There was a low rumble of voices as the crew of Silver Tower studied the chart. It was Colonel Marks who spoke up again. "On the same track? You mean-pass over the exact same points on the earth on each orbit?"
"Exactly."
"That sounds serious, General," Walker said.
Saint-Michael nodded. "It is. I've received an… observation, I suppose is the best word… about a surprisingly large military buildup in the Soviet's southern military district. The observation hasn't alarmed many in the Pentagon because the buildup coincides in some degree with an announced Soviet military exercise and a suspected fall resupply push into Afghanistan. Even so, there are a few who believe something far more extreme may be happening… something like an invasion of Iran."
Again there was a low rumble among the crew. Saint-Michael quieted them down, then went on. "The idea of an invasion of Iran may sound far-fetched, but to me, at least, it makes sense. Iran is in a state of transition. Its people are deeply divided between the old Khomeini Islamic fundamentalists and those who genuinely want to reestablish ties with the West. The prolonged war with Iraq has weakened the country's defenses. The point is, Iran is ripe for the picking."
"So what are we supposed to do, General?" Kevin Baker asked. Baker looked ten years younger than his actual age of sixty-five as he stood in a nylon — athletic warm-up suit, fresh out of the vacuum-shower after sixteen hours in space working on the station's Thor garage. "What are the orders from Washington?"
"I'm not talking about orders from Washington. This idea is mine. As I think you know, I have a good deal of discretionary authority when it comes to the operation of this station. I use it to avoid waste, accelerate research and development and make this station the most effective military unit of its kind. At least that's what I try to do. But it's been my feeling that Armstrong's great potential has been going to waste. We spend more energy on systems to defend ourselves than we, do on providing a necessary strategic warning or tracking capability for Space Command. Now we have an opportunity to provide that capability, so I need input from you. Let's hear it."
"It'll eat up tons of fuel," Marks put in. He made a fast mental calculation. "It'll mean sideslipping the station… at about nine hundred miles every hour."
"So?"
"So!"
Saint-Michael had to work to hide a wry smile. He had just activated Marks's mental microprocessors…
"Sir, it takes three hundred pounds of liquid hydrogen and oxygen a week for station attitude adjustments — which equates to approximately three hundred miles worth of movement. You're proposing to move the station nine hundred miles laterally an hour. That's an extra nine hundred pounds of propellant an hour. That's" — a slight pause— "twenty-one thousand, six hundred pounds of fuel per day. One-third of a shuttle cargo flight full of fuel — one-fourth of an Agena-Three vessel…"
"If the proposal is approved," Saint-Michael said, "there'll be a two-per-week resupply sortie. An Agena-Three unmanned cargo module can supply us with four days' worth of fuel."
"Why an elliptical orbit, General?" Walker asked. "An elliptical orbit only gives you a look once a day at most. An equatorial orbit will give you a look several times a day."
"I did some wagging on the computer," Saint-Michael said. "A one-hundred-and-fifty-nautical-mile equatorial orbit will place us over two thousand miles from the recon target area. That's the space-based radar's extreme range limit. I believe it'll be worth the extra fuel to set up an elliptical orbit, especially if it's adjusted for earth rotation — an equatorial orbit can't be adjusted."
Saint-Michael stepped back to his chart, pointing toward the rectangle marking the recon target area. "It'll be dicey," he said quietly. "Even without the threat of a Soviet invasion of Iran or a U.S.-USSR confrontation, we'll be orbiting over the worst possible place on earth. We'll be flying almost directly over the Soviet Union's primary antisatellite unit at Tyuratam, and the Sary Shagan Missile Test Center on Lake Balkash, where the Soviets supposedly have an active antisatellite and antiballistic missile laser—"
"Not supposedly,' General," Ann put in. "A laser powerful enough to blind satellites definitely has been in operation there for twenty years. The intelligence reports are underestimates. The Russians have a functional antisatellite laser system at Sary Shagan, maybe powerful enough to damage this station."
"There's little chance of that, Dr. Page," Jefferson said. "This station is heavily armored, After all, that's why it's called Silver Tower. The titanium-silver armor is stronger than—"
"Jake, the nickname is sort of outdated," Walker interrupted. "Only the original pressurized modules have the armoring, not the add-on center beam, radar arrays, fuel tanks or solar arrays."
"Right," Ann said, "that laser at Sary Shagan could slice through every unprotected device like butter."
There was a moment of silence, then Saint-Michael turned to Colonel Marks. "Wayne, could the electrolysis unit handle seven extra thousand gallons of water per day?"
"Easy," Marks said. "The unit was designed for a station twice the size of Silver Tower." The electrolysis unit, powered by the huge solar arrays, converted Silver Tower's fuel — plain seawater — into hydrogen and oxygen gas. Radiators, perpetually facing away from the sun toward the minus-three-hundred-degree coldness of space, then condensed the gases into liquids for storage, or pumps simply sent the gases into the station's four positioning engines to adjust the station's orbit and attitude. One unmanned Agena-Three supply tanker carrying sixty thousand pounds of water from earth would be enough for satellite, shuttle, and hypersonic plane refuelings and full station operation for a month.
"General, will moving the station interfere with any further Skybolt tests?" Ann asked. "I'll be ready for another free beam-test in three days. If things go well I'll be ready for another Agena-Three live-fire target test in a week."
Saint-Michael paused. "Sorry, Ann, but I have to recommend to Space Command that the Skybolt test be postponed for now. We'd be sure to catch hell for firing the laser so close to the Soviet Union's ICBM fields."
"General," she said quietly, too quietly, "we all worked very hard to advance this project ahead of schedule after the first partial-power test failed. In my opinion, sir, a successful Skybolt test should claim higher priority than an unsolicited recon mission."
"Your comment is noted, and now—"
"Then I have your assurance, General, that my objection will be given equal weight with your own arguments when you make your proposal to Space Command."
"As commander of this station I'm obliged to include recommendations and advice from all members of my crew. I am not, however, required to give assurances to anyone." He turned to Colonel Marks. "Wayne, I'd like you to double-check my figures on the proposed orbit and fuel calculations. Colonel Walker, get together with Wayne and set up a rough resupply schedule system using both shuttle and Agenas. " He took a deep breath. "Dr. Page, please outline the delays in your program and any potential problems caused by the delays."
He scanned the faces around him. "I want the data ready for encryption and transmission by tomorrow morning. I'll propose the station repositioning for three days from now." He looked directly at Ann, who didn't blink. "That's all. "
The group filed out, a few talking briefly with Saint-Michael before leaving. Ann made sure she was the last to talk with him.
"This plan comes as quite a surprise, General. I thought we had made a commitment to the Skybolt project."
"That hasn't changed, Ann. I'm not canceling Skybolt. But Armstrong Station is an operational military base, a tactical unit first and foremost. I've been supplied with information about a situation that could develop into a direct threat against the U.S. I've studied the available information and I've formulated a response for consideration and approval by headquarters—"