Since muons had a tendency to “stick” to the resulting helium atoms it was also a good idea to remove the helium byproduct from the reactor area as soon as possible. All of this was the job of the quantum grid matrix. Somehow things were going wrong inside the grid—power was way down and excessive amounts of neutrons and gamma rays were being emitted. From what they had seen in earlier tests, it was like the waste helium was not getting removed.
“Rajiv, this seems similar to the helium removal problems we were having earlier,” she ventured.
It took Gupta a few seconds to realize that someone had spoken to him. “Yes, yes it does Gretchen. But we eliminated that problem and the readings are not showing any helium buildup in the reaction matrix. It is so strange... OF COURSE!”
Gretchen was startled by the sudden outburst. She had never seen Rajiv having an “ah ha!” moment before. As all good scientists know, the words that come just before a great discovery are usually “that's strange?”
“Of course what, Rajiv?” she asked.
“My dear Gretchen, the heaviest usable isotope of Hydrogen can be created by using a negative muon (μ–) to replace an electron in Helium to form Heμ, with an atomic mass of 4.116. Because the muon is much heavier than an electron, its 1s orbital is very close to the nucleus, effectively screening one proton charge, so that Heμ may be considered a virtual isotope of Hydrogen. The matrix is filtering out all the helium but it thinks these hybrid atoms are hydrogen!”
“Wow, that's exciting, Rajiv,” Lt. Curtis said, trying to be supportive. “Is there a way to filter those out as well?”
“Why yes,” the diminutive scientists said, almost bubbling over with excitement. “It should be a simple matter of recalibrating the charge gradient across the quantum matrix...” His voice trailed off as he attacked the control panel keyboard, rapidly adjusting the reactor's calibration parameters once again.
* * * * *
“Bridge, Engineering”
“Go Engineering,” replied the Captain. Fifteen agonizing minutes had passed since the failed power test and Jack was still trying to figure out how to tell TK that his ship remained earthbound.
“I have good news, Captain. Rajiv, er, make that Dr. Gupta has identified the problem and has already started implementing a fix. We should be ready to retest in about ten more minutes.”
“Do I want to know what the problem was this time?” he asked.
“Hybrid muon helium masquerading as very heavy hydrogen. Seems that it confused the quantum matrix's helium extraction process.”
“Hm, naturally. Glad I held off on telling Parker. Let me know when we are ready to give it another shot. It's near the end of the day so I am going to tell the workers to go home. No sense having them resume what they were doing just to be sent back to the shelters for another test.”
“Yes, Sir. I'll let you know soonest. Engineering out.”
AFTAC, Patrick AFB, Florida
Senior Airman Robinson stared with a mixture of frustration and despair at the sensor display in front of him. Great, shift's almost over and we get a malfunction. Either that or someone just set off a small nuke somewhere in the Southwest. No, make that western Texas. More than likely just the sensor array misfiring. He sighed, he wouldn't be going off shift until the sensor reading was explained.
The Air Force Technical Applications Center (AFTAC) performs nuclear treaty monitoring and nuclear event detection. To accomplish this, AFTAC operates a global network of nuclear event detection sensors called the U.S. Atomic Energy Detection System. Once the USAEDS senses a disturbance, whether underground, underwater, in the atmosphere or in space, the event is analyzed for nuclear identification and findings are reported to national command authorities through U.S. Air Force Headquarters.
“Oh crap!” The sensor display now had Robinson's full attention. The high-energy neutron sensors just registered an event in the same vicinity as the gamma ray hit. That confirmed the gamma ray sensor alarm wasn't just a fluke or a stray cosmic ray—something highly irregular was happening southwest of Midland, Texas.
Naturally this would happen at the end of his shift, a holiday shift at that. Normally, Tech Sergeant Anderson would be manning this console. Instead Anderson was enjoying the day off and he was stuck here. Well, protocol says to call the watch officer. Raising his voice, Robinson called out, “Lieutenant, could you come here please?”
