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Promptly at eight o'clock Eastern Standard time, the
President entered the White House conference room. The
meeting was opened with a series of introductions of the
scientists in attendance, and a short statement by the
National Security Advisor bringing everyone up to date.
These actions were designed more for the stenographer
recording the minutes, than the advisors who had already
been briefed to help them prepare their presentations.
"The first thing I want to know," started the
President, "is how this thing got into orbit without us
knowing about it. If the Russians can get a satellite up
without warning they could reconstruct their nuclear force
for a Bolt Out of the Blue attack, and catch us with our
pants down."
"The problem here," said Dr. Adams, "is the fact that
the Russians did not use a rocket booster to lift the
payload into orbit. All our early warning systems are
designed to detect the enormous amounts of heat generated by
a rocket's engine as it is thrust into space. For them to
have orbited this satellite without warning, they would have
to have a delivery method that did not generate heat. The
NORAD report offered air launching as a method, though the
Russians have never succeeded in using this the way we had
with our X-15 type aircraft."
"Perhaps they've finally perfected it," said the
President.
"We haven't had a hint," offered the Director of
Central Intelligence, "of any research of that nature going
on in Russia. We've even abandoned air launching in all but
one case."
"Correct," concurred Dr. Adams. "Our ASAT weapon, the
MHV or 'Tomato Can,' is air launched into space, but that is
all. There are two other possibilities, Sir, but neither
seems likely. Dr. Barrister..."
"Yes, thank you. The first method would be to
construct an electomagnetic rail gun that would shoot the
satellite into orbit without the use of a large rocket
motor. By placing the payload in a steel container, and
using electromagnets to pull the container down a launch
rail, it would be possible to achieve escape velocity and
catapult the payload into orbit. We have been studying the
concept but are still a decade away from actual execution."
"We don't feel the Russians have done this either,"
interrupted DCI, "As our scientists have estimated the
catapult would have to be half a mile long and inclined at a
thirty degree angle. It would be impossible to hide from
the spy satellites."
"Indeed," said Dr. Barrister. "the next option would
require an even more complex system. The US is currently
experimenting with the concept of a Trans Atmospheric
Vehicle, or TAV. This would be an aircraft that could take
off from a runway, fly into low orbit, then return to a
runway. If the Russians could create a ship of this type
using low-observable technology, they could carry satellites
or space weapons into orbit without being detected."
"Low-observable technology?" questioned the President.
"Are you talking about a Stealth Space Shuttle?"
"No, Sir. The Space Shuttle is actually just a glider
strapped to a ballistic missile. When it's launched, it
lights up the early warning systems in both Cheyenne
Mountain and Moscow just the way an ICBM would. The TAV
would actually take off like a 747, for instance, but fly
much higher. It's the next evolutionary step for the Space
Shuttle."
"Then you all agree with the Captain's report that it
was constructed in orbit?" inquire the President.
"No, Sir, I most certainly do not," called Dr. Chandler
in a dramatic tone, causing Adams to shake his head in
disgust. He knew Chandler was going to do it and dreaded
what was about to happen. "Mr. President, I think everyone
is missing the obvious, or more likely it's a case of the
Emperor's New Clothes and no one wants to be the first to
say it. Quite simply, there was no launch warning because
this was not launched from Earth. The other systems Dr.
Barrister mentioned are so complex that we have yet to test
them, and even Captain Mia can't explain why we didn't
detect the device being launched from the Saylut space
station."
"Captain Mia knows her business, but if she were right,
the radar would have shown this blip departing from the
Saylut's blip. Instead, it just appeared. Mr. President, I
don't feel we're dealing with the Russians," finished Dr.
Chandler.
All eyes fell on the President, as he struggled with
the dilemma Chandler had proposed. "Are you implying some
type of alien, that is to say, non-human, action?"
"Yes, Sir, I am."
"Dr. Adams?"
"Mr. President; Dr. Chandler is here because he is an
gifted scientist, but there is no evidence that UFO's are
responsible for this situation."
"Then how did the blip appear, as Dr. Chandler stated?"
asked the President.
"A Stealth Space Tug," answered Adams. "A radar
resistant ship that could carry the satellite away from the
Saylut undetected."
