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The huge rig wasn't unfamiliar to me, but it was still a breathtaking sight, an excellent example contemporary space-age technology. The Starduster was constructed of an ultra-high-impact and fire-engine red fiberglass. There was no sign of manufacturing seams, rivets, or segment lines anywhere on her chassis. With a Batmobile-esque base, the rig was as mobile as her builders claimed and could be driven by specially trained truck drivers to whatever launch location British Aerospace mandated.
Our cargo, the satellite, looking more like a flying saucer than anything like Telstar, had been lowered into the storage area. Yet the most vital component of Starduster was the mechanical launching device on the back of the mobile unit. Once in place, it could be tilted up to 45-degrees. A computer-based launch release would blast the satellite into orbit without the need for a multi-stage delivery rocket.
Fantastic!
Around Starduster scurried small dockside vehicles, fork-lift trucks and scooters, like worker ants scrambling about their big motionless queen. But what fascinated and amused me was the sight of a small platoon of Zarmarian station hands clambering about the actual rig itself, as agile and noisy as a troop of monkeys, busy stringing yards of festive bunting between any two protruding places to which they could be tied. The two horizontal stripes of light grey, light silver and dark blue that made up the Zarmarian flag predominated, and one of them was being hauled up a jackstaff which was bound to the front bumper. No wonder that Grimes looked thunderstruck and more than just a little bit grim.
I ran over to him, and my arrival coincided with that of Mr. Denerhaiel, who was just getting out of a black limousine. Denerhaiel stood with hands on hips and gazed the length of the Starduster with great satisfaction, then turned to us and said in a hearty voice, "Well, good morning, gentlemen. I see everything is going very well indeed."
Grimes said, "Good morning, Mr. Denerhaiel---Sam. May I ask what..."
"Hi, Cliff. Great day for it, isn't it? Mr. Denerhaiel, would you excuse us for just one moment? I've got your figures here, Cliff...."
Talking fast, waving a notebook, and giving him no time to speak, I managed to draw Giles away from Denerhaiel's side, leaving the politician to be entertained for a moment by Brian Tipton.
"Just what the hell do they think they're doing?" Giles was outraged.
"Ease off and calm down. Can't you see? They're going to put on a show for the people---that's what this daylight procession has been about all along. The mobile satellite launch is one of the biggest things that's ever happened to Zarmaria and the government wants to do a bit of bragging. And I don't see why not."
"But how?" Giles, normally a man of broad enough intelligence, was on a very narrow wavelength where his precious mobile satellite launcher was concerned.
"Hasn't the shoe dropped yet? You're to be the centerpiece of a triumphal parade through the town, right through Boagırlsıkrınn Square. The way the Soviets used to trundle their rockets through Red Square on May Day. You'll be on show, the band will play, the lot."
"Are you serious?" said Giles in disgust.
"Quite. The government must not only govern but be seen to govern. They're entitled to bang their drum."
Giles subsided, muttering.
"Don't worry. As soon as you're clear of the town you can take the ribbons out of her hair and get down to work properly. Have a word with your drivers. I'd like to meet them, but not right away. And tell them to enjoy themselves. It's a gala occasion."
"All right, I guess we must. But it's goddamn inconvenient. It's hard enough work moving these things without having to cope with cheering mobs and flag-waving."
"You don't have to cope, that's his job." I indicated Denerhaiel with a jerk of my thumb. "Your guys just drive it away as usual. I think we'd better go join him."
We walked back to where Denerhaiel, leaning negligently against the hood of his ZIL 41047, was holding forth to a little circle of underlings. Tipton was in the thick of it, together with a short, stocky man with a weathered face. Tipton introduced him to me.
"Sam, meet Nick Spalding, my chief driver. Nick, Mr. Drake of British Aerospace. I think Nick's what you'd call my ranch foreman."
I grinned. "Nice herd of cattle you've got there, Nick. I'd like to meet the crew later. What's the schedule?"
"I've just told Mr. Denerhaiel that I think they're ready to roll any time now. But of course it's Mr. Tipton's show, really.
