Laserstar: The Space Defense Chronicles

By Charles Solbrig

The United States has finally embraced 'Star Wars' technology as a last resort to protect against the wildfire proliferation of nuclear weapons. Orbiting high above the earth, a team of US astronauts activate Space Station Sigma One's massive laser, capable of disintegrating any missile within minutes of its launch.

But, ALEC, the base computer, makes a terrible mistake. It directs the laser to destroy an F-16 fighter. The sole purpose of the astronauts on board is to prevent computer destruct errors. In the astronauts' mad scramble to correct the problem, the base commander, Major Richard Taylor, stumbles across irrefutable proof that someone has gained control of ALEC and destroyed the F-16 on purpose. And they continue to control the base to perform more egregious acts of violence.

The mastermind behind the base, the late brilliant Dr. Delvin F. Feller, designed multiple levels of safeguards into the base to prevent Sigma One from being used as a weaponbut someone is directing the control computer to disregard the safeguards and it appears the devastation is being directed from the Mideast. Taylor and the other crew members try to stop the destruction but are no match to the space station's computer and vicious laser. The flawed space station wreaks havoc. It is a terror in the sky and must be stoppedbut how? The base is invincible. Did Dr. Feller make a mistake?

This suspense filled book is a real page turner. Don

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452088983

Charles Solbrig

Dr Solbrig has conducted research in all practical forms of energy production for over 30 years. He has held research and management positions in several energy companies. He brings his expertise to provide realistic technical detail in this suspense filled book. He currently is a consultant on a variety of energy related Disciplines.

Book preview

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 1

"This entry is probably my last. In death, I look back at a lifetime of accolades! What more could any man ask? Success beyond human measure. Everyone heralds my genius. The first and only person to ever receive four Nobel Prizes. Yet, how disappointing not to see my crowning achievement, to bathe in the adulation of it all. What a shame the peace base is two years away. To only be here when the world finally understands what I’ve done. It will so far overshadow everything else. All my other breakthroughs, even my hyper-relativity theory which led to the million fold increase in computer speed, even that will be forgotten in light of this.

Death, extinction, cannot be more than a day away. How sad to have to leave now...with so much remaining to do. Yet, I am confident my plan will survive. No, not only survive, but conquer! I wonder how long it will take for humanity to understand, and to accept. How fortunate for mankind that I came along when I did. No one else could have been entrusted with such a task. Although I’m convinced there is no such thing as a Supreme Being, still, I have to wonder how else to explain that I came along at the exact time the world could not do without me."

Ursane Commission Release

Excerpt, Diary of Dr. Feller

Decrypted recently from the ALICE files.

Sigma One Training Center, August 30

Three thirty in the morning was early for Major Richard Taylor even though this day marked the most significant one of his life. Rising early was a permanent part of a pilot’s life; still he hated to get up before sunrise--today it would be worth it. He was fortunate to be picked for Peace Base assignment. Strong sentiments existed for not selecting any pilots for this mission. Although no official policy existed mandating such a position, clearly the brass only wanted engineers for long term space assignments, especially this one. He hadn’t done engineering in several years, but his degree in aeronautics and two years of engineering experience at Lockheed before joining the Air Force weighed heavily in his selection.

Richard dressed quickly in the dark. He hated artificial light in the morning and preferred the soft rays of the rising sun to announce the arrival of a new day. There was no chance of keeping the lights off this morning-- too many others involved. The other nine occupants of the room began to stir in anticipation of the 3:45 wake up call. Richard hurried so he could be in the peaceful darkness of the hall when the room lights were switched on. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been alone. It seemed he hadn’t had fifteen minutes to himself in the two year intense training program. He slipped into the corridor as the wake up music intruded into the night.

The hot moist air hit him as soon as he entered the corridor heading toward the space suit storage. The air conditioning must have tripped off again in the south part of the building. The training complex consisted of four prefabricated buildings, each with its specific training purpose, and two cylindrical structures built to simulate--as well as possible in a gravity environment--the two sections which made up the living and working quarters of Sigma One. For their last night on earth, rather than staying in the living quarters module, they’d been allowed to feast in building A, the crew ready building--like the perks a gladiator received the night before his moment of truth. They’d also slept in its more spacious accommodations.

He entered the suit-up area. His suit was easy to pick out in the darkness because of its larger size. He stood a full six foot one--almost too large for being either a pilot or an astronaut. Richard made a striking appearance and most people wondered how he had remained single after his divorce. Naturally curly, light red hair matched his green eyes and a pinkish complexion dotted with just the right amount of freckles. The years of weight lifting and running followed by astronaut training had given him an excellent, well proportioned body. His friendly nature and quick wit made him popular with everyone. He was picked as group leader more for his ability to smooth out interpersonal problems--a quality prized more in such a long term mission--rather than the quick decisive, derisive characteristics found in most project leaders.

The excitement and nervousness within him grew...the time had actually arrived. The two years had gone much quicker than expected. Today, his name would become enshrined in human history; one of the ten persons to take that uncertain pioneering step, sacrificing all to war-proof a world that nuclear proliferation threatened to eradicate. He was certain that his two sons and his daughter would some day be proud of him although they couldn’t understand it now.

Richard married a year before graduating college--he and Florie had three children in the space of as many years. Unfortunately, she wasn’t satisfied with just being the wife of an engineer. She finished fashion design school after their second child and after their third, she received an offer at a prestigious firm in New York. In spite of Richard’s entreaties, she could not be talked out of taking the job. Florie said that her profession required her to be in New York--if he wanted to be with her, he could come there, after all an engineer could get a job anywhere.

She left with the children. For several months Richard sent out letters seeking employment in New York but could find no interest for an aeronautical engineer there. In the summer, his plant shut down for the annual two week vacation. He went to stay with his wife and children for the two weeks and to personally knock on doors of companies...to no avail. At the end of the time, he had no job in New York and she was still determined to stay there. Sad and disheartened, he returned to Denver.

