James Armour held one of the highest posts in the US government but still had to wait nearly an hour in the damn examination room. After the CT scan, the radiologist led him back to this tiny changing room and told him to dress, that a doctor should be with him in 'just a few minutes.'

Armour touched the top of his head and rubbed his finger along the entire length of the scar that ran from one ear to the other. After surgery to remove the walnut-sized tumor from his brain, he followed with months of radiation. His hair had finally grown back on the rest of his head, except for the area of scar tissue. He sometimes wondered if going through the entire procedure had been worth the effort.

When the door to the examining room finally opened, Armour felt like he'd won the lottery.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Armour," the doctor said. "One of our processors is down today and it's taking forever to run these scans."

The doctor quickly crossed the room, making his way over to a light box against the far wall. He opened the large manila folder that he carried and took out four large pictures, each consisting of circular scans.

"I don't have to explain to you that these pictures are of your brain," the doctor said. "I know you've been through quite a few scans the past year."

Armour nodded and approached the light box, where he saw over a dozen pictures of his brain. Upon first glance, he did not spot anything that looked unusual about the pictures, although he hadn't really noticed anything before when there'd been a sizable tumor.

"So what's the news?"

The doctor pointed to a few of the pictures that showed different angles of a thin, short line, which appeared much lighter than the rest of the brain.

"This line here is scar tissue," the doctor explained. "It appears to be healing quite nicely, no complications."

"What about the cancer?" Armour asked, getting right to the point.

"It appears to be gone," the doctor answered. "It's still too early to say that it'll be gone forever but this is certainly a step in the right direction."

Armour was relieved but more pressing issues on his mind stopped him from wanting to celebrate. The doctor, who was no doubt used to seeing people jump for joy when hearing such good news, seemed surprised that Armour gave only a nod of recognition.

"You're a very lucky man, Mr. Armour. Most patients don't get to hear such good news," the doctor said.

"Of course," Armour said, nodding his head and shaking the doctor's hand. "Believe me, I'm very grateful that the cancer hasn't come back."

"Remember, you aren't out of the woods yet. You still need to get plenty of rest to make sure your body heals completely."

"Believe me, I haven't been doing much besides resting," Armour lied.

"I saw that you retook your government position a few months ago, Mr. Armour. Believe me, I know you aren't resting the way you should."

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.

November 23, 2014

Tyler Ainsworth Jr. had learned that becoming a good salesman was crucial to becoming a good businessman. He never became pesky and pushy, instead relied upon his confidence and sense of showmanship to convince people to invest. After all, what he was selling would not come cheap so his presentation could therefore not be cheap.

As Tyler looked around the conference table at the two dozen sets of almond-shaped eyes, he was confident that this group would invest. It had taken weeks to contact and assemble the group of wealthy Japanese businessmen. As they listened intently to the inspiring words he spoke, Tyler could sense their interest in his proposal.

"Gentlemen, I do not need to remind you about the wonder and awe that Americans, as well as people from all around the globe, have shown ever since the United States government announced a super space station capable of sustaining hundreds of people at a time. It's part of human nature to be excited about conquering new areas, to achieve goals that previously seemed impossible, to settle where we once never expected. Hundreds of years ago, explorers crossed uncharted seas to live on mysterious, unfamiliar lands.

"Now, outer space has become that unfamiliar area. The United States government assures us that occupying space is no longer a dream of science fiction and the world has been gripped by the excitement ever since the promise of this space station. There is no doubt that countless people would pay thousands of dollars to go on a once-in-a-lifetime adventure to outer space. But the US government has stated that making money is not one of their reasons for building this space station, no matter how much they might lose in the process.

"Making money is not important to the government but it is vital to me and my investors. That is where my plans come into play. But first of all, let's talk about this space station that President Marshall has planned for construction. NASA has been part of space stations in the past but none of these other projects has ever raised the kind of fascination that the current one has. Why is that?"

Tyler looked around the room at the businessmen for a few long moments. Tyler wanted somebody to answer, if only to enforce his next point. A man seated near the head of the table finally spoke.

