Silver Tower Page 9

  The rest of his sentence was lost in a deafening blast. It was as if a huge bolt of lightning had just burst directly beneath them. The entire command module felt warm, and flesh crawled. "Laser firing," Jefferson shouted. "Firing . . . again . . . again . . . still firing . . . !"

  Walker grasped a handhold-although the station did not move, the sudden burst of energy surging through the station made it feel as if the whole five-hundred-ton facility was cartwheeling. "Skybolt's still not tracking the target," he shouted. "It's firing, but not at the Agena."

  Saint-Michael swung around to another technician near the connecting hatch to the research module. "Any hits, Bayles?"

  The tech shook his head. "Clean misses. Sensors not recording any energy levels at all." "Damn. Discharge inhibit," Saint-Michael ordered. Imme-

  diately, the crappe of electricity and the sound of lightning ceased. Slowly the cabin lights returned to normal.

  Saint-Michael put a finger on his mike button, expecting the next call. . . . "Control, this is Skybolt," Ann said over the interphone. "The laser's being inhibited in your section. Check your controls. " "I ordered the stop," Saint-Michael said. "Why?" "Because it wasn't hitting anything."

  Silence. Saint-Michael watched his crewmen slowly relaxing from the tumult of Skybolt's first bursts and the multiple alarms it had set off. "Station check," he said, forcibly trying to control his own accelerated breathing. "Skybolt is ready for another series," Ann reportedi "Agena target is well past MIRV transition," technician Kelly said. "It'll go out of range in sixty seconds." "Let'swait until the second orbit, Ann," Saint-Michael said. The techs in the command module showed they agreed with the decision by wiping sweat from foreheads and reaching for water bottles. "But, sir-" "The target is almost out of SBR range. You'll get another chance soon."

  A long pause, then: "I'm clearing off, Control." Walker looked over at his commander and smiled. "She didn't sound happy," Walker said. "I'm not celebrating, either. God, I didn't know that thing made so much racket. Did we sustain any damage from the power drop?".

  Walker checked with the four techs in the command module. "No damage, sir. I didn't expect that drop either, but it makes sense. The MHD reactor needs a big jolt to get started." "But not from the main station batteries," Wayne Marks put in. "Skybolt's battery is charged from the solar arrays, but it's supposed to cut off before MHD ignition." "Can the voltage spike suppressors handle it?" "I don't see why not. I'll check everything out before the next test series." ",:

  Saint-Michael nodded and maneuvered over to the Agena-

  monitoring panel. "I really would've been happier if the laser had hit its target. . . . " I

  At which point Ann entered the command center and without a word to either Sai nt-Michael or Walker, reached across Jefferson's shoulder and punched up the target-sensor ,sum-

  mary on his console. "Where's the hit summary?" She scrolled through the timed readouts, then turned on Jefferson. "I said, where are the hit records?" "That's it, Ann," Saint-Michael said. "Skybolt didn't hit the target." I

  "What the hell do you mean?" "I mean, it didn't hit. Skybolt never even tracked the target. It spotted it thirty seconds after it appeared on the SBR, but it never locked on."

  - "But itfired. Thirty pulses, seventy-five millisecond bursts, one hundred kilowatts on the dot. 'Ann. . . . "Skybolt can't fire unless it's tracking a target. It announced detection. It projected the flight path. It computed the track and fired. . . . " "But it never locked on," Walker insisted. "The skipper inhibited discharge when he was told Skybolt wasn't tracking and that no hits were detected. That's a proper precaution, you've got to admit."

  Ann punched a'few more pages on the computer screen, finally convinced herself they were right. "I don't understand. Everything checked out. The laser worked perfecdy. . . ." She turned to Saint-Michael. "Well, we'll try it again in forty minutes. We'll nail it for sure this time."

  Saint-Michael nodded. "But I'll keep the beam inhibit on

  until we see that Skybolt has locked onto the target." "That's really not necessary, sir." "Ann, I can't allow that laser to fire into space indiscriminately. I don't know where it went. It could be a hazard-- "A seventy-five-millisecond burst of only one hundred kilowatts is no hazard."

  -I'M close range it could be. There's obviously a glitch somewhere. Skybolt is getting an erroneous tracking signal

  and firing when it shouldn't. For all we know we may have hit someone's satellite."