Three months later, Florie called him and told him she wanted a divorce. An advertising executive had swept her off her feet--Jeffrey and I have so much in common. I just know we’ll be perfect for each other. I’m sorry things haven’t worked out between us, but that’s how life is sometimes. The divorce truly broke his heart.

Both were Catholics--Richard devout, Florie lukewarm. The marriage contract meant nothing more to her than a civil agreement. Richard felt bound by it for life. He applied to the Church for an annulment but there were no grounds. Florie had been mature enough to make a commitment when they married as was Richard. They’d gone through the required instructions. Their marriage contract was valid according to the chancery office.

Richard had spent two years in the seminary. His religion was too sacred to him and he would never go against its rules. He could never get married or romantically involved again--a fact he strictly concealed from everyone. At a loss to know how to put purpose back in his life, he decided to become an Air Force pilot. Even though already 24, they accepted him because he scored quite high on the exam and because they happened to want aeronautical engineers at the time. For once, everything seemed to fit together perfectly. He completed pilot training in two years and was rated on the F-15.

Shortly after he completed pilot training an opening in the astronaut corps came along. The more he thought about it, the more he convinced himself that this would fit his life situation perfectly. He applied and made the short list. A year later, Sigma One appeared on the scene. This mission thrilled him, appealed to the essence of his moral fabric--his whole purpose in life became to fulfill the objective of this ascetic project--permanent peace for all mankind. It was perfect for a person with no romantic attachments of any kind possible. In order to keep the base impregnable, assignment to the base had to be for life.

The one issue left unresolved was his children. Air Force life and the distance from them hadn’t been conducive to developing a relationship--the difficulty in visiting them in New York or having them with him for any extended period of time had taken care of that. His three children had become strangers to him--they’d seen him so rarely during the previous three years. The years as an astronaut exacerbated this problem, and, of course, Sigma One would make it permanent. In the end, he decided his responsibility to mankind outweighed that to his estranged family.

All but two of the others selected for Sigma One had life situations similar to Richard’s; minimum family attachments and romantically unattached--yet each of them friendly and outgoing. They were self sufficient without a strong need to form significant relationships. All were idealistic with a strong desire for self sacrifice. Psychological research had indicated these were the ideal characteristics for permanent assignment to a peace base and had been adopted as requirements. Due to the paucity of female applicants, one exception was made--a married couple was admitted in order to meet the desired female/male ratio. The selection committee was concerned that a married couple on board might cause interpersonal problems but concluded the equal number of men and women minimized the problem.

Noises from the other room brought him back to the present. Richard took his spacesuit off the rack and began to negotiate his way into it...a tedious job. He knew the technicians would be along in a few minutes to help but he enjoyed doing the job himself. Wearing spacesuits during launches, not required for so many years, had been reinstituted because of the danger of vessel puncture from all the minute space debris now in earth orbit. Busying himself with the details of putting the suit on also gave him a sense of calm before a launch. The number of people he was responsible for on this flight made relaxing more difficult. On other trips to the peace base, when ferrying up components, at most two other people were on board. Today there would be nine-- people whom he valued very much. Other people’s lives always weighed heavily upon him. Nothing could go wrong today. The memory of the ill-fated crashes of previous shuttles vividly ran through his mind. Seven people died on each. The shuttles of the reinstituted space shuttle program were safer but a larger human cargo would be on this flight.. Richard didn’t want to be the pilot who flew the crew of the peace base into the worst space disaster in history.

A technician appeared, turned the lights on and the noise started, slowly at first, as the others sleepily entered the room. Several technicians entered through the side door to help with the suits. Richard quickly finished putting his on, thankful for the brief time he’d had to cogitate.

David Abramovitch walked in, yarmulke already situated on his crown. Normally, with his short black beard, he looked like a Jewish cantor, but was shorn of it for the flight. He reached for his suit and gave Richard a friendly nod. Well Skipper, this is it--no turning back now. Today, we make history. Richard smiled and returned an affirmative nod to him. David was an up-beat person, a real asset to have along. Besides being brilliant, he had a way of keeping the mood of a group positive and happy.

Richard had found the brief respite particularly enjoyable because he knew there would be no more quiet time for the next twelve hours. And then only if everything went perfectly. If not, they’d all be up for the next 30 hours or more. Immediately upon arrival, the base would be sealed off, all defensive weapons tested for operability, and put under the ALEC control. Then all other base functions would be engaged, a procedure that would take several hours. Although practiced many times in mockup, experience had taught him that actual operation brought out unexpected problems.

The Joint Chiefs had decided that, although minimal, a threat to the base existed so mandated immediate operation. The successor to the USSR, the first Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS), a union which the Ukraine had refused to join, had participated in the US SDI program and five cosmonauts had trained in it for the first year and a half. After years of payoffs, bribes, and mafia, the CIS disintegrated into a non-functional financial ruin. This left the Russian Republic without interest in external affairs and they pulled their Cosmonauts out of the US program. The bountiful breadbasket and resources of the Ukraine were needed to make the former Soviet Union viable. Six months ago, with many concessions, the Ukraine was coaxed back into a union called the Second Commonwealth of Independent States. One concession the Ukraine demanded was control of the military power which included the remaining Soviet missile stockpile and the Space Defense Program started in the 1970’s. Russia reluctantly gave it to them. The Ukrainian President Malchik pushed the Space Defense base; wanted one completely under his control to solidify their leadership position in the Commonwealth--but the manager of their laser program had underestimated the difficulty in two major steps. The Ukrainians were way behind the US, and not close to deploying their base.

Until Sigma One was buttoned up, the US feared, the Ukrainians might try to destroy or take control of the station. Although a peace base, it was not the Ukrains’ peace base. The Joint Chiefs of Staff were afraid that the Ukrainian military perceived a US advantage. After all, the U.S. could attack them by selectively destroying the Commonwealth missiles and allowing the American ones through. Richard thought to himself, ‘Of course, the US would never do such a thing but the Russian mind could never trust an outsider with control over his land.’

