Dale Brown - Executive Intent

“Sure-it’s better than playing with that lung-exerciser thingy they gave me,” Boomer said, motioning to the spirometer on the table next to the bed. He sat on the side of the bed. “Shoot.”

“Did Lieutenant McCallum have any problems with the repairs that you’re aware of?” Patrick asked.

“None,” Boomer said. “Went very smoothly.”

“Was he nervous about doing the space walk?”

“I think so,” Boomer admitted. “But I told him it was natural, and that I get a little illyngophobia every now and then.”

“A little what?” Ann asked.

“Illyngophobia-the fear of getting vertigo.”

“You mean acrophobia.”

“No, that’s the fear of heights. I don’t have a problem with heights. I’m just afraid I might get vertigo. Pretty much the same, but different.” Ann looked at him skeptically. “I’m generally a font of useless information, Madam Undersecretary,” he said with a smile.

“‘A difference that makes no difference is no difference,’” Ann said.

“William James, the ultimate verificationist,” Boomer said. “My man.”

While they were prattling on, Patrick stepped away from Boomer’s bed and touched his left hand to his left ear, a signal that he was not taking part in their conversation. “Maddie?”

“Yes, General McLanahan,” the voice of Sky Masters Inc.’s virtual assistant replied a moment later, heard through the resonations transmitted through his skull to his middle ear.

“Connect me to General Raydon on Armstrong Space Station.”

“Stand by, General McLanahan,” Maddie replied. A few moments later: “General Raydon, this is Maddie from Sky Masters Incorporated calling for General McLanahan, not secure.”

“Is that your Duty Officer calling for you again, General?” Kai asked.

“Same operation; different names,” Patrick said. “Verificationism.” That got Ann and Boomer’s attention.

“Say again?”

“Disregard. How are you?”

“Tired. Yourself, sir?”

“Good. Undersecretary Page and I are here with Boomer.”

“How is he?”

“Up and about.”

“He’s a tough bugger, that’s for sure.”

“I’m very sorry about Lieutenant McCallum.”

“Thanks. He was a great engineer and crewman. I’ll be heading down for his service in a few hours.”

“I’ll see you there. Any more news on the accident, Kai?”

“We’re not secure, General.”

“I know.”

There was a slight pause; then: “Are you heading up the accident investigation board, sir?”

“It hasn’t been confirmed yet.”

“As soon as I get the word that you’re chairing the board, General, I’ll pass along all the information on the entire incident,” Kai said. At that same moment, Patrick received a secure instant message that scrolled across the bottom of his field of vision, thanks to the tiny electronic intraocular lens implant in his left eye. The message read: LET ME KNOW WHERE TO SEND THE FILES.

“Understood, Kai,” Patrick said. “I’ll drop you a line when I get the okay.”

“Roger that, sir.”

“I’ll see you in Palo Alto for McCallum’s service. Fly safe.”

“Will do. Good to talk with you again, General.” And he broke the connection.

“Raydon?” Ann asked, silently reminding Patrick that he was not yet part of any investigation.

“Yep. He couldn’t say anything until the board is seated.” Ann looked relieved, and Patrick noticed that. “You probably shouldn’t say anything else to us either, Boomer.”

“You’re probably right, sir. But I’ll start taking notes on what I remember and pass them along to the board for the record.”

“Good.” He extended a hand, and Boomer shook it with his left hand. “I hope you’ll feel up to attending McCallum’s service.”

“I’ll be there, General.”

“We’ll understand if you’re not. You’ve been through an extraordinary emergency.”

“I’ll be there,” Boomer assured him. Patrick nodded, and he and Ann departed.

Back in his car, Ann said, “I was starting to get worried about you asking questions and then calling Raydon, Patrick. Be careful about contaminating the integrity of the investigation before you get seated.”

“Ann, I would fall over backward in a dead faint if I was appointed chair of that investigation board,” Patrick said, “or any other government position except maybe in charge of beach sandals and boogie boards in Alaska. There’s no way on earth President Gardner would allow Banderas to select me.”

“Why not? You’re by far the highest-ranking astronaut in the world; one of the best-known and well-respected military officers in the nation; you’re available; you know the space systems and the hazards; and you can work for the traditional one-dollar stipend,” Ann said. She looked at Patrick carefully. “I remember all that stuff about the president wanting you pulled off Armstrong after those attacks in Turkey and whatever happened in Nevada. I also remember you suddenly disappeared off the station after convincing everyone you were too sick to stand the stress of reentry, after which suddenly the pressure was off, you were retired, and the space defense program was back on track. What happened after you returned to Earth…or shouldn’t I ask?”

“You shouldn’t ask,” Patrick said evenly. “In fact, you’re probably in pretty deep already, since some would assume I’d already told you everything.”

Ann swallowed apprehensively after hearing that. “Then maybe you should tell me.”

“No, not yet,” Patrick said. “We’ll see how this plays out.”

Ann fell silent for a few moments as Patrick drove; then: “So if you are so sure you won’t get the appointment, why the press conference?”

“To try to put a little pressure on the White House,” Patrick said. “I won’t get the appointment, and folks will wonder why not. Hopefully it’ll focus a little more attention on the investigation so the results won’t be swept under the rug.” Ann Page looked carefully at Patrick, then smiled when he glanced at her. “What?”

“Look at you-you’re starting to sound like a damned political hack,” she said. “You’re talking about putting pressure on the White House like you probably used to talk about planning a bomb run.”

“I worked in the White House for a couple years, Ann-it’s no different than any other ally or adversary,” Patrick said. “Elected officials, appointees, career bureaucrats, employees, consultants, advisers, all the characters who roam around the place-they all have wishes, desires, objectives, fears, and suspicions. They respond to pressure, real or perceived. Nothing wrong with letting them have a little of it.” He glanced at her again. “Would there be a problem of you getting me a copy of the data from Armstrong?”

“If you’re not on the board, I don’t think they’d allow it, Patrick,” Ann replied. “And my head would be on a platter in a New York minute if I leaked it. Sorry.” She paused, smiled at him, and added, “Kind of tough just being a regular civilian again? Can’t just snap your fingers and get classified data anymore-it’s gotta be frustrating.”

“Sure, sometimes,” Patrick said. “I believe in the Space Defense Force and the advancement of military space, just like I believed in the manned bomber years ago, and I’d hate to have politics get in the way of what I believe will be the weapon system of choice in the near future.”

“Good speech, General McLanahan,” Ann said with a chuckle. “Let me know when you plan to deliver it-I want to be there.”

THE BERING SEA, 300 MILES NORTHEAST OF KLYUCHI, KAMCHATKA PENINSULA, EASTERN RUSSIAN FEDERATION

THE NEXT MORNING