Lash-Up

8 Scramble

Secretary Peck left as quickly as he’d arrived, and, after a moment’s pause, Ray found himself next to the most popular man in the room. He did his best to get out of the way as the service chiefs surrounded the new four-star admiral. Schultz, still a little glassy-eyed from the surprise promotion, gracefully accepted congratulations and good wishes, deferred all questions, and tried to gather his notes with his one free hand.

Ray was still absorbing the news. A “space force.” Well, why not? And if Schultz was going to be in charge, then his baby was in good hands.

Schultz broke free of the scrum and gestured to Ray as he headed for the door. Ray followed, speeding up to match the admiral’s fast pace. Once Ray had caught up, Schultz explained, “General Warner’s promised us a C-20 for our use.” The C-20 was a military version of the Gulfstream executive jet adapted for VIP transport. It was loaded with communications gear and conference facilities.

They were headed back to the admiral’s office at a fast walk. Schultz spoke almost as quickly. “It will be ready for takeoff in an hour or so. Where do we fly, Ray? Where’s our headquarters going to be?”

Luckily, Ray had asked himself the question already. Prompted by Secretary Peck’s comment, he responded quickly, “It has to be Edwards, Admiral. That’s where the VentureStar prototype is stored, and where the pad is. Building another pad doesn’t make sense, and we don’t have the time anyway. Besides, this way we don’t even have to move the vehicle.”

Both understood that Ray meant Edwards Air Force Base in Southern California. The prototype was mothballed there, near the never-used launchpad. Edwards was a major test center. Parts of the base were designated as historical sites because of their role in aviation history.

The admiral nodded. “Edwards will be a good place to set up shop. We’ll have NASA’s Armstrong Flight Research Center, the Air Force Research Lab’s Propulsion Directorate research site — all those test facilities could come in real handy.” He grinned. “It’s also close to the Skunk Works in Palmdale and, of course, Los Angeles, not that you’ll have much time to go there.”

A little confused, Ray started to ask what he meant, but they’d reached the door to Schultz’s office. As Ray opened it and followed the admiral in, a wave of applause and even a few cheers washed over them. Ray had to stop short as the admiral was again mobbed by well-wishers.

Captain Levin, Schultz’s aide, explained. “One of Secretary Peck’s aides called and told us the good news, sir.”

“Are we ready?” asked a voice behind Ray.

Schultz spun around and saw a gaggle of flag officers pouring into the room. In the lead was the CNO, Admiral Kramer, followed by the vice CNO, the commandant of the Marine Corps, and several others.

“Yes, sir,” said Levin.

“Very well. Let’s get this man promoted so he can get to work,” ordered Kramer.

“Aye, aye, sir,” Levin replied, then, turning to a woman nearby, “Dorothy?”

A little breathless, the woman handed the CNO a small box. Levin, raising his voice a little, called “Attention to orders!” There was immediate silence, and those in uniform came to attention. Even Ray braced, his old air force habits kicking in.

Kramer issued the oath of office and then took one side, while Dorothy took the other. They unfastened the three-star insignia from the collar of Schultz’s khaki shirt and replaced them with four stars. Flashes from phones and one actual camera recorded the moment.

“Thanks, John.” Ray could see Schultz’s pleasure. It was a moment most officers could only dream of.

“Congratulations, Bill!” exclaimed Kramer. “However, in light of your new responsibilities, we’ll defer the wetting down for now. Note, I said defer, not abrogate, negate, or cancel. You’re still on the hook to buy a round or two of drinks.”

Schultz snapped his fingers in feigned disappointment. It would be quite the bar tab.

Each of the accompanying flag officers congratulated Schultz, shook his hand, and, with the traditions of the U.S. Navy satisfied, departed.

As Levin shook the admiral’s hand, he remarked, “The aide said there was some more news, but that it would be better if I got it from you directly. He sounded very mysterious.”

