Lash-Up

11 Beginning

They’d scheduled the arrival carefully. You couldn’t count on cloud cover, especially in the California desert, so they’d chosen a satellite-free window well before dawn.

They all got up early. Ray, standing by the end of the runway with a cup of coffee, saw them show up in ones and twos, walking slowly over to the tarmac. Lewes had set up his customary table with coffee and breakfast, but this time outside the hangar. For the moment, he was using a big tent borrowed from the Marines, but there was a hand-lettered sign over the entrance: THE HANGAR.

Since this was a special occasion, Ray had decided it was a doughnut morning. Now, while he waited, he alternately brushed colored sprinkles off his jacket and warmed his hands with a mug of coffee.

The handling crews were ready, and General Norman had arranged for a nighttime base-security exercise that filled the area with patrols, as well as kept the route clear. The base fire department had also sent their equipment. Ray approved, but thinking about them made a small knot in his stomach.

A voice behind him said, “Thanks for the flowers, Ray.” He could hear the smile in her tone, and he turned to see Jenny walking toward him.

He automatically answered, “You’re welcome.” Some of the fatigue left him, and he kissed her good morning. Then the two stood silently together for a moment. They’d been so busy since coming to Edwards that they’d barely spoken, much less had any time together. He was content to simply enjoy her presence and didn’t want to do anything that would end the moment.

Finally, after they’d both stood for a minute, she asked, “Is it going well?”

Ray nodded. “They left the north hangar seven minutes late because someone spotted what looked like a problem with one of the tow bars. It’s okay, though. They’ll make up the lost time along the way.”

“How big is the window?”

He laughed. “Not very large. By the time you factor in the Russians, the Chinese, and the commercial satellites, we get forty-two minutes with nobody overhead. Which is why we’re letting the tractors go up to five miles an hour. It’s one point two miles, and the route’s surface has been inspected three times by three different groups of people. And there’s virtually no traffic this time of day, so…” He shrugged. “We plan for disaster, and hope for the best.”

Jenny almost sparkled with excitement. “I never had time to go to the north hangar to see her.”

“Well, it’s good you waited. She looks better than she did just a few days ago. She wasn’t pretty, covered in plastic and surrounded by crates and dust.”

Hugh Dawson came up, a walkie-talkie in one hand. “She made the first turn just fine. They slowed during the turn, of course, but she took it smoothly. Peters wants permission to raise the speed to five and a half miles an hour.”

Ray answered thoughtfully, “We’d talked about it.” He considered the request for only a moment, then said firmly, “Yes, go to five and a half. It will help make up those seven minutes.”

Schultz, approaching the group, heard Ray’s order. “Then it’s going smoothly?” he asked. Jenny turned and snapped off a sharp salute, which Schultz returned. She wore the alternate working uniform this morning, the blue-and-gray digital camouflaged battle dress. Ray still hadn’t gotten used to her wearing it. She looked much better in khakis or dress blues, but battle dress was warmer in the desert predawn chill.

“As well as moving something that weighs two million pounds can go,” Ray answered. “Thank heaven for Edwards’s flat landscape.” He turned to Dawson. “Remind them to allow extra distance to slow down before the turns.”

Dawson nodded and said, “Understood,” and he relayed the order.

Schultz turned to Jenny. “And good morning, Commander Oh, Mr. Dawson.” The admiral asked Jenny, “Are you settling into your assignment?”

“Setting up the command and control infrastructure for an entire space program?” She laughed. “I could have waited ten years for that kind of job, if I ever got it at all.” She knew what he really wanted to know, and told him before he could ask. “I can do this, sir. I’ve had to expand my consciousness a little, but I can see what needs to be done.”

Dawson’s walkie-talkie chirped, and a minute later he reported, “They’ve made the second turn. We should be able to see it soon.”

“Another benefit of Edwards’s flat landscape,” Ray observed.

As they waited in the predawn darkness, Dawson would get periodic reports as they passed landmarks. He compared the planned arrival time with their real progress. They’d made up a few minutes. Ray had helped create that schedule and knew it by heart.

“A tire’s blown on the lead tractor,” Dawson relayed abruptly, concern on his face. “A piece of rubber clipped one of the ground guides. The medics are with him. He’s okay, but they’re going to x-ray his arm.”

