Chapter 25

Sol was grumpy. Months had passed with no word from Walter, and today he was meeting with politicians. This left him feeling unclean, even though it needed to be done; all that money his company’s PAC paid out? From time to time, politicians needed to be told what they could do in return. He’d already met with a senator and two Representatives this morning, plus four staffers from other offices, and there was one final Representative to see. This one was probably the worst of the lot; how had he managed to get himself elected? It said something about the American voter, that was for sure! But none of this showed on Sol’s face. His expression was open, welcoming, when the short, bald-headed man walked in.

Sol met him with a handshake and glanced meaningfully at the receptionist. By now, the woman knew the routine as well as Sol himself did; she would buzz his phone after fifteen minutes to see if he wanted to end the visit. “Welcome, welcome, Mister Chambers! Can I get you a cup of coffee, or maybe something stronger?”

“It’s been a long day, Sol. I don’t need more coffee, but maybe if you’ve got some of that good Tennessee sour mash stuffed away somewhere...?”

Sol smiled and opened the cabinet. He poured a glass half full of Maker’s Mark and added an ice cube; by now, he’d dealt often enough with the man to know his preferences. “Just the thing to rev up your motor after a hard day on the Hill, Mister Chambers.”

“Well, we’re not in session,” Chambers admitted, “but that doesn’t mean the work stops. Starting as soon as we recessed, I’ve been meeting with constituents and visiting a few of our leading industrialists. They’re people like you, Sol, the folks that keep our economy humming, and I’m nearly talked out!” Chambers drank a healthy slug of the whiskey. “But I’m always interested in your problems, you know that.”

You sure are, Sol thought. Especially when you smell money. But his voice was smooth, unhurried; none of the contempt showed. “I wanted to talk to you about something I’ve discovered, something I consider to be a real threat to the American economy. Running a business is tough enough, you know that, what with having to compete against foreigners and all that cheap labor. It was bad enough when they were shipping in cars and trucks made with sweatshop labor, but now they’re doing the designing in Japan and places like that! They’re over here now, using honest American labor for the grunt work, but the high-paying jobs stay overseas!”

Chambers grunted and sipped his whiskey. “None of the jobs are in my district, either. You’re right, Sol, it’s a shame. But how is that a threat to the economy? Sounds to me like it’s more of a threat to your business!” Despite the stiff drink which Chambers had almost finished, his eyes were shrewd. A functioning alcoholic, he somehow managed to drink copious amounts and still show almost no effects until late in the evening. His personal staff knew to have his car ready and drive him home before he passed out. They were successful, most of the time.

“No, it’s not about the Japanese carmakers,” Sol admitted. “I know how to deal with them! But this time, it’s about how we all do business, working with parts suppliers and contracts and financing. Businesses need to look ahead, sometimes far ahead, so that everything runs smoothly. There’s this fellow, though, he doesn’t understand that. He doesn’t know a lot about business either, but I hear he’s starting up a factory. I don’t think he’s going to succeed, but you see, the way he’s going about it leaves all of us manufacturers in an uncompetitive position. Some companies have had to move their main offices overseas just to stay competitive! I know how much you value competition among private businesses, Mister Chambers, I’ve heard you mention it often during your speeches. But you see, if we’re left behind by this new business model, we’ll have to pay more for financing, American jobs will be threatened, investors will lose money. Some of those investors are in your state, Mister Chambers, and some are in your district. Your state pension funds are invested in my company as well as others like it, so I thought you would have a real interested in seeing that we’re not threatened by unfair competition.”

“Cut the horseshit, Sol. You’re feeling threatened by these people, you want me to see what I can do. Best thing to do is send out some letters, get one of the regulatory agencies involved. They require lots of paperwork, it takes lots of time, you know how slow the government can be. Any particular one, maybe more than one, you’d like me to encourage? And where is this company located, anyway? What is it they’re doing that’s got your underwear in a knot?”

“Well, as to which agencies might have jurisdiction...”

The conversation continued for another ten minutes, a necessary part of the charade. Chambers now understood what Sol wanted and how he could help him get it. He also knew that Sol would ‘continue to support him’, that the campaign money from the political action committee would keep coming and might even be increased. The exact amount wasn’t specified, but there was no need; the PAC could be generous to its friends when campaign time came around.

Sol washed his hands as soon as the man left. Still not satisfied, he washed them again. It was just business, he understood that, but still...

His right hand felt slimy.

The page was part of the checklist for piloting the spacecraft, necessary for eventually training crewmembers and for eventual acceptance by government regulators. But that was in the future; for now, the checklist would help the spacecraft commander avoid the feeling of being too familiar, avoid missing a step in bringing the complicated machine from standby to ready. Chuck examined it carefully. “I don’t see anything wrong with it, Joe, but suppose I read through it and you tap the copilot’s controls to see if I missed anything.”

“Check oxygen sensors, power compartment,” Joe read.

“Checked, nominal.”

“Fuel pumps on standby, computer control selected.”

“Standby, selected,” Chuck confirmed.

“Check batteries, charged.”

“Checking batteries now. Forward batteries, port, 100%. Forward, starboard, 100%. Aft, portside outboard...”

Meticulously, the two continued the checklist. Chuck penciled in two corrections before reaching the final item on the checklist: power on, main buss. “I’ll type up the corrections and write the program for the computer,” Chuck said, before setting the switches back to standby.

“The three computers have to agree or the errant one gets automatically kicked out of the system. The pilot also has the option of cutting its power. I suppose you could call the pilot secondary, not that I like the idea much. I still miss having a real stick that’s cabled directly to the flight controls.”

“Joe, you’re not that old! That went out with radial engines! You’re not strong enough or quick enough to control any of the jets flying today. It’s all fly-by-wire, all digital, now.”

“It might be obsolete, but my three-quarter Spitfire is more fun to fly than anything with a jet strapped on it!”

“I’ve heard the same from guys with replica Mustangs, Joe. Anyway, I’ll get these into the computer and have a hard copy printed up for us by tomorrow.”

Chuck was writing code when a buzz interrupted him. He checked his cell automatically, but the buzz wasn’t coming from his belt holster. Finally, he picked up his grandfather’s phone, still lying where Chuck had left it after he collected Morty’s personal possessions.