Richard’s thoughts were interrupted by a technician performing a final check of his suit. Of course, I want you on the base, he heard Jim say. ‘Hmm, Jim and Angela must be carrying on their tiff from last evening.’

The technician gave Richard an okay signal. Anxious to move out, he picked up his helmet with one hand, the small suitcase- like cooling unit with the other and started outside. Two vans, one for each team, were running and waiting. He moved to the Delta van but, instead of entering right away, stood in the humid night air, hot and uncomfortable--yet wanting to gulp down as much real air as possible in his remaining time on earth. The stars overhead, twinkling in the humidity, were brilliant and beckoned him to come join them. Only one was moving. It was Sigma One sweeping across the sky..

Soon, the others started filing out. Richard pulled his eyes from the firmament and stepped up into the Delta van. As Dave came out, he pointed up to Sigma One. Doesn’t she look like a shooting star? Noshir said, It’s too slow for that. Edwina chimed in, Star Light, Star Bright, I’m gonna be home in Sigma One tonight. The others chuckled.

Angela and Jim came out, now holding hands. Jim would not let go and pulled her along with him into the Delta van. Carol, Angela’s counterpart on the Delta team, walked right behind them. Jim turned to her, Carol, could you ride in the Omega van? Angela and I need to talk. Carol smiled and nodded affirmatively.

Richard grinned at the minor procedure violation. He wasn’t going to object if it would patch up their little quarrel before launch. Jim had even made certain he had asked Angela’s counterpart. Richard envied Jim--a ravishing black haired beauty for a wife. Except for their brief squabbles, she seemed to adore him. Angela Tanner-Perez, of Mexican descent, had a zesty personality that attracted Richard. ‘Only in a fatherly way,’ he reminded himself.

The technicians closed the van doors and the drivers started toward the gates of the complex. The Kennedy Space Center had grown too crowded to house the Sigma One Peace Base team training complex. A five mile stretch of US 1 lay between them and KSC gate 3. The ride went quickly as the Delta van, followed by the Omega van, sped northward. As they neared Route 405, the NASA parkway, the driver engaged the turn signal causing the interior of the Delta van to blink green in the darkness.

The van rolled up the exit ramp, revealing a large crowd. People covered the NASA Parkway as far as Richard could see, perhaps all the way to KSC gate 3. Many of them were sitting on the pavement. These people were clearly not well wishers come to say goodbye to them. Many brandished signs decrying the need for the peace base. The signs that particularly bothered Richard were those accusing the base of being a doomsday machine. Here, he and his teammates were giving up all they had to guarantee peace for the world--how ridiculous for people to object. The demonstrators were noisy and belligerent. Five squad cars were lined up, lights flashing in a nervous fury, causing those nearby to shield their eyes.

One of the policemen got out of his car as the vans pulled to a stop. The Delta van driver lowered his window. Richard, sitting on a side seat right behind the driver, called out, Officer, what’s the situation? Do you have enough people to get us through this crowd or should we go on to Route 406?

His shouted answer, barely loud enough to overcome the crowd noise, Don’t have enough people right now. There’s no way ten of us can handle this many demonstrators. 406 is blocked with a large crowd too. The policeman continued to the van and, sticking his head in the window to talk to Richard, said, We showed up about an hour ago to get ready for you. There was just a small crowd then. Buses started arriving--in the last half hour--and a bunch of motorcyclists. These people are organized. We weren’t expecting that. I called for backup as soon as the buses appeared. The squads called in for the Titusville riots were available and are on their way. They should arrive soon.

What about the other entrances?

There are crowds around the other three entrances too. The Police Commissioner says to concentrate on this one. We’ll get you in.

Richard glanced around. He felt as concerned as the others looked. He forced his voice above the din, We don’t have much leeway today--only a two hour launch window. Have you notified the Kennedy Space Center?

Absolutely, he yelled...they’re already working on it from their end. KSC security has started to clear the road from the main gate and will deploy enough people to keep it clear. When they reach us, we’ll be able to sail on the rest of the way into the complex.

Dave suggested, Skipper, maybe we should turn around and try it another day...or maybe get helicopters to transport us in?

Richard replied, Maybe. We’ll leave that to the police to make the call. They’re experienced with this sort of thing. Turning toward the front, Driver, get KSC control on the radio and see what they have to say.

Yes sir.

Richard turned back to David, We’re only half a mile from the gate. It can’t take much more than a half hour to get through even with this much interference. Just rounding up the helicopters would take an hour.

Jim Tanner spoke up, his voice tinged with anger, What the hell is wrong with our G2? Certainly someone should have warned us about a demonstration this big.

You’re right! Richard replied strongly, I’ve had reports suggesting maybe 500 protesters might show up, but there must be four or five thousand.

The driver finished talking on the van radio and reported, Control says all base security forces have been deployed. Should be no problem opening the road.

Okay, good! Then Richard returned to Jim, The report said the demonstrators probably would be from little splinter groups like in the past--but this crowd must be part of an organized group if buses dropped them off...

Richard was interrupted by the flashing lights of two large police transports as they came off the southbound exit ramp and crossed the overpass to get to the crowd. The doors to the transports popped open, disgorging about one hundred police in riot gear who jumped into action, moving the people back with prods. They were joined by the officers from the squad cars. Two to three deep, the police formed a wedge across the road. The two large vans, one in each lane of the two lane road, fell in behind the wedge of riot police. The policeman who’d been talking to Richard motioned for the vans to trail the riot vehicles. The Omega van followed the Delta van. People who were lying or sitting on the road and wouldn’t move were simply pushed or dragged to the side. Those who attempted to come back were thrown into one of the transports.

Movement was slow but perceptible. The crowd filled in the street behind the Omega vehicle. The police on foot continued to push through the crowd as a wedge allowing the four vehicle caravan to progress slowly down the road. The crowd closing in on the back pounded on the exposed portions of the vans with flat palms, causing a nerve wracking clamor inside.

