Chương 125: Book 4 - Chapter 11 C

The sun was just beginning to burn through the morning fog at SFO when the three Humvees pulled onto the tarmac at the private aviation terminal. My 767-300ER sat gleaming under the floodlights, its polished white fuselage looking like a skyscraper that had decided to lay down for a rest. Even with the engines silent, the plane had a presence that made everything else on the airfield look like a toy. Jack and his team were already in position, their black suits sharp against the gray concrete.

George, Bevin, and Jim were standing near the boarding stairs, looking small and slightly overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the aircraft. They each carried a single briefcase, their eyes fixed on the open cargo bay where my security team was loading crates.

"Good morning, gentlemen," I said from the top of the stairs.

"I hope you're ready for a quick flight. We have a slot with air traffic control in the next thirty minutes." George stared up at the tail of the plane, which rose five stories into the air.

"Dr Cook, I knew you had a plane, but I didn't realize you were flying a mobile command center."

"It makes the long hauls to Europe and Washington manageable," I replied, gesturing toward the stairs.

"Please, head up. The chef has breakfast waiting." As we climbed the stairs, the men went silent. The interior wasn't laid out like a commercial jet. I had brought them up the front stairs. We passed the twenty seats that made up the front passenger section. It featured deep leather armchairs that you couldn't help to reach out and touch as you passed. The seating area opened up into the dining room with a full dining table which was already set. Chef Peter welcomed them as he passed out a menu.

The takeoff was effortless. The 767 surged down the runway and lifted into the clear blue California sky, turning south toward Ventura County. We were barely at cruising altitude before the flight attendant served fresh coffee and hot pastries on bone china.

"This is a bit different than the drive down 101," Bevin muttered, looking out the window as the Santa Cruz mountains blurred past.

"Time is the only thing I can't buy more of," I told him.

"Spending six hours in a car is a waste of your engineering talent and my investment. We'll be on the ground at Point Mugu before you finish that coffee." Forty minutes later, the landing gear cycled down with a heavy thud. We touched down on the massive runway at Naval Air Station Point Mugu, a facility that usually only handled military transports and fighter jets.

As we taxied toward the edge of the base, three matte black Suburbans were already waiting for us near the perimeter fence that separated the Navy land from the Camarillo Airport. We bypassed the main civilian gates and drove straight into the AMROC facility. The hangar was a cavernous space that smelled of ozone, machine oil, and that distinct, pungent scent of uncured synthetic rubber. Bevin led the way to the center of the floor where the H-500 motor was mounted on a heavy steel transport cradle.

It was a massive, blunt cylinder of black filament-wound carbon fiber and steel. Bevin slapped the side of the heavy steel cradle, the metallic ring echoing through the rafters.

"This is it. The core of the SET-1. We finished the final casting yesterday." I walked up to the motor, my hand tracing the smooth, cool surface of the casing. I looked at the injector head, noting the complex plumbing for the liquid oxygen.

"The manifold looks clean, Bevin. What's the pressure rating on these seals?"

"Eight hundred psi," he replied, looking impressed that I'd spotted the critical point.

"We're using a proprietary polymer to handle the cryogenic shock."

"Watch the O-rings on that LOX feed," I cautioned, looking back at him.

"My guys at Vought found that at those temperatures, the elasticity curve drops off a cliff. If you don't pre-chill the manifold correctly, you'll get a leak before the motor even hits full thrust. O-rings were what nearly brought down Challenger, it's not something you can just hope on." George stepped up beside us, looking at the rocket with a mix of pride and anxiety.

"That's why we're glad you're here, Dr Cook. Most investors just want to know when we're going public. You're the first one who's looked at the plumbing."

"I don't care about the stock price if the rocket is a crater in the desert," I said.

"Show me the casting pit. I want to see how you ensured the grain density." I followed Bevin toward the back of the hangar where the floor transitioned from polished concrete to heavy industrial steel plates. The air grew thicker here, carrying the heavy, sweet scent of the polybutadiene. In the center of the room sat a massive vertical structure that looked like a high-tech well.

"This is the casting pit," Bevin said, gesturing toward the opening.

"It's fifteen feet deep and reinforced with four-inch steel. We don't just pour the rubber in and hope for the best. We use a centrifugal casting process to eliminate any air pockets." Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work! I stepped to the edge and looked down into the dark throat of the pit.

"You're spinning the entire casing while the fuel is in a liquid state?"

"Exactly," Bevin explained, his hands moving to trace a circle in the air.

"We lower the motor casing into the pit and lock it into a high-speed turntable. As the synthetic rubber is injected, we spin the casing at nearly three hundred rpm. The centrifugal force pins the fuel against the walls with incredible pressure, ensuring there isn't a single bubble or void in the grain." I nodded, my mind visualizing the physics of the pour.

