Lash-Up

13 Working the Problem

“They’re gouging us,” complained Hank Nichols, the Defender project contracting officer. It was a critical position in a program that had to move fast with a minimum of paper shuffling. Ray had been lucky to find Nichols available, having just handed over an air force ordnance development program — on time and under budget.

Ray had worked with contracting officers at SPAWAR, of course, but Nichols was the best he had ever worked with, and he trusted Nichols’s judgment without question. “I see your point, Hank, but is there anything we can do about it?”

Nichols’s dark features were compressed in a scowl that had some anger in it as well as frustration. “It’s the classic problem. They know we have to come to them because of the time and classification constraints. The stuff we’re ordering now isn’t that special. It’s electronic components, aerospace materials, tools — things we might be able to get elsewhere once we’d read that company into the program and were prepared to pay the charges for rush delivery.”

“Which would be almost as bad as the charges Lock Mart is slapping on us for rush delivery,” Ray added. “Along with the lost time, because with two suppliers, we’d have to go through a bidding process.”

Nichols nodded sadly. “And while I can’t see anything illegal going on, they’re making sure to bill us for any and every conceivable expense, and then multiplying it all by that ‘rush’ factor.”

“So the Grand Unified Theory isn’t about time and energy, it’s about time and money,” Ray joked.

“I know that money isn’t supposed to be a constraint, not with us losing a half-billion-dollar satellite once a week, but Lockheed Martin is getting away with legalized bank robbery,” Nichols growled.

Ray shook his head ruefully. “Nope. Banks have less money in them.” He paused and considered his options. There weren’t many. Time to kick this one upstairs. Rising, he said, “Let’s tell the admiral about it. He should know what’s going on, even if there’s nothing we can do.” McConnell didn’t believe in passing problems up the chain if he could fix them himself, but he also liked to keep his boss in the loop.

With Nichols in tow, Ray walked the dozen steps to Admiral Schultz’s office and knocked on the door frame. It was open, and Schultz was alone. He smiled and waved them in. “You look serious, Ray. You never look that unhappy when it’s a technical problem.”

“Sir, Hank came to see me about the charges Lock Mart’s putting on their invoices. I don’t think there’s much we can do about it.” He passed Schultz a single page. “That’s a summary of their billing to the program so far.”

“And we’ve only been running a few weeks,” Schultz observed as he studied the figures. After a quick examination, he turned to the contracting officer. “Hank, this is good work. It shows we picked the right man for the job.”

Schultz sat back for a moment and finally said, “You’re right. It’s beyond our power to solve — for those materials. But have you seen this?” He handed Nichols a thick document. While the contracting officer paged through it, Schultz explained to Ray that the conformal radar antennas Biff had discovered were being produced by a specialist contractor in Cincinnati as part of a compartmented air force program. After being contacted, the contractor had already begun the steps needed to fabricate the antennas for Defender, but they couldn’t simply be mounted on the spacecraft’s sides. They had to be “integrated,” or connected to the existing sensor suite, requiring modifications to the radar’s hardware and software. There were also changes that had to be made to the space frame and the cooling system to accommodate the antennas. Making sure the companies involved were working off the same plan was called “systems integration.” It was always expensive, and when the plans were incomplete and the work had to be done quickly, it was doubly so — literally, in this case.

“It’s their estimate for the materials and services to integrate those conformal radar arrays into Defender.” He turned to Nichols. “The figure you’re interested in is on page ten.”

Nichols nodded. “It was easy to find, since you circled it in red. I’ve just been trying to see if there’s any justification for a figure that high — or a math error.”

“We should be so lucky,” Schultz grumbled. “But since you’re here, and this is on my to-do list, you’ll want to be here while I discuss this estimate with Mr. Weber.”

Ray and Nichols shifted their chairs over to the side, while Schultz’s assistant placed the call.

Henry Weber’s face appeared almost immediately, smiling broadly. “Admiral Schultz! It’s a pleasure.”

“Henry, likewise,” Schultz answered briskly. “I want to discuss the radar array-integration proposal.”

“Understood, sir. We’re ready to send engineers out to Ohio within hours of you giving us the go-ahead. We can get the paperwork sorted out once things are moving forward.”

“Henry, I like your attitude, which is why I wanted to give you the news as soon as we decided ourselves. It turns out that we can do the integration in-house. There are some engineers at the Air Force Research Lab that have done a lot of work with the conformal array on the B-2. We’re bringing them on board, so we’ll be scaling our requirement to you way back — just some materials, most likely.”

