Starfire (9 page)

“I think he likes it, General Raydon,” Boomer said. He let the passenger marvel at planet Earth for about another minute, floating free of the harness; then said, “We don't dare stay out here any longer, sir. Reel us in, Armstrong.” With the passenger still facing toward Earth, the robot arm began to retract back toward the space station, pulling the two men along. Boomer pulled the passenger upright just before arriving at a large hatch. He floated up to the hatch, unlocked and opened it, floated into the opening, secured himself with a strap to the inside of the airlock, attached another strap to the passenger, and carefully maneuvered him inside the station's airlock. Boomer detached them both from the umbilicals, released them outside, then closed and dogged the hatch. He hooked himself and the passenger up to umbilicals in the airlock while waiting for the pressure to equalize, but the passenger was absolutely dumbstruck and said not a word, even after the interior airlock door opened. Technicians helped the passenger remove his space suit, and Boomer motioned to the airlock exit.

As soon as the passenger exited the airlock, Kai Raydon, a trim, athletically built man with silver crew-cut hair, chisel-cut facial features, and intense, light blue eyes, snapped to attention, adjusted a wireless headset microphone to his lips, and spoke: “Attention on Armstrong Station, this is the director, all personnel be advised, the president of the United States of America, Kenneth Phoenix, is aboard station.” Raydon, station manager Trevor Shale, Jessica Faulkner, and several other space-station personnel stood at attention, as best they could while looping their toes under footholds, as ruffles and flourishes and then “Hail to the Chief” played on the station's public-address system.

TWO

The fear of death is more to be dreaded than death itself.

—P
UBLILIUS
S
YRUS

A
RMSTRONG
S
PACE
S
TATION

“As you were, ladies and gentlemen,” President Kenneth Phoenix said when the music ended. “I'd kiss the deck if I knew which way it was.” The assembled station personnel laughed, applauded, and cheered for several long moments.

“I'm Kai Raydon, station director, Mr. President,” Kai said, floating over to Phoenix and shaking hands. “Welcome to Armstrong Space Station, and congratulations on having the courage to be the first sitting head of state to travel in Earth orbit, and now being the first sitting head of state to do a spacewalk. How are you feeling, sir?”

“I'm completely blown away, General Raydon,” Phoenix said. “I've seen and done things I've only dreamed of doing, thanks to you and your people. Thank you for giving me this incredible opportunity.”

“We gave you the opportunity, as we have with every president since Kevin Martindale, but
you
chose to take it,” Kai said. “A lot of folks are saying this is all a political stunt, but the bravery you've shown today clearly tells me it's a lot more than politics.” He turned to those beside him. “May I present the station manager Trevor Shale, the operations chief Valerie Lukas, and of course you've met Jessica Faulkner, our head of flight operations.” The president shook their hands, at the same time finding it wasn't easy to do while in zero-G—the simple gesture threatened to launch him up against the ceiling.

“Dr. Noble and Colonel Faulkner did an excellent job getting me up here, General Raydon,” the president said. “Spectacular trip. Where is Dr. Noble?”

“He has a little bit of flight planning to do for your return, sir, and he is also supervising spaceplane refueling and servicing,” Raydon said. “Boomer is director of aerospace development at Sky Masters Aerospace, which is the prime contractor for Armstrong Space Station, and he probably has work to do for them, too. He is also the company's chief spaceplane pilot, and he has six students going through his training program. He's a busy boy.”

“Knowing him, Mr. President, he's probably taking a nap,” Jessica interjected with a smile. “He likes to make himself out to be the cool space jock, but he's been planning the flights and checking the spacecraft for this visit for a week.”

“Well, his work paid off,” the president said. “Thank you all for an amazing trip.”

“We have about an hour before your broadcast, so we have time for a tour and a light refreshment if you'd like.”

“A tour would be great, General Raydon,” Phoenix said. “But first I'd like to check on Agent Spellman, my Secret Service detail.”

