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.