Ray grimaced. “I should have had them check the tractors more carefully. I didn’t give them any guidance about the tires.”

Schultz saw Ray’s expression. “They can disengage the lead tractor, and we can still pull the vehicle with only two. It’ll take longer, but that’s why we built in the extra time,” Schultz reminded him. “The crews probably did the routine tire check. It just wasn’t enough in this case. Take it from someone who’s been there. You can’t think of everything. That’s why you have to have good people working for you.”

“I just don’t like the idea of slowing down,” Ray answered emphatically, looking at his watch. “But we’ll still get her into the hangar before sunrise.”

Dawson asked Peters for their status. Ray could hear his voice over the radio: “The tractor has been disengaged and is clear, starting back up again.”

Ray waited impatiently. They’d lost more time, and it couldn’t be made up.

“They’re building up to three miles per hour,” Dawson announced.

The eastern horizon was just beginning to show color, which caused Ray to pace nervously.

“Here she comes,” said Schultz softly.

Ray turned as Schultz spoke, his attention drawn by the flashing lights of the escort vehicles as the convoy came into view. A base-police vehicle, red and blue lights flashing, was a hundred feet in front of the tractor. Two gray pushback tractors, each capable of towing a C-5, had been ganged together. Immense as it was, a fully loaded C-5 only weighed 385 tons, while VentureStar was almost one thousand tons empty.

VentureStar was the prototype for a fleet of commercial single-stage-to-orbit space vehicles. In development since the early 1990s, an experimental small-scale version, the X-33, had successfully completed testing just after the turn of the century.

Like the space shuttle, VentureStar carried its payload in a big cargo bay, fifteen feet wide by fifty feet long. It used the same fuel as well: liquid hydrogen and liquid oxygen. But the shuttle took months to prepare for a launch and used expendable boosters that had to be reconditioned after each launch. VentureStar launched using only her own Aerospike engines and landed conventionally, like the shuttle. She could take fifty tons to low Earth orbit after a two-week turnaround.

Two Marine HMMWVs, or Humvees, flanked the convoy on either side, keeping a sharp watch out for trouble coming from the dark landscape. They were well clear of the spacecraft, but close enough to sing out and move in if they spotted something wrong.

Jerry Peters, in charge of the evolution, was actually bringing up the rear. Followed by a truck, Peters was alternately walking and trotting right behind VentureStar, watching the gear, the underside of the spacecraft, even checking the road surface for signs that the tires were breaking through.

At the final brief last night, one joker had given Peters a broom and a bucket, “to retrieve anything that fell off.” Peters had put them in the truck, just in case.

Lights mounted on the tractors and escort vehicles shone on VentureStar’s landing gear, but the black heat shield on her underside absorbed every bit of illumination. From the side, the vehicle’s white sides and top reflected the quarter moon well enough to show the overall shape and size, but the bottom half was invisible and had to be filled in mentally.

With a clear side view of the spacecraft, Jenny exclaimed, “My God, it’s huge.”

“As long as the shuttle and wider at her base than the shuttle with the SRBs attached,” Dawson said proudly. It was a smooth, blended wedge shape, and two short wings jutted out from the back, angling up. It had twin tails almost as large as the wings, or maybe the wings weren’t much bigger than the tail fins.

Despite all his engineering experience, Ray still had problems watching as VentureStar was towed on her landing gear. It just looked wrong. Those gear struts were strong enough to take the shock of the spacecraft landing at over two hundred knots, but to him they looked fragile and completely inadequate to bear its weight.

Schultz added, “I’m amazed the thing can be moved, much less fly.”

“That’s what I like, a positive attitude,” McConnell groused.

Dawson announced, “Next turn coming up,” and Jerry watched the procession slow. Then the moonlit shape of the vehicle changed as the nose swung toward them. Finally, a snowy white wedge was pointed straight down the road, slowly growing in size.

Ray was suddenly afraid, and his insides tightened at the thought of its going off the road surface to either side, but he fought the idea and focused on its smooth progress.

A few cameras flashed, and Jerry hoped Evans’s security people were on the ball. He’d authorized two staff members to serve as official photographers for the move, but the images would be classified until after the launch. At his direction, Evans had drilled everyone on the “no photos” rule.

