The city of Newcastle upon Tyne sits in the northeast of England, its name taken from the castle that still stands near the banks of the River Tyne. It has a long and proud history of shipbuilding and engineering, shared across the wider northeast region.
Many giants of invention and industry came from this land:
Sir Charles Parsons, inventor of the compound steam turbine.
Sir William Armstrong, who created the hydraulic crane, the hydroelectric generator, and the Armstrong gun.
George Stephenson, hailed as the “Father of Railways,” designer of the Rocket, Locomotion, and Blücher, and builder of the Stockton and Darlington Railway — the world’s first public railway.
Joseph Swan, physicist and chemist, inventor of the incandescent light bulb and the dry photographic plate. He demonstrated the first electric light in his Gateshead home and later partnered with Edison to market lamps worldwide.
Arthur Dorman and Albert de Lande Long, founders of Dorman Long & Co., engineers of bridges across the globe — including the Tyne Bridge and the Sydney Harbour Bridge.
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James Teesdale was the founder and owner of Teesdale Dynamics, a company based in Newcastle and the largest employer in the region. He held an engineering degree and had earned a reputation as a big-picture thinker — unafraid of risk, and usually proven right.
His personal hero was Sir Charles Parsons — perhaps unsurprising, as James had been born just streets away from the old Parsons factory in Heaton.
Fifteen years ago, Teesdale Dynamics had started as a modest workshop. Now, it was a nationally known firm working across aerospace, energy systems, and advanced manufacturing.
A few months earlier, James had received a visit from a stranger. What followed was something like a dream — quite literally. He'd spent a night with a supermodel he had once jokingly listed as his “get out of jail free” card. And he’d been told to expect some important information.
At 8 a.m. on the morning of April 9th, James walked into his office overlooking the Tyne and turned on his computer.
Two emails immediately seized his attention.
What he saw made him forget the cup of tea he’d just poured. It was technical data — dense, complex, and utterly fascinating. It didn’t take long for him to realize: this was what the visitor had promised.
He had never heard of Bernard Flynn or Floyd Bradshaw. Until that moment, he had no idea these projects even existed.
His phone rang. It was Samantha, his secretary.
“There’s a customer on line one.”
“Tell them I’m in a meeting,” he said. “Put them through to Clive in customer service. And Sam — no more calls or visitors today. I’m busy.”
The rest of the day disappeared as James pored over the documents. Equations, schematics, materials lists, theoretical models, safety systems. He went home that night with his mind spinning.
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The next morning, he told Samantha:
“No disturbances today. I’m thinking.”
She wasn’t surprised. Sometimes the boss went into one of his ‘closed door’ modes — no one in or out for days.
By 3:30 p.m., he had made a decision.
“This,” he thought, “is going to be enormous.”
He would need help — serious help. Financial, political, strategic. But he couldn’t involve the Umbrigol. That would bring attention nobody wanted.
James knew what had to be done: he would have to present this as his own idea. The thought left a sour taste. He wasn’t used to taking credit for others’ work. But he also understood that without that illusion of authorship, no one in power would touch it.
He pressed the intercom.
“Sam — schedule a head of departments meeting for 9 a.m. tomorrow. Full attendance. No excuses. And get me an appointment with Hugo Barrington as soon as possible. Tell his office it’s urgent — something of major importance has come up.”
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Hugo Barrington was the Member of Parliament for the Newcastle Central constituency. More importantly, he was a government minister — Secretary of State for Science, Innovation and Technology — and a sitting member of the Cabinet.
James had met Hugo many times — at engineering expos, civic dinners, charity auctions. He’d once visited Hugo’s office in Westminster. He’d even had dinner twice at Hugo’s home with the minister and his wife, Angela.
This wasn’t going to be an easy sell. But it had to be made.
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James went home to prepare.
The meeting convened at 9 a.m. All the heads of departments had arrived early.
“The boss must have a bee in his bonnet about something,” said Fred Winters, head of production. Fred was an open and forthright individual who always said exactly what he was thinking. That tendency sometimes tested James’s patience, but he respected Fred for his honesty.
Everyone was seated when James walked in and took his place at the head of the table.
“Good morning, everyone. My apologies for the short notice.
“As you’re all very well aware, there have been some major developments in the world over the last couple of years. Most of you now drive water-powered cars running on biodegradable lubricant. Bottled water and soft drinks are sold in biodegradable containers. And the energy that powers our factory and offices now comes from a mass-to-energy convertor—installed six months ago. It will have paid for itself by the end of next year. That means our overheads will be greatly reduced. We'll be able to pass those savings on to our customers and remain highly competitive.”
He paused, scanning the room. There were nods and murmurs of agreement.
“I’ve been working on two ideas for quite a while now. I’ll present them to you today. Samantha—the documents, please.”
Samantha, who was taking the meeting minutes, handed out two folders to each attendee.
Once she was seated again, James continued.
“The first design is for what I’ll describe as an elevator—but not for a building. It generates an energy beam capable of lifting objects through the atmosphere and into space.”
There were gasps of astonishment around the table.
“Yes, it’s quite amazing. The second design is a propulsion system for a spacecraft. It uses the energy from a mass-to-energy convertor and turns it into pulsed thrust—enough to propel a ship through space.”
More astonished reactions.
“I believe these devices have massive potential, and there’s a real-world application we can pursue.”
By now he had their full attention.
