by Dale Brown
“There are many potential political roadblocks, sir,” Casey replied. “The Space Preservation Treaty of 2006 seeks to eliminate all offensive space weapons. Specifically, it mentions directed-energy systems capable of producing greater than one megajoule of energy at a range of more than one hundred kilometers. The Skybolt laser on Armstrong Space Station has attacked targets in space, the atmosphere, and even on Earth, at ranges far greater than one hundred kilometers, with far more energy.” Nukaga wore a very sour expression—obviously he knew very well about what the space-based laser had done and was most displeased about it.
“After the reactivation of the Skybolt missile defense laser aboard Armstrong Space Station, as well as the deployment of Kingfisher space-based interceptors, the treaty was presented again and passed in the United Nations General Assembly in 2010,” Casey went on. “The Security Council sought to codify the treaty; the United States under the Gardner administration chose to abstain rather than veto it, and the treaty passed. Although it has not been ratified by the U.S. Senate, the United States has—at least up until now—chosen to abide by it. Therefore, if the maser-power transmission concept is seen by the United Nations as potentially a space weapon, it couldn’t be used unless the United States simply ignored the treaty.”
“Which I sincerely hope is not done,” Nukaga added. “What other problems have you overcome in this project? Miss Cavendish, since you are the advanced-materials student, why don’t you continue?” They all knew that Nukaga would never allow just one member of the team to give a presentation like this, so they all had to be equally familiar with the proposal and prepared to give it at any time.
“Yes, sir,” Jodie said. “The weight of standard silicon photovoltaic cells is simply a deal killer—it would take hundreds of shuttle-sized spacecraft, which we do not have except for some Russian spacecraft, which we probably couldn’t use, or expendable heavy-lift launch vehicles to put enough photovoltaic panels on the spacecraft to make this work. But we and our partners have developed a solar-cell capture technology using multiwidth nanotubes applied to a flexible conducting substrate that could allow the construction of a mile-long photovoltaic cell for the same launch cost as a single furlable silicon solar cell designed to fit inside the shuttle, with several times the power-generation capacity.”
For the first time in the meeting, Nukaga momentarily stopped fidgeting, and the change was instantly noticed by all of the students, even young Lane. “Interesting,” the professor commented as he resumed his finger tapping. “An organic carbon nanotube that is more efficient than a silicon cell?”
“It’s not a carbon nanotube, sir,” Jodie said. She smiled, leaned forward, then said in a low conspiratorial voice, “It’s a multiwidth inorganic titanium dioxide nanotube-structured optical nantenna.”
Nukaga’s eyebrows arched, just for a heartbeat, but to the students around him it felt as if a firecracker had gone off in the room. “Interesting,” he repeated, although all the students could detect a slightly breathless tone in his voice. “An optical nantenna.”
“Yes, sir,” Jodie said. “Using inorganic nanotubes, we’ve designed a way to convert sunlight into electricity at efficiencies thousands of times greater than silicon solar cells. Even better, the structures are hundreds of times lighter and stronger than silicon solar cells.”
He tried very hard to hide his surprise, but Toshuniko Nukaga was starting to look as if he might slip out of his chair. “Interesting,” he managed to repeat, but his finger tapping had completely ceased. “You have fabricated such a structure?”
“I haven’t done it yet, sir,” Jodie said, “but I’ve spoken and corresponded with researchers in Cambridge and Palo Alto, and we could do it here, in our own labs, with the proper support. And, thanks to our team leader, Brad, we have access to researchers all over the world.”
“And what are the advantages of this inorganic nanotube structure, Mr. Kim?” Jerry seemed to have a little bit of trouble answering a question about an area of engineering with which he wasn’t as familiar as some of the others, so Nukaga turned to Brad. “Perhaps you can assist Mr. Kim, Mr. McLanahan?”
“Energy production vastly greater than silicon solar cells, but with far less weight,” Brad replied. “Plus, the solar arrays fix themselves.”
“How do they do that?”
