While the DarkStar does have compressed air jets that shoot out cold gas to make small position adjustments, there’s a very limited amount onboard. If I overshoot the CS626, the mission is a scrub.
If that’s not enough of a challenge, the DarkStar can’t use its onboard radar system to intercept the CS626. Bouncing radio signals off the hull of the satellite might let them know we’re coming. The DarkStar will have to rely on visual systems and a passive radar using other known sources — which isn’t nearly as precise.
And because the CS626 is in a sleep mode, there’s no transponder sending out a friendly beep we can track. Which technically makes the satellite a derelict piece of space junk.
More fun times.
Fortunately, this is all handled by the computer. So nobody gets to point any fingers at David if it all goes south. Although they’ll probably find a way to.
“How are you doing?” asks Laney over the comm.
“Watching the CS626 get bigger. You?”
“We have you on satellite.”
“This is a stealth ship. Shouldn’t you not have me on satellite?”
“We’re looking down as you cross the day side of the Earth. And we know exactly where to look.”
“Maybe I should paint a map of Tasmania on the roof?”
“That’ll work. Don’t worry, you’re still very radar invisible. If another satellite did aim in your direction and adjust for the right distance, you’d appear to be just another piece of space junk.”
“Another piece? Thanks. Dashboard says I’ll be near the CS626 in eight minutes. The thing is still in sleep mode, right?”
“Yes. I’ve been looking at Victor’s data and noticed a thermal peculiarity. It’s probably nothing. But the satellite appears to retain heat a little longer than something else that size with a similar function.”
“What does that mean for me?”
“It won’t be sub-zero inside there. But don’t go stripping off your spacesuit and bouncing around in your tighty-whities. There’s still radiation to consider. I’m assured by everyone here that it’s totally safe. Which is easy to say when you’re fifteen-thousand miles away from the source of radiation.”
“No worries. I’m a boxer-briefs kind of guy anyway.”
The DarkStar makes some small orbiting adjustments and the CS626 becomes a recognizable shape on my display.
I’m still a hundred meters away and will have to do a spacewalk to get there, but the tricky intercept part is done. Now it’s just a matter of using my suit jets to mosey on down there and pop the hatch.
“Ops, I’m in position. Getting ready to depressurize and open the hatch.”
“Proceed, Mongoose.”
There was a small discussion about what call signs to use. I wanted Captain Odyssey or Danger Blackheart. Laney suggested various species of egg-stealing rodents. We settled on Mongoose. I guess I’m okay with that.
I give myself a small push and float out of the back hatch of the DarkStar. The arrow-shaped nose is pointing directly down towards the CS626 and Earth.
Between the stealth coating of the spaceship and my spacesuit, anybody looking up should only see a bright shiny satellite and not the thieving pirate leaving his vessel.
My tether unspools from my waist as I drift away from the ship. To make my way to the CS626 I have a small compressed gas gun that will pull me along like Mary Poppins’ umbrella.
I give the gear bag strap a tug and it floats clear of the DarkStar. Inside is my lock picking tools and tanks of compressed gas I’ll need to infiltrate the airlock and not depressurize the whole thing.
“Making my way to the CS.”
“Roger that, Mongoose. Try to be quick about it. It’s not all about you,” Laney quips.
Eighteen
Puzzle Box
The first time I’m aware that anyone hijacked a rival government’s satellite took place in the early 1960s. The Soviets were sending one of their Lunik space probes on a world tour to show off the success of their space program. Some CIA operatives got a peek at the probe when it was at a Mexican museum and realized it wasn’t just a mockup, it was the real deal. When they tried to send some technicians to look at the thing, a 24-hour Soviet guard was there.
Not deterred, when the satellite was being shipped across Mexico, the CIA stopped the truck driver, took him to a hotel where there was probably plenty of alcohol maybe a señorita or two for company and had their technicians take the thing apart before sending it back with the driver to its next destination.
Of course, that was on Earth. I don’t know if I’m the first one to try satellite espionage in orbit. And if I pull this off right, nobody will ever know.
I just use one small jet of compressed air to send me towards the 626. No need to go in too fast and use up my rocket gun trying to slow down.
The satellite is a dark copper cylinder with a spherical airlock facing me and a cone on the other end. Two arrays of solar panels are spread out on either side like rectangular wings.
It’s interesting how each country’s hardware has its own look. While iCosmos and SpaceX tend to look twenty years ahead of NASA, they’re both in the same family and feel like someone trying to channel Star Trek. The Russian gear looks like it was made by twenty different plumbing companies. Chinese equipment, while early on was based on Russian designs, uses gold foil anywhere they possibly can.
I swing my legs out and make contact with the 626. Before I drift away, I let the rocket gun hang on its wrist strap and grab a tether from my waist and clamp it to the handle above the airlock.
“Ops, I’m connected to the CS.”
The hatch is covered in labels written in Chinese characters. My heads up display is able to translate them for me on the fly, but not taking any chances, we have a CIA linguist on the line watching my video feed.
“Everything appears like the mockup. Does our expert have anything to add?”
A new female voice speaks into the comm. “You’re looking good, Mongoose. Your augmented translations appear accurate to me. I’ll be standing by if you need anything.”
“Thanks. Checking the interior pressure now.”
There’s a small meter built into the door that shows if there’s any atmosphere inside the airlock.
“The needle is on zero. Proceeding with the lock.”
While the idea of someone trying to land on a satellite and do what I’m about to do is an utter absurdity, the Chinese were prepared for the contingency if the CS crashed on Earth and they didn’t want anybody getting immediate access if the thing miraculously survived.
Because the satellite is vulnerable to solar flares, computer problems and power issues, to the left of the hatch handle there’s a slot designed for a mechanical key. This is where one of the many cool tools attached to my belt comes in handy.
I place a handle-sized cylinder over the hole and press the button. There’s glow of red light underneath as it sends hundreds of shape-shifting metallic threads into the opening. They fill up the space then the red light changes to green. I give the handle a twist and feel the satisfying vibration of the lock releasing.
“I’ve unlocked the CS.”
“You sound down about it,” says Laney. “Are you upset you didn’t get to cut it open with the plasma torch?”
“Maybe…”
“Yeah, well, that plasma cutter of yours may look like a lightsaber, but on an infrared telescope, it’ll look like 3,000 degrees of hey-look-at-me. You have to assume they’re watching this satellite right now. We know they’re watching ours.”
When there was a discussion about which of our satellites we could aim at the CS626, Laney pulled out her phone and showed a real-time tracking app that showed all the spy sats in orbit and explained how easy it was to use another app to rent a space telescope for a live video feed of that trajectory.