Three Degrees: Book 1, The Tempestas Series

by Jim Wurst

  The countdown clocks on the home screen hit zero and the screen now filled with a large electronic map. The clock was now counting forward from 08:00:00:00 EST. It took the captains a few moments to absorb what they were seeing. It was the master map from the Strategic Air Command headquarters. These files were obviously the official recording of everything that went on in that room. Every hour of every day for a highly classified number of years.

  The default setting of the map was of the Northern Hemisphere, tracking the movements of everything that wasn’t touching the ground: civilian and military aircraft, satellites, even flocks of birds if they were large enough. And if it came to that the flight paths of missiles. On either side of the map were columns of data streams, plus maps of other parts of the planet that could be transferred to the main screen if an official or computer so decided. Since neither one of them had trained for this command, they had trouble grasping the meaning of all the data. Occasionally an emotionless human voice almost robotic noted the position of a satellite, a note on weather, planes in flight. Routine, almost sleepy.

  “Eight in the morning. What time did the war start?” Ike asked.

  “That’s always classified. Best reports are around noon, Washington time.”

  “Could each of those files be an hour?”

  “Easy to check.” He closed the file and opened the next the same map, and now the clock said 09:00:00:00 EST. “What do you want to do?” he asked Ike.

  The screen mesmerized Ike. “My father meant for me to have this upon his death. He couldn’t have meant for me to drop it into a drawer.”

  “No note? Nothing?”

  “Nothing.”

  They just watched for several minutes. The map periodically changed from the Northern Hemisphere to the atmospheric map showing the locations and orbits of multiple satellites.

  Finally, Ike could not stand the blandness. “Go to the noon file, please.”

  Peter complied. Initially, the file was the same: the same map and the clock counting up from 12:00:00:00 EST. The same pattern: changes in the maps, data streams on either side of the screen, punctuated by a different robotic voice. After about ten minutes, an authoritative voice sounded, this voice was never a robot.

  “Adjustment. Sector two-niner, 75 percent.” They did not understand what that meant, but it didn’t matter at that moment.

  “That’s my father’s voice,” Ike marveled. After so many years of being blocked from top secret history, Ike was now hearing his father at work. They sat mesmerized. They still didn’t fully understand everything they were seeing and hearing. General McClellan was speaking the specialized language of his command. His son only wanted to hear his voice. He occasionally ordered a change in screen or a closeup of some particular blip. Then at 12:14:23, a yellow light went on and the screen immediately switched to a view of space from a low orbit. Multiple blips were moving at a steady speed satellite. The captains didn’t understand the reason for the warning lights, but those airmen from long ago clearly knew what was going on. Two satellites were on parallel courses. Instead of a screen of data, there was now the minimum information about the two satellites: one US, one Chinese.

  “General, one of ours has veered off course.”

  “Why,” McClellan asked, “What’s the malfunction?”

  Before the officer could answer, the yellow light turned to red and the blips representing the two satellites were also red. A computer voice reported: “Collision imminent.”

  The general responded. “Control over-ride. We must take command of that…”

  With a flash, both red blips disappeared. A scatter of blips that started as yellow and quickly turned to red replaced them. Another satellite, this one apparently a UN one, flew directly into the new debris field. It too vanished in an electronic cloud of red dots. The voices were no longer robotic, all their training had not prepared them for a cascade of exploding satellites. Like a nuclear chain reaction in which one atom splitting causes an exponentially increasing number of atoms to split leading to a nuclear explosion, each destroyed satellite became a multi-pronged weapon indiscriminately targeting other satellites. Although it wasn’t obvious at that moment, the captains of 2052 knew that even some satellites not destroyed got damaged or knocked out of orbit.

  After a few numb minutes, a voice rang out.

  “General, the President is on the line.”

  “Thank you. Yes, Mr. President.” The general was remarkably controlled.

  The recording included the President’s phone. “What just happened?”

  “A Chinese satellite diverted orbit and collided with one of ours. As we were analyzing if this was a malfunction or a deliberate attack, a second Chinese satellite hit a UN satellite. Sir, this is aggression by the Chinese government. What are your orders?”

  “Take all necessary action to protect US assets, including the interception of Chinese satellites. Presidential authorization Alpha-Foxtrot-Niner-Niner-Zero-Four.”

  “General, voice recognition confirms. Code confirms authentic,” the unseen officer reported.

  “Yes, Mr. President. Implementing aggressive self-defense actions across the spectrum.”

  Aggressive was an understatement. The general ordered the view over China and Russia. Most of the space vehicles there were still intact. McClellan issued a rapid series of orders consisting mostly of numbers. The captains had to assume these were commands to enact certain protocols on the military satellites and space stations because some US blips shifted positions and the still undecipherable data on the sides changed color from white to red. The counterattack had begun.

  Soon it was clear the US was not the only country at war. What appeared to be Chinese and Russian space stations were also launching attacks China against the US, Russia against China. The flashing red debris field soon looked like a low orbit case of the measles. Then some of SAC’s own monitors failed, their satellites attacked or victims of the spreading debris. This meant the continuing stream of data had to be coming from the few satellites in a higher orbit.