"I can accept that," interjected Chandler, "It seems a
very expensive piece of equipment meant only to get our
goat, so to speak, but I'll admit it's conceivable. One
question, though... If the Russians have this invisible
space tug, why are they sending Buron into orbit to snag the
object?"
"We don't know that's what they're after," said Adams.
"They might want to get Cosmos 1953 rather than let us
intercept it after splashdown."
"Let's stop right here for a moment," called the
President. "Explain this Cosmos situation."
"Cosmos 1953," offered DCI, "is a Russian radar
satellite designed to keep track of our naval vessels. It
is a descendant of Cosmos 954, which in January of 1978,
fell into an uninhabited part of Canada. As the onboard
radar requires a great deal of energy, the satellites are
nuclear powered. When Cosmos 954 impacted, its reactor
shattered and contaminated the area with radioactive waste.
If it had impacted in a city or town, there would have been
deaths caused by the radiation."
"To keep this from happening, they now eject the
Uranium 235 fuel rods and let them burn up in the
atmosphere. We've stationed the Seventh Fleet, several spy
satellites and aircraft, along with most of the NSA's
available resources around the Pacific and Indian Ocean in
hopes of recording the command issued to eject the fuel
rods. If we can detect this signal, it is possible that we
could eject the fuel rods on all their satellites, and put
them out of business. Of course we'd only do that in time
of war..."
"So the Russian shuttle could be going to get Cosmos
1953," explained Dr. Adams, "to prevent us from recording
that signal."
"And we have no way of knowing which they are after?"
asked the President.
"We can determine that by its launch time," chimed
Chandler. "The shuttle has to hit its window to intercept
either target. All we have to do is calculate their launch
times for the two targets, wait until Buron launches, and we
have our answer."
"How long will it take to get these figures?"
"I've got one of them," answered a voice that seemed to
come from nowhere.
"Sir, we have General Hanson at Cape Canaveral on the
phone," clarified the White House Chief of Staff.
"Good Morning, General," spoke the President into the
air.
"Good Morning, Sir. When I was informed the Russians
were readying Buron, I ordered my staff to calculate its
launch window to intercept the bogie. If they launch at
13:21, Eastern, they can reach it in three orbits over the
Atlantic. We can hit it in two orbits out of Vandenberg,
but our window doesn't open until 14:13 which means we'll
get there seventeen minutes too late."
"I thought you were going to be able to launch at ten
o'clock," stated National Security Advisor, Bob Alexander.
"No, Sir. I said we would be ready to launch at ten,
we won't have a window until after fourteen hundred."
"What's all this about 'windows?' Why can't you just
fly that thing up there and get it?" asked the President.
"As I said earlier," stated Dr. Barrister, "the space
shuttle is not a plane, but a plane riding a ballistic
missile... We can't fly it anywhere but down." Seeing the
puzzled look on the President's face, Barrister went on:
"You've been duck hunting, haven't you Mr. President?"
he asked. The President answered affirmatively. "As you
know, you can't shoot straight at the duck, you have to lead
the animal so it and the shot arrive at the same space at
the same time. Space shots are even more complicated than
that."
"Now imagine that you are on a circus carousel trying
to shoot the duck, which is flying in the opposite
direction. This time you have to lead the duck by a much
greater distance to compensate for the carousel's movement.
To make things even more difficult, imagine your shotgun is
bolted to the floor of the carousel and can't be aimed. In
this case there will be one brief instant when you can pull
the trigger and hit the duck. We call this 'the window.'
If you miss your window, you have to wait for the next
window."
"I understand," replied the President. "When is the
Russian's window to the spy satellite?"
"My people are working on it," answered Hanson's voice.
"Give us another minute."
"Basically, what you're saying about these windows is
that the Russians will get there first?"
"Yes, Mr. President-- Here we go... The Russian window
to Cosmos 1953 is at 8:04 EST. They've missed it, Sir." A
triumphant smile crossed Chandler's face, which was ignored
by Adams. "They're going after the bogie."
"Okay, gentlemen, what do we do? Are we going to let
the Russians get away with it?"
