treatment for my cancer?”

  Kaem nodded tiredly, his blood counts being low, “I’m an expensive boy, Pops.”

  Emmanuel reflected on the medications Kaem was taking to release his hematopoietic stem cells from his marrow into his blood. They were probably making him feel crappy too. Sympathetically, he said, “Let me take you out to dinner at the Buffalo this evening.”

  Kaem gave him a startled look, seemed about to object, but then subsided. “Thanks, that’d be great.”

  “It’s the least I can do.” Emmanuel smiled, “Ms. Vaii called me with my formal job offer this morning. I’m going to be making good money, so I should pay.” The money was good enough Emmanuel worried they might be paying him more than they were paying the son who’d gotten him the job. They might be thinking my age and experience make me worth it without realizing how long it’s been since I got that experience. They know so little about me. Transcripts and information like my social security number, yes. But they didn’t even interview me. Just took Kaem’s word that I was a capable chemist despite not having a degree.

  He thought of the hours he’d put in on Kaem’s educational sites, reviewing and updating his knowledge base. And all the time he’d spent on the EPA’s website learning about the remediation of hazardous waste. I may know a lot more now, he thought, but I have no recent practical experience. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Like these Americans say, I’ll just have to “fake it, till I make it.”

  Remembering his own advice to Kaem three years before, Emmanuel plastered a big smile on his face.

  It worked. After a bit, he felt less stressed.

  ***

  The next day, when they were back over with Dr. Raiens getting Kaem’s leukapheresis, Emmanuel saw the University’s class schedule. “Kaem? Will you be well enough to go back to your classes week after next?”

  Kaem nodded tiredly. “They’re going to give me a transfusion to perk me up at the end of this leukapheresis. That’ll give me energy and the boost should last until I start making my own red blood cells.”

  “Because Sophia and I… we so want you to graduate, I don’t want you to be like me, always embarrassed that you don’t have a degree.”

  Kaem snorted. “I know, Dad. Trust me. I know. I want a degree too. I’m hoping the gene therapy’ll give me the energy to do both.”

  “Both?”

  “College and work.”

  “Focus on college, son. I’ve got a job now, so I can help you financially if you need it.”

  Kaem turned listlessly to study Emmanuel, “Thanks, Dad. I don’t think I’ll need it, but the offer means more than you can know.”

  ***

  Giles Turnberry was sitting, waiting once again for a faculty meeting to start—this the usual one they held shortly before the start of the semester. Arthur Mandel sat down next to him, saying, “Hey, have you heard what’s going on with your star pupil?”

  “Which one?”

  “Seba.”

  “No. Has he talked to you about academics or something?”

  Mandel snorted. “Nope. Do a search for a company called Staze. S-T-A-Z-E.”

  Turnberry did the search and came upon a website for a company by that name. “Found it,” he said. “It’s a company—” he was saying as he scrolled down. “Oh. Seba’s taken a job?” he said, feeling terribly disappointed.

  “Yeah,” Mandel said with a sad chuckle. “A job at a company where a kid with three years of college is listed as the Chief Technical Officer.”

  “Oh,” Turnberry said. With a sinking heart, he saw the “CTO” beside Seba’s name. “I had such high hopes for him.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s not the worst of it, Giles. This website only has two pages but the other one lists the material properties of their product. They call it ‘Stade.’” He snorted, “They’re in some deep doo-doo.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Fraud, that’s what. Look at the properties they’re claiming. Your golden boy’s gone off his rocker.”

  Turnberry found the table of properties. He’d felt bad before, but this wasn’t even good fraud. The claims were so ludicrous no one would believe them.

  ***

  UVA President Morton stopped at Eloise’s desk on his way out. “Can you check to see if that student Kaem Seba’s enrolled for the fall semester?”

  “The one listed on that company, Staze?”

  “Uh-huh. The other one, Vaii, has already graduated. But Seba’s got another year.”

  “If he’s enrolled, what do you want me to do?”

  “Legal says we should distance ourselves from him.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Refuse him admission this fall.” He shrugged, “Might be too late for that so we’ll probably have to expel him. But we don’t want this hoax they’ve pulled on Space-Gen to blow back on UVA. If we’ve already booted him out, it’ll lower UVA’s association with them in the eyes of a lot of angry people.”

  Eloise blinked, “What if he has in fact developed something new? Did you know he’s a Curtis Scholar?”

  Morton snorted, “Curtis Scholar or no, what he’s developed is a scam.”
>
  “What if it’s not? Are you sure we want to blow him off?”

  “Eloise,” Morton said, in his don’t bother your pretty little head tone, “it’s a scam. Have you seen his…? Never mind. The chair of Materials Sciences says he’s never seen anything so ridiculous. If he’s still a student, we need to dissociate the University from him pronto.”

  Disdainfully, Eloise thought, I’ll bet Morton wanted to know if I’d seen Seba’s picture. He wondered if I’d realized the kid was African-American. Another reason Morton would think it more likely Seba’s part of a scam than someone who invented some tech. But she knew it’d be pointless to protest a third time. “I’ll check.” And I’ll also hope the kid’s truly invented something special.

  She brought herself up short. That’s just pique, she thought, remembering how—when she’d first looked into it—she’d been appalled that Space-Gen was buying something from someone who was just a student.

  ***

  Emmanuel had moved into the second bedroom of Kaem’s apartment. He’d thought leasing a two-bedroom apartment for himself was an extravagance on Kaem’s part. Then he’d seen the stacks of electronic gear in the extra bedroom. Kaem said he used the gear to make circuits for Staze, though he didn’t want Emmanuel to mention that to anyone at Staze because it was a secret between him and Mr. X.

  Emmanuel looked around the room, then asked, “If I’m going to be living in here, where are you going to work?”

  Kaem had slowly turned in place, then trudged into the living room, “In here, I guess.” Then Kaem sank onto the couch, looking exhausted.

  Emmanuel looked around in there. The “living room” wasn’t very big either. “So, you’re thinking I can move some of that stuff out here?”

  “Uh-huh. I’ll help you in a minute,” Kaem said, turning and stretching out on the couch. “Just let me close my eyes a few seconds.”

  “Nonsense. You took care of me when I was sick. I’m taking care of you now. Rest and I’ll move the stuff around.” He looked in the bedroom, thinking, I don’t need all this space. I can leave a lot of Kaem’s gear in here.