CostLess Cosmos

I liked Ellen. I wondered if I'd ever meet someone as nice and as, frankly, hot as her again. I asked if she was dating anyone, or married, if she'd be going home to meet someone specific.

She said no.

The almost-silence hung there. I say almost because, really, we'd ceased hovering over Canada and started dropping kind of like a flat rock. That is, still fast, but moving air around in the process. From 300 km, it takes a while to fall -- but thrusters on low kept our airspeed down. The whoosh of rushing air did make an eerie sound.

"I don't mean to use this adventure as an elaborate way of... "

"It's fine, Kevin. This is great fun. You seem like a nice guy."

"Thank you. I've been kind of... isolated for a while, and I think I might like to be less so." I paused, and continued, "And you seem like a nice person, too."

Realizing this wasn't the right time, and there were cameras on us, I suggested we start figuring out where we were going to land. I knew about where Ottawa was, but it's a different thing descending from orbit on a continent with no boundary lines or place names.

About then, Houston rang us up again. "Fenn, Houston, do you read?"

"Fenn, Houston, we read 5 by 5 over."

"We show your trajectory as coming down right over Lake Ontario, Canada. Is this intentional, over?"

"Houston, Fenn, affirm that, over."

There was a pause.

"Fenn, Houston. We've got a request to patch you into Canadian military air traffic command. Do you agree to the handoff, over?"

"Houston, roger. Fenn, go for whoever, over."

"Fenn, Toronto center, we're standing by with flight routing. State your intended destination."

"Toronto, Fenn. We'd like to land somewhere in or near Ottawa where the patent office and a patent office clark might be available for discussions, over."

"Fenn, copy that, destination Ottawa. We show your airspeed 2-0-0 knots vertical, ground speed near zero, directly above Lake Ontario. We recommend, descend to 2-0-thousand METERS, reduce speed pilot's discretion 1-5-0 knots, bearing 0-4-5, over."

"Toronto, Fenn, yes, request to descend to 1-0-thousand meters, then airspeed 1-5-0 knots bearing 0-4-5, over."

They repeated it again and I confirmed. They finished with, "We have some proud Canadians here, Mr. Rand, awaiting your return. We understand you wish to see someone from the patent office as well. We've arranged a landing spot if you're amenable, over."

"Toronto, go ahead, over"

"Fenn, recommend you follow the river into downtown Ottawa, staying centered over the river and at slow speed. You'll see a very large dam. Downstream from the dam is a marina. A landing spot is being arranged for you at the Marina. You may choose anywhere in there, maybe a large concrete parking lot, or the grass. If you don't like this spot, you may choose any other convenient one. Police will keep crowds away, we are aware your jetwash is significant, over."

"Toronto, roger, wilco. Out."

We descended, watching the ground get closer.

Eventually, we got down far enough I could turn on the air-breathers again, and explained again how that worked to Ellen, who seemed to already know but was waiting for a subtlety. I had already explained (early on) how the thrusters worked in detail, and she had some reasonably insightful questions. That had impressed me. I reiterated that I was impressed by how quickly she was picking up how this worked, I knew it was a lot to take in all of a sudden and she was obviously smart and capable.

She blushed.

I think she was kind of impressed with me. On the surface, that kind of makes sense, but lots of engineering seems prodigious until you understand how it fits together, and then it can sometimes transform into the mundane.

Her reaction was not that, so maybe I actually had come up with something cool in an absolute sense, beyond my own estimation.

Getting down there was almost an hour of travel, so I asked for and received clearance to increase speed and we zoomed along.

Not having any much in the way of vehicle design engineering, I knew I'd overdesigned parts of the Fenn, but I had no idea what the max speed was through the air, and with all the things we'd done today I just wanted to set it down, patent every part of it, and have a good shower.

I asked Ellen, "We've both missed a night of sleep. I don't know if my bank account will handle a night in any fancy Ottawa hotel, but perhaps they can put us up for free?"

She grinned at me, still having a fabulous time, "They'd better. We're super-famous. Jay said the video feed was going out live."

"I figured that from how he was talking."

"Oh, yeah. You might get to meet the... Oh, the Prime Minister or something."

"You will, too!"

"Sure, but... it's not my country. Still, I'd be privileged. I hear he's a great guy. Kinda hunky."

I laughed. "And, married."

"Sure, but I'm not freakin' blind!"

