He turned his eyes on Kaem, who had the direct connection to Mr. X, the anonymous CEO.
Kaem had a finger pressing his earbud so he could hear better. He appeared to be listening. After a moment, he said, “It does seem unfair to hold them to the letter of their contract. You have suggestions on how we should handle this?”
Prakant shrugged, “Space Gen has launched their first booster twice and their Stade second stage and capsule once. They’ve also finished casting their second rocket. GLI has launched their first booster once and cast a second stage and a capsule that haven’t gone up yet. I’d recommend that we let them get out of buying any more boosters.”
Kaem was listening to his earbud again, but then said, “You don’t think they’re going to want to keep their exclusive rights to Stade spacecraft? ’Cause, if the contract goes defunct, so does their exclusivity.” He shrugged, “We could let them start negotiations again but, now that everyone in the space industry knows about Stade, they’d have other companies bidding against them.”
Prakant looked at Sylvia Contreras, their legal consultant. She gave him a small nod, agreeing with Kaem. Mahesh felt embarrassed that he hadn’t considered how very much they would want to have exclusive rights to Stade craft. “Um, yes, I do suppose they’d like their exclusive rights. How would that be negotiated?”
Kaem said, “They were each going to buy a minimum of ten complete rockets for ninety-two million each in order to keep their exclusivity for four years. I suggest that instead of having to buy ten rockets, we say they just have to spend 920 million over the four years. They can just buy upper stages and capsules or combinations of the two. They may even want to buy orbital craft that don’t come back down to earth.”
Prakant blinked, “Still at a price of ten-million each?”
Kaem nodded. “Assuming similar size and complexity.”
Prakant’s eyebrows went up. “Minus what they’ve already bought, that’d be in the range of forty upper stages and forty capsules!”
“Well, yes,” Kaem said. “But that’s not as unfair as it sounds. Remember, now it’s going to be so cheap to put stuff in orbit that there’ll be a lot more demand from people who want to send stuff up. They may want and need more than forty craft each. Also, we were thinking we’d be charging double for a stasis capable capsule. That’d mean they wouldn’t be able to buy quite so many for the spend they’re committed to.”
Prakant tried not to goggle. “You want to charge twenty million per capsule?” He shook his head to clear it and frowned. “Wait. What kind of capsule did you say?”
“A stasis capable capsule. One that could put its interior into stasis during launch and recovery. There are some big advantages to that. First of all, people and expensive equipment would be protected in case of disaster. If for some reason a launch went bad, we just wouldn’t destaze it until the capsule had been recovered and was safe. Second, that we could launch at much higher g-forces so the spacecraft would leave the rail having already achieved full orbital or even escape velocity. This would result in significant fuel savings over having to use an upper-stage with large quantities of fuel to continue accelerating toward orbital velocities after it leaves the rail.”
Prakant rubbed the bridge of his nose, wondering why he couldn’t seem to catch up to all the possibilities stasis offered. “Should I call Marks and tell him about this deal?”
“Let’s wait until we’re a little more certain the tower’s going to work.”
Prakant shook his head. “That’s not fair to them. They need to be able to adjust their plans to the possibility of the tower. Also, if they find out about the tower on their own, and I don’t think it’s a secret that’ll keep much longer, Marks is going to be incandescent. I’m pretty sure Branzon will be even worse. He’s been investing a lot of money, planning for his ‘island in the sky’ launchpad. Fortunately, he hasn’t built anything yet because permitting issues have been killing him.”
“Ah,” Kaem said thoughtfully. “You’re right. Go ahead and call him. I’ll call Branzon.”
“Thank you!” Norm breathed. “I haven’t been looking forward to delivering that news.”
“Um,” Prakant said, “I think we should offer to make their exclusive deal five years instead of four. They’re going to feel shafted when they learn they have to buy so many products in such a short time without enough development cycles to come up with exactly what they want before they buy them all.”
Kaem cocked his head, listening to X, then said, “Okay. Or they could keep the four-year deal and only have to buy eighty percent of the original contract’s spend. That should take some of the sting out of it.”
