Starfire

TWO

“As you were, ladies and gentlemen,” President Kenneth Phoenix said when the music ended. “I’d kiss the deck if I knew which way it was.” The assembled station personnel laughed, applauded, and cheered for several long moments.

“I’m Kai Raydon, station director, Mr. President,” Kai said, floating over to Phoenix and shaking hands. “Welcome to Armstrong Space Station, and congratulations on having the courage to be the first sitting head of state to travel in Earth orbit, and now being the first sitting head of state to do a spacewalk. How are you feeling, sir?”

“I’m completely blown away, General Raydon,” Phoenix said. “I’ve seen and done things I’ve only dreamed of doing, thanks to you and your people. Thank you for giving me this incredible opportunity.”

“We gave you the opportunity, as we have with every president since Kevin Martindale, but you chose to take it,” Kai said. “A lot of folks are saying this is all a political stunt, but the bravery you’ve shown today clearly tells me it’s a lot more than politics.” He turned to those beside him. “May I present the station manager Trevor Shale, the operations chief Valerie Lukas, and of course you’ve met Jessica Faulkner, our head of flight operations.” The president shook their hands, at the same time finding it wasn’t easy to do while in zero-G — the simple gesture threatened to launch him up against the ceiling.

“Dr. Noble and Colonel Faulkner did an excellent job getting me up here, General Raydon,” the president said. “Spectacular trip. Where is Dr. Noble?”

“He has a little bit of flight planning to do for your return, sir, and he is also supervising spaceplane refueling and servicing,” Raydon said. “Boomer is director of aerospace development at Sky Masters Aerospace, which is the prime contractor for Armstrong Space Station, and he probably has work to do for them, too. He is also the company’s chief spaceplane pilot, and he has six students going through his training program. He’s a busy boy.”

“Knowing him, Mr. President, he’s probably taking a nap,” Jessica interjected with a smile. “He likes to make himself out to be the cool space jock, but he’s been planning the flights and checking the spacecraft for this visit for a week.”

“Well, his work paid off,” the president said. “Thank you all for an amazing trip.”

“We have about an hour before your broadcast, so we have time for a tour and a light refreshment if you’d like.”

“A tour would be great, General Raydon,” Phoenix said. “But first I’d like to check on Agent Spellman, my Secret Service detail.”

“Trev?” Raydon asked.

“Got it,” Shale said, putting a wireless mic to his lips. A moment later: “Agent Spellman is awake in sick bay, sir,” Shale responded. “Unfortunately he’s not handling unusual Gs very well. Physically he was the top-qualifying member of your detail who volunteered to go with you on this mission, Mr. President, but there’s no direct correlation between athletic abilities and your ability to operate with abnormal pressures and kinesthetic sensations on your body. We’ll have to consult the aerospace medical team to find out how best to get him back to Earth. I don’t believe we’ve ever taken a completely unconscious person through reentry before.”

“He’s the real mark of courage on this mission,” Phoenix said. “Volunteering for this was way beyond the call, and that’s saying a lot for the Secret Service. Let me go visit him first, and then the tour if there’s time.”

Raydon led the way through the connecting tunnel to the first module. “I’m sure Boomer and Jessica explained moving about in free fall to you in depth, sir,” Raydon said. “You’ll see some of the more experienced crewmembers flying around the larger modules like Superman, but for the newcomers, I have found that using one or two fingers to push yourself around, using the handholds and footholds, and taking it nice and slow works best.”

“I’m sure I’ll have a few bruises to show off when I get home,” Phoenix said.

They emerged from the connecting tunnel into what appeared to be a circular wall of cabinets, with a circular passageway through the middle. “This is the storage and processing module,” Raydon explained. “Follow me.” He gently floated up through the center passageway, using handholds on the edge of the cabinets, and the president and the others followed. The president soon found a dozen circular rows of cabinets arrayed through the module, like pineapple slices in a can, with large man-sized gaps between them. “Supplies are brought in through the airlocks on the upper and lower ends, assembled or processed as necessary, and stored here. The sick bay is in the module above us.”

“I’m starting to get a little dizzy from all the references to ‘up’ and ‘above,’ ” the president admitted. “I have no sensation of either.”

“ ‘Up’ and ‘down’ refer to the direction you happen to want to go,” Faulkner said. “You can have two crewmembers side by side, but one will be pointing one way, and the other another way, so it’s all relative. We use every surface of the modules for work, so you’ll see astronauts ‘hanging’ from the ceilings while others are working on the ‘floor,’ although ‘ceiling’ and ‘floor’ are of course completely relative.”

“You’re not helping my vertigo, Gonzo.”

“Let us know if your dizziness starts to physically manifest itself, sir,” Jessica said. “Unfortunately, it’s something that takes time getting used to, and you won’t be here that long. As we said, it’s not unusual at all to start experiencing some queasiness shortly after moving around in free fall.”

“I’m fine, Jessica,” the president said, but this time he wondered how long that would last.

On their way to Galaxy, the combination galley, exercise, study, clinic, and entertainment module, the president stopped several times to shake hands with station personnel, and the stopping and restarting greatly helped his maneuvering skills. Although Raydon had announced that the president was aboard, most of the technicians he met seemed absolutely shocked to see him. “Why do some of the men and women aboard the station seem surprised to see me, General?” Phoenix finally asked.

“Because I chose not to inform the crew until I did just as you came through the airlock, sir,” Raydon replied. “Only myself, Trevor, the Secret Service, a few officials at Sky Masters Aerospace, and the Midnight spaceplane flight and ground crew knew. I felt security was paramount for this event, and it’s too easy for station personnel to communicate with Earth. I expect the messages to family and friends to be spiking soon, but by the time word gets out, you’ll be on TV worldwide.”

“And the time of your address was chosen so when you made your broadcast, you would not be in range of any known Russian or Chinese antisatellite weapons for several orbits,” Trevor Shale said.

The president’s eyes widened in surprise — that revelation definitely got his attention. “Antisatellite weapons?” he asked, astonished.

“We know of at least a half-dozen sites in northwestern and eastern Russia and three sites in China, sir,” Raydon said. “This station has self-defense weapons — short-range chemical lasers and missiles — but the Kingfisher antiballistic-missile and anti-antisatellite systems in Earth orbit aren’t yet fully operational again, so the spaceplane had no protection, and we didn’t want to take any chances.”

“Why wasn’t I told about this!” the president exclaimed.

“It was my call, sir,” Raydon said. “Frankly, in my opinion, the threat from antisatellite weapons is far down the list of the life-threatening dangers you face on this mission — I didn’t want to give you anything more to think about.” The president tried to say something, but his mouth only wordlessly opened. “By the time you depart, you’ll be in range of just one site,” Raydon went on, “and Boomer is planning the deorbit path of the spaceplane to avoid most of the others. You’ll be as safe from antisatellite weapons as we can make you.”