"We can't," said Chandler. "If this thing is an alien
vessel, and we let the Russians get it, we lose the
opportunity of a lifetime."
"I'll say it again," said Adams emphatically, "There is
no evidence supporting your claim."
Chandler began to speak, but the President raised his
hand to silence him. "Dr. Adams, do you have any evidence
to dispute his claim?"
Adams went flush. "No, Sir... It's just not... The
odds are that the object is Russian."
"Dr. Barrister, would you break this tie for us?"
inquired the President.
"No, Sir, because I don't feel it's important whether
the object is Russian or Martian. Its unexplained presence
poses a threat to national security. The only way to
determine its origin is to send a shuttle up there before
the Russians."
A murmur of approval rolled through the room, and the
President repositioned himself in his chair. "Very well.
General Hanson: What about the other shuttles?"
"Discovery is having its heat tiles refitted; it would
take a week to get it ready if we worked around the clock,"
stated the General.
There was a pause in the room as everyone wondered the
same thing. "Where's Columbia?" asked the President.
"Well, ah, Sir... Columbia's on pad 39A, but she's
fueled and loaded for a flight next week."
"When's her window?"
"Ah, I, um, It would, ah, take several days to roll her
back to the Vehicle Assembly Building and get the
communications satellite out of the cargo bay. We'd have to
get the fuel out of the tanks--"
"General, I didn't ask you that," stated the President,
in an annoyed tone.
"I'm not sure we can carry anything else in the cargo
bay, and we can't get it clear before Buron's window--"
"Do you mean to tell me you didn't calculate a window
for Columbia?"
"We've got a window off the Cape at 13:02, intercept at
16:54. That's eleven minutes ahead of the Russians. But
Mr. President, we couldn't snag the bogie because of the
comsat."
"Launch the satellite before Columbia reaches the
object," ordered the President.
"It won't go into the correct orbit... We might loose
it. And... and I don't have a man to command the Shuttle in
Florida: Colonel Fletcher is at Wright-Patterson in Ohio.
The launch wasn't for another four days, and the press knows
that. On top of that, my mission specialist is at
Vandenberg."
"I don't care about the satellite, I'll risk the
security problem, and I'm sure your people can be flown in."
"Mr. President, Vandenberg is a long trip," stated
the Air Force Chief of Staff in Hanson's defense. "Trying
to get a crew member all the way across the country might
cause us to miss the window."
"Get someone else," demanded the President, his tone
becoming more irate at the Air Force's stonewalling. "Get
this woman from NORAD, Captain Mia. She knows what's going
on."
"Uh, Mr. President," interrupted Alexander, "Do we want
to send a woman on a mission of this nature? If the shuttle
were destroyed we would have to justify sending a woman into
combat."
"We had women taken prisoner in Iraq, and the teacher
killed on Challenger was a woman. Get her, General, and
launch on schedule. I want Atlantis to launch as a show of
force. We'll advise the Russians of our intentions, and ask
them to tell us of theirs. We'll reconvene this meeting for
an update in one hour."
Jon Miller was a lifelong workaholic. His government
job at NASA allowed him six weeks of vacation, plus sick and
comp time, but he seldom took time off. He was the kind of
man who went to work to relax and was often lost if he
wasn't on the job. As it turned out, on this particular
day, Miller had been virtually ordered to take a few days
off. NASA's civilian director had taken a weeks vacation in
the Bahamas and had told Miller to get out for a few days
before next week's mission. Miller reluctantly did as he
was told, though he knew his boss was mistaken in thinking
that he needed the rest.
At the crack of dawn Miller had gotten out of bed and
began to pace the floor wondering what to do with himself as
he had done everyday this week. His wife was beginning to
become very irritated by his behavior and was looking
forward to his return to the job. For lack of anything
better to do, Miller decided to cut the grass, again.
He had barely had time to mow the back yard and start
the front, when his wife ran out of the house to tell him he
had a call. She thought it was work. Miller shut down the
lawn mower's main thruster and went to answer the phone.
"Mr. Miller!" shouter the excited voice of one of his
subordinates. "Something's going on here. General Hanson
has ordered us all to go home. The military is sealing off
the base. Mike Palmer said he saw them reset the launch
clock for Columbia at T minus four hours."