We chuckled. "I might enjoy having dinner with you, if we get nearby rooms, or a big suite or something."

She turned her head. "You know that's what they're all thinking anyway."

"I'm sorry if I put you in a spot."

"Spot? I knew that's why you invited me when you said women under 30! Not a secret. But, if it got me a trip to space, Fuckin' A, you bet I'm grabbing it."

I shook my head, earnestly, seriously, "I'm not expecting..."

She laughed again, "And that's exactly why I'm paying attention. Still, I don't know you that well. I'd like to. Know you. So, yeah,... let's figure on dinner, if we can. I think the media will be mobbing us."

"Right on that one."

She looked at the cameras on the walls. "We should leave these on until we land, and then just one or two at low-res as security cameras."

"Good plan."

Ottawa came into view. We were over the river, and we'd come down to about 1000 meters, so we could see people on the street looking up at us. I descended, 300 meters, and it turned out a lot of people were turning to us, and waving. Ellen waved back, for a little, but then I needed her to spot a good landing place.

The boat dock was a little small, so I opted for a medium-sized parking lot 100 meters or so from the marina. I was so busy hunting for a space, I almost missed seeing the Parliament building across the river, until I turned the ship around to face the river. I normally wouldn't think it mattered which direction I faced, but I might as well, there would be lots of photographers.

All the streets were blocked off, police cars with blinking lights, and some military-looking folks there, too.

As I set the ship down, gently, I smiled wildly at Ellen and nodded to her, "Switches, bottom row, off, safety, safety, lock, off... all down... Right."

I hit the switches on my side, cutting the engines to ultra-low so they'd cool off gently, then off entirely. The last thing off? Wing warning lights switch. But, they were off. Some part of the journey had killed them. I shouldn't have been surprised, they were standard aircraft wing blinkers, not built for vacuum or seriously high-speed operation.

Ellen got herself out. She asked, "You want to get the diapers out of the pail now, or later?"

I laughed, "I'll get them later."

We climbed out of the cockpit, through the cargo hold, and out the door.

There were suddenly lots of people, cheering.

As we watched, people were running towards us, and police trying to set up a perimeter. I moved to stand in front of Ellen kind of protectively.

She pushed me back, though, and said, "Hey, I know TaeKwonDo, I'm okay. Black belt, 2nd degree."

I laughed back and said, "Excellent! I'll stand behind you then!"

A cop ran up to us, out of breath, "Welcome back, Mr. Rand, Ms. Clayton. If you'll just stay here, we're trying to set up a cordon. How far back would you like them?"

"At least out of the parking lot, give us some space. I don't want the ship damaged, it's... kind of valuable."

"Yes, sir. Understood."

We waited, some more people came up, police cars screamed in, set up a line, crowd control vans showed up, police on horseback, it was quite a scene. After a half-hour or so, Ellen said, "I really have to pee again. Why are we waiting here?"

"Dunno." We walked over to a group of cops and asked, "Who's in charge?"

"Dunleavy." He turned, "YO! Captain!"

A portly man, balding but wearing a huge grin walked up and shook our hands, like almost all the other cops had. "Captain Dunleavy. What's up?"

"We've been up all night. We need to use the restrooms, have a bite to eat..."

"Of course, sir. The Prime Minister is almost here. He's... In that van over there, other side of the bridge. Looks like he's... walking. Wow...."

He chuckled, marveling at the oddity of our situation. I had to laugh with him. It was kind of surreal. Plus, I got the feeling that this many people in downtown Ottawa was unusual.

Whispering to Ellen, I said, "Go ahead, you've got a couple of minutes at least. You can just squat on that bucket if you want, no worries, we can clean it out later. I almost put cat litter in it but that seemed like it'd float around and get everywhere."

She laughed hard and disappeared, re-appearing in about 3 minutes. "Fixed. Thank you so much!"

"No problem."

Mr. Montclaire (and his entourage) were led by a phalanx of police, but he was waving to people as he went. Ever the politician, I thought, it's kind of in the job description to be friendly. The crowd was parting for him and the police weren't really needed, but I got the reason for it. The leader of a country doesn't just walk around in a big crowd like this without some security detail.

Eventually, he got up to us. I wanted to walk forward to him, but the police line only left a certain amount of space and I didn't want to get too near the crowd.

Extending his hand, his smile was very friendly but also, I could tell, evaluating.

