by M.A. Harris
Blinding
Three hundred miles overhead the big spy satellite called Eagle Seven had changed track ever so slightly to pass directly over Primus Junction. As it came over the horizon the massive telescope lined up on Ship Plateau. In the darkened control room in the Virginia countryside a young woman watched her screen, “good take coming in from Eagle Seven.”
On the command platform over the main floor a senior officer nodded to himself, “Roger tha…” He was interrupted by a tone as an orange light lit up on Eagle Seven’s control workstation. There was a huge display covering the front wall of the control room, it showed tracks of dozens of intelligence satellites, with the five it was responsible for emphasized in dazzling blue. Eagle Seven’s track and location icon were both flicking.
“Intruder alert, orbital intruder, Eagle Seven.” The machine voice was calm.
The woman on the workstation was working feverishly, “Avoidance routine Omega.” She called out. The forty-ton spy satellite’s propulsion system started firing, trying to push it out of the way of the incoming intruder.
Suddenly the air was split by a klaxon’s scream and Eagle Seven’s enunciator light was flickering red. “Laser, Laser, Laser. Critical damage.” The workstation’s screens were covered by red and flickering orange. Then it died, replaced by a red x against a black background, the symbol of spacecraft loss.
The klaxon fell silent, leaving Eagle Seven’s light stack a steady, evil red. The senior officer was standing, “Shit…”
Another tone, another workstation flicked from green to amber, “Intruder alert, orbital intruder, Beagle Four…Laser, Laser, Laser. Critical damage.” The young man at that station leapt away as if his displays had bitten him. He would have done no good anyway, in a few seconds the crimson x had illuminated.
Before that klaxon had stopped another enunciator was flickering amber, “Orbital intruder, high closing velocity.” Before the voice was finished the workstation showed the death cross.
“What the hell? Is this some idiot’s idea of an exercise?” the officer yelled, looking around wildly. Another tone sounded. “Ooh shit, what is happening?” he moaned in despair.
“Sir,” the woman who had been running Eagle Seven yelled, pointing at the big display, “Look, the other satellites are going down as well, even some commercial birds.”
“Oh God, oh God damn! We’re under attack!”