by Dale Brown
The Space Force chief of staff nodded reluctantly. “That’s true. Short of somehow retrieving pieces of wreckage from AEHF-7 and the Topaz-M for forensic examination—which is essentially impossible—we can’t prove what killed them. Space is a dangerous place . . . and accidents do happen, especially to complex spacecraft. And plenty of countries out there will be looking for reasons to avoid confronting Beijing and Moscow over this issue.”
Looking out at them from one of the wall screens, Nadia Rozek-McLanahan spoke up. She and Brad were participating in this emergency national security meeting via a secure link to Eagle Station, currently orbiting high over the Indian Ocean. “The physics of this situation already make any attack impossible. By the time we come around the curve of the earth into view of those Russian and Chinese spacecraft, they’ll have begun their translunar injection burns and be well outside our plasma rail gun’s effective range. The same thing goes for the S-29s, which have a much shorter-ranged laser weapon.”
Farrell allowed himself a wry smile. “Y’all are starting to piss me off with these inconvenient facts.” He sighed. “Trouble is, I can’t afford to replace you with a bunch of sycophants, even if I wanted to. Look where that got poor old Stacy Anne in the end: up shit creek without even a canoe, let alone a paddle.”
His predecessor, President Barbeau, had been infamous for packing the ranks of her senior advisers and cabinet officials with nonentities, tame “yes-men” and “yes-women” who never bucked her decisions or challenged her assumptions. In the end, left entirely to her own whims and preconceived ideas, she’d run the United States into grave danger, damaged its standing in the world, and, ultimately, wrecked her own hopes of winning a second term in office.
“Speaking truth to power is our duty,” Nadia said seriously. Her chin lifted slightly to emphasize the point. Even this tiny motion, in zero-G, caused a lock of her thick, dark hair to float across her face. Impatiently, she brushed it aside. Then she smiled. “Admittedly, doing so is much safer from here. The rest of your advisers trapped down there on Earth with you will just have to take their chances.”
That sparked a soft ripple of laughter from around the table.
“Well, all right, then,” Farrell said after a short pause. “Is there some way we can stop them from sending any new spacecraft to the moon?”
“By imposing an orbital blockade over their launch sites?” Kelleher asked.
Farrell nodded. “Something along those lines, General. Whatever Moscow and Beijing are doing on the lunar surface, shutting down their ability to reinforce and resupply from Earth could be crucial.”
“You’re right about that,” Patrick McLanahan agreed. “But—”
“Ah, hell,” Farrell grumbled. “It’s impossible, right?”
Patrick shot him a rueful smile. “I’m afraid so. One of our S-29 spaceplanes would only be in effective range of any of those Russian and Chinese launch complexes for about two minutes out of every ninety-eight-minute orbit. Between life-support limitations and the need to cover different orbital tracks, seriously blockading their launch sites would take a force of dozens of armed spacecraft. Building that many spaceplanes would take years.”
“Years we don’t have.”
“That’s about the size of it,” Patrick admitted.
Farrell scowled. “Are y’all telling me we’re just going have to sit tight and do nothing? Because I will be damned if I intend to let those bastards Leonov and Li lock us out of the moon and all its resources.”
“Whatever weapons Moscow and Beijing have deployed to the moon are around on the far side,” Taliaferro pointed out. “So they’re only a threat to spacecraft going into lunar orbit. What if we just skipped that part of any moon mission and sent our rockets straight to the near side—where everything suggests the highest concentrations of helium-3 are anyway?”
Kelleher shook his head. “Direct descent to the lunar surface might work for some unmanned missions, but it’s awfully risky. One small engine misfire or bad burn and you end up with bits and pieces of expensive hardware scattered across several hundred square miles of the moon. And you sure can’t take those kinds of risks with live astronauts. Shooting for lunar orbit first at least gives you the option of a free-return trajectory, where the moon’s gravity slings your ship back toward Earth if anything major goes wrong.”
“Like Apollo 13,” Farrell realized. Kelleher nodded.