“You mean, you have been planning for this trip on the assumption that some foreign government would actually try to attack the spaceplane or the space station while I’m aboard them?” Trevor and Raydon’s silence and expressions gave Phoenix his answer. The president could do nothing else but shake his head for several moments, staring at a spot on the bulkhead, but then he looked at Raydon with a wry smile. “Are there any other threats I haven’t been told about, General Raydon?” he asked.

“Yes, sir — the list is longer than my arm,” Raydon said directly. “But I was notified that the president of the United States wanted to visit Armstrong Space Station, and I was ordered to make it happen, and we succeeded. If my orders were to attempt to deter you from coming up here, I think I could have delivered a very long list of very real threats to your family, your administration, and to members of Congress that would have succeeded in getting this mission canceled as well.” He motioned to the end of the connecting tunnel. “This way, Mr. President.”

Unlike the storage and processing module and the tiny spaceplane cockpit and passenger module, the Galaxy module was light, warm, and airy. The walls of the module were lined with a variety of stand-up desks and pub-style tables with the ubiquitous footholds, many computer monitors and laptops, exercise bicycles, and even a dart board. But the greatest numbers of station personnel were clustered around a three-by-five-foot picture window, snapping pictures and pointing at Earth. A large computer monitor showed what part of Earth the space station was overflying, and another screen showed a list of names that had reserved a space at the window for taking pictures of their hometown area or some other Earth landmark.

“Highly trained and skilled astronauts who had to work their tails off to get up here — and their main form of entertainment is looking out the window?” the president remarked.

“That, and sending e-mails and doing video chats with folks back home,” Raydon said. “We do a lot of video chat sessions with schools, colleges, academies, Scouts, and ROTC and Civil Air Patrol units, along with the media and family and friends.”

“That must be a very good recruiting tool.”

“Yes it is, for both the military and getting kids to study science and engineering,” Raydon agreed.

“So in a sense, my coming up here may have been a bad idea,” the president said. “If kids learn that any healthy person can travel up to a space station — that they don’t have to study hard sciences to do it — maybe those kids will just turn out to be space tourists.”

“Nothing wrong with space tourism, Mr. President,” Shale said. “But we’re hoping the kids will want to design and fly newer and better ways to get into space, and perhaps take it all the way to the moon or the planets in our solar system. We don’t know what will spark a young imagination.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. President,” Raydon said. “I think you being here will have a very profound effect on people all over the world for a very long time.”

“Sure; the kids will be saying, ‘If that old fart can do it, I can do it,’ eh, General?” the president deadpanned.

“Whatever it takes, Mr. President,” Valerie Lukas said. “Whatever it takes.”

The president was surprised to find Agent Charles Spellman in a strange linen sleeping-bag-like cocoon, Velcroed vertically to the bulkhead — he looked like some sort of large insect or marsupial hanging from a tree. “Mr. President, welcome,” a very attractive dark-haired, dark-eyed woman in a white jumpsuit said, expertly floating over to him and extending a hand. “I’m Dr. Miriam Roth, the medical director. Welcome to Armstrong Space Station.”

The president shook her hand, pleased that he was getting steadily better at keeping body control in free fall. “Very nice to meet you, Doctor,” Phoenix said. To the Secret Service agent he asked, “How are you feeling, Charlie?”

“Mr. President, I am so sorry about this,” Spellman said, his deep monotone voice not masking the depth of his chagrin. His face was very puffy, as if he had been in a street fistfight, and the faintest whiff of vomit nearby was unmistakable. “I have never in my life been seasick, airsick, or carsick — I haven’t had so much as a stuffy nose in years. But when that pressure hit me, my head started to spin, and before I knew it, it was lights-out. It won’t happen again, sir.”

“Don’t worry about it, Charlie — I’ve been told that when it comes to motion sickness, there’s them that have and them that will,” the president said. To Roth, he asked, “The question is: Will he be able to return to Earth without getting another episode?”

“I think he will, Mr. President,” Miriam said. “He is certainly healthy, easily on a par with anyone on this station. I gave him a little shot of Phenergan, a longtime standard antinausea medicine, and I want to see how he tolerates it. In fifteen minutes or so, I’ll let him get out of the cocoon and try moving about station.” She gave Spellman a teasing scowl. “I think Agent Spellman failed to take the medications I prescribed before takeoff as he was advised.”

“I don’t like shots,” Spellman said gruffly. “Besides, I can’t be medicated while on duty, and I never get sick.”

“You’ve never been in space before, Agent Spellman,” Miriam said.

“I’m ready to get out now, Doc. The nausea has gone away. I’m ready to resume my duties, Mr. President.”

“Better do as the doctor says, Charlie,” the president said. “We’ve got the return flight in just a few hours, and I want you one hundred percent for that.” Spellman looked immensely disappointed, but he nodded, saying nothing.

They made their way through yet another connecting tunnel, longer this time, and entered a third module, lined with computer consoles and large-screen, high-definition monitors. “This is the command module, Mr. President, the top center module on the station,” Raydon said. He floated over to a large bank of consoles manned by six technicians. The technicians were floating before their consoles in a standing position, their feet anchored in place by footholds; checklists, clipboards, and drink containers with straws protruding were Velcro’d securely nearby. “This is the sensor fusion center. From here we collect sensor data from thousands of civil and military radars, satellites, ships, aircraft, and ground vehicles, and combine them into a strategic and tactical picture of the world military threat. Armstrong Space Station has its own radar, optical, and infrared sensors, with which we can zoom in on targets in both space and on Earth within range, but mostly we tap into other sensors around the globe to build the big picture.”

He floated across the module to four small unmanned consoles behind two sets of three consoles and computer screens, also unmanned. “This is the tactical action center, where we employ the space-based weaponry,” Raydon went on. He put a hand on a technician’s shoulder, and the man turned and smiled broadly at the president. “Mr. President, I’d like to introduce you to Henry Lathrop, our aerospace-weapons officer.” The two men shook hands, with Lathrop grinning ear to ear. Lathrop was in his late twenties, very short, very slim, wearing thick glasses and sporting a shaved head. “Henry, explain what it is you do here.”

Lathrop’s mouth dropped open as if he hadn’t expected to say anything to the president — which he hadn’t — but just as Raydon was about to be concerned, the young engineer pulled it together: “Y-yes, sir. Welcome to station, Mr. President. I am the aerospace-weapons officer. I control station’s weapons designed to work in space and in Earth’s atmosphere. We have some kinetic weapons available, but the Skybolt laser is not active per presidential order, so my only weapon is the COIL, or Chlorine-Oxygen-Iodine Laser.”

