When you take on the impossible mission, you need a team for the mission.
Chapter 3 Headhunting
If you think it’s expensive to hire a professional, wait until you hire an amateur.
Red Adair
Risk Enterprises Corporate HQ, San Francisco
977 Days to Portal Closure
“Interesting.” Elroy Risk looked up from the computer screen at Annette and Alexandra, who had brought this to him. The Request for Proposal from the PortalNet told of a world at the edge of catastrophe. They had a super-volcano larger than the Yellowstone Caldera headed for an eruption. The paper from Wikileaks offered a possible solution.
“Doable?” He said to Annette.
“Marginally, maybe.” She looked bleak.
“Alternatives?” Elroy said.
“None within current technology.” Annette’s reply left no room for doubt.
“Competition?” Elroy said to Alexandra.
“Not much. It’s small potatoes by Galactic standards. We’d still have to low-ball the bid. We’re an unknown,” she said.
Risk flicked it aside with a snap of his hand. “The credit is the profit.”
Annette reached over to tap the document on the screen. “Showstopper. The people, resources, fissionable materials, they’re all highly classified and very tightly controlled by the government and the military.”
“You’d need sign-off from the White House, not just permission but their active support, to do this. You’d have to cut a deal, and you need someone who has the clout to do it. You’d have to keep it black, and if you failed, too bad for you,” Alexandra said.
“I’m not connected in that world.” Elroy looked back at the screen, and bared his teeth. He had some powerful enemies in Washington, and not a lot of friends.
“There is one guy who has the clout and the network for this. He retired rich. You’d have to talk to him yourself. He doesn’t deal with underlings,” Alexandra said.
Elroy stared at the two documents on the screen. I‘ve built an empire for just this moment. Now is my shot.
“Where is he?” Elroy got up from his chair and grabbed his jacket.
“Right now, Cambridge Massachusetts, visiting his grand-daughter, the MIT grad student. Jet’s on the runway, background package waiting for you on board,” Alexandra said.
Elroy set a brisk pace down to the elevator, with Alexandra and Annette flanking him. “And people say I’m the genius.”
The Old Hall Restaurant, Cambridge, Mass.
976 Days to Portal Closure
Conrad Hanson at the corner table, coffee in front of him and steak and eggs on the way, waiting for his grand-daughter Ashley. He saw her coming in through the door and waved to attract her attention, his normal granite-faced expression splitting into a wide smile.
She threaded her way among the tables to Conrad’s in the corner, getting the usual attention her leggy blonde good looks attracted. She wore slacks and a t-shirt with “Forget Princess. I’m an Astronomer” on it. The waiter appeared at once, and she ordered tea, eggs and toast.
Conrad’s steak and eggs arrived soon after, along with her order. “Ashley. How are you?”
“Mad busy, Grand-dad. Just mad busy. The SETI groups and everyone else are just going insane. Cosmology just went into a cocked hat, and so did relativity. If we can get star catalogues from the PortalNet, who knows what we could learn? There hasn’t been a time like this since Copernicus.” She set herself to her eggs, smiling.
Conrad took a bite of his steak, taking the time to savour it. He savoured his pride in Ashley, as well. MIT was rated top in the world in Astronomy, and she was playing in the first team. “How’s Brad?”
Her smile slipped a little. “I’m not seeing Brad very much these days, and he complains about it.”
Conrad was careful to avoid sounding disapproving, though he did disapprove of Bradley Pittfield, her fiancé. He was a corporate lawyer with political ambitions, and Conrad suspected he wanted her for arm candy and a political wife. “Not seeing you enough. We do have something in common.”
“Grand-dad, I know you don’t think he’s good enough for me. I’m not sure a god from Asgard could make the cut.” She chased toast with tea.
He rubbed his chin, deliberately looking judicious. “It depends on which god. Thor is a pretty solid guy, and so is Tyr, but I wouldn’t want Loki anywhere near you.”
He set to on his steak again, enjoying the sound of her infectious laugh. The breakfast was too short. Ashley rushed away to a meeting of her research group.
Conrad was finishing his breakfast when a man invited himself to sit at his table, waved to the waitress and ordered a mimosa, seemingly oblivious to Hanson’s cold unwelcoming stare.