***
Marks took the call. “Mahesh, you old scoundrel. I hope you’re calling to sell me some inside information about your new employer?”
“Um, no,” Prakant said apprehensively, “The information’s free, but you might not like it.”
“What?” Marks asked, an abrupt tone in his voice. “Is Staze trying to welch out of their deal with us?”
“No… We’re going to build our own launch facility here in Virginia.”
“Oh, well that’s okay with me. If it’s a good facility, we’ll probably use it for some of our launches. It isn’t going to help our opposition; their rockets still won’t be able to compete with Stade versions.”
“Um, Aaron, you will be using this launch facility—”
“Not unless you’re giving us a good deal,” Marks interrupted smugly.
“Because,” Prakant said, irritated at having been cut off, “the most important thing about the facility is that it includes an electromagnetic launcher that’ll substitute for the first stage. Your boosters won’t be able to compete.”
“No…!” Marks said, sounding alarmed. Then, after a pause for thought, he said, “No. No, I was interested in the idea of an EM launcher once. I’ve already run the numbers. It’d only help a little, even if you ran it up the side of a mountain so your rocket takes off at a pretty high altitude. It sure as hell won’t work in a flat place like Virginia. You just can’t get enough acceleration.”
“You’re forgetting that Stade changes everything. We’re building a hundred-kilometer high, two-hundred-kilometer-long rail extending out over the Atlantic. It’ll be practically weightless because it’ll be made of vacuum Stade. It’ll be able to launch satellites directly to geostationary orbit except for the burns needed to redirect or circularize the orbit once it gets up there.”
Dumbfounded, Marks didn’t say anything for a moment, then he said weakly, “It won’t be weightless. The cables and electromagnets for the launcher are gonna be damned heavy.”
Prakant explained their plan to use a Stade sprocket and chain to drive the launches with motors on the ground. “Of course, it might not work. Then this entire conversation will become moot, but I didn’t want you complaining that you hadn’t been warned about the possibility.”
Suggesting that he thought it would work, after a brief silence, Marks growled, “You assholes better not be thinking you can still sell us eight more boosters.”
“You could just repudiate the contract with the rockets you’ve already bought… Of course, you’d lose your exclusive rights and have to renegotiate buying anything more out of Stade.” Prakant heard Marks take a breath to shout but quickly cut in by saying. “Or…”
“Or what?!” Marks said in a tone that suggested it’d better be good.
“You could just spend the same amount of money on upper stages and capsules.” Prakant went on to describe the greatly increased launch schedule Staze was expecting in response to the markedly decreased costs of putting cargo in orbit. “I’d think you’d like to convert your company into a provider of spacecraft. And orbital insertion. And satellite refueling, repair, and demolition. And orbital construction of habitats. And spacecraft fit for exploration of the Moon and Mars. And—"
“Okay, okay. Have your legal people send us a tentative contract revision to
look at,” Marks said gruffly.
Gruff or not, Prakant could tell Marks was already shifting gears to prepare for his new mission.
Chapter Two
Kaem was over at his parents’ house for dinner on a Saturday night in late February. He loved his mother’s cooking so it was a real treat. When, afterward, she brought in tiramisu, his eyes bugged out. He loved the dessert, but during their long years of poverty she’d only made it twice. He ate half, then in an effort to savor the experience, leaned back in his chair. “I’ll bet you guys think I forgot it’s your anniversary?”
His mother’s eyes widened. “Not for a few days. Now you’ve let Emmanuel off the hook. He never remembers.”
Kaem’s dad looked startled, obviously having forgotten as usual. Emmanuel tried to cover by saying, “I did so remember. You wait till you see your gift; you’ll be ashamed of your accusation!”
Sophia stared at him until his expression turned sheepish.
“Sorry,” he said.
“That’s okay,” she said, turning cheerfully to Kaem, “my son remembered.”
Kaem said, “Now, understand that I’m trying to make up for all those years where the best I could do was a handmade card. Sorry, make that a poorly handmade card.”