The admiral’s smile didn’t disappear, but it changed shape. “You’re gonna love this. I need you in my office.” He turned to Dorothy and said, “Hold all my calls, but tell Admiral Drake I need to see him here, ASAP.”

She answered, “He’s out at Pax River today for that…”

“Whatever he’s doing,” Schultz interrupted, “this is more important. As quickly as he can, Dorothy.”

She nodded, but Schultz was already headed for his office.

Once inside, Schultz filled in Levin, and surprised Ray by telling his aide that Ray would be the project’s technical director. Ray protested immediately. “I don’t have the seniority for that…”

“You will by the end of the day, Ray,” Schultz answered quickly. “Don’t worry about bureaucratic limitations. Those are man-made. Our only barrier is the laws of physics, and I want you to bend as many as you can.” He paused, then observed, “I never did ask you if you wanted the job or not.” He smiled. “There’s a nontrivial pay bump, but I hear the hours are brutal.”

Ray answered without hesitation. “Yes, Admiral, I want it,” eagerly diving into the great unknown.

“Then start drafting a message to Secretary Peck telling him we’re picking Edwards and would he please tell the base commander to expect us? And we’ll need another from Peck to Lock Mart telling them that their VentureStar program’s been funded again. Go.”

While Ray sat down and began typing, Schultz told Levin, “Anyone from my staff who wants to come with me can come, but will have to move to California. We’ll have temporary housing at Edwards.” Levin started to speak, and Schultz quickly added, “Of course, you can come, Jeff, but not right away. I need you here to get Admiral Drake settled in, and be my man in Washington.”

Ray half-listened as he worked. Schultz’s main headquarters was at Patuxent River, in Maryland, about an hour and a half southeast of Washington by car. The Naval Air Systems Command was responsible for everything in the navy that flew: aircraft, missiles, and UAVs. It was a sizable fraction of the service, and Levin quickly made notes as Schultz fired off instructions about people and projects that his deputy, Rear Admiral Drake, would need in order to ensure a relatively smooth turnover.

There were a hundred details, but Schultz remembered “… and send someone over to Ray’s hotel to pack up his stuff. Send it to Andrews along with my travel bag. Ray, how are those messages coming?”

“Just finished, Admiral. I kept them short.”

“Good thinking. Peck’s a busy man.” Levin took the files and promised they would be sent within minutes.

“All right, then. Let’s get over to Andrews,” Schultz announced. The plane will be ready by the time we get there.”

Even Levin was surprised. “What about Admiral Drake?”

“You take care of the turnover, Jeff. Don’t tell him anything about the Space Force or Defender — just that I’ve been promoted and assigned to new duties and he’s got the ball. He won’t like it, but he’s now acting NAVAIR. Get my car over to the south entrance.”

Back in the NMCC, Biff watched General Warner congratulate the newly promoted four-star admiral and wish him Godspeed. “Anything the air force can do for you, just ask.” As the other service chiefs filed out, he followed the air force group. Nothing was said in the hallway, not only because of security, but because, like the others, Biff couldn’t think of what came next.

Warner led them back to the conference room they’d used to prepare their proposal. He ordered, “Take a chair, everyone,” and the officers sat down, still silent, at a table littered with papers and coffee cups. Biff could feel the mood, somewhere south of glum, bound for despair. He felt it personally. He’d put everything he could into that proposal, cheered on by the highest-ranking officers in the air force, and it hadn’t been enough. Hell, they didn’t even get the opportunity to try!

Warner took them in with a glance and said, “Nothing’s changed.” He let that sink in, then continued, “Does anyone here think that this new Space Force will be able to get a civilian spacecraft out of mothballs, arm it, and launch it on a combat mission in seventy days?”

They were still silent, but there were a few rueful smiles, and almost everyone shook their heads. Not a chance. It was impossible.

The general said, “I want them to succeed, and anything the air force can do to support them, we will. But even with every resource, their chance of success is somewhere between slim and none. It’s more likely that the whole thing will quickly implode, and the U.S. will be back at square one.”

