Blue Hope: (Book 2) (Red Hope) Read online

  Much of Houston sat frozen in time, locked to the day when the bomb hit downtown. The suburb of Clear Lake, where the old NASA facility resided, was spared most of the blast damage, but radioactive dust and debris did settle onto the ground and external structures. It was dangerous for any animals to spend much time there.

  Don’t tell the dogs that, though. Formerly domestic pets, they now lived in packs and roamed the suburbs. Howling all night long, they moved quickly through the abandoned backyards. New running paths were worn through the overgrown grass. At first it was a mix of breeds, from golden retrievers to pitbulls to various mutts of every kind. However, after many months of animal lawlessness, only the pitbulls remained. Hundreds of marauding gangs of the strongest pitbulls. It was truly survival of the fittest.

  A pack of them slept comfortably outside the long metal structure that housed a 363-foot long rocket on the old NASA Johnson Space Center property. The building had enormous blue lettering on the side that spelled out ROCKET PARK. For several months, the Saturn V rocket sat comfortably in the darkness of the building, still protected from the elements.

  Today, however, was rocket moving day.

  Just east of the NASA facility was Galveston Bay, long famous for rising during hurricanes and flooding the nearby neighborhoods. Today the waves lapped quietly against the concrete barriers.

  Several long barges floated effortlessly towards the concrete walls that protected NASA Parkway from the water. The first barge bumped up against the concrete and a huge metal deck unfolded to form a ramp.

  One by one, large flatbed salvage trucks gunned their diesel engines and drove off the barges onto the road, making wide turns to stay on the pavement. The barges popped up a few inches as each truck left. These trucks had massive tires and the beds were at least 100 feet long and 15 feet wide, built for carrying oil industry equipment.

  The truck drivers themselves wore full hazmat suits complete with high-efficiency respirators to keep out dust contaminated with atomic waste. They hoped to spend as little time as possible here today. Accompanying each driver was an assistant who had the job of both navigation and protection — they were armed with Tasers and a pistol.

  The fleet of trucks drove west from the bay down NASA Parkway until they reached the old NASA Johnson Space Flight Center. From the main road, they could see the big ROCKET PARK building. They tore through the gates and pulled up in a long line in front of the building, holding off about one hundred yards away.

  “What’s with all the dogs?” asked the lead truck driver. “I’ve never seen so many.”

  “They don’t look very friendly,” his assistant responded.

  One by one, groups of dogs came wandering over to the truck to investigate the new visitors. The dogs barked and clawed at each other.

  “Well,” said the driver. “Call in the choppers.”

  The assistant pulled out the walkie-talkie and said, “All right everybody, we’re at the target. Bring in the can openers.”

  In a few minutes, four large Skycrane helicopters approached the building, each one dangling several cables. At the bottom of each cable was a man carrying a massive backpack with a portable cutting torch. One by one they flew over the roof of the building and dropped their man off, then flew away so their downwash didn’t knock those men off the roof.

  The group of men scrambled around the roof, carefully walking up to the edges and leaning over so they could reach the fastener bolts that held the roof onto the massive steel uprights. They used the cutting torches to slice through the massive bolt-heads and gussets that had protected this structure from dozens of hurricanes over the years. One by one they worked their way down the long roof, eventually cutting through all the fasteners on three sides. When they were done, they gathered toward the middle of the roof and signaled for the choppers to return.

  The Skycranes approached. Each man grabbed one of the dangling cables and walked it to the primary attachment points. When all done, four Skyrcrane helicopters were cabled to the roof of the ROCKET PARK building. It looked like a ballet of helicopter piloting.

  One of the smaller salvage trucks drove up right next to the building. A roof man attached a rope to the lightning rod and let the rest of the rope dangle down toward the salvage truck.

  “Come on, guys, let’s get off of here.”

  With the thundering Skycranes overhead, the men rappelled down the side of the building and landed on the bed of the truck.

