“The American Space Command reported to the air attaché in Washington that one S-29 Shadow and one S-19 Midnight spaceplane will be sent into orbit within the next six hours,” the defense minister reported, handing the president some charts and radar plots. “The S-29 will go to Armstrong, drop off supplies and pick up passengers, go into a transfer orbit, transition to the International Space Station to drop off supplies and pick up personnel, then return the next day. The S-19 will fly to Joint Base Andrews near Washington, pick up passengers, then fly to Armstrong. They also announced that they will send several manned and unmanned commercial cargo modules to both stations over the next seventy-two hours.”
“Two spaceplanes?” Gryzlov thundered. “They are launching two spaceplanes? And one is already in orbit, not within six hours? That is unacceptable! And their flight paths?”
“Any flight path that travels to either space station will overfly Russia, sir,” Sokolov said.
“That is unacceptable!” Gryzlov shouted again. “I ordered spaceplanes to not overfly Russia! Is there any evidence that they are working to detach the Skybolt module from the military space station?”
“No, sir,” Sokolov said. “We scan the station when it passes near a space surveillance site, about every four to six hours, and we have not noticed any external change in the station.”
“It has not been that long since you made your speech or spoken to President Phoenix, sir,” Chief of Staff Tarzarov said. “Maybe the purpose of these flights is to do as you ordered. And, sir, you said you would give the Americans two—”
“Stop making excuses for the Americans, Tarzarov,” Gryzlov said. “I will not be disregarded like this! I will not be made a patsy, like that tottering fool Phoenix!” He looked at the radar plots of the spaceplane’s flight path. “This looks to me like a trial attack run on our cosmodrome! That is not acceptable!”
“Shall I get President Phoenix on the phone for you, sir?” Tarzarov asked. “This must be explained.”
“No need, Mr. Tarzarov,” Daria Titeneva said as she walked quickly into the president’s office, after waiting a discreet length of time after leaving Gryzlov’s bedroom. She held up a folder. “Text of an address Phoenix gave on American television just a short time ago. He again denies that it was a space-based directed-energy weapon and that the civilian airplane was downed by the weapon; no mention of deactivating the Skybolt laser; and he says that no nation has the right to restrict any movement of any aircraft or spacecraft above the Kármán line, which is the altitude above which aerodynamic lift cannot be—”
“I know what the hell the Kármán line is, Daria—I trained as a cosmonaut, remember?” Gryzlov interrupted acidly. He nodded, then turned back to his desk and looked out the windows. He was suddenly acting remarkably calm, they all noticed—they had expected him to continue the rant that started this meeting. “So. This is unexpected. Kenneth Phoenix has somehow grown a spine in recent days, despite his surprising agreement to detach the Skybolt module. We have much to discuss, my friends. Let us move to the conference room. Coffee and tea?”
JOINT BASE ANDREWS, NEAR WASHINGTON, D.C.
SEVERAL HOURS LATER
Inside a large aircraft hangar, Jessica “Gonzo” Faulkner and Sondra Eddington stood at the base of the boarding stairs of the S-19 Midnight spaceplane as the limousine pulled up. Gonzo was wearing her EEAS space suit, while Sondra had an orange ACES suit. Neither was wearing a helmet. On either side of them were two plainclothed Secret Service agents, who had already inspected the interior and exterior of the S-19 spaceplane they were standing beside—they freely admitted they didn’t know what in hell to look for, but their job was to inspect any area the vice president might occupy, so they did it. The spaceplane was parked on a secure section of the aircraft parking ramp at Joint Base Andrews, formerly Andrews Air Force Base, the main military airport used by high-ranking members of the U.S. government when they travelrd on military aircraft. The ramp was surrounded by several layers of security, both on the ground and overhead.
A Secret Service agent opened the limousine’s doors, and out stepped two persons, both wearing orange ACES space suits: a female Secret Service agent, and the vice president of the United States, Ann Page. Ann came over to Gonzo and extended a gloved hand. “Colonel Faulkner?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Gonzo said, shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you. I’ll be your spacecraft commander today. This is Sondra Eddington, our mission commander.” Sondra and the vice president shook hands as well. “Welcome aboard.”
“Thank you. I’m looking forward to this,” Ann said, her eyes glistening with excitement. “This is Special Agent Robin Clarkson, my Secret Service detail.” Clarkson shook hands with the pilots. She looked a little nervous, Gonzo thought, but not nearly as much as poor Special Agent Charlie Spellman did when he flew with the president. Ann stood and admired the S-19 Midnight with a big smile on her face. “My first time in an S-19 Midnight. I’ve got a few flights in an S-9 Black Stallion, but that was in the very early days.”
“I don’t think you’ll find many differences at all, ma’am,” Gonzo said. “The passenger module is very comfortable, but I assumed you’d want to be in the cockpit for this flight.”