We shook hands, both with myself and with Ellen, and several others there as well. He greeted us with "Hello! Bonjour! Welcome to Ottawa!"

I knew Canada, and we were across the river. That meant we were in Gatineau, Quebec, but the whole city was mostly Ottawa anyway. And as far as Ellen knew, probably, it was Ottawa.

We said some pleasantries, I showed him around the outside of the ship. He nodded, asking if it was safe to touch. I frankly didn't know if it'd be too hot, so I tested it -- "it's fine. Re-entry wasn't fast, I coasted down a lot like a brick."

He laughed at that.

I said, "I realize this is... an important meeting, but... we didn't have a bathroom in there...? And, we'd really like a chance to clean up and have some kind of food besides trail mix and soda. Can I have your firm commitment that this craft will not be touched while I'm away?"

"Of course! We'll have a guard around it. Plus..." He looked around, "I think the surveillance will be complete and uninterrupted. We won't touch it."

"Thank you."

Nodding calmly, he was obviously in charge and said, "As for the rest - we just learned you were coming, so... it's a little makeshift. But, I know a good place to stay. We'll get the rest handled quickly."

His smile was infectious. He was just plainly overjoyed that we were there, plus, he was really likable. I figured he'd rolled a 50-plus from 3d-20 for charisma.

Turning to his aide with the unspoken question, the aide turned and pointed at a set of big police SUVs that were just pulling up.

I pulled the Fenn's door shut behind us and latched it, though I didn't have a lock, that would have to do.

We walked over to the SUV's; he got in the first one and we were directed into the second one, where a bulky camo-clad guy in a jumpseat was sitting, scanning the crowd outside, unconcerned with us.

The front seat had two more military types who had the sort of businesslike alertness that said they were here to Protect Everything.

It was understandable. They didn't know me or Ellen very well, but the crowd was the threat.

The SUVs drove out down crowded streets, though people moved aside to let us through. I saw the police cordon was being enhanced with ever more military-cammo guys walking up, carrying automatic weapons. They were surrounding the site but facing outwards.

I asked, "It looks well-guarded, at least."

We headed for a tall round-topped hotel next to the Parliament building. Pulling into the circle drive, police ahead and behind us, officers cleared a path and we all got out and were escorted into the building, but then there were the PM's SUV's coming up, lots of people moving around, some guests who were confused, etc.

It looked like we (the military people, some of the PM's entourage, and ourselves) were all waiting for some manager guy, but next to him was a guy with a nametag that said, 'Concierge' on it, and he came out from behind a standing-desk to talk with us.

He was beaming, genuinely happy to see us. He said, "Heck of a thing! Most famous Canadian spacecraft, ever! Right now, right here! I get to say, I was here. Well. Something to tell the grandkids, I guess. [he looked about 35 years old but it didn't seem to matter]. You built it yourselves?" His eyes twinkled a little as he asked the question.

I said, "Just me."

Ellen said, "He picked up groceries in Cupertino and I hitched a ride."

A second too late, we both saw he'd been kidding us, "Just testing you to make sure you didn't know each other secretly before this whole adventure. We were speculating."

"Understood."

The concierge switched back to formal mode as Mr. Montclaire walked up to us again, and asked, "Where are the restrooms?"

"Over here, follow me."

Graciously, he gestured and Ellen and I were led to the bathrooms near the bar. I had a nice opportunity to take care of unfinished business. I really needed it. I'd purposefully not eaten heavy meals the day before, mostly being on a liquid diet for just that reason, but I did need to go and it was a huge relief. Washing up, I splashed water on my face and head and finger-combed to a semblance of looking okay.

Emerging, I saw some of Mr. Montclaire's men handling something at the desk.

I walked up like I had a right to talk to the Prime Minister (it was kind of funny) and said, "Ah. Refreshed."

He smiled. "And, here's Ms. Clayton as well."

Ellen was walking behind me; she clarified, "Ellen, please."

Montclaire's aide said to him, "They're ready for us at the restaurant anytime." To us, he said, "If you like, you could stay here tonight?"

I said, "Sirs. As much as we'd like to, I can't afford the room rates here, and Ellen is a student."

Montclaire laughed and interjected, "I've got that covered. As PM, I'm permitted to entertain international guests with wide discretion. Ms. Clayton, your nationality presents a most excellent chance to use that perk... And, as long as you're here with a guest, we can accommodate both of you, no charge.... Did you want lunch now, or after you freshen up further? An early lunch?"

