Powersat (The Grand Tour) (32 page)

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Authors: Ben Bova

BOOK: Powersat (The Grand Tour)
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H
angar B was crackling with activity, al-Bashir saw. The sandy-haired pilot, Adair, was clambering through the open hatch of the spaceplane’s cockpit while a team of technicians manned consoles lined along the hangar’s far wall. Other technicians were fussing around the plane’s landing gear, checking the tires and pneumatic struts that held the wheels.
All under the watchful, baleful eyes of the black man, Niles Muhamed, who stood watching the plane and the people around it, arms folded across his chest. Muhamed wore olive green coveralls, so spotless and unwrinkled they looked almost like a military uniform. Al-Bashir walked up to him.
“The test goes well?” he asked.
Muhamed barely nodded. “So far.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” al-Bashir said. “Your name indicates that you might be a Muslim. Is that so?”
“Me? A Muslim?”
“Forgive my curiosity.”
“My father was a Muslim,” Muhamed said, without taking his eyes from the plane. “Took a Muslim name and all.”
“And you?”
“Baptist, like my momma.”
“Ah. I see.” Al-Bashir started to turn away.
“I got a question for you,” Muhamed said.
“Ah?”
“How come Dan’s given you the run of the place? You come and go ’round here as if you own the joint.”
Al-Bashir smiled. “I may not own the joint, as you put it, but I am the conduit through which the money flows. I suppose
Dan trusts me because I have provided the financing that keeps this operation alive.”
“You been all over the place,” Muhamed said. “Pokin’ into everything.”
“I’m fascinated by all this high technology. I’m eager to learn everything I can.”
Muhamed looked at him with disbelieving eyes. Then one of the technicians called from the line of consoles, “We’re ready for the instrument checkout.”
“I’ll leave you to your work,” al-Bashir said graciously, feeling almost relieved that Muhamed turned away from him and started striding across the hangar floor.
Al-Bashir began walking away, too, toward the open doors and the chilly, cloudy weather outside. As he hurried toward Hangar A, where Dan’s office was, through the damp cutting wind blowing in from the Gulf, he felt glad that Muhamed was not in charge of security for Astro Corporation. The man was suspicious, protective. Thank god Dan Randolph is so trusting, al-Bashir said to himself. If Muhamed were in Dan’s place I’d never be able to get the information I need.
By the time he reached Hangar A, al-Bashir was actually shivering. Berating himself for wearing nothing warmer than a silk business suit, he blew into his hands as he climbed the stairs toward Dan’s office.
When he stepped into the outer office April said, from behind her desk, “Mr. Randolph isn’t in this morning. He’s gone to Houston.”
Al-Bashir’s nerves twitched. “Houston?”
“To meet with Mr. Passeau at the regional FAA office.”
“Ah. I see.” Houston was also where the regional FBI office was located, al-Bashir knew. The FAA was not troublesome.
“They’re working out clearances for the next test flight,” said April.
“Of course.”
April smiled uncertainly as al-Bashir stood in front of her desk. She is truly lovely, he thought, picturing how she would look in an evening gown, in a bikini, in bed.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked.
Al-Bashir pulled up the little wheeled chair from the corner of the cubicle. “Many things,” he said as he sat down.
“I’m really kind of busy, Mr.—”
Al-Bashir interrupted, “I want you to come to work for me, April.”
“For Tricontinental? In Houston?”
“No. For me. As my personal assistant. You would travel the world with me. Private jets. The best hotels.”
She was clearly surprised, al-Bashir saw.
“A woman of your education and abilities could go far in this world, very far, if you would allow me to help you.”
Her look of surprise faded. “I’m happy with the job I have, Mr. al-Bashir.”
“Please, call me Asim.”
“I’m happy with the job I have,” she repeated.
“I’ll double your salary. And you would have all the perks you want. You could see the world in luxury.”
April smiled again. “I couldn’t leave Mr. Randolph, especially with the powersat almost ready to be turned on. He depends on me.”
I’d
like to depend on you, al-Bashir thought. Aloud, he replied, “Well, will you at least consider my offer?”
She began to shake her head.
“Let’s discuss it over dinner,” he suggested.
A knowing look came over April’s face. “I’d be happy to have dinner with you, Mr … . Asim. But purely on a social basis. I have no intention of leaving Astro Corporation.”
Al-Bashir shrugged as if defeated. “Very well then. Purely a social dinner. Tonight?”
He saw her calculating in her mind. “I’m busy tonight. How about Friday?”
“Good,” he said. “Friday it will be.”
