The Action Pack Box Set, page 95
‘Dangerous? Why? What fuel does it use?’
‘Oh, it’s not the fuel that’s dangerous. Technically, it could run on vegetable oil if you really want it to. No. Petra realised that people would kill to prevent this from ever reaching the rest of the world, which was why we hid it like this, or at least this version of it.’
Megan shook her head in confusion.
‘Why? What’s the big deal?’
Alexandre gestured to a small cylinder, lying long and low across the top of the tractor engine.
‘That cylinder contains a modest amount of helium. I think the last time that I replaced it would have been in the spring, maybe nine months ago.’
Megan was about to speak, but her jaw hung open. Her mind performed a few rapid calculations and she stared at the farmer in amazement. Alexandre smiled as he saw Megan begin to understand, and he spoke softly.
‘The device is called a Sterling Engine. They’ve been around for a couple of hundred years, as it happens, although this is a very modern example. It’s simply a closed–cycle, piston driven heat–exchange engine, much like the engine in your car, except that in a closed–cycle engine like this the working gas remains within the cylinders, whereas in your car it is vented into the atmosphere as an exhaust.’
Megan raised a hand.
‘I didn’t do motor mechanics at school I’m afraid.’
‘Neither did I,’ Alexandre admitted, ‘but Petra told me all that I needed to know to understand what this is and why it is so important. It is all to do with efficiency, and how the methods we use to produce electrical energy to heat our homes and the engines we use to drive our cars are hugely inefficient.’
‘And this, Sterling Engine, does it better?’ Megan surmised.
‘Much better,’ Alexandre nodded. ‘Petra was so excited about it. He told me that the average vehicle on the road, powered by the internal combustion engine, can produce a maximum efficiency of just fifteen per cent. That means that of all the power produced, eighty five per cent goes into overcoming friction within the engine or is lost as heat. A Sterling Engine like this, on the other hand, can produce energy with an efficiency of as much as sixty per cent.’
Megan looked at the engine before her, turning quietly over as they spoke like the cogs of her own mind as she considered what Alexandre was telling him.
‘So if you put one of these in a car, it would only need a fraction of the fuel?’
‘Precisely, although the mechanics of it are a bit more complicated. Essentially, the Sterling Engine has fewer moving parts, has no exhaust pollution, needs little maintenance and has a far greater operating life than the conventional internal combustion engine.’
Megan thought again for a moment, glancing around her at the barn.
‘If this got onto the street, it would rapidly reduce the need for oil,’ she said.
‘Cars would not need to use as much fuel,’ Alexandre agreed. ‘They could probably run entirely on bio–fuels, hydrogen cells or even solar power in many countries. Industry, which uses more oil than transport, could follow suit.’
‘I’m starting to get a nasty feeling that I understand what’s been happening here,’ Megan said. ‘What I don’t understand is, if these engines have been around for hundreds of years, how come they’re not already on the market?’
Alexandre moved closer to the engine, pointing out various components as she spoke.
‘These devices are heat–exchange engines. They work because they shift the working fluid or gas within between two different temperature states. They’re classified as an external combustion engine, despite the fact that heat can be supplied by non–combusting sources such as solar and nuclear energy. This one operates through the use of an external heat source and an external heat sink, each maintained within a limited temperature range, and having a sufficiently large temperature difference between them.
‘The problem for years has been that they are not able to produce sufficient power without becoming too large. It’s fine if you want something with a continuous power–output that can be built on a grand scale, like marine engines for instance – ships use these all the time. But a Sterling Engine small enough to fit in a vehicle would not produce sufficient energy to move the vehicle forward. The pressures and temperature differentials would need to be too high, and the materials did not exist to contain them safely.’
‘And that’s where Petra Milosovich came in.’
Alexandre nodded.
‘Petra worked for years in an engineering department within the government, both before and after the democratic revolution. Petra despised the polluting of the world by industry, and spent years pursuing ways in which the Sterling Engine could be improved and made accessible as a means of powering our world without the need for excessive pollution of the environment. Two years ago, he had a breakthrough.’
Alexandre moved away from the tractor and sat on the edge of a hay bale.
‘He came to me when he discovered it. He had developed a ceramic material that had sufficient tensile strength along with a high enough density to efficiently contain a fuel source of helium.’
‘The gas, helium?’ Megan said.
‘Hydrogen is the gas of choice for most of these devices,’ Alexandre explained, ‘but unfortunately the lightest of the gases is also the most combustible and can bleed through solid metal via osmosis, and thus is not considered safe for commercial use. Helium, however, is both abundant, cheap and highly unreactive. Petra realised that if he could contain helium then he was on his way, because if he could condense the gas to sufficient pressure within the engine, then the entire device could itself be made small enough to become viable for general commercial use. He eventually worked out not just how to fit them into cars but into aero–engines as well.’
Megan shook her head in wonder.
‘That would mean that he could probably build them to power houses, like this one,’ she observed. ‘There would be no need for a national grid.’