  Surrounding the truck were hundreds of pitbulls. The dogs stared at the men like they hadn’t eaten in weeks. They barked and snapped at the men. The dogs bit at each other and angrily tried to jump onto the salvage bed, but its seven-foot height was just beyond their reach. The dogs were stirring themselves into a fury and biting at the fiberglass truck-body panels, ripping them off.

  Several dogs figured out that if they got a running start they could make the leap. Suddenly, the men were facing several raging dogs on the bed of the truck.

  Each of the men grabbed their cutting torches and dialed up the oxygen knobs causing huge bright flames. They pointed the flames at the dogs to keep them at bay.

  The truck driver leaned out the window and yelled, “Hang on, guys!”

  He gunned the engine, lurching the truck forward. It knocked the dogs off balance and caused them to fall over the side. They landed among the throng of other dogs.

  The truck drove over to where the group of long salvage trucks were waiting and pulled up next to each one, letting one of the cutting-torch men step off onto a truck. Their jobs were about to get even trickier.

  The Skycranes throttled up and raised their collective pitch levers. The vehicles ascended slowly and the cables suddenly went taut. With a ripping and sheering sound, one edge of the roof lifted up, releasing a cloud of dust and old bird nests. The roof continued to tilt up, like the lid on a massive treasure chest. The Skycranes powered up even more as they were reaching their lifting capacity.

  Suddenly within their view was the precious Saturn V rocket that had been painstakingly refurbished by the Smithsonian. It gleaned in black and white, having been broken up into the three main elements for display purposes and carefully set atop metal supports.

  The helicopters continued lifting until the roof was vertical. Then they drifted slightly away from the main shell of the building and released their cables. The huge roof structure began falling under its own weight, outside the building. It came crashing down on the northside of the building, releasing a storm of dust and debris.

  The helicopters flew off to a rendezvous point about 500 yards away to allow the trucks do their work.

  Four of the trucks circled the building, each one backing up to the middle of one of the four sides of the structure. The cutting-torch men, now safely out of reach now of the pitbulls, walked the length of their trucks until they reached the rearmost sections, closest to the building. They each picked up what looked like a harpoon device; a large rifle with a claw and a cable. They aimed them as high as they could and fired.

  The claws shot up and over the top of the bare walls, drooping down and grasping some of the main steel structure of the walls, stringing a cable back toward the bed of the truck. The men grabbed the ends of the cables and, leaving twenty yards of slack, they wrapped them around a hook on the truck.

  “Everybody ready?” the lead driver asked.

  The four cutting-torch men said “Yes” simultaneously.

  The trucks gunned their engines and slowly drove away from each of their respective walls. A series of popping noises erupted. In slow motion, the large steel walls began to fall outward. An ocean of dogs began running away from the structure.

  The trucks continued to pull. The walls fell and slammed into the ground, sending out a storm of debris and folding clouds of dust. The men on the trucks turned away and knelt down to keep from being knocked off the truckbeds and into the deadly throng of dogs.

  “All right, now for the hard part,” the lead helicopte
r pilot said. He returned to the rocket and hovered over the top portion where the pristine command module was located.

  One of the salvage trucks rolled over the fallen wall, its massive tires easily climbing over the structure. It pulled up next to the front of the Saturn V rocket. A cutting-torch man jumped from the back of the truck onto the support frame structure that held up the forward command module.

  The Skycrane dropped down a bit, giving the man access to the cables. The cutting-torch man hooked the cables onto the four corners of the long support structure.

  “Lift up!” said the cutting-torch man over his walkie-talkie.

  The Skycrane throttled up and the command module rose up from its moorings. The helicopter pilot deftly maneuvered the expensive cargo up and over to the truckbed where he set it down gently. The cutting-torch man released the cables.

  “Cables are released!” he yelled over the walkie-talkie.

  The truck driver gunned his engine and slowly drove away, heading back toward the barges waiting in Galveston Bay.

  “I’m low on fuel,” the lead pilot announced. “Need to head back to the barges.”