He looked mid-thirties or so, unremarkable, casually dressed in chinos and a turtleneck. Conrad took a few moments to place him. Elroy Risk was the CEO of Risk Enterprises, by reputation an eccentric workaholic genius who avoided the limelight. He normally presided over his high-tech business empire from his corporate HQ in San Francisco, personally managing only the most pressing crises. His penchant for cutting edge disruptive technological projects generated lots of those.
In his long career as a top-level negotiator of multi-billion dollar contracts Conrad had never met the man or done business with him. His manner accorded with his reputation – high-intensity, almost manic. He started talking as soon as the waitress left.
“Mr. Hanson, I’m retaining you for a high-stakes negotiation of great importance, one worthy of your talents.” It was not a request.
Hanson was not impressed. “I’m retired. I don’t care about the money, I’m not interested.”
Risk smiled briefly. “So my people inform me. While the compensation would be commensurate to your talents, it is the least of what is at stake. You would be far more interested in the opportunity to shape the world Ashley Hanson and her children will live in.”
Hanson’s eyes narrowed, and his expression went from dismissive to focused on Risk. “What, are you introducing a new line of cell phones?”
Risk chuckled. “No. A question, if I might, Mr. Hanson. Considering its immediate effects, the end of the Balance of Terror and the solution to the fusion energy problem, does the Portal make Earth, and your grand-daughter, more or less safe?”
Hanson’s attention went from focused to laser intense. “This is not a secure venue, Mr. Risk, and there is the non-trivial question of exactly how you gained access to highly classified information.”
Risk chuckled. “Sometimes, Mr. Hanson, just occasionally, who can deliver cutting edge hardware under intense time pressure matters more than who owns how many politicians on Capitol Hill.”
Risk’s good humour vanished. “That was a nugget. I want the gold mine. My question stands.”
Hansen took a long moment before he replied, “Safer.”
Risk took a sip of his mimosa. “We agree. I intend to act to ensure Earth keeps its Portal. Nothing comes for free, and certainly not the key to the wealth and knowledge of the advanced races of the Galaxy.”
I’m not prepared for this. Conrad didn’t like negotiating by the seat of his pants, and never did it if he could avoid it.
“What action do you propose?” Hanson took a hard look at Risk, reading him with his long experience in the game. There was confidence there, but also stress. He was under time pressure. Risk’s normal headlong management style meant the timeline had to be demanding indeed.
“I can only discuss it under a confidentiality agreement.” Risk said.
“Let’s see it, then.” Conrad gave an impatient snap of his hand.
Risk smiled. “What you learn from me during this conversation goes nowhere without my knowledge and consent, regardless of whether you accept this retainer. Deal?”
He’s prepared. Conrad granted Risk a grudging measure of respect. Conrad Hanson made two kinds of agreements. Legal agreements, with lawyers and paperwork, were the daily bread of his profession. A personal Deal, his word, was inviolate.
“You have a Deal.” Conrad said. He stored the terms in his steel trap memory alongside all the others he had made over his lifetime.
“I put my people on to translating the Rosetta Stone for the synthetic language by which the races of the Galaxy communicate with each other. There is an economy beyond the Portal, vast beyond imagination. It runs on Contracts, enforced by the Portal Alien Race, or races. The TLA is PAR.”
Hanson’s mouth quirked briefly at Risk’s recursive techie humour. TLA was the three-letter acronym for a three-letter acronym.
Risk drank from his mimosa. “My normal hiring procedure is to start with the 95th percentile and winnow from there. For this, I want the world’s best, or as close as I can get. You would be negotiating the fate of the Earth with incredibly powerful aliens who could swat us like flies.”
He put down the glass and his smile took on a hard edge of challenge. “Are you up for it?”
God damn him. I was out. I was done. I could play golf, spoil my grand-daughter and watch her kids grow up. Now, I’m back. I have to be back.
“What’s the job?” Hanson said.
Risk reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a tablet, putting it on the desk between them. “We found the RFP page on the PortalNet. This one is possible, and it’s small enough for a new start-up.”
Conrad speed-read the executive summary. “A super-volcano. What’s your proposal?”
Risk swiped the screen, and another document came up. Conrad took a little more time with this one. It was a work in progress. He looked up at Risk, shocked. “This is possible?”