Lt. Jefferies was in the same position as SrA Robinson, he pulled holiday duty instead of the Captain—rank hath its privileges, as they say. “What is it Robinson? Not another cosmic ray cascade, I hope. We've had to run down enough false alarms for one day.”
“No Sir. I've got coincident earthbound events on both gamma ray and neutron detection arrays. Looks to be about 150 kilometers west of Goodfellow Air Force Base.”
The National Nuclear Security Administration (NNSA), a semi-autonomous agency within the U.S. Department of Energy, provides operational sensor payloads for integration onto USAF satellites. For example, IIF series Global Positioning System (GPS) satellites, carry improved nuclear detonation detection instruments built by Sandia National Laboratories and Los Alamos National Laboratory for the NNSA.
The sensors look for the tell-tale signs of a nuclear detonation, monitoring optical, electromagnetic pulse (EMP), X-ray, gamma ray and neutron emissions. All are part of the United States Nuclear Detonation Detection System (USNDS) which is designed to detect, locate, and report nuclear detonations (NUDETs) on Earth and in local space in near real-time.
“Goodfellow? That's in Texas, right?”
“Yes Sir, right here on the display,” he said, calling up the sensor estimated positions on the overhead map display.
“What about visual? Double hump?” All nuclear detonations emitted a characteristic double flash of light. Orbital detection systems that monitor for atmospheric nuclear explosions look for such double flashes. In fact, bomb yield can be determined from the interval between the two flash peaks. If this was a bomb going off on the surface or in the atmosphere, optical sensors should have picked up the telltale ‘double hump.’
“No double hump, Sir, and no EMP either. If it was a NUDET it must have happened underground.”
“If it was an underground detonation there should be shock waves. What does the seismological monitoring network say?” Maybe some Texas oil men are using nukes for fracking gas wells, the Lieutenant mused.
“I've got nothing on the seismic net. It must not have been a detonation. Let me search the recent log entries” the airman said, typing furiously on the keyboard in front of him. “Oh wow. There was a similar event logged two days ago, though not as strong, and another one seven days ago. All emanating from the same location. Sir, this cannot be a coincidence.”
“Christ on a crutch,” Jefferies muttered. “You're right Robinson. I'm going to bounce this upstairs to the Major—let her call the Colonel on his day off and tell him we have a Pinnacle event in West Texas.” Pinnacle was a reporting flagword used in the U.S. National Command Authority structure. The term ‘Pinnacle’ denotes an incident of interest to the Major Commands, Department of Defense and National Command Authority.
Lieutenant Jefferies picked up the phone receiver from the console and punched speed-dial for the command post. “Major Bledsoe? This is Lt. Jefferies in the monitoring center. We have an unexplained anomalous event, Ma'am...”
Parker Ranch, Upton County, Texas
JT was standing with his mobile high-def camera rig on his shoulder, recording Susan with the towering bulk of the old dirigible hanger in the background. They had walked about half a mile from the ranch house and were just outside the hangar. Approaching the old building, it became evident just how large the structure was.
The station had called demanding a short clip that they could use to pique the public's interest. So, using the giant hanger as a backdrop, Susan and JT were recording a teaser spot that would be shown during the early news show—a preview of more to come on the m
ain six o'clock news.
“What you see behind me is a World War II era dirigible hanger that supposedly contains something out of this world,” Susan said into her hand mike while gazing intently into the camera. “Does a local rancher have his own private space program? Tune in tonight at six to see if the rumors are true.” Then, with a practiced head toss, “Susan Write, KWTEX News, reporting live from the Parker Ranch in Upton County.”
“Zooming out and panning left, and we're clear.” JT lowered the camera from his shoulder.
“How was it?” Susan asked.
“Good, the sun is in the right place and the building looks huge—very impressive. You'll have them tuning in for sure.”
