The Tower of Mount Everest

Jim Johnson is a hard sell. He is a smart, hard working, highly successful, wealthy entrepreneur with an incredible ability to focus relentlessly on pet projects with pinpoint precision and accuracy. He has an uncanny sixth sense about what works and what doesn’t, which keeps his batting average at record-setting highs. His portfolio is impressive to say the least. He had almost single-handedly overseen the financing and development of the world’s first privately owned commercial space station, a veritable playground for adults and kids alike; a city in space, including malls, entertainment centers, casinos, and almost anything else that a person could ever want down on earth. He had overseen the development of new kinds of spacecraft that carried families safely back and forth to this Shangri-La in space in relative ease and comfort; but the price tag has been stiff. Jim Johnson is rich all right, but only on paper. His assets are spread out as thinly as the upper atmosphere itself. One bad press release, one out-of-place remark, and the whole house of cards could come tumbling down as quickly as the 1929 stock market. He needs some way to cut costs, some way to make space travel more affordable. Fuel costs and maintenance are eating him alive because he has to subsidize trips in order to get the business. While this gets him some great PR and news reports, the bottom line is still ugly, and getting uglier by the day. He needs a new project, something more than just another way to get into space. Something so incredible, it will be an adventure in and of itself!

It is one of those kinds of mornings in Los Angeles... hinting that the very rhythm of the day will only get more and more out of sync with itself with each passing hour. The kind of day when you just want to pack it in early and hope it will all somehow just go away.

Jim Johnson wakes up late for an appointment with someone he doesn’t particularly want to see anyway. He has a pounding sinus headache, probably from the smog overlaying the city like the remnants of some nuclear holocaust. It is the middle of July and it is hot... hot and dry with no wind. The sun glares through his bedroom window like some brazen interloper, rousting him from his less than restful slumber. He sits up abruptly in bed only to feel the hot jolt of stabbing pain erupting from his frontal sinuses, as if someone had just exploded a firecracker right in the front of his skull. He quickly slumps back down and rubs his forehead, slowly at first, then more briskly in a futile attempt to disperse the throbbing ache within his head. Turning his head gingerly, he squints at the alarm clock, which is blinking the big red 12:00 signal, telling him in a not so subtle manner that a brownout shut off the clock just long enough to disable the alarm. His eyes snap open, “Good grief, what time is it!? How long have I been asleep?” He sits up abruptly again only to slump back down just as quickly to avoid the sudden rush of pain to his already overburdened sinuses. “Man oh man have I got a headache! How am I gonna be able to function today?” He fumbles around for his cell phone on the dresser. “Did anybody try to call me? Why hasn’t Martha called me from the office?” He punches in some numbers. The battery is dead. “Oh geez, what did I ever do to deserve all of this anyway?” Suddenly the bedroom phone rings, startling him. Jim slides over the bed, fumbles for the phone and picks it up. “Johnson here!”

A somewhat distraught female voice responds, “Mr. Johnson? This is Martha. Your nine o’clock appointment has arrived. What would you like for me to tell him?”

Johnson slumps and covers the top of his head with his other hand. “I don’t believe this, Martha. The electricity must have gone off again. This is not gonna be a good day. Listen, just get him some coffee or whatever he wants and tell him I’ve been delayed. Think of something. There’s no way I can get there in time with all the traffic.” Johnson fumbles around to collect his thoughts. “Listen Martha. Give him my most sincere apologies and see if we can set up a new meeting. This day is just not going well at all. Go ahead, I’ll hold.” Johnson returns to rubbing his head as he waits for Martha’s response.

He receives a more startled reply. “Mr. Johnson, he’s gone!”

“What do you mean he’s gone?” Johnson asks, agitated.

“He’s not in the waiting room!” she says.

“Well go see if he’s out in the hall or at the elevators! Go ahead!” Johnson slumps again, slowly shaking his head as he releases a deep sigh. He waits for what seems longer than five minutes.

“Mr. Johnson, I’m sorry. He’s not in the hall or at the elevator. Apparently he’s left the building.”