  And then the hour ended.

  Still stunned, neither of the captains thought to start the next hour.

  “Dear God,” was all that Ike could say.

  Peter was slowly formulating an idea. “It began when the Chinese and American satellites collided.”

  “Right. Like we always thought, a Chinese satellite hit one of ours.”

  “No, the officer said our satellite went out of orbit.”

  “I guess.”

  “But your father told the President the Chinese satellite went out of orbit. That wasn’t true. The President gave his orders based on faulty information.”

  “Then that means…”

  “Ike, your father started the Satellite War.”

  CHAPTER 34

  They built the UNSS Francesco Uno on the same plan as the USS Roosevelt, but on a smaller scale. Its three missions were to monitor both human and natural activities on earth, conduct scientific research, and clean up space debris. As the UN did on Earth, it did in space clean up the big boys’ messes. They required all space stations under the Treaty of Seoul to provide for debris clearance, but the two UN stations had been collecting the lion’s share of the junk. Anything that was truly junk nuts and bolts, chunks of paneling, wires got collected and shipped back to Earth for recycling if possible.

  Any human remains if they could establish identity got returned to families. But every once in a while, they recovered something spectacular; computer hardware, or items that looked suspiciously like a weapon. Because of the possibility that some junk wasn’t junk, the Treaty of Seoul also required the UN to have representatives of key countries on the stations and they had first rights to review the trash. Thus, both stations had at least five highly educated crew members who were garbage pickers. Those provisions didn’t extend to the national stati
ons. If the Roosevelt found a chunk of a Russian computer, well, too bad.

  Commander Luiza de Souza, a Brazilian, ran the Francesco Uno. She was primarily an astronaut, then a naval commander, then a scientist. But now she was giving an interview.

  “The United Nations has two stations moving in sun-synchronistic orbit, one over each hemisphere. Our standard orbit is 75 degrees north to 15 degrees north. Our sister ship in the south, the Al-Khwarizmi, has a similar orbit. Most of the time we are on opposite sides of the Earth, we can alter our orbits slightly if there appears to be a need.”

  “Such as?” asked the EuroNet reporter, McBride.

  “Indications of a massive, dangerous weather pattern, tidal activities, storms forming. In space, we may encounter a particular large cluster of debris. It takes a lot to alter the course of a space station, so it’s rarely done. Mostly we leave that task to the cleaners. We have no weapons or military applications, of course. The Treaty of Seoul bans space-based weapons, either on stations or satellites. Other than that restriction, we work to take on as many duties as possible.”

  “You’re still collecting debris from the Satellite War. How much debris do you collect?”

  “About a metric ton a month. It’s undoubtedly the least glamorous job in space, but we all have to do it. Every space station UN, nationals have to do it, not only because it’s the right thing to do but as a simple matter of self-preservation. The 1967 UN Outer Space Treaty required all nations launching anything into space to take responsibility for what they put up here. Earth-based monitors have been evolving now for almost 100 years, so they provide us with back-up. Being approximately 2,000 kilometers up, we’re above the debris field so we’re not collecting as much. The stations that are lower down, collect much more. Before the war, debris pushed out of Low Earth Orbit got ejected into High Earth Orbit, but now that range is essential for the communications satellites, so the UN has a ship up there doing nothing but collecting pre-war debris. Any damage to the HEO satellites would be catastrophic.

  McBride felt he had enough for the moment and signaled for the camera to be turned off. “Thank you. That’s enough for now. We’d like to see more of the station now.”

  “Certainly.” She motioned to a crew member to take over escort duties. “What are you going to do with all this material?”

  “Probably use it in a series of short documentaries. As you know, EuroNet started out as a teaching tool for high school students and we just kept growing, so now we have some pretty complex shows. But we still focus on being as accessible as possible.”

  “Well, looking forward to seeing the result. What’s next?”

  “We are heading for the Theodore Roosevelt next. Contrasting a UN station to a national one should be an interesting program.”

  “Also, a risky trip. You understand you’ll be passing through the most treacherous part of the debris field.”

  “Oh, we know,” he said, trying to be as nonchalant as possible.

  “Going to the Moon?”

  “Not us, but another team will head there, next cycle.”

  “Exciting place. New discoveries every day. You’ve consulted with my navigation office about your course?”

  “Yes, Commander. Francesco and the Roosevelt will be in closest proximity at 700 GMT, and there are no major debris fields on the flight path.”

  “Well, you’re lucky then. Better stick tight to that schedule.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Even social animals needed quiet time. George and Maggie were alone with the lights down and only their essential phones nearby. The long silence was like a vast blanket that they could hide under.

  “George?”

  “Yeah, Mags?”

  “Umm…”

  Umm could not be good. Umm was hesitation. Maggie never hesitated. Resigning himself to the inevitable, he asked, “Yes?”

