Starfire

by Dale Brown

  “Hi, Jodie; hi, Jerry; hi, Lane,” Brad said. “Greetings from Armstrong Space Station!”

  “I just can’t believe what I’m seeing,” Jodie said, tears of joy streaming down her cheeks. “I never would have believed this would ever happen, mates.”

  “You guys look great,” Lane said. “How was the spaceplane trip?”

  “Awesome, Lane,” Brad replied. “The G-forces weren’t as bad as I was expecting.”

  “Speak for yourself, buster,” Casey said. It was so strange to see the young woman floating in zero-G with legs extended underneath her, exactly like every other astronaut—it was almost jarring not to see her in a wheelchair. “I thought I was going to be squished inside out.”

  “You guys feeling okay?”

  “Not bad,” Brad said.

  “He was puking his guts out,” Casey said with a giggle.

  “Just twice,” Brad said. “I got a shot, and I’m feeling okay now.”

  “I get dizzy every now and then, but I’m feeling great, Lane,” Casey said. “I still have my barf bag handy, though.”

  “We heard you got to fly the spaceplane and even dock it on the station,” Lane said. “How cool! How was it?”

  “I had a few shaky moments, but it went great,” Brad said. “I wish Boomer the pilot was here, but he had to take the spaceplane to the International Space Station—since the Russians disconnected their service module, they can’t make as much water and oxygen as before, so some techs have to leave. How’s everything looking from down there, Jodie?”

  “Apples, Brad,” Jodie replied. “However, we’re still getting that intermittent fault on the lithium-ion capacitor output relay, the same one we’ve been working on for a couple weeks now.”

  “Is Jerry up on the channel with us?”

  “He’s meeting with his team on a video teleconference to try to come up with a solution,” Jodie said. “He’s thinking it’s a temperature issue—he says when the station is in sunlight the relay works fine, but then when they go into shadows the problem sometimes crops up.”

  “Unfortunately, that means a spacewalk to change out the relay or its temperature-control unit,” Kai Raydon said. “That could take a day or two.”

  “It won’t affect our positioning with the rectenna, will it, sir?” Brad asked.

  “A delay will degrade the test a little, depending on how many days it takes for the fix,” Kai said. “We moved Armstrong into what is called a sun-synchronous orbit for this test, which means we pass over the same spot on Earth—the rectenna site at the White Sand Missile Test Range—at the same mean solar time every day. But because our altitude is lower, we move a few degrees away from the ideal spot every day, so our time within view of the rectenna will get shorter and shorter, all the way down to less than a minute. The situation reverses itself eventually, but it takes twenty-four days to get back to the ideal position. We’re in that ideal time right now, with the maximum exposure available at the target’s latitude. We just have to hope the relay works when it’s time to open fire.”

  “God, it had better,” Jodie said, patting her laptop. “C’mon, baby, you can do it.”

  “It might be a little embarrassing if it won’t fire, with the president due to observe the test,” Brad said. “Is there something else we can try?” He looked around the command center and noticed the empty control console for the Skybolt laser. “What about Skybolt?” he asked.

  “Skybolt is a free-electron laser, Brad,” Kai said. “It’s been deactivated so we could install your microwave cavity.”

  “What about Skybolt’s power source, the magnetohydrodynamic generator?” Brad asked.

  “You mean, use power from the MHD instead of the solar energy you’ve collected?” Valerie Lukas asked with a hint of a smile. “Wouldn’t that be like cheating?”

  “We’ve been collecting power with the nantennas and storing electricity in the capacitors, Sergeant, so we know all that works,” Brad said, “and we’ve done discharge tests on the microwave cavity, so we know we can produce maser energy. All we need to do now to validate the project is hit the rectenna with a maser and have it produce electricity on the ground. Maybe we can do that with the MHD instead of the energy in the capacitors that we can’t get to.”

  Valerie turned to Kai and shrugged. “We did get permission to activate the MHD and test it,” she said. “We’ve run several full-power tests on it.” To Casey, she asked, “What sort of power do you need, Casey?”

  “We were planning on sending five hundred kilowatts per minute through the microwave cavity,” Casey replied.

  Valerie shrugged again. “We’ve done ten times that amount, but for much shorter periods of time,” she said. “But I don’t doubt the MHD can do it. We’ll have to watch the heat levels in your microwave generator and in Skybolt’s magnetic reflectors, collimator, and electrical assemblies, but we’ve already determined that the Skybolt subsystems can handle the energy coming from the lithium-ion capacitors—I’m sure they can handle the same power level and discharge durations from the MHD generator.”

  “Just one last thing to do, then: get the go-ahead from the man himself,” Kai said.

