The Tower of Mount Everest

The months roll by as the tower continues creeping skywards. Treinwood and Randolph have done an effective job in keeping Snyder at bay. However, this ploy turns out to be a two-edged sword. Preventing Snyder from selling out has turned off the new investment spigot. It also forced Calvin Malone to go public with what little information he has received so far from Snyder; and if new sources of revenue are not found soon, the project will begin to falter.

Still, the tower has taken on a life and magnificence all its own. It has reached an astonishing height of 25,000 feet above the summit of Everest, but as in all matters pertaining to life, things can turn on a dime...

“The tower is doing what?” asks Lattimer over the phone. “Are you absolutely sure about that? Re-check your calculations. I’ll be down there in 30 minutes.”

Lattimer hangs up the phone in his room at Space Station Everest. He gets in the utility elevator and rides down to Everest Heights where Craig Randolph is waiting for him. Lattimer exits the airlock and removes his helmet.

“Ok, Craig, show me your data.” Craig takes him into the central business office at Everest Heights, closes the door, shuts the blinds, and turns on a bank of web cams that continuously focus on various positions of the legs up and down the tower.

Lattimer studies the various cams, noting the exact coordinates that overlay the pictures. “Let me see your calculations now,” he says. While studying Randolph’s calculations intently, he quizzes the engineer at various intervals, trying to poke holes in the data, to find the flaws, the subtle errors that must be there. After all, this couldn’t be right. Not after all the careful planning and intense, laborious tweaking and adjusting that had gone into the erection of this tower. “This can’t be right,” Lattimer says under his breath.

The stolid Randolph finally speaks up. “I’m afraid it is, Dr. Lattimer.”

“No,” says Lattimer. “You’ve made a mistake somewhere. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening!”

Randolph, morbidly amused with Lattimer’s obvious state of denial, pipes up again.

“Check the data all you want, it won’t change anything. It doesn’t take a genius to see that this tower is becoming more and more unstable with increased height.” Randolph folds his arms, drops his head, grins, and begins shaking, obviously amused by Lattimer’s predicament. He pats Lattimer on the shoulder in mocking reassurance. “Did you really think you had a snowball’s chance in hell of ever pulling this thing off?”

Lattimer pulls away from his tormentor. His face grows dark with anger.

Randolph looks at him, a sardonic, mocking smile on his face. “Have a nice day, Dr. Lattimer,” he says with a tone of finality dripping in condescension. Chuckling, he turns and walks away, leaving Lattimer alone in the office with his thoughts.

Lattimer’s emotions race from fury to fear, to panic, and back to fury again. “That no good S.O.B.” he says to himself. “Always looking for the flaws, always hoping, praying for this project to fail, just so he can say I told you so. He’s jealous. That’s what it is, petty jealousy! Why didn’t I have that man fired when Treinwood was in the mood? Maybe he threw a monkey wrench in the project, sabotaged it some way.” Lattimer’s mind becomes a raging vortex of emotions and thoughts, violently swirling around, consuming every last ounce of his energy. He finally falls asleep in the chair, completely exhausted mentally, physically, and emotionally. This tower, this obsession, this ravenous, all-consuming beast was not going to get the best of him. Not him. Not Jeffery Lattimer.

A flood of white light and loud noise is quickly followed by shaking. “Dr. Lattimer, Dr. Lattimer, wake up, are you all right?” Lattimer rises out of his fatigue-induced fog, recognizing his old friend’s voice, Jose.

“Jose?” he mumbles, weaving his bobbing head from side to side. “That you, Jose?” He slurs.

Jose looks around at the two men with him. “Help me get him straightened up in this chair... and get some coffee in here, pronto! Jeff!” Jose says softly, looking Lattimer square in the eyes and gently holding his shoulders so he doesn’t slump back down in the chair. “What is the matter mi amigo? What have they done to you this time?”

Lattimer begins to join the world of the living. Suddenly, he can’t bear to look Jose in the eyes. “I’ve failed, Jose,” he says under his breath. “I’ve failed this project, these men, the investors, and more importantly, I’ve failed you.”

Jose hesitates for a moment, then, shakes Lattimer to get his attention.

