Test Pilot's Daughter II: Dead Reckoning

by Ward, Steve

  “Okay, here we go. I’m moving her aft one-thousand meters on the spiral axis,” Christina reported. The big remote control unit was specially designed for her gloves. “Wow, she looks a lot smaller out there. Now, let’s get the target in place.”

  “Gotcha, Stick.” Sandy maneuvered the arm to grasp the target cylinder, pull it out of the bay and release it just below. “There ya go. ZERO is clear, stabilized and ready for docking.”

  “Yeehaaw, here goes nothin’,” not exactly proper jargon, but Christina was feeling giddy and having fun. She pushed the docking sequence button on her remote and announced, “Holy shit! We already got acquisition. DROID is on the move.” She could see the tiny thrusters firing on the robot as it moved forward. She was nervous with the fact that a small error in target tracking could result in a collision with the shuttle. Her thumb was poised over the red button ready to abort.

  “Looking good, she’s comin’ in. Right on line,” Rhani reported from his position behind the target.

  “Switching to CW laser tracking at 500 meters.” The robot was moving briskly forward, its image expanding with the closing range. As it appeared to grow larger, Christina’s heart pounded with excitement, Come on baby, you can do it. Within 100 meters, thrusters automatically slowed its progress and the range closed. “We have TV track at 50 meters, velocity down to two meters per second. Okay, optical recognition of the docking port, dead center. Yippeee! Oh boy, look at that. Closing at one meter per second.”

  “Yeah, we can see the video,” said Sandy. “Looks just like manual docking only a lot faster. You sure that thing’s going to stop?”

  “I hope so,” she replied.

  “Still looking good,” Rhani said.

  Reverse thrusters fired again, and DROID slowed to one-half meter per second, then to zero-point-one. A probe popped out from the center of the robot, and it entered the docking port on ZERO dead center. Lightly bumping into the target, the latches snapped into place and the green docking light illuminated.

  “Docking, full lock. Holy mother of. . .that was too beautiful,” Christina said. She could hear cheering and clapping from the crew.

  Sandy was known for a weird sense of humor. “Congrats Stick; looks like your fella just found his man thingy. Or should I say, looks like robot love has been consummated?”

  “Ha, ha, very funny. Got anymore of those?”

  “Sure,” she replied. “I think Miss Zero has one big smile on her face.”

  Christina laughed in delight, “Would you just shut up and enjoy the moment, you pervert? I knew it would work. No sweat.” She was beside herself. All those years of research had finally paid off big time, and she was there to see it. “A small step for mankind,” she proclaimed, remembering the first Lunar landing back in the ‘60s. “By the way Sandy, I wonder how the hell they did that Lunar landing with such archaic technology? That LEM computer had less memory than my wristwatch.”

  “Beats me.”

  Both Christina and Rhani took their places in the cargo bay while Arrow elevated the shuttle far enough away to allow DROID more room to maneuver. The docking sequence was repeated fifteen times with various starting positions and offset angles. The robot found the centerline and docked perfectly every time. Rhani seemed to be bored with the whole mess as he really had nothing to do. Christina chuckled as she saw him doing loops and spins with his MMU in the mostly empty cargo bay. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed him maneuver to the The Monster. He disappeared on the opposite side and stayed there out of sight for some minutes while she continued testing.

  “Rhani, watcha doin’ over there?” Christina asked. “You’re supposed to be observing.” There was a pregnant pause, and suddenly she was concerned he might be in trouble. She halted testing and jetted his way. As she approached, she noticed he seemed to be fiddling with something on the front of the Top Secret vehicle. He jerked his hand back and quickly jetted toward her.

  “I’m just looking this thing over,” he said. “It is weird, Stick. Looks like DROID with a backpack.”

  “Sandy, that’s it, all trials perfect. We’re done. You wanna put your packages back under the tree? We’re ready to come in for lunch.” Christina was ecstatic. Years of hard work found fruition before her eyes, and in orbit no less. History had been made, the first unmanned docking, ever. It was the grand highlight of her life, and she couldn’t wait to get inside to replay the videos.

  No doubt about it, she thought, DROID’s a winner.

  Chapter Five

  At 2:30 p.m. Tehran time, it was scorching hot for early September in the Middle East. Waves of scintillation arose from every horizontal surface casting images of Iranian people like drunken hula dancers. Those who had a choice stayed off the streets in the afternoon, lest they become slowly broiled. It was a wonder any human could survive such a climate in the summer, but people had been doing just that for tens of thousands of years. Iran was, in fact, an arid strip of sand right beside the Garden of Eden, the cradle of civilization, where man invented the wheel and learned to write. The Tigris-Euphrates river basin, once given the ancient name of Mesopotamia--Greek for land between the rivers--was just next-door. In recent years drought had been record-breaking and the heat dreadful. Tehran was slowly baking under a relentless sun, and only crude oil and air conditioning allowed the population to thrive.