The Omega vehicle stayed as close behind the Delta van as possible but two men succeeded in jumping on its front bumper, held on to the windshield wipers, and pounded on the front windows with rocks, cracking both front windows badly. The one on the driver’s side finally broke through with the continued pounding, causing the driver to slow down and giving one of their comrades an opportunity to attach a small box inside the back fender. Then the two jumped off the front bumper and melted into the crowd.

Some people threw fruit and vegetables in the broken front window. A tomato hit the driver in the forehead momentarily blinding him. He jammed on the brakes causing the vehicle to come to a screeching halt, then recovered and quickly accelerated to catch up. In the process, he almost hit several people.

The atmosphere in the first van was quite tense but controlled as one would expect of a group of astronauts. Seeing what happened to the other van, Noshir Galita, the fifth member of the Delta team, spoke up, Are we going to make it through? If we have to stop, this crowd isn’t going to let us get away alive. They’re treacherous. Look what they’ve done to the Omega van.

Richard agreed, It doesn’t look good. I’ve never seen such a nasty mob of people. How can peace demonstrators be so surly? He glanced at Dave, You were right. Unfortunately, there’s no way to turn around now.

The spirit in the second van was much worse. Fear had assumed control. The fruit and vegetables had formed compote which dripped from everywhere. The white space suits sported bright red splotches from tomato impacts much as a modern painting composed by an angry artist.

Martin, a civilian astronaut, was particularly on edge.

Janet, the Omega team pilot, tried to calm everyone down. We’ll make it through. This crowd only wants to stop us, not kill us--they’re just demonstrators.

The caravan had preceded about an eighth of a mile with the crowd getting more and more unruly when Richard spotted the forward part of the security force from KSC and could see the road was cleared behind them. Security guards were placed every few feet along each side of the highway to restrain the crowd from reclaiming the portion of the road wrested from them. The guards were armed with rifles; the front of the column was spearheaded by a phalanx of guards using billy clubs to open up additional road. Troops continued to pile out of a line of troop carriers. Full carriers stayed in the far right side of the right lane--empty ones were parked in the left side of the left lane leaving enough room for a vehicle to travel down the center of the road.

The KSC force consisted of five hundred guards. Because of what Control had told their driver, Richard speculated they were all out on the road. Although they seemed to be doing a good job of holding the people back, he knew the standing base orders only allowed rubber bullets to be issued. The security plan called for protecting the base against civilian demonstrators. In the US, an outright attack by group of hostile activists was considered incredible. No one wanted to take a chance of hurting a civilian. Richard wondered how effective the rubber bullet would be if the crowd decided to rush the guards.

A deep sense of relief came over him when the police wedge and the KSC guards finally converged. The two police transports immediately separated to allow the astronauts’ vans to go between them. The Delta van pulled through the clear space and accelerated down the open road in front of them.

The Omega van did not fare as well. Its driver, unfortunately, hesitated a fraction of a second, enough to allow people to swarm in front of the van. Martin, sitting behind him, was exasperated, Don’t stop, you fool.

The driver yelled over the noise of the crowd, Some of them are laying down. If I keep going, I’ll run over them.

Martin replied angrily. Then run over them. Get moving. They’re going to kill us.

The van came to a complete halt as the front wheels came to rest against living flesh. The crowd cheered in anticipation of success. They began to rock the vehicle to tip it over. The sway of the van became larger and larger. The crowd cheered louder.

Martin screamed at the driver, Start driving or get the hell out of that seat and let me drive.

The driver yelled back, Hey, these are just demonstrators. They aren’t going to hurt us. I’m not going to run over them for you or anyone else.

Martin pulled the cooling lines off his spacesuit and squeezed between the two front bucket seats as fast as the clumsy suit would allow him to, cursing loudly.

Meanwhile, policemen grabbed those lying on the ground and dragged them into one of the police transports. They cleared the way in front of the van in less than a minute.

Once in front, Martin seized the driver and--with a force only a rush of adrenalin can supply--threw him over the back of the seat. On the way over, the driver hit his head and was knocked unconscious. The astronaut jumped into the driver’s seat, put the vehicle into gear, and stepped on the gas. The people rocking the vehicle were knocked back. Policemen who’d just finished putting a demonstrator in a transport was knocked sideways as the vehicle lurched forward. Sweat poured down Martin’s face. The sun which had just peaked over the horizon blinded him. The space was tight between the two police transports and Martin bounced the van from one to the other. Seeing the Delta van already a quarter mile ahead of them, Martin jammed his foot to the floor.

The troop carriers positioned on either side of the road left barely enough room for the van to go through making it a very tight obstacle course. Janet hollered, Slow down or you’ll kill us all. You’re going to run into one of the troop transports!

Martin’s eyes were fixed--trance like. His trembling legs went straight in his attempt to press the gas pedal down further, pushing his rump midway up the back of the seat. His head pressed against the ceiling--his arms were stretched to reach the steering wheel. At seventy miles per hour, with no eye protection, the wind coming through the broken windshield made it very difficult to keep his eyes open. His hands strained to hold onto the steering wheel.

Janet made it to the front seat and with her hand tried to shield his eyes from the wind and the blinding rising sun directly ahead. The other three astronauts had calmed down somewhat and began to cheer as they saw the first van make it through the space center gates. Carol, the Delta team astronaut who’d switched places with Angela, shouted, Come on Marty, you can get us through.

Janet winced as she saw people breaking through the security guards far ahead near the gate. They began to lie down. Within a few seconds, she could make out at least ten rows of them across the road.

Stop! Janet yelled, You’ll kill those people!

Martin did not hear her.

STOP!! She tried to push his foot off the accelerator.

The three astronauts in the back were at a loss to do anything. Air rushing in through the broken window blew anything around that was loose. Martin’s trance locked him in position. Janet yelled again, Stop... At that moment, the other front window which was severely damaged broke free with the pressure of the wind and a large chunk hit her in the head, gashing a large wound in her left temple.