  They did not have long to wait. About ninety minutes later, President Kenneth Phoenix entered the lab and greeted all who were there, ending with Lane and Jodie. Cal Poly president Marcus Harris made the introductions. Phoenix shook Jodie’s hand first. “How do you do, Miss Cavendish?”

  “Fine, Mr. President. I’m the nanotechnology team leader. Lane Eagan is the team leader for computers and software.”

  The president shook Lane’s hand. “And how are you today, young man?”

  “Great, Mr. President,” Lane said. He handed the president a silver-ink Sharpie, then stretched out a blank spot on the front of his blue-and-red Project Starfire nylon windbreaker. “Please, Mr. President?” Phoenix smiled and autographed the front of Lane’s jacket in big cursive letters.

  “May I introduce you to the other Project Starfire team leaders, Mr. President?” Jodie said. She motioned to the large monitor on the wall. “Inset at the upper left is Jerry Kim, team leader for power and control systems, hooked up via satellite from the White Sand Missile Test Range, where the receiving antenna is located; and in the main window aboard Armstrong Space Station are Casey Huggins, directed-energy team leader, and our overall team leader—”

  “Brad McLanahan, I know,” the president interrupted. Most everyone in the lab blinked in surprise—Brad McLanahan was an acquaintance of the president of the United States? “We’ve met many times, although you were pretty young and probably don’t remember.”

  “No, sir, I remember,” Brad said. “Nice to see you again, sir.”

  “You guys having fun up there?” the president asked. “I know my trip up there was an experience I’ll never forget.”

  “We’re having a blast, Mr. President,” Casey said. “Thank you so much for allowing us this awesome opportunity.”

  “So along with brains, the whole world knows you guys have incredible courage,” the president said. “The first male and female teenagers, and the first paraplegic, in space, and they’re Americans. Congratulations. The whole country is proud of you, and the whole world is impressed, I’m sure. Where are we on the test firing, Brad?”

  “We’ve run into a potential problem that we’re hoping you can help fix, sir,” Brad said.

  “Me? How?”

  “We’ve collected the energy that we’d like to beam to Earth,” Brad explained, “but we’re afraid we won’t be able to get it out of the storage units and into the microwave cavity to shoot it Earthward.”

  “That’s too bad, guys,” the president said. “I hope it’s an easy fix for you.”

  “Everything else works, sir, and we’ve proven we can form a maser beam,” Brad said. “The only thing we haven’t proven is getting the beam to Earth and transformed into electricity.”

  The president looked over to his traveling campaign director and lea
d Secret Service detail, silently signaling them to start preparations to form up and move his convoy, then checked his watch. “I’m really sorry about this, guys,” he said, “but I don’t know how I can help, and we do have a schedule to—”

  “Mr. President, we think we have a workaround,” Kai Raydon said.

  “What’s that, General?”

  “Instead of using the energy stored in Starfire’s capacitors, we’d like your permission to use Skybolt’s magnetohydrodynamic generator,” Kai said. “The MHD is still plugged into Skybolt, but the free-electron laser is disconnected so the students’ microwave generator could use Skybolt’s subsystems. We can route the power from the MHD to Starfire in exactly the same quantity as the capacitors. The only thing that’s changed from the students’ original plan is the source of the energy. You’ve already given us permission to test the MHD generator, and it’s fully operational. We’d like permission to use it to power Starfire.”

  The president’s face turned somber, and he looked around at all of the faces in the lab and on the monitor. “General, you are absolutely sure that the big laser is disconnected and will not fire?” he asked, his voice low in great concern.

  “Yes, sir, I’m positive.”

  “Not one watt of laser light?”

  “None, sir,” Kai assured him. “It would take a long time to plug Skybolt back in. No, sir, Skybolt won’t fire. I’m absolutely positive of that.”

  He looked around again, then pulled out his secure cell phone. “I need to consult a few folks,” he said. “I’m afraid some might believe that your maser is really the Skybolt laser. I’d like to get a legal opinion before—”

  “Excuse me, sir,” Jodie said, “but we need a decision pretty quickly—the station rises above the target’s horizon in about ten minutes.” She looked at the large teleconference monitor. “Sergeant Lukas, can you tell me how long it will take to connect the MHD to Starfire?”

  Valerie turned to a computer console and typed in commands. “The hardwire connection is already there,” she said. “Testing the circuitry should take just a few minutes unless we find problems. No guarantees, but I think we can do it in time.”

  Jodie turned to the president. “Sir?”

  Phoenix looked even more grim-faced than before, but after a few tense moments he nodded and said, “Do it. Good luck.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Jodie said. Her hands flew over her laptop’s keyboard, and Lane was actually punching instructions into two laptops at once. “Sergeant Lukas, you have the cavity power-control program on checklist page two-twelve bravo.”

  “Got it,” Valerie said. “Engineering, this is Operations, spin up the MHD, switch to page two-twelve bravo, power on system seventeen red and the MHD power-control subsystem and cross-check.”

