Asteroid Discovery

by Bobby Akart

  The next numbered designation in line, IM86, was poetic in a way. The use of the number eighty-six was often associated with the restaurant business. Many years ago, there was a neighborhood bar in Greenwich Village, New York called Chumley’s. Located at 86 Bedford Street, the building was devoid of modern conveniences like air-conditioning. When the heat of the afternoon set upon the bar, patrons were known to eighty-six themselves from, or leave, Chumley’s. In modern times, restaurants used the term eighty-six when something was to be canceled or removed from the menu. If a restaurant ran out of a menu item, servers were instructed to eighty-six the dish from the day’s offerings.

  The driver slowed as he maneuvered the car through the protective barricades on West Executive Drive that crossed the White House grounds. Hapwell considered the term eighty-six and how the meaning could be applied to cancelling, or eliminating, life on Earth. It dogged her since her team proposed the use, but the designation 2029 IM86 could not be changed.

  Hapwell waited as a uniformed officer opened the door for her. She stepped under the umbrella he provided, allowing the misty rain to refresh her spirits. She had to be unemotional during her briefing this morning. People with a whole lot more responsibility than she had would have to make several decisions. She anticipated arguments and counterarguments. She even anticipated naysayers who would question the MPC’s findings. Hapwell was up for the challenge.

  She entered through the double doors that led into a desolate hallway on the bottom floor of the West Wing. A smattering of staffers wandered about at this early hour, stopping by the cafeteria for coffee and pastries.

  She’d only been in the White House on one other occasion, a social event in which the new director of NASA was being appointed, and Director Hapwell had unexpectedly found her name on the guest list. Security was always tight, especially since the assassination attempt on the president following the 2020 election. Fresh on the minds of the Secret Service, additional safeguards had been put into place, and Hapwell was being run through the process as she waited in the ground-floor lobby.

  After several minutes, she was cleared and led to the Situation Room, which had the audio-visual equipment necessary for her to brief the attendees. Outside the door, the watch officer greeted her, standing next to the black-and-gold plaque that read White House Situation Room – Restricted Access.

  The five-thousand-square-foot complex of rooms that occupied a large corner of the West Wing was commonly referred to as the Woodshed. Once a bowling alley until the sixties, when President Kennedy ordered it destroyed following the Bay of Pigs crisis in Cuba, the Situation Room had technologically evolved into a command center utilized by the president, his military leaders and intelligence advisors, and the cabinet in times when the nation’s security was in peril.

  After another brief identification check, the watch officer spoke into a collar microphone. The lock on the door buzzed and a loud click preceded the door becoming slightly ajar. Hapwell was one of the first to arrive, by design. She’d emailed her report to the Watch Team at midnight, who then performed their daily function of preparing the Morning Book.

  Each day, several agencies, including the State Department, the Director of National Intelligence, and FEMA, provided staffers within the Situation Room’s Watch Team daily reports of matters of national security. Once the Morning Book was compiled, it accompanied the driver who picked up the national security advisor every morning. She in turn provided it to the president, the vice president, and various senior staffers for review.

  An aide to the Watch Team handed a copy of findings relevant to the MPC’s report to Hapwell as she entered the room and showed the director to her seat. She was then introduced to a staffer who offered to assist her with the visual aspects of her presentation, and who, thanks to her calming demeanor, would serve to reduce Hapwell’s nervousness.

  While Hapwell prepared her notes and coordinated the visual material with the Watch Team’s aide, the president’s closest advisors filed into the room. She was surprised at their calm demeanor considering the magnitude of the primary topic of discussion. After studying the expressions on their faces, she decided to ask the aide if this was normal.

  “Miss, do you think they’ve read my report? I mean, it’s all here.”

  The aide laughed. “Truthfully, many have not. To be blunt, most of the people in attendance this morning like to focus on their own shit, if you know what I mean. If it doesn’t affect their agency or department, then it’s not their—”

  “Yeah, I get it.” Hapwell understood.

  “Exactly.”

  Hapwell rolled her eyes and shrugged. After she was finished laying out the threat the world faced, she’d expect that all of these individuals who held the most powerful positions in the United States government would either realize that what she had to say was, in fact, their shit, or they might actually shit themselves instead.

  All of the seats were taken when the president’s chief of staff made her first appearance. “Good morning,” she said, sliding into her seat at the head of the table without looking up.

  “Good morning,” several attendees responded.

  “Let’s get started with the mundane before I bring in the president,” she began, flipping open the Morning Book.

  Maggie Fielding, the president’s chief of staff, ran a tight ship, using her former naval command experience to keep a clamp on staff leaks and to make sure the president’s time was used wisely. To the president’s credit, he resisted the urge to micromanage the White House, as so many presidents before him had tried to do. Governing the United States of America was difficult enough without trying to concern himself with the inner workings of the White House and its interaction with agency heads.

  Fielding continued. “All events on the president’s schedule for the day have been cancelled.”