“Physically, yes. Politically, legally, financially, those would have to be made possible.” Risk replied.
“You say you have a world class team. Convince me.”
“Catherine Ulam. Nuclear weapons design.” Risk swiped to her CV.
The Underground Cafe, Livermore, CA
974 Days to Portal Closure
Catherine was sitting under the mural of Captain Kirk next to Marilyn Monroe, picking at her breakfast, when Lee Worthington walked in.
She smiled for the first time in a month at seeing a friendly face, then dropped her head. “Lee, you shouldn’t be seen with me.” I don’t want to take a friend down with me.
“To Hell with the Feds. No way you’d ever sell out. You’d starve first,” he said.
He jerked his head to the man with him. Medium everything, business suit, Ivy League look. “Cathy, this is Evan Carlsen. He’s a headhunter, with an offer for you. I’m vouching for him. This is legal, legitimate and not a sting.”
“Good luck, Cathy.” Lee gave her a half salute and left.
Carlsen sat down, waving to the waitress for coffee. “Ms. Ulam, let’s get to it.”
He pulled out a folded sheet of paper and put it on the table, along with a pen. “Non-Disclosure Agreement. Read and sign.”
She read it, confirmed it was what he said it was, and signed it.
He pocketed one of the copies and brought out a tablet. “The first one is from Wikileaks. You wrote it. Read the second one.”
She read through the second one and looked up with a shocked expression. “Beyond the Portal. Is this real?”
“Elroy Risk has taken point on this personally. It’s real. You lead the team, pick your own people, get it done,” he said.
Can I do this? The warp speed of a cutting edge tech company made government bureaucracy look like an oxcart.
This is my shot. Half my life I’ve been sharpening a pencil I hoped no one would ever use. Now I get to save a world, not destroy it. “I’ll do it. When do I start?”
“You just did. Ditch your old phone. The Feds are tracking it.”
He put a phone on the table and pushed it over to her. It was a Purism 5, in a titanium case with the logo of Risk Enterprises. “Your schedule and task list are on there. The Steinmetz app will summon your ride.”
She picked up the phone, and it unlocked to her face. The wallpaper was a timer. 976 DAYS 22:15:52 TO PORTAL CLOSURE.
Tick-tock. She dialed a number from memory. “Lee … You just quit Livermore. You’re my Deputy Team Lead. We’re going to save the world. I’m texting you a list of people. Be ready to get them for me.”
She ended the call, pocketed her new phone, pulled the battery from her old phone and threw it in the garbage. There goes my old life.
“She’s up for the job, and not another Snowden. Who else?” Hanson said.
Risk swiped on the tablet.
Johnson Space Flight Centre, Houston, TX
975 Days to Portal Closure
Bronco Anderson sat at his desk, looking at the picture of his dead wife, regretting his choices. I promised you I’d retire, make up all those years to you, and I broke my promise for one more long shot at a mission. When they grounded me, I should have quit then. It was never going to happen. Then I screwed the pooch over the Portal, which was just the icing on the cake.
He looked up as his door opened, and put a smile on his face as best he could. Tom Watkins had fought the good fight for him over the Portal, and Bronco owed him. “Hi, Tom. What’s up?”
“There’s someone who wants to talk to you about a mission.” Tom led off to a small conference room, while Bronco tried not to get his hopes up. The Astronaut Office redefined competitive.
The man waiting in the conference room wasn’t any of the players Bronco knew. He offered his hand. “Evan Carlsen. Risk Enterprises.”
Bronco took it, then turned toward Watkins. “Tom, you could get in a Hell of a lot of trouble for this.” NASA’s rules on conflict of interest were iron-bound.
“I do bureaucracy better than you do. If shit happens, it does. I owe you. He’s the real deal.” Tom brushed the side of his nose, in the gesture from “The Sting”, and left.
Bronco took a seat facing Carlsen, pulling himself back on balance.”What have you got?”
Carlsen put an NDA on the table. “Read and sign.”
Bronco did. Carlsen folded his copy of the NDA away, then brought out a tablet. “A mission through the Portal.”
He put the tablet on the table. “Read.”
Bronco did. The first two were scary enough. The third … “Orion? Are you shitting me?”