He could smell the diesel exhaust now, and the convoy, as planned, shifted. The Humvees formed a protective circle around the hangar as the tractors maneuvered VentureStar to face away from the hangar, and then they began backing her in.

The vehicle came to a stop, and the tractors began unhooking from the landing gear. Scattered cheers and applause continued until the hangar doors began closing. The sky was glowing brightly, and when Ray glanced at his watch, they still had four minutes in the window.

Schultz saw him checking the time. “We’ve got a lot of people out here. Why don’t we form letters they can see from space and spell out something rude? Of course, it would have to be in Chinese.”

Ray began to laugh so hard he had to fight for air. He could relax a little now. It was an important milestone, but only the first.

Jenny looked at the huge spacecraft and watched as the hangar doors came together. “This makes it real, doesn’t it?” Her tone was half pride, half awe.

Ray caught himself about to say something stupid, about his idea coming to life. But that was bragging. It only took one man to have an idea. It had taken many more to get it going and would take considerably more than that to finish it.

“It’s starting to be real, Jenny.” He wanted to stay, and talk, and he could see she would if he wanted to, but that wasn’t why they were here.

Wishing each other good luck, they went back to work.

Biff Barnes was now out of the C-20 and working in his office. As much of the Defender program was classified, the upper two floors of the Building 151 office annex were certified as a SCIF, electronically isolated from the rest of the building, and the base for that matter. Without the shielding, not only were they vulnerable to network-style spying, but eavesdropping equipment nearby might be able to record the keystrokes as everyone typed.

And in spite of the certification, a large part of Evans’s staff would continue to monitor the area for unusual transmissions or electrical activity where there shouldn’t be any.

Barnes’s small office was almost barren. He sat at a desk occupied by three tower computers, a shared flat-screen display, and several neatly organized stacks of documents. A printer and boxes of paper sat in a corner, and there was almost nothing else in the room. He’d been too busy to decorate the walls.

He saw Ray come in and pushed an office chair toward him. “Thanks for coming by. I sent you that message because, although I’ve just started, I’ve already found something useful. I don’t think it can wait.”

“More useful than the improved fuel cells and the radar encoding?”

“Definitely,” the pilot responded. “If you’re going to use this, and I think you should, we need to move on it right away.” He handed Ray a brightly marked folder. “This is the only copy of this information. I’m keeping everything on paper, or up here.” He tapped his forehead. “Nothing goes on even the classified server.”

Ray was surprised. The whole point of having a classified server was to store information like this. “You’re being a little extreme, aren’t you?”

“I’ve already been through more compartmented programs than most people see in their entire careers. I’m going to have to burn my brain after this is over.”

“Can I help?” Ray asked cheerfully.

“Ha.” Barnes responded flatly.

Ray opened the folder and began reading. His eyes narrowed. “‘Conformal AESA antennas? I knew it was theoretically possible. They can do that now?”

“They’re not ready for mass production, but it looks like they can hand fabricate skin sections that will be functional radar antennas.”

“No deploying a mechanical antenna, less weight, no blind spots. I like it.” Ray was getting excited. “But it means changes to the skin, where we weren’t going to make any before.”

“But now you don’t have to design and build that mount that was going to lift the radar antenna clear of the cargo bay.”

“What about heat on reentry?”

“The materials they list are almost as heat-tolerant as the skin. We can mount them on the vehicle’s sides and top and leave the bottom of the wings as they are. We may have to modify the cooling systems to cover the antennas, and we need to verify all the components are heat-resistant.” Besides, by the time VentureStar reenters the atmosphere, the mission is over. You won’t need the radar anymore.”

“What about navigation on the way back?” Ray asked sharply.

“Use GPS, like the shuttle, of course,” Barnes replied whimsically.

“You mean the same GPS that the Chinese are shooting down?”

“Details. Do you want this or not?”

“Definitely want!” Ray answered. “I’ll tell the admiral immediately.” He paused for a moment. “This is good work, Clarence. Thank you.”

Barnes winced. “Please, just ‘Biff.’”

“Sorry. You hate ‘Clarence’ that much?”

“I was named for my grandfather, and I couldn’t stand the man. He got a charge out of scaring us kids to death every time he saw us. I was so eager to get a call sign I took the first one the squadron committee offered me. They were joking, but I was too new and too desperate to care.”

