Starfire (18 page)

“We propose using a lot of the equipment that's already aboard Armstrong Space Station for this project, sir,” Brad said. “Armstrong is particularly well suited for our project because it already has a lot of the beam-control hardware, capacitors, and aiming systems we need for the maser. It's all already up there—we don't have to launch it, just update software and some of the hardware. It's a lot better than having all that stuff burn up after being deorbited.”

“It seems a lot is riding on the government letting you use their space station for your project,” Nukaga pointed out.

“I've been in contact with the folks at Sky Masters Aerospace, who are Armstrong Space Station's caretakers until they figure out what they're going to do with it,” Brad said. “They are open to Project Starfire. They want to see our data and results before they commit, but they like the idea of acquiring the space station for themselves, privatizing it, and putting it to work.”

“I think Sky Masters Aerospace is a front for the Central Intelligence Agency or even for a secret government spy unit,” Nukaga said. “I have a bad taste in my mouth every time I hear that name.” Yet he nodded, almost imperceptibly, but to the students it was a very good sign. “Tell me about the ground portion of your project, Mr. Kim,” Nukaga said. “I've heard a lot about the on-orbit parts, but very little about the ground systems and the challenges you're working around.”

Kim seemed to struggle with the answer once again, but after a moment he replied, “Sir, the ground collection system includes a two-hundred-meter steerable rectenna, alternators, positioning controls, environmental systems, and a way to either store the direct current output from the rectenna or integrate the output into the local electrical grid.”

“A two-hundred-meter rectenna?” Nukaga remarked. “Not exactly suited for the Himalayas, is it, Mr. Eagan?”

“The rectenna's size is based on the beam-control system currently aboard Armstrong Space Station, sir,” Lane said. “It's forty-year-old technology, probably updated a few times but not to current standards. I haven't seen their code yet, but I'm sure I can improve the software to make the pointing and focusing more accurate, and then we can build a smaller rectenna. The maser beam doesn't expand as much as a microwave beam, and side lobe propagation is vastly lower and tunable.”

“Regardless, sir, the ground systems are far smaller than any other type of power-generating plant,” Brad interjected. “We don't use any natural resources other than sunlight, and there's more electricity potential from one day's worth of sunlight than all the electricity generated around the world in one year.”

“That will look good on a website, Mr. McLanahan, but I'm not interested in a sales pitch now,” Nukaga said rather irritably, now openly showing his displeasure at Brad's interruptions. He fell silent, thinking, then resumed his finger tapping. “And what sort of progress have you made so far?” he asked after a few moments.

“Jodie and Casey have drawn up the plans for the nantenna and maser and can start fabrication as soon as we get the go-ahead for the laser and materials lab and funding,” Brad replied. “They also have plans for miniaturization so it can fit in a spacecraft, but our focus is on demonstrating that an inorganic nanotube nantenna is technically feasible. They feel confident they can do it by the end of summer.”

“The end of summer?” Nukaga exclaimed. “Engineering complex nanotube structures in just a few months' work?”

“I've been working on inorganic nanotubes for over four years, sir,” Jodie said, “but mostly by myself back in Australia. Brad sought me out based on my presentations over the years. He brought our team together, and he's still seeking out experts and scientists from all over the world to assist. Things are happening quickly.”

Nukaga nodded slightly, then indicated to Brad that he could continue. “Jerry and I have plans to integrate the control, power, environmental, communications, and sensor systems, but we don't have the spacecraft, so we're still spread out,” Brad said. “Lane has the software already written for the spacecraft control systems and ground-system rectenna controls, and is ready to start debugging and burning chips once we get the go-ahead. He already has software project outlines for Armstrong's beam-control units, but Sky Masters hasn't released their software to us yet, so it's just an anticipatory outline.”

“And you have done all this on your own time, in between your classes and other responsibilities?” Nakuga remarked. “And except for Mr. Kim you are all freshmen, no?”

“Jodie is a third-year undergrad, sir,” Brad replied. “Lane, Casey, and I are freshmen.”

Nakuga nodded slightly, obviously impressed. “Where do you intend to get a spacecraft, Mr. McLanahan?”