“What are you talking about, Señor? You? Failed?” He steps back. “You call all this failure?” He waves his arms in a broad arc. “These cities, this tower”? Jose hesitates, trying to collect his thoughts, to find the right words. It is obvious that Lattimer is on the edge of a deep psychological precipice, and Jose needs to do everything he can to talk him back away from it. “Dr. Lattimer, please tell me what’s wrong so we can try to fix it.”

Lattimer’s forearms are resting on his thighs with his fingers locked together, his head bowed in abject resignation.

“There’s nothing you can do, Jose. There’s nothing anybody can do. The tower is flawed, fatally flawed.”

Jose squints his eyes in disbelief. “This can’t be Lattimer talking,” he thinks. “This has got to be some kind of imposter. Lattimer doesn’t talk this way. Lattimer is a doer, not a whiner. He always goes the distance, always pulls the rabbit out of the hat at just the right time.” Jose gulps, then walks gingerly over to Lattimer and gently grabs his shoulder again. “Dr. Lattimer,” he says very softly. “This can be fixed. Whatever the problem is, no matter how hopeless it seems right now. You can fix this… if you want to! You just have to believe in yourself, that’s all.” Jose hesitates briefly and then says, “I do!”

Lattimer looks up at Jose with obvious pain in his eyes. He can’t believe the faith this man has in him. Jose smiles and nods his head, yes. Lattimer looks down again, this time ashamed of his own doubts.

“I can’t let this man down,” he thinks. “I can’t let myself down.”

All additions to the tower have come to a screeching halt. Only reinforcement of pre-existing sections and routine maintenance are taking place. This obvious shift in construction priorities is not lost on Treinwood.

“Christine, find Randolph, I need to talk to him,” commands Treinwood tersely.

“Yes sir, Mr. Treinwood. I’ll try his pager.” Christine finds Randolph at Everest Heights, still taking measurements on the tower’s deviations. He knows that sooner or later, Treinwood will find out about this disaster; but while he relished telling Lattimer about it, he is not similarly predisposed to telling Treinwood.

“Yes, Mr. Treinwood, how can I help you?” says Randolph, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

“Craig, just what the hell is going on up there, anyway?”

“What do you mean, Richard”? Craig answers, innocently.

“Why has the tower construction stopped? There hasn’t been a single addition in over 10 days! Now tell me what the hell is going on up there!”

As much as Randolph would like to tell Treinwood the truth right now, he doesn’t want to be the messenger who gets shot.

“You know, I’ve been wondering that same thing myself, Richard. I just figured you guys knew what you were doing. Why don’t I transfer you over to Lattimer? Maybe he can give us both an explanation!”

“You do that, Randolph,” Treinwood retorts. “And by the way, please be so kind as to give me a little more credit for intelligence here. I think you know a lot more than you’re letting on. And in the future, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll start doing what you’re getting paid for, and I do hope I don’t have to spell that out for you as well!”

Craig winces and transfers the call to Tubicle One. Right now, he is very very glad his name is not Jeffery Lattimer.

“Jose, take that call will you?” asks Lattimer.

Jose snaps up the phone, “Tubicle One, Jose speaking.” Jose puts his hand over the mouthpiece and whips his chair around toward Lattimer. “It’s Treinwood!” He whispers in alarm, “What do you want me to say?”

Lattimer jolts, a rush of panic races briefly across his face and, then, just as suddenly, he settles down.

“Hand me the phone, Jose. I’ll talk to him.”

“You sure, boss?” Jose whispers.

“I’m sure,” says Lattimer, flatly. Jose slowly hands the phone over to Lattimer as if it were a live grenade. Lattimer motions for Jose to exit the chair so he can sit down. “Richard? Yes, this is Jeff.” Lattimer is silent as Treinwood begins his tirade. Jose hovers, wincing, as the voice on the other end of the line crescendos, then, fades away, only to crescendo and fade away again. Lattimer takes it all in stride. This is just part of the job. It comes with the territory.

Finally, Lattimer interjects, “Richard, Richard, I know we haven’t been communicating like we should but...”

He is cut off again as the ranting continues. He finally decides it is best to let Treinwood completely vent his spleen before trying to say anything else. Suddenly, the phone goes silent as the unimaginable occurs; Treinwood has finally run out of things to say!

“Richard, Richard, are you still there”? Asks Lattimer.

“Yes, I’m still here,” says Treinwood, obviously exasperated.