After another short pause, Warner declared, “The air force belongs in space, and while the Chinese attack on our GPS satellites is a terrible thing, it’s a clear demonstration of why we need to be there. As of this moment, we are reorienting the service to meet that need.”

He saw the questions forming on some faces and explained. “If and probably when the Defender project fails, the air force becomes plan B, so I want a plan in place, not just to stop the Chinese attacks but to establish us in space permanently.” He turned to General Ames. “Cliff, get us started. We need to make this happen.”

While Ames gathered Warner’s staff, the general pulled Biff aside. “We never got our chance at bat. You did well, Clarence, and I’ll be sending Major Pierce an endorsement for your performance report.”

Barnes winced at the general’s use of his given name. He risked saying, “Please, sir, just ‘Biff.’”

Smiling, Warner said, “Then ‘Biff’ it is. I’ll be keeping my eye on you, Captain.”

As the plane taxied for takeoff, Ray McConnell listened to Admiral Schultz as he argued with the Office of Personnel Management. Technically, as a civil servant, Ray worked for them.

“Of course I understand that you’d want to verify such an unusual order,” he said calmly, almost pleasantly. “It’s now been verified. And I need you to process it immediately. I know you’ve spoken to your director.” His voice hardened a little. “I’m sure I won’t have to speak to the director as well.”

Schultz smiled, listening. “Certainly. There will be other personnel requests coming through this same channel, possibly quite a few. I’m certain you’ll be able to deal with them all as swiftly as this one.”

He turned off the handset and turned to Ray. “Congratulations. Say good-bye to Ray McConnell, SPAWAR engineer, and hello to Ray McConnell, technical director, U.S. Space Force.”

It still didn’t feel right to Ray. “I’m not senior enough…”

The admiral cut him off. “You’re as senior as you need to be. You’re now a Senior Executive Service, Level 3, according to OPM.” Schultz saw Ray’s stunned look and smiled. “It’s not about the money. You’re going to be doing the work of a Technical Director, and you’ll need the horsepower of the pay grade. If there was ever a test of the Peter Principle, this will be it.”

Schultz leaned forward and spoke softly and intently. “Listen, Ray, you’re going to have to grow quickly. I offered you this job not because Defender was your idea, but because you had an original idea and put the pieces together to make it happen. Now you’re going to have to do a lot more original thinking. You’re going to build Defender and set speed records doing it.”

Schultz leaned even closer. “I’m also going to give you this to think about. This isn’t just an engineering problem. You’re going to be dealing with people — a lot of them — and you can’t expect them all to automatically commit to Defender the way you have. There’s a transition everyone in charge goes through as they increase in rank, from foot soldier to leader. Foot soldiers only have to know their craft, but leaders have to know their people as well.”

He straightened up in his chair. “End of lecture. We’re due to land in Edwards in five hours. Your first job is to set up your construction team. Use names if you can, or describe the skills you need and let the database find them. After that—” He paused. “Well, I’ll let you figure out what to do next.”

Ray had no trouble coming up with plenty of things “to do next.” During the flight, he found himself searching thousands of personnel records, balancing the time it took to review the information with the need to fill dozens of billets. Taking a page from his experience in the NMCC, he was careful to take people from all the military services and to look for key phrases like “team player” as well as professional qualifications. He also included people from NASA, the National Weather Service, and even the Federal Communications Commission.

Then he went outside the government, requesting people from private industry. The government couldn’t order them to participate, but if he had to, he’d hire them out from under their employers.

Remembering the JCS meeting and Captain Barnes, he called up the officer’s service record. Eyes widening slightly, Ray added the captain to his list. He could find a use for a man with his qualifications.

Then there was Jenny. He needed command, control, and communications specialists, and he’d never have to wonder about her commitment to the project. But there were rules about that sort of thing.

Schultz was scribbling on a notepad, and Ray waited for him to finish his thought before asking, “If I hire Jenny, will there be a problem?”