Sophia’s eyes softened, “I treasured those. Are you saying I don’t get one this year?”
Kaem let his shoulders slump, “Thank goodness! That’s exactly what I got you again this year.” He reached over to his coat, hanging on the next chair, and pulled out the kind of double-folded sheet of paper he’d always given her for the annual remembrances. He passed it over to his mother, watching her eyes.
If there was any disappointment that he hadn’t splurged some of his new salary on a gift, he couldn’t see it. She opened the first fold and looked at the crude drawing there. She cocked her head, “Is that supposed to be the leaning tower of Pisa?”
“Yeah,” Kaem said, finding himself a little choked up, “in Italy, where we’re all going for a vacation to celebrate you guys’ twenty-fifth anniversary.” He reached over and pulled out another sheet of paper with the airline and hotel details of the trip.
“All?” Sophia said, using her napkin to dab at the tears spilling down her cheeks.
Kaem nodded, “You guys, me and Bana. It’ll be in early April, during our spring break from school.” He glanced at his dad who looked appalled. “I know Dad. I should be investing money for retirement, right? So, when I get older, I won’t be scrambling to save the way you are?”
Emmanuel nodded, “I’ve been telling you—”
“Dad,” Kaem interrupted, “can you keep a secret?”
Looking confused, his dad said, “Sure, but you’ve got to understand that—”
“Dad, I’m a shareholder in Staze. Mr. X let Arya, Gunnar, and myself each have a little piece when we first drew up our agreements.”
Emmanuel narrowed his eyes. “How big a piece?”
“You’re not going to tell anyone, not even Bana, right?”
His dad rolled his eyes, “No.”
“You either Mom?”
She nodded.
“One percent.”
Emmanuel got a thoughtful look.
Deciding that his dad was trying to figure out whether or not one percent was a good deal, Kaem said, “It’s a very small piece of what’s going to be a very big pie, Dad. You shouldn’t worry.”
His dad sighed, “I’ll always worry because things can always go wrong, but,” he smiled, “I’ll also enjoy a trip to Tuscany to see Sophia’s relatives after such a long time.” He arched an eyebrow, “Perhaps someday you’ll take us to Tanzania to see my side of the family?” He arched an eyebrow, “They’re much nicer than your mother’s people.”
“I’d love to Dad,” Kaem said, trying not to get choked up again.
But then his dad got up, motioned Kaem to stand, and gave him a fierce hug, saying into his ear, “I’m so proud of you son.”
Then Kaem’s tears came freely.
***
When Kaem arrived at Staze in the morning, he was happy to see Dez. She spent most of her time down at Staze East working on the base of the tower. He’d hoped she’d tell him how that was going but he noticed she was with Albrecht Kuncher, the bioengineer. They seem like an unlikely pair, he thought as he made his way to the table they were leaning over.
Oh… armor! he thought, stopping as he realized what he was looking at. It looked a little like the overlapping feathers on a bird’s chest.
Kuncher looked up and saw Kaem. “Hi, Mr. Seba. This is the first iteration of our scale armor.”
Or, it could look a little like scales, Kaem thought. Though scales don’t overlap, or do they? He stepped closer.
Dez looked up at him, then stepped back and waved a hand at Kuncher, “Go ahead and explain it, Albrecht.”
Kuncher held up some of the scale so Kaem could see it better. “Each scale has a slot going in from the edge to the middle and the next scale has a little peg with a button on the end of it that sticks up and slides in the slot. That lets them overlap to allow movement, but doesn’t let them separate far enough to let a bullet get through. The buttons are also tight enough to keep the joint between the scales from tilting more than ten degrees. So, if a bullet hits the middle of one scale, it can’t push it very deep into you before it has to push the scales around it in as well.” He glanced at Kaem. Evidently unsure whether Kaem was following that last, he elaborated, “That way a bullet can’t just punch a single-scale-sized hole in you, it has to punch a hole several scales wide. Distributing the pressure diminishes the injury.”