“The mass-to-energy convertor changed everything about how we think of power. Personally, I was never a fan of nuclear energy. There was a level 5 event at Sellafield—then called Windscale—a couple of months after I was born. That one incident led to over 240 long-term cancer cases. I consider myself lucky.
“Now, with nuclear power stations slated for decommissioning, there’s the problem of what to do with the waste. It’s not going away. There are stockpiles all over the world. High-level, intermediate, and low-level radioactive waste. In the UK alone, we have over 310,000 tonnes of intermediate-level waste. The high-level figures are harder to pin down, but surely in the thousands of tonnes. There’s a global market for waste disposal, and I believe we can provide a solution.”
There were exchanged glances. Some shook their heads.
“How?” asked Fred.
“By using the space elevator.”
Fred frowned. “What? Dump it in orbit? Or just give it a push and hope it ends up somewhere safe? That’s bloody dangerous—and irresponsible.”
“No, Fred. That’s where the propulsion system comes in. The waste would be loaded into a spacecraft and launched toward the sun. When it reaches the right point, the cargo would be jettisoned. It would fall under the sun’s gravity and burn up completely. The ship would slingshot around and return to Earth for refueling and another load.”
The room was silent. Everyone was still processing.
James pressed on.
“The sun produces unimaginable amounts of radiation. A few thousand tonnes of human-made waste are less than a grain of sand on a beach compared to the sun’s natural output. We wouldn’t be polluting space—we’d be removing a dangerous pollutant from Earth permanently.”
Fred shook his head. “That’s bananas. Where do we get a spacecraft? A crew? The cost of one launch alone could bankrupt us!”
“We’d build the ship ourselves.”
Fred looked stunned. “You’ve gone completely barking mad.”
“No, Fred. The ship would be a simple, unmanned design. No air, food, or water needed. Just a cargo bay, propulsion system, and guidance. It would be operated remotely from Earth.”
Fred opened his mouth, closed it again, and then muttered, “That’s a massive undertaking.”
“It is,” James agreed. “That’s why I’ll be speaking to Hugo Barrington. I’m confident the government will take an interest.”
Fred gave a grudging nod and lapsed into silence.
James then outlined his plan.
“This is how we should proceed. I want to begin work on the elevator beam and the propulsion system as soon as possible. The plans are all there—work out the output capacity needed for both. We’ll also need two mass-to-energy convertors. We’ll worry about the ship later.
“The work on the ARCON project can be suspended for now. They keep changing the design—let them wait until they know what they want. You can deal with them, Paul.
“Let me know what you’ll need by the end of the week. All agreed?”
The boss had clearly made up his mind. There was no point in arguing.
“Right, we’ll reconvene at 3 o’clock Friday afternoon. One final thing—nobody in this room is to say a word to anyone about this. I don’t want this idea stolen. It’s to remain top secret. Let’s get to it.”
The meeting adjourned.
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“I was getting fed up with the ARCON work anyway,” Paul said to Fred later.
“How on earth did the boss come up with that idea? I hope this thing works,” Fred replied. “I’m getting too old to go looking for another job.”
On Friday, the project schedule and budget were presented, discussed, and approved. The new venture was officially christened Project Saucerful.
The name had been Samantha’s idea. She was a devoted Pink Floyd fan—she’d even travelled to Berlin in 1990 to see The Wall performed live. The album A Saucerful of Secrets included a track titled Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun.
“Not quite true, but near enough,” was Fred’s comment.
That weekend, Hugo Barrington was in his constituency. An appointment had been arranged for James to see him at his home on Saturday morning.
James arrived shortly before the scheduled 10 a.m. meeting. He was shown into the library by Hugo’s wife, Angela.
Hugo stood to greet him.
“James, good to see you again. Have a seat.”
“You too, Hugo.”
They exchanged small talk for a minute or so before getting down to business.
“Right then, James. Now—what’s this matter of major importance?”
James laid out the idea: the space elevator, the propulsion system, and the fact that work had already begun.
Hugo listened intently, saying nothing until James finished.
“A bold and audacious plan,” he said at last. “I agree—the nuclear waste issue is a real concern. But tell me—why should His Majesty’s Government be interested?”
James took a moment to compose his thoughts before answering.
“I believe there are several compelling reasons. First, security. Guarding storage sites must be expensive—and vulnerable. I’m sure there are terrorist groups out there who’d love to get their hands on that kind of material.
“Second, this concerns multiple government departments—Energy Security and Net Zero, Environment, Food and Rural Affairs, and of course, Defense. I imagine the RAF would be keen to be involved. There are probably pilots who would jump at the chance to be astronauts, especially if it meant helping build a ship.
“Our space program would get a major boost. The aerospace industry would benefit enormously.
“And internationally—well, this could be a powerful moment for Britain. Cleaning up the planet. Solving a problem that has plagued every nuclear nation. Great Britain rides to the rescue.
“Other countries have the same waste problem. They’d leap at the chance to license this technology. Space agencies currently rely on rockets to place cargo into orbit—expensive, dangerous, and wasteful. The elevator would be a cheaper, safer alternative.
“And they’ll want the propulsion system too.”
Hugo nodded as James made his points, his expression growing increasingly thoughtful.
“Well presented indeed,” he said finally. “I’ll put out some feelers next week.”
James exhaled slowly, relieved.
He handed Hugo a folder containing all the details of Project Saucerful.
