Unfortunately, though, Leed's success brought on an acute case of Washingtonitis, a severe affliction that often topples Cabinet officers and Congressmen. Leeds became intoxicated with the media attention and started believing his own press releases. His ego expanded like a supernova, and the White House came to regard him as a royal pain in the arse.
But at the moment, Leeds wasn't paying much attention to the White House. He was riding the crest of his own wave. In addition to the Hubble telescope — and his newfound credibility in the scientific community — Leeds had his own NASA jet, his own publicity staff, his own Georgetown pad, and — as he liked to boast — his own pack of groupies.
It took three rings before the young lady was awakened. Irritated, she shook the figure beside her. "Hey, honey… your phone is ringin'."
"Mmmpppffff." He fumbled over his buxom companion for the receiver, and in the process his knuckles accidentally bopped her on the nose.
"Ow!"
"Uhhhh… terribly sorry, Julie. My apologies."
"The name's Rhonda."
"Uh, yes, I was going to say Rhonda. You will excuse me." He snagged the receiver with an irritable "Yes?"
"Dr. Leeds?" came the voice through the phone.
"Whom were you expecting?" asked Leeds sarcastically.
"I'm sorry to awaken you, Doctor. This is Rodger Whittenberg at SPACECOM headquarters in Colorado."
Leeds exhaled, not bothering to mask his annoyance. "General, do you have any idea what time it is?"
"I make it about four forty-eight a.m. your time, Doctor."
Leeds growled, "What on earth do you want now, General?"
"As I said, Doctor, I'm sorry to bother you, but something has come up and we require your assistance immediately. We need the Hubble telescope to pass from NASA's control to SPACECOM's. There are some, uh, vital observations we have to make without delay."
Leeds felt his fury building. "Right this minute?"
Whittenberg didn't mask the edge on his voice, either.' 'Right this minute, Doctor."
Leeds's cork popped. "You listen to me, General! I don't know what kind of toy-soldier games you're playing out there in Colorado — maybe the altitude's gotten to you — but if you expect me to jump out of bed at five in the morning and pop to attention for SPACECOM, you're insane! I run NASA, and it's a civilian agency and don't you forget it — ever! You've already commandeered my COSMAX shuttle, and now you want the Hubble, too? What the hell for?"
"I'm sorry, Doctor. I can't say. But I need it now."
The NASA Director growled again. "That's what you said about the Constellation, too, if I recall. Well, General, you're not getting any more of my toys to play with. I keep the Hubble under my personal supervision — I happen to be a scientist, you see — and I don't care to have any of your bloody militaristic paws on my telescope. Go play with your goddam Star Wars platform!" And with that, the receiver came crashing down. "Guess I told that black bastard where to go."
"You sure did, honey.'' She inched toward him.' 'Gee, you're cute when you're mad… Listen, since you're up…"
He emitted a low, hungry laugh.
She giggled, "I mean, since you're awake…"
He reached for her. "I know what you meant."
Ten minutes later the bedside phone rang again, interrupting Leeds at a very crucial juncture. Outraged, he ripped the receiver off the cradle. "All right, General! That's enough! I told you to take your—"
"Stow it, Leeds. This isn't General Whittenberg."
The NASA Director recognized the voice. "Uh, Mr. Vice President?"
"That's right, Leeds. Now you listen, and listen to me but good. You get your butt out of bed and hightail it down to God-dard, and make goddam sure General Whittenberg gets control of the Hubble telescope and has any other assistance he may require. Do you hear me?"
The astronomer stammered, "Uh, well, yes, Mr. Vice President, of course, but I feel I'm entitled to some kind of an explanation. What's this all about?"
"Certainly, Doctor. The explanation is that until you hear different from me or the President, your agency and all of NASA's resources are working for General Whittenberg. And don't give me any back talk. If you don't bust ass down to Goddard right now I'll see to it your next posting will be studying penguin shit at the South Pole. And we'll have a new NASA Director by the time the sun comes up. Is that clear?"
"Uh, uh, yes, Mr. Vice President."
"Now get moving and call the General the minute you get to Goddard — on a secure line. Now do it."
The line went dead, and Leeds rolled out of bed.
"Say… where are you goin'?" whined his companion.
While pulling on his pants, Leeds muttered, "Can't talk. Gotta go."
With a pouting mouth she whimpered, "Don't forget my cab fare."
Flashes from the electric arc welder illuminated the entire hangar like a giant strobe light. Vostov watched through protective goggles as the welder guided his electric torch down the side of the docking collar, generating a waterfall of sparks along the way. Understandably, the technician was a little antsy about passing hundreds of volts through an aluminum collar wrapped around a solid-fuel rocket, but the Chief Designer assured him there was no danger.
When the second seam was completed, the two men pulled off their goggles. Vostov walked around and carefully inspected the welds, and how the collar fitted against the exterior of the Progress engine.
The early models of the Progress cargo drone had used liquid-fuel engines. There are many positive things to be said for that type of propulsion system. Liquid-fuel engines are easy to start and stop by turning the fuel flow on and off, and the energy-to-weight ratio of liquids is better than that of solid fuel. But unfortunately, liquids can also be volatile as hell. Two years prior, a Progress drone had been on final approach to the Mir space station when it simply blew up for no apparent reason. Luckily, it was far enough away from the Mir that the space station was not damaged, and the five cosmonauts on board were not injured. The explosion was considered a fluke until the same thing happened again a month later. After that, Vostov immediately went to work on a solid-fuel version.
Most solid-fuel rocket engines are essentially a metal cylinder casing wrapped around a rubbery fuel. The fuel is ignited at the bottom of the exit nozzle and simply keeps burning until it's expended. Designing a solid-fuel engine that can be turned on and off at will is tricky. Vostov came up with a method that fed granules of the aluminum powder fuel and the aluminum per-chlorjte oxidizer — about the size of BBs — into a combustion chamber. The fuel flow into the chamber could be turned on and off as required by an innovative pressurized nitrogen system. It was another Vostov marvel.
"You are an excellent welder," announced the Chief Designer.
"Thank you, Comrade," the tradesman replied.
"That will be all," Vostov said in dismissal, and the welder gathered up his gear. Vostov beckoned to a lieutenant colonel, who hustled up with several technicians. "Give this a few more minutes to cool, then begin loading it in the launch shroud. When it is prepared, come awaken me. I will be in the temporary quarters building."
The lieutenant colonel saluted. "Of course, Comrade Chief Designer."
Vostov turned to the cosmonauts, Lubinin and Yemitov, and gestured to the welded collar on the Progress engine. "You approve?" he asked, as if it were a dare.