22
Columbus’s departure window was not only constrained by the relative positions of planets, it also had to be carefully timed to “deconflict” with an ever-moving constellation of satellites in the orbits above it.
The first hint of a problem came from HOPE’s CapCom. “Columbus, we’ve got trouble brewing.”
Traci hastily searched her system status displays as she keyed her microphone. It was a green board, and the AI hadn’t alerted her to any glitches. “Can’t see anything wrong with the ship. What’s the concern?”
“Vehicle systems are go,” CapCom said. “It’s a traffic alert.”
She checked her proximity radar. “I don’t see anything here. How far out are we talking?”
“Eighteen minutes,” he said tersely. “An EarthWatch sat in LEO started a phasing burn about an hour ago. Traffic Control just notified us of the collision risk. It’s going to be crossing your orbit about the time you’re passing ascending node.”
Damn it. Traffic conflicts called for an abort. She could recover on the next orbit, but it would mean a lot of wasted propellant. Maybe enough to scuttle the mission plan. The ground crew would be frantically revising plans and poring over possible outcomes, but she instinctively knew the most likely outcome: mission abort. They had one shot at this.
She hung her head. “Copy that,” she finally said. “What’s your confidence level of a collision risk?”
“Unable to independently verify,” CapCom said. “But based on TraCon’s projections, it’s high.”
“Understood.” She cursed under her breath, not ready to give up yet. But she’d have to take action soon to avoid ramming that stray satellite. “Standing by to shut—”
She was interrupted by a proximity alarm. And what fresh hell is this?
A voice announced itself over their frequency as a blip appeared on the radar, closing from above and ahead of them. “Ahoy, Columbus. This is the USFS John Young, approaching from your two o’clock, twenty kilometer offset. What is your condition, over?”
“My condition?” That was a good question. Anxious. Confused. Irritated. “Vehicle status is nominal. I just was notified of a collision risk, coming up in one-eight minutes.”
“Young copies, and we show same,” the voice said. “I am obligated to inform you that your flight plan has not been cleared by the US government, which still claims your vessel as its property. Continuing with your intended operation may place you in legal jeopardy.”
“Nothing’s signed yet—” she began to argue.
“That said,” the voice interrupted, “our primary mission is to keep the space lanes clear and remove any imminent collision risks. Hang on, Columbus, things are about to get sporty.”
Lieutenant Commander Marshall Hunter replaced his microphone in its bracket and cinched down his seat restraints. “There. I’ve done my official duty and warned the lady that commandeering an expensive spacecraft is generally frowned upon.”
The corvette’s pilot looked back over her shoulder at Hunter. “Your orders, Skipper?”
“We continue with the plan. Cut across her bow and put us between Columbus and that satellite.”
A chief petty officer controlling the ship’s sensors and weapons suite spoke next. “Weapons board is green. ASAT tubes two and four are open to vacuum and laser is at full charge, sir.”
Hunter nodded. “Weapons tight, Chief. Target the satellite’s propellant tanks with the laser and hold the ASATs until I say so. Won’t do any good to turn it into a debris cloud.”
A quick thruster burn from the pilot had them descending to pull farther ahead of Columbus as they crossed in front of it. Hunter picked up his mic. “Columbus, this is Young. We’ll be crossing your V-bar in a few seconds, about twelve clicks ahead. Do us all a favor and don’t light that drive up yet, okay?”
Bob’s voice echoed the alert on her situation display. “Traffic contact, 12.1 kilometers ahead, crossing our longitudinal axis.”
Traci leaned into the window ahead of her. “I see it.” Much smaller than Columbus, the Young looked heavy for a ship of its size. A single squat, cylindrical module was stacked ahead of a spherical propellant tank and propelled by a single fission engine that glowed white-hot against the black. The engine went dark as it settled into its new orbit ahead of them.
She marveled at her good fortune. Nothing happened this unexpectedly in spaceflight, not between multiple craft in orbit, and certainly not without planning ahead. Someone had expected trouble and had sent her an escort.
Someone down there wanted her to succeed.
The corvette flipped around, its nose pointed in their direction of travel. Its forward cylinder was studded with antenna blisters and equipment racks, which she knew housed antisatellite missiles. “They’re lowering their orbit, pulling ahead.”
“Concur. Separation now 12.8 kilometers and increasing.” Bob’s voice was clipped, concise, dispensing with the conversational tone he’d acquired with her. It was almost like having another pilot aboard.