  Ann looked deflated, said nothing. "And that power surge was completely unexpected," SaintMichael added. "Power surge?" "You didn't notice it?" Walker said. Ann shook her head. "It dimmed all the lights and almost took out all station power. The backups kept the main power from dumping." "But Skybolt has its own batteries. It doesn't draw on station power at all. . . . " "Well, in

  this case it did." "That's impossible ...... "Ann," Saint-Michael said. "What we've been saying is the truth. Skybolt didn't track the target until nearly thirty seconds after it appeared on radar. It never locked onto the target. It drew off station power to activate the MHD reactor, it fired without locking onto anything and it failed to hit the target. Period." He ignored her high dudgeon. "I'll allow a second test firing, but only after engineering confirms that our suppressors and power backups can handle another surge. If they can't assure me that this station's equipment won't suffer any damage, the tests are over until the problem is corrected. If we go ahead with the test, I'li maintain a command-beam discharge-inhibit until I see a positive target lock-on. If I don't see a lock-on to the designated target, the test is over.,, "General!" "All clear, Dr. Page?" Saint-Michael accented each. word.

  Drop dead. "Clear, sir." She slid past Saint-Michael and Walker and headed back to the Skybolt control module, the two officers watching her half-glide, half-jump through the connecting hatch. "She's been working sixteen, twenty hours a day on that thing," Walker said. "I'd be pissed, too, if my pride and joy had just flunked out. "

  Saint-Michael was noncommittal. "Get me a report on the power situation and the crew's technical opinion on a second test firing. Also check out the Agena and the SBR. Maybe ... maybe the problem's not with Skybolt.

  Walker nodded.

  "And you handle the command inhibit." "Where will you be?" Saint-Michael watched the hatch leading to the connecting tunnel close. "In the Skybolt module. Pipe all communications down there." Without waiting for Walker's response Saint-Michael headed toward the connecting hatch.

  It was a tight squeeze but a few moments later SaintMichael had wedged himself into the narrow walkway down the middle of the Skybolt control module.

  He clicked his wireless microphone on. "Control, this is Alpha. Status of the backup power systems.,, "Sir, this is Marks. Backups are fully functional. No apparent damage. They're doing what they're supposed to do." "How much time until the Agena comes back around?" "Estimating fifty minutes, sir. "

  Saint-Mi'chael looked at Ann, who was busy pulling a relay box from an electronics cabinet and inspecting the settings on a long row of circuit boards. "You're a go for another shot, , . I I

  She pretended not to hear and slapped the box back into its slot, snapped the latches shut, maneuvered toward SaintMichael to another relay box and nearly jammed Saint-Michael in the ribs as she removed it. "Excuse me, sir." "Usten, Page, you had better get that damned chip off your shoulder. It's too much baggage for this station-"

  Ann ripped a twelve-inch-square circuit board out of the relay box with an angry yank. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry, Sir." She avoided.his stare and went back to her work space to find a

  replacement circuit board. "You know this test will fail, too, don't you?" SaintMichael said.

  Ann turned on him. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, General. But that's all right. I knew that's how you felt right from the beginning. You never wanted this project-" "You have got things screwed up. . . . " He shook his head. "How did you ever get picked for this project? Sure as hell not for your glorious personality
. "

  She plugged the new circuit board into its slot. "I'm here, sir, because this is my project. If you don't think it'll work, if you think it's all a waste of time, that's your prerogative---

  "I didn't feel that way at first. I guess it's your wonderful attitude that jams my gears-" "My attitude has nothing to do with this project or your gears. . . . "Has everything to do with it."

  She ignored that and moved back to her work station, punching buttons on the keyboard hard enough to rattle the desk. " 'My' laser, 'my' module, 'my' project. This isn't your anything," he said. "I designed it. . . . " "Did you build it? Did you fly it up here? Did you hook it up by yourself? Are you going to test it yourself? Now that there's a glitch in it, I suppose you think you're going to fix it yourself. It won't tie into the SRR, it won't isolate from the stations' batteries, it won't lock on, it won't hit what it's supposed to hit. But Ms. Super Scientist is going to fix it in fifty minutes by hersey', and by God she's going to have a successful second firing or else."

  Ann stared at the computer screen, her lips tight. Saint-Michael was on a roll. "Far be it from you to ask for help from any of us lowly military people. Your laser won't tie in with the SBR? Well, we happen to have three SBR experts on board this station but you haven't -consulted any of them. You have a tracking problem? We have Kevin Baker, a thirty-year veteran in space-tracking hardware and software on board, but you haven't talked to him. . : . Let me make some wild guesses here. You also haven't asked one single person, on this station or on the ground, for help. You're not in contact with anyone at your lab in Boston or your corporation in California. No one on this station knows anything about your systems. As a matter of fact, I'll bet I'm the only person on this station who's ever been inside this module since it's been activated. How am I doing?"

