Chapter 13

Tom supervised the loading of the last of the computer equipment from his lab. He knew about the specifications of the Dutchman class, intellectually; but the reality had been somewhat overwhelming, especially with the changes to this militarized version. All of the interior bulkheads were three inches thick, and the outer hull was five inches of armor. Each of the modular cargo bays was huge. All of his gear, including the network servers, hardware racks, storage devices, workstations, laptops, and specialty test equipment; had fit neatly into a corner of a single cargo bay, which was just one of twenty.

On this, Tom's fifteenth laborious trip, even with Gravity nullified, changing the inertia of a several hundred pound mass at each corner had him sweating, the door into one of the other bays stood open as he passed by. He glanced inside, and stopped dead in his tracks, gaping at the sleek gleaming shape of a stubby-winged fighter, which rested on a cradle inside. This was no mere cargo bay, like the rest! There were heavily reinforced doors, opening outward, that would allow the craft in or out. A heavy crane arm hung from the ceiling and two tall slender men were chatting. One, the younger, obviously the pilot, was sitting in the cockpit, and the other was standing on the wing, leaning down to point out something inside.

Neither man saw him. Nor, at least from the rear, did Tom recognize either of them. Shifting his burden, Tom walked boldly in, and said, "Hi!"

The tall man turned, and Tom relaxed his unconsciously tight shoulders, when he recognized Captain Keith of the Dutchman I. He stepped up beside the fighter, and waved.

Captain Keith glanced at his companion, and said, by way of introduction, said, "Ken, I'd like you to meet Tom Clarke, the newest and youngest VP in this whole shiny new outfit!"

Ken gave Tom a jaunty wave, and called out, "Howdy!"

"Tom, this is Ken Hutchinson, my nephew. Who, for his sins, was condemned to be a Marine Corps Harrier pilot, until his recent, unlamented departure from that sad, feeble, collection of misguided boy scouts."

Tom, grinned and waved up at Ken, who, he now realized, did resemble a younger version of Captain Keith. But where Captain Keith had a laconic, relaxed bearing, somehow, Ken managed to look military, even seated in his cockpit.

Still grinning to himself over his last sally, Captain Keith couldn't resist piling it on, "So, Tom. Do you know what the difference between the Marine Corps and the Boy Scouts is? No? Well, I'll tell ya. The Boy Scouts have adult supervision!"

He met his nephew's clench-jawed glare with a barking laugh.

Tom asked, "What is this thing, Captain? I mean, besides a fighter, obviously. I thought GI2 was staying out of Defense contracts."

"Call me Randall. After all, you aren't in my direct chain of command, and this isn't my ship. This here is the X-101 Star Fighter, Ken's new toy. I just came over to check out the latest modifications.

"When you're sitting in orbit, do you want to be a fat, dumb, and happy, and hope nobody comes after you? Since you'll be in what will become the biggest plum in history? When they do, we'll need something like this baby," Randall said, with a pat on the side of the stocky fighter.

"And yes, you're right. For the most part, we will be staying out of defense contracting. That is because we aren't trying to get ready for the next war, but rather, for the war after that. This baby is the lever Troy needed to allow us to get our hands on some of the most advanced avionics. That way, when junior here, has to keep your ass from getting shot off, he won't have to use Kentucky windage, or iron sights," Randall said, with a grin at Ken.

Ken snorted in derision, "Junior? I'll junior you, you old squid! I'll have you know, Tom, all he ever did in his Navy career was the milk runs in cargo planes around the Pacific! And he was based out of Hawaii for most of it! Me? I flew over one hundred combat sorties, in scenic Afghanistan, Bosnia, and Iraq."

"Ok you two, its nice to know you care so much. Now, keep your service rivalries under control, and tell me what the X-101 can do," Tom said, grinning at their good-natured banter.

From the cockpit, Ken said, "Well, she's optimized for space flight, but capable of any sort of air superiority mission from the deck to the moon. She's got a heavily reinforced structure, too. Unlike any other fighter out there, she's armored. She could probably take more than a couple hits, from air-to-air missiles. That does make her heavy, though. As she has a smaller wing surface then most fighters, at low altitude, she'd have a maneuverability disadvantage to overcome."

"However, she has maneuvering thrusters that partially offset that aerodynamic disadvantage at lower altitudes. They also allow her full maneuverability in the higher altitudes, where aerodynamics doesn't work at all, because there's just not enough air pressure. Plus, with the twin Rocjets, she can out run and out climb any airframe a pilot ever strapped on," he said with the pride of ownership.

The thick clear canopy puzzled Tom, so he asked them about it, "What about radiation and thermal shielding? Isn't the solar wind and x-ray radiation given off by the sun going to make that huge canopy a death trap? Hell, with that much glass, won't you freeze?"

