Nought's had, all's spent, where our desire is got without content.
"Things were bad enough before this, Tom. We're going to be set back by this by at least a few months, and we could be finished just as 2077 begins if anything more happens. At that point, it won't only be our chance at being chosen for the Mars Shot that will be forfeit."
"I know that damn well, Rory, hence the cleanup, hence the NDAs, hence working to prevent or at the very least ensure there will be no hope for any lawsuits one might get the stupid idea to go up against us with, hence destroying evidence, hence us delaying any and all further photoshoots until at least February, and hence most of the other damned things we've had to do in the last fortnight under the burden of less and less sleep!"
Thomas Joan Reinhardt slammed the door to his office shut barely a few seconds after Dr. Rory Newton McClellan entered no more than a step or two behind him. Clicking the lock on it shut with his key and swiping his ID card to set access requests on Do Not Disturb, Reinhardt scowled at Dr. McClellan when he sat down with not only his computer and mobile but a massive stack of paperwork. In no better a mood than his colleague, Dr. McClellan took a glimpse at his mobile, frustrated at the sight of a slew of messages from his three kids about school, about extracurriculars, about what they were planning on doing for dinner. If Patricia gets angry with me for ignoring them and letting them get whatever take away they want from wherever they want, she can take it up with them. They're teenagers, they don't have to do what you want all the damn time. Shutting his mobile off, McClellan watched as Thomas slammed his own mobile down on his desk, swearing under his breath, and watching still as he logged into his computer terminal. Reinhardt's fingers curled against his computer's keyboard and his jaw clenched under his attempts to restrain himself from swearing more. Every thought that raced through his mind weakened that resolve. When he opened his emails and calendar, he found himself swearing and irritably muttering to himself again. A meeting in a little less than an hour.
Just another thing to have to think about.
Just another thing added to the list of all needing cleaned up.
"As I believe I've made it sufficiently clear to you why dealing with this in the open would be a bad thing for you and your family, Dr. McClellan," Reinhardt said, glaring at the man over the top of his computer terminal. "We're left with the question of what to do. If this were even a little less of a horrendous mess than it is, I'd probably ask our CFO to move some money around to hire and swear to secrecy a fixer, but that won't be feasible even for Tony, and Tony Graff is one of the – though I will never say so to him – most competent members of this company."
"I told you the XMB wasn't ready for a test fire," McClellan pointedly reminded him. "It never should have been armed in the first place, much less for something like a bloody press op."
"Which you, obviously, didn't communicate well enough, because otherwise we wouldn't be in this situation," Reinhardt's hands fell to clench the edge of his desk. "I expected more from you when I took the risk of putting someone on a Green Card on as my CTO, and you should consider yourself lucky I haven't decided to boot you and your family onto a plane right back to the UK."
McClellan narrowed his eyes, stiffening. "Threaten me as you wish, Tom, but you and I both know you won't do that because of what I know. If you had listened to anyone but yourself and waited for a press op and demonstration of the XMB until February in the first place, as we are now, this likely never would have happened and we wouldn't be looking at having to delay the press op even further than that either."
"It wouldn't have happened if the dumb shit of a photographer hadn't snuck into the facility and the XMB Test Site, or if that moron of a technician hadn't let a janitor be able to accidentally fire the fucking thing!" Reinhardt took a few seconds to try and calm his tone. "I am starting to think this was, on some level, sabotage, and I've set Sam on everything and everyone who could have had a motive for this to happen, and who was down and working on or accessing that area before it happened! When I find who was responsible – and I will – they are going to wish they had come forward instead of being found out."
McClellan raised an eyebrow. "Because of the financial issues the company has been having since beginning to work on our pitch for the Mars Shot last year?"
"Precisely because of that!" Reinhardt snapped. "We've already been lagging with funding from both the military and outside investors, and the USSA or NASA or whatever the fuck they want to call themselves today are going to start breathing down our necks for the results we promised like everybody else fighting for the final contract to have by December of 2077 – a little less than a year from now – that we may very well not!"