Weber frowned. “Are you sure that’s the best course? I can’t speak to the people you’re bringing in, but I can guarantee top-notch work, and we’ll be there round the clock to make it come together.”

“And bill us time and a half for all the overtime,” Ray whispered to Nichols.

“Nope, Henry, this time we decided to do it ourselves. Why should we pay for your expertise when we have equally qualified people already drawing a government paycheck? We will be working closely with Lockheed Martin throughout this program, and I’ll probably be calling you tomorrow about some new issue.”

Weber could recognize a send-off and reluctantly said good-bye. The instant the screen went dark, Schultz smiled broadly, then turned to face Ray and Nichols. “Ray, I was going to find you and tell you about this, but I didn’t think you’d have any objections. I had Captain Barnes do the legwork. I hope you’re not upset.”

“Not at all,” Ray answered, surprised.

“It’s my fault we even asked Lock Mart to do the work. Old habits die hard, and I was in a hurry. Too much stuff gets contracted out, and the contractors are more than happy to oblige our requests. I’m not out to punish Lock Mart for overcharging us, but from now on they’ll have to think about what they’re charging us for.”

“Not that I’m against it, but this means more people for us to manage,” Ray cautioned.

“It’s more government people or more Lock Mart people. They’d still be part of the program. We can do just as good a job, and I believe in the end it will mean less administrative overhead by us, and less work for you, Hank.”

“I can accept that,” Nichols said, smiling.

They all looked at the wall display in Schultz’s office. It showed a spiderweb of lines linking boxes. One box at the left was labeled BEGIN CONSTRUCTION, and a dozen lines angled out of it. All the lines eventually led to a single box at the end labeled LAUNCH. A dotted line with today’s date ran vertically across the diagram. Colors indicated the status of a task, ranging from deep red to grass green. Over half the chart was red, and a lot of the red was on the wrong side of the line.

Ray McConnell had asked for the meeting, officially to “brief” Schultz, unofficially to ask him to make a decision Ray couldn’t.

“We’ve made tremendous progress.” Ray hated those words as soon as he’d said them. Trite, Ray. Be specific. Using his tablet, he started to highlight boxes on the chart.

“The kinetic weapon rack will be installed this week, and the mounts for the laser are being installed right now. Sensor integration is time-consuming, but we’ve got good people on it.”

He came to one box labeled FABRICATE LASER PROPELLANT TANKS. “It’s the one thing we couldn’t plan for. Palmdale only had two fabrication units, and one has gone down. The parts to fix it will take two weeks to obtain and install.”

Ray nodded in the direction of Hugh Dawson, who had become a de facto department head at Space Force HQ. “Weber has moved heaven and earth, but we’ve only got one fabricator and two tanks to make. This is what happens to the plan.”

He tapped the data pad and the boxes on the chart shifted position. Lines stretched. One line, darker and thicker than the others, the critical path, changed to run through the PROPELLANT box.

“At least the heat’s off the software,” someone muttered.

The change added three weeks to the construction schedule. Luckily, Ray didn’t have to say anything, because he couldn’t think of anything to say. They’d struggled to cut corners, blown through bureaucratic roadblocks, invented new procedures. They’d carried positive attitudes around like armor against the difficulty of their task. Suddenly, he didn’t feel very positive.

Schultz stared at the diagram, then used his own tablet to select the PROPELLANT TANK task. It opened up, filling the screen with tables of data and a three-dimensional rendering of the two tanks in the cargo bay of Defender.

Defender’s laser needed fuel to fire, hypergolic chemicals stored as liquids and mixed to “pump” the weapon. The ABL-1 aircraft carried fuel for fifty shots, an extended battle. The current Defender design requirement was to carry fuel for twenty-five shots, enough for four engagements.

While the laser and its mirror could be taken out of its 747 carrier aircraft and used almost as is, the laser’s fuel tanks had been built into the aircraft’s structure. They were also the wrong size and shape for Defender’s bay. New ones had to be made.

Schultz grunted and selected the 3D CAD diagram. It was replaced by a schematic of the cylindrical tank that was not as neat and showed signs of being hurriedly drawn. The date on the drawing indicated that it was a month old. The multilayered tanks were built up in sections; then the end caps were attached.

“Reduce the number of sections in each tank,” remarked the admiral. “That reduces the number of welds to be made.”

“We can’t make the individual sections larger,” answered Dawson. “They come prefabricated from the manufacturer, and they’re limited by the size of their fabrication jig.”

“Then we reduce the number of sections,” Schultz replied. “What if we cut the number of shots in half, three sections per tank instead of six?”