  Iran was a nation caught between the ancient traditions of Islam and the modern science of nuclear physics. The entire economy was financed by natural resources, and oil had become the new currency. For the first time in the Arab world, a Muslim country had completely tamed atomic energy for the production of power. Iran had some of the largest nuclear power plants in existence. A side benefit to cheap electricity was the ability to produce nuclear weapons and missiles big enough to reach the United States. Combined with such awesome technology was a growing partnership with Russia and a passionate desire to advance Islam around the globe. After years of moderation, Iran had become a den of extremists, terrorists of the worst kind, those with an undying zeal for religion. The Quran was clear: The Infidels must either surrender to Islam or die. Israel was only a secondary concern. The new leaders of Iran were more interested in the sources of worldwide perversion: Judaism, Christianity and the United States of America. If Islam could conquer the Far West and the Far East, the prophet Mohammad would reign true over all the Earth.

  Muztata al-Bolani, the new President of Iran, walked confidently into his secret coven. The conference room could aptly be described as a den of killers. After many years of independent operations with shoddy results, Hezbolah, Hamas, Taliban and al-Qaida had come together for the first time to fight the Americans in a final Jihad. Al-Bolani was the first leader with sufficient charisma and brute strength to bring all the nastiest factions together for a common cause. His thoughts were of religion and power, and he hoped to go down in history as the Great Crusader, the one mighty Imam who spread Islam across the world. Whatever the means, the ends were holy, the holy will of Allah, the one and only God of all mankind. Those heathen pigs who believed in the Holy Trinity or the biblical Yahweh were infidels, enemies of the one true Creator. In al-Bolani’s mind, the Quran had to be advanced to dominate world law. Nothing short of total victory was tolerable.

  Iranian Jihadists were so pleased with al-Bolani running the United States out of Iraq, they made sure he was on the ballot and commanded a 72% majority in the presidential election. Oh, you would prefer 82%? No problem, it was the simple stroke of one key on a computer. True democracy was a joke in the Middle East. Although there was an affection for the Americans among some of the Iranian public, those with power were determined to keep it for the sake of Islam. Western modernization clearly equated to moral decay, and the clerics would have none of it. Chief al-Qaida cleric, Almanar Bahadar often joked, “The next thing you know, our women will want the vote.”

  Al-Bolani had made himself known almost daily on CBN, a popular news channel headquartered in New York, co
ndemning “those Zionist pigs” in Israel and America. He had learned over the years that growing tensions were good for business. Every time oil prices began to lag, he would go on the air with inflammatory rhetoric and prices would climb. Lord only knew why the news agency was so hell bent to give him airtime. They had fallen into the trap of an Iranian propaganda machine which sprayed lies, fueled hatred of Americans and kept oil prices at $200 a barrel. Gasoline in the U.S. was $7 a gallon and “Peak Oil” had long been surpassed. Oil production was on the wane worldwide with the last remaining reserves lying undisturbed in North America. The U.S. economy was in shambles with unemployment exceeding 10%. Alternate energy sources such as solar, wind and hydrogen had been developed to some extent, but none had panned out in a big way. The U.S. was still the largest oil burner in the world. Because of its decadence and inability to adapt, America was losing its grip as a major super-power, and the Gleason administration was unwilling to take bold steps against the decline. It was a written invitation for terrorism.

  There was another well known Bahadarism, “Those Americans are so stupid, they give us their money while they sit on some of the largest remaining reserves.” Trillions of dollars transferred from North America to the Middle East each year. Arabs were beginning to take firm control of world wealth and could buy anything or anyone. The Russian economy continued to sputter with a return to Communism, and they were falling victim to Arabian oil. The Iranian government had partnered with Russia to crank up production to levels exceeded only by Saudi Arabia. Two-billion dollars a day were flowing into Iranian coffers controlled by some of the baddest bad-boys on the planet. With the transfer of wealth came a transfer of power. One headline in the Washington Post summed it up brilliantly: Duh. . .Who wudda a thunk it?

  “Praise be to Allah.” Al-Bolani bowed to his audience, and all in the room sang out in unison.

  “Praise be to Allah.”

  “We have new intelligence about the NASA mission in orbit,” Al-Bolani was excited to disclose his treachery. “Rhani Hussein, the young astronaut, didn’t want to cooperate, but we have our means. Allah always finds a way. No one can deny Allah. We learned that the boy has family in Tehran, family the Americans don’t know about. You can imagine that they were most enthusiastic in encouraging the young lad to help, actually begging him for mercy.”

  “Where are they exactly?” asked the supreme chief of Hezbollah, Raluf al-Sadr.

  “We have the unfortunate victims hidden away in an underground chamber in Mashhad. They are able to speak directly with the Rhani lad over a secure Internet channel. . .or should I say ‘scream?’ Heh, heh. It’s a wonderful tool, the Internet, and all communication is encrypted. My good friend, Almanar Bahadar, is in charge of the Rhani lad, and gathering intelligence will be very beneficial to our efforts in space.”

  “So what is it? What is so important that we have to leave our Mosque in Shiraz?” asked Nouri al-Zawahiri, chief Imam of the Taliban.

  “As we speak the astronauts are about to attempt the destruction of the Soyuz 23 and its payload, Jihad 1.”