"Do we know anything about the state of the work of our competitors?" McClellan said, pushing the paperwork he had brought with to the side and opening his laptop. "If so, we should probably begin to run models based on what we know they have and are working on."
Reinhardt snorted. "We know a decent bit about the plans by SpaceX, thanks to a few of my old contacts there from the '40s. We also know most of what Poseidon Energy are drafting, though they're not as interested in being the home of the Mars Shot as ourselves or, even, some of our competitors. As for REPCONN…"
"Their security is as tight as ever?" McClellan deduced.
"If there is ever a leak of information and materials out of REPCONN, you can mark my words that it will be going to the CIA or DIA directly to circumvent the rules of legal engagement and warfare the military have to follow and to circumvent the petty concerns some might have on the Hill or in the White House," Reinhardt bitterly said. "A fact that I have a feeling is going to bite us in the ass, especially if even a rumour of this gets out and makes the news. Even a line in a local news article that 'there was a mysterious, suspected death at the ArcJet Systems Test Site' could do us in."
"So, it looks as though the real fight for who ultimately gets the final Mars Shot contract will be between us and REPCONN?" McClellan sighed when Reinhardt begrudgingly nodded. "I'm not surprised by that. SpaceX have had the slogan 'Occupy Mars' for over fifty years, but we all know they want to do that on their own more than they want to do it with the government. Hell, they could do it on their own. REPCONN can't say that – probably won't even if they do end up becoming a subsidiary of RobCo – and we certainly can't."
"REPCONN have had thirty successful rocket launches with the Space Administration in the last year and a half, some to the International Space Station, to hell with whether or not they join RobCo! I am absolutely certain they could fuck us over and out of our military and government contracts for the Mars Shot with ease!" Reinhardt said, his hands tightening against the edge of his desk. "It would be bad enough if the government – whether it's the Massachusetts, New England Commonwealth, or the goddamn Feds – find out about what happened with the Engine Core, but it will be much worse if that particular competitor does!"
"Can hardly disagree with you," McClellan said mildly.
"The very last thing I want – and another reason well beyond the logistics of why I won't even try to hire a fixer – is for Julia Masters to find out about this!" Reinhardt went on, fuming still. "The brains and the Boards behind SpaceX and Poseidon are ruthless, and would take us out on the same grounds, but I can't put a name, face, and history to them the way I can with REPCONN's very own CFO. Masters has ruined other companies for shit less than this before, and I will not tolerate it being us! If word of this accident goes public, it would be bad enough, but if she were to find about it? We'll be shut down overnight and I might as well put a 'For Sale' sign out front of our headquarters in Dover!"
"I wouldn't fancy losing my job because of her either," McClellan replied.
"You'll lose your job to her sooner than I will," Reinhardt said, the edge of a threat returning to his voice. "But we can't control what we don't know and don't have on REPCONN's plans for their Mars Shot proposal, so we'll have to keep the focus on ourselves and Poseidon."
"Not SpaceX, really?" McClellan dubiously pressed.
"Did you or did you not just underscore the fact they could get themselves to Mars without the government holding their hand?" Reinhardt irritably countered. "They're a threat, one we've got documentation on, but we know we have a better and, for worse given the circumstances, more powerful rocket booster than SpaceX. We don't know as much about what we've heard rumours about Poseidon being up to, and that makes them more of a threat in my books."
McClellan raised an eyebrow. "Do we know what Poseidon's designs for their rocket and spaceplane are?"
"They're using a liquid oxygen oxidiser and liquid hydrogen fuel as their primary rocket propellant, and ammonium perchlorate composite propellant as their secondary rocket propellant, the same two, separated propellants from the Space Transportation System Programme," Reinhardt said, frowning at the screen of his computer terminal at receiving a calendar notification. "Fifteen minutes," He muttered. "Brent better have good news on the investigation and the rest of your damn team better be making progress on our proposal. But, back to Poseidon," Reinhardt looked back to McClellan. "We don't know as much as I'd like, though I suspect the fact they're reusing STS propellants implies they're attempting to make a spaceplane with a much larger crew capacity and payload bay than that of the STS Programme but with the tried and true propellants."
