alternatehistory.com

9 June 2008

Broughton Hall

North Carolina State University

Raleigh, NC


The office of Professor Andrew Mozeppa was tucked into a far corner of the top floor of Broughton Hall. While a corner office is usually seen as a sign of status, in Broughton Hall, it was anything but. Broughton was a brick labyrinth, designed to withstand the German bombers of World War II. It was a cobbled kludge of separate wings, barely held together with a few stray corridors inconveniently branching out from a central block. That Professor Mozeppa’s office was tucked away in a corner was a subtle jab at his program’s fledgling status. Mozeppa’s largest contribution to the university had been the establishment of a Space Division of the Mechanical and Aerospace Senior Project Laboratory. Even amongst his colleagues, the new endeavor was looked upon with benign skepticism.

The first year of the Space Division had wrapped up last month. Mozeppa surveyed the stack of papers that were about to take up a good chunk of his summer and did a mental inventory of the projects that had been completed by his seniors prior to their graduation.

The most successful of the bunch had been a robotic drilling rover for Martian exploration. About the size of a desk, the rover had been able to drive for more than half a kilometer and was able to drill into a simulated Mars surface to a depth of 15 inches. This exceeded the specifications that NASA had outlined in their general RFP forms from a year ago.

Another project had been a solid rocket escape system for a (simulated) Orion spacecraft. The 1/10 scale model had performed admirably and, it was extrapolated, a similar design would ensure the safe recovery of astronauts aboard NASA’s newest spacecraft… if such a spacecraft was ever completed by the agency. The project was sponsored by the NC Space Grant, with a passing interest from NASA.

By far, the most bizarre of last year’s projects was a slingatron-style launching device. Slingatron was the brainchild of a rather peculiar engineer from one of the northern universities. It boiled down to a curved track which was rotated on an off-center point, like a pad of butter swished around a frying pan. The motion of the track as a whole, combined with its curving outward spiral, would (theoretically) be able to fire a payload at a high-velocity, relative to the energy put into the system. The contraption that the seniors had built had shown some promise, but honestly, Mozeppa had found the whole idea to be a bit far-fetched. It was also unusual in that, unlike the others, the grant for the work had come from the Department of Energy.

A knock at his office door pierced his thoughts and scattered them.

“It’s open,” he called, glad of the distraction.

A non-descript man in his early 40’s walked in. He was dressed in a flat black suit and had nothing whatsoever interesting about him, save for a cane that he used to support a bad leg. He extended a hand across the desk. “Professor Mozeppa, my name is Garrett Wilcox. I’m with the Energy Department.”

The balding professor stood up to greet his guest. “Yes, I think we traded emails last summer.”

Wilcox nodded. “Yes, that’s actually what brings me here. I’ve come for the plans on the slingatron project.”

Mozeppa was confused, “I’m sorry?”

“The plans professor. Blueprints, material lists, reports. Anything pertaining to the slingatron project. I’ll be needing those documents.”

Mozeppa breathed through an awkward pause. “I’m happy to get you copies of the student’s final reports. The actual device is over on Centennial Campus. Usually these projects are scrapped and the material used for future projects. It’s unusual to see anyone go so far as to come all the way down here.”

Wilcox’s face was inscrutable, “Professor, I’m sorry. Perhaps I misspoke. I can’t just get copies. I need the original papers, any copies that have been made, any materials that pertain to the project, and, of course, the device itself.”

Mozeppa was stunned, “Mr. Wilcox, that’s not really how this works. The university owns the research and materials. That’s what your grant paid for. The project is the intellectual property of NC State, along with a 40% ownership split among the students who worked on the machine. It’s not something I can just give away. I myself don’t even have a stake in the design.”

Wilcox was firm, “Professor, that’s not how this particular grant was structured. It’s possible you didn’t read the fine print in our terms. The device and the research itself are legally owned by the Department of Energy and may, depending on the needs of the Department, be fitted with a classified status under the National Security Act of 1947.”

“Classified… what? Sir, this was basically an elaborate science fair project done by college seniors. If the D.O.E. is thinking it can be weaponized or something…”

“Professor, due respect, but, you don’t have codeword clearance. We need to keep this conversation professional.”

Flabbergasted was the word Mozeppa was looking for, “The students we used on slingatron weren’t aware that this project was going to be seized. They have the right to publish their work. It’s an important part of their career opportunities. These kids have just graduated. For some of them, this is going to be the only thing on their resume.”

“No, professor, it’s not,” Wilcox’s tone had a bit of an edge.

Mozeppa pushed a stack of papers aside and leaned on the desktop, “Whatever you want with the design, you should do right by those students. If you’re looking to develop the machine further, they’re the ones who know its operations.”

Wilcox took a beat to consider that and nodded a subtle agreement. “That’s helpful professor. I’ll pass that along. Now… about the documents and materials.”

Mozeppa decided to stall, “I’d like a day to review the details of the grant with the university’s legal department. I’m not convinced that you’ve got claim to all of this research.”

Wilcox withdrew a slim manila file folder from his briefcase and flopped it on the desk. “You’re welcome to review the contract to your heart’s content, but I have instructions to secure the information today and arrange for shipment. The university is entitled to a receipt for the transfer and that will be provided before I leave tomorrow.”

Mozeppa nodded. He was incredulous, but also didn’t exactly know how to fight this particular battle.


Two hours later, Mozeppa, his TA and two attorneys from NC State’s legal affairs office sat in the 2nd floor meeting room of Broughton and poured over all the paperwork from the D.O.E.’s grant to NC State University for the Slingatron.

An older attorney summed up the contract very neatly, “He’s not lying Professor. The contract’s terms are oddly worded, at least compared to the others you showed me. Essentially, by accepting the money for the research, your students became unpaid contractors for the term of the school year. Their work is wholly owned by the department. We’ll have no choice but to surrender the items he’s asking for.”

Mozeppa sighed and nodded. He hadn’t expected any other answer since the lawyers had gotten involved. Still, this was no way to handle important research, or senior aerospace engineering students. The whole enterprise had a bad smell to it.

The junior attorney for the university piped up before the group was able to rise from their chairs, “Professor, there’s a footnote here on page 4. I’m not familiar with this acronym. Can you tell me what CMEF stands for?”
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