  “Maggie, just a moment,” interrupted the Secretary of State. “We’ve been putting off the Saudi prince for months and have assured him that he could be seen with the president today. I mean, have a meeting with—”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” Fielding shot back. “You’ve been promising the newly crowned prince an audience so he could get his photo op and stick it up the ass of the Iranians. It’ll have to happen another day. This matter is far too important, and therefore politically volatile, for the president to be seen schmoozing with the prince-slayer.”

  “With all due respect, Maggie, we shouldn’t use that kind of language to discuss the new head of state of the richest—”

  “Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman had been a friend to this administration, and the U.S., since his rise to power. The president is not overly excited about being seen with the new crown prince, hence the reason this meet and greet was postponed until way after the inauguration. Now, let’s move along.”

  The chief of staff went through various matters that were customarily addressed during the morning briefing. She touched on the geopolitical hot zones around the world, including a series of tornadoes that had struck Dixie Alley overnight, before turning her attention to Hapwell, who patiently waited her turn.

  Although Fielding rarely spent more than a few moments on any one topic, Hapwell became intrigued by the process, which helped take her mind off the magnitude of IM86’s discovery.

  The president’s chief of staff stood from her chair and slid the Morning Book in front of an empty chair to her right. She thumbed through the tabs until she reached the center of the binder that contained the MPC’s report.

  “Director Hapwell, the rest of the briefing is devoted to you. Take a moment to gather your thoughts while I send for the president.”

  Chapter 26

  Friday, April 6

  The Situation Room

  The White House

  Washington, DC

  President Mack Watson was less than one hundred days into his new presidency when he was challenged with a catastrophe like no other in modern history. He was already under intense scruti
ny by the media and the American public following a contentious presidential campaign that had been marred by allegations of voter fraud from one side and voter suppression from the other. After a Supreme Court hearing in which the outcomes of three key states were determined, Watson took the oath of office and began the task of governing.

  The Watson administration relied heavily upon longtime Washington insiders and military leaders with proven track records in dealing with international security matters. The nation found itself embroiled in hot wars in both the Middle East and South America. Just as troublesome were the cold war conditions with China over the South China Sea, and Russia over its continued incursions into Eastern Europe as the Moscow government continued its quest to reconstitute the old Soviet Union.

  The politically astute president knew that very little could bring the world’s leaders together, but an extinction-level threat like this asteroid must, for the sake of humanity.

  The president arrived, exchanged some pleasantries, and then settled into the chair at the head of the table, awaiting Hapwell’s briefing.

  She took a deep breath and began. “Mr. President, my team at the Minor Planet Center has worked around the clock analyzing the data provided to us by one of our astronauts aboard the International Space Station as well as information provided by an amateur astronomer in a remote area of Georgia.”

  The president interrupted her and turned to his national security advisor. “What about that?”

  “Contained, Mr. President,” he quickly responded.

  “The reporter?”

  “The Atlanta field office of the FBI has descended upon the gentleman’s hometown and are conducting door-to-door searches. I’ve been assured that he’ll be taken into custody by day’s end.”

  The president paused and looked around the room. “Maggie has done a tremendous job of clamping down on the leaks that have plagued prior administrations. I have to say that this information must be kept out of the public eye until we can make a decision on how to deal with this threat, and how to control the release of information. Let me also say this, if prior administrations were genuinely concerned about how the population would react to the revelations that extraterrestrials have visited our planet, they’d lose their minds if they thought we were about to go the way of the dinosaurs. It’s very important that our release of this threat be coupled with a cohesive, solid plan for protecting the planet from the impact.”

  The president paused, made eye contact with several members of his national security team, and then turned his attention back to Hapwell. With a slight nod, he encouraged her to continue.

  “Mr. President, if I may expand on your thought, this situation is far different from the Chelyabinsk event in Russia sixteen years ago. It was just sheer luck that the meteoroid exploded over the Bering Sea, largely unnoticed. Within a matter of days, or less, amateur astronomers in the Northern Hemisphere will be able to pick up IM86’s approach as Comet Oort continues out of view. The trajectories of the two near-Earth objects intersected, but follow wholly different paths.”

  “Director, um—” the president glanced down at the Morning Book “—Director Hapwell, we need to deal with absolutes. If I’m to declare a national emergency, then I need to know exactly what we’re dealing with here.”

  “Mr. President, I completely understand. As we get closer to the impact date, the variables are lessened and accuracy can be assured.”

  The president’s national security advisor interrupted Hapwell. “Isn’t it true that IM86 could bypass Earth altogether, albeit a close shave?”

  “Yes, sir, that is true. Our initial calculations show that it is on a collision course with the planet, especially due to the gravitational pull of the Earth. NEOs have been known to alter their trajectory as the Earth draws them in, so to speak.”

  The Secretary of Energy cleared her throat and raised her hand slightly. The president nodded and acknowledged her. “Madam Secretary, would you like to weigh in on this?”

  “Mr. President, with your permission, I’ve brought with me the Undersecretary of Science, Paul Ashford. He was a former director of the Minor Planet Center as well as the former deputy administrator at NASA.”