  “Victoria’s under arrest again.”

  Cranston was glad for the darkness. “Where?”

  “That stoners’ warehouse on the Potomac.”

  “Drugs, I assume.”

  “Sure. You know the drill. They cut them all loose after one night. Issued an order to appear in court, they never do and the courts couldn’t care less.”

  “So where is she now?”

  “You don’t know?” There was only one person in the world who could get away with asking that question.

  “I haven’t seen her in a week. Face-to-face is too frustrating for both of us. What am I supposed to say, ‘Daddy will take care of everything when I’m in charge?’ She’s only two steps away from spitting in my face as it is.”

  “Cut off her money?”

  “She has her own accounts.”

  “She’s still a minor.”

  “A legal detail.”

  “You know what’s at the heart of this, right? You let it slide because deep down you agree with her. With them.”

  Maggie the operative couldn’t help but make the political calculations, and of course had the sense to keep them to herself. In past decades, a junkie teenage daughter would have been a career killer. “How can he run a country when he can’t run his own family?” This was now a big glass house syndrome. Nearly every political family had a Victoria. Anyone raising questions about Victoria could expect the reply, “Why exactly did General Hayden’s son resign his commission?” or “How come we don’t see Ailes granddaughter anymore?” It was a permanent stand-off. Ironically, one of the few people with clean windows was Lilly, and she was the last person to exploit it. Besides, Maggie was right: Cranston agreed, understood. No more “what’s the matter with kids today?” Cranston knew. And Victoria knew what her father believed. And she had no intention of letting him come up for air. She would hold him underwater as long as she could.

  CHAPTER 36

  Theo arrived back at base just before the EuroNet crew arrived. The EuroNet jet was three times the size of Theo’s sand-hugger. They designed it for intercontinental travel with extra seats for visitors or dignitaries. On this trip, one of the least glamorous possible the ship carried only the documentary crew. Once the jet had descended onto the landing pad, the roof slid shut and Theo entered from the passageway. “Welcome to UN Biogeological Station A4. I hope your trip went well.”

  “A bit of turbulence, nothing special. Thank you for asking.”

  Sam was a black man, but the accent instantly pegged him as a Londoner. Brixton maybe, Theo thought. He wondered if EuroNet sent him because he was black or if it was his idea. Then he got annoyed at himself for spending two seconds on nonsense.

  Theo led Sam into the station as the crew started removing their equipment.

  They had warned Sam about Theo, so he started with the simplest question he could think of.

  “Station A4 is pretty bland name. Other places we’ve covered give their facilities nicknames. Do you call your station anything else?”

  Theo stared blankly at the reporter, unable to comprehend the thought behind the question. “No.”

  “Ok, now, as I’m sure you know, the EuroNet webcasts are designed for high school students in Europe. The casts are about climate adaptation and coping strategies. You know, encouragement for the home front. We have a wider audience around the world, but that’s our target audience. When you speak, please don’t talk down to the viewers they’re not scientists but they’re not children either. For example, when you refer to species of trees don’t use only the scientific name, use the common name too.”

  Theo did little to hide his boredom. “In what language?”

  “Whichever you prefer. We will add subtitles in various languages later.”

  “So, this won’t be live?”

  “No, we can transmit live, but that uses up valuable satellite time, so we only do that for special occasions…”

  “And this is not a special occasion�
��”

  “Well, no, it is very rare…”

  “Don’t apologize, I’m not offended.” He really wasn’t.

  They entered the conference room where Raj was waiting. The table was empty except for pitchers of water and glasses. A large projection dominated the wall. It was obviously their part of Africa, but with a patchwork of images and colors. Sam approached Raj with an outstretched hand. Raj, well-practiced, had already extended his left hand, giving Sam plenty of time to correct without being embarrassed.

  “This is Dr. Raj Gupta, formerly of the Galma station,” Theo said, “Since the station is closed, he has been seconded here until we can decide what to do with him.” Even Theo realized that sounded like an insult, so he quickly added, “I mean, we have had to close his station. It’s not a reflection on Dr. Gupta, it’s a reflection on the soil of Galma.”

  Everyone sat around the table facing the projection. Theo picked up the remote. It was easy to recognize this middle swath of West Africa from Morocco down to Nigeria/Cameroon border, with its withdrawn coast and lack of interior cities. The map showed Katsina and Galma, marked with bright red spots. There were several other such spots in a line extending from Tan-Tan in southern Morocco, southeast through Mauritania and leveling off at approximately 15-10 degrees north, eastwards. There were irregular areas of green near many of these spots including Katsina but excluding Galma. In addition, there was a yellow line beginning at Tan-Tan; it broke after a few hundred kilometers but then there are other sections of yellow along the parallel. There were none near Katsina.

  “I understand you wanted a briefing about our work before you saw the nursery or went into the field. Correct?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Every time we explain to visitors why we are trying to reforest in the middle of the desert, they always ask why here. To save us both of some time, let me first explain why we are here.”