“Great, that should get Ed off our backs. Now let's rejoin our host and see if there really is something worthwhile in the hangar.”
As Susan turned toward the imposing structure, JT quickly punched the buttons that would send the short video through the relay in their van and on to the station. One of the station techs would cut it down and clean up the sound before broadcast. He had already sent some interior footage of Susan interviewing TK in his study. All the story lacked, he thought, was a spaceship.
Following Susan through a side door in the massive structure, it took a few seconds for his eyes to readjust to the light—the West Texas sun is bright even on a hazy day. As his vision faded in, JT saw the old man in his wheelchair and standing next to him a tall figure in black.
TK was addressing Susan, introducing the newcomer, “...and this is Lieutenant Curtis, the ship's First Officer. She'll give y'all the VIP tour. I've got to get back to the hacienda, we'll probably have more guests coming.” With that prophetic statement, he exited down the door ramp and back down the trail toward the ranch house. Freed from his two legged entourage, TK put the hammer down on his hot rod wheelchair. Its rear tires threw up twin rooster tails of sand as he sped across the scrubby brushland.
JT barely noticed the old man's exit. He was staring at the Lieutenant—tall, broad shouldered, narrow wasted looking both very trim and very sexy in her midnight black jumpsuit. Now there is a first officer I would love to serve under, JT thought, a wide smile slowly spreading across his face, brilliant white against his mahogany colored skin.
“...and this is my camera man, JT,” Susan was saying.
JT quickly juggled the camera and extended his hand, “Very nice to meet you, Lieutenant,” he said. “We really appreciate you taking the time to show us around.” Her handshake was firm and business like.
“My pleasure,” said the red haired First Officer, “if you will please follow me.”
Wow, I wonder if they are taking applications for crew on this voyage, the bedazzled camera man thought, watching the two women as they walked up the ramp leading to the interior of the hangar. As a former Special Forces operative, JT was a trained observer. It was a habit that had been drilled into him first as a paratrooper, then as an Army Ranger and finally as a Green Beret. Being observant, paying attention to details, is what made him a good camera man and it had literally saved his ass when he was deployed in Afghanistan.
What he was observing now was much more pleasant than trying to spot Kalashnikov toting towel-heads along a desolate Afghan ridgeline. Still, he could not help but compare the two women walking ahead of him. Susan, who was a truly stunning beauty, walked with an alluring sway that could stop traffic in any city in Texas—hell, anywhere for that matter. It was, as one of his physics professors described it, the coupling of rotational and translational motion in perfect harmony. Not all women knew the secret, the walk was definitely something that pretty women learned, a walk that says “I know you're watching me—eat your heart out!”
The Lieutenant, on the other hand, did not walk with movie starlet grace. She strode forward with determination, not wasting energy on extraneous motion. Definitely feminine but no nonsense, and with a hint of “I can kick your butt” as well. Her rank here was obviously a civilian label, but something in the back of JT's mind whispered military. Where Susan exuded sexuality, Lieutenant Curtis walked like a warrior princess.
Steady boy, don't get carried away, he thought, giving his head a slight shake. For almost a year, he had been riding in the news van with Susan, and though he was as appreciative of her physical charms as any man, he had never been tempted to make a play for her. He had decided at the beginning of their partnership that she was a team member, a colleague not a prospective date. Time had proven that approach to be the right one—Susan didn't get romantically involved with people at work—and he felt they now enjoyed a strong mutual friendship. That put Susan off limits in the romance department. The green-eyed amazon walking next to her, now she was fair game.
As they emerged into the brightly lit interior of the hangar, Lt. Curtis was speaking in a military issue brief-the-VIPs voice: “This, ladies and gentlemen, is the ship—she has yet to be formally christened. Overall hull length is 135 meters, beam 12 meters amidships, with tapering at both bow and stern. That would be 440 feet by 39 feet for the metrically challenged. There are two decks forward and aft, with three decks in the mid section except for the main cargo hold aft of midships. If she were a naval vessel she'd displace 7400 metric tons. In all, she's a bit bigger than a Seawolf attack submarine.”