Alexandre opened his arms in a broad gesture, his features alive with delight.
‘Petra had gone even further than that. He envisaged a time when the temperature difference between the molten rock of the earth’s upper crust, and the cold waters of the oceans could be used as potentially limitless sources of fuel for national energy generation via large banks of industrial scale Sterling Engines, true geo–engineering.’
The farmer’s arms slowly fell again to his sides and his expression fell with them.
‘He went directly to the Mordanian government and applied for world–wide patents; Europe, America, Australia. Everywhere.’
‘What happened?’
‘He was denied the patents repeatedly. He could not understand it. Nobody wanted to hear about his work. It shocked him, left him in dismay. Megan, if only you could have seen how that man’s endless joy at making the discovery of a lifetime was crushed into depression and the collapse of his faith in humanity’s spirit. It destroyed Petra Milosovich long before the secret police got hold of him.’
‘And yet he was working on something near Anterik,’ Megan said. ‘The laboratories that were destroyed.’
‘Yes,’ Alexandre said. ‘Petra would not give in to the government. He resigned his post and began working on a new project with a small team of like–minded scientists who believed that they could produce something highly commercial. They built four of these engines, and all of them were running in vehicles just before the war began.’
Megan guessed the rest.
‘General Rameron must have found out. It must be he who holds connections to the oil businesses around the Caspian Sea. That’s why they were murdered.’
Alexandre stood from his hay bale and shook his head.
‘No, Megan. It was General Rameron who funded Petra’s studies, in defiance of orders from the government.’
Megan stared at Alexandre for what felt like an age as the farmer continued.
‘General Rameron was responsible for letting Petra Milosovich continue working on his Sterling Engines. When the government found out they threatened General Rameron with court–martial. The general refused an order to report to Thessalia. The government sent an armoured force to arrest Rameron and bring him to the city. The Air Force personnel defended their general, and the uprising began.’
Megan swallowed thickly, looking from the concealed tractor engine to the farmer and back again.
‘You’re telling me that General Rameron did not start this war,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘You’re telling me that it could be someone in the government that is working with the oil companies?’
Alexandre shook his head.
‘I’m not telling you anything. All I’m saying is that Petra made a discovery that could have made oil obsolete, General Rameron defended him, and then the country disintegrated into civil war. If you ask me, this war is what the oil companies wanted – access to Mordania’s oil, which meant huge investment in the country, and therefore neither the government nor the oil companies could not afford Petra’s device becoming public knowledge.’
‘So they killed him,’ Megan said in sudden, overwhelming despair. She turned for the barn doors.
‘Where are you going?’ Alexandre asked, getting up to follow her.
‘Sophie and Martin,’ Megan gasped as she broke into a run. ‘They’re in danger.’
***
53
Martin Sigby watched the television in his room at the Thessalia Hilton, the glow from the screen contrasting with the flickering candles. An image from a United States aircraft carrier in the Black Sea showed waves of American F–18s launching from the ship’s catapults, engines in full afterburner as they climbed into the glowing dawn sky.
‘Is this live feed?’ Robert, Sigby’s cameraman, asked.
Sigby nodded, gesturing to the skies above the carrier. ‘Looks to be,’
‘You should have made your report an hour ago.’
‘To hell with them,’ Sigby muttered as he watched.
The television reporter’s voice carried over the deafening roar of fighter engines as she explained what was happening.
‘The word from Congress arrived here aboard the USS Theodore Roosevelt just forty minutes ago, and within ten minutes the Carrier Air Group began preperations for military action against Mordania. These fighters blasting off the deck behind me are setting up Combat Air Patrols over the Georgian coast, securing American air superiority over the entire region before the air assault against the rebel forces of General Mikhail Rameron begins.’
Robert shook his head.
‘The shit’s about to hit the fan Martin, and we’re in the line of fire.’
Martin was about to reply when a junior staffer poked his head into the room.
‘Mister Sigby, there’s a message from government house for you. The president has requested that you meet him there.’
Martin stood slowly, and looked down at his cameraman. ‘Robert, would you mind?’
The cameraman stood and grabbed his equipment.
‘Let’s go.’
There was a government jeep waiting for them as they left the Thessalia Hilton, driven by a pair of stone–faced corporals who spoke not a word to their passengers as they drove toward the towering edifice of government house. Around the jeep, hundreds of people moved to and fro, many of them carrying their life’s belongings with them over their shoulders, on their backs or on makeshift trolleys. The dawn was breaking lethargically and a light and wispy snow was beginning to fall once more.
Martin and his cameraman were dropped outside Government House and walked into the cavernous foyeur. Sir Wilkins met them at the foot of the main stairs, his features flushed with concern.
‘The Americans are preparing for their assault,’ he said, ‘and half of the population is in chaos. I could use you right now – Brussels needs footage to determine what’s happening here.’
‘I saw the report on Sophie D’Aoust. You’ve made her out to be a liar when it was plain that she was telling the truth.’
Sir Wilkins hesitated for a moment, apparently caught off guard.
