Von Neumann’s War

by John Ringo

  “So what do you need, Ronny?”

  “Well, Mr. President, the guys down in Huntsville have really spelled it out for us in this brief,” Ronny replied, tapping the Top Secret document. “We need to commandeer the ccd cameras from the NASA Jupiter probe, some hardware from three of my programs, a commercial spacecraft platform from Ball, an antenna from a DARPA SPO program, and the nearest Delta IV Heavy or Atlas V launch that we can get. All this is already-paid-for hardware, but around-the-clock effort from about two thousand people for six months is required. The hardware costs are about $100 million plus the commandeered components, launch vehicle with integration is about $150 million, the labor is another $225 million, add about twenty-five percent contingency and we’re talking $600 million total for the project. The schedule proposed shows a six-month build time and a four-and-a-half-month mission time. Normally, with spacecraft design and construction you’re talking about people working nine to five. Just increasing that to twenty-four hour schedules will cut the time, but the money will go up fast. Dr. Reynolds underestimated our interest, however. I believe if we double the budget and distribute some more of the work we can get the probe ready in three to four months, but after that we’ll be looking at diminishing returns. Not much we can do about the travel time to Mars. This is right at the edge of ‘doable’ boost for current systems.”

  The President thumbed through his copy of the briefing one last time, sighed and set the paper down on his desk.

  “And what will this billion dollar spacecraft buy us?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

  The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs whispered something to the NSA about a “contingency” and Ronny could tell the NSA agreed with whatever he had said.

  “Mr. President,” Ronny replied, seriously. “I believe this is the only hope we have of getting intel on the situation on Mars. The telescope for the probe will give us a resolution of maybe as good as a few centimeters as it makes its closest approach to the Martian atmosphere. We could see solid detail of the phenomenon at that resolution. It would be like looking at data from a reconnaissance satellite. That’s, essentially, what we’d be building here, an interplanetary reconnaissance satellite.”

  “I see,” the President replied. “If there turns out to be something bad there, what then?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “Mr. President, Kevin would like to make a suggestion on that point,” the NSA offered.

  “Well, Kevin, don’t leave me hanging.”

  “Right, Mr. President,” General Mitchell said. “We could attach a fairly high yield nuke to the probe and attempt to steer it toward a central activity point. This might slow whatever this is down some,” the general said.

  “Kevin, I’m not sure I’m ready for that just yet,” the President said, rubbing his chin. “Besides, if this phenomenon has changed an entire planet, I’m not certain what a single nuke could do. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yes, sir,” the Chairman replied. “I agree a hundred percent with that assessment. However, it does give us an option. Without it, we can’t do anything but look at the threat.”

  “I agree, sir,” the NSA said with a nod.

  “Sir, if I may,” Ronny interjected. “Adding that much mass to the probe will change the trajectory. How much, I’d have to run some numbers, but it might be enough to slow it down considerably. And as you pointed out, having the option or not might not mean much as we’re addressing a planetary scale phenomenon.”

  “I can see that, Mr. Deputy Director,” the Chairman said, nodding. “On the other hand, if you can throw a probe to Mars, it means we can boost nukes later.”

  “Look into that,” the President said seriously. “I’d like the capability. Let’s get this probe on the way to Mars, first, and as fast as we can. Kevin, in the meantime I want you and Vicki to come up with a real contingency plan. Sooner or later, the public is going to find out about this. What do we do then? I don’t want to get caught flat-footed by a reporter on this issue a few months from now. And if it turns out that our new neighbors aren’t friendly, I want to be prepared for that also.”

  “One more thing, Mr. President,” the DDNRO asked.

  “Yes, Ronny?”

  “We need this project to be in a location that already has plenty of scientists and engineers available and can support the security requirements as well as the manufacturing and integration. I would originally think LockMart’s facilities in Colorado, but I’m not sure there are enough skilled and cleared engineers there to work three or four shifts continuously. If we pulled them from everything they’re doing perhaps, but I don’t know.”

  “We need this on a military base in order to keep it protected and buffer it from the public — especially if they find out about it,” the NSA replied.

  “I agree,” the Chairman said. “And it needs an airport on-base or at least nearby. What about Patrick down in Florida? Or Vandenberg — the 30th Space Wing is out there.”

  “I don’t know if there are enough engineers there. Some would have to fly in and wouldn’t that cause some suspicion?” the science advisor asked.

  “I don’t want a lot of suspicion for now.” The President looked at the white paper on his desk. “What are you asking me, Ronny?”

  “Well, sir, I think we’ll need authority to commandeer a base somewhere, freeze the period of performance on some current space hardware contracts, then fly a lot of folks into that base. That is unless we can find a civilian facility with a lot of technical folks and the infrastructure to support them.”

  “I see.” The President picked up the white paper and handed it to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. “Kevin, I think the answer is right here in front of us. Make it happen.”