Despite the impulse, Kaem resisted saying, “Of course.” Instead, frowning, he asked, “What’s the little button in the middle of each scale?”
“Ah,” Albrecht gave Dez an admiring glance. “That’s Ms. Lanis’ invention. The buttons on the surrounding scales slide into the slots through the hole in the middle, then that little rivet pops in to keep them from slipping back out.”
“Are you thinking the entire jacket will be made of these scales?”
“No. Most of it will be big plates for better protection. The scales will just be around the joints where mobility’s important.”
Dez lifted the scale armor and showed Kaem there was a different version of scale under it. “This is bound together at the edges with little rings. It’s more mobile, but forming each little Stade ring into the holes in the scale is a real pain,” she said. “But not nearly as painful as putting together real chain mail out of nothing but Stade rings,” she said, lifting the modified scale and showing a small sample of chain mail was beneath it.” She sighed and said, “We’re going to try to make a sleeve out of each style and see if we can bend our elbows. Then shoot it to see if it’ll protect some ballistic gel.”
“Looks good,” Kaem said, wondering if they’d really be able to come up with something that covered the joints without causing a lot of mobility issues.
Evidently, Dez was worried about the same thing. She shook her head and said, “I’m not sure we’re ever going to get a version that works well. We might just have to leave the joints uncovered and only protect the vital organs.”
Kaem pursed his lips, “Maybe you could hang a curved plate over the front and back of the shoulder on some elastic.”
Dez nodded, “That’d be pretty clunky… I hate clunky.”
“Can’t solve everything elegantly,” Kaem said cheerfully before moving on. Then he pivoted and came back. “Maybe you could use Norm and Gunnar’s 3D printer to form Stade chain mail that’s already linked?” he frowned, “Though the links might be bigger than you’d like.” He shrugged, said, “I’ll let you figure that out,” and walked away without noticing the startled expressions on their faces
~~~
Kaem stopped off to talk to Lee next. “How’re the tests on the supersonic chain prototypes going?”
Lee smiled, “We consulted a couple of acoustic engineers and some supersonic aero
space specialists about the issues. They’ve mostly been right with their advice. Turns out, the longer, skinnier and less bumpy a supersonic object is, the less of a shock wave it creates. The sonic boom is mostly produced, like a boat’s bow wave, off the front of an aircraft. So, our hundred-kilometer, slender, smooth, endless chain doesn’t make much sonic boom type of noise. The small irregularities on it will be disturbing the air, but the bumps are small and moving so fast that the sound they’ll create will mostly be high ultrasonic and therefore inaudible even to dogs. That’s probably made better yet by Stade’s frictionless surface which disturbs the air less.”
Lee frowned, “The chain makes a lot of noise as it rounds the sprocket. Each link squeezes air out as it goes on and sucks it back in as it comes off. Fortunately, the upper sprocket will be in space, so no noise there. The lower one will be enclosed in Stade and that’ll be in our underground chamber so we don’t think it’s going to be a big problem out in the world.
“The wire hook that comes off the chain will create a bow wave, but we’ve slanted it back at a very steep angle to ameliorate that. Something like the very long, pointy nose of our supersonic spaceplane. The acoustics guy designed us some baffles to go into the slot the wire sticks out through. They’re essentially a series of little channels, all of different lengths that the sound travels through. The waves tend to cancel each other out by the time they make their exit. To a large extent, the mufflers on internal combustion engines work that way and they’re quite effective.
“Of course, the spacecraft itself is going to make a sonic boom as soon as it breaks Mach 1. We can ameliorate that by accelerating slower to start with so it gets high enough before breaking the barrier that it doesn’t cause much trouble on the ground. It’s nice that that’s a parameter we can change after everything’s built rather than having to design it in. Also, the tower itself will block a good deal of the sound that would otherwise radiate downward. If we design the cross-sectional shape of the tower correctly, it should deflect most of the boom laterally rather than guiding it around and sending it down toward the ground.”
A Tower in Space-Time (The Stasis Stories #5) Page 4