The admiral responded, almost automatically, “Not unless you two create one.” After a pause, he added, “I doubt if you’ll find the time. She’s smart and a clear thinker. And since you won’t be writing her FITREP, most of the rules don’t apply. She’d be a good addition, but will having her nearby distract you?”

Ray paused thoughtfully, then answered. “I think it will be less of a distraction than her being far away.”

Schultz shook his head, smiling. “You’ve got it bad, son. Hire the lady and move on.”

Ray took five minutes to call Jim Naguchi at work. Ray had decided not to include Jim on the list. Although he was a good friend, he was very much involved with his own project, designing a new naval communications system. Naguchi had never shown up for any of the design sessions, either, although he knew all about Defender. Ray had been a little disappointed, but not everyone was as crazy as he was.

It was just before nine in California, and Ray caught the engineer at his desk. “Naguchi here.”

“Jim, it’s Ray. I need you to clean out my office for me and keep the stuff for a day or two. I’ll send someone around to collect it.”

“What?” Naguchi sounded surprised and worried at the same time. “I knew Carson was pissed. Did he bar you from the building?”

“No, it’s nothing like that, Jim.” Ray almost laughed. “I can’t tell you much. It’s good news, but I’m going to be very busy for a while.”

“Okay,” Jim agreed. “As long as someone doesn’t think I’m ripping you off.”

“No, I sent an e-mail to Rudy. He’ll know. And don’t tell anyone else about this.”

“Okay, but later you have to explain what’s going on.”

“I promise.” Ray hung up and sat, holding the phone. He had a hundred things to think about, but Jenny kept on moving to the top of the pile. Deal with it, Ray, he said to himself.

He used his phone to send her some flowers, with the message, “You’ve saved Defender.”

About an hour into the flight, an air force communications tech reported, “Admiral, I’ve got the telecom with Edwards set up.”

“Good.” Schultz got up and called over to Ray. “I want you in this conversation as well.”

Major General Elliot Baum was commander of the 412th Test Wing, the biggest of the dozens of units scattered across the desert base. Balding, with sharp features and glasses, he was seated at his desk. Another general within the camera’s scope was seated at his side.

“Good morning Admiral Schultz, sir. Welcome to Edwards Air Force Base. May I introduce you to my deputy, General Hayes?”

“Good morning to both of you,” Schultz replied warmly. “This is Ray McConnell, technical director for the Defender project.”

Baum said, “I’ve just finished a conversation with General Warner and General Hughes, Commander of the Air Force Test Center and my immediate boss. That followed a call from Secretary Peck.” Baum looked a little flustered. “I’m still not sure I heard them correctly.”

“Is there anyone else present in your office, General?” Schultz asked sharply. “Is this link secure?”

The air force general answered quickly, “Yes, sir.” Ray noticed that Schultz’s new four stars were already proving their worth.

“The link is encrypted, and only myself and General Hayes were briefed about your … project.”

Ray made a note on his pad: “Security Staff.”

“The Defender program is intended to stop the Chinese attacks on our GPS constellation. I’m sure both Secretary Peck and General Warner explained that.”

Baum straightened up a little in his chair. “Yes, sir, they did, and we’re behind you one hundred percent. But how? They said seventy days. I may have misheard. Is that when your command will stand up?”

“No, General, that is when we will launch. I’ll be establishing my headquarters on your base, along with the construction effort and the launch-support facilities. The center of the effort will of course be Area 1-54, where the launchpad is located. We will need housing and messing facilities for several hundred people, as well as a large hangar and working spaces, all within a high-security perimeter.”

“Several hundred!” Baum exclaimed.

“To start with,” Schultz commented. “Defender won’t build herself. They’ll start arriving tomorrow.”

Ray made another note: “Personnel in-processing, orientation.”

“Tomorrow?” Baum repeated.

“And we need them to be productive the minute they get there.” Schultz glanced at his watch. “We’ll be on the ground in a little over four hours. At thirteen hundred your time, we need to meet with your facility manager and your security officer, as well as your wing’s technical director.”

