“Well, for starters, I need your take on this big-ass new rocket the Russians fired off,” Farrell said bluntly. “The one that’s ruffled so many feathers in the Pentagon and the commercial space industry. To hear some of those folks squawk, this is the second coming of Sputnik.”
“Seeing Moscow succeed at something most experts thought was outside its reach for at least another decade is naturally somewhat disconcerting,” Martindale answered, a bit stiffly now.
“Experts that included you?” Farrell guessed, with a fleeting, sidelong grin.
Reluctantly, Martindale nodded. The head of Scion prided himself on his often uncanny ability to identify threats and trends that other, lesser analysts and defense experts had missed. Finding himself roped in with the common herd was never a very welcome development. “But what worries me even more is that the Russians pulled off this space launch without any of us getting a whiff of what they were planning.”
“Our recon satellites snapped pictures of their new rocket out on the pad days before it took off,” Farrell commented. “So we did get some warning.”
“Months late,” Patrick countered. “More probably, years late.” He shook his head. “Moving this new heavy-lift Energia-5VR design from the drawing board to the launchpad must have required years of research and development, millions of man-hours, and tens of billions of dollars — involving aerospace engineering teams and factories all over the Russian Federation. With all that going on, we should have picked up solid intelligence about this program a long time ago. Instead, all we heard were a bunch of unsubstantiated rumors… none of which made it seem like the Russians were anywhere close to building a real working spacecraft.”
“Gennadiy Gryzlov is proving entirely too adept at hiding his intentions and capabilities from us,” Martindale agreed grimly. “And that is dangerous. Very dangerous.”
Privately, Farrell shared that assessment. He didn’t expect much yet from the CIA or the alphabet soup of other U.S. intelligence agencies. Under Stacy Anne Barbeau, the CIA and the rest had been thoroughly politicized. Analysts and agency heads who parroted the administration’s preferred slant on global events had been praised and promoted. Those who stubbornly insisted on seeing the world as it really was had been muzzled and shunted aside into dead-end assignments. Fixing the damage would take months, maybe even years. But learning that Martindale’s Scion intelligence-gathering teams — with their hard-earned reputation for competence — had also been caught off guard was seriously alarming.
Frowning, he looked over at Patrick. “NASA claims this new rocket is in roughly the same class as SpaceX’s Falcon Heavy. Does that line up with what your own analysts at Sky Masters and Scion see?”
“Yes, sir,” the other man said. “In fact, we believe the Energia-5VR could be even more capable than the Falcon Heavy. Preliminary data suggest the Russian rocket may be able to put close to a hundred tons of payload into low Earth orbit, compared to around seventy tons for the Falcon.”
“A thirty percent payload advantage?” Farrell mused. “That’s a big deal.” He looked across his desk. “Sounds like SpaceX and our other commercial space companies could have some serious competition on their hands.”
Patrick disagreed. “The Energia’s boosters aren’t reusable. Gryzlov’s new space vehicle is damned big, but otherwise it’s a pretty conventional design — with significantly higher launch costs. He can’t hope to compete effectively in the commercial market… not unless Moscow is willing to dole out huge government subsidies for every launch.”
“Subsidies that friend Gennadiy won’t be able to afford for very long, even if he wanted to,” Martindale chimed in. “The fracking and oil exploration boom your market-based energy policies have unleashed is putting serious downward pressure on world oil prices. Russia’s economy is heavily dependent on oil and gas revenues, so Gryzlov must know he’s going to be facing tight budgetary constraints in the not-so-distant future.”
“And yet somehow he found the money to develop this new heavy-lift rocket of theirs, right under our noses,” Farrell pointed out.
Martindale shrugged. “In my experience, Russian leaders will gladly beggar their people to build weapons or gain a strategic advantage. But politically speaking, I don’t think even Gryzlov can risk doing the same thing just to benefit a bunch of rich Western businessmen who want to launch satellites and other cargo into space.”
Farrell nodded slowly, working through Martindale’s analysis in the light of his own experience. Gryzlov was popular with ordinary Russians because they believed he was a strong leader dedicated to national greatness. His people would make sacrifices for the sake of pride or patriotism. But if they started believing their sacrifices were only made to enrich others, especially foreigners, all bets were off. His jaw tightened. “Okay, if the Russians aren’t making a play for the commercial space launch business, then why in God’s name build a monster like this Energia rocket?”
“There are three possibilities,” Patrick offered. “First, this was just a one-off flight, a Potemkin village — like exercise to demonstrate Russia’s greatness.”
“That’s a lot of money to blow for a few television pictures and headlines,” Farrell said dubiously.
“Yes, sir,” Patrick agreed. “And I can’t see Gryzlov wasting resources that way.”
“So if this wasn’t a PR stunt—?” Farrell prompted.
“Developing a heavy-lift launch system could be a first step toward restarting Russia’s deep-space exploration program. With an added fourth stage, my best guess right now is that an Energia-5VR-class rocket could send a spacecraft with a mass of up to twenty tons into lunar orbit… or maybe even beyond.”
“Beyond lunar orbit?” Farrell said, surprised.
Patrick nodded. “Remember, those rumors we picked up earlier? The ones we couldn’t confirm? Well, a lot of them talked about something called Proyekt Marsa, the Mars Project.”
“Mars?” Farrell stared at him. “You think the Russians could be planning a manned mission to Mars?”
“Possibly,” Patrick said, with a slight shrug. “When we beat them to the moon in 1969, the Soviets took a serious propaganda hit. Gryzlov might be hoping to do the same thing to us. If the Russians send cosmonauts all the way to Mars while we’re still dicking around in low Earth orbit—”
“The U.S. would look like it couldn’t organize a pissing contest in a goddamned brewery,” Farrell finished with a grimace. Then he shook his head. “But even so, a Mars landing would still be just a PR exercise. And a hellaciously expensive one at that.”
“Not if it marked the beginning of a more permanent program of exploration and colonization,” Patrick said quietly. “One way or another, whoever controls outer space is going to end up controlling the earth.” He spread his hands. “But you’re right about the expense, sir. And I don’t see how Russia could hope to fund the kind of massive effort that would be necessary — not with its current resources.”
Martindale leaned forward. “Which brings us to the third possible interpretation of this so-called Mars Project, Mr. President. One that’s frankly much more probable, given Gennadiy Gryzlov’s track record.”
“Y’all think this could be a secret military space program,” Farrell realized.
Martindale nodded. “Mars is the god of war, after all.”
“With what objective?”
“We don’t know yet,” Patrick admitted reluctantly. “Further study of the Energia launch and, most likely, the unusual deployment of the rocket’s third stage before it deorbited and burned up over the Pacific Ocean earlier today could yield some answers. But right now we’re still working the problem.”