Weightless For Three Minutes

By Neil King

The story tells of two teams competing for a prize of $10,000,000 for the first start-up group to send up a rocket to near inner space carrying three passengers. The rocket must fly up sufficiently high that on descent the passengers will be weightless for three minutes.

The two teams are made up of rocket science graduates but go about th

• Language: English
• Publisher: CMD
• Release date: Feb 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781954223226

Neil King

Neil King Jr. is a former national political reporter and editor for the Wall Street Journal. He was deeply involved in the coverage of 9/11 that won the Journal the Pulitzer Prize. He has also written for the New York Times, the Atlantic, and other publications. American Ramble is his first book. He lives in Washington, D.C.

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Copyright © 2021 by Neil King

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The real pleasure was having the chance to enjoy being weightless, and the other was to spend more time looking out at this beautiful Earth we are all lucky to inhabit.

Robert Crippen

Retired astronaut

Dedication

For Marion, the light of my life

Chapter 1

Tony Welcomb, Bob Riley and two of their engineers had been to the small town of Broken River to do their weekly stock-up and have a couple of glasses of beer. When they found the door of the office had been left open, they knew there was a problem.

Hell’s teeth. Will you look at that?

Tony surveyed the wreckage of his office. Office was a glorified description of his portacabin which had a utilitarian recycled wooden desk, three plastic chairs and a metal filing cabinet which had seen better days. A small safe screwed down into the floor completed the furniture. A wide window had been cut out of the wall of the portacabin to provide some natural light. In spite of being in the middle of nowhere they had managed to secure electricity and phone lines which serviced the four cabins which formed the make-up of the company. It was run on a shoestring, with the optimistic name of Reach For The Stars. As well as office space, the cabins provided basic accommodation for Tony and his five colleagues as well as storage and a meeting and eating area. Showering and toilet facilities were in a prefabricated hut. They took turns with cooking.

The complex sat in twenty acres in the Mojave Desert at the border between Arizona and California, near the Colorado River. The only other features were a flatbed truck on which sat a twenty foot rocket. When they were ready to launch on the final da, a much larger rocket would be sitting in a silo and held in place by a huge gantry. Storage tanks for fuel completed the facilities. The casual observer would realise that the rocket was indeed intended to reach for the stars. However, there were unlikely to be many visitors to the company, set as it was in its isolated location. There was nothing but desert all around. In the distance were the Newberry Mountains and nearer, but out of sight, were the gorges of the Colorado River. The isolation was necessitated by the restriction on the use of airspace both in the UK, from which the idea of the group originated, and the USA. Fortunately the latter had wilderness areas suitable for the company’s programme, and the inevitable bureaucracy had been overcome.

Bob, how on earth did the bastards get in with all our security measures? We’ve got razor wire, four cameras attached to an alarm system and a state of the art coded lock to allow the gate to open. We thought we had covered every possibility.

Tony had met Bob Riley, his partner, while they were both on postgraduate fellowships in Florida. The two of them were in their thirties. While Tony was English, over six feet tall, quiet, slim and had thinning blond hair, Bob was from California, squat, and had a full head of curly black hair. He tended to extroversion. They had gelled immediately when they met and on Tony’s suggestion soon became partners in a technology venture.

Bob put his hands to his head and cursed.

The’ve really done the place over, but how did they get in? Look, they’ve taken the laptop and, judging from the papers all over the floor, they’ve been into the filing cabinet.

Tony stepped over the papers and searched frantically through the files in the top drawer.

I knew it, he said. They were after the technology for the rocket and the details of our advanced fuel system. I’ll bet it’s Chris bloody Peters who’s at the root of all this. He knows we’re ahead of him in the space race competition, although I don’t know where he got the information.

But Colin and Bill stayed back to have someone on site while we were in town. Where the devil are they?

Brian Taylor, one of the other engineers rushed in. Boss, Colin’s in a bad way. He’s unconscious and his head’s bleeding. He’s in cabin three.

What? What the hell’s going on? Bob, we’d better get to him, Tony said.

Whoever broke in disabled the intercom, the telephone and the cameras, said Brian. The screens are blank."