“What can you do with it?” the president asked.

Lathrop gulped, a bit of panic in his eyes now that he had to answer a direct question from the president of the United States. But he was in his element, and he recovered quicker than before: “We can defend ourselves from space debris out to a range of about fifty miles,” Lathrop said. “We also use it to break up larger pieces of debris — the smaller the debris, the less danger it is to other spacecraft.”

“And can you use the laser to protect the station from other spacecraft?”

“Yes, sir,” Lathrop said. “We have radar and infrared sensors that can see oncoming spacecraft or debris out to a range of about five hundred miles, and we can tie into other military or civilian space sensors.” He pointed to a computer monitor. “The system is now on automatic, which means the COIL will automatically fire if the sensors detect a threat meeting certain parameters. We set it to manual as you were arriving, of course.”

“Thank you for that, Mr. Lathrop,” the president said. “So the laser can protect the station and break up space debris, but that’s all? Didn’t you once have the capability of attacking targets on Earth?”

“Yes, sir, we did,” Lathrop said. “The Skybolt laser was powerful enough to destroy light targets such as vehicles and planes, and disable or damage heavier targets such as ships. The Kingfisher weapon garages held guided kinetic payloads that could attack spacecraft or ballistic missiles, and also precision-guided projectiles that could reenter Earth’s atmosphere to attack targets on the ground or at sea.”

“Do we still have those Kingfisher garages? I know President Gardner was not in favor of them — he used them more as bargaining chips with the Russians and Chinese.”

“President Gardner allowed seven of the garages to reenter Earth’s atmosphere and burn up,” Lathrop said. “Another thirteen garages were retrieved and are stored on station’s truss. Ten garages are still in orbit but are inactive. They are periodically retrieved, refueled, serviced, and placed back into orbit by the spaceplanes so we can study their long-term effectiveness and make design changes, but they are not active at this time.”

“The COIL laser is different than Vice President Page’s laser?” Phoenix asked.

“Yes, sir, it is. We are prohibited from using any weapons with a range of more than approximately sixty miles, and Skybolt, the free-electron laser, can attack targets in Earth’s atmosphere and on the surface out to a range of about five hundred miles, so it’s currently inactivated.”

“Inactivated?”

“Not active, but capable of being activated if necessary,” Raydon said.

“In fairly short order?” the president asked.

“Henry?” Kai asked.

“We would need some expertise from Sky Masters or other contractors,” Lathrop said, “and a few days to bring the MHD’s reactor online.”

“And an order from you, sir,” Raydon added. “Controversy over Skybolt nearly cost us the entire military space program.”

“I remember very well,” Phoenix said. “I aim to fix that. Please continue, Mr. Lathrop.”

“The COIL uses a mixture of chemicals to produce laser light, which is then magnified and focused,” Lathrop went on. “We use different optics than the Skybolt free-electron laser to focus and steer the laser beam, but the process is very similar. We use radar and infrared sensors to continually scan around station for objects that might be a hazard — we can detect and engage objects as small as a golf ball. The COIL has a normal maximum range of three hundred miles, but we’ve detuned the laser by eliminating some of the reflectors that increase laser power, so we’re right at the legal limit.”

“Can you show me how the sensors work?” the president asked. “Perhaps do a mock attack on an Earth target?”

Lathrop looked panicked again, and he turned to Raydon, who nodded. “Show the president how it’s done, Henry,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” Lathrop said, the excitement quickly growing on his face. His fingers flew over a keyboard on his console. “We occasionally do attack drills on a series of targets that are continually tracked and are prioritized.” The largest computer monitor came to life. It showed a large area of the earth with the space station’s track and position approaching the North Pole from eastern Siberia. There was a series of circles around several spots in Russia.

“What are those circles, Mr. Lathrop?” the president asked.

“We call them ‘Delta Bravos,’ or duck blinds,” Lathrop replied. “Locations of known antisatellite weapons. The circles are the approximate radius of action of the weapons there.”

“We’re coming awfully close to that one, aren’t we?”

“We fly over many of them in a day, located in Russia, China, and several countries aligned with them,” Lathrop said. “That particular one is Yelizovo Airport, a MiG-31D fighter base that we know has antisatellite weapons they can launch from the air. They routinely fly patrols from there and even practice attack runs.”

“They do?” the president asked incredulously. “How do you know if it’s a real attack or not?”

“We scan for the missile,” Kai explained. “We can see the missile and have less than two minutes to launch defensive weapons or hit it with the lasers. We scan them and analyze any signals they transmit, and we can study them by radar and optronics to find out if they’re getting ready to do something. They almost always track us on long-range radar, but every now and then they’ll hit us with a target-tracking and missile-guidance radar.”

“Why?”

“Try to scare us, try to get us to hit them with Skybolt or an Earth-attack weapon, so they can prove how evil we are,” Trevor said. “It’s all cat-and-mouse Cold War nonsense. We usually ignore it.”

“It does keep us on our toes, though,” Valerie added. “Command, this is Combat, simulated target designated Golf Seven will be in range in three minutes.”

“Prepare for simulated Skybolt engagement,” Raydon said. “Attention on station, simulated target engagement in three minutes. Operations to the command module. All crewmembers go to combat stations and report. Secure all docks and hatches. Off-duty personnel report to damage-control stations, suit up, and commence prebreathing. Simulate undock Midnight.”

“What is that about, General?” the president asked.

“Off-duty personnel have damage-control responsibilities,” Kai said. “Up here, that may mean doing a spacewalk to retrieve equipment or… personnel lost in space. Prebreathing pure oxygen for as long as possible allows them to put on an ACES space suit and do their rescue duties, even if it means a spacewalk. They might need to do a lot of repair and recovery operations in open space. For the same reason, we also undock whatever spacecraft we have on station to use as lifeboats in case of problems — we would use the lifeboat spheres and await rescue by a spaceplane or commercial transport.” The president swallowed hard at those grim thoughts.

“Command, this is Operations, request permission to simulated spin up the MHD,” Valerie Lukas said from her place on the bulkhead, observing the mock engagement.

“Permission granted, simulate spinning up the MHD, make all preparations to engage simulated terrestrial target.” It was like a tabletop play rehearsal, the president noted: everyone was saying their parts, but no one was actually moving or doing anything.

“Roger. Engineering, this is Operations, simulate spinning up the MHD, report activation and fifty percent power level.”

“Operations, Engineering, Roger, simulated spin up the MHD,” the engineering officer, Alice Hamilton, reported. A few moments later: “Operations, Engineering, the MHD is simulated active, power level at twelve percent and rising.”