“Because the substrate upon which the nanotubes are built is not metal, but flexible sol-gel material that not only allows electrons to flow from the nanostructure to the collection system with greater efficiency, but acts as a shock absorber,” Brad said. “If the solar array is hit by orbital debris, the break is electrochemically reconnected, like damaged skin. It forms a kind of scar tissue, like human skin, which is not as photovoltaic as the original, but at least the array is still functional. Plus, the defensive lasers aboard Armstrong Space Station could be used to deflect debris that might seriously damage the nantennna arrays.”
“Defensive lasers? I hardly think so,” Nukaga remarked. “Continue.”
“The titanium-dioxide nanotubes are impervious to cosmic radiation and the solar wind, and the sol-gel substrate can handle large changes in temperature with only minimal and temporary changes in conductivity,” Brad said. “The structures we can put together can be enormous, perhaps stretching as far as several kilometers. This will allow us to eventually conduct several energy shots to different spots all around the globe in one orbit.”
Nukaga was obviously not impressed with Brad’s response—it was a huge oversimplification of a very complicated process that the team needed to have nailed down before the university was asked to grant thousands or even millions of dollars to research. “And how would deployment of Starfire work?” Nukaga asked. He turned to Jerry. “Start us off, Mr. Kim.”
Jung-bae frowned as he collected his thoughts, but pressed ahead with only a short delay. “One of our imperatives in this project was a size limitation, sir,” Jerry said. “The S-19 Midnight spaceplane, our preferred delivery vehicle for the space-based components, can carry a payload of approximately nine thousand pounds in its cargo bay, with some rather small size dimensions. That was a problem at first. Even using expendable boosters along with the spaceplanes, it would take many years, perhaps even decades, to build Starfire.”
“And how did you solve this? Nine thousand pounds seems like a lot, but not when you have to build an entire expansive spacecraft from scratch.”
“It would not be from scratch, sir,” Jerry said. “Our proposal specifies the use of Armstrong Space Station, the International Space Station, or China’s . . . China’s . . .” Again he had trouble searching his memory.
Nukaga glanced at Brad, silently allowing him to assist. “China’s Tiangong-2 space laboratory, sir,” he said.
“Why these spacecraft? Mr. Eagan?”
“Because except for Tiangong, the others are old and ready to be changed to unmanned platforms, sir,” Lane said. “Armstrong is almost thirty years old and ten years past its design service life. The ISS is twenty years old and approaching its design limit—it has been scheduled for deorbit in five years.”
“And Tiangong-2?”
“The Chinese are expected to launch Tiangong-3 in just a few weeks, sir,” Lane said. “We think they wouldn’t mind letting their laboratory be used for this project. If Starfire works as planned, we’ll be able to shoot electricity into the most remote regions of China—even to the top of the Himalayas!”
“What other problems lie ahead? Miss Cavendish?”
“It’s a matter of getting the nantenna, capacitors, control equipment, microwave cavity, and maser-beam generators and associated equipment up to the station,” Jodie said. “We estimate that we can get all the panels up into orbit in just ten missions in the spaceplanes, or four if we use expendable rockets.”
“That seems extraordinary,” Nukaga remarked. “How did you estimate that, Miss Huggins?”
“That’s based on Jodie’s estimate of the thinness of the nant
ennas and the dimensions of an S-19 Midnight spaceplane’s cargo bay, sir,” Casey replied. “We compute that one rolled-up nantenna array five hundred meters long and thirty meters wide can fit in the Midnight’s cargo bay, well within weight limits because the nanotube structure will be so light. Our original design calls for a total of eight of these panels. We’d then need two more flights to bring up the extra equipment.”
“That seems unrealistically optimistic, Miss Huggins. Mr. McLanahan?”
“We propose using a lot of the equipment that’s already aboard Armstrong Space Station for this project, sir,” Brad said. “Armstrong is particularly well suited for our project because it already has a lot of the beam-control hardware, capacitors, and aiming systems we need for the maser. It’s all already up there—we don’t have to launch it, just update software and some of the hardware. It’s a lot better than having all that stuff burn up after being deorbited.”
“It seems a lot is riding on the government letting you use their space station for your project,” Nukaga pointed out.
