AMERICA ONE (13 page)

For an hour Ryan explained the workings of the new engines neither man had ever seen before. They were like small replicas of a jet engine on the C-5, but looked totally different. There were men and women in white coats working on each of the engines. Some were working on computer terminals and others were connecting parts by hand in sealed-off dust-free sections.

Then they were guided over to a larger Hangar Two, also a double-walled hangar, Jonesy noticed. Inside, large plastic-sheeted inner work areas gave the workers sterile work conditions. They were working on long flat body panels which to VIN looked as shiny as the bodywork of the Audis, when not in dusty desert conditions. Some of the panels were laid separately on long tables inside the plastic compartments; the panels appeared to be about ten feet wide and forty feet long.

“We can’t enter the dust-free environment,” Ryan explained. “These panels have been specially built by the best aluminum company in the country for this project. The process starts with a reinforced outer panel which comes to us out of a plant in Silicon Valley, lying face down. The shiny aluminum is half an inch thick, and composed of a light-weight aluminum-lithium alloy, with added elements of small amounts of cobalt, vanadium, silicon, tungsten, boron and lastly, titanium, for strength. This alloy is similar to the outer skin used in NASA’s most recent, and now retired, space shuttle. If this were a steel panel, it would weigh many tons. Our configuration weighs only a quarter of a ton. The panel is exactly ten feet wide and forty feet long, and will fit exactly into the cargo holds of all our spacecraft. Mr. Noble, you look a little lost? This alloy panel with all of its added elements is the outer skin of a space craft. Every space craft we manufacture here will be made out of these panels.”

“Sure must cost a lot,” suggested VIN.

“Correct, Mr. Noble, and that’s why I’m paying you so little. Each completed outer panel will cost just over one million dollars, or about nine Audi R8s.”

VIN whistled. “But you must have over 100 panels here,” he calculated in shock.

“Correct, and we have ten more panels arriving every fourteen days.”

“And this panel keeps out the cosmic radiation?” asked Jonesy.

“No, this panel is just the first barrier against EMPs, powerful Electric Magnetic Pulses produced by sun flares in deep space, Mr. Jones.” They then followed the quick walking Ryan.

“Over here,” Ryan added heading over to the next section which had a second group of white-coated scientists adding a second skin to one of the panels. “Over here, we are adding a tenth-of-an-inch thin layer of pure carbon graphite to the panel’s inside wall. This carbon graphite layer is placed on the inside of the panel and then heated in our massive vacuum-oven over there to bond the two materials together. Once that is done we add a one-inch, honeycombed carbon nanotube structure, intertwined with a carbon composite layer, much stronger than the Kevlar fabric used in body armor. This honeycombed structure, Mr. Jones, is to protect us from cosmic radiation. Then, a second layer of the same carbon graphite is grafted on to the inside of a honeycombed structure to seal it. Once the panel is ready, liquid hydrogen will be poured into the honeycombed structure under pressure and then sealed. Pure liquid hydrogen is the best protection against cosmic rays that we know of as scientists.

“Our second backup protection from cosmic radiation will be large 200-pound electromagnets made mostly with a powerful rare-earth magnetic material called neodymium. The magnets will be placed throughout any spacecraft we build. This powerful force will give the craft a small magnetic field to help repel cosmic rays, and a small gravity field that is about fifteen to twenty percent of what we are used to on earth. This field will help crops grow in space, give us the ability walk around with metal shoes, and eat dinner on metal plates with metal knives and forks. Get the picture?” Both men nodded.

They moved onto the second half of the massive hangar. “In this section we are now adding the semi-final layer to the inside of the panels. This layer will keep any internal heat from dissipating into space. For this we add a second honeycombed carbon nanotube structure intertwined with the same carbon composite layer. Instead of liquid hydrogen, we add liquid argon, which, if kept in a cold state is too dense to accept any heat. This means that any heat will be repelled by cold liquid argon, once in space, when it attempts to warm the liquid. Our tests show that it will be cold enough stay liquid from a combination of the cold liquid hydrogen, which in turn is kept in a cold liquid state by the coldness of space, plus a little help from a nuclear reactor.