“Command, this is Operations, the MHD is simulated online.”

“Command copies. Combat, what’s our simulated target?”

“Simulated terrestrial target Golf Seven is a deactivated DEW Line radar site in western Greenland,” Lathrop said. “Primary sensor data will be from SBR. Stand by for secondary sensor source.” His fingers flew over his keyboard again. “Simulated secondary sensor source will be USA-234, a radar-imaging satellite, which will be above Golf Seven’s horizon in sixty seconds and will be in range of the target for three-point-two minutes.”

“What does all that mean, General?” President Phoenix asked.

“We can fire Skybolt fairly accurately with our own sensors,” Kai explained. “The SBR, or Space-Based Radar, is our primary sensor. Station has two X-band synthetic aperture radars for Earth imaging. We can scan long swaths of Earth in ‘stripmap’ mode, or use ‘spotlight’ mode to zero in on a target and get precise pictures and measurements, down to a few inches’ resolution.

“But because we’re shooting at such a great distance, traveling hundreds of miles a minute, for even greater accuracy we can tie into any other sensors that happen to be in the area at the same time,” Kai went on. “USA-234 is a U.S. Air Force radar-imaging satellite that takes radar pictures and transmits them to the National Reconnaissance Office in Washington. We are lucky enough to be a user of the images, so we can request that the satellite focus in on that particular target. We can merge the satellite’s images with our own to get a more accurate look at the target.”

Lathrop entered more commands, and on a large monitor to the left of the main monitor there appeared an overhead still photograph of the simulated target, a remote radar site with a large radome in the center, several communications pointed in different directions, and several long, low buildings surrounding the radome. “This is what it looks like in a recent overhead photo,” he said. A few moments later the photo disappeared and was replaced by a different image, this one showing a dot surrounded by an H-shaped box against a mostly black background. “This is the radar image from the reconnaissance satellite. The background is black because snow doesn’t reflect radar energy very well, but the buildings show up nicely.”

“Operations, Engineering, MHD is at simulated fifty percent,” Alice reported.

“Roger, Engineering,” Valerie said. “Combat, this is Operations, we’re at fifty percent, simulate open Skybolt engagement circuits, weapons tight, prepare to engage.”

“Roger, Operations, simulating opening Skybolt engagement circuits, weapons tight.”

Another few moments later the image changed again, and this one looked very much like the photograph they saw, with an occasional cloud drifting across the image. Lathrop used a trackball to precisely center the image on the screen. “And this is with station’s telescopic electro-optical sensors added to the radar image,” he said. “Operation, this is Combat, positive identification on simulated target Golf Seven, tracking established, we’re locked on and ready.”

“Roger, Combat,” Valerie said. “Command, Operations, we’re locked on. MHD status?”

“MHD at one hundred percent in ten seconds.”

“Roger,” Valerie acknowledged. “Request permission to simulate transferring Skybolt to Combat and engage.”

“This is Command,” Raydon said. “You are cleared to transfer Skybolt control to Combat and simulate engage target. Attention on station, this is the director, we are simulate engaging terrestrial target with Skybolt.”

“Roger, Command, Operations acknowledges we are cleared simulate engage target. Combat, Operations, Skybolt is cleared to simulate engage, weapons simulate released.”

“Roger, Ops, weapons simulate released.” Lathrop pressed a single key on his keyboard, then looked up. “That’s it, Mr. President,” he said. “The system will wait for the optimal time to fire and then keep firing until it detects that the target is destroyed or until we drop below the target’s horizon. There are actually two lasers involved other than the main laser: the first measures the atmosphere and issues corrections to the mirror to correct for atmospheric conditions that might degrade the laser beam; and the second tracks the target as station flies past and helps to focus and precisely aim the main beam.”

“Thank you, Henry,” Kai said. Lathrop looked exceedingly relieved to return to his console after nervously shaking the president’s hand. “As you can see, Mr. President, only one tactical crew station is manned, because our Kingfisher weapon garages have not been reactivated. But if they were, the sensor fusion operators detect, analyze, and classify any threats they see, and those threats appear on these four monitors, used by myself; Valerie, my chief of combat operations; the aerospace tactical-weapons officer, and the terrestrial-weapons officer. We can then respond with our own space-based weapons, or direct Earth-based ground, naval, or air responses.”

“What are the Kingfisher weapon garages?” the president asked. “I remember President Gardner was not fond of them.”

“The Kingfisher weapon system is a series of spacecraft that we call ‘garages,’ in low Earth orbit,” Kai said. “The garages are controlled from here and can also be controlled from U.S. Space Command headquarters on Earth. The garages have their own sensors, thrusters, and control systems, and they can be programmed to dock with station for refueling and rearming. Each garage carries three antisatellite- or antiballistic-missile weapons and three Earth-attack precision-guided weapons.”

“I remember Gardner really hating those things,” the president remarked. “When that one attack missed and took out that factory, I thought he was going to kill someone.”

“Well, President Gardner didn’t cancel the program, just put it in mothballs,” Kai said. “A full-up Kingfisher constellation has thirty-six Trinity garages in orbit, so that every part of Earth has at least three garages overhead at any moment, similar to the GPS navigation system. It’s all controlled right from here, or from U.S. Strategic Command headquarters.”

“General Raydon, this is the part of the Space Defense Force I never understood: why have all this orbiting Earth?” President Phoenix asked. “This is very much like command centers already existing on Earth, and in fact it looks identical to an Airborne Warning and Control System radar aircraft. Why put the same thing in space?”

“Because we’re much more secure and protected here in space, which makes it ideal for any command center, sir,” Raydon replied.

“Even with a list of dangers as long as your arm, as you put it, General?”

“Yes, sir, even with all of the dangers of traveling in space,” Raydon said. “The enemy is less likely to completely blind the United States with an orbiting command center. The enemy could destroy a base, ship, or AWACS radar plane, and we’d lose that sensor, but we can grab sensor data from elsewhere, or use our own sensors, and quickly fill the gap. Plus, because we’re orbiting Earth, we’re less likely to be successfully attacked. Our orbit is known, of course, which makes finding, tracking, and targeting us easier, but at least for the near term, attacking this station is far more difficult than attacking a ground-, ship-, or air-based command center. The bad guys know where we are and where we will be, but at the same time we know precisely when their known antisatellite bases would become a possible threat if an attack was launched. We track those known sites constantly. We also scan for unknown attack bases and prepare to respond to them.”

“I think in a broader sense, sir,” Trevor Shale said, “that manning the station and making it an operational military command post, rather than just a collection of sensors or laboratories, is important for the future of America’s presence in space.”