They reached the gate in another thirty seconds. The people blocking the road understood too late that the van would not stop. They began to scramble out of the way. The vehicle hit the first of them at seventy miles an hour. The van lurched up as it contacted the first row, then came down with a soft spongy thud, rolling from side to side as it traversed the field of bodies as it would a soggy mud road. Some of the people in the path of the van made it up to a running position before being knocked down again and run over. The vehicle slowed and finally stopped as the wheels spun in the human quagmire. Martin’s trance broke as he tried to free the vehicle and steer it straight ahead.

The crowd near the gate--stunned into inaction for an instant--now surged forward in mass to try to grab the van. The guards lost all control as the crowd crushed forward, and poured onto the road. Rocking the van back and forth several times, Martin managed to free it leaving two tracks of crushed heads, exploded chests, and ruptured spleens.

Its freedom was short lived. The timing device in the package attached inside the back fender reached its trip point just as the vehicle passed through the gates. The plastic explosive instantly began to seek its chemical ground state by releasing a huge amount of stored energy. The van and its occupants followed a pattern set previously by the astronauts of the Challenger and Columbia disasters. The van blew apart into deadly metal projectiles injuring and maiming many. The blast wave disintegrated the gates as well as the accompanying guard post and the fencing for 100 feet on both sides of the parkway.

The parkway looked like a motocross for at least a hundred yards. The bodies of the occupants which had been pulverized into tiny indistinguishable pieces of bone, and flesh commingled in the air before coming to rest on the disarrayed crowd in the appearance of a grizzly early morning dew. The protesters and base security guards within the affected region were in various states of death, unconsciousness, and horrible suffering from burns and body wounds caused by metal van fragments. The Delta van, four miles ahead, had already crossed the bridge over the causeway. The only evidence its occupants perceived of the explosion was a dull thud and they thought that was probably a jet passing overhead.

The main body of the crowd at first didn’t understand what happened either. The disappearance of the Omega van didn’t register. Most people seemed to think that the base soldiers had set off an explosion at the gate to kill protesters. The explosion changed the mood of the people from one of interference to that of fear. Most stood stationary but one group of people did not. Several people in the crowd had motorcycles and now they made their way through the crowd toward where the gate had been. Within five minutes at least fifteen made it to the gate. The gate security forces tried to fight them off with the rubber bullets and were able to stop several of them. The cyclists returned the fire with real bullets. Ten made it through the gate area, negotiated the cratered road, and took off toward launch pad 39B.

The launch pad stood fourteen miles from the gate. The Delta van reached the Vehicle Assembly Building, Launch Control Center complex and turned onto the crawler road toward launch pad 39B. They reached the pad approximately ten minutes after the explosion, unaware of the disaster visited upon their comrades. The astronauts filed into the elevator which took them to the shuttle cabin section. Upon reaching this area, technicians assisted them into the spacecraft cockpit and cabin. The shuttle orbiter had been modified to carry ten astronauts, three on the flight deck and seven in the crew cabin. Their personal effects had been stored in the cargo hold.

Richard plugged his communications harness in to talk to the Capcom in Houston. Houston Control, the Delta team is buckled in and ready to go. We’re waiting on the Omega Team. We can start the countdown even though they’re not here yet.

Kennedy Control broke in, The Omega team isn’t coming. Begin launch sequence immediately. Emergency procedures in effect.

Startled by the reply, Richard responded without protocol. What do you mean? Where’s the Omega team?

Major Taylor, the situation is grave. We’ve finally gotten through to the guard force. The Omega van blew up fifteen minutes ago. There are no survivors.

Richard heard muffled gasps over the intercom from the four in the crew cabin. They echoed his pain at this terrible news. You mean the protesters blew it up?

That’s what it looks like. Not only that, a group of motorcyclists broke through the guards and are heading toward the launch pad. It doesn’t look good. You don’t have much time till they reach you.

How can we launch now? Replacements will take at least a day. We can’t run Sigma One with only five people.

The Houston Capcom, Chuck Magnagni, shouted, Major. Your orders are to launch ASAP. You have a complete team...all the technical disciplines are covered. You can and will operate the base with one team until we can send up another.

KSC Control reported, Technicians have been ordered to button you up. Gantry retraction will begin immediately.

Angela’s voice came over the intercom, protesting from the crew quarters, We should postpone--out of respect for our dead crew mates. They were family to us.

Chuck came on strongly, Now listen carefully, this is an order. You are to launch immediately! The entire security force was sent out to clear a path for you to get in the gate. There is nothing left to protect you or the shuttle. If those cyclists were responsible for destroying the Omega van they won’t hesitate to blow up the rockets you’re sitting on. Launch before they get to you. You won’t get a second chance.

We don’t have enough time! Even the emergency checklist takes at least a half hour.

KSC Control said, Major Taylor, we’ve run out of options-- out of time. Those cyclists just zipped by us here at control. Everyone that we could spare is out in their cars starting to chase them but they got by us before we knew they were coming. They’ll get to the pad in a few minutes. Switch your video to the local feed--you’ve got a few minutes left, at most.

But the checklist?

From Houston, Magnagni yelled, Screw it! Get Galita up there to co-pilot. If the cyclists blow up your shuttle, we’ll never activate Sigma One. Now get busy and take off. Colonel Charles Magnagni, as Houston Capcom, was in command and had the authority for making such a decision. He normally would have preferred the flight commander to decide but obviously Taylor didn’t grasp the situation.

Magnagni, as devastated as Richard and the others about the Omega team certainly, did not want the Delta team to sit on the ground while the demonstrators destroyed both them and the shuttle. With enough explosives, the terrorists could destroy the whole launch pad as well the spacecraft. With such a disaster, who knows what would happen--or what the Ukraine would do...or the Congress. With all the derogatory speeches about the base in Congress--whether the base could be successful in its mission or that it might even be the cause of a war--no one had to remind Magnagni that this no longer was a popular program. With any sort of delay, especially one in which all the astronauts were killed, the congressional opposition to the Peace Base would doubtless gain the upper hand so that the base would never be activated.

Richard answered formally in response to the direct order from Magnagni, Yes sir, will do.