Ray heard an inrush of breath in the room. The laser was Defender’s main battery. Halving its firepower was a drastic step.

Schultz pushed his point. “Better a functional laser on time than a better laser too late. We can replace the small tanks with larger ones later.”

McConnell nodded his head and started working. He ticked off points as he worked. “We’ll save weight by carrying less laser fuel, but we’ll need more structure surrounding the tanks. It’s less weight overall, but it changes all the center-of-gravity calculations.” He paused. “And we only carry enough reactants for two engagements.”

While Ray worked on the design, he saw Dawson recalculating the fabrication time. The executive finished first, and Ray watched him send the figures to the main display.

The chart shifted again, shrinking the timeline, but not enough. They were still a week late.

Ray spoke up this time. “We need more time. If we can’t raise the dam, let’s lower the water. Launch another GPS satellite. That gets us a week. The SECDEF already knows we’ll have to do this. We just need to do it sooner than we thought.” That was a decision Ray knew he couldn’t make. Would Admiral Schultz?

“At five hundred million a bird, that’s a pretty expensive week,” Biff Barnes remarked.

Schultz nodded, agreeing with Barnes. “There are political costs as well. The public won’t know why. Even the people launching the satellite won’t know they’re buying time for us.”

Ray persisted. “I know this will be a tough sell, but the bottom line is that there aren’t any more corners that we can cut. We simply need more time.” He hated sounding desperate, but he was.

The admiral sat silently for a minute. Ray prayed for everyone to be silent. Schultz knew the situation as well as anyone in the room. He didn’t look pleased, but it wasn’t a pleasant situation.

“This is where I start earning my pay, I guess,” Schultz announced. “All right. I’ll pass this up the line.” He looked over the assembled group. “And I’ll make it happen. But you should all understand the political capital that will be spent here. Even though the powers that be knew we’d have to put more birds in orbit, doing this again will be even more difficult. You’ll get another week. Don’t waste it.”

Glenn Chung’s work took him all over Building 151, and indeed the entire complex. New structures were being built to house work spaces, although most were “open.” Chung had classified the Defender program areas into two types. His badge would get him into “open” areas without any problem. This included all the new housing, the mess and recreational areas, and the lower two floors of the annex. He could move through them at will. He still needed his clearance to be there, but they didn’t have what he was looking for.

The hangar and the two floors of the office annex were “secure,” and if he wanted to go in there, he needed a written order from Ms. Crane, his division chief, and an escort. Still, he was now one of the senior network techs. Not only was he skilled, he had the advantage of having set up many of the network nodes, so when something wasn’t working, he was usually the one called on to fix it. In fact, he made it his business to be available.

Like he was doing now, tracing a fault on the third floor. This gear was still new enough that they had more than a few cases of “infant mortality”: new components that broke down shortly after they were put into service. The rule of thumb was that if it lasted thirty days, it would probably last years without failure. Not that it did him any good, he grumbled.

The one bright spot was his “escort,” June. While she might prevent him from physically stealing any classified material, she didn’t appear to understand what he was doing at all. She’d asked a few friendly questions, but his answers had only confused her further. Finally, she stopped asking and retreated to a nearby chair, where she could make sure he didn’t stuff something under his shirt.

Chung had the server cabinet open and was using his test gear. At the same time, he checked on the well-being of one of his special network “upgrades.” The occupants had carefully removed anything classified and locked it away before letting him in the room, but his little silicon eavesdropper had been faithfully recording everything that passed through the server. But there was a problem. According to his test gear, it was connected to the hub that had failed.

A bad hub wasn’t an unexpected problem, and he’d brought a spare. The question was, did he reconnect his small friend to the replacement hub? His original plan had been to wait a while longer before removing it at some convenient opportunity. But he hadn’t expected the opportunity to come so quickly, and he certainly hadn’t intended to attach it to a bad hub.

He couldn’t leave the device in place indefinitely. Chung wasn’t the only network tech anymore, and if it was found by someone else, he was done for.

They said the network had been “flaky” for a few days. His special attachment had been there for almost a week. Was that enough? Possibly, but he wouldn’t know for certain. Would he get another chance? Possibly, but then again maybe not. He weighed the probabilities as he replaced the faulty hub. The only thing he could be sure of was that his special device had not caused the breakdown. His test equipment confirmed a genuine hardware failure — a bad switch in the hub.

Finally, he decided, and disconnected the cable with the eavesdropper. Coiling the cable and palming the device, he made sure June was looking away and stowed it in his toolbox with other electronic clutter. A small part of him was ashamed and condemned his cowardice, but a much larger part reminded him that, to succeed, he had to remain undetected.

