Starfire (38 page)

“Unfortunately, his tactic may work, sir,” National Security Adviser Glenbrook said. “It's possible that the European Space Agency will undock their Columbus research module rather than risk irritating the Russians—they have had plans to cooperate with Russia on building a presence in space long before they decided to cooperate on the ISS. If they do that, or if the replacement modules we plan on sending up don't do the job, the Japanese might undock their Kibˉo modules and abandon the project as well. Canada has its remote arms still on the station, but we're not certain if they'd keep them on ISS if the Russians, ESA, and Japan pulled out.”

“So if all the other ISS partners leave, what are we left with?”

“The ISS is still a very important part of American scientific research, even without Kibˉo, Columbus, or the ROS, sir,” Ann Page said. “We have a huge investment in it already, and we gain tons of knowledge and experience in living and working in space. If we want to eventually go back to the moon or send astronauts to Mars or beyond, the ISS is the best stepping-stone for that. The Japanese in particular have a very extensive scientific research program on the ISS, so I think they would want to keep the ISS aloft for as long as possible until they launch their own station, or partner up with someone else. And the ISS, as well as Armstrong Space Station, would be the best platforms to get your already-announced industrialization-of-space initiative going.”

“Good,” the president said. “I want to speak with the Japanese prime minister and the prime ministers of the European Space Agency countries, and I want to assure them that we are committed to maintaining the ISS and continuing all the work we're doing, despite the hissy fit the Russians are having.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” Ann said.

“Bill, if the Russians are indeed gearing up to push back into space,” the president said to his national security adviser, “I need to find out what else they are developing, and how much—military, industrial, scientific, everything. I don't want to be surprised by any more spaceplanes suddenly popping up around our space stations. I'd like an update on all the Russian and Chinese spaceports. The Russians cooperated with the Chinese before, in the Indian Ocean and South China Sea—they might be getting ready to do it again.”

“Yes, sir,” Glenbrook responded.

“General, I need a rundown of all the assets we have to support the ISS and Armstrong Space Station in the light of this de-mating process and a possible Russian push into space, and what we might need and how soon,” the president said to Sandstein. “If there's going to be an arms race in space, I want to win it.”

“Absolutely, sir,” Sandstein said. The president shook hands with the four-star general and dismissed him.

“Speaking of the space-industrialization initiative,” the president went on after the general had departed, “what's going on with Armstrong Space Station and our other space projects?”

“On track, Mr. President,” Undersecretary Lee said proudly. “Based on your outline, sir, we have three programs we're supporting: successful flight testing of the XS-29 Shadow spaceplane, a larger version of the spaceplane you flew in; support for larger commercial rocket boosters to bring larger payloads into space, including some reusable booster technologies; and the first industrial program: installing a solar power plant aboard Armstrong Space Station.”

“A solar power plant?”

“It will collect sunlight, transform it into electricity, and store it,” Lee explained. “When it gets within range of a ground collector, called a rectenna, it will transform the electricity into a form of electromagnetic energy called a maser—a combination of a microwave and laser—and shoot the energy to Earth to the rectenna, which transforms the maser energy back into electricity, then stores the power in giant batteries or puts it into the electrical grid. If what they are planning comes true, in a single four-minute shot—the maximum time it takes for the space station to go from horizon to horizon—they can transmit enough power to supply a remote research facility or village for a week or more.”

“Incredible,” the president remarked. “Well done.”

“And, as you directed, sir,” Lee went on, “the federal government is only providing support in the form of using federal facilities such as national laboratories, launch pads, and computer networks—things that are already being used for other projects. We're not loaning money to anyone. The companies and universities involved in these programs have to invest themselves big-time, and they are. If they're successful, they hope to get reimbursed with government contracts to operate the systems they develop.”

“Excellent,” the president said. “Please keep me informed, Mr. Undersecretary.” He stood, shook Lee's hand, and dismissed him as well, and soon afterward Glenbrook departed. After the two had left, the president said to Ann Page, “Once the video of that Russian section of the ISS separating from the station gets out, Ann, we're going to take one hell of a shellacking in the press, with a little less than a month to the elections.”

“I'm a little more optimistic, Ken,” Ann said. She knew it was time to take off her vice president's hat and put on Ken Phoenix's chief political adviser's hat, something that she always enjoyed doing very much. “Secretary Barbeau criticized your space initiative as another Reagan ‘Star Wars' folly. When the public sees the Russians starting to push back in space, they'll know that Barbeau is on the wrong side of the issue.”

“I hope so,” Phoenix said, “but it's been several months since I announced the initiative on board the space station, and so far only the Russians have made good on their promise to take their modules off the ISS. Are any of those space programs going to be available to us to use in the campaign?”

“Absolutely, Ken,” Ann said. “The XS-29 spaceplane has made its first orbital test flight and has already done a mission both to the ISS and Armstrong Space Station. The solar-power-plant project might go online before the election, and we could describe it as another project that Barbeau doesn't support, is not taxpayer funded, and will be an example of what will wither and die if you are not reelected. The new advanced rocket boosters are not quite as far along, but we could do tours of the assembly buildings and remind the voters about how important those things are.”

“Where are we on the solar power plant?”

“It's all assembled—they're just doing last-minute testing and checking,” Ann said. “About a dozen spaceplane missions and one heavy-lift rocket, all assembled by remote control with just two or three spacewalks. It was designed that way from the beginning by a team of college students, supported by scientists and engineers from all over the world . . . led, by the way, by one Bradley James McLanahan.”

“Brad McLanahan?”
the president exclaimed. “You're kidding! Patrick McLanahan's son? I was sorry for him when he dropped out of the Air Force Academy and when his father was killed—I guess he's landed on his feet. Good for him.” He paused, thinking hard, then said, “How does this sound, Ann: let's get Brad McLanahan and maybe one or two others on his team up to Armstrong Space Station.”