General Baum nodded soberly. “They’ll be there, along with General Hayes and myself. Is there an official legend for the facility yet?”

“The cover story is that we are a new joint program, which will explain the different uniforms and civilians at the base. The VentureStar prototype is being adapted to serve as a rapid reusable transport for a new generation of survivable GPS satellites, designed to replace the ones shot down by the Chinese.”

Ray made another note: “Intelligence. Misinformation manager.”

“Understood, Admiral. If there’s nothing else, we’ll start preparing for your arrival.”

“Very well, General. We will see you in a few hours.” Schultz nodded to the tech aboard the plane, who broke the link.

The admiral shook his head. “We’re going to have trouble with those two. We’re going to suck up all their scarce resources and mess up their plans. Let’s hope you do better with Lockheed Martin.”

“Me?” Ray answered.

“They’re engineers, just like you; you speak their language. I can’t do all the work.”

George Romans hurriedly turned over his smartphone and tablet to the security guards. One said, “Mr. Weber’s already up on the VTC channel,” and Romans nodded wordlessly as he signed the clipboard and noted the time.

The other guard punched the door combination and pulled it open. The door was labeled SCIF 3 under a large decal of a cute-looking skunk.

Inside, the room’s familiar office furniture clashed with the bare metal walls. Sounds echoed despite the rubber mats on the floor. Surrounded completely by metal, the Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility would prevent any electronic eavesdropping. It was one of many at the Skunk Works site, which made sense considering how many compartmented programs the company was involved in.

While others were spacious enough for a dozen or more offices and workspaces, this room was small and set up for teleconferences. Several chairs at a long table faced two flat-screen monitors on the wall. Another small table held a coffeemaker, but clutter in the room was kept to a minimum. Fewer places to hide eavesdropping devices.

George Romans, the head of Lockheed Martin’s Advanced Development Programs, or the famous “Skunk Works,” nodded to his boss, Henry Weber, Vice President of Lockheed Martin Aeronautics, at his headquarters in Fort Worth, Texas. “The call’s set up for ten hundred central time. They’re still in the air,” Weber reported.

Romans sat down heavily in one of the chairs, his breathing labored. A little overweight, he’d hurried from another plant after receiving a surprising phone call from the company president.

“Sorry for being late. I was out of the building when I got the call. We were supposed to link up after you arrived. Should I make the connection?” Romans asked.

“Not yet,” Weber ordered. “I just want to confirm that you got the same call from President Markwith that I did. New classified DoD program, restarting and arming the VentureStar prototype.”

Roman nodded and held up a copy of the Defender file. “That’s what I got, too, along with high priority, and that the DoD had already paid five hundred million this morning to take over the program.” He sounded unsure of his facts, as if he’d heard them wrong.

“That more than pays for the money we’ve invested in the VentureStar project,” Weber confirmed. “Boom, and it’s a major DoD program.”

“But is it the same thing that’s been circulating on SIPRNET? They can’t be serious.”

“Five hundred million says they’re serious, or crazy. For that kind of money, we make the call and hear what they’ve got to say.”

“Do you have any guidance for me before we call?”

“No, George, you know the drill. Besides, guidance would imply that we knew what was going on. All we can do is avoid the obvious pitfalls and hope for the best.”

Romans tapped a key on a laptop computer and spoke into a microphone. “This is Lockheed Martin Skunk Works. We’re ready on our end.”

The second flat screen came alive, replacing the Lock Mart star logo with the image of two men sitting in an aircraft cabin. An older, balding man wore the uniform of a U.S. Navy full admiral; the other was a civilian, maybe in his early forties.

The civilian said, “I’m Ray McConnell, technical director for the Defender project, and this is Admiral Schultz, our commanding officer.”