Randall answered, pointedly, "You better get used to this kind of stuff. Have you even looked at the design plans for Bootstrap yet? This isn't glass. It's the same sort of shielding we'll be using on the habitats where we want to let sunlight in. It's a composite with layers of glass, Lexan, water and Aerogel. For the habitats, it will be feet thick, for a fighter we had to make tradeoffs, so its only six inches thick."

Ken chimed in enthusiastically, "The glass serves as a bullet proof structural layer, and vapor barrier. The Lexan gives it toughness, and adds a layer that will seal itself if hit with a high temperature penetrator, like a micrometeorite or armor piercing round. The Aerogel is the thermal insulator, two inches gives it an R-value of sixty. And, finally, two inches of water stops over 90% of the x-rays, and all of the charged particles. Yet, overall, it still has 92% transmittance of visible light. Still, because of its thickness and optical properties, we did have to make it with flat surfaces, so there wouldn't be optical distortion."

Taken aback, and impressed, Tom went silent for a moment, tugging at his lip in thought. Then, he asked, "Doesn't it seem like Troy has thought of everything? I mean, how does he do it? With everything so new, how can he keep anticipating all the things we need?"

Randall jumped off the wing, floated lightly to the ground next to Tom, and clapped a hand on Tom's shoulder. Looking into Tom's eyes, he said seriously, "No one can anticipate everything. I have known Troy most of my life. Every since reading about Gerard O'Neil's space colonies, Troy has made it his life's work to make them a reality. So, in effect, he's had his whole lifetime to prepare for this."

"When the United States abandoned its space program ... which, make no mistake, that's what it has done for the last forty years ... he started thinking about how to make space colonization a reality. We could have put a permanent manned lunar colony up in 1975 or so, if we had just continued to invest at the level we had during Apollo. That was only about 2% of the Federal Budget, and less than .5% of Gross National Product, or GNP."

"But no. It was more important to spend the money on food stamps, or a war, or a synthetic fuels program, or pollution controls. The liberals cried, 'How can we send a man to the moon, and not feed the hungry?' What the answer should have been was, 'How can we feed the hungry if we DON'T send a man to the moon!' They have a saying in the military that is appropriate, 'Lead, follow, or get out of the way'. The U.S. has been refusing to admit any of those options face them."

Tom asked, "What do you mean, Randall?"

Randall responded, "America has been consuming 40% of the worlds resources for the last seventy years. Yet, what do we export? Cars? Nope, both Japan and Germany match us there. Airplanes? Nope, Russia and the European Union match us there. No, we export movies, music, and military hardware. The reason that America is so disliked in the world is that they've taken the leadership position, won't let anyone else take over, yet we don't do anything important with that leadership."

"You do realize, that every dollar spent on Apollo was returned to the economy fourteen-fold, right? In the form of new innovations, like: integrated circuits, freeze-dried foods, and less well-known examples like heat exchangers, chemicals, and insulators. The entire electronics industry from GPS and cell phones, which use whole arrays of satellites, to computers and consumer electronics were sparked out of NASA's need to shave a few hundred pounds weight off their vehicles."

"Then, when private companies wanted to take over, the bureaucracy at NASA threw up every barrier they could think up, to protect their turf. If they had just done something like the Transcontinental Rail Act, and offered to buy cargo space from private carriers, and gotten NASA out of the delivery business, we would be much further ahead. America then wouldn't be stuck with a fleet of out-of-date, aging, 'lowest bid built' Space Shuttles, which have an annoying tendency to blow up."

"No. Troy has been frustrated and angry that America has pissed away forty years. He hasn't been idle, either! That entire time, he's dreamed and schemed of ways to do what needs to be done. That's why he's anticipated so much. Now, he plans to make up for lost time. We need this. We need a new frontier. America was built on the boundless opportunities of the frontier, that could allow any man to achieve greatness."

Ken was nodding in agreement. Tom on the other hand, was still trying to absorb it all.

"I guess I just don't know where I fit in," Tom said, plaintively. "Some of this is so far beyond what I've thought about, I just don't know what I can do to help."

"He's not asking you to solve all the problems, or develop a specific innovation. He just wants you to apply the skills you have to the tasks he's given you. So, do your homework, read up on Bootstrap, and you won't feel so lost," Randall said, reassuringly.

Tom, smiled weakly, and said, "Well, I'd better finish loading my gear, or I'll be holding up our departure. Thanks for showing me the X-101."

Ken called after him, with a grin, "I'll see you on the command deck at departure Tom. It was nice meeting you, and watching this old squid bedazzle you with his bullshit."

Tom grinned ruefully, "I'm just afraid I'll let Troy and you down. I don't feel greatness in me. If he's expecting it, I'm afraid to disappoint him, and ruin his plans."