Ray nodded. “I understand. ‘Biff’ it is.” He motioned to the folder. “I’ll ask Admiral Schultz to come down here ASAP, along with Gina Morales, our sensors-systems director. How many programs did you have to go through to find this?”

“A fair number. But you were right. Most are obviously irrelevant, and thanks to that blanket access, I didn’t waste time finding that out.” He answered the next question without asking. “I should be done this week.” After a moment, Biff announced, “I’m beginning to think there is a slim chance that this won’t be a cosmic disaster.”

“Really,” answered Ray carefully. “So you think Defender will fly, then?”

“Not a chance,” Barnes answered. I’m going to finish doing this, and then I want to get out of this crazy place.”

“We’ll see,’” Ray replied.

Glenn Chung spent the day running cables for the secure network. He was supervising three other techs but did as much hands-on work as the others. Not only did it get the work done faster, it allowed him to make the special modifications he needed. Crouched over the bottom of a server cabinet, he was making cable connections, but one cable went to a small USB recording device. Given the nest of identical cables it was hidden inside, there was no chance of it being detected without a deliberate search.

He moved quickly, because there were already people waiting to use the network. He didn’t want to delay them.

After Ray told Admiral Schultz and Gina Morales about Barnes’s discovery, he didn’t go directly back to his office.

The Building 151 office annex was laid out as a long, narrow structure attached to one side of the hangar. A single hall ran the length of each floor, with rooms on each side. Most would hold a few desks, but some were large enough for a meeting or a work group. The offices on the lower two floors on the exterior side had windows. On the interior side, only offices on the second floor had windows, which gave a view of the hangar.

There were no functioning windows on the third and fourth floors because of the security requirements. There’s no point in electronically shielding a room if someone can just open a window and toss something out. Armed sentries guarded the stairwells, and anyone who entered or left was electronically logged.

Admiral Schultz, Ray, and the division directors had offices on the fourth floor. Instead of turning right and heading back to his office, Ray turned left and walked the length of the fourth-floor hall, just listening and watching. There were stairwells at each end, as well as in the middle, and he’d picked an office right next to one of the ends. He’d walk the length of the building, then go down to the third floor and walk back, then take the stairs up to his office.

All the spaces weren’t occupied yet, but the floor still hummed with activity. He walked by, trying not to attract attention, just listening and watching. It wasn’t eavesdropping, but he didn’t like to think of it as managing anyone, either. He couldn’t remember if it was one of Kelly Johnson’s rules or not, but he didn’t believe in sitting in his office, waiting for people to come to him with problems. And there were some folks who didn’t know when to ask for help.

His walk seemed justified when someone in the propulsion group spotted him and asked a question, and he was able to answer it immediately. That’s one less e-mail to deal with, he thought. But there were plenty more waiting in his in-box. Still, he pressed on to the end of the hall, then went down to the third floor.

This floor had the same hectic atmosphere. It took several minutes to walk the long corridor, even at a fast pace, and he walked slowly, almost strolling.

He’d only walked past a few open doors when he heard a fragment of a conversation, “… not my problem.” The two voices were raised a little, not unusually so, but he stopped several feet from the open doorway, listening. Okay. Now he was eavesdropping.

The handwritten sign taped to the door listed a name under the title “Laser” — Bert Anderson. He remembered Anderson’s name from his research. Ray had recruited him because he was one of the veterans from the discontinued Northrop-Grumman Airborne Laser Program.

“We need to work with your people, but they say everything has to go through you.”

Ray inched a little closer to the door frame and tried to look like he wasn’t listening. He checked his watch, as if he were waiting for whoever was inside.

“Well, that’s simply not correct. Of course our people can coordinate at lower levels, once I’ve signed off on what they’re doing. After all, I’m responsible for everything that comes out of this division. How do I know what someone’s committing us to?”

“But that’s just too slow. My people are planning where to lay out power cables, and your people say they won’t tell us anything about the laser’s requirements until they’ve cleared it with you, and when they go off to do that, nothing comes back.”

Ray identified the other speaker as Ethan Kirsch. He was head of the Power Systems Division. He was responsible for the fuel cells that were Defender’s main power source and the equipment that supplied power to all of the spacecraft’s systems.