‘International media only reported what we knew to be true, Martin. Sophie D’Aoust is a wanted fugitive and there’s no way that can be denied!’
‘She was also telling the truth. They’ve unfairly discredited her.’
‘She discredited herself,’ Wilkins snapped back.
‘Where is she?’
‘Commander Severov and his men have her in custody.’
Sigby pushed past the attache in disgust. ‘I have a meeting with the president.’
‘I didn’t know,’ Wilkins said, suddenly defensive. ‘Did he say what it was in reference to?’
Martin did not reply as he ascended the broad staircase toward the president’s private chambers, Robert hefting their equipment up behind him. They had almost reached the president’s offices when two police guards appeared in the hall ahead of them, both armed. One of them raised a hand at Robert.
‘No cameras today,’ he said in stern, accented English. ‘You must wait here.’
Sigby looked at the two guards. ‘Why?’
‘Orders of the chief of police,’ the other guard said. ‘You may not proceed further.’
Sigby turned to leave and gave a start of surprise as he found himself staring into Alexei Severov’s eyes, the police chief standing almost immediately behind him.
‘I didn’t hear you behind me,’ Sigby said.
‘The president will see you now,’ Severov said with a smile, and then turned to look at Sigby’s cameraman. ‘You may wait in the foyeur.’
Robert looked at Sigby, who nodded once. The cameraman walked away and the guards parted as Sigby walked between them with Severov following in ghostly silence. Sigby saw the the president’s private chamber door was open, and he walked inside to see the president standing beside a window with his hands behind his back, watching the falling snow.
‘Mister President,’ Sigby said formally.
Mukhari Akim turned slowly from the window and regarded Sigby for a long moment before glancing over the correspondent’s shoulder.
‘You may leave us,’ he said to Severov.
The police commander hesitated for a moment before bowing slightly at the waist and turning, giving Sigby a last glance as he closed the door behind him.
The president looked again out of the window before speaking.
‘It is snowing now, but clear skies are coming, perfect for the American airplanes. There will be chaos,’ he said in his deep voice. ‘The people are afraid. They do not know what will happen here. Will this become another Iraq? Another Afghanistan? Will they be liberated? Abandoned? Robbed?’
Sigby found himself choosing his words with care.
‘At least they will no longer be alone.’
President Akim’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he considered Sigby’s response.
‘You returned the money that you were paid,’ he said finally.
‘Yes, I did.’
‘Why?’
Sigby hesitated before speaking.
‘Because my job is to tell the truth, sir, whether it be palatable or not. I could not bring myself to abandon the principles that the rest of the world rely upon, to know that I and reporters like me will tell them what is really happening, and not what others would have them believe.’
President Akim nodded slowly.
‘Your report on the possibility that the massacre near Talyn could have been conducted by my own people was deeply disturbing, Martin. It has further led to the chaos that we see outside.’
‘That is not my responsibility, sir,’ Martin replied. ‘It’s yours.’
President Akim stared silently at Martin Sigby for an intolerably long time, until finally he broke the silence as he walked slowly toward Sigby.
‘I remember when I first spoke with you,’ he rumbled darkly. ‘I saw you for what you were then: a spineless vulture, scavenging on the rotting carcass of this country for the carrion of human suffering. You were just like all of the rest and I despised you for your weakness, your greed and your moral cowardice.’
Martin Sigby swallowed thickly and tried not to let his eyes water. ‘What has changed, sir?’
President Akim glowered down at Sigby.
‘Nothing.’
For a moment Sigby did not understand, but then the president smiled faintly, the hard gaze melting and the eyes twinkling with humour. Sigby felt a rush of air expelled from his lungs in relief as he felt a smile creep onto his own features. The president nodded.
‘I thought all of that was true, until the money reappeared in the accounts,’ he said. ‘Then I knew that you were one of the good men after all.’
Sigby blinked as an unfamiliar sensation of pride welled up within him and overflowed into the surrounding room, filling it with a warmth he had not previously suspected was there.
‘I’m relieved to hear that, sir.’
‘No more than I,’ the president said, and then his features became serious again. ‘However, your report changed things immensely. There will be investigations, recriminations, fear and doubt amongst the populace. The enemy is almost upon us on one border, and a superior liberation force whose motives I cannot be sure of mounts upon another. Martin, I need you to remain straight and true, to work here with me to ensure that, whatever the outcome, the people of this world know what really happened, that they know who we really are and of what we had hoped for this nation. Can you do that for me?’
Martin Sigby had to physically prevent himself from saluting.
‘I’ll do all that I can, sir.’
President Akim nodded.
‘I know that you will. I do not believe that the intentions of the American diplomats in this country are entirely honourable and I believe that they may have infiltrated my own staff, turning them against me. In addition, I have heard that General Mikhail Rameron is requesting the exchange of prisoners of war before the proposed aerial attack by American warplanes and has freed those reportedly held by him as a human shield. Clearly he does not wish anyone but those loyal to him to be in the firing line.’