  “No!” shouted Bahadar. “Well then, we must protest the loss of our weather satellite, no?”

  “The Americans have a new space robot, something called the ‘droid.’ It was developed by that whore, Matthews. They plan to dock with our satellite, collect data on its capability and destroy it. If we protest they will show the evidence to the UN.” He looked at each man in the room to gauge reaction. They all looked somewhat dejected as they passed exhortations and waved their hands.

  “Too bad,” someone said, “it was such a glorious plan.”

  “What can we do?” asked al-Sadr opening his arms in a gesture of inquiry. “It will take years to orbit a new missile controller.”

  “We have already taken care of it,” al-Bolani reported with a laugh, twisting his long beard and rolling his eyes back in delight. “Rhani is on our side now. He claims to be able to kill the mission, that is, if we agree to let his family go free.”

  “Ah, but if they launch more droids, they could nullify our attack.” Al-Sadr looked quite concerned.

  “Yes, and that is why we are here. We must act soon for the final Jihad. We will launch four to six nuclear weapons without warning on major American cities. That will leave us some in reserve.”

  “Yes, yes my friend. . .the infidels will die by the millions.” Al-Sadr’s lip curled in a devilish grin.

  “But they will counter-strike,” warned Bahadar. “They have thousands of missiles and the NORAD system for defense.”

  “You know very well we have people inside of the NORAD to take care of this. As long as Jihad I stays in orbit, we have the upper hand. If we strike first with complete surprise, that coward Gleason won’t have the courage to strike back. As a matter of fact, he will most likely be dead. We will announce our deal with Russia just after launch, and he will be check-mated. It will be a great victory for Allah, regardless of counter-strike. Besides, if they get off a few missiles, we will be away at our Somali fortification. Our brothers there will be overjoyed.” Pausing for a moment to savor the great vision of cataclysm, he growled, “The once great world power, the United States of America, will come to her knees. Christians and Jews everywhere will come begging for conversion to Islam. Allah be praised.”

  “So where will we strike?”

  “As Allah wills, hellfire will be dropped on Washington DC, Atlanta, Detroit, Las Vegas, and San Francisco, all stinking dens of iniquity. At the same time our Russian friends will launch a first strike against China. It will be the great judgment of Sodom and Gomorrah. Fire will rain down from the sky and boil the sinners in their own filth. The blood of infidels will wash over both the West and the East, a wonderful day for Islam.”

  “And when will this judgment transpire?” Bahadar looked more confident.

  “Sadly, it will take almost three months time to prepare for the simultaneous launch.” Al-Bolani looked at the floor.

  “But what about Israel?” Bahadar looked concerned. He had always proposed a first strike on Israel.

  “Don’t you worry my friend. Once we cut the head off the snake, the tail will follow. Jerusalem will be ours for the taking, and we will finally rid the world of the Jewish curse. If we launch on Israel, many of our fellow Arabs will die in the holocaust, and Mosques will be destroyed.”

  “Perfection!” someone shouted from the back of the room. The nasty cartel of terrorists churned in anticipation. The chatter grew to a crescendo.

  Al-Bolani stood to signify the meeting was over. He had to raise his voice over all the chatter, “We will meet again in November to review the exciting details. Praise be to Allah.”

  “Praise be to Allah!”

  * * *

  The next two days in orbit were occupied with physical exercise, routine tasks and onboard experiments. On the fourth day, Christina entered navigational coordinates and maneuvered the shuttle to a lower orbit within five miles of the Soyuz 23 payload. It was barely visible as a tiny, brilliant dot suspended in space. Rhani was assigned for the EVA to release The Monster, and the attack was to be controlled by Major Steve Smith, code named Flash, from inside the shuttle.

  “How’s it going out there, Rhani?” Christina asked. She was concerned because he was over his task limit by fifteen minutes.

  “A-okay, almost done,” Rhani reported. “You can lift her out of the bay now, Sandy.”

  “Roger that, here we go.”

  Looking out the back window, she had a good view of the operation. It took almost ten minutes to move The Monster to the extent of the shuttle arm and orient it toward the target. Great care had to be taken with the explosive ordinance. Every move was made with the utmost caution. It took another hour to get Rhani back in the shuttle and prepare for the secret mission at hand. Nothing happened quickly in space, and she was losing patience.

  Come on already, she thought, let’s get this party going. She was tense. No one knew exactly what would happen w
hen they tried to destroy the satellite. Failure was unacceptable. Left in orbit, the Iranian controller was capable of killing millions of Americans. She felt a great burden on her shoulders.

  “Okay, Flash, we’ve done our part. It’s all yours, buddy,” she handed control over to the man she had only met a few days prior.

  “Ground Control, this is Flash. The duck is ready to quack and all lights green. Need permission to proceed.”

  After a small delay Udahl relayed the message, “Permission granted.”

  “Got it. All systems powered. Laser scan initiated and we have acquisition. Moving forward. There she goes, two-hundred meters per second. . .range three clicks. . .handover to continuous laser. . .fifty meters per second, one click. Target clearly visible now in Duck video. Approaching final video tracking sequence. Twenty meters per second and slowing. Standby for handover.”