Anderson said, “I remember that e-mail.” After a pause, he added, “Here it is. I can’t give you an answer on this because the ABL hasn’t arrived yet. There’s also some new technology that hasn’t been incorporated. Once we know if it works, we’ll be able to give you a good number.”

Kirsch asked, “And when will the laser arrive?”

“They’re moving heaven and earth, I hear. It’s coming from Davis-Monthan in Arizona. They’re sure they’ll have it here by Thursday — then add a week, maybe only five days, for the modifications…”

“That’s simply too long,” Kirsch protested. “We need those cable layouts now, because when you’re done with those modifications, the laser will have to be dropped in with the cables already installed.”

“Like I said, that’s your problem. My job is to get the laser functioning and installed.”

“We don’t have the time for this. We can plan for a higher requirement. Just give us your best estimate; then we’ll add ten percent and move on.” Kirsch was almost pleading.

“And when the final requirement’s higher than that? Who’s going to look bad? You, or me?” Anderson was defensive, almost belligerent. “Everybody wants us to hurry. Fire control wants the control interfaces. Space frame wants weights and attachment points. This is my division. Nobody gets anything until the information is locked down.”

Ray had been listening with concern, then alarm. He remembered his interview with Anderson. The man was technically brilliant, and his boss’s evaluation had described him as a “great organizer.” Of course they’d said the same thing about General George McClellan during the Civil War.

The large laser system they had chosen to arm Defender had been developed by Northrop-Grumman as part of the Airborne Laser Program back in 1996. The original idea was to mount a laser in a Boeing 747 and have it orbit near hostile territory. If the enemy launched ballistic missiles, a chemical laser would shoot them down while they were still climbing. Initial tests were successful, but the program had been shelved in 2012 because of cost, as well as concerns that the laser wasn’t powerful enough. Lasers work better without an atmosphere, and the laser’s six modules would fit in VentureStar’s bay with room to spare.

Ray fought his first urge, to just go in and overrule Anderson. But as he listened, his worries became concern, verging on outright distress.

This was not a technical problem, and Ray tried to understand Anderson’s thinking. The director didn’t want his division to look bad. His division. He took it personally. Keeping tight control over his subordinates and refusing to act until the answer was clear-cut meant he was afraid of making a mistake. So he doesn’t trust his own judgment, and it sounded like he didn’t trust his people’s judgment, either.

So, should Ray sit down with Anderson, try to change his attitude? It wasn’t simply a matter of telling him that they were pressed for time. He might be able to get Anderson to change his policies, but would it stick? He started typing a message on his tablet almost without realizing it, and, as he typed, the decision crystallized.

They were still arguing, or, rather, Kirsch was still trying to pry information from the director of the laser division, without success. There was no future in this. Ray stood close enough to be seen standing by the edge of the door and waited to be noticed.

Kirsch was facing away from the door, but Anderson noticed after just a few moments. “Mr. McConnell. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Yes, Bert.” Kirsch started to leave, but Ray said to him, “Ethan, can you come by my office in fifteen minutes?”

Kirsch, still looking unhappy, replied, “Of course,” and quickly left.

As Ray closed the door, Anderson started to explain. “Ethan Kirsch wants data on power requirements. I should have it for him…”

“Bert, I’m replacing you as head of the Laser Division. Amy will take over immediately.”

“What?” Anderson looked at him, unbelieving, almost stunned.

“I’ve decided that you’re not a good fit for this position. For the good of the program, I want you to turn over your files to Amy. She’s on her way here now.”

“Just like that? Wait. Did we make some mistake I haven’t heard about?”

Ray shook his head. “No, Bert, it’s more an aversion to making mistakes. We don’t have the time to get everything right. I’d rather have you take a best guess than wait for the perfect answer.”

“I’ve never done that!” Anderson exclaimed.

“And now is not the time for you to learn,” Ray answered.

Anderson started to protest again, but someone knocked twice, then opened the door partway. A small woman with short black hair peered inside. Amy Sloan was Anderson’s number two, a specialist in chemical lasers.

“Come in, Amy, and close the door.” Ray’s instructions and Anderson’s expression both confused her, but Ray didn’t take time for explanations. “I’m putting you in charge of the Laser Division. Do you want the job?”