"It's a clever way to handle the viscosity issues. But how are you managing the thermal contraction as it cures? When that much mass cools, it's going to want to pull away from the casing wall." Bevin looked at George, a genuine grin breaking across his face.

"I told you he'd ask about the liner. We use a proprietary bonding agent, Dr Cook. It's a chemical bridge that stays flexible enough to move with the rubber but keeps a death grip on the interior of the carbon fiber shell."

"And the core geometry?" I asked, looking at the long, star-shaped mandrel sitting on a nearby rack.

"We drop that mandrel in once the initial spin is done," Bevin said.

"It creates a multi-port combustion surface. When the liquid oxygen hits that star pattern, it creates a massive amount of turbulence. That's how we get seventy-five thousand pounds of thrust out of a fuel that is essentially a high-tech tire." I walked over to the mandrel and ran a finger along its edge. It was machined to a mirror finish.

"If this works in October, we aren't just looking at a suborbital test. This is the foundation for a heavy lift vehicle that can put a person in orbit for a fraction of the cost of the shuttle. And more importantly, we can shut the engine off if something goes wrong. You can't do that with a solid rocket booster."

"That's the dream," George said, stepping up next to me.

"A safe, throttleable way to reach the stars."

"It's not a dream anymore, George," I said, turning to look at the three of them.

"Let's have a chat about where the company goes from here." I looked around the hangar, seeing the young engineers working with a focused intensity. It reminded me of the focused enthusiasm I saw at GA during the emergency build for Kiev. They didn't know I had just saved the man whose vision started this or that their jobs were secure for the next thirty years.

"What do we need to talk about, John?" George asked.

"Three things, then I need to go," I told them, making eye contact with each of them.

"First, I paid for a flight service. Each trip back and forth uses 12 hours of your life. Now you can go back and forth in the same day," I told them, handing over the business card.

"It's good for as many flights you need for the next three years."

"Second," I continued before they could interrupt.

"I want to buy out every investor who won't agree to separate management shares and common shares. I did it with TWP Media and it has been a critical change. It means the company is free from outside control."

"Wait a minute," George insisted.

"You bought us unlimited flights for three years?"

"Yes. Now the third thing," I said.

"I want The Learning Channel to carry live broadcasts of every launch. What you are doing is exciting and people need to see that."

"But if we crash, then people lose confidence."

"I think you'll just gain more fans. NASCAR isn't famous because people love left turns. If the worry is future investors, forget them. I can cover whatever you need, and with A and B shares, you don't have to worry about me taking control, I'm happy to vote my 25 percent." The hangar air was still and heavy with the smell of rubber and industrial potential as my words disappeared into the cavernous space.

George looked at the business card in his hand as if it were a ticket to a different reality, which in a way, it was. He was supposed to have been on the road today, battling the heat and the fatigue of the long drive south. Instead, he was standing here, fresh and alert, in the heart of his own dream.

"Separate classes of shares," Jim Bennett said, his mind clearly moving through the legal architecture of the proposal.

"A and B shares. That's a classic defensive move, Dr Cook. It keeps the voting power with the founders even if the equity is spread out. You're essentially offering us a shield against hostile takeovers."

"I'm offering you the freedom to fail and the freedom to succeed without a board of directors breathing down your neck because the quarterly numbers look soft," I told him.

"It's the only way to run a rocket company. Space is hard. You can't have people who are afraid of a bad news cycle making engineering decisions." George was still stuck on the first point.

"The flight service. John, do you have any idea what that does for our morale? Our lead engineers are exhausted from that commute. You just gave them back a day of their lives every week."

"Then use that day to make sure the SET-1 doesn't have any vibration issues," I said, a small smile tugging at my mouth.

"As for The Learning Channel, I want the world to see what you're doing. I've already talked to my CEO there. They will turn your launches into a national event. We'll put cameras on the gantry, on the chase planes, and even a few wide-angle lenses on the fuselage if the weight allows it."

"Live TV is a double-edged sword," Bevin cautioned, though I could see the excitement in his eyes.

"But you're right. If we want people to care about space again, they need to see it happening in their living rooms."

"Exactly," I agreed.

"And don't worry about the investors. If they want out because they're afraid of the risk, let them go. I'll pick up the slack. I want this company lean, fast, and focused on the hardware." I looked at my watch. Jack was already signaled by the subtle shift in my posture, and the security team began to compress our perimeter, ready for the move back to the plane.

"I have to get back home," I told them.

"Enjoy your new plane on the way home, it's a lot safer than the highway." George reached out and shook my hand, his grip firm.

"I don't think we realized what kind of partner we were getting, Dr Cook. You're not just an investor. To this team? You're an angel." I let my hand linger on the cool carbon fiber of the rocket casing before turning toward the door.

"I'm a kid who wants to go to the moon, George. And I think you're the guys who can build the ladder." I looked back at the hangar one last time. In another timeline, today might have been the end of this dream. In this one, it was just the beginning.