Traci radioed HOPE Control as she anxiously watched the event timer count down. “You guys seeing this down there?”
“Not directly, Columbus. Our picture’s not much better than your radar. Space Force notified us they’d have a vessel in proximity right before they pinged you. Looks like they wanted to keep this to themselves.”
“Talk to me, Chief. Are we close enough for visual?”
“Stand by . . . there. Search radar painted it at forty kilometers. Slaving the long-range camera to fire control.” The chief was manipulating video feeds on his console. “There. We’ve got lock, Skipper.”
A glimmering metallic rectangle sat squarely in the video crosshairs, unthreatening but for its imminent collision risk. “Confirm that’s our target,” Hunter said.
The chief worked quickly to verify its trajectory and electronic signature against a catalogue of every known satellite in its orbit. “That’s it, sir. Positive ID on EarthWatch-4. Definitely not where it was supposed to be.”
Hunter watched the blue glow from its ion exhaust. “It’s still thrusting. Do we have a bead on its trajectory, Chief?”
“Aye, sir. Projecting it on the mo board now.”
Three arcs appeared on the maneuvering plot, a large screen mounted on the deck in front of Hunter’s command chair. Each in a different color, it showed him their orbit in relation to Columbus and the wayward EarthWatch satellite. An amber warning flashed where the three paths crossed, a point that grew closer with each passing second.
“You know, that’s almost enough to make me think it’s on purpose,” Hunter said sardonically. He punched the frequency for the fleet control team at Vandenberg. “Control, Young actual. Are you in contact with EW-4’s operators? I need to know the story on this bird.”
“That’s affirm,” came the reply. “They said it’s a planned maneuver, but they didn’t file anything with traffic control.”
That drew sarcastic laughs from his pilot and systems operator. “Not a good plan, then,” Hunter said. “Vandy, advise them EW-4 has become an immediate navigation hazard which we are prepared to remove. We will be in position to grab it in”—he checked his plot—“six minutes, if it ceases thrusting. If it remains under power we will be forced to deploy countermeasures.” Which was a polite way of saying they would shoot it out of the sky.
“Understood, Young. Stand by.”
Hunter impatiently tapped his fingers on his armrest as he waited for Vandenberg to relay their intentions, watching the spacecraft’s orbits converging on his screen. Soon he would have to act regardless.
“Young, Vandy Control. Operator says they are not able to alter their maneuver plan. They don’t see that it presents a risk.”
“Very well. Young out.” He sighed. Had it simply stopped thrusting, they would have been able to maneuver into a position to grab it with the corvette’s manipulator arm and move it to a safer orbit. Now they would be forced to fire on a UN-sponsored satellite. They were about to stir up a colossal hornet’s nest. “Chief, target its propellant tank. Laser, no kinetic weapons. Make a hole.”
“Aye, Skipper.” The petty officer began manipulating a control trackball, and soon a second set of crosshairs centered itself on the satellite’s fuel tank. “Target locked.”
“Weapons free. Fire at will, Chief.”
He opened a protective cover on his console and pressed the concealed switch beneath. “Firing.”
There was no report, no visible beam crossing the vacuum. Their only indication of a hit was a white-hot glow that suddenly appeared in the center of the tank. Gas began escaping within seconds as the laser burned through the thin aluminum. “Cease fire,” Hunter said. “Good shot, Chief.”
Fueled by inert xenon gas, there was no reaction to the heat, only a jet of vapor escaping from the hole that had been burned into its tank. This caused the satellite to begin drifting orthogonal to its course, moving away from an imminent collision with Columbus and into a different orbit that would eventually present a collision hazard to other spacecraft. The glow from its ion engine faded as the last grams of propellant vented into space.
Hunter leaned forward to update his maneuvering plot, watching the satellite’s path slowly diverge from that of Columbus. He turned to his pilot. “Roberta, plot an intercept vector. Let’s go pick up our casualty. If we can patch that tank and keep it serviceable, maybe we can avoid an international incident.”
“Done, Skipper,” she said, confidently popping a wad of gum. “Ready to intercept. Might be a little late to avoid the ‘incident’ thing, though.”
“Keep updating your angles and stand by.” Hunter rubbed his forehead. There was nothing about this operation that enthused him, and it wasn’t about to get any better. He switched back to the ship-to-ship frequency. “Columbus, Young. Be advised, the navigation hazard has been removed.”