“Listen, Richard,” says Lattimer. “You’re right, we do have a serious problem up here. That’s why the construction stopped.” The silence on the other end of the line is deafening.

“What kind of problem”? Treinwood asks gingerly, as if he were tiptoeing through a minefield.

Lattimer explains Craig Randolph’s results. When he is done, the silence becomes even more deafening.

Finally, Treinwood speaks again, “Let me get this straight; please correct me if I’ve misunderstood anything. You say Randolph found out that the tower is unstable, that it is in fact, wobbling? How long has he known about this?”

“It’s hard to say, Richard,” Lattimer responds. “This tower has been going up so fast that the instability may have been only recently discovered. He only told me about it 10 days ago.”

Treinwood is again silent. He is busy taking all of this in. His man on the ground, Craig Randolph, conveniently failed to tell him about any of this! In fact, he even feigned ignorance about it over the phone! Under normal circumstances, Treinwood takes pride in his self-composure as an English gentleman, but this obvious betrayal of his trust by Randolph and the lack of communication by Lattimer have proven to be too much, even for him. He begins blurting obscenities that would do a sailor proud. When he calms down, Lattimer tries to say something else but is quickly cut off again...

“How could I have been so stupid as to be taken in by all of this nonsense?! You’re not building a tower here, Dr. Lattimer; you’re building a tinker toy, an erector’s set! But this time, it’s for keeps! How stupid can people be! Let’s build a great big tower on top of Mount Everest! Then shoot rockets off of it! People must think we’re the biggest fools on the face of the earth! And they’re absolutely right! Oh, what fun we’re having with our little toy tower, Dr. Lattimer!” Treinwood hesitates to catch his breath and collect his thoughts. He shifts into a rabid satirical onslaught. “Hey, I’ve got a splendid idea, Jeff, maybe you could put a giant gyroscope on top of it so it can stand up like it’s dancing on a string! Oh what a lovely idea that is, why not? We’ve done everything else!”

Lattimer has remained grimly silent throughout this tirade, but something Richard said suddenly piques his interest.

Richard continues with his harangue, “While we’re at it, perhaps we should...”

“What did you just say, Richard”? Lattimer interrupts.

Treinwood hesitates, confused by the comment, “Wha... what do you mean what did I just say? I’ve said about everything in the world, that’s what...”

“No, I mean about the gyroscope, using the gyroscope.”

“What about a gyroscope?” yells Treinwood, “Have you taken complete leave of your senses?!”

“Hey Richard, I’ll talk to you later, ok?”

“What do you mean you’ll talk to me la...”

And with that, Lattimer hangs up the phone. Jose looks at Lattimer like a man that’s just committed a felony.

“You hung up on Richard Treinwood!” He gasps. “Oh, Señor, that was not a wise thing to do!”

Lattimer hears not a word Jose says. Rubbing his chin with his thumb and index finger, he is completely engrossed in thought. The phone begins ringing again. Although Lattimer is completely oblivious to it, Jose is anything but...

“Señor, we have to answer that! You can’t hang up on Treinwood again!” Lattimer sits up abruptly. “I agree, Jose. Tell him I went catatonic. Tell him anything! But buy me some time, ok? I think I just might be on to something here.”

Jose looks at him inquisitively, “You mean about the tower, Señor?”

“Yes, Jose, about the tower.”

Sometimes life throws you a curveball; sometimes it throws you a bone. This time, it threw Lattimer a rabbit, and Lattimer needed a really big rabbit to pull out of that magic hat of his. How incredibly ironic it was that the answer Lattimer desperately needed came from the very lips of the man who was venomously castigating him over the phone about his glaring inability to anticipate and solve this otherwise intractable stability problem.

Lattimer is being Lattimer, go figure. He is furiously working away at his desk and computer monitor, doing all kinds of research, like he is a graduate student working on his master’s thesis. and Jose is busy being Jose, i.e. Lattimer’s personal guard dog and spinmaster, and right now, he could stand to have a few rabbits of his own.

“I know, Señor, I know we need to get back on schedule. Dr. Lattimer is working just as hard as he can to do just that.” The voice on the other end of the line is, of course, Treinwood. Tight-lipped, Jose shakes his head silently up and down, rolling his eyes as Treinwood begins working on a fresh tirade. Jose puts on the speakerphone and hangs up the receiver. Thanks to technology, Treinwood can now vent to his heart’s content while Jose moves on to other more important tasks, like putting his feet up on the desk and drinking a cup of coffee.