Romans hid his surprise. Technical director? McConnell’s name was all over the Defender file. It was the same idea. While Weber was making the introduction from Fort Worth, Romans tried to mentally shift everything he’d read in the document from the “wacky” drawer to the one labeled “new job.” It was difficult.

Ray said, “We were hoping Mr. Hugh Dawson would be with you. He’s the most senior name we could find associated with the VentureStar program.”

Weber gestured to Romans to field the question. The engineer answered. “That project ended before I became head of the Advanced Development Programs, but personnel found him quickly. He’s still with us, and is the director of a compartmented project here at the Palmdale facility.”

Weber continued. “They’re approaching an important milestone, and I thought we could have this meeting first to see whether he’s really needed for this new program.”

Ray answered instantly. “It’s vital that we have him. Speed is everything, and his knowledge will save us weeks, at least.”

“And it will cost us at least that much time if we take him away from the work he’s now doing. That means a delayed milestone and an unhappy customer, who is also a part of the DoD. Will your program pay the penalties Lockheed Martin would suffer for a late delivery?”

“The call from Secretary Peck to Mr. Markwith should have included that this program has the highest priority within the DoD,” injected Admiral Schultz.

“High-priority programs are a specialty of the Advanced Development Programs,” Romans answered smugly. “Maybe you’ve heard of the F-22, or the F-35? How about the U-2 or the SR-71?”

“Don’t patronize us,” Ray snapped. “We need Mr. Dawson immediately. We have a meeting at thirteen hundred with General Baum and his people. We’d like you and Mr. Dawson to be there, plus anyone else you think would be helpful in restarting VentureStar.”

“That won’t be possible,” responded Weber. Hugh Dawson is on travel, and we’ll have to get him back. The earliest we could meet would be late tomorrow morning, perhaps later. It all depends on when we can get him a flight. But as far as moving him from his current assignment, you haven’t explained why his expertise is so necessary.”

“As I said earlier,” Ray replied carefully, “his knowledge of the program will save time. We need every edge we can get if we’re going to launch on schedule.”

“That’s another thing,” Weber said. “This schedule you’ve sent is completely unrealistic. I’m not sure we can get the vehicle out of mothballs in less than a month.”

“We will do it in much less than a month, Mr. Weber,” Ray replied. “You are the legendary Skunk Works. Does anyone there still have a copy of Kelly Johnson’s rules?”

Romans bristled. “I do, and so do a lot of other people here. But Lockheed Martin officially stopped calling my shop the Skunk Works back in 1999, shortly after the VentureStar program was canceled.”

“I grew up with those rules,” Ray explained, “and you’d better dust them off.”

Admiral Schultz saw the defiant looks on the faces of the Lockheed Martin executives. “Mr. Romans, can you tell me which program Mr. Dawson is working on?”

“As I said, sir, it’s a compartmented black project.”

“I’m very familiar with them,” Schultz replied coldly. “What’s the unclassified label?” While the actual code name of the project was itself classified, every “black” program had one or more “white” labels that could be used in administrative documents.

Romans looked at Weber, who returned his gaze and shrugged. Busted. “The unclassified label for the program is Baseboard.”

Schultz nodded. “I’ll make inquiries about the project and its utility in the current circumstances. I’d think you’d be more eager to stop the Chinese. After all, Lockheed Martin builds the GPS satellites.”

“I’m all for stopping the Chinese, Admiral,” Weber responded, “but there are rules to follow, people I’m accountable to.”

“Rules can be changed or waived,” Schultz answered. “Please use all deliberate speed, especially when we’re just beginning. Time saved now will be multiplied manyfold in a few weeks.”

Schultz gestured to someone off screen, and the display went dark.

Romans let the silence last for almost a minute, since his boss seemed completely self-absorbed. Finally, he asked tentatively, “Should I get Hugh Dawson?”

Weber quickly answered. “Yes, get Dawson back, and make arrangements for a car to take the three of us to Edwards. Under other circumstances, I’d let you and him handle this, but I want to stay close on this, at least for the moment. I’ll leave Fort Worth early tomorrow morning and fly directly to Plant 42.”