“As long as you don't tell me
you
want to go up there again, sir.”

“I think I've had my share of excitement for a lifetime,” the president said. “Would this make Brad the first teenager in space?”

“Unless you don't count the dogs and chimps that have already been sent up, yes,” Ann said. “I hear Brad's been asking to go up on station for a while.” Her expression turned serious. “Initial thoughts, sir: risky. If the flight fails, the son of a very popular and high-value figure gets killed, and your space initiative might go out the window, like after
Challenger
and
Columbia
. Not good.”

“But if it succeeds, it could be awesome, yes?”

“Yes, it certainly could, sir,” Ann Page said.

“Then let's make it happen,” the president said. “We'll send McLanahan and maybe a female member of his team up for the first use of the thing.” He shook his head. “I remember the first time Patrick brought Brad to the White House. He looked around and said, ‘Boy, Dad, you sure work in an old place.' ” The president's expression turned serious. “Speaking of Brad McLanahan . . .”

“Yes, sir?”

“I didn't tell you this, because I thought the fewer who knew the better, but back last spring Brad McLanahan found out, so I think you should too.”

“Found out what?”

Phoenix took a deep breath, then said, “Last year, right after the Chinese attack on Guam, a private counterintelligence group led by former president Martindale went out to Guam to collect information on the hacked utilities and to see if there was any other evidence of a Chinese intelligence presence on Guam.”

“Scion Aviation,” Ann said. “I remember. What does that have to do with Brad McLanahan?”

“One of Scion's teams had Brad under surveillance after that break-in at Patrick McLanahan's columbarium in Sacramento,” the president said. “They wanted to make sure that the same Russian agents that broke into the crypt wouldn't target Brad. Turns out they did target him and actually attacked three times. Scion's guys saved him.”

“Well, that's good,” Ann said, “but I'm still confused. Why is Scion Aviation International doing surveillance on Brad McLanahan? Isn't that a job for the FBI? If he's a target of a foreign direct-action team, he should be under full FBI counterespionage protection.”

“It's because of one of the members of Scion,” the president said. He looked directly into the vice president's eyes and said, “Patrick McLanahan.”

Ann's only visible reaction was simply a few blinks. “That's impossible, Ken,” she said in a toneless voice. “You got some bad information. Patrick died over China. You know that as well as I.”

“No, he didn't,” the president said. “Martindale found and revived him, but he was in bad shape. In order to keep him alive, they placed him in a Cybernetic Infantry Device, one of those big manned robots.” Ann's face was beginning to transform into a mask of stunned disbelief. “He's still alive, Ann. But he can't live outside the robot. Unless they can heal him, he'll be in there for the rest of his life.”

Ann's eyes widened and her mouth formed an astonished O. “I . . . I can't believe it,” she breathed. “And he can operate the robot? He can move around, communicate, everything?”

“He has some incredible abilities,” Phoenix said. “He operates sensors and all the robot's capabilities, and can communicate with anyone in the world—I wouldn't be surprised if he's listening in on us right now. Patrick McLanahan and the robot is a one-man Army platoon—maybe an entire Army battalion and Air Force division combined.” Phoenix sighed and looked away. “But he can never leave the fucking machine. It's as if he's trapped in the Twilight Zone.”

“Amazing. Just amazing,” Ann said. “And Martindale has got him doing operations with Scion?”

“Skating on the very edge of the law, I'm sure, like he always did,” Phoenix said.

“Ken, why did you tell me this?” Ann asked. “I might never have found out.”

“I know you and Patrick are friends,” the president said. “But the main reason is that I feel bad that I didn't let you in on it from the beginning. You're my closest political adviser and my closest friend, except for my wife, Alexa. The whole stuff with Brad McLanahan reminded me of the mistake I made when I didn't trust you with my decision to keep Patrick alive and not tell anyone. I wanted to correct that mistake.”

“Well, thank you for that, Ken,” Ann said. She shook her head, still in a state of disbelief. “What a thing to keep bottled up. No one else knows except Brad? Not even his family?”

“Just Brad and a few of Martindale's guys,” Phoenix said.

“Glad you got that off your chest, aren't you, sir?”

“You bet I am,” the president said. “Now, let's get back to the other, unreal world: politics and elections. I want to really push the space initiative hard in the closing days of the campaign. I want to talk with teenagers in space, make lots of visits to, and give speeches in front of, hypersonic spaceplanes and rocket boosters, and help throw the switch on electricity fired from space. We may be down in the polls right now, Ann, but we're going to pull this out—I can
feel
it!”

SEVEN

He is not worthy of the honeycomb. That shuns the hives because the bees have stings.

—W
ILLIAM
S
HAKESPEARE

R
EINHOLD
A
EROSPACE
E
NGINEERING
B
UILDING

C
AL
P
OLY

T
HE
NEXT
DAY

“This is our mission control room, otherwise known as one of our electronics labs,” Brad McLanahan said. He was standing before a group of foreign journalists, bloggers, photographers, and their translators, giving for the umpteenth time a tour of the Starfire project at Cal Poly. With him were Jodie Cavendish, Kim Jung-bae, Casey Huggins, and Lane Eagan. The room was stuffed with a dozen laptop computers, control and communications gear, and network interface boxes with hundreds of feet of CAT5 cables snaking away into walls and under the climate-controlled floor. “It's not as large or as nice as NASA mission control, but the functions are very similar: we monitor the major components of Starfire such as the microwave generator, nantenna and rectenna steering, power control, and beam control, among many others. Although the astronauts on board Armstrong Space Station have ultimate control, we can issue some commands from here—namely, we can pull the plug if something goes wrong.”