Just then Galita arrived to take the co-pilot seat.

Switching back to Magnagni, Taylor said, We’re ready as soon as gantry retraction is complete.

A comforting thought--Galita was the backup copilot and it calmed Richard a bit to know in this emergency that he would have the smartest and most capable of the group to serve in that capacity. The two of them immediately began throwing switches.

KSC Control came back on, A technician in the rocket preparation shed just reported the cyclists are close.

Hold on a minute... okay, good... Chuck, I’ve just received the signal from the technicians, gantry retraction is complete. The last elevator has just started down.

Magnagni responded, Roger!

The two pilots continued to work feverishly. Richard turned to Galita, Those technicians have to get out...

He was interrupted by another input on the intercom. Major Taylor, this is Shuttle Technician Ed Quinn. We’ve just reached the blockhouse. All technicians are clear of the pad except the three of us. You don’t have much time left. We saw the cyclists from the elevator as we descended into the base blockhouse. They weren’t more than 100 yards from the launch pad. You better ignite immediately. We’ll try to delay them as long as possible.

No, that’s suicide for you!

We can get into the blockhouse for protection.

Richard selected the video feed that displayed the launch pad, then grimaced at what he saw. He counted ten people planting explosives around the two booster rockets the shuttle stood on. They approached their work with efficiency--these weren’t ordinary demonstrators. Noshir, we’re going. Capcom, this is Sigma One requesting ignition sequence.

Affirmative. Initiate ignition sequence. Two minutes to launch. Final countdown initiated, KSC control responded.

Richard Taylor’s eyes were riveted on the monitor and countdown timer simultaneously. As soon as the elevator reached the pad, the three technicians came bursting out and ran toward the people planting plastic explosives around the two auxiliary rockets which formed the legs of the shuttle. The technicians tore into them; the ensuing struggle weighed heavily in favor of the terrorists and the futility of trying to stop all ten became obvious within a few moments. Three of the terrorists held off the technicians freeing their comrades from any interference. As soon as the remainder of the group finished, they then turned to the technicians as well, knocking out two of them and shooting the third in both legs. After disabling the opposition, they ran from the launch pad leaving the technicians unconscious.

Depressed, Taylor had no doubt they’d accomplished what they set out to do. He looked at the countdown timer--thirty seconds left. The numbers of the audio countdown oozed out in slow motion. 29....28....27.... He felt strangely detached from the scene on the video--as if his life didn’t depend on it--just like another grade B television movie. He didn’t understand why this was happening. How can these people be peace demonstrators? If they’re terrorists, why bother with the peace base? The questions kept repeating in his mind. He saw the three technicians lying there and was helpless to do anything to save them...or to save his crew.

19.....18.....17.....Richard’s brain registered that within 17 seconds, the launch pad would jump to life with flame. Could liftoff occur soon enough to get away from the explosion? Or would the shock waves from the igniting rockets set off the plastic before the retracting bars let the spacecraft go? The retractors would hold the rocket for an additional three seconds after ignition before enough thrust built up to allow the rocket to lift off. Richard hoped, unreasonably, that a long timer had been set on the explosives. After all, the protesters should have given themselves enough time to reach safety. Fear clouded his judgment tempting him to lose hope. The terrorists weren’t dumb. There wouldn’t be enough time. His chest fell in despair.

12.....11.....10.....the Houston Capcom momentarily voiced over the countdown. Richard, the water is going to take care of it.

The water--of course--the water. How stupid could he be? In all the excitement, he’d forgotten about the water that would be dumped on the pad to keep it from melting during the intense heat of combustion. Nothing not nailed down could resist the water jets. BAM! The shock wave from the opening of the huge valves coursed through the cockpit. The water came on and deluged the launch pad. The plastic explosives and the disabled technicians were washed down into the trench and the water pushed them toward the catch basin. 5...4...3...2...1...ignition. A thunderclap rolled across the Kennedy Space Center. The newly awakened sun back lit the gigantic billows of steam released from the boiling water jets--an inspiring sight indeed.

Richard felt the comforting throatiness of the three main liquid fuel engines rumbling under him. The rocket strained to free itself from its bonds, angrily voicing its desire to all within earshot. Time ground by with painful slowness. The three remaining seconds until liftoff seemed to pass like hours. The digital display finally registered zero...the two solid fuel booster rockets obeyed the instructions to ignite at the same time that the eight 3-foot- long hardened steel restraining bars were severed by explosive charges letting the eighteen story structure free itself.

The two technicians, revived from the shock of the water sweeping them along, managed to grab the side of the elevated water course and extricate themselves and their wounded comrade from it before reaching the catch basin. They then took cover under the flume. The explosive charges set by the protesters reached the catch basin. A timer ignited one and the others followed suit. The shock wave from the explosives met those of the rocket giving it a slight additional thrust. The astronauts felt a small bump--the gyroscopes ordered the necessary nozzle adjustments. Unfortunately for the intruders, they had reached their cycles and turned them in the direction of the catch basin and reached it just as the explosives went off. The impulse energy from the explosion compressed their bodies to an uninhabitable state. With the collapse of the water flume, the wounded technician was crushed to death but the other two escaped with minor injuries.

The shuttle, already high above the horizon, entered the roll maneuver. At T + 30 seconds, KSC Control dutifully reported, Intrepid, roll program executed AOK. Wow, you sure left some mess behind you. Great timing on your part.

Richard managed to say, Yeah, not bad. But damn, the Omega team...gone... Groans from the crew cabin echoed his sentiment.

Two minutes into the flight, Capcom came back on, Solid Rocket Booster separation initiate... Seconds later, We have SRB separation. Your trajectory is a bit high but nothing to be concerned about. Over...

Roger, we copy that. Out.

The booster rocket separation had gone flawlessly. Richard began to calm down. Any launch was a breathtaking experience in spite of the fact he’d been on six previous flights. This particular one had been far too exciting. Fortunately, he had the ability to quickly dissociate his emotional state from current emergencies, allowing him to concentrate fully on what he was supposed to be doing. Exchange of trivial but necessary technical details continued for the next six minutes.

