Starfire (46 page)

“No, sir,” Jerry said. “There wasn't time, and I was on a teleconference with my team trying to come up with a solution to the relay problem.”

“Do you know who came up with the idea to use the MHD?”

“I believe it was Mr. McLanahan, sir,” Jerry said. Nukaga nodded knowingly—he could have easily guessed that. “He brought the idea up to General Raydon, the station commander, and to Sergeant Lukas, the station's operations officer.”

“These are all members of the military?”

“They are all retired, I believe,” Jerry said, “but knowledgeable in space-station operations and hired by a private defense contractor to operate it.”

“ ‘Private defense contractor,' eh?” Nukaga sneered. “Was it that company in Nevada, the one that presented the university with the seed grant money?”

“Yes . . . I . . . yes, sir, it was,” Jerry said . . . and moments later the realization began to sink in.

“You're beginning to see now, aren't you, Jung-bae?” Nukaga asked, seeing Jerry's expression change. “Bradley McLanahan, the son of General Patrick McLanahan, a retired Air Force officer and former officer of that Nevada company, comes up with an idea for a so-called space-based solar power plant, and in just a few months' time he's assembled an engineering team and made several significant science and technological breakthroughs. Is it then a coincidence that Cal Poly gets the grant money? Is it just a coincidence that Mr. McLanahan wants to use Armstrong Space Station for Starfire, the station being managed by the
very same
Nevada
defense contractor
? I don't believe in coincidences, Jung-bae. Neither should you.”

“But they received permission from the president of the United States to use the MHD,” Jerry said, “only and unless the Skybolt free-electron laser was not capable of being fired.”

“Of course. They couldn't fire the laser without breaking the Space Preservation Treaty, so they got the next best thing: a maser, built by a bunch of college students, all very neat, uplifting, and innocent—hogwash, all hogwash,” Nukaga spat. “It seems to me that the so-called problems with your relay could have been easily contrived so they
had
to use the MHD generator to demonstrate the power of the maser weapon. Three million joules! I'll bet the military was very pleased with this demonstration.”

“I designed the power relay system, sir, and only I was in charge of monitoring it,” Jerry said. “I assure you, no one deliberately tampered with it.”

“Jung-bae, I am very glad that you told me of this,” Nukaga said. “I am not implicating you of anything. It seems that Mr. McLanahan had his own agenda when he put this project together. As I suspected from the beginning, Mr. McLanahan was working with this defense contractor, and quite possibly the military itself, being the son of a prominent and infamous military officer, to build a space weapon and hide it from the world. He obviously had help from this contractor and the government—how else could a freshman gather all the resources needed to put together such a project in so short a time?”

“I . . . I had no idea, sir,” Jerry said, his eyes darting back and forth in confusion. “Mr. McLanahan, he . . . he seemed to possess extraordinary leadership and organizational skills. He was always very open and transparent about everything. He shared all of his resources with every member of the team. We knew every moment of every day what was needed and how he intended to get it.”

“Again, Jung-bae, I'm not implicating or blaming you for being taken in by this . . . this obvious huckster,” Nukaga said. He nodded, satisfied that he was on the right track. “It makes perfect sense to me. Our university has been taken in by a coordinated plot by McLanahan—more likely by his late father at first, then adopted by the son—supported by that defense contractor, the military, and their government supporters like President Kenneth Phoenix and Vice President Ann Page, to surreptitiously build a space-based directed-energy weapon and disguise it as nothing more than a student engineering project. How horrifyingly clever. How many other progressive, peace-loving universities have they perpetrated this scheme on? I wonder.”

Nukaga's mind was racing for several moments before he realized he was still on the video teleconference with Jung-bae. “I'm sorry, Jung-bae,” he said, “but I must attend to a very important matter. You should leave that project immediately. In fact, if I find out that the university had anything to do with this military program, or if the university does not disavow any participation in the project and return the money it got from that defense contractor, I will resign my position immediately, and I would urge you to transfer to a different school. I'm sure we'd both be very happy at Stanford University. I look forward to seeing you soon.” And he terminated the connection.