Christ, it looks like a really professional job. Thank goodness for the satellite phone. Here, Brian, take it. Get an ambulance. Dial 911. We’re technically in the Reservation so phone the Reservation Police and the Sheriff as well while we go and check on Colin. For God’s sake, where’s Bill? Someone’s going to have to pay for this.

******************

$10,000,000 prize for the first start-up company to construct a rocket which will carry three passengers to a position in inner space which will allow the passengers to be weightless for at least three minutes. The money was offered by a billionaire eccentric who was besotted with the idea of space travel, but would not fly himself until a safe system had been developed. He didn’t want any of the big players such as Richard Branson, Blue Origin and Space X to be involved.

The prize advertisement was posted in all the relevant main journals, and it inspired Tony Welcomb, Chris Peters and several others to put all their efforts into the space race. Tony and Bob had secured basic funding from special endowment funds from Bridgeford University in England and Berkton College in America in a collaborative project. They were two of the outstanding institutions in space technology. Reach For The Stars had been working on the project for over three years. It had already successfully launched several weightless environment, the currently available fuel systems would have to be improved.

******************

Tony and Bob looked anxiously at Colin Bell who lay on the floor of the cabin with his head in a small pool of blood. His scalp wound had stopped bleeding, but Tony was worried that Colin’s pulse rate was slow and he was deeply unconscious..

He’s had such a bash on the head, Tony said,"he’s in a bad way. There may be bleeding inside as well as outside his skull. This is urgent. We have to get the lad to hospital asap. I’d better phone an ER to see whether it’s safe to drive Colin to the nearest big hospital in an ambulance or even arrange for an air ambulance to make the transfer? Sod the expense. They were fully covered with insurance for medical problems. In spite of the concern for Colin, Tony couldn’t help thinking that the burglary was going to set them back several months and quite a few thousand dollars. He felt guilty thinking this way when Colin’s state was so serious.

Had we better tell Chuck what’s happened, Bob asked. Chuck was their main source of funding. After completing a Business degree at Berkton College, he had made his money in car sales and had a string of showrooms throughout the southern states of the USA. He had felt moved to put something back into the College which had made him so successful and had read about the expertise of the two universities in the space field.

One of the boys had already tried to mop up some of the blood and put a folded blanket under Colin’s head. He had turned him on his side to make sure he wouldn’t inhale any sick.

Brian, stay with him and call us if there’s any change in his condition. We’ll come running. I want a quiet word with Bob.

The two stepped out into the searing heat. Tony shook his head in frustration.

What a bloody mess. They’ve nearly killed one of our boys, they’ve taken all our info that took years of work. I’d pack the whole thing in if we hadn’t backed up everything on flash drives and put them in the safe. They must have cut a hole in the fence somewhere. I hate to say it, but to disable all our guard ware they must have had some inside help. Has anyone seen Bill?

Looks like he may be the one, Bob said, but I’d had sworn all our lads were completely loyal. Do you think Bill was the source and he’s scarpered?

Tony’s lips pursed. The only way there could be a leak is if there was a massive bribe and we know Peters’ lot is awash with cash from that crook Bellini.

I don’t see what’s in it for Bellini, he said. Although $10,000,000 is a huge amount for us, he gets so much from his drugs and prostitution rackets, the prize is a spit in the ocean for him. Maybe because he’s backed Peters and wants to be one of the first passengers, he also wants a return on his investment.

Bob sighed. God, I hope Colin’s okay. I’ll bet he doesn’t have a clue who did this, although for sure, he must have seen them getting in on one of the monitors.

Well, let’s also hope he wakes up and he doesn’t have any permanent damage, Tony said. We’d better make a start to getting this place in order. Thanks goodness we’ve got our personal laptops, although I’m surprised they weren’t taken. We should just load up one of them now and put it in the safe, in case they have another go. Meanwhile we’d better contact the security firm that’s meant to keep an eye on us and get everything set up again. This place is so far away from anywhere, it’ll be some time before the emergency services reach us. He scratched his head. It’s difficult to know if the police will want the place untouched in case there are any clues as to who the intruders are. Maybe we should just walk round the perimeter and see if there’s a place where they’ve cut the fence. We could do a lot worse than get a tracker from of of our Mojave Native American friends.