  Next up was the second section of the Saturn V. This portion was far too heavy for any helicopter to lift completely, so they planned to do a two-step movement. They would lift the front section onto the truck, then lift the back section up onto the truck.

  This maneuver required a truckbed that was slightly lower. Two cutting-torch men stood on the back of the truck, holding pistols in case any dogs made the leap.

  The longest salvage truck drove up next to the massive rocket section. A Skycrane flew up and hovered over the front of the rocket booster section. Two cutting-torch men clambered over the structure, attaching cables.

  They gave the signal.

  The Skycrane lifted up. A loud metal popping sound was heard as the front of the rocket section tilted up. The two men held on for dear life, one on each side of the rocket. The helicopter drifted towards the truck and the entire rocket structure began to turn. The Skycrane lowered the front end of the rocket onto the truck.

  The cable slipped a little and the rocket dropped the last few inches. The man on the passenger side of the rocket support structure fell off, hitting the edge of the truck and falling to the ground.

  A group of dogs grabbed him and dragged him beneath the truckbed. Screams could be heard even over the roar of the helicopter.

  The assistant to the truck driver opened his door and climbed out onto the truckbed. He laid down on his belly and looked under the truck. He saw a flurry of pitbulls biting at the cutting-torch man.

  The assistant pulled out his pistol and aimed.

  A dog jumped up and knocked the pistol from his hand. It fell onto the ground next to the injured cutting-torch man.

  “Dammit!” the assistant yelled. He pulled out his Taser and aimed it at the lead dog, firing it immediately. The dog yelped and hollered, then ran away. The other dogs backed off.

  The man on the ground reached for the pistol and began firing it into the air over the heads of the dogs. The remaining dogs ran away.

  The assistant reached down as far as he could.

  “Give me your hand!”

  The cutting-torch man stood up, obviously in pain, and grabbed the assistant’s hand. He pulled him up and the injured man laid out flat on the truckbed, looking up at the midsection of a Saturn V rocket.

  “Let’s finish this and get out of here!” the assistant yelled. The secondary cutting-torch man nodded.

  The Skycrane now hovered over the back to the rocket section. The remaining cutting-torch man and the assistant driver climbed up onto the support structure and attached the cables. The helicopter throttled up and the back end of the rocket lifted up. It rotated through the air until it was aligned over the bed of the truck. The helicopter set it down onto the salvage truck.

  “Go! Go!” the assistant yelled.

  The truck rumbled away, crushing the laid-down wall sections.

  Last up was the longest and heaviest bit — the first stage of the Saturn V. Fortunately, this huge section was already sitting on a flatbed, complete with wheels. This was the only way NASA had been able to transport the final section of the rocket to this building. So they left it on the flatbed trailer.

  The tractor portion of a salvage truck backed up to the end of the heavy rocket section. The driver kept a careful eye on the trailer hitch and his fifth wheel plate, hoping to make a perfect latch.

  The driver gunned the engine and his truck backed up. The fifth wheel slid under the pin located on the front of the trailer bed. The flatbed trailer rose a few inches, then fell into the truck mount with a loud thud. The truck rocked forward a bit.

  “Bingo!” the driver yelled.

  He put the truck in first gear and gunned the engine. The old massive tires on the first stage flatbed began to roll for the first time in years. They rolled with the loud sound of squealing rubber. The truck plodded forward, grinding under the heavy load of the largest rocket in history.

  This truck, the last one, drove out toward the bay where the other salvage trucks had already gotten onto their barges. When the truck arrived, the driver made a wide turn to leave the main road. The big truck wheels rolled onto the last barge, causing it to tilt a bit toward shore. When the driver slammed on the brakes, the momentum carried the barge away from shore. The barge pilot retracted the ramp, leaving a throng of dogs that had followed them the entire way.

  For the first time in over half a century, NASA had a Moon rocket again.