"Who reset the launch clock?" asked Miller.
"The Air Force: they've taken over and are going to
launch!"
"Calm down. They can't launch without a Shuttle
Commander, and Fletcher's in Ohio."
"I don't know... Major Hawkins and Lieutenant Ellis are
here, they may let them fly the mission."
That's ridiculous, thought Miller. He hadn't cleared
Hawkins to pilot a shuttle yet. With Fletcher at Wright-
Patt, Cartwright at Edwards, and Bradshaw at Vandenberg,
there was no way they could launch. It would be too
dangerous. "Now are you sure you haven't blown this out of
proportion?"
"They've even ordered NASA security out, and replaced
them with armed Air Force personnel."
"Okay," said Miller, "I'll be right there. Rest
assured, I'll get to the bottom of this."
Captain Brenda Mia could hear the phone ringing as she
searched for the keys in her purse. She opened the door,
dropped the keys and purse in a chair, and grabbed the
phone. "Hello."
"Mia: this is General Monroe. Are you still in
uniform?"
"Why... No sir," said the Captain kicking off her shoes
and wondering if this was the General's idea of an obscene
phone call.
"Do you have a flight suit?" asked CINC-NORAD.
Hum, kinky, thought Mia. "No sir, I'm sorry I don't."
"What about BDU's?"
"Yes, I have two sets, sir," she answered.
"They'll do. Get dressed. Major Harris and security
are heading to your house. You're going on an overnight
trip. Pack only what you can carry in your purse. They'll
be there in about five minutes."
"Where am I going, sir?" asked Mia, now puzzled by her
eminent departure.
"Harris will fill you in. All I can say is good luck."
The General hungup the phone, leaving Mia with only a dial
tone. It was all over before she knew what had happened.
She hurried around the house for a few moments trying
to round up an entire uniform, but found she was missing her
cap. After giving up on her search, she stripped off her
Blues, and put on the fatigues. She was just putting on her
socks when someone started banging on the door. "Who is
it?"
"Major Harris. We don't have much time!"
Mia opened the door and Harris stepped inside. He took
the boots from her hand and grabbed her purse from the
chair. "You'll need to put your hair in a ponytail."
"I can't find my hat," she called as she ran to the
bathroom to fix her hair.
"You won't need it."
Mia followed Harris out the door, and ran down the
walkway to the waiting car in her socks. Once seated, the
driver exited the complex where a Colorado Springs Police
car was waiting on the street to escort them. "Where are we
going?" asked the Captain.
"They've got a TF-15 waiting at Peterson Field to take
you to Cape Canaveral," explained Harris as he helped her
with her combat boots.
"Why am I going to Cape Canaveral?"
"You're going up in Columbia to snag the bogie."
The sun was just beginning to raise at Edwards, when
the phone rang. "This is Cartwright."
"Cartwright, this is Hanson. Change in orders. We're
sending up Columbia, too."
"Both of them?" asked Cartwright in total amazement.
Lawrence and Morrison could only hear one side of the
conversation, but could tell that whatever the caller said
had shocked the normally unflappable marine.
"That's right, and we're bringing them both down at
Edwards. We've never done that before, so it will require
some special coordination."
"I understand. Begging the General's pardon, but may I
ask what is happening."
"Cartwright, at this moment we are riding the
proverbial rocket sled to Hell. What I am about to tell you
is to be disseminated strictly on a need-to-know basis:
something has shown up in orbit. We don't know what it is
or where it came from, but it has the brass in Washington
nervous. Someone up there came up with the bright idea that
we were going to send up the shuttles to get it down."
"When you say that we don't know where it came from,
what exactly does that mean, sir?" Morrison and Lawrence
began to scoot their chairs closer, but Cartwright waved
them back.
"I was on a conference call with the White House for
half an hour this morning. There was a lot of loose talk of
Russian space weapons and one scientist even suggested it
might be an alien probe. The President didn't dispute his
statement."
Cartwright's eyes popped open. "I see sir. But why
both shuttles?"
"The CIA has found out that the Russians are launching
Buron and will get to the bogie about the same time we
will."
"Jesus... There's going to be trouble."
"Agreed."