“Trev?” Raydon asked.

“Got it,” Shale said, putting a wireless mic to his lips. A moment later: “Agent Spellman is awake in sick bay, sir,” Shale responded. “Unfortunately he's not handling unusual Gs very well. Physically he was the top-qualifying member of your detail who volunteered to go with you on this mission, Mr. President, but there's no direct correlation between athletic abilities and your ability to operate with abnormal pressures and kinesthetic sensations on your body. We'll have to consult the aerospace medical team to find out how best to get him back to Earth. I don't believe we've ever taken a completely unconscious person through reentry before.”

“He's the real mark of courage on this mission,” Phoenix said. “Volunteering for this was way beyond the call, and that's saying a lot for the Secret Service. Let me go visit him first, and then the tour if there's time.”

Raydon led the way through the connecting tunnel to the first module. “I'm sure Boomer and Jessica explained moving about in free fall to you in depth, sir,” Raydon said. “You'll see some of the more experienced crewmembers flying around the larger modules like Superman, but for the newcomers, I have found that using one or two fingers to push yourself around, using the handholds and footholds, and taking it nice and slow works best.”

“I'm sure I'll have a few bruises to show off when I get home,” Phoenix said.

They emerged from the connecting tunnel into what appeared to be a circular wall of cabinets, with a circular passageway through the middle. “This is the storage and processing module,” Raydon explained. “Follow me.” He gently floated up through the center passageway, using handholds on the edge of the cabinets, and the president and the others followed. The president soon found a dozen circular rows of cabinets arrayed through the module, like pineapple slices in a can, with large man-sized gaps between them. “Supplies are brought in through the airlocks on the upper and lower ends, assembled or processed as necessary, and stored here. The sick bay is in the module above us.”

“I'm starting to get a little dizzy from all the references to ‘up' and ‘above,' ” the president admitted. “I have no sensation of either.”

“ ‘Up' and ‘down' refer to the direction you happen to want to go,” Faulkner said. “You can have two crewmembers side by side, but one will be pointing one way, and the other another way, so it's all relative. We use every surface of the modules for work, so you'll see astronauts ‘hanging' from the ceilings while others are working on the ‘floor,' although ‘ceiling' and ‘floor' are of course completely relative.”

“You're not helping my vertigo, Gonzo.”

“Let us know if your dizziness starts to physically manifest itself, sir,” Jessica said. “Unfortunately, it's something that takes time getting used to, and you won't be here that long. As we said, it's not unusual at all to start experiencing some queasiness shortly after moving around in free fall.”

“I'm fine, Jessica,” the president said, but this time he wondered how long that would last.

On their way to Galaxy, the combination galley, exercise, study, clinic, and entertainment module, the president stopped several times to shake hands with station personnel, and the stopping and restarting greatly helped his maneuvering skills. Although Raydon had announced that the president was aboard, most of the technicians he met seemed absolutely shocked to see him. “Why do some of the men and women aboard the station seem surprised to see me, General?” Phoenix finally asked.

“Because I chose not to inform the crew until I did just as you came through the airlock, sir,” Raydon replied. “Only myself, Trevor, the Secret Service, a few officials at Sky Masters Aerospace, and the Midnight spaceplane flight and ground crew knew. I felt security was paramount for this event, and it's too easy for station personnel to communicate with Earth. I expect the messages to family and friends to be spiking soon, but by the time word gets out, you'll be on TV worldwide.”

“And the time of your address was chosen so when you made your broadcast, you would not be in range of any known Russian or Chinese antisatellite weapons for several orbits,” Trevor Shale said.

The president's eyes widened in surprise—that revelation definitely got his attention.
“Antisatellite weapons?”
he asked, astonished.

“We know of at least a half-dozen sites in northwestern and eastern Russia and three sites in China, sir,” Raydon said. “This station has self-defense weapons—short-range chemical lasers and missiles—but the Kingfisher antiballistic-missile and anti-antisatellite systems in Earth orbit aren't yet fully operational again, so the spaceplane had no protection, and we didn't want to take any chances.”

