Clark blinked several times before a grin stretched across his face. “I can agree to that.”
“Let us talk tomorrow,” the Chairman said.
The smile on the President’s face grew. “Thank you, Mr. Chairman. I knew I could talk to you. You are a man of honor and foresight.”
“Thank you, Mr. President. I return the compliment. Until tomorrow then.”
“Tomorrow,” Clark said, sitting back in his chair.
The red light on the camera shut off, and the screen showing President Clark blanked out.
Jian was aghast. Deng must have sent the American President secret communications. The trade talks would resume and it seemed that the war was over before it had started. This was a disaster.
The wheelchair turned around so a haggard Chairman could regard them. “Time has run out,” he said. “These non-nuclear ASBMs: how dangerous are they?”
“Very,” said Admiral Qiang. “It is the correct response on their part.”
“Do you have enough laser-defense planes to stop them?” asked the Chairman.
“It all depends on how many missiles they launch,” the admiral said. “But we will use more than just the laser-planes. Our destroyers and cruisers are armed with anti-missile systems. Still, it could be a risky—”
“Is there nothing we can do?” the Chairman asked.
“Yes,” said Qiang. “We can take out their targeting satellites. That will make it much more difficult for the ASBMs to pinpoint our ships during the terminal phase of their flight.”
“I hereby order this satellite destruction,” the Chairman said. “Now what is all this about them moving divisions of troops to Alaska?”
“It is pure fantasy, sir,” Jian said. “The U.S. Army hasn’t moved yet. They’re just beginning to mobilize, but they haven’t moved a single troop unit. It will be at least two or three weeks before the American Army can get there, probably longer. So it is not an issue.”
“Sir,” said a frowning Deng. “I thought you just agreed to trade grain for oil. You told President Clark—”
The Chairman was shaking his head as it rested against the wheelchair’s back. “It is much too late for peace. Our interior people want food now. They are storming police stations and setting them alight. No. We must take their minds off their hunger. If nothing else, a good shooting war will glue them to their TVs and computers. Then, once we take Alaska and once the Americans realize their helplessness against us—” The Chairman smiled tiredly. “Knowledge of a supine America and the coming food tribute will keep the people quiet long enough until our stores brim with American bread and potatoes.”
“What about the American ASBMs?” Deng asked.
The Chairman regarded the Army Minister.
The old marshal sat forward, his sculptured face showing eager readiness.
“You will take out every American recon satellite that can scan into the Pacific Ocean,” the Chairman said. “Then we must use refueling tankers to keep our laser-armed planes near the invasion fleet. If any of the enemy ASBMs launch, we must have the swift capacity to destroy them.”
“What about tomorrow, sir?” Deng asked. “What will you tell President Clark then?”
From his wheelchair and as he exposed his yellowed teeth, the Chairman said, “That, Energy Minister, will be my surprise. I believe my surprise might end the war before it begins, with Alaska as the newest province of our growing empire.”
-9-
Contact
Captain Han of the Chinese Space Service settled a virtual reality (VR) helmet over his head. He was in a remote controlling “pit” and sat on a padded chair. He wore a flight suit, with attached lines snaking to routers and infrared sensors in the tubular-shaped wall around him. After fitting on the VR helmet, he thrust his hands into twitch gloves.
This was the latest in remote-control technology. Above and around him sat techs with monitors, watching his heart rate and other biological functions as others watched his weapons system. They were underground in a nuclear-blast protected heavy bunker.
Today, Captain Han would control one of three of China’s latest space-superiority missiles. His pit and assorted personnel were in one of the
“Are you ready, Captain?”
Han rechecked his systems. Everything worked. He nodded and managed to say, “Yes.”
“Pit Number Three, ready,” an unseen officer said.
Time ticked by. Finally, Han’s VR helmet hummed with life. Images appeared before him: clouds high in the sky. He used his twitch gloves and shifted the missile’s cameras. Trucks raced away from a launch pad.
“His heart rate is increasing,” a tech said.
“Relax, Captain. You’ll do fine.”
“Should we shut down his systems during liftoff?” a different tech asked.
“Negative. We need to test them.”
“Test on a day like this?”
“When else do you suggest? We’ve never actually used these systems before in battle.”
“What if something goes wrong?”
“Shhh. Do you want the Air Commodore to hear you?”
There was silence after that as the techs worked. Han waited in the pit as his stomach began to tighten. Through his helmet, he watched a bird fly across the sky.
“Get ready, Captain,” a tech said. “Liftoff is T-minus thirty.”
“I’m ready,” said Han, his mouth dry. He knew what he was supposed to do. He’d been thinking about it during the preparation. This was the greatest space attack in history, and he was afraid it might trigger World War Three.
“Relax, Captain, you’ll do fine,” a tech said again.
Han had total faith in his abilities. He was the best in China at remote controlling. It was the results
“All right,” another tech said. “This is it. Ten…nine…eight…”
Boost phase had lasted five minutes, sending Han’s King of Heaven missile into Low Earth Orbit.
“All systems are on,” a tech said. “It’s your show, Captain.”
Han’s mouth had dried out even more, making it impossible to speak. With his integrated VR system, he could have sworn he’d felt the vibration of the climbing King of Heaven, the roar of the three-stage rocket. Virtual reality imaging—it had become almost
“Captain Han?” a tech said.
Han tried to swallow so he get could enough moisture in his mouth to speak.
“His heart rate is increasing.”
“Inject him!”
“No,” Han said. He didn’t want any drugs. He didn’t want to mar his thinking. His mind was his greatest asset, and the thought of fiddling with it through drugs frightened him.
“Hurry, Doctor, his heart rate has jumped again. You must inject him.”
Down in the pit, Han shook his head. “No injections, please,” he managed to whisper.