“Did you hear what I just said, Jose?” Treinwood snaps. Jose almost spills his coffee as he puts it down and swivels over to the intercom.

“Yes, Señor! I am here!” There is a sudden lull in the storm.

“Are you even listening to me?” Treinwood asks.

“Of course, Señor, of course. I always listen to you, don’t I? And I understand your concerns, here.”

Again, there is silence. Treinwood finally gets it. If he is to ever have it out with Lattimer, he will have to get off his duff, get on the mountain, and literally drag the engineer out of his office with his own bare hands.

“Thanks, Jose,” he says more calmly, “I believe I have enough information for now. Have a nice day, good bye,” and hangs up the phone.

Perplexed, Jose hangs up the phone wondering why Treinwood suddenly gave up so easily.

Lattimer has been working, non-stop in his prototyping shop at Everest Heights. He has made a 10-foot model of the tower and is just getting ready to test something when Treinwood bursts in on the scene.

“Dr. Lattimer, I presume!” he says sarcastically. “How considerate of you to take time out of your very busy schedule to see me!”

Jose rushes in right after him, “I tried to talk to him, Dr. Lattimer...”

“Richard!” Lattimer says excitedly. “You couldn’t have come at a better time!”

Treinwood, ready to pounce, is completely taken aback by this comment.

“I’m just getting ready to try out the technology you so graciously suggested to me over the phone.”

Treinwood is totally dumbfounded. He doesn’t know what to do next. Should he kill this man with his bare hands or should he wait and see what the hell he has come up with this time. Being a prudent Englishman, he decides to wait. Jose is silent as well.

“Come over here, Richard.” Richard is still transfixed by the moment. “Come on over here,” Lattimer motions, “I want you to see this.”

Richard and Jose give each other a questioning glance, then, both walk over to the crude tower model Lattimer has thrown together in his haste to test his latest theory.

“Reach as high as you can and gently shake the tower, Richard.” Richard looks at Lattimer like he has completely lost his mind, then, steps up and obeys. The tower begins to wobble back and forth. A look of disgust immediately comes over Richard’s face and he starts to say something.

“Now,” says Lattimer. “Watch this!”

He reaches out to stop the wobbling and then flips a switch. A whirring sound can be heard near the top of the tower.

“What is that?” asks Treinwood.

Lattimer, smiling, says nothing. “Now, make it wobble again.”

Richard is beginning to rapidly lose his patience with this wacko, but decides to patronize him for a few seconds more. He reaches up to shake the tower and finds that it is now resisting his efforts. He tries again, this time harder. The tower moves slightly and then quickly returns to its original position. As if by magic, the wobbling has disappeared! He is stunned, then, confused, and finally delighted. He turns to look at Lattimer; his demeanor has just taken a 180-degree turn for the better.

“How did you do this?” He asks in hushed astonishment.

Lattimer, ever the fan of Steven Spielberg and the movie, Jurassic Park, quickly steals a line from the movie, “I’ll show you,” he says quietly.

What Lattimer did with his tower model was really very basic science. He placed a gyroscope at the top of the tower to help maintain its vertical stance, and then begin to wonder why he hadn’t thought of doing that in the first place. The first gyroscope would be placed at around the 25,000-foot level (59,000 feet above sea level) where the wobble was first detected. An electric motor would be constructed around the central, 30-foot diameter tower column, halfway between two platforms. The gyroscope itself would consist of eight alloy composite spokes attached to the hub of the motor and to each other in concentric tubular octagons as they stretched out to encompass a 500-foot diameter of rotation. There were also underpinnings, which helped to support the weight of the spokes. Each spoke had a 1000 pound lead weight attached to the end, causing them to bend considerably at the tips; but once the gyroscope got up to speed, the centrifugal force on the lead weights forced the arms to extend out absolutely straight, and more importantly, they solved a major stability problem. During the day, the motor would be continuously powered by the sun using an array of solar panels attached to the tower at this level. The speed of rotation was several times that required to maintain stability. At night, the gyroscope had no power from the sun; but because of its massive size, space-age alloy composite motor bearings and the virtual absence of wind friction at that height; it would lose only a fraction of its excess speed before the sun rose again the next day; and the sun always rose again the next day.