There’s a lot of discussion around the table about other incidents I’ve not heard about until now. The result is any number of near disasters from erroneous information that caused the wrong decisions to be made as was the case with the Delta Force my sister saved.
“Brain damage,” I speak up, may as well, I’m sitting here. “Far worse to compromise key satellites than to take them out. Bad data is worse than none at all.”
“That’s the point,” Dick agrees.
As the president lifts his finger again, not looking up from his note taking, “Are we concerned that someone’s launched a weapon we don’t know about?”
“Very much so,” Dick says, zooming in on a time lapse of what’s assumed to be a satellite.
Except it appears to be moving from one orbit to another as it speeds around the Earth, and no satellite I’m aware of can do such a thing.
36
“IT’S HARD to tell from this,” Conn directs everyone’s attention to the map of GEO on a data wall. “But that little pinpoint of light you see moving in this time-lapsed video is moving in the direction of a multibillion-dollar intelligence-gathering satellite capable of listening in on conversations and conducting top secret reconnaissance.”
“USA555A was launched three weeks ago from Kennedy Space Center,” Dick takes over again. “And the concern is that an adversary is aware, and the spy satellite is what this rogue object is now pursuing.”
“Does the public know about this recently launched spy satellite? Because it’s news to me,” the NSA puzzles.
“Not that we know of,” Dick says. “We were hoping certain adversaries might believe it or something similar blew up in our rocket last week. We tried to give that impression, that maybe there was something in the payload no one was talking about.”
“Trying to capitalize on the disaster,” Conn explains as I envision Wallops Island emergency crews recovering debris from the blast site throughout the night. “But it didn’t work. By all appearances an adversary is aware of USA555A and is targeting it.”
“Whoever’s behind this has stepped up what we believe is the next imminent attack,” Dick adds. “Whatever this rogue object is, it has sufficient thruster power to change trajectories and altitudes, now moving on a course that places it directly in the path of our satellite.”
“Thankfully, whatever this rogue spacecraft is, it’s not any faster than it is,” the Pentagon says.
“Thankfully indeed, and to the swiftest go the spoils,” Dick replies. “If the vehicle involved were any faster, we wouldn’t have been able to mobilize in time. Even so, neutralizing the problem is a long shot,” and that’s a word I could have done without.
“How much time do we have?” asks the Secret Service. “Now that this rogue object has changed its orbit again as of 5 days ago, escalating possible contact with USA555A.”
“By our calculations,” Dick answers, “it’s scheduled to be within striking range tomorrow at 0900 Zulu time, 4:00 p.m. here in DC,” and now I understand the urgency.
It’s making sense why everything had to happen when it did, and as fast as it has. It’s not just about the missing GOD chip. It’s about deploying a spacecraft to GEO.
“We must prevent another attack on our satellites, the most sensitive one yet,” Dick explains. “We have to figure out who and what’s doing this, and eliminate the threat.”
“Pure sabotage,” says the secretary of state.
“Space terrorism,” the CIA adds gravely.
“One of Uganda’s concerns,” the president grimly lifts his finger. “Nations are reticent to invest in starting a space program if this is what happens.”
“Some kind of weapon is being deployed. Has to be,” the DIA adds.
“But why can’t we pick that up on radar?” the Secret Service wants to know.
“How could there be a weaponized spacecraft up there and we have no idea?” the vice president looks extremely unhappy about it.
“It would have to be constructed of a material with a very low signal,” DARPA decides.
“Like plastic,” I volunteer. “It’s extremely hard to see on radar, especially if you’re not looking for it, and this is causing increased problems with space debris. A lot of CubeSats and other things being sent up are made of plastics and other composites that don’t include metal.”
“Last week we lost communication on the International Space Station,” Dick says. “And there were other malfunctions that could have been fatal to our astronauts while they were installing a quantum node during a spacewalk. The Station commander was riding the robotic arm when it lost power, stranding her,” and touching the tablet, he shows another video.
Astronauts Peggy Whitson and Jack Fischer are weightless inside the Space Station, holding themselves in place with foot loops, both of them somber. And it bolsters me a little to see they’re dressed no better than I am, in khakis, polo shirts with their mission patches, and socks.
“. . . There were multiple failures simultaneously,” Peggy looks into the camera, bobbing a little as she floats in microgravity, hanging on by her toes. “Both electrical channels powering the prime and redundant strings of the robotic arm failed.”
“Then there was an entirely separate event,” Jack says. “The prime and redundant communication systems also failed . . . ,” and Dick stops the recording.
“It’s not credible that this cluster of disasters in addition to the rocket’s destruction were a coincidence,” he renders his verdict. “An examination of commands sent to the Station found that they were sent from another location.”
“Hacking?” asks the secretary of state.
“Actually, worse than that, as it turns out,” Dick answers. “Bad information from a communications satellite in GEO. And this same problem resulted in a rogue signal that caused us to hit the kill switch at Wallops Island,” as he’s saying this, I think of Lex.
Damage to a communications satellite didn’t happen because he or anyone else dialed a number on a burner phone.