Skywave

by K Patrick Donoghue

  Shaw looked at Pritchard and said, “Didn’t help that Speaker Kellerman issued a statement about twenty minutes ago accusing the administration of covering up proof of aliens on Earth. Kellerman took a direct shot at you, by the way. Threatened hearings, a congressional investigation, cuts to NASA’s budget.”

  The sudden urge to kick Amato’s ass flowed through Pritchard. He opened his mouth to respond just as the president slammed down the phone and launched into an expletive-laced tirade. The outburst was not directed at anyone in the room as far as Pritchard could tell. It was more of a colorful commentary of what the president wished to do to the secretary of state. Pritchard found they shared similar views on the form of ass-kicking they desired to administer, albeit to different offenders.

  Out of breath, the silver-haired leader of the United States looked up and noticed Pritchard. He lifted his head and hands as if offering a prayer and said, “Finally, someone who knows what the bleep is going on!”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. President,” Pritchard said in a solemn tone.

  “It’s afternoon all right, but it’s far from a good one,” Jennings said as he walked toward his three visitors. He settled on an armchair and gestured for the others to take seats on the opposing sofas in the center of the room. As he straightened the lapels of his suit jacket, Jennings asked, “First things first. You left my bare ass out in the wind, Pritchard. You realize that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir, and I regret it,” Pritchard said.

  “Well, regret’s not going to do diddly to get us out of this mess,” Jennings said. He pounded the arm of the chair with his fist. “And, so help me, if this spins any further out of control, I will toss you to the wolves.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hawkins and Shaw studied the shine on their shoes while the president continued to berate Pritchard and NASA. He then turned his invective toward Amato and his “cavalier, devil-may-care” arrogance before finishing with a cascade of complaints aimed at previous administrations for perpetuating the UMO cover-up. He jabbed a thumb at his own chest. “And I’m the one who’s going to take the heat for it.”

  Pritchard maintained eye contact with Jennings throughout the upbraiding but held his tongue. There was nothing he could say that would soothe the president’s dander. When Jennings finished speaking, he stood and walked back to his desk. He faced the window, shoved his hands in his suit pants pockets, and stared out at the White House lawn.

  After a long, uncomfortable silence, Jennings said, “The ramifications of this day are profound. I know it sounds like hyperbole, but life on Earth will never be the same. And people around the world, not just America, are going to look to us for answers, for cues as to how they should react.

  “If we roll out some cockamamie tale about experimental spacecraft, it might delay the day of reckoning, but it won’t stop it from coming. Eventually, people will see through it, even if we wrap it in a DoD black box, even if Amato agrees to cooperate.” Jennings began to pace behind the desk, head lowered, as he continued to speak. “On the other hand, if we come clean, tell the truth about UMOs, let chips fall where they may with Amato, the blowback will be swift and brutal.”

  He stopped and looked up at his trio of guests. “Either way, we’re screwed.”

  Pritchard raised his hand. “A thought?”

  “Yes?”

  “I think I might be able to strike a deal with Amato,” Pritchard said.

  “What kind of deal?” Hawkins asked.

  “Well, if you’ve followed Amato’s public statements over the last several years, you know his ultimate goal is to send a manned mission into deep space. ‘Go where no one has gone before,’ as the TV show says.”

  “Right, The Rorschach Explorer,” Shaw said.

  “That’s it. Well, this probe he launched was just to test the engine onboard, an engine he hopes to modify for Rorschach,” Pritchard said.

  Jennings returned to his seat and asked, “So?”

  “There’s no way he’ll give up on that dream, I know the man very well. And now that he’s seen his engine prototype works, albeit with a significant boost from UMOs, he’ll be even more determined to put Rorschach into space.”

  “Are you suggesting we threaten him?” Hawkins asked. “Tell him to toe the line or we’ll make sure he never launches Rorschach?”

  “No, I don’t think threats will work with him. It’d likely go the opposite way. He’d hold a press conference and spill the whole story. Dare us to stop him,” Pritchard said.

  “Then, I’m confused. What kind of deal are you proposing we cut with him?” Hawkins said.

