The call to his predawn bedroom brought him running.
“Did ASA use Space Command’s clearance procedures for this orbital insertion? In other words, that piece of junk has been up there one helluva long time and we’ve been tracking it. How come they used this precise orbit and we’re only now seeing the conflict?”
“Their orbital flight plan terminated yesterday, sir. They weren’t supposed to be where they are.”
Chris Risen drops his head and grimaces, the know-all senior commander caught in a simple but embarrassing mistake.
“And that dumb question, guys, was just my daily reminder that I’m a carbon-based unit and thus imperfect, stars or not.”
“Easy mistake, sir.”
“We’ve talked to ASA?”
“Yes, General, we’ve already alerted ASA’s Mission Control, but… they have no contact and can’t do anything to alter the spacecraft’s course.”
He nods, aware of the consternation NORAD’s call will have caused in Mojave.
“Sir,” the duty controller, a colonel, adds, “I’m stating the obvious, but the collision won’t be survivable.”
“Understood.”
“And, sir… worse is the fact that we calculate literally thousands of individual debris orbits will result, quite a few of them becoming elliptical and threatening other altitudes. A broken-up shroud would present far less hazard than the rain of fragments from a shattered spacecraft.”
Chris meets the colonel’s eyes for just a moment, getting the message. There are a few top-secret defensive abilities that are known to only a tiny handful of NORAD senior officers, officially denied capabilities that are never to be spoken of in the presence of uncleared individuals. Not even the highly trained control room personnel.
Risen gets to his feet, ever mindful of the delicate balance between approachable leader and the strong, impeccable commander. “All right. Carry on. I’ve got some calls to make.”
He makes his way to one of the glassed-in booths at the rear of the control room and picks up a tie-line maintained twenty-four hours a day by a crack team of specialists, a line that can reach the President almost anywhere at any moment. It is a capability approached with great care and some fear. Lifting the handset bypasses the chain of command, and if the reason isn’t as rock solid as the mountain around them, careers can be ended.
Even that of a four-star general.
A voice most of the nation instantly recognizes comes on the other end. It’s just past 7 A.M. in Washington, and Chris assumes the President is already away from the family quarters, but the sound of rustling bedcovers, a momentary comment from the First Lady, and a deep, sleepy voice betray the assumption.
“Yes?”
“Mr. President, General Risen at NORAD. My apologies, sir, but we have a situation in accordance with your directive yesterday on the private spacecraft.”
“Good morning, Chris. I’m just being lazy getting up. What’s up?”
His explanation is crisp and clear, and there’s a long pause from the other end before the commander in chief sighs.
“What do you recommend? And we are on a secure line, right?”
“Yes, sir. Mr. President, with the considerable damage this will do to orbital safety and the tremendous increase in debris… not to mention the loss of life… I recommend we use Longbow.”
“Really? Won’t our buddies across both ponds see what we’re doing?”
“Sir, we have to assume they will. The Russians, Chinese, French, and perhaps the European Space Agency will probably be watching. The National Reconnaissance Office is the better one to answer that.”
“But you think it’s about time they knew our capabilities anyway, right? I mean, it’s been thirty years and five presidents since we made a show of it.”
“Sir, you’re asking me a policy question I’m not qualified to answer.”
“Yeah, Chris, you’re right. That’s unfair of me. Look, I’m glad you brought this straight to me. I know it’s tough to jump the chain even in your position, but I need that direct contact. I realize this was a judgment call and not out of the Defcon procedures.”
“Thank you, sir. I thought it was justified, because of your statements yesterday on television.”
“You say we have six hours left?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s barely any time. Okay. I’ve got some tough questions to ask an array of people.”
“We’ll be here, sir.”
“By the way, I’m told the astronaut up there is a friend of yours.”
How on earth does he know that?Chris wonders, a flash of caution rocketing through his head about the source of the information and whether it was passed to the President honestly or with malicious intent. Was someone in the Pentagon waiting in the weeds for him?
“Yes, sir,” he answers. “Bill Campbell was a NASA astronaut and a fellow Air Force pilot and a friend. But I…”
“That’s what makes us a great nation, Chris. Not that we know everyone, but that we’re sufficiently family to care. That isn’t an object up there, it’s two of us.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay. Gotta go. Hang in there, General. You are appreciated.”
Chris replaces the receiver with a smile. “You are appreciated,” is a signature tag line unique to this chief executive and grossly overreported by the media, but Chris knows the man means it. And despite the fact that his Air Force peers consider it an eye-roller and call it a “warm fuzzy,” the President’s appreciation is, well, appreciated.
And as he stands to go, Chris Risen gives himself just a few seconds to embrace that very human pat on the head from the most powerful office holder in the world.
Diana feels like rubbing her eyes, but with no time to find a mirror and assess or repair the effect a vigorous eye rub would have on her makeup, she stifles the urge, fussing with the microphone clipped to the collar of her blouse instead.
This is the eighth interview so far, she counts, and there will be dozens more since Richard’s refusal to do anymore himself. She gets into the zone mentally, summoning the vocal tone and the mental sharpness she’s going to need, like an actor with the flu taking the stage and forcing away the pain and the weakness for a few hours. The right tone, the right phrases, the right balance will be critical with each interview… not that she isn’t personally torn up and as scared as everyone else over what’s happening. But “torn up and scared” would be the wrong message. What the public must see is strength, control, concern, cautious optimism, and absolute realism. In the public mind, she isthe company, and one misstep on camera could theoretically destroy it.
She only half listens to the correspondent as he begins his report next to her, and shifts her eyes to him only on the cue of the question.
“Ms. Ross, there’s been no radio contact of any sort, correct? How could that happen?”
“It’s not easy for that to happen. A whole host of radios had to have been knocked out, including several backups, but however it happened, we have lost all radio contact, both voice and telemetry. Yet we’re sure, through NASA’s help with their long-range cameras, that the spacecraft is still powered and pressurized, and that someone is at the controls.”
“Some one, versus both of them?”
“I’m not going to speculate beyond that. The spacecraft was obviously damaged. NASA, however, has seen solid evidence of sentient human control of the vehicle. But since we can’t talk to them, we don’t know what their status is. I’d like to add that I think it’s pretty remarkable that, regardless of the radio problem, they were apparently struck by a high speed object and yet the craft remains livable. That’s an accolade to the engineering.”