The Krone Experiment by J. Craig Wheeler Page A

a note of
finality. “Let me know how this develops.”
    “Right,” said Danielson, rising to leave,
collecting the bundle from his desk. “We’ll continue to monitor our
own AFTAC data, and that may begin to pin things down. But it will
take a month or so to acquire and analyze the civilian
records.”
    “Okay, keep in touch.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Isaacs watched the door close behind her. He
stared at it, unseeing, as her problem diffused from his mind and
his consciousness flowed out along tangled diplomatic channels.
From his office to Drefke’s to the White House. To Moscow.
Academician Korolev. Why did he rule out the meteorite? What had
happened to the Novorossiisk? What would happen to the shuttle?
     
     
    *****
     
     
    Chapter
3
     
    Major Edward Jupp went through the countdown
procedure the way he had a hundred times in simulation and twice
for real. His gloved hands played over the switches, and he
responded to the voice of the mission control agent at the
Consolidated Space Operations Center in Colorado Springs. His mind
was on the gaunt, taciturn passenger in the rear seat. This was his
first mission as commander, and he ached for a perfect flight. So
what did they do but pull the mission scientists, and substitute
this bozo, Colonel Newman, putting him in charge of a half-baked
kamikaze mission to snatch a live Russian laser satellite. On the
other hand, thought Jupp, they’re giving me a chance to fly this
sweet baby, new engines, high orbit capability; we’ll see what she
can really do.
    He watched from the corner of his helmet
visor as the boom swung away from the top of the liquid fuel tank.
He could sense the billion cracklings as the liquid oxygen sucked
heat from the mighty vessel, and he lightly fantasized again that
he could smell its cool freshness. The hum of a thousand organs,
electrical, mechanical, fluid, and solid sang their readiness to
him. He listened to the countdown and felt the Pavlovian rush of
adrenalin as the count reached “one.” With “zero” the beast
screamed its energy, first with the roar of the gigantic liquid
fueled engines and immediately the answering call of the solid
boosters, a triumphant Tarzan cry, hailing the defeat of gravity.
And then, just as before, the miracle was repeated and they were on
their way, lifting, twisting away from the gantry, the thrill of
unbridled acceleration coursing through his body.
    They kept to established routine for the
first several orbits. The idea was not to tip their hand too early.
Jupp knew, though, that the Russians would be watching them
microscopically, anticipating precisely the move they now planned.
The quiet passenger remained in his seat, not so much withdrawn as
apparently oblivious to the activity necessary to establish a
shuttle orbit. If he noticed that he was suspended head down two
hundred miles above Earth, he did not show it.
    They switched to the briefing books for their
revised mission, a mission they had studied and rehearsed for only
a fleeting week. Only a week before that, the Russians had blown
away a fancy new American reconnaissance satellite. Jupp was aware
that the American military and intelligence communities had been in
a retributive fury, little disposed to look past the surface act
and examine the motive. The Russians, correctly or not, suspected a
space-based attack on one of their carriers, and the recon
satellite had shown an undue interest in the damaged ship. The
Americans still did not have an operating laser in space. Now they
knew the Russians did have one. The Americans wanted it. The
shuttle would get it. Jupp had had only a few chances to discuss
this change in plans with his copilot, Larry Wahlquist, but he knew
Larry liked the whole thing even less than he did.
    Jupp and Wahlquist stood facing the U-shaped
console at the rear of the flight deck, their backs to the pilot’s
and copilot’s seats and the nose of the shuttle, their feet
anchored by velcro pads against the capricious