"A fair assumption, but they'll have to increase the amount of propellant used and, more than likely, adjust the ratio between the two types of propellant," McClellan said, typing a few notes for himself. "There's no way to get around a heavier spaceplane, even if they're not scaling up the preexisting design of the old Orbiters. Although I'm surprised they're not using a nuclear fuel. REPCONN were using fission with the Delta XI's rockets and even as the primary for the OV, and that's been the Space Administration's standard for sending missions to the moon and ISS since they received the Delta XI from REPCONN in 2054."
"REPCONN was founded to develop the Delta XI, and that was back in 2051," Reinhardt irritably reminded him, the sharp edge returning to his voice. "We've existed since 2040 – I've been our CEO since 2058 – and it will be an absolute disgrace for us to lose out to –"
Another calendar notification appearing on his computer screen, Reinhardt swore under his breath. Meeting in ten minutes. Frustrated, he all but jammed his thumb into the power button of his computer terminal to put it to sleep. He watched McClellan closely whilst his CTO saved his notes and closed his laptop, and watched him even more closely when he seemed hesitant to bring the paperwork with them again. Albeit with a cold frown, Dr. McClellan did pick up the paperwork before heading towards the door once more. Reinhardt strode towards it, having taken his own laptop out from where it had been idly charging in his desk, and unlocked the door with his key, keeping the access request setting as it was. He pushed the key in between his fingers and shifted his laptop under his other arm, narrowly watching McClellan step out the door and into the hall. Forcing a smile at the few people walking by, Reinhardt shut and locked the door behind himself, forcing himself just as much to walk calmly down the hall and to the stairwell up to where the meeting awaited them. His mind kept note of every step he heard McClellan take behind him, searching for anything to offer a hint of deception or blame in the gait of his CTO. When he could not find any, the anger returned and, reaching the top of the stairs and in short succession the small conference room, fell onto the others whom he knew would be present.
At finding the room devoid of anyone other than his former CTO, the utterly punctual Dr. Hans Aleksander Memling politely greeting him and Dr. McClellan was perfectly expected. He also did not have clearance nor access to the facility the day of the incident, Reinhardt's mind reminded him. Hans wouldn't even be here if it weren't because I need him to help the XMB Research And Development Team sort out their issues before we present the final product to the government. He has no reason to sabotage the project – he'll benefit from returning if we can somehow get this to the government ahead of schedule! Looking between Memling and McClellan as he sat down, Reinhardt only briefly glanced at his laptop and the key to his office when he set them down before himself; finding the orchestrator of the incident being his only interest. The sound of footsteps drove his gaze to the door. At the sight of his CFO, he was unsurprised by his own relief that the man was the same as ever; Antonio Torres Graff never changed and nor did the place he kept his office, car, and home keys and his personal and work passwords. The only thing Graff did not do which he otherwise always did was offer his colleagues a smile or even a hint of one.
Again, Reinhardt's mind hissed. Tony'd be crazed or high if he were able to come in like that.
The clicking and clacking of heels announcing the arrival of propulsion director Dr. Annabeth Sheila Rand pulled his gaze from Graff to the door again. The all too familiar unease at her presence making his stomach sink and his fists clench in his lap, Reinhardt forced himself to retain the halfway pleasant and calm expression in his countenance. Her irritation far from hidden in her gait and her face, Dr. Rand offered only a narrow look of suspicion to her colleagues, a look that only deepened at the arrival of Samuel Joesph Brent and, finally, Dr. Marcus Daniel Janowski, the latter of whom looked almost as annoyed at their colleagues as she was. When he closed the door and swiped it to locked with his ID, Dr. Janowski stepped over to take his seat beside Dr. Rand, casting a wary look to Reinhardt. One of these days, he's going to snap and I'd rather not be in the room when it happens. When Reinhardt scowled at him, he looked away. The only one of them apparently completely unfazed by the CEO's demeanour, Brent, met Reinhardt's gaze calmly and with no hint at his emotion; only fatigue and tired, puffy eyes giving way to his own frustrations.