“How so, Mr. Shale?”

“I compare it to the westward expansion of the United States, sir,” Trevor explained. “At first, small bands of explorers went out and discovered the plains, the Rockies, the deserts, and the Pacific. A few settlers ventured out after them, lured by the promise of land and resources. But it wasn’t until the U.S. Army was sent out and established camps, outposts, and forts that settlements and eventually villages and towns could be built, and the real expansion of the nation began.

“Well, Armstrong Space Station is not just an outpost in Earth orbit, but a real military installation,” Shale went on. “We’re much more than computers and consoles — we have twelve men and women aboard who monitor and can control military operations across the globe. I think that will encourage more adventurers, scientists, and explorers to come to space, just like the presence of a U.S. Army fort was of great comfort to settlers.”

“Space is a lot bigger than the Midwest, Mr. Shale.”

“To us in the twenty-first century, yes, sir,” Trevor said. “But to an eighteenth-century explorer who first sets eyes on the Great Plains or the Rockie Mountains, I’ll bet it felt like he was standing at the very edge of the universe.”

The president stopped to think for a moment, then smiled and nodded. “Then I think it’s time to take it to the next level,” he said. “I’d like to talk with my wife and Vice President Page, and then get ready for my address.”

“Yes, sir,” Raydon said. “We’ll put you in the director’s chair.” The president carefully maneuvered himself over to Raydon’s console and wedged his feet into the stirrups underneath, standing before the console but feeling as if he were floating on his back in the ocean. The large monitor in front of him came to life, and he saw a tiny white light under a small lens at the top of the monitor, and he knew he was online.

“You finally stopped gawking around and decided to give us a call, eh, Mr. President?” Vice President Ann Page asked, her face visible in an inset window on the monitor. She was in her midsixties, thin and energetic, with long hair unabashedly allowed to stay naturally gray, tied up off her collar. Until recently, with all of the cuts in the U.S. budget, Ann had taken on many tasks in the White House along with her duties as vice president: chief of staff, press secretary, national security adviser, and chief political adviser; she had finally ceded most of those additional duties to others, but continued to be Ken Phoenix’s closest political adviser and confidante as well as White House chief of staff. “I was starting to get a little worried.”

“Ann, this is an absolutely incredible experience,” Ken Phoenix said. “It’s everything I imagined it would be, and a whole lot more.”

“I’ll have you know that I’ve had one justice of the Supreme Court standing by round the clock to administer the oath of office, in case any of the thousands of things that could go wrong did go wrong,” Ann said. “I will continue to insist on that long after your return.”

“Very wise decision,” the president said. “But I’m fine, the trip up was incredible, and if I’m doomed to turn into a meteorite on the return, at least I know the nation will be in good hands.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“It’s been just amazing, Ann,” the president went on. “Dr. Noble let me dock the spaceplane.”

The vice president blinked in surprise. “You did? Lucky dog. I’ve never done that, and I’ve ridden in the spaceplanes several times! How was it?”

“Just as most everything else in space: just think about something and it happens. It’s hard to believe we were traveling five miles a second but talking about moving the spaceplane by just inches per second. I didn’t really have a sense of altitude or speed until we did the spacewalk and I saw Earth under—”

“The what?” Ann exclaimed, her eyes bugging out in shock. “You did a what?”

“Ann, you were the one who first told me about how you got to the station from the early spaceplanes,” the president said. “Dr. Noble mentioned it again to me as we were disembarking, and I decided to go for it. It only lasted a couple minutes.”

The vice president’s mouth was hanging open in complete surprise, and she had to physically shake herself out of her stunned speechlessness. “I… I don’t believe it,” she said finally. “Are you going to mention that to the press? They’ll flip… even harder than they’re already going to flip.”

“Probably the same reaction when a sitting president took the first ocean-liner voyage, or the first ride in a locomotive, or a car, or an airplane,” the president said. “We’ve been flying in space for decades — why is it so hard to conceive of a president of the United States traveling in space or doing a spacewalk?”

Vice President Page momentarily went back to her near-catatonic state of utter disbelief, but shook her head in resignation. “Well, I’m glad you’re all right, sir,” Ann said. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the trip and the view and the”— she swallowed again in disbelief before continuing—“… spacewalking, sir, because I think we’re in for a real shit-storm when you get back.” The president freely encouraged Ann to speak her mind, both in public and private, and she took every opportunity to do just that. “The cat’s out of the bag already — folks from station must’ve already phoned home to let others know you arrived, and word is spreading like wildfire. The presser will be a real stunner, I’m sure.” As all the astronauts did, Ann referred to Armstrong Space Station as “station.” “I hope you’re ready for it.”

“I am, Ann,” the president said.

“How do you feel?”

“Very good.”

“No vertigo?”

“A tiny bit,” the president admitted. “When I was a kid I had a mild case of anablephobia — fear of looking up — and that’s kind of what it feels like, but it goes away quickly.”

“Nausea? Queasiness?”

“Nope,” the president said. Ann looked surprised, and she nodded admiringly. “My sinuses feel stuffed, but that’s it. I guess that’s because fluids don’t flow downward like normal.” Ann nodded — she and Phoenix’s wife, a medical doctor, had talked at length about some of the physiological conditions he might encounter even during a short stay on station. She had avoided talking about some of the psychological ones that some astronauts experienced. “It’s irksome, but not bad. I feel okay. I can’t say the same for Charlie Spellman.”

“Your Secret Service detail that volunteered to go up with you? Where is he?”

“Sick bay.”

“Oh, Christ,” Ann murmured, shaking her head. “Wait’ll the press finds out you’re up there without your detail.”

“He’s looking better. I think he’ll be good for the return flight. Besides, I don’t think any assassins will make their way up here.”

“True enough,” Ann said. “Good luck with the press conference. We’ll be watching.”

The president was then connected to his wife, Alexa. “Oh my God, it’s good to see you, Ken,” she said. Alexa Phoenix was ten years younger than her husband, a pediatrician who had left her private practice when her husband became the surprise choice of President Joseph Gardner to be his running mate. Her olive complexion, dark hair, and dark eyes made her look Southern European, but she was a surfer girl from southern Florida through and through. “Sky Masters Aerospace called and told me you have arrived on the station. How are you? How do you feel?”

“Okay, hon,” the president replied. “A little stuffy, but okay.”

“I can see a tiny bit of facial edema — you’re already starting to get your space moon-face,” Alexa said, framing her face with her hands arrayed in a circle.

“Is it noticeable already?” the president asked.

“I’m teasing,” his wife said. “You look fine. It’s a badge of honor anyway. Will you be okay for your presser?”