Bob pursed his lips. Better just leave it to the sheriff or the local police. We can tell them of our suspicions, but I bet Peters’ lot are too careful to have left anything incriminating. Come on let’s get back to Colin. We can pick up a couple of ice cold beers on the way. It’s hotter than Hades today. We’d better open the gate to let the guys in, then all we can do is wait. It was twenty-five minutes later before they saw the flashing lights of the emergency services. During that time, Colin hadn’t moved and the team looked increasingly anxious. Tony stepped out to wave in the ambulance which screeched to a halt in a cloud of terracotta-coloured dust, closely followed by two police cars. Tony pointed inside. It took only a couple of minutes for the paramedics to make their assessment.

This is one real sick guy. We need to get him straight back to Lake Havasu City. I don’t know if they can handle brain injuries there and they may have to copter him over to Phoenix. He’s going to need a scan then probably surgery. I hope it’s not too late. With that they fixed a collar round Colin’s neck, carefully placed him on a stretcher and climbed into the ambulance.

Bob, one of us should go with him and someone can collect him when we know how Colin is.

Sure. I’ll go and you can tell the cops all about it. He climbed in behind the paramedics. One jumped out and into the driver’s seat. In a further swirl of dust, the ambulance sped away across the desert.

Chapter 2

Tom Keenes sat with his wife Angela at the table in the modern kitchen of their one storey ranch house on the Colorado River Indian Reservation. It had a ceramic hob with an air extractor, a dishwasher and a fridge-freezer. Tom was a member of the Fort Mohave tribe. The Reservation also housed members of the Chemehuevi, Hopi and Navajo peoples. Tom had recently been appointed Tribal Chairman of the Reservation Council. The post was akin to the mayor of a small town, although the geographic area was much wider, with a population of just over two thousand. His duties crossed a wide spectrum of administrative, entertainment, cultural and figurehead areas. He was a striking figure of a man in his sixties, broad chested, over six feet tall and with a lined and deeply tanned face that suggested he had seen many good and bad times. Angela retained the beauty of her youth and she had matured with a calm confidence to become an asset to her husband in his new position. In fact, the other women and even some men would come to her first to discuss their problems before tackling the Chairman.

Tom couldn’t help thinking that almost within living memory he and Angela might have been called by traditional native American names. They would have been sitting in a thatched shack with a firepit for cooking their food. That had all changed when his parents’ tribe and the other Colorado River tribes had been forced into a reservation. They had to take on European-American names and change into Western clothes. Men often used to wear just loincloths,. In cooler weather they would don rabbit skin robes or ponchos. Their hair might be adorned with a pelican plume. Women wore knee-length skirts. Extensive tattooing was used for both men and women. When the white man came, their customs customs and culture were threatened. Education was determined by state administrators of the school system and they had to strictly follow the curriculum. At least in more recent times, efforts had been made to revive tribal customs and culture and allow the four tribes in the reservation to retain their unique cultural identities.

Tom, you’re not listening to me. You’re miles away. What’s bothering you.? Is it a Council thing or worry about that son of ours and the bad company he keeps?

Nothing so deep, but I wonder if our rocket friends have a problem. Angela frowned and Tom went on. I was in the high lands looking over the reservation. You know you can see for many miles around. Although it’s a distance away, I saw a police car and an ambulance going to their complex. Within a few minutes the ambulance, lights flashing, raced from there onto the Lake Havasu Road. He pushed back his chair and rose. I hope no-one’s really ill. I’d better phone and see if they need any assistance. They’ve always been ready to help us.

Tom, you can’t take everyone’s worries on your shoulders. Sit down and finish your lunch.

I’ll be back in a minute. She shook her head. This probably wouldn’t concern him, but he was taking his responsibilities very seriously.

He was back very quickly.

There’s something very odd going on. The phone line’s dead. I think I’ll drop by.

Not before you finish that trout, mister. Whatever else we say about our son, he’s a good fisherman. He just brought these for us last night and I’ve made your favourite pie.

He smiled at her. He may be Council head, but when his wife was in this kind of mood, she would brook no argument. Lunch finished, he licked his lips, pushed back his chair and rose.

He kissed her. That was really good, Angela.

She pushed him off with her apron.

You stink of fish, Chief, she laughed.