"Because your President has promised that normal people will be allowed on board, hundreds of them at a time," the man said in perfect English. "People think they have a chance to go on board and are excited about the project's completion."

Tyler smiled, hearing the exact answer he was hoping for. Past groups had not caught on so quickly, which left Tyler the task of explaining the situation like he would to a group of young children.

"That's correct. The President has stated that this space station won't be occupied by scientists and astronauts only. Hundreds of normal citizens will be chosen to live on board, to live life in outer space without the need of extensive astronaut training. Every construction worker, school teacher, auto mechanic, lawyer, fast food employee, garbage collector; everyone has the same chance at living in space. And while this assertion has proven magical and awe-inspiring to so many people, very few actually understand how illogical this promise is.

"If you take away the elderly and children, two groups of people that have no chance of being selected, the population of this country nearly cuts in half. Right there, half of the people, half of the excited group of American citizens, are gone. Then, think about the wealthy. With the promise that normal citizens will be selected to go aboard the space station, there is no chance the government would allow any citizen of great wealth a seat aboard. In America, as in your country, a small percentage of people own a large percentage of the country's wealth. Therefore, the people with the most money to spend have the smallest chance of being picked. This 'wonderful' promise from the government has already excluded half the American people and most of the American money, leaving this ultimate adventure available only to the poor slobs of this country."

"What is your point?" the same Japanese man asked, receiving nods and grumblings from several other businessmen around the table.

"This space station is still in its early stages of development and will take years to build, if it ever finishes being built at all. The cost of this project is astronomical and there have already been reports of major construction delays. America was forced to ask Russia for help within the first year of construction, a move that signals the project has been in dire straits since the beginning.

"Yet with all of these failures, people are still excited. I fear that very soon, my government will be forced to admit that the super space station was too ambitious and will have to shut down the project for good. This will leave an entire nation very disappointed. Space will remain a great unknown because it is too inaccessible and people of the world will be left thirsting for the next big adventure.

"That's where I come in. I will show the world that while space was very exciting, there is a place on Earth a very large place in fact that is far more exciting and far more accessible: the water, the oceans, the seas. My company is currently in the process of building the largest underwater seacraft in history, a craft that will be capable of going to the deepest and darkest areas of the ocean, areas where people never thought they could go. These areas of the ocean have only been available to a limited number of scientists, most of whom have used deep-water submersibles to send down cameras. A few lucky, brave souls have risked their lives to go down this deep but only after hundreds of hours studying the oceans and working years on scientific expeditions.

"My ship, on the other hand, will be for private use. More precisely, for economic gain. While the deep-sea submersibles have always been tiny and dangerous, my craft will be large and safe. Wealthy people of all ages and nationalities will shell out thousands of dollars to see parts of the Earth never before possible to see. Cruises and African safaris, these 'so-called' adventures have been around for ages. According to travel figures, their profits have been in decline for the past decade. People with a lot of money are always looking for the next big thing and my company is ready to provide it to them."

Tyler paused for a drink of water, ready to answer any questions the businessmen had. The Japanese men stared at Tyler and waited for him to continue his presentation.

It's working, Tyler thought. This might finally be the group ready to invest.

"While this craft will cost hundreds of millions of dollars to complete, the construction has already been underway for over a year. Its completion date will not be nearly as distant as the projected date of the super space station. And once my craft is unveiled to the world, people will forget they ever heard about the space station. The space station will be dangerous, crude and unpleasant, but my seacraft will be safe and luxurious, the ultimate in comfort and style."

Tyler stopped again and asked if the businessmen had any questions about the craft or his company. When none of the men responded, he spent the next twenty minutes going over financial details involved in investing. This was the sixth time he was making this same pitch to a group of businessmen and he could recite most of the deal's numbers without a single glance at his extensive notes.

After he finished the presentation, Tyler fought the urge to cross his fingers and pray that these men would take the bait. Finding, contacting and assembling potential foreign investors took months. As Tyler made presentation after unsuccessful presentation, the amount of possible financiers grew alarmingly thin.

Seated at the far end of the table, a man who had remained silent finally stood up.

"A question?" Tyler asked hopefully.

"Wasn't your company one of the losers in the bidding for the space station?" he asked.