He saw the look on Romans’s face and quickly added, “I trust your skills, George, but I don’t trust these folks. Do they really think they can bring that” — he slapped the Defender document on the table — “to life?”

“What else could it be?”

“I’ll tell you what it could be. How about an excuse for the Jackson administration? We know there’s not much they can do about the GPS shoot-downs. What if they create a “supersecret program” based on Defender, knowing it will fail? After it goes bad, word of the failure will be ‘leaked.’ It shows that they were trying to do something constructive. Look at McConnell, the guy in charge: the Defender hard copy says he’s a midlevel supervisor with SPAWAR. He’s way too junior to run a major program like this. They’re taking his fantasy and turning it into a decoy.”

“What about the five hundred million?” Romans asked. “I don’t think the check will bounce.”

“Political cover at scrap-metal prices,” Weber replied. “And who do you think gets blamed if it doesn’t work? The government? They’ll do their best to shift it to us. That half billion will be chump change compared to the price we will pay then.”

Romans was still processing the idea when Weber started firing orders. “Okay, first thing: We write everything down. Document every meeting, every phone call, every scribble they write on a napkin. If they want anything, even doughnuts in the morning, they have to put it in writing. Second thing: If this project fails, it won’t be for a lack of us trying. Make sure Dawson is in the car with us, but also get a team over to Area 1-54 and see what we have to do to get the pad ready for use. Get another team over to the storage hangar and have them begin getting the vehicle out of mothballs. Work goes on around the clock.”

“Who do I use?” Romans asked.

“Anyone who’s free. Tell them it’s a treasure hunt and there’s a golden rivet somewhere.” When Romans laughed, Weber added, “But that’s only temporary. Get out an Internal Personnel Requirement right away calling for people willing to transfer to a ‘new aerospace project.’ Tell personnel I want it out by e-mail to everyone west of the Rockies by early afternoon, to start work tomorrow.”

After the connection broke, Ray saw that Admiral Schultz had also been taking notes. Before Ray could speak, Schultz made a call. “Jeff, I want you to run down a black program. The white label is Baseboard. And find out about someone named Hugh Dawson. He’s supposed to be in charge. Okay? Great, soon as you can.”

Schultz closed the phone with a small smile on his face. “And that’s why I left Captain Levin in Washington. We could certainly use him out here, but I can’t be in two places at once.” He grinned. “Unless that’s what the Baseboard program does.”

Glenn Chung was logging in a software upgrade when Patty Rivers poked her head in the open door to his office. “Glenn, do you know anything about that new IPR?”

“What new IPR?” Chung asked without moving his eyes from the screen.

“It came out about an hour ago.” Patty was one of the biggest grapes on the office grapevine. He’d been too busy to check his e-mail box since lunch. There were messages waiting, though.

He only had a few new messages and quickly spotted the one sent by “LMAERONAUTICS.”

The list of jobs available was extensive, including engineers in several fields, electronics specialists, aviation machinists, even computer types like himself.

Patty gave him a moment to read it, then asked, “Do you know what program they mean? They need people now, and a lot of them.”

Chung scanned the list. “No hint here about the kind of program it is.”

“Could it be a new classified project?”

He stifled a small laugh. “They wouldn’t announce it in the IPR. When you applied, and didn’t have the right clearances, you’d just be turned down. If it is a new unclassified program, we’ll probably hear about it in a few days by some press release. If it is classified, we just won’t hear at all.”

“Unless you get a job there,” she offered.

“Are you that curious?” he asked.

She shrugged. “It might be more interesting than what I’m doing now. I’m ready for a change. See you!” Patty flitted off in search of more information. She had a sweet personality but thought her job description included “networking,” not “network support.”

Chung read through the list of open positions carefully. Nope. There was no clue what the new project would be, and he did try to pay attention to what the company was doing. What the heck. He hit the REPLY link and started typing.

He felt the need for a change as well.