He would hope that what was already recorded would be enough.

Barnes knocked on McConnell’s open door, then stepped in almost without pausing. Everything was done quickly, Barnes thought, with the formalities honored, but only barely.

Ray, in the middle of a phone call, waved him in and pointed to a folding chair, then said into the phone, “I’ll call you back.” He hung up and turned to face Barnes.

Expecting to be questioned about the technology survey, Barnes started to offer his tablet, but Ray waved it back.

“You’re close to done, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” agreed Biff. “We’ve already started to receive some material. But there’s a lot of follow-up work to be done.”

“That’s old business, Biff. I need you to turn it over to someone else as soon as you can.” Ray paused but kept looking at him. “We need you to be the mission commander for the flight.”

Biff didn’t say anything. He absorbed the information slowly. Although he’d wondered in his few spare moments who would get to fly the mission, he’d assumed NASA would supply rated astronauts.

Did he want the job? Well, hell yes. Biff suddenly realized how much he wanted to fly in space again, and on what would be a combat mission. He knew he could do it. He was a fighter pilot, after all.

Ray pressed a key on his tablet. “Here’s a list of the prospective flight crew candidates.” Biff heard his tablet chirp and saw the file appear. He opened it and scanned the list as Ray explained.

“Most are already here, a few are not, but all met the criteria Admiral Schultz and I came up with. You’ll need six: a mission commander, a pilot, a copilot and navigator, a weapons officer, a sensor officer, and an engineer. We listed all our requirements. If you disagree with any…”

“Your name isn’t here,” Biff interrupted.

“What? Of course not. It’s not the whole team, just the…”

“No,” Barnes insisted. “You should be the engineer. You’re the guy who’s overseeing Defender’s construction. You know her better than anyone else.”

Ray was as surprised as Barnes had been. “What?”

“Articulate answer, Ray.” Barnes grinned. “Look at it this way. It’s the ultimate vote of confidence. You build it; you fly in it.”

He couldn’t say no. “This only fulfills one of my lifelong ambitions,” Ray answered, a little lightheaded.

“One of mine, too. I get to boss you around.”

Ray stayed late that evening, even later than usual. Biff’s training schedule was going to tear a huge chunk out of each day. Not only were there obvious things like joint training sessions with the other crew members, but Barnes had insisted on a physical training schedule. Ray was in pretty good shape, but the new mission commander insisted on a higher standard.

So Ray was trying to find more work he could delegate, trying to look ahead now that many of the critical design decisions …

A knock on the door frame sounded unusually loud. At this hour, the annex was relatively quiet, and he wasn’t expecting visitors. Startled, he looked up to see Jenny. She was holding a small bottle of champagne and two glasses. Her expression was hard to read. She wasn’t smiling. In fact, her face was almost a mask, completely impassive.

“So I heard you’ve been added to the crew. I think a celebration is in order.”

“So Biff made the announcement?” Ray asked.

She shrugged, and walked toward the desk and sat down. “He really didn’t have to. He told the individual crew members first, and the grapevine picked it up instantly. By the time they made the general announcement, everyone knew who was flying and who wasn’t.”

By now, she’d set the two glasses on his desk and was removing the wire over the cork. It came out neatly, with a small pop. As she filled the glasses, she continued. “I found out from Trudy and Van in my section, when they congratulated me and asked if I was worried about my boyfriend going into space like that. I told them I really hadn’t thought about it very much. What else could I say? That was the first I’d heard.”

Having filled the second glass, Jenny reached over the desk and poured the rest of the bottle over Ray’s head.

Ray was so surprised he didn’t move until the bottle was almost empty. Spluttering, he pushed back in his chair, out of range. He looked at Jenny, who had a faint smile on her face. After a short pause, he said, “I think I’ve made a huge mistake.”

Her annoyed expression spoke louder than words. Quickly, he added, “No, I’m sure I have. In my preoccupation with my new role, I’ve totally neglected my personal relationships, which are far more important than flying in space.”

She set the bottle on his desk and sat back down. Smiling, Jenny spoke firmly. “You just need to remember your priorities, Ray.” Ray concentrated on listening while he blotted his head with some paper towels. “I want Defender to succeed, and I understand how important she is to you.” Her voice hardened. “But I won’t let her take my place.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen,” Ray protested.

“It did today,” she insisted. “Just a little,” she said, tapping the empty bottle. “I should warn you, I have a jealous streak.”

“I promise. I’ll do better. You’re worth it.”

She picked up the glasses and handed one to him. “Then let’s drink to a successful flight and your safe return.”