She took a moment, processing the unexpected question. “What about Mr. Anderson?”

“You’ll be replacing him. I need you running things in this division. Will you take the assignment?”

She drew a deep breath and said, “Yes.”

Ray turned to Anderson. “The Defender program can still use your skills, Bert. Do you want to remain in the division?”

“With a demotion, you mean.”

“You wouldn’t be supervising anyone. It would still be useful work. Valuable work.”

Anderson shook his head. “No.” His answer sounded very final.

“Then turn over everything to Ms. Sloan and report to Colonel Evans for out processing. I’ll make sure Northrop-Grumman gets a positive review of the time you spent here.”

“I barely had time to unpack,” Anderson mused.

“So it was good that we found out early.”

Ray told Sloan, “After you finish the turnover, see me right away.”

She nodded wordlessly, and Ray got out of Anderson’s office. There was more that he could say, but it wouldn’t help. Sometimes the best way to manage was to shut up.

As he headed back to his office, he realized his to-do list was more about people than spacecraft. Kirsch was probably waiting for him, and, after that, Sloan would be coming. She needed to make changes in the Laser Division, and Ray had to tell her how he wanted her to run things.

It was a radical change, and he’d virtually ignored Bert Anderson’s feelings, but there wasn’t time for a soft letdown. It felt like the right decision, but Ray still kicked himself for hiring Anderson in the first place.

He needed to know more about his division heads, spend more time with them, learn about them, and understand the person better, not just the résumé. Not at structured meetings but informally, at meals and such. The technical issues would be solved. After all, most of the people on his team were more qualified than he was. He imagined a new organizational chart, with the division heads interacting directly while he, not acting unless there was a problem, watched.

Surprised, Ray remembered Schultz’s counsel about knowing his people. He wasn’t surprised that Schultz was right, just at how right Schultz was.

The timing hadn’t been his idea. It was later than he’d like. Usually by five o’clock, he was headed home or to dinner in town. But this couldn’t wait until tomorrow. He had to get to the bottom of this business, and Admiral Schultz was the man to talk to. The admiral’s staff had set up a 2:00 call. Of course, that was California time.

A balding four-star admiral in navy khakis appeared. It had to be Schultz. Dr. Harold Matheson didn’t waste time on introductions. “Admiral, I’d like to know why you think you can raid NASA at will.”

“Dr. Matheson, I presume,” Schultz remarked casually. His tone irritated Matheson even more than the latest e-mail from Peck. The admiral continued. “This isn’t a raid, Doctor. The federal government is transferring people and property from one agency to another. I assume you’ve received Secretary Peck’s confirmation of the original message. You’ll note President Jackson’s comment.”

“I see one short sentence from the president’s office, stating that NASA is to provide the requested material as soon as possible.”

Schultz didn’t back down. “I would think messages from the president’s office would be taken as instructions, not simple statements.”

“Those instructions will disrupt over a dozen NASA programs, Admiral. And the equipment being transferred was bought with NASA money…”

“It’s the U.S. government’s money, and it’s U.S. government equipment, even if NASA’s using it.” Schultz added, “The confirmation this morning made clear that NASA will receive funds to replace the equipment and personnel.”

“Then use the money yourself to buy what you need. Don’t tear my programs apart.”

“There’s no time for that, Doctor.”

Matheson paused for a moment and studied Schultz. He obviously had no respect for NASA or Matheson’s position. Time for a change in strategy.

Matheson smiled and spoke less forcefully. “Admiral, I understand that we both work for the federal government, but your ‘space force’ is making unreasonable demands on almost every part of NASA. If I knew more about your exact needs, I’m sure we could work out arrangements to share facilities. And maybe you don’t need to take all the key people from a program.”

“You know what we’re doing — reactivating the VentureStar to lift GPS satellites into orbit. We’re on a very tight schedule.”

“Not a bad idea,” Matheson agreed. “The technology may have advanced to the point where we can finally field a single-stage-to-orbit vehicle. But I have to wonder why it wasn’t made a NASA program, or why a new ‘space force’ was created to operate it.”

Matheson shrugged, then continued. “The government could have even left it as a private venture, just given Lockheed Martin the money to finish it. I wonder if it has anything to do with this.” The director held up a hard copy of the Defender document. He was looking for a reaction from Schultz, but the only response was a deeper frown.