“I feel good,” the president said. “Wish me luck.”

“I’ve been wishing you luck every hour of every day since I agreed to this crazy little trip of yours,” Alexa said, a tiny hint of vexation in her voice. “But I think you’ll do great. Knock ’em dead.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll see you at Andrews. Love you.”

“I’ll be there. Love you.” And the connection was terminated.

About fifteen minutes later, with Kai Raydon, Jessica Faulkner, and Trevor Shale standing beside him, the world got to watch the most amazing sight most of them had ever seen: the image of the president of the United States in space. “Good morning, my fellow Americans and ladies and gentlemen watching this broadcast around the world. I am broadcasting this press conference from Armstrong Space Station, orbiting two hundred miles above Earth.”

A small window on the monitor showed the White House press room… and the place exploded into near bedlam. Several reporters shot to their feet in absolute surprise, dropping tablets and cameras; several women and even a few men gasped in horror, holding their heads in disbelief or biting knuckles inserted into their mouths to stifle their outcries. Finally a staffer stepped before the reporters and waved them back to their seats so the president could continue.

“I flew here just a few minutes ago aboard a Midnight spaceplane, a spacecraft much smaller than the space shuttle but able to take off and land like an airplane and then blast itself into orbit and dock with Armstrong or the International Space Station,” the president went on. “Needless to say, it was an amazing voyage. It has been said that planet Earth is nothing more than a spacecraft itself, with all the resources it has always had and will ever have already loaded on board by God, and seeing our planet from space against the backdrop of billions of stars really makes you realize how important our commitment to protect our spaceship called Earth really is.

“I am grateful to the personnel aboard Armstrong and to the folks at Sky Masters Aerospace for making my trip successful, safe, and awe-inspiring,” the president said. “With me are the station director, retired Air Force general and space veteran Kai Raydon; the station’s manager and veteran shuttle mission commander, Trevor Shale; and the chief of flight operations and the copilot aboard the spaceplane, retired Marine Corps colonel Jessica Faulkner. The spaceplane pilot, Dr. Hunter Noble, is busy planning our return, but I thank him for allowing me some unique and wondrous views as well as plenty of opportunities to experience the challenges of flying and working in space. You will not find a more professional and dedicated group of men and women anywhere in the world than the ones who man this facility. It’s been almost thirty years since this station became operational, but although it’s starting to look its age and is in need of some upgrades, it is still in orbit, still operational, still making a contribution to our nation’s defense, and still caring for its crew.

“I must admit that my staff and I purposely misled the White House press corps over the past several days: I did want to conduct a press conference, but I didn’t say where it was going to be,” the president said with a slight smile. “I know the rumors were that I was going to secretly go to Guam to meet with residents and military members and inspect the repairs ongoing to Andersen Air Force Base following the attack by the People’s Republic of China last year. But I had this opportunity to take this remarkable voyage, and after consulting with my wife, Alexa, and my children, as well as Vice President Page — who as you know is an experienced astronaut herself — my staff and cabinet, congressional leaders, and my doctors, I decided to accept the risks and do it. I will be returning to Washington in just a few hours aboard Midnight. I thank the ones I consulted for their advice and prayers, and for keeping my trip a secret.

“The purpose of this trip is simple: I want America to return to space,” the president went on. “Our work on the International Space Station and Armstrong has been outstanding over the years, but I want to expand it. Mr. Shale compared outposts in space to forts built on the American frontier to help and support settlers moving west, and I think that is an excellent comparison. The future of America is in space, just as westward military expansion across North America was key to America’s future in the eighteenth century, and I want that future to begin right now. I am here, talking to you from space, to prove that an average person with a little courage and heart, as well as a fairly trim waistline and good genetics, can travel into space.

“Armstrong Space Station is a military outpost, and it is in need of replacement, but I want our return to space to be much more than just the military — I want ours to include more scientific research and industrialization as well,” President Phoenix went on. “I have been briefed and have seen plans for amazing systems and industries permanently operating in Earth orbit and beyond, and I will challenge the Congress and the federal government to support and assist private industry to deploy and advance these incredible innovations.

“For example, as you may know, debris in space is a big problem for satellites, spacecraft, and astronauts — a hit by even a tiny particle traveling over seventeen thousand miles an hour can cripple a ship or kill a spacewalker. I have seen patented plans by American companies to venture into debris fields and use robots to retrieve large damage-causing pieces. I have even seen plans for a space recycling program: spent or malfunctioning satellites and jettisoned boosters can be retrieved, the unused propellant captured, the solar panels and electronics salvaged and repaired, and the batteries recharged and reused. They are even talking about having a space-based facility in orbit that can rebuild and repair spacecraft and place them back into service — no need to waste the time, energy, manpower, and dollars to bring the satellite all the way back to Earth when there’s a crew on a space station ready to do the work.

“Those are only two of the many projects I have seen, and I have to tell you: after the briefings, and especially after coming up here and traveling in space, I feel as if I’m standing at the starting line of the great westward land rush, the reins in my hand and my family, friends, and neighbors beside me, ready to start a new life and take on the future. I know there will be dangers, setbacks, disappointments, loss, injury, and death. It’s going to cost a lot of money, private as well as public money, and I’m going to cancel, postpone, or downsize a lot of other programs to make resources available for systems that I feel will take us well into the twenty-second century. But after coming up here, seeing what is being done and learning what can be done, I know it’s imperative — no, it’s vital—that we get started immediately.

“Now, my ride back to Washington leaves in a couple hours. I want to check on Special Agent Spellman to see how he’s doing, have a meal with the dedicated personnel aboard this facility, tour around a little more so I can work on my zero-G free-fall movement technique, and then catch a ride back to Earth, but I’d be happy to take a few questions from the White House press corps back in the press briefing room in the White House in Washington.” He looked at the monitor before him, at the slack-jawed, stupefied expressions of the correspondents, and he had to stifle a smile. “Jeffrey Connors of ABC, why don’t you start us off?” The correspondent rose shakily to his feet. He looked at his notes and realized he hadn’t written anything else down except the questions about Guam that he assumed he would be asking. “Jeff?”

“Uh… Mr… Mr. President… how… how do you feel?” the reporter finally stammered. “Any… any adverse effects of the launch and weightlessness?”

“I’ve been asked that question about a hundred times in the past couple hours,” the president replied. “Every now and then I get a little shot of vertigo, as if I was in a tall building and glanced out the window and suddenly felt as if I was falling, but it passes quickly. I feel good. I guess other first-timers in free fall — weightlessness — don’t do as well. My Secret Service detail, Special Agent Spellman, is in sick bay.”