"Yes, we made the final six," he responded.

"Then at one point, you thought that completing the space station was possible," another businessman pointed out.

"Yes, at one time we believed our design was feasible."

"Then why you not think so now?" another man said, his English barely comprehensible.

This discussion suddenly brought the crew of reserved businessmen into a frenzy, and they fired off numerous questions about the space station. Over the course of the next half-hour, not a single question was asked about the deep-sea craft. Tyler grew frustrated that he'd allowed another group of potential investors to slip through his fingers. He continued to politely answer their questions but knew he'd lost another group.

Marc Hudson looked completely out of place as he walked through the shipyard. Compared with the brawny physiques and tattered appearances of the dozens of ship builders, Marc stuck out like a Mercedes at a monster truck rally. The men might have been tempted to harass someone like Marc but the assistant was never heckled when he wandered the site, watching as the seacraft gradually took shape. In fact, Marc was treated with the utmost respect. A few of the workers even tipped their hard hats as he walked by.

That's more like it, Marc thought to himself, nodding in return. An unfortunate event occurred a few months back in which Marc was rudely mocked by a couple of rowdy shipbuilders. Those men were promptly fired and lost out on sizable wages paid by Ainsworth Industries. Now, the rest of the workers were acutely aware of who was in charge when Tyler Ainsworth was not around.

The shipyard was located in a desolate area of northern Washington, away from the prying eyes of the overly curious. The shipbuilders were mostly local workers from surrounding counties, areas of the state not especially known for opulence. When Tyler Ainsworth first arrived in Washington, he looked for workers who could keep quiet about their jobs. All he had to do to ensure secrecy was offer the men more money, not even too much extra at that. For the majority of workers, this was by far the best salary they'd ever received. Nobody wanted to lose this opportunity by talking to the press about what they were building. Luckily, most of these men weren't the sort looking for publicity and did not even realize the media might be interested in this kind of project.

As he finished his second inspection of the day, Marc felt his cell phone vibrate. The call was from Tyler so he quickly walked to his office, where the sound of construction was not nearly as loud.

"How did the presentation go? Did anybody sign up?" Marc asked hopefully.

"No, you idiot. It would take a moron to want to sign on to something like this right away," Tyler said.

Marc knew his boss was under constant pressure. The name-calling and insults used to bruise his ego but he eventually grew accustomed to it. Now, he barely noticed when his boss called him either 'Marc' or 'idiot' or 'moron.'

"Did they at least seem interested?" the assistant asked.

"To be honest, no, they didn't. This group was just like all of the other groups. Japanese, Columbian, Arab, Egyptian, they're all the same. They all end up asking why our company didn't get the space station contract," Tyler said. Marc heard disappointment and frustration in his boss's voice. The company still had enough money to last them through the following year but Marc wondered how cranky Tyler would get if they reached that time without securing proper investors. He didn't even want to consider that possibility.

"What's the next plan for investors, sir? I can help figure out who to contact for the next meeting," Marc said.

Tyler had been very secretive with these sorts of financial matters over the past year or so, leaving his assistant in the dark when it came to dealing with potential investors. Marc desperately wanted to know more about the company but did not expect Tyler to suddenly divulge this information. Still, he at least wanted to offer assistance.

"That won't be necessary. Like I've told you a hundred times, I have somebody else helping with that," Tyler said, frustration again rising in his voice.

Marc knew it would be smart to drop the topic but Tyler withholding important information about the company irked him. Being his personal assistant was not exactly the most satisfying job but one of the perks had always been inside knowledge about the company.

"Sir, I want to know who this person is that's helping decide such things," Marc said. "I don't like that you're hiding an employee from me, if he is an employee, or if he is even a he. Why can't I meet him?"

"Because you do what I tell you," Tyler snapped. "You are at the shipyard to deal with those problems because that is what I want. My...investor... and his identity is none of your business for the time being. When I deem it necessary for the two of you to meet, I will make it happen. Until then, I expect you to do your job. That is if you wish to keep your job."

"I do, sir, and I don't mean to question your decision-making," Marc backtracked. "But I'm concerned about the stockholders and this secret we're keeping from them. I know it's your decision not to inform them about construction of the seacraft but eventually we're going to run out of money and they're going to find out."