  “Standing by,” came the response from Alice Hamilton in the Engineering module, waiting for validation from the station commander.

  “Engineering, this is Command,” Kai said on intercom. “Authorized to spin up the MHD and plug it into Starfire. Advise when ready.” He hit the all-stations intercom switch. “Attention on the station, this is the director. We will be activating the MHD generator and using it to send Project Starfire’s maser energy to Earth via Skybolt’s subsystems. As at any time we activate the MHD, I want all modules sealed up, on-duty crewmembers on oxygen, and off-duty crews to damage-control stations and into space suits. Report by department when ready.”

  “Roger, Command,” Alice acknowledged. “Operations, MHD is spinning up. Stand by.”

  “Roger,” Valerie said. She entered commands into her keyboard. “Henry, Christine, get ready to do your thing.”

  “Yes, ma’am!” Henry Lathrop said. He and terrestrial-weapons officer, Christine Rayhill, were at their stations in their oxygen masks, running checklists. A few minutes later, the command monitor switched from an overhead still satellite image of the rectenna to a live image from Armstrong Space Station, clearly showing the large, dark, circular device all by itself in the New Mexico desert. “Combat is locked on to target,” Rayhill said. “No other secondary sensors available except the Project Starfire cameras.”

  “We want this one right on the mark, Christine,” Valerie said. “Use everything you got.”

  It was very close. After several faults were discovered and corrected, and about thirty seconds after the station had passed above the rectenna’s horizon, they heard, “Operations, Engineering, link established and tested. You have power, and the feed levels are programmed. Engineering has switched MHD control to Operations and is ready.”

  “Roger,” Valerie said. “Command, permission to switch Starfire control to Combat.”

  “Verify that Skybolt is cold, Valerie,” Kai ordered.

  After a few moments, Valerie replied, “Verified, sir. Skybolt is cold.”

  “Switch Starfire fire control to Combat, Valerie,” Kai said. He looked over at Brad and Casey. “Release authorized. Good luck, guys,” he added.

  “Combat, you have control,” Valerie said after entering instructions into her computer.

  “Roger, Combat has control. Starfire, how’s it look?”

  “Everything is go, Armstrong, except for the capacitor discharge subsystem, and it has been deactivated,” Jodie said, nervously twisting her long blond hair. “Starfire is ready.”

  “Roger that, Starfire. Good luck.” Rayhill entered a command. “Starfire is alive, guys.”

  Absolutely nothing changed either on Armstrong Space Station or at the lab at Cal Poly for several long, tense moments. The only indication of anything happening was the suddenly excited face of Jerry Kim as he checked his readouts: “Rectenna receiving power, Control!” he shouted. “Point two . . . point four . . . point five . . . it is working, guys, it is working!” The control center at Cal Poly erupted into cheers and applause, and Brad and Casey almost flung themselves into an uncontrollable spin as they tried to hug each other.

  “Microwave cavity is getting warmer, but it should still be within limits by the time we shut it down,” Jodie said. “Reflectors, collimators, and beam control temps are higher but still in the green. Engineering?”

  “Everything is in the green, Starfire,” Alice reported. “We’ll hit the yellow temperature range in about three minutes.”

  “One megawatt!” Jerry shouted a little more than a minute later. He was jumping around for joy on camera so much they could not see his face. “We have just received one megawatt of power from Starfire! The rectennas are right on their temperature curves—they should reach their yellow line in four minutes. Jodie, you did it! The rate of conversion is well past what we predicted! We could possibly get two megawatts before we hit the temperature limit! We could even—”

  “I’ve received a warning from White Sands range control, guys,” Valerie announced. “Unauthorized aircraft entering the range. Shut Starfire down, Combat. Engineering, secure the MHD and reactor.”

  “Roger,” Henry said. His finger was already on the “kill button,” and he entered the command instantly. “Nose is cold, crew.”

  “Starfire is off-line,” Alice said. “MHD spinning down. Reactor is secure. Everything is in the green.”

  “Congratulations, guys,” Kai said, removing his oxygen mask. “You pulled it off. You shot electrical power from space to Earth.” On intercom he said, “All personnel, this is the director, you may secure from MHD stations. Join me in extending congratulations to the entire Starfire team for a successful test firing.” Applause broke out in the command module.

  “We couldn’t have done it without you and everybody on station, sir,” Brad said after removing his oxygen mask. He hugged Casey again. “It worked, Casey. Your microwave generator worked!”

  “Our microwave generator,” Casey said. “Our Starfire! It worked! It worked!” And to celebrate further, she pulled out her barf bag and threw up in it.

  Despite the sudden shutdown, the celebrations continued at the lab at Cal Poly, and President Phoenix was appl
auding 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.