“Even if we were willing to take those risks, we’d only wind up being too late,” Patrick said. “All along the way, the Russians and the Chinese have been ahead of us. Once they learn we’re planning to send landers and mining equipment straight to the lunar surface—which isn’t something we can keep secret—there’ll be nothing stopping them from deploying additional weapons to the near side of the moon.”
Farrell grimaced. “What you’re saying is that we either win this fight now, somehow . . . or we kiss the moon, its resources, and everything they can do for our economy, our technology, and our future, good-bye.”
“Yes, sir,” Patrick agreed solemnly. “That’s the way it lays out.”
A grim silence fell across the Situation Room.
“Excuse me, Mr. President,” Brad said quietly over the link from orbit.
Farrell looked up. “Yes, Major McLanahan?”
“On that score, Nadia and I have been working through some alternatives,” the younger man told him. “And we’ve come up with what we think could be a workable mission plan for an armed reconnaissance of the moon’s far side.”
With a skeptical look on his face, General Kelleher leaned forward. “Using what hardware, exactly?” He snorted. “Reconfiguring that Orion crew vehicle and our other deep-space-capable craft to carry weapons would take years of engineering and flight testing.”
“The Orion’s not going to cut it,” Brad agreed evenly.
Kelleher frowned. “If you’re not going to fly the Orion, what have you got in mind? There’s no other piece of human-rated space hardware in our inventory that’s designed to go beyond Earth orbit, never mind all the way out to the moon and back.”
Brad looked stubborn. “I’d rather not get into specifics just yet, sir.” He focused his gaze on Farrell. “Nadia and I are reasonably confident we can use existing, off-the-shelf hardware and technology for this lunar recon mission, Mr. President. But we’d really like to consult more closely with Sky Masters and Scion weapons and astronautical engineering experts before we get everybody’s hopes up. And we definitely want to run some in-depth computer simulations to test out our rough concept.”
Without hesitating, Farrell nodded. “Then I want your behinds back down here ASAP . . . so you can start refining this plan of yours.” He looked serious. “Because I know you two well enough to bet big on whatever wild-eyed scheme you’re cooking up.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Nadia said solemnly.
Vnukovo International Airport, Outside Moscow
The Next Day
While a smartly uniformed Honor Guard Battalion military band played China’s national anthem, “March of the Volunteers,” President Li Jun descended the stairs from his official aircraft, a Boeing 747-8 wide-body passenger jet. Though he wore a heavy overcoat and scarf against a freezing wind sweeping across the tarmac, he was bareheaded—in part to demonstrate the youthful vigor that helped keep potential political rivals at bay.
At the foot of the stairs, Marshal Mikhail Ivanovich Leonov snapped a quick salute and shook hands with him. “Welcome to the Russian Federation, Comrade President,” he said in a booming voice. He smiled broadly.
Cameras clicked rapidly all around them. Moscow’s entire international press corps had been invited out to witness this beginning of Li’s state visit to the Russian Federation. Officially, he was here to celebrate the ongoing success of their joint “peaceful and scientific” Pilgrim missions to the moon. Unofficially, both leaders wanted the American president and his close advisers to know they were confronted by a solid Sino-Rus
sian military alliance, both on Earth and in space.
Li donned his own answering smile. “Thank you, Comrade Marshal, for your kind greeting. I look forward to our upcoming talks. We have much to congratulate each other on, and a shared fraternal future to discuss.”
As he had expected, that last somewhat vague and even innocuous phrase created a stir among the assembled journalists. Within minutes, he knew, the internet and the world’s airwaves would be full of breathless and uninformed speculation about just what China’s leader might have meant.
A few minutes later, after a rapid inspection of the Russian honor guard—presenting arms at rigid attention in their gray fur caps, overcoats, and polished jackboots—Li followed his Russian host into the back of a long black limousine. Gratefully, he settled back against its heated leather seats. “A useful show,” he commented dryly.
Leonov nodded. “I hope it will make Washington think very carefully about its next moves.”