"Thank you, Mr. Tipton. I'll get word to Denerhaiel and then we can get going," Giles said.
I marveled at the way my British companions still managed to cling to surnames and honorifics. I wondered if they'd all be dressing for dinner, out there in the bush wherever the rig stopped for the night. I gave my attention to Denerhaiel to find that he was being converged upon by a band of journalists, video and still cameras busy, notebooks poised, but with none of the free-for-all shoving that might have taken place anywhere else in Europe. The presence of several armed soldiers nearby may have had a bearing on that.
"Ah, Mr. Drake," Denerhaiel said, "I am about to hold a short press conference. Won't you please join me?"
"An honor, Minster. But it's not truly my story---it's Mr. Giles's."
Giles gave me a brief dirty look as I passed the buck neatly to him. "May I bring Mister Spalding in on this?" he asked, drawing Nick Spalding along by the arm. "He designed Starduster. It's pretty much his baby."
I looked at the stocky man in some shock. This was something I hadn't known and it set me thinking. Herolutions might be new a an outfit, but they seemed to have gathered a good deal of talent around them, and my respect for Andy Hale grew fractionally greater.
The press conference was under way, to a soft barrage of clicks as people were posed in front of the rig. Video cameramen did their trick of walking backwards with a buddy's hand on their shoulder to guide them, and the writer boys ducked and dodged around the clutter of ropes, chain pulleys and hawsers that littered the ground. Some of the inevitable questions were coming up and I listened carefully, as this was a chance for me to learn a few of the technicalities.
"Just how big is this damn thing?'
Giles indicated Nick Spalding forward. Nick, grinning like a toothpaste advertisement, was enjoying his moment in the limelight as microphones were thrust at him. "In full length, she's a bit over 100 feet long."
"Counting the satellite when mounted on the launcher?"
"The satellite? No, that's counted separately."
Another voice said, "Our readers may not be able to visualize that. Can you give us anything to measure it by?"
Spalding groped for an analogy, and then said, "I notice that you people here play a lot of soccer--football."
"Indeed, we do," Denerhaiel interjected. "I personally am an enthusiast." He smiled modestly as he put in his personal plug. "I was present at the Cup Final at Wembley last year, when I was Ambassador to the Court of St. James."
Spalding said, "Well, imagine this. If you drove Starduster onto the field at Wembley, or any other standard soccer stadium, it would fill the full length of the stadium with a foot hanging over each side. Is that good enough?"
There was a chorus of appreciative remarks, and Giles said in a low voice, "Well done, Nick. Carry on."
"How heavy is the Starduster?" someone asked.
"She weighs 90 tons, and the load, that big satellite, is 300 tons. Add 40 tons more and you'll bring the whole lot to 550 tons on the hoof."
Everybody scribbled while the cameras ground on. Spalding added, airing some knowledge he had only picked up in the last few days. "Elephants weight about 60 tons each; so Starduster is worth nearly 100 elephants!"
The analogy was received with much amusement.
"The whole rig doesn't big enough to weigh 40 tons," he was prompted.
"Starduster carries ballast. Steel plates embedded in concrete. We have to have some counterbalance for the weight of the load, or it will overrun the rig---especially on the hills. Negotiating hill country is very tricky."
"What is her top speed?"
Giles took over now. "I daresay that we could push along to almost 20 miles per hour, even more than that going downhill. But we will not. 550 tons going at 20 miles per hour takes a lot of stopping, and we aren't set up to take risks. I don't think we'll do much more than 10 miles an hour during any part of the journey, and usually much less. Our aim is to average 5 miles an hour during a 10-hour day; 20 days from Dunin, Zarmaria to Sutovo, Shamajar."
This drew whistles of disbelief and astonishment. In this age of rapid transport, it was interesting taht extreme slowness could exert the same fascination as extreme speed.
"How many wheels does it have?"
Spalding said, "Only 4 wheels."
"How many punctures do you expect?"
"None, we hope." This drew a laugh.
"How do you power something like this?"