  “An exchange of value,” Pritchard said. “He doesn’t have the ability to launch his beloved Rorschach into space. Not unless he builds the facilities and rocket technology to get his ship into orbit, even if he sends it up in pieces. Same with the crew. The only thing he’s capable of launching are payloads delivered by high-altitude balloons.”

  The president loosened his tie. “Okay, so we agree to launch his ship and crew. In return for what?”

  “In return for delaying any mention of the UMOs. In return for a coordinated cover story,” Pritchard said.

  “Experimental spacecraft?” Jennings asked.

  “That’s right,” Pritchard said. “I think I can negotiate a joint statement with Amato that he’ll approve. He’ll hold his nose when he does it, but I can’t imagine him passing up the opportunity.”

  “What exactly will this statement say?” Shaw asked.

  Pritchard rattled off the highlights of a proposed statement. In it, he suggested they acknowledge Amato conducted a series of space trials for an experimental spacecraft in recent days. To provide the White House cover, Pritchard proposed the statement say Amato alerted the White House and NASA in advance of the tests, but that Amato asked to keep the information confidential given the speculative nature of the spacecraft and the proprietary technology involved.

  “We can truthfully say the initial test did not perform as expected, leading NASA to track the spacecraft to avoid any mishaps with orbiting satellites or the ISS. We can say there was a communication breakdown on the timing of the second test, which would help us explain why we were caught off guard. We can finish it off by congratulating Amato for a potential breakthrough in space propulsion and say we look forward to teaming with him to analyze the test results and refine his new technology. The last part he’ll probably choke on, but we’ll massage it to be something we all can live with.”

  “And you think he’ll buy into quashing mention of UMOs?” Shaw asked.

  “Not altogether. That’s why I suggested we get him to agree to delay mentioning them,” Pritchard said. “I’ll tell him we need time to coordinate how and when to release the information and to put guardrails around what can and can’t be said. If I know Augie, he’ll demand a timeline. He’ll push the guardrails to the limit, but I think he’ll understand the rationale for disconnecting today’s Moon shot with the UMOs. I think he’ll let us control the narrative.”

  “What makes you so sure?” Hawkins asked.

  Pritchard looked at Hawkins and Shaw, then turned to Jennings. “Mr. President, I don’t believe I’m authorized to answer Mrs. Hawkins’ question without your approval.”

  The comment seemed to jolt Jennings. He flinched and sat back, studying Pritchard’s face for some clue to his meaning. At least, that’s how Pritchard interpreted the president’s reaction. Hawkins’ reaction was easier to gauge.

  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” she barked.

  “I think it means Dr. Pritchard is unsure whether your security clearance is in order,” Shaw answered, hiding his amused smile behind a hand cupped over his mouth.

  “What?” She glared at Pritchard. “What the president sees, I see. What he knows, I know.”

  She turned to Jennings, her eyes demanding his affirmation of her statement. Jennings, however, looked to Shaw.

  “It’s your decision, Andy,” Sh
aw said. “We can talk with Dr. Pritchard offline, or you can authorize Dani’s SAP clearance for the topic I believe Dr. Pritchard’s interested in discussing. We’ll have to paper it after the fact, but given we’re discussing an urgent matter of national security, you’re well within your authority to grant her access.”

  “What’s going on? What topic?” Hawkins demanded.

  In paternal tones, the elder politician Shaw said, “Despite your top-secret security clearance, there are certain blocks of information that require—”

  “I know what a Special Access Program clearance is, Brett. Don’t fucking patronize me. You’re saying there’s a black ops program related to the UMOs. Right?”

  Shaw, red-faced, sat back and looked to Jennings.

  “Pritchard,” Jennings said, “make your point without dipping your toe in the water.”

  As Hawkins began to object, Jennings cut her off. “Dani, we don’t have time to go into it right now. I’ll fill you in later. Pritchard, speak.”

  “Yes, Mr. President,” Pritchard said. “Augustus Amato is familiar with the…topic. He was… um…involved. At the periphery. So, his knowledge is limited, but he knows the gist of the…uh…of what occurred.