Listen, I’m going. I’ve got my cell phone. You know where I’ll be if anyone’s looking for me.

She took the dirty plates to the sink and stood at the kitchen door, sighing as she saw the white pickup disappearing in a cloud of dust. He’s going to burn himself out if he carries on like this, she thought.

******************

The Sheriff was still there when Tom Keenes arrived. Tony and Bob were in the meeting cabin giving the full story to the Sheriff. Tom listened without interrupting but understood the full gravity of the break-in. The deed had happened on his patch and he made it clear he would give every assistance to the partners to catch the perpetrators and see they were brought to justice.

David Lane, the Sheriff, alias Speeding Arrow, which he preferred to be called on ceremonial occasions, called the incident ‘an aggravated burglary.’ It might well become a murder. He had arrived first, before the Police Chef, Dick Rodgers, also known as Flying Eagle. It would be given the highest priority. Drunken fights, occasionally involving knives, or petty crimes were what he usually had to deal with, but he was anxious to have it on record that he had solved a major crime. It was only a few months before there would be a re-election for the position of sheriff, and he wanted to stay in post.

Mr Lane, said Tony, we tried to touch as little as possible so that prints could be taken, but I’m afraid we had to look through the files in the top drawer of the filing cabinet to see if anything important had been taken. I know we should have kept it locked, but there’s only ourselves here. Anything on the floor, we’ve left. I hope we’ve not muddied the waters for you.

You’ve told me that the file on your advance fuel system has gone. Did you patent it? If not, you’d better get it done very quickly to prevent whoever took it to claim it as their own.

Tony and Bob looked at each other and shook their heads.

We’re so damn stupid, said Bob. We’ve done that with everything else including the early fuel systems. We’ve been tinkering with an advance system and haven’t yet got round to updating the patent on the latest version. Everything’s been backed up so at least we can get the papers together. Unfortunately they also took our rocket model, but we do have it all on hard-drive.

Tony cut in. The nearest patent office is in Phoenix. They know us there, so I’ll phone ahead and make sure that bastard Chris Peters doesn’t jump the gun on us.

You seem positive this fellow Peters is responsible one way or the other for the break-in, said Lane. How can you be so sure?

He’s the only one that can really make use of the modified fuel process, and he’s hell-bent on taking the $10,000,000 prize for getting three passengers briefly into space in rockets we’re both building. He’s visited us before and somehow got wind of what we were working on. Who else would want a model of our rocket system? I hate to think it was one of our boys that gave away our secrets.?"

The Sheriff stood up.

So there’s a lot at stake here. People would kill for a lot less than ten million bucks. I’ll get the forensics people to come out straight away, and get prints from you all. If there are any footprints we can’t recognise, we’ll make casts of those too. Even though there’s just the six of you here, we’ll need to tape off the area round the cabins. Right, let’s go. Show me where you think they got through the fence, but be careful you don’t mess any tracks that we can make use of. Let me go first, but you can guide me to the place.

The two partners and the other engineers followed Lane, Keenes and a deputy out to the perimeter fence and kept well clear of the trail of foot prints leading to and from the cabins. No attempt had been made to hide them. It would have been difficult initially to locate the breech in the fence had it not been for the tracks. Three sides of a square had been cut in the mesh, allowing the opening to be pulled back then returned once the deed had been done.

It’s almost a lost art, but we’ve got a couple of good trackers in the village, said Tom. I think they could make something of these footprints and the tyre tracks outside. What do you think, boys?

Tony and Bob exchange glances. They’d made that suggestion themselves.

We’d appreciate that. Anything that takes this mess forward has to be good. Tony sighed. What I don’t understand, Sheriff, is how it all could have been done in broad daylight. The wires to the security system have been cut and the tapes removed and the telephone line is down. Colin has always seemed rock solid, but he knew in advance that he would be staying back with Bill to keep and eye on the place. Where’s Bill anyway? His expression was grim. I hate to say it, but could he be the mole? Colin is fighting for his life just now, but it’s possible that Peters got what he wanted from him and then needed to get rid of any witnesses.

Chapter 3

B runo, I’m trying to put together a team which can put a rocket sufficiently high that a couple of passengers could achieve weightlessness for a few minutes. It’s going to take some doing, but if I have the right people in the team, we can build on what I’ve already done and I think we could make it.