“I’ve been in contact with the folks at Sky Masters Aerospace, who are Armstrong Space Station’s caretakers until they figure out what they’re going to do with it,” Brad said. “They are open to Project Starfire. They want to see our data and results before they commit, but they like the idea of acquiring the space station for themselves, privatizing it, and putting it to work.”
“I think Sky Masters Aerospace is a front for the Central Intelligence Agency or even for a secret government spy unit,” Nukaga said. “I have a bad taste in my mouth every time I hear that name.” Yet he nodded, almost imperceptibly, but to the students it was a very good sign. “Tell me about the ground portion of your project, Mr. Kim,” Nukaga said. “I’ve heard a lot about the on-orbit parts, but very little about the ground systems and the challenges you’re working around.”
Kim seemed to struggle with the answer once again, but after a moment he replied, “Sir, the ground collection system includes a two-hundred-meter steerable rectenna, alternators, positioning controls, environmental systems, and a way to either store the direct current output from the rectenna or integrate the output into the local electrical grid.”
“A two-hundred-meter rectenna?” Nukaga remarked. “Not exactly suited for the Himalayas, is it, Mr. Eagan?”
“The rectenna’s size is based on the beam-control system currently aboard Armstrong Space Station, sir,” Lane said. “It’s forty-year-old technology, probably updated a few times but not to current standards. I haven’t seen their code yet, but I’m sure I can improve the software to make the pointing and focusing more accurate, and then we can build a smaller rectenna. The maser beam doesn’t expand as much as a microwave beam, and side lobe propagation is vastly lower and tunable.”
“Regardless, sir, the ground systems are far smaller than any other type of power-generating plant,” Brad interjected. “We don’t use any natural resources other than sunlight, and there’s more electricity potential from one day’s worth of sunlight than all the electricity generated around the world in one year.”
“That will look good on a website, Mr. McLanahan, but I’m not interested in a sales pitch now,” Nukaga said rather irritably, now openly showing his displeasure at Brad’s interruptions. He fell silent, thinking, then resumed his finger tapping. “And what sort of progress have you made so far?” he asked after a few moments.
“Jodie and Casey have drawn up the plans for the nantenna and maser and can start fabrication as soon as we get the go-ahead for the laser and materials lab and funding,” Brad replied. “They also have plans for miniaturization so it can fit in a spacecraft, but our focus is on demonstrating that an inorganic nanotube nantenna is technically feasible. They feel confident they can do it by the end of summer.”
“The end of summer?” Nukaga exclaimed. “Engineering complex nanotube structures in just a few months’ work?”
“I’ve been working on inorganic nanotubes for over four years, sir,” Jodie said, “but mostly by myself back in Australia. Brad sought me out based on my presentations over the years. He brought our team together, and he’s still seeking out experts and scientists from all over the world to assist. Things are happening quickly.”
Nukaga nodded slightly, then indicated to Brad that he could continue. “Jerry and I have plans to integrate the control, power, environmental, communications, and sensor systems, but we don’t have the spacecraft, so we’re still spread out,” Brad said. “Lane has the software already written for the spacecraft control systems and ground-system rectenna controls, and is ready to start debugging and burning chips once we get the go-ahead. He already has software project outlines for Armstrong’s beam-control units, but Sky Masters hasn’t released their software to us yet, so it’s just an anticipatory outline.”
“And you have done all this on your own time, in between your classes and other responsibilities?” Nakuga remarked. “And except for Mr. Kim you are all freshmen, no?”
“Jodie is a third-year undergrad, sir,” Brad replied. “Lane, Casey, and I are freshmen.”
Nakuga nodded slightly, obviously impressed. “Where do you intend to get a spacecraft, Mr. McLanahan?”
“Sky Masters Aerospace out in Battle Mountain, Nevada, sir,” Brad replied. “I’ve already got a Trinity module identified and on loan, and as soon as we have lab space I can have it shipped to us. It’s not flyable, but it’s an actual spacecraft, not just a mock-up or scale model.”
“Trinity?”
