Despite the sudden shutdown, the celebrations continued at the lab at Cal Poly, and President Phoenix was applauding just as enthusiastically as everyone else. “Congratulations, Miss Cavendish, Mr. Eagan,” he said. He was directed by his traveling campaign manager where to stand and face, and he had the two team leaders at his side and the large monitor showing the others over his shoulder when the cameras started to roll.
“I was privileged to attend and watch an amazing occurrence here at Cal Poly: the first successful transmission of electrical energy from space to Earth,” he said. His staff had prepared several sets of remarks for him, including a speech in case Starfire didn’t work, the spaceplane was lost, or the device destroyed the space station. He was overjoyed—and relieved—to be giving this version. “Although just in its infancy, this is a remarkable achievement, made no less remarkable by the fact that a team of undergraduate college students designed, built, installed, and operated it. I’m very proud of these young people for their achievements, and it highlights perfectly what an investment in education, technology, and space sciences can produce. Congratulations, Jodie, Brad, Casey, and Jerry, and to the entire Starfire team.” The president stayed for several minutes longer for pictures, then departed.
WHITE SANDS MISSILE TEST RANGE
ALAMOGORDO, NEW MEXICO
THAT SAME TIME
“How far are we from that antenna, man?” the pilot of a Cessna 172 Skyhawk asked, sweeping rows of brown dreadlocks out of his eyes. “Everything looks the same around here.”
“About ten more minutes,” the man in the right seat said. He was using a map application on his smartphone to navigate the little plane. Like the pilot, he had long, shoulder-length, dirty-looking hair, a beard, mustache, and thick glasses. The pilot was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, knee-length Bermuda shorts, and sneakers; the right-seater wore a T-shirt, cutoff jeans, and sandals. “Stay on this heading.”
“All right, all right,” the pilot said. They had lifted off from Alamogordo–White Sands Regional Airport about a half hour earlier and headed northwest, entering Holloman Air Force Base’s Class-D airspace without talking to anyone on the radio. “You sure you got the right spot, man?” the pilot asked.
“The news reports about the test pointed it out pretty clearly,” the other man said. “We should see it when we get closer—it’s pretty big.”
“Man, this is loco,” the pilot said. “They said on the news that no aircraft will be allowed to fly near the antenna.”
“What are they going to do—shoot us down?” the navigator said.
“I don’t want to get shot down, man, not by the military or this . . . phaser beam, laser beam, whatever the f*ck it is.”
“I don’t want to fly over the antenna, just close enough so they’ll cancel the test,” the navigator said. “This is an illegal test of a space weapon, and if the federal government or the state of New Mexico won’t stop it, we’ll have to do it.”
“Whatever,” the pilot said. He strained to look out the windows. “Are we getting . . . holy shit!” There, off to their left, not more than a hundred feet away, was a green military Black Hawk helicopter with U.S. AIR FORCE in large black letters on the side, flying in formation. The helicopter’s right sliding door was open, and a crewmember in a green flight suit, helmet, and lowered dark visor was visible. “We got company, man.”
The helicopter crewmember in the open door picked up what looked to be a large flashlight and began blinking light signals at the Cessna pilot. “One . . . two . . . one . . . five,” the pilot said. “That’s the emergency distress freq.” He changed his number one radio to that frequency.
“High-wing single-engine Cessna, tail number N-3437T, this is the United States Air Force off your left wing, transmitting on GUARD,” they heard, referencing the universal VHF emergency frequency. “You have entered restricted military airspace that is active at this time. Reverse course immediately. The area is active and you are in great danger. Repeat, reverse course immediately.”
“We got a right to be here, man,” the pilot radioed. “We ain’t doin’ nothin’. Go away.”
“November 3437T, this is the United States Air Force, you are putting yourself in great danger,” the helicopter’s copilot said. “Reverse course immediately. I am authorized to take any action necessary to prevent you from proceeding into restricted airspace.”
“What are you going to do, man—shoot us down?” the Cessna pilot said. The helicopter did have a long tube thing on its nose that looked like a cannon—he didn’t know it was just an air refueling probe. “Listen, we just want to stop the Starfire test, and then we’ll go back home. Go away.”