In which Jefferson Tracy shows his son the secret of Tracy Island
Virgil was tactful enough to say that he would stay on the roof of the roundhouse for a little longer, while John clambered down to make his way back to the house to find his father. As he walked along the overgrown path, he wondered where the connecting passage between the two houses was. And just what the structure was for. John was beginning to wonder if his father was up to something he hadn't told them all about yet.
He slid aside the door to the main house and stepped into the dim corridor. This house had a lot of corridors, he had noticed. Just like Grissom Base. He wondered what subtle trick of design made a person feel agreeably burrowed in in one, and feel trapped in a maze in the other.
He checked the lounge. Nothing. He took a left down another corridor to try to find that lab Scott had referred to, but took a wrong turn and found himself in the hall where his bedroom was. He turned the corner at the end of that hall and wound up walking into a large, if somewhat austere, bedroom. His father was standing in front of a cherrywood bookcase, and looked up as he walked in.
"Oh. Sorry," John said. "I didn't know…" He paused, and looked around. "I didn't know this was your room."
"Come on in. I was just trying to find something to read."
John walked into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. He watched as his father scanned the shelves. "Virgil said you were going to Washington tomorrow."
"I am," his father said. "I'm sorry it has to cut into your visit. I'll be back as soon as I can, but I'm afraid the trip itself can't be avoided."
"That's all right," John said. "I don't expect you to rearrange your schedule for me."
His father glanced over at him. "I suppose you don't. Which might be a problem in and of itself." He picked a book off the shelf and scanned the back cover. "Tell me, did you read those books I sent you?"
"Of course." His father had sent him a two-volume biography of Alexander Hamilton and an extensively annotated copy of his letters. John could have used all three for free weights. Force-feeding them books was a habit of their father's from an early age.
"We should try to get a chance to talk about them." Jeff said.
"That would be nice."
His father looked at him, sitting politely on the edge of the bed. It was always a bit harder with John. There wasn't much of the meeting of the minds that he had with Scott, or the shared interests that he had with Virgil; and John had none of Gordon and Alan's easy affability. He was prouder of his son than he ever could say, and had missed him terribly while he was gone. But his relationship with John had always been tinged with an odd formality. John had a rigid focus that often reminded Jeff of his own father, and it was a little disconcerting to see the personality trait responsible for some of the larger arguments in his own childhood displayed by his son.
His father put the book back on the shelf. "I realize I should have told you why I brought you down from Grissom Base. I want you to understand that there was no way I could have explained to you while you were still there, and if there was any other way, I would not have done it. I know you're angry."
"I'm not." John said.
"You are, but I appreciate you putting it aside for the moment. And it's important that you understand why I did what I did."
John nodded, expressionless.
Why was traversing physical distances seen as such an accomplishment, Jeff Tracy wondered, when three feet could seem like light years. He took a breath.
"It will be easier if I just show you."
John followed his father out of his bedroom, down the hall and into the lounge.
"I don't know if you've been following some of the developments of the company in the past few years," Jeff said, as they turned off the lounge and went down a hallway John hadn't had a chance to explore yet.
"Um…sort of," John said. "Actually, no. I haven't."
His father chuckled. "That's all right. Your attention has been legitimately diverted. However, if you had, you would have noticed that we've been making some great strides in high speed, fuel-efficient aircraft." Jeff stopped, and opened a door, revealing a flight of stairs. He started down, and John followed, intrigued.
"Scott mentioned something about it, I think. Some new prototypes," John said.
"Yes. There are some things that Scott, Brains, Virgil and I have been working on outside of the company."
"Outside of the company? How?"
"For years, I've been directing the research and development of the company and its subs towards one goal. And in the past eight years, we've made breakthroughs that even I never thought were possible."
John paused on the bottom step. "What goal?" Jeff began striding down the narrow, dimly-lit hallway that stretched before them.
"Do you know why it was so easy for me to leave NASA?" Jeff asked.