And he thought, You won’t have to get up early on Saturday to go to the office.
T
he cherry blossoms were out early this year. Through the I long windows of the Senate hearing room Dan could see the delicate pink blooms on the trees outside. It was springtime out there. Dan sat at the green baize-covered witness table while a battery of photographers blazed away at him, camera flashes flickering so rapidly it felt almost like being in a firefight.
Dan felt tense, almost angry, as he looked at Jane, who was sitting at the end of the banquette before him. Things had been going well for the past seven months, and this Senate hearing was the perfect place to make the announcement he was going to spring on them. Scanwell had rolled through the Super Tuesday primaries so well that he was suddenly the front-runner among the pack chasing after the nomination for president. And Jane was right there with him, every step of the way on the road to the White House. Dan wondered when they’d make a public announcement about their marriage. And there she is, sitting twenty feet away from me and avoiding looking my way.
At least April’s stuck by me, he said to himself. If al-Bashir actually did offer her a job with him she must’ve turned it down. Neither one of them has mentioned it, though. The kid’s done pretty damned well as my public relations director, too, he thought as the photographers finally cleared away and the red after-images of their flashes began to fade. Even with those eco-nuts picketing around our main gate, we’ve had nothing but favorable publicity.
Senator Quill rapped a metal stylus against the wooden block on the banquette desktop and the buzzing chatter
slowly quieted. He called the hearing to order and introduced the eleven subcommittee members. Dan noticed that the bank of TV cameras off to one side of the room panned along the banquette, then pointed back at Quill.
“We are also honored to have Senator Thornton, of the great state of Oklahoma, with us this morning in an
ex officio
capacity.”
Jane nodded and smiled graciously as the cameras focused on her.
Turning to the subcommittee’s chief counsel, a dark-faced younger man with a thick black moustache and an even thicker mop of black hair falling down to his collar, Senator Quill said, “We’re ready for the first witness.”
Dan rose to his feet as a clerk swore him in. Then he sat down again and faced the chief counsel, who was seated at the same level as Dan, at a small table facing him. Deadpanned, in a voice as inanimate as an automated elevator calling out floor numbers, he asked Dan to state his name and occupation.
“Daniel Hamilton Randolph, CEO and board chairman of Astro Manufacturing Corporation.”
“If you have a prepared statement, the subcommittee will listen to it now.”
Dan leaned forward slightly, toward the microphones arrayed before him. “I have a statement, but I would prefer to wait until after I respond to the subcommittee’s questions.”
The young lawyer looked startled for a moment and turned back to glance at Senator Quill, seated above him. Dan kept a straight face, but he enjoyed that momentary look of consternation. Quill nodded, and Dan flicked a glance at Jane, down at the end of the table. She looked slightly nettled.
The chief counsel began questioning Dan about the solar power satellite. Dan had already set up a video presentation and for the next ten minutes the computer graphics played their animated scenes on the big high-definition screen that hung on the wall of the hearing chamber opposite the TV crews.
Once the video ended, the lawyer said, “This subcommittee
has heard testimony to the effect that the microwave beam coming from the satellite to the ground is environmentally dangerous.”
Dan nodded. “Testimony from Rick Chatham and his people, I know.”
“What is your response to their assertions?”
“Are any of his assertions backed by scientific evidence?” Dan asked, with a patient smile on his face. “Does Chatham have any expertise in climatology, or radiology, or any other -ology?”
Dan heard a few titters behind him.
“Can anyone in his group program a kitchen appliance without asking some teenager for help?”
Laughter, even among some of the senators.
But the lawyer frowned and repeated, “What is your response, sir, to these assertions?”
Putting on a serious expression, Dan said, “Sir, we have done several scientific studies of the effects of beaming those microwaves through the atmosphere. I have provided the subcommittee with the relevant reports.”
Before the chief counsel could respond, Dan added, “The long and short of it is that we keep the beam so diffuse that birds can fly through it without harm. Cattle can graze on the ground where the antennas receive the microwave energy. We know the numbers and we have added a safety factor of one hundred percent specifically to make certain that there won’t be any harmful effects.”
Senator Quill broke in: “Your animated video didn’t show how you keep the beam so spread out.”
Wondering if Jane had prompted him to ask that question, Dan said, “Senator, the satellite’s downlink antenna defocuses the beam. The system spreads the beam as it leaves the satellite. If that system should fail, the whole power satellite shuts down automatically.”
“I see,” said Quill, although he looked slightly puzzled.
The other senators began popping questions at Dan, each one of them eager to get their face on camera. Most of the questions were soft. The subcommittee’s on my side, Dan
thought. Gradually the questions drifted away from the environmental effects and began to center on the actual operation of the satellite and the spaceplane.