“Sky Masters Aerospace out in Battle Mountain, Nevada, sir,” Brad replied. “I've already got a Trinity module identified and on loan, and as soon as we have lab space I can have it shipped to us. It's not flyable, but it's an actual spacecraft, not just a mock-up or scale model.”

“Trinity?”

“It's one of several different versions of Sky Masters Aerospace's autonomous orbital maneuvering vehicles, used by the Space Defense Force a few years ago,” Brad explained. “It's placed into orbit by a Midnight spaceplane. It has its own targeting sensors, or it can take targeting data from a Kingfisher weapon garage or from Armstrong Space Station; it can autonomously refuel from Armstrong or another unmanned servicing module; it can—”

“ ‘Targeting'? ‘Weapon garage'?” Nukaga interrupted. “These are all space weapons?”

“Well, Trinity is a multipurpose orbital module, but yes, sir, it is used in a variety of space-based weapons,” Brad said. He was hoping to not bring up the fact that Trinity was a space weapon to Nukuga—the professor was a well-known and moderately activist antiwar guy—but in his excitement to pitch the project and get the lab space, he said the words that hopefully would not kill this project.

Nukaga began blinking in some confusion. “I didn't know you were building a space weapon, Mr. McLanahan,” he said.

“We're not, sir,” Brad said, his confidence eroding quickly like a slow leak on a bicycle tire. “Starfire is an orbiting power plant based on Armstrong Space Station. We felt we had to not only design the components of the power plant but figure out ways to safely and efficiently get all the components into orbit using current technology. We can demonstrate that if we—”

“I'm not comfortable at all with cooperating with a company that produces space weapons,” Nukaga said stiffly, staring accusingly at Brad. “If this company gets the information on your Starfire and then decides to use the technology to develop more space weapons, this university would be complicit in an arms race in space. Technology that could beam maser energy to a rectenna on Earth can certainly be used to disable a spacecraft or even destroy targets on the ground.”

“Sky Masters Aerospace is offering a fifty-million-dollar grant for new orbital spacecraft technology, Dr. Nukaga,” Brad said. “I think even just a piece of that would be extremely good for the university. We're hoping that getting the lab space and time in the directed-energy and computer labs will show the university's commitment to the project and help get part of that grant money.”

“Money isn't the only consideration here, Mr. McLanahan,” Nukaga retorted indignantly . . . but he briefly glanced away, silently acknowledging the fact that landing a big piece of a multimillion-dollar grant would certainly be good for the school—and for his own prestige, of course. “How did you happen to come across this Trinity module, Mr. McLanahan?” he asked.

“My father used to be the chief operations officer at the company, sir,” Brad said. “I worked there for a short time, and I still have friends there. I stay in contact with the guys in the engineering and flight-test departments, and I hope to work there some day.”

“ ‘Used to be'? Your father's retired?”

Brad swallowed hard, and when his mouth opened, no sound came forth.

“His father was killed, sir,” Lane said in a soft voice. Nukaga looked at the young man, then back to Brad's blank expression, still confused.

“Dr. Nukaga, Brad's father was General Patrick McLanahan,” Casey said, the tone in her voice making it plain that she couldn't believe he didn't know—Bradley McLanahan, the son of the great aerospace warrior General Patrick McLanahan, was a sort of minor celebrity on campus.

It finally dawned on Nukaga what had just transpired, but his expression of shock and embarrassment lasted only a moment. “I . . . my apologies, Mr. McLanahan,” he said finally, straightening in his chair and looking at a spot on the wall over Brad's shoulder. “I did not know this.” Still looking away, he cleared his throat, then motioned for the folder in Brad's hand. “I will look over your project, present it to the projects committee, and inform you as quickly as possible,” he said as Brad gave him the folder. “Thank you all.” The students shuffled to their feet and departed. “Mr. Kim. A word please.”

“We'll be at the Starbucks at the Market, Jerry,” Casey whispered to Jung-bae as they headed out. Jerry nodded, then returned to his seat.

Nukaga waited a few moments until he was sure the outer office was clear; then: “It seems to me you were not very well prepared for this presentation, Mr. Kim,” he said. “I receive several dozen requests for sponsored summer lab space every spring for just three slots. The teams that I invite to make a personal presentation spend hundreds of hours in preparation and are all at the top of their games. But you did not seem to be so this afternoon. Can you tell me why, Mr. Kim?”

