by Larry Bond
“Ha.” Barnes responded flatly.
Ray opened the folder and began reading. His eyes narrowed. “‘Conformal AESA antennas? I knew it was theoretically possible. They can do that now?”
“They’re not ready for mass production, but it looks like they can hand fabricate skin sections that will be functional radar antennas.”
“No deploying a mechanical antenna, less weight, no blind spots. I like it.” Ray was getting excited. “But it means changes to the skin, where we weren’t going to make any before.”
“But now you don’t have to design and build that mount that was going to lift the radar antenna clear of the cargo bay.”
“What about heat on reentry?”
“The materials they list are almost as heat-tolerant as the skin. We can mount them on the vehicle’s sides and top and leave the bottom of the wings as they are. We may have to modify the cooling systems to cover the antennas, and we need to verify all the components are heat-resistant.” Besides, by the time VentureStar reenters the atmosphere, the mission is over. You won’t need the radar anymore.”
“What about navigation on the way back?” Ray asked sharply.
“Use GPS, like the shuttle, of course,” Barnes replied whimsically.
“You mean the same GPS that the Chinese are shooting down?”
“Details. Do you want this or not?”
“Definitely want!” Ray answered. “I’ll tell the admiral immediately.” He paused for a moment. “This is good work, Clarence. Thank you.”
Barnes winced. “Please, just ‘Biff.’”
“Sorry. You hate ‘Clarence’ that much?”
“I was named for my grandfather, and I couldn’t stand the man. He got a charge out of scaring us kids to death every time he saw us. I was so eager to get a call sign I took the first one the squadron committee offered me. They were joking, but I was too new and too desperate to care.”
Ray nodded. “I understand. ‘Biff’ it is.” He motioned to the folder. “I’ll ask Admiral Schultz to come down here ASAP, along with Gina Morales, our sensors-systems director. How many programs did you have to go through to find this?”
“A fair number. But you were right. Most are obviously irrelevant, and thanks to that blanket access, I didn’t waste time finding that out.” He answered the next question without asking. “I should be done this week.” After a moment, Biff announced, “I’m beginning to think there is a slim chance that this won’t be a cosmic disaster.”
“Really,” answered Ray carefully. “So you think Defender will fly, then?”
“Not a chance,” Barnes answered. I’m going to finish doing this, and then I want to get out of this crazy place.”
“We’ll see,’” Ray replied.
U.S. Space Force Headquarters
Edwards Air Force Base
Office Annex, Fourth Floor
October 12, 2017
Glenn Chung spent the day running cables for the secure network. He was supervising three other techs but did as much hands-on work as the others. Not only did it get the work done faster, it allowed him to make the special modifications he needed. Crouched over the bottom of a server cabinet, he was making cable connections, but one cable went to a small USB recording device. Given the nest of identical cables it was hidden inside, there was no chance of it being detected without a deliberate search.
He moved quickly, because there were already people waiting to use the network. He didn’t want to delay them.
U.S. Space Force Headquarters
Edwards Air Force Base
Office Annex
October 12, 2017
After Ray told Admiral Schultz and Gina Morales about Barnes’s discovery, he didn’t go directly back to his office.
The Building 151 office annex was laid out as a long, narrow structure attached to one side of the hangar. A single hall ran the length of each floor, with rooms on each side. Most would hold a few desks, but some were large enough for a meeting or a work group. The offices on the lower two floors on the exterior side had windows. On the interior side, only offices on the second floor had windows, which gave a view of the hangar.
There were no functioning windows on the third and fourth floors because of the security requirements. There’s no point in electronically shielding a room if someone can just open a window and toss something out. Armed sentries guarded the stairwells, and anyone who entered or left was electronically logged.
Admiral Schultz, Ray, and the division directors had offices on the fourth floor. Instead of turning right and heading back to his office, Ray turned left and walked the length of the fourth-floor hall, just listening and watching. There were stairwells at each end, as well as in the middle, and he’d picked an office right next to one of the ends. He’d walk the length of the building, then go down to the third floor and walk back, then take the stairs up to his office.
All the spaces weren’t occupied yet, but the floor still hummed with activity. He walked by, trying not to attract attention, just listening and watching. It wasn’t eavesdropping, but he didn’t like to think of it as managing anyone, either. He couldn’t remember if it was one of Kelly Johnson’s rules or not, but he didn’t believe in sitting in his office, waiting for people to come to him with problems. And there were some folks who didn’t know when to ask for help.
His walk seemed justified when someone in the propulsion group spotted him and asked a question, and he was able to answer it immediately. That’s one less e-mail to deal with, he thought. But there were plenty more waiting in his in-box. Still, he pressed on to the end of the hall, then went down to the third floor.
This floor had the same hectic atmosphere. It took several minutes to walk the long corridor, even at a fast pace, and he walked slowly, almost strolling.
He’d only walked past a few open doors when he heard a fragment of a conversation, “… not my problem.” The two voices were raised a little, not unusually so, but he stopped several feet from the open doorway, listening. Okay. Now he was eavesdropping.