"If you're expecting anything but a stagnated investigation, Tom, I'm sorry to tell you that's exactly what we've got," Brent said, shaking his head when Reinhardt's gaze darkened. "A lot of our technicians, researchers, engineers, and, hell, even security guards have been drafted in the last few months. Our luck around here has been shit, and I think that may very well be what all of this is."
Janowski frowned. "Bad luck doesn't cause a photojournalist to be burnt to ash."
"We also haven't had nothing but bad luck," Graff half heartedly put in. "The sale of the Deep Range Transmitter to the military has brought in far more cash than we've had in years, and the demand from them to keep manufacturing DRTs has been sustained so far, something I see no reason to believe will change."
"The DRTs are starting to seem to have been something of a stroke of luck," Reinhardt testily said, glancing at McClellan, Janowski, and Rand. "The XMB Booster was supposed to be done by now, and it's not."
"It was supposed to be done by February, Tom," Rand replied, her voice no lighter than his. "Which is likely going to be upset by your poor choices. We had been running this project ahead of schedule and under budget until you decided to have a press event early as a publicity stunt. If it weren't for that, we wouldn't even have to worry about a scorched photojournalist because there wouldn't have been reason for anyone not employed here to show up to this site in the first place, and that incident is significantly setting us back on the timetable, as I have told you repeatedly."
Reinhardt frowned. "You'll have the Booster done by February, then. Its problems as you noted in the latest report are what? That it's a little heavy and runs via uranium fission based on designs from thirty years ago? The damn thing can fire, clearly, or we wouldn't be in the straits we're in."
"With respect to the first, the Booster isn't 'a little heavy,' it's a good hundred tons over the strict weight allowance the Space Administration have set," Janowski said, pausing when Reinhardt swore under his breath. "And the second is related. The refinement subsystem is, unsurprisingly, the heaviest individual piece of machinery used by the Booster, and, without it, our already poor burn to thrust ratio from the uranium fission would plummet even more. As for that last…what we have is, at this point, a working prototype and not a final product we could conceivably propose to the Space Administration."
"An uncomfortable truth for you, to say the least," Memling said with a shake of his head. "I can see why you've enlisted my aid to bring the project over the finish line as swiftly and as well as possible, But it is important to keep in mind, I should think, that you're also not completely reinventing the wheel, seeing as you're, in many respects, simply expanding upon and improving the crew module and the capacity of the payload module of the Orion Spacecraft using a better propellant. From what you've said you know," He said, inclining his head briefly towards Reinhardt. "That puts us ahead of Poseidon on at least one front."
"Yes, with the fuel source and propellant," Rand said, her voice clipped as she opened her notes on her tablet. "We are living in the present, but Poseidon are living in the past. Good for us, at any rate. If they're sticking to designs from nearly a century ago, I don't think they'll play out ahead of us for the Mars Shot."
"The only kink in that is the fact we have no idea what the design of their OV is," Janowski said. "They may be using older designs for their rockets, but I doubt they're going to reuse the design of the Space Shuttle for their orbital vehicle, especially considering the issues those had with the heat shields."
"I damn well hope we'll learn they're doing that," Reinhardt irritably said. "Because that would give us an edge in the running for nearly certain, and this is the project that will put our company back on the map, the project that will make a name for us that is synonymous with space travel, exploration, and innovation."
"Seeing as we don't know anything about REPCONN's plans for and their proposal for the Mars Shot, we still need to approach this as cynically as possible," McClellan reminded him, though he paused when Reinhardt snapped his head towards him with a dark glare. "Which, considering what we now have to hide, is particularly poignant. If we aren't careful and deliberate, we're finished, as you have beaten into us all."
"All things considered, I agree. If it weren't, the majority of the company wouldn't have had to sign NDA after NDA in the last few weeks," Janowski said. "What we're covering up now was at best a reckless manslaughter and at worst an actual murder. I have to hand it to you, Sam," He said, turning to Brent. "Because I really don't think anyone else could have pulled this kind of coverup off, though I do agree with Dr. McClellan on how we have to approach the matter, both to prevent another accident and to prevent any chance of a careless information leak."