“The scientists who designed these outer walls state that this protective wall will keep space travelers protected and warm for upwards of a century, provided we are not too close to radiation coming directly from the sun. The cold liquid gases will be added, then the entire panel is sealed in a special chamber over there,” he stated, pointing to the large window of a separate room with what looked like it had a cattle dip in the floor.

“And all this is just to win this little space race into orbit?” asked Jonesy in awe.

“And a bit more space travel, but I will explain a little more in Hangar Four,” smiled Ryan. “The last covering, like the soft inside wall of a commercial airline, will be sealed onto the inner wall of each panel. It is a soft-wall material made out of three inches of soft carbon nanofoam, which can be painted for habitation, or can act as a giant vegetable garden allowing plant growth on its exterior. In space we will be able to grow vegetables on all six walls of a cubed greenhouse.”

“A wall to grow plants on?” VIN asked. “Are you going to fund the project by growing marijuana up in space?”

“A good idea I never thought of!” replied Ryan chuckling at the comment.

“At the end of the production line over here,” Ryan added, arriving at the end of the hangar, “we have a one-foot thick, finished panel with its inner wall intact. Eight complete panels are programmed to be lifted up into orbit on one shuttle launch, and then the panels will be welded, or bonded together by robotic spiders. As you can see there are no windows, but there are 8-foot square sliding doors on a few, and open round holes which will have Russian Docking Ports added to the panel in space; one in every couple of dozen panels. Lastly, each outer panel wall will receive a covering of a silver silicon-plastic-like photovoltaic nanofilm paint an inch thick for solar-energy absorption. Solar energy will be wirelessly transmitted across each panel to an internal storage unit somewhere inside each craft.” Ryan, paused, noticing the two men’s eyes were beginning to glaze over. He could see that he was now going over the heads of the two men’s scientific intelligence. “Some of these panels will be shaped, bent, formed, and cut into the outer, and inner shuttle walls, and the walls of the spacecraft you will be flying Mr. Jones. Let’s go to Hangar Three.”

“What are those oval aluminum cylinders for over there?” Jonesy asked.

“Corridors, sleep centers, compartments, and storage units, that’s all,” replied Ryan curtly not wanting to go any further at the moment.

“Looks like we heading to Mars, kid,” added Jonesy, following the boss back across the hangar to exit the way they had come in. VIN was getting apprehensive, knowing that they were getting closer to his department in Hangar Five, whatever that was.

For another hour in Hangar Three, they went over atmospheric flight possibilities with the massive C-5 staring down at them. Ryan questioned Jonesy to make sure that his own launch ideas were agreeable with somebody who understood flight. Then it was time for Hangar Four.

For the first time, Jonesy and VIN realized why there was so much equipment. As they entered the different world of Hangar Four, he could see the same type of vehicles he had seen on television, on Mars. There were several machines cutting and drilling into rocks or, much like vacuum cleaners, sweeping up rocks. Both men suddenly realized that the desert surrounding the airfield looked just like those
Curiosity
pictures from Mars.

“You are going to Mars to mine for gold or platinum?” Jonesy asked. “Not grass, like the kid said earlier.”

“Pretty close, Mr. Jones, valuable precious metals which will pay for the project when my three billion runs out.”

“Three billion dollars!” whistled VIN. “Now that’s a lot of cash. I bet you haven’t figured out how many R8s that is, Mr. Richmond.” Within a second Ryan had an answer.

“Not yet, but it would purchase over 25,000 units of my model, with extras, and far higher a number than Audi might ever build, Mr. Noble. And what could a man do with more than one Audi? Think about it, young man, you have a car ninety-nine percent of the world only dreams about.”

Up to lunch, they viewed the scientists working with the several different models. Some were not so exciting. VIN noticed that the least interesting one looked like a mobile floor sweeper on a dog leash. It buzzed around, its electronic engine following a blinking light omitting a red laser type light. The light bounced around on several different small pebbles, decided on the right size pebbles, and then swept them up with brushes and spat them out of a tube connected to the upper body. It took a stone several seconds to be swept in and spat out.

“That is not a vacuum cleaner, Mr. Noble,” explained Ryan. “It works with a conveyer belt, sweeping the small rocks up into a small holding bucket, and out of the higher exit tube into a collector; much like a river dredger with a continuous bucket conveyor belt.”