"Sir. Don't get me wrong, Colonel Bradshaw is a fine
officer, but let me command Atlantis. Bradshaw doesn't have
any combat experience: he flew heavy cargo before coming to
the astronaut program... I can catch the first fighter to
Vandenberg and be ready in thirty minutes."
"Cartwright," started the General, "I need you at
Edwards."
"I've got everything under control here."
"Curly! As one fighter jock to another, I understand
how you feel. But Atlantis is going to get there seventeen
minutes too late. It will all be over. That's why we have
to send Columbia: to beat Buron.
"I'm having Atlantis refitted with the rescue gear, and
Bradshaw knows more about that than you. I'm sorry, but
there is nothing you can do to help them. For now, I need
you at Edwards."
"Yes sir. We'll be ready." Cartwright set the phone
in its cradle and looked at Lawrence and Morrison. "Boys:
there's gonna be a fight, tonight."
Major Harris helped Mia into the parachute and strapped
her into the rear ejection seat of the TF-15. A member of
the ground crew handed him a helmet which he placed on her
head. She repositioned it to accommodate the ponytail, then
listen intently to his crash course on what to do if the
plane went down and they had to punchout. Next he placed
the oxygen mask over her face and watched to ensure that she
was getting air. He smiled, gave her a pat on the helmet,
and descended the ladder.
A moment later the pilot throttled the aircraft to a
high idle and taxied toward the runway. "Morning Captain,
I'm Lieutenant Harry Smithson," squawked a voice in her
earphones, through the ship's intercom.
"Hi, Captain Brenda Mia. Are we going to be able to
make it to Kennedy in two hours?"
"Sure. It's about seventeen hundred miles, but we'll
keep it right about Mach 2.2 the whole way. Of course we'll
have to slow down to refuel twice, and when we're done
they'll have to overhaul these engines, but as long as they
don't flameout before then we'll be in good shape."
The pilot stopped at the edge of the runway and called
the tower for clearance. They cleared him to thirty
thousand feet and he released the aircraft's brakes. When
centered on the runway, he again stopped the fighter.
"Captain, have you done much high performance flying?"
"No, none, Lieutenant."
"About all you have to remember is to hold on during
takeoff, and try not to puke." With that the pilot pressed
the throttles to one hundred per cent, released the brakes,
and hit the afterburners. The Eagle streaked down the
runway, lifted high enough from the ground for the pilot to
retract the gear and flaps, then rocket skyward to the
stratosphere pinning the Captain to her seat. Within one
minute they were supersonic and Florida bound.
Jon Miller was met outside the office at Canaveral by a
gang of angry civilian employees that could not accept
General Hanson's order to go home. They immediately deluged
him with stories of negligence and incompetence on the part
of the Air Force and of the no holds countdown. He tried to
calm the mob, but finally had to yell to shut them up.
"Listen to me! The best thing to do right now is to
let me talk to Hanson and find out what's going on. I think
everybody here wants the same thing, and I can probably talk
some sense into the man." The mob calmed, but watched with
baited breath as Miller approached the security point.
"Good Morning, Mr. Miller," offered a sergeant, "I'm
afraid I can't let you in."
"I need to see Hanson," said Miller without a hint of
apprehension in his voice.
"I'm sorry, sir. No one gets in."
"Orders from who?"
"General Hanson, sir."
"I'm countermanding those orders, Sergeant."
For a moment the sergeant traced an imaginary chain of
command in his mind. "I'm sorry, Mr. Miller, but you know I
can't let you in. Please don't cause trouble."
"Get the General on the phone," commanded Miller.
The sergeant dialed the phone on the security desk and
explained that Mr. Miller wanted to talk to the General.
There was a long pause, the sergeant snapped to attention
answered a question, then handed the phone to Miller.
"Hanson-- What in God's name are you doing?"
"Mr. Miller, this is a military mission, you're on
vacation, if you cause trouble the sergeant will take you
into custody. Go home." An instant later the phone was
dead.
"Sergeant, I'm going to see the General," announced Mr.
Miller, defiantly.
"Sir, I will take you into custody."
"We'll see."
It took three airmen to subdue Miller and drag him to a
holding area.
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