planet overpopulated itself. The overall goal of Marine Visions Unlimited was to develop the tools and the techniques for mining the oceans of metals, fluids, gases, and food in the most efficient and harmless manner possible.
Curtis Aaron did not believe it for one minute. His view was that anyone diving more than one hundred feet intended to molest Mother Nature. Nature abuse.
“I wonder if it would help if we, if MVU, donated some cash to the Oceans Free cause?”
“You mean, would it get Brother Aaron off our backs?” Dokey asked.
“Would I say that?”
“Not out loud. No, I don’t think it would help. Plus, from what Kaylene says, we don’t have much spare cash.”
“Details. You and Rae worry too much about details.”
“She worries about details. I worry about a monthly pay-check”
That was not true, either. Dokey worried about having enough time available to putter in the workshops in San Diego, get involved in the expeditions of Gemini and Orion , shuttle out to Harbor One, and check the progress of the mining station. His robots were operating everywhere, and he loved to see them at work or to take their controls in hand.
For that matter, Brande had the same worries. Never enough time to do all that he wanted to do.
The flight went smoothly. The seaman offered them coffee from a Thermos. The pilot, a Navy lieutenant, came back and talked to them for a while. A few minutes before noon, the wheels clunked out of their housings, and the ungainly Albatross landed gracefully at Callender Field, which was actually in Belle Chasse, rather than New Orleans proper.
Toting their gear, Brande and Dokey thanked the crew, then wandered across the tarmac toward the operations building. The humidity was close to steaming. Brande noted the parked Gulfstream business jet and assumed it belonged to, or was chartered by, the Department of Commerce.
Hampstead was waiting inside the operations building in a borrowed office. He smiled his hello and waved them to chairs. “Coffee?”
Brande checked his watch. “How about lunch, Avery? We’ve had plenty of coffee.”
“They’re going to bring us some sandwiches,” the undersecretary said.
“Geez,” Dokey moaned. “No steaks? Seems to me the department could spring for something more substantial than bologna.”
Hampstead grinned at him, his big teeth and long face giving him a horsey flavor. “Dokey, do you think about anything but food and women?”
“You got the order wrong, Avery.”
Hampstead shut the door and went behind the desk to sit down. Brande sat in a straight chair made of gray-painted metal and gray Naugahyde. It felt like his office.
“I bring you the President’s greetings, gentlemen.”
“Oh, shit!” Dokey said. “We’re drafted.”
“Not quite. But there is a problem. Somewhat of a major problem.”
“With one of our contracts?” Brande asked. Currently, MVU held seventeen federal contracts, all for research projects. It was a substantial source of income.
“No,” Hampstead told him.
Then he told them about a Soviet A2e rocket and its nuclear reactor payload.
“Jesus Christ!” Brande said. “Meltdown.”
“Yes, we think so”
“In the Pacific.”
“That much we know for sure. We’re talking almost four miles down.”
“And you want our equipment?”
“Admiral Delecourt would like to borrow your equipment, yes.”
“No way,” Dokey said. “My ROVs don’t go anywhere without me.”
“I told Delecourt that’s the way it would be, but I had to make his pitch first.”
“And the next pitch?” Brande asked.
“Inside curve. Will you take it on?”
Brande thought about it for a moment. “There’s no timeline on the meltdown?”
“The nuke specialists haven’t made any guesses or promises yet. They’ll try to refine it, and we’re trying to get additional information from the Russians.”
“I can’t risk my people,” Brande said.
“I understand if you take that position,” Hampstead
Curtis Aaron did not believe it for one minute. His view was that anyone diving more than one hundred feet intended to molest Mother Nature. Nature abuse.
“I wonder if it would help if we, if MVU, donated some cash to the Oceans Free cause?”
“You mean, would it get Brother Aaron off our backs?” Dokey asked.
“Would I say that?”
“Not out loud. No, I don’t think it would help. Plus, from what Kaylene says, we don’t have much spare cash.”
“Details. You and Rae worry too much about details.”
“She worries about details. I worry about a monthly pay-check”
That was not true, either. Dokey worried about having enough time available to putter in the workshops in San Diego, get involved in the expeditions of Gemini and Orion , shuttle out to Harbor One, and check the progress of the mining station. His robots were operating everywhere, and he loved to see them at work or to take their controls in hand.
For that matter, Brande had the same worries. Never enough time to do all that he wanted to do.
The flight went smoothly. The seaman offered them coffee from a Thermos. The pilot, a Navy lieutenant, came back and talked to them for a while. A few minutes before noon, the wheels clunked out of their housings, and the ungainly Albatross landed gracefully at Callender Field, which was actually in Belle Chasse, rather than New Orleans proper.
Toting their gear, Brande and Dokey thanked the crew, then wandered across the tarmac toward the operations building. The humidity was close to steaming. Brande noted the parked Gulfstream business jet and assumed it belonged to, or was chartered by, the Department of Commerce.
Hampstead was waiting inside the operations building in a borrowed office. He smiled his hello and waved them to chairs. “Coffee?”
Brande checked his watch. “How about lunch, Avery? We’ve had plenty of coffee.”
“They’re going to bring us some sandwiches,” the undersecretary said.
“Geez,” Dokey moaned. “No steaks? Seems to me the department could spring for something more substantial than bologna.”
Hampstead grinned at him, his big teeth and long face giving him a horsey flavor. “Dokey, do you think about anything but food and women?”
“You got the order wrong, Avery.”
Hampstead shut the door and went behind the desk to sit down. Brande sat in a straight chair made of gray-painted metal and gray Naugahyde. It felt like his office.
“I bring you the President’s greetings, gentlemen.”
“Oh, shit!” Dokey said. “We’re drafted.”
“Not quite. But there is a problem. Somewhat of a major problem.”
“With one of our contracts?” Brande asked. Currently, MVU held seventeen federal contracts, all for research projects. It was a substantial source of income.
“No,” Hampstead told him.
Then he told them about a Soviet A2e rocket and its nuclear reactor payload.
“Jesus Christ!” Brande said. “Meltdown.”
“Yes, we think so”
“In the Pacific.”
“That much we know for sure. We’re talking almost four miles down.”
“And you want our equipment?”
“Admiral Delecourt would like to borrow your equipment, yes.”
“No way,” Dokey said. “My ROVs don’t go anywhere without me.”
“I told Delecourt that’s the way it would be, but I had to make his pitch first.”
“And the next pitch?” Brande asked.
“Inside curve. Will you take it on?”
Brande thought about it for a moment. “There’s no timeline on the meltdown?”
“The nuke specialists haven’t made any guesses or promises yet. They’ll try to refine it, and we’re trying to get additional information from the Russians.”
“I can’t risk my people,” Brande said.
“I understand if you take that position,” Hampstead
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