  * * *

  “General Riggs, sir, don’t forget your tee-time in forty-five minutes at the officers’ club,” Sarah said, sticking her head in his office. The two-star was such a workaholic that he would “forget” appearances like charity golf tournaments if not badgered into them. But a certain congressman from the district his base was in would be on his team and his base was on the base realignment and closure list. Brownie points counted, even though the Redstone Arsenal was eleventh on the list. He had warned Sarah not to let him miss the golf tournament.

  Riggs looked up from his desk at Sarah, who was still standing in his doorway.

  “Thanks, Sarah,” he said sarcastically. He looked at the little wooden box on the right side of his desk marked “in” and the stack of paperwork a foot high and leaning dangerously over the edge of the box. Then he looked at the nearly empty “out” box beside it and shook his head. “The things we must do.”

  Sarah smiled.

  “You want me to send Colonel Roberts?”

  “Now, Sarah, what kind of message would that send to Congressman Fields? I’ll go.” General Riggs set his pen back in its holder by his nameplate, then stretched his arms. “I’ll just check my e-mail real quick.”

  Riggs turned to his laptop and looked out his window over the open court of the Sparkman Center at the people having lunch outside below.

  “If only it would rain,” he muttered, but there was no chance of that; the sun was shining and there wasn’t a cloud in the clear Alabama sky.

  Sarah turned back to her desk outside the general’s door, laughing, and was startled by the phone buzzing. Sarah picked up the phone but knocked her coffee cup off the desk as she sat back down in her chair.

  “General Riggs’ office, this is Sarah, how can I help you?” She stretched the phone cord down and struggled to hold it to her ear as she attempted to retrieve her cup and mop up the coffee spill with a PostIt note. When that didn’t work she reached for a box of Kleenex on the other side of her desk and in the process sent her jar of hospitality peppermints across the floor.

  “Hello, this is the office of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. General Mitchell would like to speak with General Riggs. Is he present?” the voice on the phone said.
Sarah looked up over her desk quickly to make certain there was nobody hiding there with a candid camera.

  “Uh, yes, he is… If you’ll hold a second I will transfer the call,” Sarah replied, unsure if the call was real or not. She timidly pressed the transfer digits. “Sir, I think you should take this call.”

  “Who is it?” Riggs asked as his phone began to buzz.

  “Well, sir, I’m not real certain but they claimed it was the Office of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.”

  “What? It’s probably Fields messing with me.” Riggs picked up the phone. “General Riggs here.” There was a short pause, then a click.

  “Yes, General Riggs, please stand by for General Mitchell.” There was another short pause, then another click.

  “Danny Riggs! Kevin Mitchell here. How are things down there in Huntsville, Alabama, huh?”

  “Great, General,” Riggs said, frowning in puzzlement. Redstone Arsenal was a very minor base and he was surprised the general even remembered his nickname. “How may I help you, General?”

  “Well, Danny, we’re gonna need your help. I’ve got a couple of fellas that are going to come see you first thing in the morning and explain this in greater detail, but for now suffice it to say that we need to put that base and the whole town around it to work for the next few months.”

  “Anything we can do, General. What’s this about?”

  “Well, why don’t you call me back in five minutes on your STU at the number I just e-mailed you? I’ll talk to you in a minute, bye.”

  “Sarah! Get me the STU-III key out of the safe and call Colonel Roberts and tell him to put on his golf shoes!”

  Chapter 5

  More than a hundred scientists and engineers had been gathered by the Neighborhood Watch program leaders in the North Alabama town. Only a week after Roger Reynolds had delivered the white paper presentation to the DDNRO, he had been contacted by the NRO and awarded a prime contract for more than a billion dollars. The company Roger worked for had not expected a contract or even known of the white paper, but they were happy to help the NRO spend its money — if they could figure out how to spend more than a billion dollars in less than a year.

  Roger was given the directive from the DDNRO to brief the commanding general of the Redstone Arsenal in Huntsville, Alabama — two-star General Daniel “Danny” Riggs — and the Director of the NASA Marshall Space Flight Center, Dr. Sidney Byron. Roger gathered Tom and Alan and spent the better part of the next day with General Riggs and Dr. Byron developing a plan to choose the right facilities and personnel. Most of the facilities were available either from MSFC or Redstone, but they decided to have two local Huntsville space/defense contractors to “volunteer” a fabrication shop and a clean room, respectively. The civil service and military facilities would be funded via government-to-government funds transfers. The rest would be handled through subcontracts to the prime contractor that Roger Reynolds worked for.

  It had taken the better part of the day and most of the night, but a cohesive list of subtask-level team leaders was put together. One of the problems was insuring that each of the members chosen as team leaders had a current Secret security clearance at a minimum. Initially, only people with Top Secret and Special Access or Top Secret and SCI level clearances were considered. The problem that soon became apparent was that although there were plenty of DOD scientists and engineers available with proper clearances who could handle portions of the mission design, most of the NASA employees and contractors that were needed for various aspects were not cleared at any level at all. It was a problem that most Huntsville residents were aware of — the DOD/NASA political dichotomy. Most NASA employees became NASA employees because they wanted to work on public space programs and tended to have the attitude that there shouldn’t be secrets. DOD employees on the other hand, held completely opposite philosophies and in many cases the political and philosophical differences created friction between the two groups.