The fuel in the large external tank continued to be consumed ravenously. Main Engine Cut Off sequence in twenty seconds, said Magnagni.

Roger, ready for MECO, Taylor responded.

The Houston Capcom had taken over control. His voice was clear and comforting, a steadying influence. Chuck Magnagni was a valuable asset as the Capsule Communicator. He was an experienced pilot who never became flustered. They went way back together--all the way to grade school. Richard had flown several shuttle missions with him and the two worked together like clockwork.

A few seconds later, Richard gave Noshir a startled glance with the sudden disappearance of the force from the main engines. MECO complete, he said officially, then quietly, --I’m never prepared for main engines cut off. My heart tells me we’re going to fall right back to earth. Then another slight bump signaled the empty external tank separating from the orbiter--they smiled at each other with the successful maneuver.

Intrepid, we show external tank separation.

Roger Houston, we confirm. How’s our trajectory?

Good, right on target. You are go for OMS, one burn, over.

Roger, OMS one, out... Richard let his back muscles go, feeling the intermediate force of the Orbital Maneuvering System rocket motor, confident now in the success of the mission. Another half hour for the second OMS burn to put them squarely in orbit...then continued minor adjustments.

Noshir Galita had done well, Richard reflected--a very confident individual, tremendously intelligent. Not picked as part of the final crew for this mission but selected by Richard at the last minute as the replacement for the sick Lt. Ramsford. Richard was quite happy to have him on the mission. Ramsford would have been marginal. Given everything that had happened, Galita’s technical expertise on the mission was a welcome relief.

Originally passed over, not because of any technical deficiency but because his nature rubbed one person the wrong way. Colonel Swanson, the man who had the final negative vote on crew selection, disliked him intensely. Although the press reported that perfect harmony existed among the nineteen people who remained at the end of the two year training period, as in all human relationships, some rough spots existed. Noshir probably exhibited the greatest number of unpleasantries in his relationships with the others but, for Richard, his superior intelligence more than compensated for these small problems.

When Lt. Ramsford was scrubbed, Colonel Swanson was on temporary assignment in Washington so the responsibility of picking a replacement, as commander of Sigma One, had fallen on Richard. In spite of the ruckus Swanson caused upon his return, the selection had been upheld. Major Richard Taylor now felt more confident than ever with his decision as he saw Noshir carrying out his duties with aplomb.

The two pilots continued to monitor the small adjustments being made with the OMS over the next three hours as the computers continued to line up the craft for rendezvous with the base. Bereavement over the loss of their crewmates dominated intercabin communications. The flight preceded flawlessly, a fact which everyone on board appeared to be grateful for after the Omega Van disaster. The shuttle now approached final orbit under the guidance of computer aided navigation.

Richard spoke into the headset, All flight parameters nominal. Sigma One arrival within forty five minutes.

David Abramovitch, in the crew cabin, in spite of the loss they all felt, was elated with this. His first flight, he needed to vent his enthusiasm, Great news Skipper! A few times today I didn’t think we’d make it. I can’t wait.

Yes. I know! Each of us is feeling the excitement. Richard paused for a moment, then continued, Now, while we have a little quiet time before rendezvous, I want each of you to review the procedures you’re to perform upon base entry. The base is to be activated as soon as possible. Although the attack potential to the base is minimal, the sooner we put it in operation, the sooner we can be certain that we’ve met our goal in bringing peace to all mankind. It’s going to take longer to activate all the systems without the Omega team.

Everyone was occupied with the prospect of momentarily arriving at the base...everyone that is, except for Angela. Angela came on the line--with great hesitation, Major, I hate to ruin this--but I’m afraid we have a big problem. I didn’t want to bother you before but now I have no choice.

Somewhat annoyed with her for interrupting the good vibrations of the moment, Richard mentally rejected her words. What could possibly go wrong now? All they had to do was dock and enter the base. All of a sudden, it hit him like a bolt of lightning. He knew before she spoke the words.

Sir, I’m a member of the Omega team.

Richard’s spirits plummeted. They’d come this close to their new home....and had left the key back on earth.

Chapter 2

Dr. Feller’s Testimony to Senate Select Committee on SDI.

Gentlemen, at your request, I appear before you today to summarize the Sigma One Peace Base development. The old war horse radiated energy to the packed hearing room as he addressed the senators. "As you know, this project was developed as an outgrowth of the so called Star Wars defense project and consists of an inhabited space station and a net of satellites used to dispense a laser beam to any point of the earth. Sigma One is not a doomsday machine since it cannot initiate an attack. It can only respond to a missile in flight. Offensive actions are prevented by the ALEC computer that controls all base functions. The space based laser weapons it controls have exceptional accuracy and deposit large amounts of energy in a small region. With pinpoint accuracy, they will detect and destroy missiles but can in no way threaten a strategic target such as a city. The response of this system is almost instantaneous. Since the computer can respond so rapidly and can detect even the smallest offensive weapon launched at it, the base is impenetrable militarily.

The station will be staffed with ten astronauts—and ALEC, the Automatic Launch Elimination Computer. Although, ALEC could run the station alone, astronauts are on board to provide human intervention because the consequences of a mistake are so high. Intervention might be required in the unlikely event of ALEC misinterpreting reconnaissance information such as a July fourth celebration. The astronauts cannot initiate a destroy sequence--they can only stop it. Since time is so critical in reacting to a missile, ALEC will make a destroy decision and then give the Astronauts approximately thirty seconds to override the decision. If they don’t override the decision, the missile will be destroyed automatically.

The human team will be made up of people committed to live the rest of their lives in the station to assure base political impenetrability. If humans were allowed to go back and forth to this station, it would be possible for a future administration to deactivate it. Once activated, the base will be autonomous..."