“You’ve had two flights of your spaceplane since the fatal crash last year,” Senator Quill said.
“Three flights, Senator,” Dan replied. “The first one was unmanned. I mean automated.”
“And the more recent two flights?”
“Both were piloted and both were completely successful.”
“What about that first flight, the one that crashed?” asked the senator at the far end of the banquette.
Dan gave his carefully prepared answer. “The FAA and the National Transportation Safety Board have concluded that the accident wasn’t caused by a generic flaw in the spaceplane’s design or manufacture. Our successful flights with the second spaceplane show that the crash was caused by the malfunction of a thrust actuator, which has been corrected.”
“Isn’t the FBI investigating the crash? Isn’t there a possibility that it was caused by sabotage?”
The crowd stirred and reporters began whispering into their phones. Dan suppressed a frown. He had agreed with the FBI people in Houston to keep their investigation hush-hush. Not that they’ve found anything, he reminded himself. But there aren’t any secrets when a U.S. senator wants to get his face on national TV.
Aloud, he answered, “Senator, we just do not know what caused that actuator to fail. Even NASA is stumped by the accident.”
“Was it an act of terrorism?” the senator insisted, looking straight into the TV cameras.
Dan shook his head glumly. “You’ll have to ask the FBI about that, sir.”
More questions, none of them hostile. Finally Quill looked down the table toward Jane. “I invited Senator Thornton to these proceedings because she has introduced legislation that has a bearing on financing high-technology ventures such as yours. Senator Thornton, do you have any questions for this witness?”
Jane sat up a little straighter as Dan thought, I have a question for you, Senator: When am I going to see you again?
“Mr. Randolph,” Jane said, coolly impersonal, “what effect would it have on financing ventures such as yours if the government offered guarantees for long-term, low-interest loans?”
Dan had rehearsed the answer with Jane for a week before this hearing. But only over a videophone link. In the seven months since her surprise visit to Matagorda, Dan had been in the same room with her exactly twice, and both times there had been a crowd separating them. And Scanwell.
Almost automatically, Dan went through their prepared tutorial on financing high-technology ventures.
“There are three factors involved,” he told the subcommittee. “First, high-tech ventures are almost always high risk. In my business, for example, every rocket launch has a considerable amount of risk involved, although we’re reducing those risks quite a bit.”
Quill nodded and Dan got the impression that Jane had already briefed him about this.
“Second,” he went on, “high-tech ventures usually involve a large investment. You can’t build satellites and spacecraft on a shoestring budget.”
“You’re talking billions of dollars?” asked one of the senators.
“Hundreds of millions, at least.”
“What’s the third factor?” Quill prompted.
“Time,” said Dan. “The investor’s money is going to be tied up for a long time, years, maybe a decade or more.”
“Not a ninety-day turnaround,” Jane said with a smile.
“No, not at all,” Dan replied. “If you put all those three factors together—high risk, high investment cost, and a long time before payout—you can see why it’s so difficult to raise investment capital.”
“Would a government guarantee of long-term, low-interest loans be of help?” Jane asked.
“It already has,” Dan said. “Astro Corporation has been working from loans raised in the private sector for the past
several months. I’m certain that this legislation you’ve introduced in the Senate has opened that door for us.”
One of the senators quipped, “Well, if it’s worked that well for you, maybe we won’t have to pass the bill.”
A few of the other senators chuckled tolerantly. Jane did not, Dan noticed. He suppressed an urge to snap a snotty answer at the flippant senator.
“Any other questions for this witness?” Quill asked, looking up and down the table. “If not, then the witness is excused.”
“Before I go,” Dan said, “I have a short statement to make, Senators.”
Quill looked down at Dan. “As long as it’s short.”
Dan didn’t quibble with the senator’s choice of words. “I just want to tell you, Senators, that we intend to start beaming power from the satellite in two weeks.”
The hearing room erupted. The cameras all focused on Dan. Reporters flicked open their cell phones and began yammering into them. The senators looked at each other up and down the long banquette while the audience burst into dozens of chattering conversations.
In the midst of it all Rick Chatham leaped to his feet, ponytail flying, and shouted, “You can’t do that! I’ll get a court injunction!”
Quill began tapping on the wooden block in front of him, harder and harder, the impatience on his face morphing into red-faced anger. But it did no good. The reporters swarmed around Dan yelling questions at him. Vicki Lee was among them, but Dan looked past them all to search for Jane. Her chair was empty. She had already left.

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