"I thought…you know, because of Mom…"
"Well, yes. My responsibility was to you boys. But I could have removed myself out of the space flight program and into something else that required less time away and still remained within the program."
John hadn't known this. "So then why?"
"Because I sat down and asked myself, what is the point of the space program?"
John paused for a half a step. "I just had this conversation with Nancy. I've been having it with myself, too. What did you come up with?"
"That shift of the focus from discovery and exploration by unmanned craft to manned craft was essentially a thinly disguised attempt to add an extra trillion or two to the Pentagon's budget."
John let out a breath. "Do you think that's true of ISA?"
"It depends."
"On what?"
"Intent. Aside from actual weapons development, most technologically is morally neutral. A bomber can drop food. The collaborative nature of ISA is remarkable, if it is exactly what it purports to be. I don't know if it is or not. I don't have any reason to doubt it at the moment, but the program is, relatively speaking, young."
"I guess if you thought they were evil, you wouldn't have taken the contract."
Jeff laughed. "I appreciate your faith in my integrity."
"Well, if it's why you quit NASA…" John said. "Is that really why you left?"
"Yes. And it affected how I wanted the company to be structured. All of the best technological advancements were occurring under the aegis of the military," Jeff explained. "And if they weren't, they were all appropriated by the military. The balance was off. The balance is still off, but I decided that I would begin working to expand technologies that wouldn't be used by the military. Wouldn't be used to exploit the environment. Would, if possible, fix some of the problems that I saw happening around the world."
John raised his eyebrows. His father glanced at him and he quickly shifted his expression back to neutral.
"Of course, this was always the idea in the back of my mind – I would do it if I could. There's a practical side to Tracy Industries as well. But once the corporation really became solidified, I was able to guide the R&D back to my original goal."
"Which was what?"
"Did you read about the earthquake in Eritrea?"
"Yeah," John said. "A few months ago."
"What happened?"
"I don't know. There was an earthquake. I didn't really pay much attention."
"Eritrea is a desperately poor country with an extremely limited infrastructure. When the earthquake struck, their lines of communications were cut. What limited rescue resources they had were woefully inadequate to the task. The western states were slow in sending first responders – I don't need to tell you why – and thousands of people died. Three thousand and twelve, to be exact."
John nodded. This happened all the time.
"Did you read about what happened in Georgia in August?"
John shook his head.
"The flood?"
Feeling chagrined, John shook his head again.
"A tropical storm stalled over Georgia, giving them the worst flooding in the history of the state. Five rivers burst their banks. They declared a state of emergency, but they had a bad hurricane season and had already gone over their FEMA limit, and since most of the rescue groups in the south are privatized, they won't mobilize unless the money is guaranteed."
"I know that," John said. "What happened?"
"Sixty-five people drowned. Every year, it gets worse," Jeff said. "The best equipment is simply beyond the price range of most city and state governments. The programs get cut. People die. And that's in industrialized countries – that's in the country that's supposed to be the number one economic force in the world. In Africa, Latin America, the mideast – some places they don't have anything. And there are limits to where the RCRC will go." Jeff shook his head. "It used to be that governments believed they had a social contract with their people to protect them, and in return the people would consent to be governed. That contract is eroding faster than I ever would have imagined. It's a betrayal of our own humanity. Do you agree?"
"Sure," John said. He was growing more confused with every step he took. He didn't dare stop to question now.
Jeff stopped. They were standing in front of a metal door. Jeff put his hand on a plate, and the door slid open in a swirl of cool, damp air. Jeff motioned for his son to precede him.
Hesitating slightly, John stepped inside. He was standing in a corridor, lit by light bulbs encased in small metal cages hung intermittently along a long cable. He stared ahead of him confusedly, and started when his father placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Go ahead."
John stepped forward into the corridor. They walking on a metal grating. John reached out and touched the wall – it was rough rock, cool and slightly damp. He realized they were inside the mountain.
They had reached the end of the walkway, and were standing in front of a narrow metal door. John smiled. "This has got to be one hell of an plane."