  Ann's fingers stopped tapping on the keyboard. She looked up from her work-desk at Saint-Michael, shrugged, kept quiet. "Ann, this is a tremendous project. The first space-based antiballistic missile laser. Two hundred megawatts of energy. Capable of destroying a hundred missiles a minute, maybe

  more. It's a fantastic device. And it works-the laser works exactly as advertised. You've done a tremendous job." "I hear a 'but' coming." "You're right," the general said, smiling in spite of himself. "But . . . no one person can be an expert on everything. You designed the Skybolt module to 'snap together' with Silver Tower. It's a technological marvel that the thing works at all. But there's a problem, and you're stuck-" "I am not 'stuck."

  "Then why did you replace that relay circuit board?"

  She narrowed her eyes, then picked up the circuit board she had removed from the electronics rack. "This? It's a tracking interface channel multiplexer board. It controls the logic channels between the SBR and the laser-mirror aiming unit. . . . " "But you said in Control that everything checked out OK. And your last-second self-test, which repeated out in the command module, said everything was ready. Now, how did you know which board to replace?"

  Her eyes lost some of their anger, refused to meet his. "I'm ... I'm trying certain critical circuits. One might be ... be fused or shorted-- "Or maybe you happen to have a spare of that particular board. Maybe you felt the wed to try something, anything, before the next Agena pass. After that, you have at least twenty-four hours to hunt for the real problem before the next pass.

  She stared at her workbench. "Let me make a suggestion. If you agree, I'll pass along a request from you to meet with Colonel Marks, Kevin Baker, Chief Jefferson and Technician Moyer just before the shift change. I'll tell them you'd like to talk with them about the bearn test and Skybolt's interfacing problem."

  He glanced over his shoulder toward the command module. "I can almost guarantee that those guys will be tickled to get their hands on Skybolt. You'll get help out your ears. It couldn't hurt."

  She looked up from her workbench. "You really do want to help?"

  He touched her lightly on the shoulder. "We all want to help. And it's nothing personal, so don't get all crazy on me.

  We're involved in the success of this wonder device of yours, too. Hell, I might even get another star if it works ... promotion by association, you might say."

  She allowed a smile, then typed in a command on her keyboard and went to her microphone. "Control, this is Skybolt. I I

  "Go ahead." "Second Skybolt beam test is postponed for a systems check. Skybolt

  is in stand-by. MHD is deactivated." "Copy and confirmed."

  She looked at Saint-Michael. "I'll ask the others to meet with me, General. I guess it's about time we got acquainted.

  Three days later the space station's crew gathered in the command module to hear an announcement from Saint-Michael. As was his habit, the general got straight to the point. "We're moving Silver Tower," he said. "Moving?" Colonel Marks said, clearly upset. "Where? I haven't heard anything about this. . . . " "You have some special feeling for this particular orbit, Wayne?" "It's just ... unexpected, Skipper. "Space Command and the Pentagon have brought a few items. of interest to my attention that I think we can help out with. For the first time since Thor was first deployed on this station, Armstrong Station has a chance to act less like an orbiting laboratory and more like a tactical fighting unit. The primary objective of the move is reconnaissance. We have the most sophisticated space-based radars in the world on this station, but right now they're only used to scan empty sky above Russian missile silos and scan for aircraft flying over the pole. We've become little else but a redundancy, and I think we should be doing more."

  Heads nodded. Ann knew that what Saint-Michael was saying was right. Silver Tower tended to be thought of solely as the perfect place to conduct weapons experiments for the Strategic Defense Initiative Organization. The Skybolt project was only one of several being conducted on board the stationothers included Kevin Baker's Thor experiment, and expenments on superconductor technology and space-based radar

  miniaturization. Silver Tower usually had as many civilians on board as military men, and the station's docking ports were always occupied. "So what's the job?" Colonel Walker asked. "Who are we going to spy on?"

  Saint-Michael brought out a chart that he had been keeping beside his work station and Velcroed it to an instrument panel. It was a Mercator projection map of the globe with a wavy line drawn through it. The uppermost crest of the line passed over Iran; the lower part of the line passed between Chile and New Zealand over the south Pacific Ocean. "I propose moving Armstrong Station to a seven-hundredby one-hundred-mile elliptical orbit. Three-hour orbit; two hours and ten minutes over Africa and lower Asia. One-and-ahalf hours within direct scanning range of Iran. And I want it in the very same track on each orbit. "

  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?"

  I $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. SaintMichael quieted them down, then went on. "The idea of an invasion of Iran may sound farfetched, 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 s
uit, ftesh 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 smil"e 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 AgenaThree 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