The handwritten sign taped to the door listed a name under the title “Laser”—Bert Anderson. He remembered Anderson’s name from his research. Ray had recruited him because he was one of the veterans from the discontinued Northrop-Grumman Airborne Laser Program.
“We need to work with your people, but they say everything has to go through you.”
Ray inched a little closer to the door frame and tried to look like he wasn’t listening. He checked his watch, as if he were waiting for whoever was inside.
“Well, that’s simply not correct. Of course our people can coordinate at lower levels, once I’ve signed off on what they’re doing. After all, I’m responsible for everything that comes out of this division. How do I know what someone’s committing us to?”
“But that’s just too slow. My people are planning where to lay out power cables, and your people say they won’t tell us anything about the laser’s requirements until they’ve cleared it with you, and when they go off to do that, nothing comes back.”
Ray identified the other speaker as Ethan Kirsch. He was head of the Power Systems Division. He was responsible for the fuel cells that were Defender’s main power source and the equipment that supplied power to all of the spacecraft’s systems.
Anderson said, “I remember that e-mail.” After a pause, he added, “Here it is. I can’t give you an answer on this because the ABL hasn’t arrived yet. There’s also some new technology that hasn’t been incorporated. Once we know if it works, we’ll be able to give you a good number.”
Kirsch asked, “And when will the laser arrive?”
“They’re moving heaven and earth, I hear. It’s coming from Davis-Monthan in Arizona. They’re sure they’ll have it here by Thursday—then add a week, maybe only five days, for the modifications…”
“That’s simply too long,” Kirsch protested. “We need those cable layouts now, because when you’re done with those modifications, the laser will ha
ve to be dropped in with the cables already installed.”
“Like I said, that’s your problem. My job is to get the laser functioning and installed.”
“We don’t have the time for this. We can plan for a higher requirement. Just give us your best estimate; then we’ll add ten percent and move on.” Kirsch was almost pleading.
“And when the final requirement’s higher than that? Who’s going to look bad? You, or me?” Anderson was defensive, almost belligerent. “Everybody wants us to hurry. Fire control wants the control interfaces. Space frame wants weights and attachment points. This is my division. Nobody gets anything until the information is locked down.”
Ray had been listening with concern, then alarm. He remembered his interview with Anderson. The man was technically brilliant, and his boss’s evaluation had described him as a “great organizer.” Of course they’d said the same thing about General George McClellan during the Civil War.
The large laser system they had chosen to arm Defender had been developed by Northrop-Grumman as part of the Airborne Laser Program back in 1996. The original idea was to mount a laser in a Boeing 747 and have it orbit near hostile territory. If the enemy launched ballistic missiles, a chemical laser would shoot them down while they were still climbing. Initial tests were successful, but the program had been shelved in 2012 because of cost, as well as concerns that the laser wasn’t powerful enough. Lasers work better without an atmosphere, and the laser’s six modules would fit in VentureStar’s bay with room to spare.
Ray fought his first urge, to just go in and overrule Anderson. But as he listened, his worries became concern, verging on outright distress.
This was not a technical problem, and Ray tried to understand Anderson’s thinking. The director didn’t want his division to look bad. His division. He took it personally. Keeping tight control over his subordinates and refusing to act until the answer was clear-cut meant he was afraid of making a mistake. So he doesn’t trust his own judgment, and it sounded like he didn’t trust his people’s judgment, either.
So, should Ray sit down with Anderson, try to change his attitude? It wasn’t simply a matter of telling him that they were pressed for time. He might be able to get Anderson to change his policies, but would it stick? He started typing a message on his tablet almost without realizing it, and, as he typed, the decision crystallized.
They were still arguing, or, rather, Kirsch was still trying to pry information from the director of the laser division, without success. There was no future in this. Ray stood close enough to be seen standing by the edge of the door and waited to be noticed.
Kirsch was facing away from the door, but Anderson noticed after just a few moments. “Mr. McConnell. Is there something I can do for you?”
“Yes, Bert.” Kirsch started to leave, but Ray said to him, “Ethan, can you come by my office in fifteen minutes?”
Kirsch, still looking unhappy, replied, “Of course,” and quickly left.
As Ray closed the door, Anderson started to explain. “Ethan Kirsch wants data on power requirements. I should have it for him…”
“Bert, I’m replacing you as head of the Laser Division. Amy will take over immediately.”
“What?” Anderson looked at him, unbelieving, almost stunned.
“I’ve decided that you’re not a good fit for this position. For the good of the program, I want you to turn over your files to Amy. She’s on her way here now.”
“Just like that? Wait. Did we make some mistake I haven’t heard about?”
Ray shook his head. “No, Bert, it’s more an aversion to making mistakes. We don’t have the time to get everything right. I’d rather have you take a best guess than wait for the perfect answer.”
“I’ve never done that!” Anderson exclaimed.
“And now is not the time for you to learn,” Ray answered.
Anderson started to protest again, but someone knocked twice, then opened the door partway. A small woman with short black hair peered inside. Amy Sloan was Anderson’s number two, a specialist in chemical lasers.
“Come in, Amy, and close the door.” Ray’s instructions and Anderson’s expression both confused her, but Ray didn’t take time for explanations. “I’m putting you in charge of the Laser Division. Do you want the job?”