“Copy that, and thank you,” Traci’s voice replied over their speakers. “Understand I’m clear to maneuver.”
He refrained from using the customary radio jargon negative. “Umm . . . not quite, Columbus. I’m obliged to remind you of our earlier conversation. You are not on an approved flight plan, and we are authorized to prevent you from commandeering United States property.”
Her retort came quickly. “And I’ll point out that those papers have yet to be signed. As of now, this vessel is still under control of the HOPE Consortium, of which I’m an authorized agent. Nobody’s going to repo this ship just yet.”
Hunter pursed his lips. Good thing she was playing along, because what had to come next was unpleasant. “Columbus, you do understand the action we’re authorized to take here?” Firing on one of their own was an even less attractive prospect than on a UN satellite.
“That’s affirmative, Young. I also know that laser takes time to recharge, by which time I’ll be burning and underway. I also know that whether it’s photons or projectiles, tearing a hole in a pressurized hydrogen tank is going to create one hellacious mess up here.”
That it would, he knew, and eyed the maneuvering plot again. She had to be coming up on her injection node. “Chief, how much longer to recycle?” They’d taken a full-power shot in the interest of time, draining the weapon’s capacitors in the process.
“Sixty-eight seconds, sir.”
“Columbus, what’s your terminal count?”
“One minute, Young.”
Eight seconds. She’d be burning before they could get a lock on her tanks, and they still had that wayward satellite to catch. The risks balanced out exactly as he’d expected. As he’d wanted.
“Very well. You’ve been duly warned, Columbus. We first have to clear this disabled satellite,” he said for the sake of the official transcripts. “We’ll let the lawyers deal with the rest when you get back.”
Two microphone clicks signaled her acknowledgment. With that, Hunter replaced his mic in its cradle. He turned to the petty officer on the systems console, who spent his free time writing short stories for a handful of fiction magazines. “Chief, I’m going to need your help with the after-action report. I’ve never been much for creative writing.”
“My pleasure, sir,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ll even let you take full credit.” Which Hunter would have to do anyway, being the spacecraft commander. No matter what happened or who did it, ultimately everything aboard the John Young was his responsibility.
“You gave her due warning. That’s all you could do,” Roberta said, encouraging him. “We’re not up here to wrangle over contract terms, though she’s probably right about the legal angle. Not for us to decide, Skipper.”
Hunter replied with a dissatisfied grunt and pulled up the feed from their external camera, turning it to find Columbus behind them. He checked his watch: any second now.
There was a bloom of incandescent gas as the big ship’s fusion engines flared to life. It moved smartly away as they quickly reached full thrust. “Radial turn, plus ninety degrees. Put her in the window,” he said to Roberta. He wanted to see this.
Earth slipped behind them as the pilot pivoted their ship to face the black sky. Soon they could see the massive spacecraft pulling away, now twenty kilometers distant and leaving a trail of nuclear fire as it left Earth behind.
Hunter thumbed his mic one more time. “Godspeed, Columbus.”
Settled in beside one of the Gulfstream jet’s windows, Roy studied the Texas coast in the distance as they left US airspace on their way to the Caribbean. He knew Noelle was down there, with both of their bags packed and waiting for her own flight to Grand Cayman. “Would be nice if we could just drop into Hobby and pick her up,” he mused gruffly.
Penny sat across from him, nursing a bottle of mineral water. “It would,” she agreed, “but then we might not exactly be welcome, you know.” The pilots had purposely filed a route that took them south through Mexican airspace before cutting across the Gulf, all the better to avoid any unwelcome orders to land. She picked up her phone to check the status of Hammond’s other jet, currently on approach into Houston. “She’ll be on her way to meet us soon enough.”
“I’m not one to go rabbit like this.”
“Neither am I,” she said, scrolling through a raft of messages on her phone. “But we just pissed off a lot of the wrong people.” Or the right people, she thought. “We can’t leave them an opening.”
“I didn’t think you’d be this concerned about the Feds. I thought we were still within our contractual rights.”
“Doesn’t mean DOJ lawyers wouldn’t be waiting for us with a restraining order in hand. Trust me, this is best for all of us.” Her eyes brightened as a new message appeared. “And here we go. Columbus just started its departure burn.”
Roy nodded silently. He pulled his phone out of a hip pocket and searched his contacts for one Traci had given him before they parted. A rare smile spread across his weathered face. “Miss Templeton? Roy Hoover. I have some news for you.”