Chris Peters was a member of an undergraduate student group at UCLA (University College of Los Angeles) which launched hybrid rockets. He went on to a postgraduate degree and with a couple of colleagues, using a grant from his college, they tried to send rockets up to space proper. They hoped one day to be able to send passengers up and return them safely to the ground. The first thing would be to try and achieve weightlessness.

To escape the Earth’s atmosphere and return passengers safely to the ground, he told his group, a rocket, accelerating to a speed of 17,500 mph to escape gravity, would take about 150 seconds to get into space. He paused for effect. But we don’t actually need to escape the atmosphere, which is about 62 miles up. In the first instance, we just need to get up high enough that with free fall, the passengers would be weightless for a short period. I reckon that means they have to reach a height of somewhere between thirty and thirty-five miles. To lift the heavy payload and get the rocket up high enough, we’re going to have to develop the right fuel mixture. He was worried about that. His small team just didn’t have the expertise. That was when he came across the advertisement for a competition with a $10,000,000 prize to send a rocket with three passengers high enough to have them weightless for three minutes. It was exactly what he was trying to achieve.

He realised that pump priming from the college’s endowment fund would go nowhere near paying for the cost of the whole project and he was desperate to source a very wealthy backer who would provide a more or less blank cheque for the exercise. He set about augmenting his team. Securing it had been surprisingly easy. Past fellow students were almost queuing up to be involved in the exciting project. Accommodation would be provided, so the small salary deterred only a few prospective candidates. One of those applying was Bruno Bellini, the intellectually bright son of a prominent but dubious Phoenix business man, Carlo Bellini, who owned night clubs. The police had investigated him more than once, but were never able to charge him. It was a chance meeting in a student-frequented bar that had provided Peters the initial contact with Bruno.

Is your old man the Carlo Bellini, Bruno? I’ve seen his name in the paper. I know he gives quite a lot of money to good causes, but sometimes he seems to get bad press.

Bruno sighed. Here it was again. He would be given the cold shoulder if he admitted it.

Look, I’m not passing any judgement, said Chris, I just wondered if he had any interest in space travel. He explained the provisions of the prize.

If I say he’s my father, am I out of the frame for the team?

No way. I’ve read about your grades. You’re a star and you’re in. Bruno had graduated summa cum laude and was first in his class. He was described as being highly motivated.

Bruno smiled. Well in that case I can tell you that he’s obsessed with the idea of being like an astronaut even for a very short period. He just wouldn’t want to be away from all his luxury and businesses for any length of time.

Look, you know about the competition and the prize money. I’m desperately trying to raise some funding for the project. I don’t suppose he’d be prepared to back us. It’s a long haul thing. I reckon it’ll take at least five years to get a decent-sized rocket to where we want it. Of course we’ll have blown our chance of the prize if we can’t get the passengers down in one piece. One of the team will have to be a passenger and the other two will be paying for their ticket.

We don’t get on all that well, but I’d be happy to go up with you to the old boy. It’s worth a try.

I think all the team would want to go, into space, so we’ll have to do it by ballot. Anyway, do you really think your Dad would be interested to help with funding?

Bruno shrugged. He’s no sucker in any deal, but I can ask him. In case he’s for it, you have to understand that he’ll do it on his own terms.

Chris Peters had a brief moment of concern about involving Bellini, but he had to take the chance.

Bruno, can you set up a meeting with your old man, and make sure you’re there to support me. We can get together first so I can tell you what I plan and the likely timescale.

They shook hands on the arrangement.

It’s my round, said Peters. What’ll you have?

******************

It was ten o’clock at night and Peters had left early to drive from his studio apartment in Glendale, Arizona to nearby Phoenix to be sure he was on time. Although he stayed mostly on the site of his project, he maintained an apartment since he often had to order parts or have some R and R away from the rest of his team. He looked round the club where Bruno had arranged to meet his father. The place was heaving. Scantily clad girls were writhing to the blaring music, and their partners, male and female were writhing in concert. If the dancers were scantily clad, the waitresses wore even less. Hot pants and a bikini top allowed anyone interested to feast their eyes on a collection of lovely girls. The lights were dim but the glitzy décor and rotating laser lights aded to the frenetic feeling. A disc jockey called out the chart tunes and artists nonstop. The booming beat was dizzying.