“Why wasn't I told about this!” the president exclaimed.

“It was my call, sir,” Raydon said. “Frankly, in my opinion, the threat from antisatellite weapons is far down the list of the life-threatening dangers you face on this mission—I didn't want to give you anything more to think about.” The president tried to say something, but his mouth only wordlessly opened. “By the time you depart, you'll be in range of just one site,” Raydon went on, “and Boomer is planning the deorbit path of the spaceplane to avoid most of the others. You'll be as safe from antisatellite weapons as we can make you.”

“You mean, you have been planning for this trip on the assumption that some foreign government would actually try to attack the spaceplane or the space station while I'm aboard them?” Trevor and Raydon's silence and expressions gave Phoenix his answer. The president could do nothing else but shake his head for several moments, staring at a spot on the bulkhead, but then he looked at Raydon with a wry smile. “Are there any
other
threats I haven't been told about, General Raydon?” he asked.

“Yes, sir—the list is longer than my arm,” Raydon said directly. “But I was notified that the president of the United States wanted to visit Armstrong Space Station, and I was ordered to make it happen, and we succeeded. If my orders were to attempt to deter you from coming up here, I think I could have delivered a very long list of very real threats to your family, your administration, and to members of Congress that would have succeeded in getting this mission canceled as well.” He motioned to the end of the connecting tunnel. “This way, Mr. President.”

Unlike the storage and processing module and the tiny spaceplane cockpit and passenger module, the Galaxy module was light, warm, and airy. The walls of the module were lined with a variety of stand-up desks and pub-style tables with the ubiquitous footholds, many computer monitors and laptops, exercise bicycles, and even a dart board. But the greatest numbers of station personnel were clustered around a three-by-five-foot picture window, snapping pictures and pointing at Earth. A large computer monitor showed what part of Earth the space station was overflying, and another screen showed a list of names that had reserved a space at the window for taking pictures of their hometown area or some other Earth landmark.

“Highly trained and skilled astronauts who had to work their tails off to get up here—and their main form of entertainment is looking out the window?” the president remarked.

“That, and sending e-mails and doing video chats with folks back home,” Raydon said. “We do a lot of video chat sessions with schools, colleges, academies, Scouts, and ROTC and Civil Air Patrol units, along with the media and family and friends.”

“That must be a very good recruiting tool.”

“Yes it is, for both the military and getting kids to study science and engineering,” Raydon agreed.

“So in a sense, my coming up here may have been a bad idea,” the president said. “If kids learn that any healthy person can travel up to a space station—that they don't have to study hard sciences to do it—maybe those kids will just turn out to be space tourists.”

“Nothing wrong with space tourism, Mr. President,” Shale said. “But we're hoping the kids will want to design and fly newer and better ways to get into space, and perhaps take it all the way to the moon or the planets in our solar system. We don't know what will spark a young imagination.”

“Don't worry, Mr. President,” Raydon said. “I think you being here will have a very profound effect on people all over the world for a very long time.”

“Sure; the kids will be saying, ‘If that old fart can do it, I can do it,' eh, General?” the president deadpanned.

“Whatever it takes, Mr. President,” Valerie Lukas said. “Whatever it takes.”

The president was surprised to find Agent Charles Spellman in a strange linen sleeping-bag-like cocoon, Velcroed vertically to the bulkhead—he looked like some sort of large insect or marsupial hanging from a tree. “Mr. President, welcome,” a very attractive dark-haired, dark-eyed woman in a white jumpsuit said, expertly floating over to him and extending a hand. “I'm Dr. Miriam Roth, the medical director. Welcome to Armstrong Space Station.”

The president shook her hand, pleased that he was getting steadily better at keeping body control in free fall. “Very nice to meet you, Doctor,” Phoenix said. To the Secret Service agent he asked, “How are you feeling, Charlie?”