"Well said, Marcus," Memling said before Reinhardt could respond. "You may very well have a saboteur on the loose in the company, and the very next thing they would want to do is to cause a 'careless' information leak to throw you out of the running for the Mars Shot."
Reinhardt's frown deepened. "It certainly wouldn't be the only way for us to end up cheated out of the final Mars Shot contract. Beyond our competitors and this incident," He said as though the words disgusted him. "I, for one, am going to be quite irate if the Space Administration end up delaying the decision of who will get the final contract or even the entire Mars Shot Programme because of the state of things overseas and in Alaska."
"Irate?" Rand said dubiously. "I wouldn't quite say that. Speaking only for myself, I'll be frustrated more than anything else, especially if I end up getting drafted."
"I think the majority of people feel that way at the moment," Janowski said with a short, mirthless laugh. "Myself included."
"Witnessing as many people as you have be drafted out of this company for the War, I think that's perfectly understandable," Memling sighed. "I'm certainly glad to be too old to be drafted."
"If any more of our people, and those working on the XMB Booster specifically, get drafted, I will be almost as furious as I will be if programme gets delayed or, worse, cancelled altogether, nullifying our work," Reinhardt said, his face contorting. "Even if the DSTs continue to sell well to the military, we deserve to get our due. I no longer give a damn about whether the world is falling apart around us or not. What I care about is that our stock values have been steadily dropping for the last two years, that some of our investors are beginning to consider withdrawing, and I do not care who or what we lose so long as those issues are rectified."
Memling warily glanced to him. "It may be inconvenient, but winning the War does deserve to take precedence over private gains. Putting down the Reds –"
"And there are millions of other people they can take for the War who are not working on putting ArcJet back on the map and back at the cutting edge in this era of technological advancement," Reinhardt snapped, raising a finger to silence his former CTO as he cut him off. "The military can use whomever they like as soldiers and cannon fodder, but they better not continue to be from this company because the people here, and in this case on the XMB Booster Team, are not expendable. Many others, thankfully, are."
Janowski wrinkled his nose in disgust. "You're showing the worst of yourself, Tom, so much so I'd go as far to say so on the grounds of your threatening everyone into signing NDAs on the accident and for even thinking of leaving this company as well as for, worst, I'd say, showing such little respect for our servicemen and women. I have no desire to fight in this War and will do all I can to avoid it, but I at least recognise those fighting it – drafted or voluntarily – are making an immense sacrifice to ensure the future of this world."
"All true," Rand said, unflinchingly turning to Reinhardt who looked more annoyed by the minute. "I'd ask where the hell you've buried your heart, Tom, but I know as damn well as everyone else in this room that you don't have one unless it benefits you."
"I do not and will not give a rat's ass what you have to say about me, Annabeth," Reinhardt hissed. "You, Marcus, and even Rory and Hans may all be the scientific minds behind our work, but none of you are true businessmen like myself and Tony, not even Rory is and he's our current CTO! As for Hans," He turned to Memling. "You wouldn't have left after such a short term as CTO if that were untrue, now would you have?"
"I had pursuits that mattered more to me then, but I'm here again for a reason, Tom," Memling replied. "I would advise you not to do this and risk making enemies of the best talents you have here," His gaze flitted towards Graff and Brent. "I say the same to the both of you."
"You all may not like the way Tom says it, but he's right, Hans," Brent said, probing his forehead for a moment. "We live in ruthless times, and are in an equally cutthroat and ruthless industry. Attack our realism if you must, but it won't change the truth. We have an image and public face to ensure and save, and work you all need to deliver on and more."
"And, I'm sure," Reinhardt sneered. "That none of you have any desire to lose your jobs and be left on the streets."
"Of course we don't," Rand said, her voice as cold as his. "But, if it comes to that, I can promise you that you will be going down with us."
