Heineman murmured to himself testily. Walking slowly along the Velcro pad surrounding the assembly area, he scrolled through the cargo manifest on the slate. The cargo removed from its cocoon and assembled fit all the specifications the engineering team had made up six months before. That had been a crazy time—trying to design a device which had ridiculous properties to do a job that none of the engineering team understood. But back then, green badges had been very rare items.
There was no way now for anyone to deny him a green badge. He was the only one who could test the device and teach others how to use it.
It was a beautiful piece of work: a hollow cylinder twenty meters long and six wide, resembling a giant jet engine with all its guts removed.
He peered down the middle of the assembly at the sickle-shaped metal pieces that would clamp down on the mysterious something the cylinder would surround.
The clamps now rested on plastic inserts, which would be removed when the device was in place.
It was called a tuberider. Sitting next to it—brought up in three cocoons by a subsequent OTV—was a highly modified Boeing-Bell prop-driven vertical/short takeoff and landing aircraft, V/STOL for short, model number NHV-24B.
It was the most peculiar aircraft he had ever seen.
Developed initially for the U.S. Air Force, designed for search and rescue missions, it could rotate its two wingtip-mounted engines through 120 degrees. The five broad blades of each prop could be folded back into the engine nacelles. And in the tail, aimed slightly above the centerline, was a kerosene-oxygen rocket engine, no doubt to provide extra thrust—but under what conditions?
Its wings were rakishly forward-swept and were mounted three-quarters back on the fuselage, almost touching the V-mil. It could carry eighteen people and a crew of two, fully loaded, or fewer passengers and a lot of equipment. It was at once airplane and helicopter and rocket.
He loved it just from reading the specs. He had always had a weakness for Rube Goldberg gadgets.
The V/STOL could be fitted to the tuberider in three positions: like an arrow sticking from the side of a log, nose and refueling nozzle inserted mid-cylinder; in the conjunction of its first mission, inserted “up the cylinder’s ass” as Heineman thought of it, as its rocket propelled the tuberider down the middle of the plasma robes and bore holes to the seventh chamber; or clamped to the cylinder along its belly.
He didn’t have the slightest idea what it would do once it was in place. From an aeronautical or astronautical perspective it was pure craziness. How would the cylinder be stabilized on its track—whatever that was—while the V/STOL docked7 The cylinder had no maneuvering engines. The whole contraption would be just barely stable enough to ride down the axis with the rocket pushing it. Tis not mine to reason why, he thought, marking the final check on the slate. Despite his initial enthusiasm, no aircraft, Heineman felt, was truly beautiful until he had flown it—and survived.
The cocoon had also contained contraband. Not on the manifest—not the official one, at any rate—were two metal boxes the size and shape of coffins. Heineman had a good idea what they contained—high-speed radar-controlled Gaffing guns.
He could also guess where they would be installed, and for what reason.
They were Joint Space Command items, and the only man who needed to know about their arrival was Captain Kirchner. They were in direct violation of ISCCOM guidelines for the Stone.
Heineman was used to serving two masters. He knew Kirchner and JSC had their reasons for breaking the rules. He knew Lanier and Hoffman would appreciate those reasons when the time came.
Heineman made sure the crates were delivered to the external security staging areas and then forgot about them.
He floated past the assembly and looked at his watch. Garry was late.
Lanier pulled himself along the ropes to the third dock staging area. The tuberider and V/STOL occupied center stage like grand ladies of the theater awaiting costumers’ attentions.
Heineman eyed him unenthusiastically as he approached.
“You look exhausted,” he commented, handing the slate over for inspection. Lanier handed it back without a glance or comment. “You’ll spook people, coming out of the chambers like that.”
“Can’t be helped,” Lanier said.
Heineman shook his head and let out his breath in a dubious low whistle. ”What in hell have you got down there?”
“Are they ready?” Lanier asked. Heineman nodded and pulled the box of memory cubes out of his beltsack.
“For now. I’m pushing them down the tube next week. If I get my badge ...”
Lanier reached into his inside jacket pocket and produced a green badge, flipping it around to show Heineman. ”Yours. Second level. Go and find out for yourself. You’re so eager.”
“That’s my nature,” Heineman said. He clamped the badge to his lapel. ”How’s the girl doing? She any help?”
“I don’t know,” Lanier said. ”She’s resilient.” He raised his eyebrows and took a deep breath. ”Seems to be a survivor.” He seemed anxious to change the subject. ”I’ll have provisional greens for your flight crew.”
“I’m going to fly it into position alone,” Heineman said. He was surprised when Lanier simply nodded; he had expected some argument.
“Who’ll take the first sortie with me?”
“I will, if I have time,” Lanier said.
“You haven’t flown in years.”
Lanier laughed. ”Neither of us has ever done this kind of flying. Besides, it’s not a skill you forget. You should know that.”
A guard drifted across the staging area toward them. Lanier glanced in her direction, held out his hand and received a sealed envelope.
She left without a word being exchanged.
“You expected that,” Heineman said.
“I did.” He opened the envelope, read the enclosed note, then stuck it in the pocket where Heineman’s badge had resided. ”My orders Earthside. I’m going to spend another couple of days here, then take the next OTV. Larry, get the tuberider in position, prepare for a flight test, but hold everything until I return.”
“Advisor wants you?”
Lanier patted his coat pocket. ”Priority. But I have to make sure Vasquez is going to work out.” He turned toward the hatchway.
“I’ll be waiting,” Heineman called after. He looked at the tuberider and V/STOL, eyes bright.