“Trinity?”
“It’s one of several different versions of Sky Masters Aerospace’s autonomous orbital maneuvering vehicles, used by the Space Defense Force a few years ago,” Brad explained. “It’s placed into orbit by a Midnight spaceplane. It has its own targeting sensors, or it can take targeting data from a Kingfisher weapon garage or from Armstrong Space Station; it can autonomously refuel from Armstrong or another unmanned servicing module; it can—”
“?‘Targeting’? ‘Weapon garage’?” Nukaga interrupted. “These are all space weapons?”
“Well, Trinity is a multipurpose orbital module, but yes, sir, it is used in a variety of space-based weapons,” Brad said. He was hoping to not bring up the fact that Trinity was a space weapon to Nukuga—the professor was a well-known and moderately activist antiwar guy—but in his excitement to pitch the project and get the lab space, he said the words that hopefully would not kill this project.
Nukaga began blinking in some confusion. “I didn’t know you were building a space weapon, Mr. McLanahan,” he said.
“We’re not, sir,” Brad said, his confidence eroding quickly like a slow leak on a bicycle tire. “Starfire is an orbiting power plant based on Armstrong Space Station. We felt we had to not only design the components of the power plant but figure out ways to safely and efficiently get all the components into orbit using current technology. We can demonstrate that if we—”
“I’m not comfortable at all with cooperating with a company that produces space weapons,” Nukaga said stiffly, staring accusingly at Brad. “If this company gets the information on your Starfire and then decides to use the technology to develop more space weapons, this university would be complicit in an arms race in space. Technology that could beam maser energy to a rectenna on Earth can certainly be used to disable a spacecraft or even destroy targets on the ground.”
“Sky Masters Aerospace is offering a fifty-million-dollar grant for new orbital spacecraft technology, Dr. Nukaga,” Brad said. “I think even just a piece of that would be extremely good for the university. We’re hoping that getting the lab space and time in the directed-energy and computer labs will show the university’s commitment to the project and help get part of that grant money.”
“Money isn’t the only consideration here, Mr. McLanahan,” Nukaga retorted indignantly . . . but he briefly glanced away, silently acknowledging the fact that landing a big piece of a multimillion-dollar grant would certainly be good for the school—and for his own prestige, of course. “How did you happen to come across this Trinity module, Mr. McLanahan?” he asked.
“My father used to be the chief operations officer at the company, sir,” Brad said. “I worked there for a short time, and I still have friends there. I stay in contact with the guys in the engineering and flight-test departments, and I hope to work there some day.”
“?‘Used to be’? Your father’s retired?”
Brad swallowed hard, and when his mouth opened, no sound came forth.
“His father was killed, sir,” Lane said in a soft voice. Nukaga looked at the young man, then back to Brad’s blank expression, still confused.
“Dr. Nukaga, Brad’s father was General Patrick McLanahan,” Casey said, the tone in her voice making it plain that she couldn’t believe he didn’t know—Bradley McLanahan, the son of the great aerospace warrior General Patrick McLanahan, was a sort of minor celebrity on campus.
It finally dawned on Nukaga what had just transpired, but his expression of shock and embarrassment lasted only a moment. “I . . . my apologies, Mr. McLanahan,” he said finally, straightening in his chair and looking at a spot on the wall over Brad’s shoulder. “I did not know this.” Still looking away, he cleared his throat, then motioned for the folder in Brad’s hand. “I will look over your project, present it to the projects committee, and inform you as quickly as possible,” he said as Brad gave him the folder. “Thank you all.” The students shuffled to their feet and departed. “Mr. Kim. A word please.”
“We’ll be at the Starbucks at the Market, Jerry,” Casey whispered to Jung-bae as they headed out. Jerry nodded, then returned to his seat.
Nukaga waited a few moments until he was sure the outer office was clear; then: “It seems to me you were not very well prepared for this presentation, Mr. Kim,” he said. “I receive several dozen requests for sponsored summer lab space every spring for just three slots. The teams that I invite to make a personal presentation spend hundreds of hours in preparation and are all at the top of their games. But you did not seem to be so this afternoon. Can you tell me why, Mr. Kim?”