  “Mrs. Hawkins asked why I’m so sure Augie will agree to a delay in announcing the UMOs. I think we can wrap the disclosure of the UMOs under the umbrella of the…um…topic. Tell him if he speaks of the UMOs without DoD consent, it’s a violation of his nondisclosure agreement, a violation of the restrictions of his SAP clearance. Beyond the legal jeopardy, we could threaten to pull his companies’ security clearances for all NASA and DoD projects.”

  “So, a little bit of carrot, a little bit of stick,” Jennings said.

  Pritchard nodded. Jennings looked to Shaw. Shaw nodded as well.

  “I like it. Make it happen. Pritchard, get on the horn to Amato. We’ll start working on a draft here,” Jennings said, rising from his chair and straightening his tie. He turned to Hawkins. “Postpone the NSC meeting until eight tonight. Set a press briefing for ten. Until then, not a word to the press.”

  “What about SECDEF? Elliott’s likely to pop a vein if he has to wait ’til eight for an explanation,” Hawkins said.

  Pritchard agreed with Hawkins. He’d had his fair share of run-ins with Elliott Zimmer over the past year. The secretary of defense was quick to throw his weight around when it came to the prioritization of NASA’s launch schedule. With China and Russia funneling significant resources into orbital surveillance and weapons systems, there was constant pressure on the military to stay one step ahead — a sentiment Zimmer often referenced when strong-arming Pritchard to slot a new military payload ahead of a NASA-sponsored launch.

  “Tough. He waits,” Jennings said.

  Shaw raised a hand. “Playing devil’s advocate…the press will find out about the postponement. Zimmer or one of his staff will leak it.”

  “Talk to him. Appeal to his regard for chain of command,” Jennings said.

  “Okay, will do,” Shaw said.

  “Feel free to threaten him, if necessary,” Jennings said.

  “With pleasure.” Shaw smiled as he left the room.

  Jennings turned his attention back to Hawkins. “Let’s get Barbara in here and start working on the draft.”

  Hawkins left the office to find the president’s press secretary, leaving Pritchard alone with Jennings. As the two men shook hands, Jennings said, “Pritchard, I chose you to run NASA for several reasons. One of them was your track record leading change. Another was your ability to manage crises. To find both qualities in someone who can also handle dealing with generals, Congress and the media is very rare…but…if you ever put me in a position like this again, I will kick your ass across the Potomac faster than you can say ‘lift off.’ Do you understand me?”

  The president’s words echoed in Pritchard’s head throughout the ride back to NASA headquarters. When the Secret Service entourage pulled up outside the building, it seemed to Pritchard the throng of media had swelled by a factor of three. As the SUV door opened, cameras flashed from every direction, as did shouted questions and jeers from a new contingent, protestors toting poster-board signs emblazoned with alien conspiracy slogans. Pritchard flexed his still-throbbing hand, gritted his teeth and followed the burly Secret Service agents into the building lobby.

  Dr. Kiera Walsh’s office

  A3rospace Industries Command and Control Center

  Mayaguana Island, The Bahamas

  Brock answered Kiera’s return call on the first ring. The space agency’s chief scientist seemed out of breath as she spoke, “Kiera…thank you for returning my call.”

  “No problem, Dr. Brock. You said you had something important you wanted to discuss?”

  “Yes…yes…I wanted to talk with you…about yesterday. The problem your, um, CUBE ran into after launch.”

  “You mean the problem created by the UMOs we ran into?” Kiera asked.

  Brock must have been pressing her mouth against the phone’s receiver because the sound of her sigh sounded like a gale wind on Kiera’s end.

  “Dr. Brock?” Kiera asked. “Are you all right?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about your engine design,” Brock said, her voice steadying. “Especially in light of today’s events. We are very concerned about the stability of your design and the risks it poses to our spacecraft.”

  The latter comment was delivered with an edge that Kiera found belittling. It was as if she was a child, playing in a sandbox, who’d fished a loaded handgun out of the sand and was waving it about without a care. Kiera remembered it as Brock’s go-to defense strategy at JPL.

