“They probably wouldn’t believe you if you
“The ladies I hang out with don’t know a space station from a gas station — and that’s the way I like it,” Boomer admitted. “They don’t know, or care, what I do for a living. All they want is attention and a good time on the town, and if they don’t get it, they split.”
“Sounds lonely.”
“That’s why I always like to have more than one on the hook, sir,” Boomer said.
“Could be fireworks if they ever run into each other, eh?”
“We hook up together all the time, sir,” Boomer said. “No brag, just fact. Like I said, all they want is attention, and they get even more attention if folks see them arm in arm with another hot babe. Besides, if there’s ever any conversation—”
“Wait, wait, I know this one, Boomer: ‘If there’s any conversation,
“Yes, sir,” Boomer replied. Before McLanahan clicked off, he asked, “Uh, General?”
“Go ahead.”
“I’m sorry if I got out of line earlier.”
“I expect you to give me your professional opinion and point of view anytime, Boomer, especially on a mission,” Patrick said. “If you were out of line, I wouldn’t hesitate to let you know.”
“It got me pretty steamed, watching those bastards setting up a rocket with a damned chemical warhead on it. All I wanted to do was blast a few more.”
“I hear you. But it’s more important we get this program off and running. We both know we’re going to catch some flak for what happened in Tehran — shooting more missiles wouldn’t have helped us.”
“Maybe offing a few more terrorists would compel them to keep their heads down and hide in their ratholes for a few days more.”
“We have some incredible weapons at our disposal, Boomer — let’s not let the power go to our heads,” Patrick said patiently. “It was an operational test, not an actual mission. I know the temptation to play Zeus with a few SkySTREAK missiles is powerful, but that’s not what we’re here for. Meet back here in sixty.”
“Yes, sir,” he responded. Just before the general logged off, Boomer remarked to himself that the general looked even wearier than any other time since embarking on this sortie to the space station — maybe the combination of witnessing the chemical weapon release and the monthly trips into space were starting to get to him. Boomer was half his age, and sometimes the stress of the trips, especially the recent quick-turn, high-G re- entry profiles, and multiple sorties they had been flying, wore him down fast.
Boomer floated back to the crew quarters module, retrieved his wireless headphones and video goggles, and floated to the Skybolt laser module at the “bottom” of the station. Skybolt was the station’s most powerful and so most controversial piece of technology, a multi-gigawatt free-electron laser powerful enough to shoot through Earth’s atmosphere and melt steel in seconds. Tied to Silver Tower’s radars and other sensors, Skybolt could attack targets as small as an automobile and burn through the top armor of all but the most modern main battle tanks. Classified as a “weapon of mass destruction” by all of America’s adversaries, the United Nations had been calling for the weapon’s deactivation for many years, and only America’s veto power in the Security Council kept it alive.
Ann Page, Skybolt’s designer, operator, and chief advocate, was on Earth preparing to testify to Congress on why funding for the weapon should be continued, and Boomer knew that very few others on the station ever went near the thing — Skybolt was powered by an MHDG, or magnetohydrodynamic generator, which used two small nuclear reactors to rapidly shoot a slug of molten metal back and forth through a magnetic field to produce the enormous amount of power required by the laser, and no amount of shielding and assurances by Ann could assuage anyone’s fears — so he often went into the module to get some peace and quiet. The Skybolt module was about a fourth of the size of the main modules on the station, so it was relatively cramped inside, and it was crammed with pipes, wire conduits, and a myriad of computers and other components, but the gentle hum of the MHDG drive’s circulating pumps and the excellent computers and communications gear there made it Boomer’s favorite place to get away from the others for a while.
Boomer connected his headphones and video goggles to the module’s computers, logged in, and began downloading e-mail. Even though the headphones and goggles were a pain, there was precious little privacy on Silver Tower, even in the huge modules, so the only semblance of privacy had to come down to the space between one’s ears. Everyone assumed that if personnel from the super-secret High-Technology Aerospace Weapons Center were on board the space station that all incoming and outgoing transmissions of any kind were being recorded and monitored, so “privacy” was a vacuous idea at best.
It was a good thing he had bothered to put on the gear, because the video e-mails from his girlfriends were definitely not for public viewing. Chloe’s video was typical: “Boomer, where the hell are you?” it began, with Chloe sitting in front of her videophone photographing herself. “I’m getting tired of you disappearing like this. Nobody at your unit would tell me a goddamned thing. That sergeant that answers the phone should be booted out of the service, the fag.” Chloe called any man who didn’t immediately hit on her a “fag,” believing being gay was the only reason that any normal male wouldn’t want to screw her right away.
She paused for a moment, her features softening a bit, and Boomer knew the show was about to begin: “You’d better not be with that blond spiky-haired bitch, Tammy or Teresa or whatever the hell her name is. You’re over at her place, aren’t you, or you two have jetted off to Mexico or Hawaii, haven’t you? You two just fucked and you’re checking mail while she takes a shower, right?” Chloe set the videophone down on her desk, unbuttoned her blouse, and slipped her large, firm breasts out from under her brassiere. “Let me just remind you what you’re missing here, Boomer.” She put a finger sensuously in her mouth, then circled her nipples with it. “Get your ass back here and stop screwing around with those skanky bottle-blond hos.” She smiled seductively, then hung up.
“Crazy bitch,” Boomer muttered as he continued to scroll through the messages, but resolved to look her up as soon as he got back. After previewing more messages he stopped and immediately entered the code to access the satellite Internet server. Another benefit of the new American space initiative, of which Armstrong Space Station was the hub, was the coming availability of almost universal Internet access via a constellation of over a hundred low-Earth-orbit satellites that provided global low-speed Internet access, plus ten geostationary satellites that provided high-speed broadband Internet access to most of the Northern Hemisphere.
“No IP address, no extensions, no open active server identification code — this has got to be a call from outer space,” came the reply from Jon Masters a few moments later after establishing a videophone connection to the designated secure address. Jon Masters was the vice president of a small high-tech research and development company called Sky Masters Inc. that designed and licensed many different emerging aerospace technologies, from microsatellites to space boosters. Masters, a multidegree, multidoctorate scientist and engineer regarded as one of the world’s most innovative aerospace designers and thinkers, had formed his company at the ripe old age of twenty-five, and he still looked and acted the part of the geeky, eccentric, and flippant child prodigy. “Thanks for returning my call, Boomer.”
“No problem, Jon.”
“How are things up there?”
“Fine. Good.”
“I know you can’t talk about it on a satellite server, even if it is encrypted. Just wanted to be sure you’re okay.”
“Thanks. I’m fine.”
There was a slight pause; then: “You sound a little down, my friend.”
“No.”
“Okay.” Another pause. “So. What do you think of my offer?”
“It’s extremely generous, Jon,” Boomer said. “I’m not sure if I deserve it.”
“I wouldn’t offer it if I didn’t think you did.”
“And I get to work on whatever I want?”
“Well, we hope we can entice you to help out on other projects,” Masters said, “but I want you to do what you do best: think outside the box and come up with fresh, innovative, and kick-ass designs. I don’t try to game or