“Excuse me, sir?” Connors asked. The shocked, bewildered expressions of the other correspondents instantly vanished — they smelled fresh news blood in the water. “You have a Secret Service agent up there with you?”

“Yes,” the president acknowledged. “It’s required, of course, and Earth orbit is no different. Special Agent Charles Spellman volunteered to accompany me on this trip. That was way, way beyond the call of duty.”

“But he’s not well?”

“If I may, Mr. President?” Kai Raydon interjected. The president nodded and motioned to the camera. “I’m retired brigadier general Kai Raydon, formerly of the U.S. Space Defense Force and now an employee of Sky Masters Aerospace and the station director. The stresses of space flight affect persons differently. Some people, like the president, tolerate the G-forces and weightlessness very well; others don’t. Special Agent Spellman is in top physical condition, on a par with anyone who has ever traveled up to Armstrong, but his body was temporarily intolerant to the forces and sensations he experienced. As the president said, he’s recovering very well.”

“Is he going to be able to take the stress of returning to Earth?” another reporter asked.

“I’d have to refer to our medical director, Dr. Miriam Roth,” Kai said, “but Special Agent Spellman is looking good to me. I think he’ll do fine on the return after some rest and antisickness medication.”

“He’ll be medicated?” another correspondent retorted. “How is he going to perform his duties if he’s medicated?”

“It’s a standard drug used by almost all station personnel experiencing symptoms of space sickness,” Kai said. It was clear he was not comfortable being the target of all these rapid-fire, rather accusatory questions. “Persons using Phenergan can continue all their normal duties in a very short time.”

Now the correspondents were tapping quickly on their tablets or scribbling quickly on their notepads. President Phoenix could see the rising irritation in Kai’s face and quickly stepped in. “Thank you, General Raydon. How about Margaret Hastings from NBC?” the president asked.

The well-known and longtime White House chief correspondent got to her feet, her eyes narrowed in a way that millions of American viewers recognized as the veteran reporter preparing to dig in her claws. “Mr. President, I must say, I am still in a state of absolute shock,” she said with a distinctive Boston accent that she never lost despite her years in New York and Washington. “I simply cannot fathom the extraordinarily extreme level of risk to the nation you took by traveling up to the space station. I am simply at a complete loss for words.”

“Miss Hastings, life has risks,” the president said. “As I mentioned to Vice President Page, I’m sure a lot of people felt that a sitting president should not have taken the first ride on a motor vessel, locomotive, automobile, or airplane — that it was simply too risky and the technology so new that it wasn’t worth placing the president’s life needlessly in jeopardy. Yet now all that is routine. Theodore Roosevelt was the first president to fly in an airplane, and that was less than ten years after Kitty Hawk. Americans have been flying in space for almost sixty years now.”

“But this is completely different, Mr. President!” Hastings exclaimed. “Space is infinitely more dangerous than flying in an airplane…!”

“You can say that now, Miss Hastings, in the second decade of the twenty-first century, when airplanes have been around for over a hundred years,” the president interjected. “But at the beginning of the twentieth century, I’m sure many realized that flying was infinitely more dangerous than riding in a carriage or on horseback, and certainly too dangerous to risk the president’s life when he could just as easily take a carriage, train, or ship. But I know that space travel has advanced to the point where we need to exploit it to help our country and mankind to grow, and the way I chose to do it is to take this trip.”

“But that is not your job, Mr. President,” Hastings said indignantly, as if she was lecturing a young boy. “Your job is to run the executive branch of the government of the United States of America and be the leader of the free world. The location of that very important job is in Washington, D.C., sir, not in outer space!”

“Miss Hastings, I’ve watched you on television for years,” the president responded. “I’ve seen you report from chaotic, shattered urban battlefields, from blood-soaked crime scenes, from disaster areas with looters running through the streets threatening you and your crew. Are you telling me that reporting from the eye of a hurricane was necessary for your job? You went out into one-hundred-twenty-mile-an-hour winds or put on a flak vest and helmet and stepped out into the middle of firefights for a reason, and I think that reason is to drive home the message you wanted to give to your audience.

“Well, I’m doing the very same thing by coming up here,” Phoenix went on. “I believe that America’s future is space, and I wanted to drive home that point by accepting the invitation to fly up here and do it. I wanted to experience what’s it’s like to suit up, fly in space, feel the G-forces, see Earth from two hundred miles up, do a spacewalk, look at this magnificent…”

The shock and bedlam in the White House press room erupted once again, and the members of the press corps who were seated shot to their feet as if pulled by a puppeteer with strings. “Do a spacewalk?” they all exclaimed as if in unison. “You did a spacewalk…?”

“It lasted two, maybe two and a half minutes,” the president said. “I stepped out of the spaceplane’s cockpit, was hoisted up atop—”

“You were in the spaceplane’s cockpit?” Hastings shouted.

“I had the opportunity to sit in the cockpit during docking, and I took it,” the president said. He decided right then not to tell them that it was he who did the docking. “I had been told by Vice President Page that the way they first had to transfer to the station from the early models of the spaceplane was via a spacewalk. We were prepared for it, and there was no more danger in it than any other astronaut experiences.”

“But you’re not an astronaut, Mr. President!” Hastings shouted again. “You’re the president of the United States! You’re not paid to take risks like that! With all due respect, Mr. President… are you completely insane?”

“He’s not insane, Hastings,” Kai Raydon retorted, angered by her unprofessional outburst. “And now that he’s had the courage to fly into orbit, he most certainly is an astronaut — a pretty damn good one, it turns out. He proved that any healthy, teachable, level-headed individual can become an astronaut if he so chooses, without years of physical training or scientific or engineering education.”

The bedlam seemed to subside, as if Raydon was a middle-school teacher admonishing his class to settle down and get to work, but the president could see that group of reporters was getting pretty riled up, and he was ready to wrap this up. “Any more questions?” he asked.

Another well-known television anchor seated in the front row got to his feet. “Mr. President, these space industrial proposals sound interesting, but they also sound expensive, as I’m sure everything dealing with space can be. You have been campaigning for well over a year on fiscal responsibility and paying for every new government program. How do you propose to pay for all this? You said you were going to cancel, postpone, or downsize other programs. Which ones?”

“I’m planning on targeting programs that I feel are costly, unnecessary, bloated, outdated, and wasteful, Mr. Wells,” the president said. “I have a long list of proposals that I will present to the congressional leadership. The three categories that make up eighty percent of the national budget — entitlements, defense, and discretionary spending — all need to be addressed. Modernizing our nation’s defense and preparing for the challenges of the twenty-second century is my absolute priority.”

“So you’re going to build space weapons by cutting Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid, and the Affordable Care Act?” a reporter asked.