“It’s been all over the SIPRNET for weeks, and there’s been a lot of talk, but nobody took it seriously.” His voice hardened. “I’m not a fool, Admiral. Brief me on the program.”

“Not possible, Doctor. We have our reasons for what we are doing. Whether your guesses are right or wrong, you’re aware we’re in a crisis. My people are going to deal with the Chinese threat, and my mandate is to draw on any part of the federal government that has what we need.”

Matheson argued. “I can find ways for NASA to help you.”

“The best way for NASA to help is to tell your people to expedite our requests. I have to report my progress to Secretary Peck every night, and I’ll urge him to speed up the transfer of that special funding to NASA.”

Oh, he’s good, thought Matheson. Schultz didn’t have to mention that he would also report on NASA’s cooperation or lack of it. But Matheson wasn’t going to be bullied. Matheson didn’t report to Peck but to the president.

“I’d appreciate that, and perhaps the secretary could speak to the president about my request to meet with him. Once I’ve made my case to the president, we’ll see how many NASA resources are actually transferred to your ‘space force.’”

“I think you should understand that the president is briefed by Secretary Peck daily on the progress of our program…”

“Which means it’s certainly about more than just lifting GPS satellites into orbit,” Matheson interrupted.

“I expect you to keep any speculation regarding our program to yourself,” Schultz responded harshly. Then he added, “The secretary’s meeting with the president this evening will include our next round of transfer requests. In anticipation of that, I think you’d like to contact Ms. Garvey and give her as much warning as possible.”

“You mean Anne Garvey — the administrator at Dryden?” Matheson asked. “Well, at least you’re telling me before you tell her. What are you asking for? One of the test rigs at the Flight Loads Laboratory? Maybe the whole Fabrication and Repair Facility?” He tried to make it sound facetious, silly, but some of his anger was there as well.

“Actually, we’re taking over the entire facility. There are at least five resources at Dryden that the program can use immediately, and it’s less disruptive to leave the personnel and equipment in place, since it’s right there at Edwards. It’s also quicker, since NASA’s being so slow about the transfers.”

Matheson sat quietly through Schultz’s explanation and remained quiet for another moment but finally responded, almost automatically. “You can’t possibly think they’ll allow you to…”

“They’ve already approved it. I wanted to invite Anne Garvey to dinner tonight so we could get started, but I thought you’d want to call first. Of course, if she wants to stay with NASA, we’ll have to work on her replacement.”

“This is not…”

“I’m sure you’ll want to speak to the president about this issue, as well as the earlier ones. I’ll make my daily report to the secretary early and tell him about your concerns. He may be able to arrange a quick videoconference with the president. Can you stay there while I make the call?”

Matheson could barely speak. He finally managed an, “I’ll be here,” and Schultz broke the connection.

Mark Markin’s backdrop for his scoop was an artist’s animation of the Chinese ASAT weapon, the “Dragon Gun” as it had been dubbed in the Western press. The artist had added a one-hundred-foot-long tongue of flame emerging from the barrel as a projectile spewed from the muzzle. Markin didn’t know if it was accurate or not, and it really didn’t matter. It looked dramatic and would get his audience’s attention.

“With the crisis now into its second month and six GPS satellites destroyed, continued inaction by the United States has been taken as proof of their helplessness. Their refusal to act to protect their vital space assets has been puzzling.

“But the situation may not be as it seems. Presuming that the administration would not stand idle, my CNN team has been running to ground numerous rumors that the U.S. military is acting after all. Residents near the massive Edwards Air Force Base have reported heavy truck traffic at the front gate, and air force cargo aircraft have been arriving at all hours.”

The image shifted to a picture of Edwards’s front gate. “On a visit to the base yesterday, we noticed increased security, and we were not allowed to take any photographs while on the base. There are also portions of the base we were not allowed to visit at all. All these provisions were blamed on an increased terrorist threat, but the air force spokesman could not tell me the source of that threat.

“There have also been stories of hurried requests at defense contractors for personnel and equipment, but these could not be verified.

“All this could be attributed to the activities of the air force’s new Aerospace Defense Organization; the timing of the activity closely correlates with the recent announcement of the ADO.”