  “Please,” said the president, who leaned back in his chair. “I’d like to hear all perspectives on this matter.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President,” began Ashford. He looked over at Hapwell and smiled. “Mr. President, I am familiar with Director Hapwell’s work and have admired her efforts at the MPC following my tenure there. I need to briefly relay to everyone our nation’s experience with a similar near-Earth object, 1997 XF11.

  “XF11 was discovered and then immediately considered our next planet killer. Orbit calculations indicated that it would make an unprecedented close approach to Earth with a miss distance of less than one-quarter of a lunar distance. The ESA, the European Space Agency, placed it at even less than that.

  “XF11 was slightly larger than our newly discovered IM86, at more than a kilometer across. The news of this behemoth spread and it wasn’t long before the media generated a panic. At the time, we didn’t have the technology to study, much less divert, an asteroid. As it turned out, both NASA and the ESA were overstating the close approach, and XF11 passed our planet at nearly a million and a half miles away.

  “My point is this, Mr. President. Before we decide to embark on a diversion or destruction strategy, we might also want to consider the extraordinary opportunity that is presented to us for study, including mining the asteroid.”

  The room erupted in whispered chatter, causing the chief of staff to tap the end of her pen on the conference table to grab everyone’s attention. She addressed Ashford’s suggestion. “From the report prepared by the MPC, Mr. Undersecretary, I don’t think we should run the risk of trying to study something that could kill us all.”

  The attendees began speaking to one another.

  The president raised his hand to calm his advisors. “Listen up, everyone. I’m known to consider all sides of an issue and make an educated decision, one that includes a cost-benefit analysis, if you will. Mr. Undersecretary, knowing the potential risk this asteroid poses, what possible benefit could we attain from its study or, as you suggest, mining it?”

  Ashford gathered his thoughts and responded, “Mr. President, there are certain obvious benefits of mining an asteroid, especially one this close to us. The logistical difficulties of delivering personnel and payload is eased considerably because of the close proximity of the asteroid.

  “Sir, the concept of space mining is in its infancy, and exploring is very costly. Attempts to study and mine an asteroid at a greater distance would cost in the neighborhood of a billion dollars just to bring home ten pounds of material.

  “With the close approach, we could obtain, return, and study many times that amount of material at a fraction of the cost. This could potentially add trillions of dollars to the global GDP and completely redefine our understanding of natural resources.”

  The Energy Secretary added, “Mr. President, studies have shown that an asteroid of one hundred feet wide could yield fifty billion dollars of platinum and possibly other resources that have never been found on our own planet. These undiscovered resources could have a myriad of uses.”

  “How do you propose to put together this so-called mining operation on a short timetable? If I understand Ms. Hapwell, we only have a couple of weeks to take action.”

  Ashford responded, “Sir, investors such as Google’s Eric Schmidt and Larry Page, filmmaker James Cameron, and software mogul Charles Simonyi have already developed the technology and capability to mine a near-Earth asteroid. With the use of SpaceX rockets, they could be ready in days to intercept IM86, but certainly by April 20, the date I’ve calculated as our last best opportunity for diversion.”

  President Watson made some notes, leaned into his chief of staff and whispered, then returned his attention to Hapwell. “Director Hapwell, what do you think of this idea?”
r />   “It’s nuts, Mr. President.”

  Chapter 27

  Friday, April 5

  Dog Island

  Florida Panhandle

  Gunner had taken a more casual ride back from Eglin that early afternoon, allowing himself the opportunity to consider his short session with Dr. Dowling, as well as his briefing with the colonel. His normal wide-open-throttle crushing of the waves was replaced with a fifty-mile-an-hour cruise, still fast by most boats’ standards.

  Dr. Dowling had started the session by confirming with Gunner that he was ready to put all the cards on the table, as he’d promised. Gunner was completely honest in his answer. He believed that discussing the past was unnecessary, as all it did was open up old wounds that needed to heal.

  The renowned psychologist agreed that ordinarily, the passage of time does alleviate the pain and scars of emotional wounds in most of his patients, but he then reeled off a list of behaviors Gunner had exhibited that indicated he had a lot of work to do. In Gunner’s case, he masked his pain and suffering by avoiding it, but he manifested his inner feelings by taking unnecessary risks.

  All in all, Gunner thought it was a good start to their new understanding of what Dr. Dowling was there to do, and he actually found himself looking forward to their next session in a month. Meanwhile, it was back to work, something Gunner considered to be the best therapy.

  He was briefed by Colonel Bradford on his next mission, and Gunner was thrilled to be back in the saddle so quickly. There were a lot of holes in the information relayed to him by the colonel, but he was assured the mission leadership team at Fort Belvoir would give him a total picture upon his arrival.

  Gunner pulled back on the throttle of the Donzi, allowing the bow to drop in the water and the stern to be pushed by the considerable wake the forty-one-foot-long boat left as it cut through the Gulf waters. A pod of dolphins had taken up residency along the shores of the barrier islands to St. George Sound and even found their way along the beach in front of his home.