“I am afraid I cannot, sir,” Jerry said. “A little stage fright perhaps.”

“I hardly think so, Mr. Kim,” Nukaga said. “If granted, this will be your third sponsored lab project in two years, in a school where only a third of the engineering students get even one. You are the top undergraduate engineering student in South Korea and one of the outstanding minds in the world. I'm pleased you chose Cal Poly, but you belong at MIT or Stanford.”

Jerry averted his eyes for a moment, then looked at Nukaga. “Actually, sir . . .
you
are the reason I am here,” he said. “I have followed your career for many years.”

“Then why aren't you in aerospace engineering, son?” Nukaga asked. “We could be working side by side if you weren't on the mechanical engineering side of the campus. I've only had you for a few classes in all the years you've been here.”

“Mechanical engineering was chosen for me by my corporate and government sponsors back home, sir,” Jerry said. “Out of respect for them, I did not change my major. My second major was chosen for me by my parents, and my minor had to be in a nonscience field, so I chose business. But once I graduate and accept my credentials back home, I will be free to pursue other specialties, and I intend to come back here for my master's degree and doctorate under your tutelage.”

“That would be outstanding, Jung-bae,” Nukaga said. “I can almost guarantee your acceptance. I would even consider transferring to Stanford if you wanted to get your doctorate there instead—they've been hounding me for years to join their faculty and perhaps even be the dean of the college of engineering.” Jerry's eyes widened in surprise, and he broke out into a very happy grin.

“But let's get back to this so-called Starfire project, son,” Nukaga went on. “I'm confused. You're on a graduate-school level, but you're hanging out with a bunch of underclassmen. Mr. Eagan is almost young enough to be your son. None of those kids are on your intellectual level. What gives? Even if you liked the project—which to me seems you do not—why aren't you at least leading it? You have a freshman leading it, and he's not even the smartest one on the team.” Jerry shrugged his shoulders and cast his eyes away. Nukaga paused, then winked conspiratorially at Jerry when the student's eyes came back to his. “Is it Miss Cavendish, Jung-bae? She certainly is a cutie. I would even volunteer to carry Miss Huggins in and out of her wheelchair, if you know what I mean.”

Kim did not react at all to the personal remarks about his fellow students. He shrugged again, a childish motion that Nukaga was beginning to find irritating for such a gifted student. “I . . . I respect Mr. McLanahan, sir,” he finally responded.

“McLanahan? Respect what about him? He's just a freshman aerospace engineering student with good but unremarkable grades. I didn't know he is Patrick McLanahan's son, but that hardly matters to me—in fact, it takes him down a notch as far as I'm concerned. His father was a rogue airman who always seemed to skate free of demotion, if not prison, after causing all manner of heinous international incidents without proper orders. I myself am sure it was his actions that precipitated the Russian air attack on the United States that killed tens of thousands.”

“Perhaps Mr. McLanahan is not the best engineering student at Cal Poly, sir, but he is . . . is a team builder,” Kim said. “He not only came up with the idea for Starfire, but he put together an incredible team, steered us through Tuckman's four stages of group development—forming, storming, norming, and performing—and coached us through our presentation to you. If he does not understand something or encounters a problem, he finds someone to explain the science to him, and they always end up joining his team. As you will see when you read the presentation, sir, Mr. McLanahan has amassed a sizable and quite impressive list of students, faculty, scientists, and engineers from all over the world willing to contribute to the project.”

“This is the college of engineering, Jung-bae, not a frat house,” Nukaga said. “Mr. McLanahan would be well advised to work on his grades a little more and do a little less glad-handing.” He frowned, then went on: “And I'm very wary of the connection between Mr. McLanahan and this military defense company in Nevada. I will not have the college of engineering at Cal Poly become the crib of some new technology of death and destruction—I don't care if they give us the
entire
fifty million dollars.” That certainly wasn't true, but Nukaga was standing on principle, not the university's political reality. He thought for a moment, then nodded resolutely. “I will read the proposal and present it to the committee,” he said, “but I will also recommend approval for whatever resources you need.”