  “Funny, but Mr. Amato thought the opposite,” Kiera said. “You know, that you have certain knowledge about the UMOs you won’t share. That’s the real threat.”

  “Your design uses VLF radio waves,” Brock said. “I know you won’t reveal the design itself, but why did you choose VLF?”

  “What can I say? It’s an electric universe.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  The uncertainty in Brock’s voice was satisfying. Too long had NASA relied on gravity, rocket fuel and solar rays for propulsion energy. Electricity, or more specific, electromagnetic energy was the real propulsion solution to deep space travel. Though Kiera’s engine was but a first step along the path, one that relied on self-contained electrical energy instead of free-floating cosmic electricity, it set the stage for an expansion of propulsion study that would undoubtedly put notions of wormholes, warp-drive, hyperspace and other nonsensical space travel concepts back into the pages of antiquated fiction. Electricity is nothing more than a high-energy form of radio waves that produces light, therefore any solution that attempts to achieve the speed of light must involve the harnessing of electrical power — of radio waves — in space.

  Think on it long enough, Dr. Brock, and it will come to you, Kiera thought. As much as she desired to say it, Amato’s instructions had been specific. Tease her curiosity but don’t give away any secrets.

  “It means you haven’t looked at your own agency’s research as closely as I did. You have to look at it until it hurts,” Kiera said as she ended the call.

  Vehicle Assembly Building

  A3rospace Industries Command and Control Center

  Mayaguana Island, The Bahamas

  A warm breeze pushed through the open bay doors of the vehicle assembly building, what the crew all called the VAB. Though the building was temperature controlled, once the doors opened it was impossible to keep the thick Caribbean air from invading.

  Around Amato, dozens of workers were prepping to launch the remaining eleven CUBEs of his SatFleet. The launch delivery vehicles for CUBE-2 and CUBE-3 were fueled and ready to be tethered to their HABs. Nearby, the fueling of CUBE-4’s LDV was in progress, with two other CUBEs lined up behind, awaiting their turn. Further away, another group of workers unfurled more high altitude balloons, laying them side by side, while others stood arou
nd the open domes of the LDVs for CUBE-7 and CUBE-8, performing final diagnostic checks of the CubeSats inside.

  Amato glanced at his watch. Four hours remained until the first launch. Spaced forty-five minutes apart, it would take more than eight hours to launch the eleven CUBEs that would join CUBE-1, assuming all went according to plan. Given the compressed schedule Amato had imposed on his team, he considered it unlikely they would get all the CUBEs in orbit in the eight-hour window. There were bound to be delays due to technical glitches and variability in HAB ascension dictated by wind over the Atlantic. Still, Amato hoped at least half would reach low Earth orbit before trouble descended on Mayaguana.

  Looking up, he saw Ajay standing on a platform next to the dome of CUBE-2. Sharpie in hand, he added his salutation and signature to the dome. In big, bold letters, he wrote, “3lr0y was here.”

  The dome was already covered by the signatures and sentiments of other A3rospace Industries’ employees, a tradition Amato had fostered since the initial LDV test from the island launch center. He loved to watch them each take their turn on the platform and perform their good luck rituals. Some prayed with hands resting on the dome. Others spoke to it while patting it reassuringly. There were those who smoothed their hands over the dome surface, their eyes alight with wonder and pride. But they all touched it. And whether they spoke aloud or not, they all talked to it.

  Amato understood why. It was the closest many of them would ever come to outer space. To look up into the heavens and know one had connected with something among the stars was like physically touching a dream. He supposed it was the same emotion that caused teens to swoon “I’ll never wash my hand again” after encountering an idolized celebrity.

  Connecting with dreams was the reason he also rotated the team’s stays aboard The Rorschach Explorer, why he built his headquarters garden and why all the exhibits in the Gateway Museum were within hand’s reach. The more they touched their dreams, the hungrier they would be to make them realities.

  As Ajay left the platform, slapping CUBE-2’s LDV dome on his way down the steps, he handed the Sharpie to the next person in line. High fives and smiles were exchanged, a passing of the dream from one to another.