Randall said, "Ah get used to it! He does expect the best out of his people, but you've already proven yourself to be brilliant, resourceful and innovative, so don't worry so much."

Ten minutes later, after securing the last check of his gear, Tom waved goodbye to Randall as the hatch closed. He briskly walked forward to get to the command deck for liftoff. After all, it was his first ride in a Dutchman, and he didn't want to miss anything.

Tom arrived just in time, and seeing Ken and Mike, joined them at the rear of the command stations.

The Captain was a short, balding, cherubic man, but his voice cracked in command.

"Cast off mooring lines!"

A cute brunette, seated at one of the stations, cried out in reply, "Cast off mooring lines! Aye-aye! Sir!"

And after a few seconds, she exclaimed, "Mooring lines retrieved, Sir. Mooring lines secured for voyage."

"Thank you, Lieutenant Simpson. Helm, make way under gravity nullifiers only. Take us up at a ten degree climb," he commanded.

A portly black man, with a crown of white, frizzy hair, replied, "Make way! Aye-aye, Sir! Gravity Nullifiers only, ten degree climb! Aye-aye, Sir!"

"Thank you, Mister Washington."

Tom leaned over and whispered in Mike's ear, "Who is this guy? He seems so ... military."

Mike answered in a low voice, "That's Captain Thornton, he's a retired US Navy Rear Admiral. He's had command of a nuclear sub, a destroyer, a cruiser, and a carrier air wing. When they wouldn't give him a carrier, he took the retirement, and Troy's job offer."

"He's going to be going with us to our briefings with the Joint Chiefs, as the Military Advisor. In fact, we've got most of a whole crew, set up like we expect the military Table of Organization for a ship of this class. They're all military veterans, and from every service, too."

Tom replied, "Well that does make me feel better. My knees were shaking at the thought of dealing with the Joint Chiefs of Staff!"

Mike said a heartfelt, "You and me both! Man! What a view. It's too bad that on the military version of the Dutchman Class, a sally port and firing stations replaced the observation deck! That view was simply awe inspiring!"

Ken added, "Talking to the JCOS guys is way over my pay grade, too! But I'm going along as the X-101 test pilot."

The three men fell into companionable silence, as the ground fell away, and the deck pitched upward, into a shallow climb into a clear blue, cloudless sky.

Captain Thornton cried, "Navigation! Call out air speed by tens, and altitude by thousands!"

From another station a young, red-haired, freckled man with glasses, answered, "Air speed by tens, altitude by thousands! Aye-aye, Sir! Air speed: 100 knots! Altitude: 3000 feet! Sir!"

"Thank you Ensign Plummer."

As the navigator cried out the speed and altitude, the Captain ordered, "Helm, give me full power at 5000 feet, and bring us to a heading of nine-zero degrees. Comm, get with Air Traffic Control, and clear us for Suborbital. Navigation, call out altitude by ten thousands and air speed by hundreds!"

Tom looked at Mike in shock, and saw both Ken and Mike grinning at him.

Mike answered his unspoken question, "Yes, we are going Suborbital for this flight, we will hit an altitude of 75 miles and a velocity of over 4,000mph. After this trip, you qualify as an astronaut!"

"Going to be old hat soon. Phase One of Bootstrap calls for nearly 200 cargo loads with a Dutchman, and that doesn't include the personnel," added Ken, with a grin.

Tom stopped for a minute, to do the math then he stammered, "Two hundred loads! Oh my God! At nearly 35,000 tons per load, that's almost 70 MILLION TONS!"

Mike just laughed in his face. He said, "That was quick, but a couple of your assumptions must have been off. Let's see, I bet you used the density of steel right? Actually the average density will be closer to one and a half times that of water. So, instead of 70 million tons of cargo, it will end up being closer to 15 million tons. Actually, nearly half of those trips will just be water, and another quarter will be supplies, tools, furniture, and machinery."

Wonderingly, Tom asked, "How the hell can he fund all of this? Ok, so even if we are down to 7.5 million tons of goods, that's got to cost an awful lot."

"Well, unfinished goods and raw materials are priced by the pound," Ken pointed out.

"Yes, so if we ordered 1,000,000 tons of steel on the open market tomorrow, it would only be about 8 billion dollars. Unfortunately, that big of an order would actually impact the world market for steel. Luckily, Troy foresaw this day, and he bought out a steel mill in Detroit, that had been closed down for years, at pennies on the dollar. In fact, for less then the steel you'll need would have cost. By the time you need it, it will putting out 300,000 tons per month!"

Puzzled, Tom said, "He's already bought it? Does he see a rise in the demand for steel? I mean, even a million tons for my project won't be even four months production!"

"What do you think the Conestoga, Dutchman, and X-101s are made of? Then there's going to be whatever the Defense Industry needs for whatever they come up with. It will be fine, you'll see," said Mike, dismissively.