"It's powered just like a hovercraft," said Giles, "with four 240-hp Rolls Royce engines."
"There seems to be a lot of wasted space between the cab and the launcher," said one journalist, a Russian whose name tag said he worked for Pravada. "How will you make use of that?"
"We can erect tents there. Tents that can serve as makeshift workshops for maintenance, food and personal supplies, fuel. We have to take everything with us, you see."
There was a stir as an aide came forward to whisper something in Denerhaiel's ear. He raised his hand and voice. "Gentlemen, that will be all for now, thank you. I invite you all to gather round this great and marvelous machine for its dedication by His Excellency, the Minister of the Interior, the Right Honorable Iskrai Muirairraiel, OBE." He touched me on the arm. "This way, please."
As we followed him, I heard Spalding saying to Giles, "What's he going to do? Crack a champagne bottle over it?"
I grinned back at him. "Did you really design Starduster?"
"No, NASA did that. Originally for some kind of future lunar expedition, I was told. All I did was design some modifications to it for Earthside work."
Giles said, "Nick did a lot of work on it. Built it, programmed the onboard computers, that kind of thing."
I was impressed. "For a little guy you sure play with big toys."
Spalding stiffened and looked at me with hot eyes. Had I struck a raw nerve, or something?" "I'm five feet two and a half inches tall," he said curtly. "And that's the exact height of Napoleon."
"Hey, no offence, dude," I said quickly, and then we all came to a sudden halt at the Starduster to listen to Muirairraiel's speech. He spoke first in English and then in Zarmarian for a long time in a rolling, sonorous voice while the sun got hotter, and everybody wilted. Then came some ribbon cutting and handshakes all around, some repeated for the benefit of the press, and finally he took himself off in his ZIL. Giles mopped his brow thankfully. "Do you think we can get on with it now?" he asked no one in particular.
Denerhaiel was bustling back to us. In the background was a surprising amount of military deployment taking place, and there was an air of expectancy building up. "Excellent, Mister Giles! We are all ready to go now," Denerhaiel said. "I will thank you to proceed with all possible haste, beginning now.."
Giles turned to me and said in a harassed undertone, "Haste!? Starduster can't do more than five miles an hour on the flat. Weren't you paying attention?"
I was getting damn sick and tired of Giles and his invincible ignorance, and I didn't want Denerhaiel to hear him blow a gasket. I smiled past Giles and said, "Of course. All will be done as you want it, Minister."
"Good," he said. "I must get to Boagırlsıkrınn Square before you arrive. I leave Captain Checnecaiel in command of the arrangements." He hurried away to his car.
I said to Giles, putting an edge on my voice, "We're expected to put on a display, and we'll do it. Use everything you've got. Until we leave town, it's a goddamn circus every step of the way, and Starduster is the star of the show."
"Who's going to 'direct' to 'star of the show'?"
"You will---just tell your drivers to launch Starduster whenever they're ready. Checnecaiel and his comic-opera army will damn well have to fall in around you. I'll ride with you in the Land Rover."
Giles shrugged. "Assholes," he said and went off to give Starduster's designated drivers their instructions. For the moment I actually had nothing to do and I wandered over to have a look at the fantastic space-age vehicle. It's a funny thing, but whenever a guy looks at a car or truck he automatically kicks a tire. Ask any second-hand auto salesman. So that's what I did. I had about as much effect as kicking a brick wall and was excruciatingly painful. The tires were all new, all state of the art. Starduster itself looked brand new, as if she had never been used before, and I couldn't decide if this was a good thing or a bad thing. I squinted up at it as it towered over me, remembering the one time I had towed a caravan and had it jacknife on me, and silently tipped my hat to the drivers of this outfit. They were going to need s kill and luck in equal proportions on this trip.
Giles drew up beside me in the Land Rover with a driver and I swung in the back. There was a lot of crosstalk going on with walkie-talkies, and a great deal of bustle and activity all around us.