Your eyes are out on stalks, laughed Bruno. Just remember to keep your hands to yourself. It’s window shopping only here.

You’re having to shout so that I can hear you, said Peters, so how on earth can I have a decent conversation with your Dad? Boy, I could do with a drink.

Bruno clicked his fingers and beckoned over one of the pretty waitresses. She had raven hair, dazzling teeth and a radiant smile.

I can get you anything you want, pal, and that’s not restricted to drinks. Rena, can you serve this young man? He tells me he’s thirsty. I’ll have my usual.

She gave Bruno a come hither smile. It’ll be my pleasure, Bruno. What can I get you, sir?

Chris nearly forgot why he came, but managed to ask for an ice cold beer.

Bruno, do you know all the staff? Hey! What a joint. I bet you’ve no shortage of willing girls. It’s not the first time I’ve clubbed, but this is something else.

Strict rule, Chris. No touching, though they’re are constantly doing heir best to tempt me. It’s hard for a red-blooded guy to stay cool. The drinks arrived but almost immediately a tall dark-suited, a gorilla-sized man with a buzz hair cut approached and said Mr. Bellini is ready to see you now. If you’d like to follow me. They quickly gulped down their drinks.

Peters had seen this kind of scenario in the movies, but here he was experiencing it first hand. It wasn’t just the heat of the room that was beginning to make him sweat. The big man cut a swathe through the heaving bodies and Chris and Bruno followed him to one corner of the dance floor and to the end of a short wood-panelled corridor. He knocked at a door and when he heard come he ushered the two into the room and withdrew. Carlo Bellini was also a sizeable man, who looked as though he was as broad as he was tall. He came round from his highly polished teak desk and Peters saw he had a bespoke suit and hand-made Italian shoes. As Carlo Hugged his son, he almost crushed the breath out of him.

Bruno, we don’t see very much of you, son. Your Mama doesn’t like it. Come for a meal and bring your friend with you. Anyway, you’d better introduce me to him. Introductions made, and after shaking hands, Bellini pointed to plush leather armchairs.

Right, let’s get down to business. I know this isn’t a social call.

Peters was not usually a nervous individual but he looked to Bruno to start things off.

Dad, are you still hooked on the idea of space travel? Bellini frowned. Where was this leading to? You know I majored in space science at college, well we’ve got a proposition for you. Chris is leading a team to get three passengers into space in a rocket so that they’re weightless for about three minutes.

Carlo could work out what was coming, but wanted the detail. It was Peter’s turn.

Two top rank universities with an interest in the area have offered some start-up money to get us going. There’s a prize of $10,000,000 for the winning team. The big players aren’t allowed to enter, and the competition is aimed at small commercial enterprises or academic institutions. He paused. Bellini was a second generation Italian. He had been educated at Basis Phoenix, the top ranked school in the area, continued to a law degree, then opted for the family entertainment business. His accent was cultured.

Go on, said Bellini. Where do I come in?

Peters looked to Bruno, who studiously ignored him. He sat forward in his chair.

Two ways, hopefully. I’m looking for three passengers altogether. One member from our team who will be able to handle all the controls and two who are interested in the flight itself. He took a deep breath. It’s not going to happen tomorrow. I reckon the whole project will take about five years but I’m sure we can get there first.

And the second way?

I’m looking for a sponsor to help with the funding. He wan’t sure what to say next. I’d give back $4,000,000 of the prize and the rest would be shared with the team. He saw Bruno’s eyebrows rise. That had never been discussed. Was it a big enough carrot for the old boy, he wondered?

Bellini reached for the intercom. Margo, bring in some cocktails and some nibbles.

Well, at least he wasn’t going to be eaten alive, thought Peters. He must be considering the idea.

What guarantee do I have that I’ll come back in one piece? I’m still too young to leave everything to Bruno, even assuming he would want to take over? His brows beetled and his icy stare transfixed Peters. He’d better be straight with this man.

We’ll be sending up a dog or some other animal first and bringing back the passenger part of the rocket using a specially designed parachute. That’s been done before, so we know it works. He swallowed. "With this kind of thing there can’t be a cast iron