"That won't happen," Tyler answered. "I'm going to get the money. By the time the stockholders find out, the ship will be completed. By then, the stockholders won't have any leverage over the situation."

"What if the secret leaks out? What if one of the shipbuilders opens his mouth to the media? The men talk all the time about how they can't mention the ship to anyone else. They all think it's some kind of secret government project."

"If that's what they think, don't give them ideas otherwise," Tyler said. "And I don't really think the media would care what we're doing. The construction of the space station is still dominating every part of the news. A story about our project would be lucky to find its way to the back page of the newspaper."

Marc did not believe that for a second. In fact, he had trouble believing a lot of what Tyler told him recently, especially when it came to the company's financial situation and his 'secret' advisor.

"Tyler-Mr. Ainsworth, sir, I've been loyal to you for the past few years but I wonder if you're telling me the complete truth. I know this seacraft could make history but I wonder if risking the company is worth the gamble," Marc said. He was ready to be berated and threatened but was surprised when Tyler answered in a calm tone of voice.

"I am trying to do something special here, something people will remember for a long time," Tyler answered. "We're going to rewrite the book on oceanic travel and exotic vacations. In the process, we'll make a boatload of money. We can't do that, though, without first taking a risk."

Before Marc could respond, his phone went dead.

The number of reporters and photographers shrank in the few years since the space station complex opened but every time Wesley Maddox walked past the remaining media members, questions were still fired in his direction and flashbulbs still filled the desert air. But ever since President Marshall invited the Russians to oversee construction, things had run remarkably smoother and the press became much less annoying.

"Wesley, Wesley! How's construction going?"

"What is the relationship with the Russians like?"

"Any ideas about the completion date for ground construction?"

"When will assembly in space begin?"

The reporters tried to shout louder than one another. The scene reminded Maddox of a group of vultures fighting over the carcass of one dead animal. Rather than ignoring them, as he usually did, Maddox walked over to the fence. Now would be a good time to feed the press information that the government wanted the public to know.

"Okay, one at a time," he said as a dozen voices spoke at once.

An attractive blond woman, who Maddox recognized from the local news station, was first to speak.

"When will the station be ready for space assembly?"

"Ground assembly is proceeding smoothly but we still don't expect to begin the second part of major construction for at least a year and a half. Two to three years at the most," Maddox answered.

"Why is everything taking so long?" another reporter asked.

"This isn't like building a new car," Maddox explained. "We can't just throw one together as quickly as possible. We only have one shot to do this job correctly and not much room for error."

"What about your company's promise that you can finish the space station in the time frame the government requires. Will that be affected by the slow progress?"

"The media has placed too much emphasis on the importance of getting the space station built quickly," Maddox said. "Yes, our slower progress will affect the originally proposed timetable. But more importantly, the slower progress has allowed us to proceed carefully while maximizing safety, something that the government is far more concerned about. We are dealing with too many potential lives to worry about cutting corners."

A bit more than subtle but at least I didn't cram the information down their throats, Maddox thought to himself. A recent trip to Washington, DC, had brought Wesley Maddox to the White House and President George Marshall for their first face-to-face meeting. The President's less-than-friendly Chief of Staff had also joined them. Maddox informed the two men that McNalley & Jones were making surprisingly quick progress on ground construction. Wesley expected praise but instead Marshall made a request that Maddox thought quite odd at the time.

"I need your help convincing the public that you're behind schedule on the work, not ahead of schedule," the President told him. The Chief of Staff nodded as well and left Maddox with the feeling that he wasn't being told the whole story.

"I don't understand. It's been stressed to me that time was of utmost importance," Maddox said, not afraid to voice his opinion to Marshall. "We've not only caught up to the original timetable but have greatly surpassed it. Yet you want us to slow down and fall back behind schedule again?"

"We don't want you to fall behind schedule again. But we want the world to think you have."

Maddox racked his brain for a reason why the world should think this way but came up with nothing.

"I don't understand why," he finally told the President.

"Because that's what the President wants you to do," Mansfield said snidely.