I thought, "Yes, please! I'm famished. Ellen?"

She nodded, so we got into an elevator.

Taking its time, we stood but didn't make small talk. I think Ellen and I were just nervous, but I didn't honestly know what to say to Mr. Montclaire! What do you say? Any question seemed stupid. 'Hey, what's it like to be the PM - you get good food?'

Food was a topic on my mind.

The door opened and we emerged into the top floor restaurant. At one point, I think it rotated, but no longer. We got a table overlooking the Fenn, the center of a giant hubbub, a mob on the streets, everyone clamoring to get a look.

In the restaurant, the few other people there saw us coming in and stood up. Someone started applauding, and soon the whole staff and guests were doing so. I held up a hand and waved, and we sat down.

It felt kind of good.

Settled in, Ellen to my side and Mr. Montclaire across the small table, he took out a small tape recorder, turned it on, and said, "Sorry, Official Records Act, I have to record this. Okay with you?"

I nodded, smiling, "Sure, No problem."

He looked at Ellen, who said, "Yeah, sure" and kind of shrugged.

One of his aides came up and handed him a tablet computer, which he looked at while a waiter came up and asked us what we wanted. I just said 'pancakes, bacon, eggs, hash, OJ, and coffee, cream and sugar."

Ellen chuckled at me and nodded, "Me, too."

"For you, sir?"

Montclaire said, distracted, "What he's having."

A couple of minutes, and he put down the tablet. "Well. We have some business to do. Want to put that off, or can we get it out of the way?"

"Now is fine... We can see, if it's easy."

Montclaire was smiling, but had a businesslike concerned face on as he started. "Transport Canada tells me you're facing inquiry into using a false tail number in identifying your craft, failing to get airworthiness certifications, and causing a false terrorist report to be filed. How would you respond to these charges?"

I smiled, knowing I had no defense, and kind of shrugged. "Uh... I don't have counsel present. I would need to consult with an attorney before making any specific responses. But, hypothetically?"

He smiled back, nodding with a reasonably happy attitude, "Sure."

"Hypothetically, I'd like to quote Elon Musk, who said once, quote, it's easier to actually go land on the moon than to prove to NASA that I can, unquote."

Apparently, Montclaire had heard the quote, so he just nodded and moved on. "Please be clear. We need to know if any part of your devices, as currently configured, could be used as a deadly weapon, or, if deliberately misused, function as a weapon of mass destruction?"

I thought about that one. "Complicated question. As currently configured, the only way to use the ship as a weapon is to crash it into something, so the same danger level as... as any aircraft of similar mass. So, no, not a weapon, not really. About the... deliberately? I don't think so. Maybe... Might be possible to disable safety features that keep me safe. Oh, and if I land on someone, like, where they're standing underneath the exhaust plume? That would melt them. It melts asphalt, so, it'd hurt a person. About like a jet engine, or a rocket engine, though."

He nodded, waiting.

"That's all I can immediately think of....Oh, wait. If I took off a faraday cage on the inside, it would... microwave me, and then anyone near the craft. But, that's well protected now, multiple safety systems, I'm overcautious in a lot of ways."

Just about that fast, our food showed up, plates of breakfast stuff, coffee, etc., and once we got going, we chatted for a while about the weather in Ottawa, the view from orbit, my worries flying down, etc.

Seeing a gap in the conversation, he said, "You know, of course, I've been following exactly what you're been doing since about the time you went vertical last night. They woke me up, I had to go to secure quarters."

I was confused, "Over... an aircraft doing odd things?"

"You... They weren't 'odd things, Kevin." He finished his bite and was direct with me, a serious look. "You did quite impossible things."

I nodded, remembering, thinking what else they could have thought it was.

"NORAD had solid flight tracks, backwards to where you took off, vertically, but without prop wash from a helicopter. You were doing things that couldn't be done. NORAD saw you go vertical and, pardon my frankness, shit got real. They scrambled some fighters, fast movers to get near you, and called me. They woke lots of people up. The Americans had a CAP flight over Seattle, they beat us to near where you were, but by then you'd gone ballistic. Headed south, we didn't know you'd go. San Fran was a bet, maybe L.A., or Hawaii. Or, Anchorage, we had no idea. Most everyone was in the wrong place with empty tanks."

That explained why I had a chance to hang around Cupertino uninterrupted for maybe 20 minutes.