Jeff turned to his son. "I need to extract a promise from you. What you are about to see is the result of ten years of top secret research. No matter what you decide, I need your word that you will never, absolutely never, disclose what you are about to see to anyone."
John regarded his father warily. "You want me to give you my word that I won't tell anyone what's behind this here door?"
"Yes."
John looked at his father with suspicion mixed with the tiniest bit of apprehension. Still, there wasn't any way to say no. "All right. You have it."
His father punched a code on a keypad next to the door, and the door slid open.
It took a moment, his eyes warring with his brain, fact against reason. His eyes took in the massive dark shape in front of him and his brain dismissed it as a shadow and then a support pillar until his gaze traveled higher and higher still. He tipped his head so far back, following it up into darkness that he lost his balance and staggered back, and then backed up more, trying to fit it into his view. It couldn't be. The dull light in the room glinted off dark red metal, and the room was filled with the heavy, acrid smell of oil and baked stone.
Behind him, his father hit a button. "Scott, Virgil, come down to the silo."
John spun around. "This isn't an airplane."
His father smiled. "No, John, it's definitely not an airplane."
John stared back up at the shape that towered above them. Everything in his brain was screaming that this was a complete impossibility, even as the undeniable massive presence above him forced him to acquiesce. It hung above him, looming like building. "Please tell me that this isn't a missile," he whispered.
The shock on his father's face reassured him before his father hastened out a negative.
"This is no payload to this. This is strictly transport."
John stared back up at it. The machine glowed a dull red in the dim light. His father continued.
"This, John, is a Saturn-type rocket capable of reentry and relaunch. It has three chemical rockets used for launch, landing, emergency boost and orbit change, and three ion-drive particle accelerators used in deep space. It's more powerful that the current rockets being used by NASA – and, incidentally, ISA – at the moment, and safer and more versatile than the current shuttle."
Scott and Virgil came into the room, looking sober but happy. John stared at them for a moment, and then turned back to this father.
"This is a rocket."
"Yes."
"This is a space ship?" His voice climbed an octave, and he had to clear his throat.
"Yes."
John stared in wonder at the machine in front of him. "I've never seen anything like it. I don't understand. How can you have ion-drive particle accelerators? That's theoretical technology."
"Not anymore."
John's eyes grew very wide. "NASA has been developing something along these lines, but it's all stil on paper." His voice was veering between excitement and hysteria. "If what you're saying is true…wait a minute." He stopped and wheeled around. "Transport to where?"
"To a currently unmanned low-orbit satellite."
John opened his mouth to say something, but nothing coherent came to mind.
"The satellite is a communications monitoring satellite," his father continued. "It has the ability – or it will when the equipment is installed – to capture and process all communications – radio, cell phone, and – well, let's focus on those two – from pretty much anywhere on earth."
John raised his eyebrows briefly, impressed despite himself. "Seriously?"
"Seriously," Jeff said dryly.
John looked down for a moment, thinking. "Who is capturing all this information?"
"I am. Or, I will be. We will be."
"The company is…"
"Not the company. Us."
"You?"
"Yes."
"You have a satellite. Personally."
"Yes."
John shook his head. "No."
"No?"
"You don't have a satellite, Dad. I'm sorry, but individuals are not allowed to put satellites into space. And there are federal laws against monitoring cell phone transmissions. What you're talking about is completely illegal."
"I'm not interested in eavesdropping…" Jeff said impatiently.
"I'm sure that will reassure the CIA, the FBI, and the millions of private citizens who…"
"There is a larger purpose here," Jeff cut him off sharply.
"Yeah, that's what's so alarming," John shot back. "Every violation of civil liberties begins with…"
"All right, all right," Scott cut in. "We are way off track here." He looked at his younger brother. "Just hold up for a second, Thomas Jefferson." He turned to face his father. "I think you need to back up explain the whole thing. Maybe a little more slowly." He pointed a warning finger at John. "And you need to listen."