“I want to stop adding more government entitlement programs, and I want to see real reforms in all entitlement programs so they can survive the century,” the president responded. “I think we can find cost savings when we do real reforms, which we can use to modernize defense. The same can be said about the military itself. One example would be a significant reduction of nuclear weapons in the American arsenal.” He could see another flurry of tapping and scribbling, and digital recorders moved closer to the speakers set up in the press briefing room. “I am going to propose that we reduce the number of nuclear warheads on alert from the current level of approximately seven hundred down to about three hundred.”

The level of excitement in the press briefing room began to rise again. “But, Mr. President, don’t you think with what’s happened in the South China Sea and western Pacific — China setting off a nuclear depth charge, firing on ships, downing our aircraft, and attacking Guam, not to mention Russia’s military resurgence — that this is the absolute worst time to be reducing our nuclear deterrent?”

“You’ve answered your own question, Mr. Wells,” the president said. “We currently have about seven hundred nuclear warheads ready to strike within a few hours’ time, but exactly what have they deterred? Russia, China, and other nations in response have all grown stronger and bolder. And when we retaliated, what kind of weapons did we use to stop them? Precision-guided nonnuclear weapons launched from aircraft and spacecraft.

“I feel the nuclear deterrent is no longer relevant and should be drastically downsized,” the president repeated. “The Russians took care of a lot of the downsizing during the American Holocaust, of course, with a horrendous loss of American lives. But there has been a lot of talk about replacing the bomber and intercontinental-ballistic-missile fleet, and I’m not going to endorse that. I propose that the strategic nuclear submarine fleet be the only forces on day-to-day nuclear alert, and it will be reduced so that only four strategic nuclear ballistic-missile submarines will be on alert, two in the Pacific and two in the Atlantic, with four more ready to put to sea on short notice. A few tactical air forces stationed on land and sea will be poised to generate forces for nuclear alert within a few days, if needed.”

The shocked, incredulous expressions on the correspondents’ faces had returned — the reporters who were not texting back to their editors on handheld devices were making stunned comments to their colleagues, the noise level quickly rising. The president knew that this news conference was all but over, but he had a few more bombshells to let loose: “Not all the cuts will be from defense, but most will,” he went on. “I propose to decrease the number of Army and Marine Corps personnel and weapon systems such as tanks and artillery, reduce the number of aircraft-carrier battle groups down to eight, and cancel future purchases of ships such as the Littoral Combat Ship and aircraft such as the F-35 Lightning fighter-bomber.”

“But, Mr. President, don’t you feel that you’re gutting the military at a time when we should be gearing up the military to prepare to oppose adversaries such as China and Russia, both of whom have attacked us repeatedly in recent years?” a correspondent asked. “Are you going to replace these canceled weapon systems with something else?”

“Yes, in two key twenty-first- and twenty-second-century national security imperatives: space, and cyberspace,” the president replied. “I will propose that the bulk of American long-range offensive military systems be deployed from space or Earth orbit, and the bulk of our defensive military systems be deployed from cyberspace. The United States should dominate both realms, and I am going to see to it that America does exactly that. If we fail to do this, we will quickly and inevitably lose, and that’s not going to happen on my watch. America will dominate space and cyberspace like we used to dominate the world’s oceans. That is my mission, and I will expect Congress and the American people to support me. Are there any other questions for me?”

“Yes, sir, I have many,” Margaret Hastings said. “What exactly do you mean by ‘dominating’ space and cyberspace? How do you intend to dominate them?”

“For one: by no longer tolerating the actions that have persisted over the past several years and are almost considered part of the price of doing business,” Phoenix said. “For example, I am told that American companies, government agencies, and military computers detect intrusions and outright attacks on a daily basis from governments all over the world, either sponsored by a government entity or done directly by a government. That will no longer be tolerated. A computer attack will be treated like any other attack. The United States will respond appropriately to any cyberattack.

“I am also told that American reconnaissance satellites are hit by lasers to blind or destroy optics; that jamming satellites are placed into orbit near our satellites to disrupt them; and that American GPS signals are jammed on a regular basis. I am told that several nations hit this very station on a daily basis with lasers, microwaves, and other electromagnetic forms of energy to try to damage or disrupt operations here. That will no longer be tolerated. Any such attack will be dealt with accordingly. We will closely monitor Earth orbit for any signs of possible interference or attack by any nation or entity. An American satellite in orbit, as well as the orbit itself, is sovereign American territory, and we will defend it just like any other American resource.”

“Excuse me, sir,” Hastings said, “but did you just say that you consider Earth orbit American property? Do you mean to say that no other nation can put a spacecraft into orbit if the United States already has a satellite in that orbit?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, Miss Hastings,” Phoenix said. “A common technique for attacking American space assets is to launch an antisatellite weapon into the same orbit, chase it down, and destroy it when within range. That is how the Russians destroyed our Kingfisher weapon garage after knocking parts of it out of commission with directed-energy weapons, with the loss of an American astronaut. Any spacecraft launched into the same orbit as an American satellite will be considered a hostile act and will be dealt with appropriately.”

The bedlam that was growing and threatening to go out of control in the White House Press Briefing Room did not subside this time, and the president knew that it probably wouldn’t for a very long time. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, thank you,” the president said, ignoring the upraised hands and shouted questions. “I think it’s time to share a meal with the astronauts aboard station…” He turned to Raydon, smiled, and added, “… my fellow astronauts, and prepare to return to Washington. Good night from Armstrong Space Station, and may God bless the United States of America.” He saw so much clamor on the monitor that he doubted if anyone heard his sign-off.

“Good speech and good responses to questions, Mr. President,” Vice President Ann Page said a few moments later after her image reappeared on the director’s station monitor in the command module. “A lot of veteran astronauts have trouble doing press conferences down on Earth, let alone just minutes after arriving in space for the first time. I didn’t leak any parts of the military restructuring, as you requested, so everyone in the world got it all at once. The phones are even now ringing off the hook. Are you going to take any calls up on station?”

Phoenix thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “I’m going to call Alexa, and then I’m going to sit down with the space station crew, try some of their food, check on poor Charlie Spellman, check out a little more of station, and prepare for the return flight. We talked about responses to several questions we anticipate reporters and heads of state will ask, and I’ll let you handle those until I get back and get checked over by the docs. The last thing I want to do is spend my last couple hours on station talking on the phone.”

“I hear you, sir,” Ann said. “I’ll take the calls from heads of state, then the major media outlets. You enjoy yourself up there. No more spacewalks, okay, sir? Go through the docking tunnel like the rest of us mere space travelers.”

“If you insist, Miss Vice President,” President Phoenix said with a smile. “If you insist.”