"All right, let's get rolling," Giles said into the speaker. "Take station on me, Nick: about 3 mph and don't come breathing down my neck." He then said much the same thing into his car radio as the driver's climbed into the great dome that was the 'cab' of Starduster and the vast humming roar of its engines began throbbing. Captain Checnecaiel rolled up alongside us in the back of an open staff car and saluted smartly.
"I will lead the way, Mr. Giles. Please to follow me," he said.
"On condition you keep your speed to mine, Captain," Giles said.
"But of course, sir. You must watch me carefully, too, for I may have to stop at some point. You are all ready?"
Giles nodded and Checnecaiel pulled away. Giles was running down a roster of drivers, getting checks from each of them, and then at last signaled his own driver to move ahead in Checnecaiel's wake. I would have preferred to be behind Starduster, but I had to content myself with twisting in the rear seat of the car to watch behind me. To my shock something was joining in the parade that I hadn't seen before, filtering in between Giles and the Starduster, and at my sharp exclamation he turned to see for himself and swore.
The army was coming in no half measures. Two recoilless guns, two mortars and two heavy machine guns mounted on appropriate vehicles came forward, followed by a Soviet-era T-72 tank and at least two troop carriers. "God in heaven!" said Giles in horror, and gave hasty orders to his own driver, who swung us out of the parade and doubled back along the line of military newcomers. Giles was speaking urgently to Checnecaiel on the radio.
"I'll rejoin after the army vehicles, Captain. I have to stay with Starduster!"
I grinned at him as he cut the captain off in mid-sentence.
"They're armed to the teeth," he said irritably. "Why the hell didn't he warn me about all this?"
"Maybe the crowds here are rougher than in England," I said, looking with fascination at the greatly enhanced parade streaming past us.
"They're using us as an excuse to show what they've got. They damn well know it's all going out on telly to neighboring countries," Giles said. "I'm not enjoying all this publicity. Were we supposed to put up flags with Herolutions and British Aerospace on Starduster? Nobody told me, if so."
Yes, this show of military prowess was making me a little uneasy, but it would never do for me to let Giles see that. He was jittery enough as it was. He gave orders as the tanks swept past, commanders standing up in the turrets, and we swung in behind the last of the army vehicles and just in front of the Starduster. Nick waved down to us from the driving compartment and the Starduster began rolling behind us. The last car behind it was the second Land Rover with Brian Tipton aboard.
Giles was watching the orders as the tanks swept past, commanders standing up in the turrets, and we swung in behind the last of the army vehicles and just in front of the Starduster, the satellite (and whatever else the Herolutions people might be having her carry) strapped down on her midsection. Nick Spalding waved down to us from the control cab, and the rig began rolling behind us. Giles concentrated on its progress, the very last car to come along in the rear being Land Rover #2 with Brian Tipton aboard.
Giles was watching the rig, checking back regularly and trying to ignore the shouting, waving crowds who were gathering as we went along, traveling so slowly that agile small boys could dodge back and forth across the road in between the various components of the parade. There was much blowing of police whistles to add to the general noise. We heard louder cheering as we came out onto the coastal boulevard leading to the town center. The scattering of people thickened as we approached.
Giles paid particular attention as the Starduster turned behind us into Hoadgoaoann Prospect; turning a one-piece 240-foot vehicle like Starduster was no easy job, but the rig itself was steerable from the passenger side as well as the driver's side and a crewmember was indeed spinning a steering wheel from the cab's right side, synchronizing with Nick Spalding in the driver's seat.
Motorcycle escorts took up flanking positions as the rig straightened out into the broad avenue and the crowd went wild.
Giles said, "I say, did someone declare a bloody holiday or something?"
"Rent-a-crowd," I grinned. Giles sat a little straighter and seemed to relax slightly. I thought that he was beginning to enjoy his moment of glory, after all. The Land Rover bumped over a roughly cobbled area, and I realized with a start that we were driving over what must have once been the place where a statue of Yarhaienesaiel had been only a few days earlier.
We entered Boagırlsıkrınn Square to a sea of pale-white faces and people in all kinds of clothing, from traditional to modern, gesticulating arms and waves of sound that surged and echoed from the big buildings all around. The flags hung limply in the still air, but all the rest was movement under the hard tropical sun.