She took a moment, processing the unexpected question. “What about Mr. Anderson?”
“You’ll be replacing him. I need you running things in this division. Will you take the assignment?”
She drew a deep breath and said, “Yes.”
Ray turned to Anderson. “The Defender program can still use your skills, Bert. Do you want to remain in the division?”
“With a demotion, you mean.”
“You wouldn’t be supervising anyone. It would still be useful work. Valuable work.”
Anderson shook his head. “No.” His answer sounded very final.
“Then turn over everything to Ms. Sloan and report to Colonel Evans for out processing. I’ll make sure Northrop-Grumman gets a positive review of the time you spent here.”
“I barely had time to unpack,” Anderson mused.
“So it was good that we found out early.”
Ray told Sloan, “After you finish the turnover, see me right away.”
She nodded wordlessly, and Ray got out of Anderson’s office. There was more that he could say, but it wouldn’t help. Sometimes the best way to manage was to shut up.
As he headed back to his office, he realized his to-do list was more about people than spacecraft. Kirsch was probably waiting for him, and, after that, Sloan would be coming. She needed to make changes in the Laser Division, and Ray had to tell her how he wanted her to run things.
It was a radical change, and he’d virtually ignored Bert Anderson’s feelings, but there wasn’t time for a soft letdown. It felt like the right decision, but Ray still kicked himself for hiring Anderson in the first place.
He needed to know more about his division heads, spend more time with them, learn about them, and understand the person better, not just the résumé. Not at structured meetings but informally, at meals and such. The technical issues would be solved. After all, most of the people on his team were more qualified than he was. He imagined a new organizational chart, with the division heads interacting directly while he, not acting unless there was a problem, watched.
Surprised, Ray remembered Schultz’s counsel about knowing his people. He wasn’t surprised that Schultz was right, just at how right Schultz was.
National Aeronautics and Space Administration
Washington, D.C.
October 13, 2017
The timing hadn’t been his idea. It was later than he’d like. Usually by five o’clock, he was headed home or to dinner in town. But this couldn’t wait until tomorrow. He had to get to the bottom of this business, and Admiral Schultz was the man to talk to. The admiral’s staff had set up a 2:00 call. Of course, that was California time.
A balding four-star admiral in navy khakis appeared. It had to be Schultz. Dr. Harold Matheson didn’t waste time on introductions. “Admiral, I’d like to know why you think you can raid NASA at will.”
“Dr. Matheson, I presume,” Schultz remarked casually. His tone irritated Matheson even more than the latest e-mail from Peck. The admiral continued. “This isn’t a raid, Doctor. The federal government is transferring people and property from one agency to another. I assume you’ve received Secretary Peck’s confirmation of the original message. You’ll note President Jackson’s comment.”
“I see one short sentence from the president’s office, stating that NASA is to provide the requested material as soon as possible.”
Schultz didn’t back down. “I would think messages from the president’s office would be taken as instructions, not simple statements.”
“Those instructions will disrupt over a dozen NASA programs, Admiral. And the equipment being transferred was bought with NASA money…”
“It’s the U.S.
government’s money, and it’s U.S. government equipment, even if NASA’s using it.” Schultz added, “The confirmation this morning made clear that NASA will receive funds to replace the equipment and personnel.”
“Then use the money yourself to buy what you need. Don’t tear my programs apart.”
“There’s no time for that, Doctor.”
Matheson paused for a moment and studied Schultz. He obviously had no respect for NASA or Matheson’s position. Time for a change in strategy.
Matheson smiled and spoke less forcefully. “Admiral, I understand that we both work for the federal government, but your ‘space force’ is making unreasonable demands on almost every part of NASA. If I knew more about your exact needs, I’m sure we could work out arrangements to share facilities. And maybe you don’t need to take all the key people from a program.”
“You know what we’re doing—reactivating the VentureStar to lift GPS satellites into orbit. We’re on a very tight schedule.”
“Not a bad idea,” Matheson agreed. “The technology may have advanced to the point where we can finally field a single-stage-to-orbit vehicle. But I have to wonder why it wasn’t made a NASA program, or why a new ‘space force’ was created to operate it.”
Matheson shrugged, then continued. “The government could have even left it as a private venture, just given Lockheed Martin the money to finish it. I wonder if it has anything to do with this.” The director held up a hard copy of the Defender document. He was looking for a reaction from Schultz, but the only response was a deeper frown.
“It’s been all over the SIPRNET for weeks, and there’s been a lot of talk, but nobody took it seriously.” His voice hardened. “I’m not a fool, Admiral. Brief me on the program.”
“Not possible, Doctor. We have our reasons for what we are doing. Whether your guesses are right or wrong, you’re aware we’re in a crisis. My people are going to deal with the Chinese threat, and my mandate is to draw on any part of the federal government that has what we need.”
Matheson argued. “I can find ways for NASA to help you.”
“The best way for NASA to help is to tell your people to expedite our requests. I have to report my progress to Secretary Peck every night, and I’ll urge him to speed up the transfer of that special funding to NASA.”