Lt. Curtis turned to find her audience standing with mouths agape, staring down the ship's curving flank toward the back of the hangar. “Sorry, I forget how overwhelming she can be to newcomers.”
JT quickly recovered his wits, shouldered his camera and began recording the long silver ship in front of him. Panning left slowly, toward the front of the ship, light glinted off its gleaming crystal nose. This was not just some crackpot building a mockup or model in his garage—this was an honest to God spaceship! Then, reining in his wildly racing thoughts, he tried to regain his objectivity.
Sure, its big and shiny, but that doesn't mean it will fly. And why is it laying on its side? Aren't spaceships supposed to be launched straight up? For that matter, is there anything inside the hull? Impressive as the exterior is, it could still be a hoax. He concentrated on the camera, not trusting himself to speak.
“Oh. My. Goodness,” Susan managed. “This will most certainly make the six o'clock news.”
A hint of a smile on played across the First Officer's previously stoic face. “If you will please follow me, I'll take you inside,” she said, with obvious pride. “Come, we'll enter through the main cargo door and work our way forward.”
AFTAC, Patrick AFB, Florida
“Sir, it looks like we have a Pinnacle Faded Giant event in the western part of Texas. No EMP or seismic activity has registered but we have confirmed neutron and gamma ray hits,” Major Beldsoe told her boss, the commander of AFTAC, over the secure phone line. A Faded Giant is a nuclear event not related to a weapons detonation and not considered likely to start a nuclear war.
Faded Giant not withstanding, he had been barbequing in the back yard and was less than pleased to have his family holiday interrupted. “No Sir. We are dispatching an atmospheric sensor drone from Detachment 45 in Denver, but it will take several hours to arrive on station.”
Though AFTAC was attached to the Air Intelligence Agency for administrative support, the center reports directly to the Deputy Air Force Chief of Staff for Air and Space Operations. That meant escalating the problem required a call to a Major General at the Pentagon, who was probably also enjoying the holiday with his family.
“Sir, I've talked with the Chief Scientist and he thinks this may be someone running some sort of particle collider or possibly, given the particle and X-ray spectra, an attempt at igniting a fusion reaction.” Many of the people working at AFTAC were civilians, including more than thirty scientists with PhDs. “Yes Sir, he's coming in now.”
If it were not for the previous event occurrences at the same location they would have probably just logged the event and ignored it. But this was definitely strange. The science staff had been recalled and the Colo
nel would undoubtedly be in shortly. By then she hoped they had some answers. They better have before the Colonel calls the Pentagon.
“Yes sir, I have everyone working the situation. We will update you when you arrive.” A curt “very good, Major,” and the line went dead. No, the Colonel was not happy at all.
The line from the monitoring center lit up. It never rains unless it pours, thought Bledsoe. “Command center, Major Bledsoe” she answered.
“Lt. Jefferies, Ma'am. I just checked with Homeland Security to see if they were tracking any threats in the area of the event. They were unaware of any terrorist activity in that area but they did mention something peculiar.”
“Something 'peculiar' Lieutenant?”
“Yes Ma'am. One of the local news channels down there is running a story about a rancher building his own spaceship in an abandoned dirigible hanger.”
“An abandon what?”
“Dirigible hanger, Major. Built during WW II. I checked satellite recon imagery and it is the only sizable structure in that area. The source of the radiation we detected could be inside of the hangar.”
“We need to get some boots on the ground down there, what's the closest military installation?”
“That would be Goodfellow, but it is a training facility. No combat units stationed there.”
“Maybe they can send a helicopter with some SF personnel.” Security Forces, or "SF", are military police, mainly charged with base security and air base ground defense. Formerly known as Air Police (AP) their duties tended more toward guard duty and law enforcement than ground assault.
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