"God!" Giles said, awestruck. "It's like a Roman triumph. I feel like I should have a slave behind me whispering sweet nothings in my ear." He quoted, "Memento mori---remember thou must die."
I grunted. I was used to the British habit of flinging off quotations at odd moments, but I hadn't expected it of Giles. He went on, "Just look at that lot."
The balcony of the Retributive Justice Center was full of figures. The President, the Prime Minister, MPs (Members of Parliament), Army staff, some in modern dress or in uniforms, but some, like Denerhaiel, changed in local costume: a long-sleeved, leather jacket and simple, narrow pants that reached down to his bound cloth shoes. It was barbaric and, despite my professed cynicism, a touch magnificent.
The tanks and guns had passed, and it was our tun. Giles said to me, "Do we bow or anything."
"Just sit tight. Pay attention to Starduster. Show them it's still business first." Of to one side of the parade, Checnecaiel's staff car was drawn up with the captain standing rigidly at the salute in the back seat.
"Checnecaiel is doing the necessary for all of us."
The bulk of the Starduster crept slowly across Boagırlsıkrınn Square and the troops and police fought valiantly to keep the good-natured crowd back. As soon as our car was through the Square we stopped and waited too for the Starduster to come up behind us, and then set off again following Checnecaiel, who had regained his place in the lead. The tanks and guns rumbled off in a different direction, and the convoy with its escort of soldiers crept on through narrower streets and among fewer and fewer people.
The city began to thin out until we were clear of all but a few shanties and into the beginning of the croplands, and here the procession came to a halt, with only an audience of goats and shepherd boys to watch us.
Checnecaiel's car came back. He got out and spoke to Giles, who had the grace to thank him and to congratulate him on the efficiency of his arrangements. Clearly both were relieved that all had gone so well, and equally anxious to get on with the job in hand. Within minutes Giles had his men remove the bunting and flags; he was driving them hard while the euphoria of the parade was still with them.
"This is all arsey-versey," I heard him saying. "You've had your celebration---now do something to earn it."
"Take it easy," I told him. "I'm sure they're saving their real celebration for tonight."
Giles shook his head.
"We have a company rule. There's no hard liquor on the operations: just beer, and I have a say in that. And they've got a few days ahead of them."
"I guess they have," I said.
"A lot of operations," Giles said. "Months of work. Right now, it's a pretty daunting prospect for both our peoples."
"Why is Herolutions so interested in Starduster?"
I still felt I didn't know as much about Herolutions as I should. Having seen a pitiful slice of whatever their job is out here, I was in a fever to talk to Beauregard back home, and to get together with Hale too. Reminded of him, I asked Gile when he was due to come out.
"Next weel, I think," Giles said. "He'll fly up and join us during the mid-section of the trip. As for Starduster, we're hoping to construct a similar vehicle to her. In fact, it's already in the making, Moonraker, we call it. It'll be useful in future jobs like this one, but not soon enough. And the rains start in a couple of months, too: we've got a lot of homework to do I'm afraid."
"Can we keep going through the wet season?"
"If the road holds out, yes. And I must say it's fairly good most of the way. If it hadn't existed, we'd never have given the job a second look."
I said, "I'm frankly surprised in a way that you did get involved. It's a hell of a job for a new firm---wouldn't the standard European runs have suited you better to begin with?"
"We decided on the big gamble. Nothing like a stunning big success to start off with.
I thought that it was Hale, rather than the innately conservative Giles, who had decided on that gamble, and wondered how he had managed to convince my own masters that he was the right man for the job.
"Right, Cliff, this is where I bid you adieu," I said, climbing down from the Land Rover to stand on the hard heat-baked tarmac. I'll keep in touch, and I'll be out to see how you're getting on. Meanwhile, I've got a few irons of my own in the fire---back there in the Frying Pan."
We shook hands and I hopped into Brian Tipton's car for the drive back to Dunin, leaving Giles to organize the beginning of Starduster's first expedition.
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