My God, Nukaga thought, what an incredibly diabolical scheme! This had to be exposed immediately. It had to stop. He was the chair of this conference, and it was being beamed around the world—he certainly had access to cameras, microphones, and the media, and he intended to use them.

However, he admitted to himself, his audience, although global, was not that large. Most of the world considered the attendees as nothing more than tree-hugging Occupy Wall Street peacenik hippie wackos—one of the reasons he was asked to chair the conference was to try to lend a lot more legitimacy to the organization and the conclave. He needed some help. He needed . . .

. . . and in a flash he remembered, and pulled a business card out of his pocket, then pulled out his smartphone and dialed the Washington number of a man he knew was just a few flights upstairs. “Mr. Cohen, this is Dr. Toby Nukaga, the chair of the event . . . fine sir, thank you, and again, thank you and Secretary Barbeau for attending.

“Sir, I just received some very disturbing information that I think the secretary should know about and perhaps act upon,” Nukaga went on almost breathlessly. “It is in regards to the Starfire project . . . yes, the so-called space solar power plant . . . yes, I say ‘so-called' because I have learned today that it is not by any stretch of the imagination a solar power plant, but a well-camouflaged space-weapon program . . . yes, sir, a military directed-energy space weapon, disguised as a student engineering project . . . yes, sir, the information was told to me by someone very high up in the project,
very
high up . . . yes, sir, I trust the source completely. He was taken in, just as I and my university and hundreds of engineers and scientists around the world were sucked into cooperating with it, and I wish to expose this frightening and outrageous program before any more harm is done . . . yes, sir . . . yes, sir, I can be upstairs in just a few minutes. Thank you, Mr. Cohen.”

Nukaga had hurriedly starting packing up his tablet computer when a text message came across its screen. It was from the head of Students for Universal Peace, one of the international environmental and world peace groups attending the conference, and the message read:
Our protest plane was shot down by Starfire space weapon near rectenna site. We are at war.

I
NTERNATIONAL
C
ONFEDERATION
OF
R
ESPONSIBLE
S
CIENTISTS
CONCLAVE
KEYNOTE
ADDRESS

S
EATTLE
, W
ASHINGTON

L
ATER
THAT
EVENING

“It is my pleasure and honor to introduce a person who certainly needs no introduction, especially to this assemblage,” Dr. Toshuniko Nukaga began, reading from the script that had been provided for him from Secretary Barbeau's campaign office. “Stacy Anne Barbeau describes herself first and foremost as an Air Force brat. Born at Barksdale Air Force Base near Shreveport, Louisiana, she said that the roar of the B-47 and B-52 bombers outside her family's home just lulled her to sleep, and the smell of jet fuel surely seeped into her blood. The daughter of a retired two-star Air Force air-division general, she moved residences a total of ten times with her family, including two postings overseas, before moving back to her home state of Louisiana to attend college. Undergraduate degrees in prelaw, business, and government from Tulane, a law degree from Tulane, then work in the public defender's offices in Shreveport, Baton Rouge, and New Orleans, before running for Congress. Three terms in Congress were followed by three terms in the U.S. Senate, the last four years as majority leader, before being selected as the sixty-seventh secretary of state. Today, she is a candidate for president of the United States, and if she wins, she will be the first woman to hold that office. I cannot think of a person more suited for that position, can you?” There was a tremendous standing ovation that lasted almost a full minute.

“That's her official background, my friends and colleagues, but let me tell you a few things about this extraordinary woman you may not know,” Nukaga went on. “There are two sides to Secretary Barbeau. There is the fierce but caring advocate for green technology, the environment, actions to counter global warming, and carbon control. But she is equally strong and dedicated to the strength and responsible modernization of our military. No surprise, she is a strong voice for the Air Force, but is also a supporter of our country maintaining its leadership on the world's oceans and of maintaining a force that stands ready to help other countries in time of need with rapid, sustained, and powerful yet compassionate humanitarian assistance. I know her as having a strong, caring, and dynamic personality, but she is undoubtedly someone Humphrey Bogart might have called a ‘classy broad.' ” Nukaga was relieved to get a peal of laughter and some applause for that line—it was one he would have deleted from the prepared introduction, if he had been allowed to do so.