Both men intended this open demonstration of Russian and Chinese solidarity to help restrain the American president’s otherwise aggressive instincts. The longer Farrell hesitated, the better for Moscow and Beijing. After all, delay worked in their favor—buying time for more supplies and military hardware to reach the moon. And for the cosmonauts and taikonauts at Korolev to further refine their defenses.
“For the moment, I do not think we need worry excessively,” Li said with a shrug. “Our telescopes and space-based sensors all show that the Americans have stopped work on their Orion spacecraft docked at Eagle Station.”
“Ours, too,” Leonov agreed. A trace of a frown crossed his broad Slavic face. “Although we did observe one of their S-19 Midnight passenger spaceplanes departing the station several hours ago—apparently bound for the Sky Masters facility in Nevada.”
“It was probably just returning their space construction crew to Earth,” Li suggested without much concern.
“Perhaps.”
Li glanced sidelong at his Russian counterpart. “You do not agree?”
“I only hesitate to assume the Americans will surrender control over the moon so meekly,” Leonov told him.
“Meekly? Perhaps not,” Li said with a humorless smile. “But for the moment, I see no signs of any imminent American reaction to the destruction of their two satellites. In fact, I consider it especially significant that Washington hasn’t made those losses public. Nor has it even accused us, either openly, or privately through diplomatic back channels, of being responsible.”
“That is . . . odd,” Leonov said.
Li shook his head. “On the contrary, President Farrell may be wiser than I first believed. Perhaps he is simply unwilling to risk enraging his countrymen by revealing a defeat—especially one he cannot avenge?”
“Let us hope so,” Leonov said somberly. “Though I admit that I can’t see what the Americans can hope to do against us, at least on the moon.”
Now the Chinese leader laughed. “Come, Comrade Marshal, relax. Your strategy is working as planned. That’s a cause for celebration, not sudden misgivings.”
Leonov forced himself to smile in response. In all probability, Li’s confidence was justified. Careful study of America’s space capabilities—even those of its mercenary corporations like Sky Masters and Scion—showed nothing that could threaten the Sino-Russian alliance’s military hold on Earth’s moon. Then why do you feel so uncertain suddenly, Mikhail? he asked himself privately. Was this merely a case of nerves? Or was it something more serious, a premonition of real trouble headed their way?
Thirty-Five
Korolev Base, on the Rim of Engel’gardt Crater, the Moon
Two Days Later
Captain Shan Jinai carefully closed the Chang’e-13 lander’s outer hatch and sealed it. Now that the Americans knew China and Russia had established a presence on the far side of the moon, there was no further need for any subterfuge. Instead of waiting for a deceptive rendezvous with the Chang’e’s unmanned ascent stage, the Federation spacecraft that had ferried Shan and Major Andrei Bezrukov here from Earth was already several hours into its long journey home. And so Chang’e-13’s unused ascent stage could wait here empty, high up on the crater rim, until the day it was needed to carry humans back into lunar orbit.
Moving awkwardly in his bulky EVA suit, the taikonaut slowly climbed down the Chang’e’s ladder and stepped off onto the powdery surface of the moon. He turned around and saw Bezrukov waiting near one of the landing struts.
Shan went over to him—practicing the half-gliding, half-hopping gait that experience had shown was the most efficient in this strange, low-gravity environment. From here, all of Korolev Base stretched out before them.
Parts of seven other spacecraft dotted the desolate plain. Four were large Mă Luó cargo ships. The rest were the spent descent stages of earlier crewed Chang’e landers. Brightly colored insulated inflatable tanks ringed some of the space vehicles. Each contained stores of oxygen, water, or hydrogen reclaimed from the lunar soil. Low, mounded heaps of loose dirt and rock showed where buried hoses and conduits connected these tanks to the base’s cylindrical habitat module.
Farther away, beyond the array of landed spacecraft and other infrastructure, Shan spotted several automated rovers moving. They were sharply outlined against the pitch-black sky. Rooster tails of fine-grained dust sprayed out from behind their wheels and scraper blades. Each rover was collecting the regolith needed to feed Korolev’s furnaces and chemical reactors.