VIN watched as it found a bigger rock, this time the size of a marble. It effortlessly swept it in and it dumped it with a loud noise into the container.

Then a buzzer sounded; VIN now had to get through lunch before getting to Hangar Five, the hangar where he would find out what his real purpose was.

They returned to the hotel for lunch on the ground floor. This time all the kids must have been in school as there were mostly people in white coats, security uniforms, and a few others in normal dress. About 100 people in all having a buffet lunch. The food was much like at base camp in Iraq. One or two meats, potatoes or rice, two vegetables, gravy, a couple of dessert puddings, a fruit bowl, a sponge cake, and tea and juice.

VIN realized that these workers must be less than half the people on base, and many must be having lunch in their sterile areas. Also half of the base was asleep, the night shift. Ryan was not among the diners.

Lunch was peaceful. Jonesy said nothing, and very few people spoke; all seemed deep in thought, or working over ideas in their minds. Only the white coats and normally dressed females, or the odd male talked to each other, and in many languages.

Finally the buzzer sounded and, as one, the room emptied and the two men returned to the golf cart where Ryan had left it. They waited several minutes before he arrived, followed by a couple of the white coats.

“Mr. Noble, time to introduce you to your new world,” he smiled at them. They got in and drove the few hundred yards to one of the middle hangars in the line of five on the eastern side of the large apron.

“This time there was no guard outside the small side door; Ryan entered a code into a panel, and they entered a world VIN remembered from the hospital. A world full of prosthetic limbs, but this time made of metal and not plastic.

“Ask for platinum ones,” stated Jonesy as they walked up to an area that looked like a stage, where the pretty blonde girl who VIN had seen in the wheelchair was being helped to dress in what looked like an exoskeleton suit of lower body parts.

She smiled, as the three tall men arrived and stopped. “How are the new fittings, Suzi?” Ryan asked still sitting in the cart.

“Wűndabar, wonderful, Ryan,” she replied in a German accent. “I think that they might stay on this time when I jump high.”

VIN watched in shock. Jonesy had to close the poor kid’s mouth, afraid a fly might go in.

“Ja, Herr Noble, one second a lonely paraplegic in a wheelchair, next second, Superfraülein!” she shouted seeing VIN’s face, and she began laughing, her pretty blonde hair and blue-eyed face lighting up, and stealing VIN’s heart in less than a second. “Want to join me?”

He nodded silently, his mouth still open as she stood up out of the chair she was sitting in, and easily walked across the stage holding out her hand to him.

“Kid, remember to invite me to the wedding,” stated Jonesy standing next to him. ”She’s a great looking chick, and silver seems to suit her. Maybe she’ll turn into one of your silver Audis at the touch of a button! You know like the Transformers.”

“Oh shut up for once, Jonesy!” VIN replied, as he took her hand and climbed up onto the stage to follow her. She led him to the chair as a second metal body skeleton walked by itself out of an area hidden behind curtains. This time a white coat had a hand-controlled devise, like a model aircraft, and he moved the metal frame next to the chair.

VIN first removed his jeans sheepishly; put on a pair of shorts handed to him to hide his embarrassment, sat down, and was helped off with his plastic limbs.

First the metal upper legs were fitted to his stumps and snugly connected; they felt tighter, snug, and more secure than the military legs; the metal was cold, and he felt the chill of naked metal against his skin. He was pulled up into a standing position by Suzi; the mid-section of the body suit was wrapped around his waist with soft cloth belts and straps tightening the whole device around him. He even had straps around his shoulders, like seat belts. It took a long thirty minutes, but then he was ready. The three men dressing him stepped back and one picked up what looked like an open-faced motorbike helmet and strapped it on VIN’s head.

“Don’t worry VIN,” Suzi said. “This is your new lower-body control system; it works from nerve impulses your brain sends to your legs to make the muscles work. My impulse control system is already matched to my thought patterns. The controller is the size of your small fingernail and already been implanted in my lower neck. VIN, you must think you have legs again. You must send the same orders through your body to your feet, telling them to walk like you did all your life. If the helmet matches your brain impulses correctly, your new metal feet, knees and hydraulics should make the exact same movements. A man will stand on each side of you, and you try to walk, like this.” And she easily walked around the stage as if she had her real legs back.