“Stacy Anne Barbeau speaks five languages fluently. Stacy Anne is a scratch golfer. Stacy Anne knows Washington inside and out, but her roots and her heart are with the folks, you and me. Stacy Anne knows and cares about the U.S. military, the force that protects our nation and the free world, but Stacy Anne knows that the military is a force not just for war, but for defending those who cannot defend themselves.” Nukaga let his voice rise as he wound it up, and the growing applause from the audience helped tremendously—so much so that he found himself raising his arms and clenching his fists, something he thought he'd never do. “Stacy Anne Barbeau is a leader, a fighter, and a protector, and with our help and support, Stacy Anne Barbeau will be the next president of the United States of America!” Nukaga's next words could not be heard because of the rumbling, ear-shattering standing ovation that erupted just then. “Ladies and gentlemen, friends and colleagues, please join me in welcoming the former secretary of state and the next president of the United States of America, Stacy Anne Barbeau!”

With a beaming smile and enthusiastic wave of both hands, Stacy Anne Barbeau strode onto the stage. She did something Stacy Anne Barbeau knew how to do with perfection: look professional, presidential, and seductive all at once. Her wavy blond hair and makeup were flawless; her dress was tight, which accentuated her curvaceous body without looking too trampy or obvious; her jewelry caught lots of attention, but just enough to make her look successful without looking flashy.

“Thank you, thank you, ladies and gentlemen!” Barbeau shouted into the microphone after she reached the lectern. She then recited her well-known and oft-repeated campaign motto in a very loud and Cajun-laced voice: “Let's get the future started together, shall we?” The applause and shouting were deafening.

Barbeau stood silent at the podium until the shouting and applause died down, and then waited nearly an additional minute so that the audience was waiting for her words with breathless anticipation. Finally, she began: “My friends, as I begin I am going to deviate from my prepared remarks, because serious events have happened in the last several hours that I think you should know about.

“I'm sure you are all aware that I am not a big fan of President Kenneth Phoenix's new so-called industrial space initiative,” she said. “I give the president all the credit in the world for flying up to the military space station to make his big announcement—despite costing the American taxpayer tens of millions of dollars for what turned out to be the planet's most wasteful and unnecessary junket—but frankly, my friends, it's all been downhill from there: relations with the Russians and many nations in Europe and Asia are at an all-time low and threatening to explode into diplomatic friction at best and a return to the Cold War at worst; the military no longer trusts the president because of all these looming wholesale cuts he plans to make to our proud military forces; the Russians have abandoned the International Space Station, and the European Union and Japan are considering doing the same; and the economy is still in the tank four years after he came to office, this despite an austerity campaign that has seen entire cabinet-level departments nearly eliminated. Is this what we want to see continue for another four years?” The audience started chanting a familiar phrase, one that had been repeated over and over during Barbeau's campaign: “
Dites-moi la vérité
now, Ken Phoenix, or get down from the car!” a mixture of Cajun and Creole expressions.

After letting this go on for a few seconds, Barbeau raised her hands, smiling broadly, until the chanting finally ended. “But while he's been warning us of his plans to cut the military in a time of ever-increasing danger to our country and our allies; while he's warning us he's ready to cut social safety-net programs and benefits meant to assist the most vulnerable of us; while he threatens to run up huge deficits to try to deploy these pie-in-the-sky space things, do you know what he did earlier today, my friends? Today, he fired a directed-energy weapon from space, a microwave laser, in direct violation of the Space Preservation Treaty. While the treaty has not yet been ratified by the Senate—an omission I will remedy when I take over the White House, I promise you—its terms have been closely followed for the past eight years so as to ensure peace. And do you know the worst part? In order to hide his program from the world, he disguised this act as an innocent undergraduate college experiment.