Out near the very edge of the crater rim, the taikonaut could see three larger mounds of soil and rock rising several meters above the surrounding plain. Each was topped by what appeared to be a matte-black dome. Power conduits stretched across the moonscape, linking each mound to the small metal cylinder containing Korolev Base’s two-megawatt fusion reactor. For a few moments, he studied them more closely. In the end, the powerful weapon and sensors hidden beneath those domes were the whole reason for this difficult and expensive undertaking so far from Earth.
“An incredible sight, isn’t it?” the Russian cosmonaut said, sounding awed.
Silently, Shan agreed. Together, their two countries had built mankind’s first permanent fortified settlement off its home planet. Effectively, Korolev Base gave them complete control over everything in lunar orbit. As a result, once they developed their own affordable, reusable rocket technology to match that of the Americans, Moscow and Beijing would be the ones to unlock the awesome potential of the moon’s helium-3 resources. Russia and China would control the world’s future, not the United States.
Hangar Three, McLanahan Industrial Airport, Sky Masters Aerospace Inc., Battle Mountain, Nevada
Several Days Later
Scion’s big, black S-29B Shadow spaceplane sat parked in the middle of the large hangar. Not far away, several rows of folding chairs faced several video display screens and a podium.
Dry-mouthed, Brad McLanahan watched President J. D. Farrell and his closest national security advisers, including his father and Kevin Martindale, file in and take their seats. They were followed by General Kelleher, his top staff officers, and the cadre of Space Force pilots and crewmen that he, Nadia, and Hunter Noble had helped train.
“Man, that is one hell of a lot of brass,” Boomer muttered. Grinning wickedly, he leaned closer to Brad. “You know, this looks like a tough crowd. Want me to go out first and tell a few dirty jokes to loosen ’em up a little for you?”
Before Brad could reply, the other man suddenly grunted. Rubbing his side, Boomer glanced warily at Nadia. “Hey, that hurt.”
Wearing an innocent expression, she shrugged. “With pain comes wisdom, Dr. Noble.”
Despite his growing tension, Brad felt himself smile. “Settle down, kids. Don’t make me stop this car and come back there.”
Geez, we all sound kinda punch-drunk, he realized. Ever since he and Nadia returned from orbit, the team they’d put together had been working almost around the clock to refine and validate their mission pl
an for an armed reconnaissance flight around the moon and back. Whatever sleep they’d gotten had come in the form of grudgingly snatched catnaps on cots in empty offices between simulator runs. Meals had been equally sporadic, more often than not sandwiches, chips, and candy bars from vending machines instead of real food.
In fact, up to this moment, Brad would have been willing to bet that every ounce of adrenaline in his body had long since been burned up—replaced by caffeine from the dozens of cups of coffee he vaguely remembered drinking. But now, looking out over an audience full of the most senior officials in the U.S. government, he was all too aware that his nerves were starting to twitch.
Given a choice, he’d much rather fly in combat than make any kind of a speech. But that was the trouble. He didn’t really have a free choice in the here and now. Because no one was flying anywhere unless he could sell this idea to the president and his national security team. So even though he wasn’t really cut out by training or inclination for this particular job, that didn’t matter.
“Well, I guess I’d better get this dog and pony show started,” Brad said reluctantly, knowing that he sounded like a kid about to hand his parents a really crappy report card.
Nadia pulled him down for a quick, passionate kiss. “You will be fine,” she told him after their lips parted. “Do not worry.”
Somewhat dazed, he nodded. He didn’t know exactly how she did it, but she had the ability to take his emotions, stir them around, and somehow leave him feeling a hundred times better.
Squaring his shoulders, Brad moved to the lectern. “Mr. President, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. He supposed strict etiquette would have required separately identifying every cabinet-level secretary and general officer, but that would have taken forever. Plus, he’d probably only have ended up pissing off someone important by leaving them off the list. “Thanks for coming. I’ll try to make this as quick and to the point as I can.”