  CHAPTER 69

  Press room

  New White House

  Reston, Virgina

  “Hello, everybody,” the president said, smiling at the quickly assembled crowd of journalists. “Please have a seat.”

  The president motioned for everybody to sit down. She turned behind her to see Chris Tankovitch standing there. She gave him the OK sign. He nodded and looked over at a cube-shaped object sitting on a table next to him — it was covered in a blue sheet.

  “We have some exciting news to share involving our space agency.”

  She paused to look at her notes.

  “Before we go into that, I need to touch on a subject that has been a tragedy for both NASA and our nation. Two weeks ago we lost our administrative director of NASA in a freak scuba diving accident off the coast of Fiji. She was a an incredibly smart engineer and tireless advocate for our space program. Alexis Tankovitch took over during a very challenging time for our nation. We continue to rebuild, but I do ask all of you to keep her in your prayers. Fortunately, we have another Tankovitch who has graciously agreed to be the interim director of NASA. Many of you may question this decision, but I assure you that nobody else has the experience that we currently need.”

  She took a drink of water.

  “And that brings me to today’s announcement. Two weeks ago, we sent an expeditionary team to Africa. We were led to this location by interpreting the information that our Mars crew discovered on the walls of the Martian temple. If you recall, the temple was a dedication of sorts to their own expeditionary team that was sent to Earth to find alternative food sources — or perhaps to find viable land as their own planet faltered.”

  She turned around and motioned for the cartography team to come forward. A gaggle of engineers stepped up, laughing nervously as they got in line.

  “These ladies and gentlemen,” the president said, pointing to the line of people, “worked tirelessly to uncover the true latitude and longitude coordinates of the Martian lab. I understand it involved some pretty complex math.”

  The cartographers all looked at each other with a look of concern — they didn’t consider it complex. However, they all nodded their heads.

  “Without them, our expeditionary team would not have been able to find the Martian lab. And speaking of our expeditionary team….” she trailed off.

  The cartographers moved to the side of the stage as a group of four men walked u
p and reformed a line behind the president.

  “Behind me are the four fearless explorers who led us to the discovery of our lifetime.”

  She read straight from her notes, “Leroy McClaster, Roger Leuda, Roger Vickery and the most famous astronaut of all time — the man from Mars himself, Adam Alston.”

  The reporters in the audience gave them a standing applause.

  “I understand that there were some other support individuals.”

  Adam raised his finger up to catch her attention.

  “Yes, Captain Alston?” she said. “A few words?”

  He humbly walked up to the microphone.

  “I’d just like to add Victor Nuvongo, Jeffrey LaGuerre , and the Luodzo brothers, Sergeant and Lieutenant. Unfortunately, Jeffrey lost his life during the expedition — he was a good man. The other names that I mentioned were our experienced guides, but could not be here today.”

  Adam walked back to his line. The president turned to face the press corps again.

  “Yes, let’s give a hand for Victor and the Luodzo brothers. And our prayers for Jeffrey’s family.”

  Everybody applauded.

  “Gentlemen, please have a seat.”

  The cartography team and the expedition team sat down on rows of chairs at the side of the stage.

  “Now for the news you’ve been waiting for. We found an abandoned Martian laboratory near what would be considered the edge of the African jungle. It was left there about two hundred thousand years ago. It was hermetically sealed and contained a treasure trove of documents. Take a look at this.”

  The president turned to show a projected image on the screen. Various photographs taken from the inside of the Martian lab showed the enormous number of books and other information found there.

  “Now, ladies and gentlemen, I can’t even begin to tell you how valuable the information stored in those books is. Starting this afternoon, we are publishing PDF scans of all those books, along with their translations. Our experts were able to perform a translation because, if you recall, the Martian language was deciphered shortly after the Martian temple was discovered on the Red Planet. They are mostly logbooks, but to our amazement they also contain photographs taken by the Martians during their visit to Earth two hundred thousand years ago. Personally, I’ve found these photos simply stunning — you can call me a Martianatic!”