“It’s one of several different versions of Sky Masters Aerospace’s autonomous orbital maneuvering vehicles, used by the Space Defense Force a few years ago,” Brad explained. “It’s placed into orbit by a Midnight spaceplane. It has its own targeting sensors, or it can take targeting data from a Kingfisher weapon garage or from Armstrong Space Station; it can autonomously refuel from Armstrong or another unmanned servicing module; it can—”
“ ‘Targeting’? ‘Weapon garage’?” Nukaga interrupted. “These are all space weapons?”
“Well, Trinity is a multipurpose orbital module, but yes, sir, it is used in a variety of space-based weapons,” Brad said. He was hoping to not bring up the fact that Trinity was a space weapon to Nukuga—the professor was a well-known and moderately activist antiwar guy—but in his excitement to pitch the project and get the lab space, he said the words that hopefully would not kill this project.
Nukaga began blinking in some confusion. “I didn’t know you were building a space weapon, Mr. McLanahan,” he said.
“We’re not, sir,” Brad said, his confidence eroding quickly like a slow leak on a bicycle tire. “Starfire is an orbiting power plant based on Armstrong Space Station. We felt we had to not only design the components of the power plant but figure out ways to safely and efficiently get all the components into orbit using current technology. We can demonstrate that if we—”
“I’m not comfortable at all with cooperating with a company that produces space weapons,” Nukaga said stiffly, staring accusingly at Brad. “If this company gets the information on your Starfire and then decides to use the technology to develop more space weapons, this university would be complicit in an arms race in space. Technology that could beam maser energy to a rectenna on Earth can certainly be used to disable a spacecraft or even destroy targets on the ground.”
“Sky Masters Aerospace is offering a fifty-million-dollar grant for new orbital spacecraft technology, Dr. Nukaga,” Brad said. “I think even just a piece of that would be extremely good for the university. We’re hoping that getting the lab space and time in the directed-energy and computer labs will show the university’s commitment to the project and help get part of that grant money.”
“Money isn’t the only consideration here, Mr. McLanahan,” Nukaga retorted indignantly . . . but he briefly glanced away, silently acknowledging the fact that landing a big piece of a multimillion-dollar grant would certainly be good for the school—and for his own pres
tige, of course. “How did you happen to come across this Trinity module, Mr. McLanahan?” he asked.
“My father used to be the chief operations officer at the company, sir,” Brad said. “I worked there for a short time, and I still have friends there. I stay in contact with the guys in the engineering and flight-test departments, and I hope to work there some day.”
“ ‘Used to be’? Your father’s retired?”
Brad swallowed hard, and when his mouth opened, no sound came forth.
“His father was killed, sir,” Lane said in a soft voice. Nukaga looked at the young man, then back to Brad’s blank expression, still confused.
“Dr. Nukaga, Brad’s father was General Patrick McLanahan,” Casey said, the tone in her voice making it plain that she couldn’t believe he didn’t know—Bradley McLanahan, the son of the great aerospace warrior General Patrick McLanahan, was a sort of minor celebrity on campus.
It finally dawned on Nukaga what had just transpired, but his expression of shock and embarrassment lasted only a moment. “I . . . my apologies, Mr. McLanahan,” he said finally, straightening in his chair and looking at a spot on the wall over Brad’s shoulder. “I did not know this.” Still looking away, he cleared his throat, then motioned for the folder in Brad’s hand. “I will look over your project, present it to the projects committee, and inform you as quickly as possible,” he said as Brad gave him the folder. “Thank you all.” The students shuffled to their feet and departed. “Mr. Kim. A word please.”
“We’ll be at the Starbucks at the Market, Jerry,” Casey whispered to Jung-bae as they headed out. Jerry nodded, then returned to his seat.
Nukaga waited a few moments until he was sure the outer office was clear; then: “It seems to me you were not very well prepared for this presentation, Mr. Kim,” he said. “I receive several dozen requests for sponsored summer lab space every spring for just three slots. The teams that I invite to make a personal presentation spend hundreds of hours in preparation and are all at the top of their games. But you did not seem to be so this afternoon. Can you tell me why, Mr. Kim?”