Project Orion, the one from the sixties when people had seriously looked at propelling a spacecraft with nuclear bombs. A lot of them. It took him a few seconds to remember the calibre of the minds who had created the concept.
“This mission makes Apollo 11 look like a paddle across the pond. You got the stones for it?” Carlsen said.
I’m sorry, Doris. I can’t not do this. I lost you. This is all I have left. “Who do I answer to?”
“We aren’t NASA. You’re the Man. You’re the Captain. Get it done.”
Carlsen handed him a phone. “Schedule and task list. Make a lot of noise when you quit, so the bureaucracy thinks they won.”
The phone opened to Bronco’s face, and the timer hit him right in the eye.
“He can do it. You need a technical expert,” Hanson said.
Geophysics Department, U of Wyoming
975 Days to Portal Closure
Professor John Halliwell was grading papers when the door to his office opened. “Sorry, office hours are over.”
“Got time for me?” It was Professor Emeritus Gene Cobbler, the legendary grand old man of the field, leaning on his cane.
“Of course.” Halliwell laid aside the test papers and dumped some papers out of the visitor’s chair while wondering why Jove had descended from Olympus.
Cobbler settled into the chair with a grunt of suppressed pain, then produced a folded sheet of paper. “NDA. Read it and sign it.”
Halliwell hesitated, but did. It’s Gene Cobbler.
Cobbler brought out a tablet and thumb-printed it on. “Talk to me.”
The screen of the tablet showed a 3D model of a geological formation. Halliwell took a couple of minutes to make sense of it. He knew the Yellowstone Caldera the way a neurosurgeon knew the brain. “It’s a caldera, but it’s not Yellowstone. It’s no formation on Earth. Is this real?”
“Real as a heart attack. Keep going.” Cobbler replied.
Halliwell rotated the model with two fingers, and looked shocked. “It’s at least twice the size of Yellowstone, and, my God, it’s on the edge of eruption. Catastrophic eruption. Those fissures could go any time.”
“Full marks.” Cobbler swiped the tablet, and another document came up, downloaded from Wikileaks.
Halliwell read it, and felt the blood drain from his face. “This is insane. They’d be tampering with an armed bomb on a planetary scale. The effects …”
“If they do nothing?” Cobbler could have been asking about the types of lava.
Halliwell swiped back to the 3D model, looked again and shook his head reluctantly. “It happens anyway. It’s past the point of no return.”
Cobbler adjusted his glasses and looked over them at Halliwell. “This planet is beyond the Portal, and it is home to several billion sentient beings. Do nothing, and let an entire race die knowing you could have helped prevent it, or you take an indefinite sabbatical to work for Risk Enterprises. Choose.”
Nuclear strategists weren’t the only ones who thought about the unthinkable. The Yellowstone Caldera would compete very well with a full out nuclear war. Halliwell had learned to take comfort in the thousands of years before any eruption was likely. This world didn’t have any time left.
“As a side benefit, by saving their world we save ours. This is how we keep the Portal.”
God, Allen will go ballistic. I swore to him no more expeditions after the last time. It’s OK, I’ll just be a consultant. He looked back down at the tablet. “I’ll do it.”
“Good. I’ll deal with the administration. I’ll take your classes myself.”
Cobbler put a phone on his desk. “Your new schedule is in there.”
Cobbler levered himself out of the chair. “It’s Hell being old, John, but it beats the alternative. Give them one for me.”
Halliwell picked up the phone as if it was explosive. It unlocked to his face, and he saw the timer counting down.
He punched out his home phone number, and his partner Allen answered. “I’m going to be home early today. I have to pack. I’m going on sabbatical. … No, no. It’s not field work, just a consulting gig. … Absolutely. I promise. … Allen, we’ll be able to take the cruise we talked about. … See you later. Love you.”
He looked down at the tablet Cobbler had left on the desk. Please God, tell me I didn’t just lie to Allen.
He spoke aloud into the silence of his office. “It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the Road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.” He’d been swept off before.
Hanson put his finger to his lips. “Cobbler is too old, but you’ve got him on retainer to back up the younger guy. Good.”
He pushed his breakfast plate aside. “I need everything you have, stat, to get up to speed on this.”
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