Johnson shakes his head in resignation. “Ok, Martha, don’t worry about it. If he comes back in or calls, let me know, ok? I’ll be in the office in an hour or so.” Martha attempts to apologize but Johnson cuts her off, “Don’t worry about it, Martha, it’s my fault, not yours. It’ll be all right. See you later, ok, bye.” He hangs up the phone, rubs his face with his hands, sitting up slowly to avoid another sinus attack. Shuffling into the bathroom, he begins the daily routine of shaving and showering. Once dressed, he scratches the back of his head and ambles into the kitchen to retrieve a cup of coffee, finding once again the ugly, blinking 12:00 symbol, indicating that no coffee has brewed that morning. Eyebrows raised, he forces a wry, thin smile at the insanity of it all, turns the coffee maker to the manual setting, and stretches out in a kitchen chair, covering his forehead with one hand while waiting impatiently for the coffee to finish brewing...

The doorbell rings, loud and imploring. Johnson jerks his head up and almost slides out of the chair onto the floor. “What the… I must have dozed off, waiting on the coffee! I’ve got to get my act together!” The bell rings again, this time with more urgency. “OK, OK,” Johnson mutters to himself, “Just a minute. What’s this guy selling anyway?” He walks down the stairs to the front door and opens it quickly. The strong sunlight and acrid smell of ozone teases his eyes, creating a silhouette of the large figure just in front of him. Johnson covers his eyes and squints to get a better view. “How can I help you?” he asks.

The dark figure replies in a low, strong, masculine voice, “Mr. Johnson? May I come in?”

Johnson strains to see the figure before him, “I’m sorry, do I... know you?”

The figure replies, “We’ve talked on the phone.”

Johnson responds, “I don’t mean to be rude but I really need to get into the office today. I’m already late for an appointment.”

The figure replies, “Don’t worry about your appointment, Mr. Johnson. It just came to you!”

Johnson stands, dumbfounded at the man’s comment. Suddenly, more alert, he brushes his hair back searching for words. “Are... are you Jeff Lattimer?”

“Yes, I am,” the figure, responds.

Johnson is at a temporary loss for words. How did you get past the gate guards? Lattimer flashes a copy of Johnson’s appointment confirmation letter.

“Well, well come on in,” he stammers. “Would you like some coffee? Go ahead and sit down. I’m really sorry about this morning. We had a brown-out or something here and the clock went out.” Johnson hesitates for a moment. “Geez, I’m really sorry about all this.”

The figure walks in, shuts the door, and offers Johnson his hand.

“Hello, Mr. Johnson. It’s good to finally get to meet you in person!” The man before him is over six feet tall, ruggedly handsome with an air of confidence and charm that Johnson finds a little unsettling. Johnson shakes the man’s hand, finding the grip firm and determined. With a reassuring manner, Lattimer pats Johnson on the back. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take that cup of coffee now,” he says. Sitting at the breakfast table, the men study each other for a while, smiling back and forth through the silence as each one takes a sip of coffee. Johnson is first to break the silence.

“You told me over the phone that you had some kind of project in mind that would fit me to a tee. I have to warn you Jeff... is it ok if I call you Jeff?” Jeff smiles and nods approvingly. “I have to warn you that I get a lot of calls at my office. Most of them don’t even get past my secretary. The few that do generally don’t get past me. However, there was something very intriguing about your comments. Intriguing, but not as yet compelling.”

The coffee finally kicks in and Johnson gets up to speed with his professional demeanor. He glances at his watch. “So tell me Jeff, what have you got for me? Just lay the cards on the table. Like I said, I’m a very busy man!”

Jeff continues to gaze across the table at Johnson, still smiling, still composed, as if he has all the time in the world. Johnson looks a little confused.

“Do you have a place where I can spread this out, Mr. Johnson?” Jeff quickly displays a large round mailing tube containing a document of some sort. Johnson gives a questioning glance to the tube and signals for Jeff to stand up and help him clear off the kitchen table. Carefully, Jeff removes the document from the mailing tube, revealing a blueprint.

Johnson studies the plan intently with a pensive expression. Scanning back and forth across the document, he says, “This looks like some kind of tower.” He glances up at Lattimer. “What kind of a plan is this?”

“That’s exactly what it is Mr. Johnson, a tower!” Lattimer turns his back to Johnson as if to reflect on his own words, his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him, his hands behind his back. “A tower unlike any ever built by man before.” He turns quickly, placing his hands on the blueprint and looks Johnson squarely in the eyes. “A tower that is a fitting challenge, even for someone like you, Mr. Johnson!”

Johnson stares at him in amazement. “Why on earth would I want to build a tower? You’ve seen one, you’ve seen ’em all.”

Lattimer responds coyly, “Not quite, Mr. Johnson. You see, this particular tower will take you all the way into outer space.”