  But Roger Reynolds, Tom Powell, and Alan Davis had been straddling the fence between both communities for a number of years now and personally knew most of the others in town and within the community who were “straddlers.” This experience enabled them to pick and choose qualified and cleared people with a bit more ease. However, in the end they just couldn’t find a complete list and had to settle for a few handfuls of folks with only Secret level clearance. They had to get a special allowance from the NRO. But when he saw the problem, Ronny Guerrero made it happen.

  After a long and exhausting night of planning, the next morning General Riggs and Dr. Byron, invited the list of Army and NASA civil servants and contractors to attend the kick-off meeting in the Sparkman Center auditorium, which would occur in three days. The invitation to the meeting was hand delivered or secure faxed to each person on the list and read:

  Your presence at a meeting of the utmost urgency and importance is requested. The meeting will be held at the Sparkman Center auditorium on the Redstone Arsenal, Alabama, this Friday. We apologize for the short notice, but again, this is a matter of extreme urgency.

  The meeting will be at the Top Secret level. If you are not cleared to this level, arrangements are being made to have you cleared in the interim. Please be certain to fill out the forms enclosed and appropriate visit request paperwork and fax it to the number given below, immediately.

  Initial attendance is voluntary; however, all those attendees who decide to remain for the briefing will be reimbursed for their time and expenses. Direct procurement opportunities are also possible.

  Sincerely,

  General Daniel Riggs Dr. Sidney Byron

  Commanding General Director

  United States Army NASA Marshal Space Flight Center

  Redstone Arsenal, Alabama Huntsville, Alabama

  No invitations were turned down.

  * * *

  The auditorium, on the other hand, posed a problem since it was only rated for Top Secret level briefings and not for Sensitive Compartmented Information or Special Access Programs. A three-day waiver was authorized by the NRO and the Joint Chiefs, provided that the building was monitored for eavesdropping sensors before and after each meeting session and only individuals to be briefed into Neighborhood Watch were allowed into the building housing the auditorium during the briefings. A security specialist team swept the building for transmitters. General Riggs ordered three days of administrative leave for all of the employees who worked in the Sparkman Center building. No cover was created but if your name was not on the invitation list, then you did not get into the building those three days.

  * * *

  Dr. Tom Powell, Alan Davis, and Dr. Reynolds stood on the stage of the stadium-seating-style auditorium as the final attendees of the meeting filtered into the seats in the upper rows. Armed security guards stepped into the room at each door and pulled the doors closed behind them. Roger nodded to Tom and Alan and the two of them left the stage and sat down in the first row.

  “Thank all y’all for coming today. I see a lot of familiar faces here and a few I don’t recognize. For those of you I haven’t met before, I’m Dr. Roger Reynolds with the local space group office for Space Defense Systems Research, Incorporated. What I would like for everybody to do first is to read the form on the cover of the sealed folders in front of you. Take five minutes and read the nondisclosure agreement carefully and, if you agree to it, sign it.” Roger stood at the podium patiently for five minutes.

  “Now, if anybody did not sign the form in front of you please leave now.”

  Nobody stood up.

  “Okay, from this point on every person present in this room has indicated that they have signed the documents,” Roger said. “It, legally, doesn’t matter if you have or not; you’re now covered by the security regulations of those documents and the penalties laid out for failure to comply with the security requirements. Very well, open the folders and turn to the first page. Let’s have the first slide on the screen please.

  “So he
re is an overview of what we plan to put together in less than five months.” Roger cleared his throat as the first PowerPoint slide, a picture of a satellite, appeared on the multiple big screens behind him.

  “The reason you are all here is that Mars is being changed by something unnatural. Its surface reflectance albedo has been changed enough so that in the past year these changes can now be detected via small commercial telescopes. We have no idea what is causing this phenomenon, but we suspect that it’s not a natural occurrence,” Roger emphasized.

  “Our purpose here is to find out what is going on there and to find out fast. We can speculate all we want, but without recon intel we have no means of truly knowing what’s going on there.” Roger paused and cleared his throat and scanned the darkened auditorium for reactions. The reactions from most of the room were guarded.

  “So, from this slide and from the documents you just signed we see that this information is classified and compartmented. The mission will be referred to from here on as Top Secret codename Neighborhood Watch and our bird will be called Percival, for Percival Lowell who first searched for signs of extraterrestrial life on Mars. I needn’t remind y’all of the rules here for compartmented programs. If there are security questions, we’ll have the special security officer available after the briefing.

  “With the basic stuff now out of the way, let’s talk about how we’ll do this mission. Each of you here was chosen for your particular talents involved in either spacecraft design or rapid and large-scale systems engineering and integration. You may or may not be the best in the world at your specific talent, but you are good or you wouldn’t be here — the time pressure of our situation also indicates that you were available and perhaps others were not. I mention this for a reason. You are the folks who will do this job. Whether you are the best person for it or not in somebody’s mind, or your own, doesn’t matter. You’re here; it’s your job.