Ursane Commission Release

Birsk, Ukraine, two hours before the Intrepid launch, August 30

Russian Science Minister Yuri Palenko was quite distraught--less than two hours until the scheduled US launch of Intrepid, 4 PM Moscow time--8 AM Florida. He hurried. He’d known that the Ukrainian War Minister Danillov was dangerous but this was ridiculous. How could anyone in his right mind want to take a chance like this--even if Ukrainian President Malchik had approved it? A tattered military jet had hurriedly brought him from Moscow to this desolate place--the Ukrainian missile control center. His car now plowed through the early snowfall toward the guard house. He knew about the Ukrainian plan to destroy the American Space Protect Base only because the KGB was still fully operational in all the commonwealth states. Russian President Gidaspow had called Kiev to talk to Ukrainian President Malchik. Malchik said he was willing to reconsider but his War Minister would have to be convinced first. Gidaspow, as usual, was too busy with internal problems to bother about the American base so he ordered Palenko to work it out with the Ukrainian War Minister.

His mind reverted back to Gidaspow’s edict five months earlier.

President Ravenko made an agreement with the US but that was when we were still the first CIS. As the new President of the Russian Republic, I decree that we will no longer participate in this project. Our Cosmonauts are to be taken out of their program. Do you understand?

But President Gidaspow, what can it hurt to continue participation?

It wastes money our country can ill afford. Besides, I do not trust the United States. They will not share the power of such a base with us.

Pulling out will give the Ukraine the excuse they need to continue their SDI program, Palenko said.

If they have the money, then let them. We will no longer participate in such a useless program.

The issue was closed. Gidaspow would discuss it no further.

Palenko was brought back to the present by the view of the front gate of the compound. The car stopped and he got out. ‘If I can only stop this madness,’ Palenko thought as he was admitted through the guard house. He reluctantly experienced the cold wind of the monotonous Birsk landscape and sprinted from the guard house to the main building. The dull sky overhead added to his deepening gloom.

The guard at the main building, recognizing Palenko’s official status, opened the door to the building for him. Yuri couldn’t understand why the guard had the ear flaps on his big fur hat tied up on top. How cold does it have to be to use the flaps? ‘Ach, the military mind does not have any sense or feeling,’ he thought.

He entered the building and felt an immediate sense of physical relief as the warm air flowed over him. The steam valves in the radiators snapped and echoed as he passed them. The hallway cried out, objecting to the years of filth which covered its walls and floor. The effects of socialism lingered on, leaving the people of this society without a sense of responsibility for the upkeep of anything which belonged to the state.

Delays, in every step of the trip, had cut the time to almost zero. He moved quickly, worrying it might already be too late. The impasse in his phone conversation with Danillov had caused Palenko to rush to Birsk, a mere 500 miles southwest of Moscow.

Yuri reached the General’s office complex and entered the secretary’s anteroom that buffered the complex from the hall. ‘Maybe,’ he thought, ‘I should have gone to Kiev. I would have eventually gotten to see Malchik. Maybe I could have convinced him it is foolish to launch a missile at the American Space Protect Base.’ But the real reason he didn’t was because of the discomfort he felt with the man. Malchik always made him feel like a child instead of a man of fifty two.

Two different names for the same thing--the Space Protect Base, the Peace Base--one Russian, one American, he thought. The names showed the subtle difference between the two philosophies; the people of Russ always protecting their homeland, the Americans always wanting to seek peace at any price, not caring about their borders--selling parcels of their country to anyone who wanted it. His many trips to the US had made him familiar with most aspects of American life.

The secretary looked up as he entered the room. Starved to speak to someone other than a military mind, she scanned his five foot ten, slightly paunchy frame. A blond, energetic man, who looked closer to forty than his actual age, had a special quality about him that drew women’s attention in spite of the dullness which accompanied his analytical nature. The secretary smiled at him as fetchingly as she could. He failed to notice. The General is ready to see you. He entered the office and saw the big man huddled over the large desk.

Danillov looked up and grimaced. No pleasantries were extended; instead, the General straightened his bearish frame to a standing position and started speaking almost as if there had been no interruption in their suspended phone conversation.

Ahhh Yuri!..you came--it will do you no good. You can’t change my mind--and President Malchik is behind me. The United States cannot be allowed to deploy their Space Protect Base. The tactical advantage they would have over us would be too great.

Dimitri Buznokyovitch, Palenko said, using the patronymic form of address to try to attain psychic equality with the General, they will have no advantage! You know that the base design was thoroughly investigated by our technical people. We know there is no offensive capability.

Dimitri Danillov stood, subconsciously using the girth and height of his six foot two, sixty five year old body to intimidate the smaller man. He grimaced with a ‘how stupid can you be’ look. Minister, I am not talking about the base itself. I am talking about the nuclear weapons which can be shielded with it. The Americans will allow deployment of their weapons...and destroy ours.

Palenko pulled himself up to full height to counter the imposing figure, But they will not. The United States has no interest in attacking us. They understand the concept of a nuclear winter. If they did destroy us with nuclear weapons, they also would die from the effects of the attack.

Nuclear winter!--a ridiculous idea. We cannot give them the upper hand just because of some silly theory we think they believe. Our Commonwealth would be defenseless. We have no choice but to destroy the base.

Yuri Palenko paused for a minute, then said, We had our chance. Our cosmonauts could be heading to the base with them. We had everything to gain and nothing to lose. The US was willing to share every aspect of the space base with us, jabbing the air with his finger. Pulling out of the program was a big mistake on our part, he said jutting his chin out and supporting himself with his arms on the desk.

Unintimidated, the General sat down, There is no reason to discuss this same point again and again. I have my orders. Besides, having our cosmonauts on the base would not ensure anything. The astronauts could take over the base if the Americans decided to attack us. President Malchik has stated that we must have the only Space Protect base. I have been ordered to stop them from putting their base into service. The only way to do that is to destroy the base before the astronauts start it up.

It is not necessary to destroy it. You will have protection enough when our base is deployed. The whole world will be protected. What more do you want?

"We are not close to deployment. The technical problems you failed to solve still haunt us. President Malchik has decreed that such a tactical