Johnson looks at him dumbfounded, eyes wide, his mouth falls open. Finally, he breaks the silence. “Yu... you’re out of your mind! No one can build such a thing!” He turns his back and raises his hands in the air. “Not only would it not work, it would cost more than the gross national product to even get started on it!” His hands return to his sides. “This is a white elephant that would do the Pentagon proud!” He turns back around to face Lattimer, regaining his composure. “I’m sorry Dr. Lattimer. I don’t mean to be harsh or rude, but this project is simply beyond outrageous. It goes beyond the stratosphere, no pun intended.” He gazes at Lattimer, waiting for the inevitable signs of resignation to enter his face. Lattimer simply gazes back.

“I understand your concerns, Mr. Johnson. Really I do. You wouldn’t be where you are today if you listened to every Tom, Dick, and Harry who came in off the street with some half-baked cockamamie project.”

“I’m glad you understand...”

“But Mr. Johnson,” Lattimer interrupts, “I too am a man who does his homework, checks all the angles, so to speak, before I make any sudden moves, or requests.” The silence seems to stretch on forever.

“What are you trying to say, Dr. Lattimer?”

Lattimer leans over the table, placing his face inches from Johnson. Looking straight into his eyes, he begins to speak to the man in slow, measured tones.

“I know a lot more about you than you realize, Mr. Johnson, so let’s cut to the chase here. You’re going broke. In fact, for all intents and purposes, you’re already there. Your creditors just don’t know it yet. You need a way into space that isn’t going to break the bank, and you needed it yesterday.” Lattimer straightens up.

Johnson, completely dumbfounded by Lattimer’s remarks shakes his head in utter confusion. “How the hell is building a tower going to solve any of my problems?”

Leaning back over the table, Lattimer looks straight into Johnson eyes.

“This tower IS the answer to all your hopes and dreams! It will be a virtual money making machine, almost from the start. And it will get your customers into space almost as easy as taking an elevator ride.”

Johnson is astonished. “Are you proposing a space elevator?”

Lattimer pushes himself off the table, “Yes, and no, Jim. You see a true space elevator would have to extend out into space for over 20,000 miles, a technological feat that may or may not be attainable, even in our lifetimes. What this tower will do is get people into the edges of outer space, only 57 miles…that part will be done by an elevator. The remainder of the trip will be done by rocket ships... unlike anything you could ever imagine.”

“Rocket ships?” Johnson asks incredulously. “Launched from a tower 57 miles into space? How is that possible?”

Lattimer leans back over the table and whispers into Johnson’s ear. “I’ll show you.”

Terra I

Sam Snyder is not your “typical” invisible venture capitalist partner. He is a self-made, hands-on, “in-your-face,” kind of guy, almost to the point of being a bully... a rough, burly individual. Somewhat short and balding, with black curly hair, hairy arms and bushy eyebrows, he looks more like the hot dog vendor his father had been in the Bronx than a financier from Wall Street. He is brash to the point of being rude, and considers intimidation to be a sign of manliness. But once he has thoroughly pounded his point home, he has an incredible knack for pulling back just in time to avoid destroying the entire deal in the process. He is in the middle of a lively conversation with three other venture capitalists about the state of their space program. They are all sitting in a private, executive dining room, enjoying the view from one of the many windows of the only commercial space station orbiting the earth, Terra I. It is a revolving tubular wheel, 1000 feet in diameter, attached to a hub by four tubular spokes. Space ships land on the hub in zero gravity. Passengers disembark through an airlock and descend down one of the four tubular spokes in an elevator. By the time they reach the end of the spoke and enter the wheel, the gravitational field has increased from zero to that of earth, due to the centrifugal field generated by the rotation. This space station, the brainchild of Jim Johnson, has been a long time coming and is by all accounts, an amazing feat of engineering.

“Gentlemen,” Snyder says smiling, “I propose a toast!” He raises his cocktail glass, first to them, and then, to the view of earth just outside the window. “To the day, in the not too distant future, when man will be able to breach the outer limits of the atmosphere without the fear of bankruptcy! Cheaper rockets, less fuel... Bingo!” He turns slowly back to the men, his eyes shining with glee. “And, best of all, no more Jim Johnson!” With that, they laugh uproariously as they clink their glasses together. The man sitting next to Snyder leans toward him and whispers in his ear.

“How on earth did you ever get Johnson to sign off on this deal anyway?”

Snyder leans toward the man, grinning slyly and whispers, “Let’s just say I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.” Snyder turns away and becomes engaged in the general conversation at the table, laughing heartily at a joke being told.