John Ringo - Von Neumann’s War

The President traced his finger over the curve in the graph. It was a growth rate curve, flat for a while then climbing steeply upwards. Economists saw similar things all the time; he understood it well. He also understood that this could be bad. How, he wasn’t sure, yet. But he knew it would be bad. Even in stocks, growth rate curves were bad. Eventually, something had to break. Eventually the environment could no longer support the growth and the surplus had to spread. Just where would this Martian growth spread when Mars could no longer support the growth?

“So what do you need, Ronny?”

“Well, Mr. President, the guys down in Huntsville have really spelled it out for us in this brief,” Ronny replied, tapping the Top Secret document. “We need to commandeer the ccd cameras from the NASA Jupiter probe, some hardware from three of my programs, a commercial spacecraft platform from Ball, an antenna from a DARPA SPO program, and the nearest Delta IV Heavy or Atlas V launch that we can get. All this is already-paid-for hardware, but around-the-clock effort from about two thousand people for six months is required. The hardware costs are about $100 million plus the commandeered components, launch vehicle with integration is about $150 million, the labor is another $225 million, add about twenty-five percent contingency and we’re talking $600 million total for the project. The schedule proposed shows a six-month build time and a four-and-a-half-month mission time. Normally, with spacecraft design and construction you’re talking about people working nine to five. Just increasing that to twenty-four hour schedules will cut the time, but the money will go up fast. Dr. Reynolds underestimated our interest, however. I believe if we double the budget and distribute some more of the work we can get the probe ready in three to four months, but after that we’ll be looking at diminishing returns. Not much we can do about the travel time to Mars. This is right at the edge of ‘doable’ boost for current systems.”

The President thumbed through his copy of the briefing one last time, sighed and set the paper down on his desk.

“And what will this billion dollar spacecraft buy us?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs whispered something to the NSA about a “contingency” and Ronny could tell the NSA agreed with whatever he had said.

“Mr. President,” Ronny replied, seriously. “I believe this is the only hope we have of getting intel on the situation on Mars. The telescope for the probe will give us a resolution of maybe as good as a few centimeters as it makes its closest approach to the Martian atmosphere. We could see solid detail of the phenomenon at that resolution. It would be like looking at data from a reconnaissance satellite. That’s, essentially, what we’d be building here, an interplanetary reconnaissance satellite.”

“I see,” the President replied. “If there turns out to be something bad there, what then?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Mr. President, Kevin would like to make a suggestion on that point,” the NSA offered.

“Well, Kevin, don’t leave me hanging.”

“Right, Mr. President,” General Mitchell said. “We could attach a fairly high yield nuke to the probe and attempt to steer it toward a central activity point. This might slow whatever this is down some,” the general said.

“Kevin, I’m not sure I’m ready for that just yet,” the President said, rubbing his chin. “Besides, if this phenomenon has changed an entire planet, I’m not certain what a single nuke could do. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, sir,” the Chairman replied. “I agree a hundred percent with that assessment. However, it does give us an option. Without it, we can’t do anything but look at the threat.”

“I agree, sir,” the NSA said with a nod.

“Sir, if I may,” Ronny interjected. “Adding that much mass to the probe will change the trajectory. How much, I’d have to run some numbers, but it might be enough to slow it down considerably. And as you pointed out, having the option or not might not mean much as we’re addressing a planetary scale phenomenon.”

“I can see that, Mr. Deputy Director,” the Chairman said, nodding. “On the other hand, if you can throw a probe to Mars, it means we can boost nukes later.”

“Look into that,” the President said seriously. “I’d like the capability. Let’s get this probe on the way to Mars, first, and as fast as we can. Kevin, in the meantime I want you and Vicki to come up with a real contingency plan. Sooner or later, the public is going to find out about this. What do we do then? I don’t want to get caught flat-footed by a reporter on this issue a few months from now. And if it turns out that our new neighbors aren’t friendly, I want to be prepared for that also.”

“One more thing, Mr. President,” the DDNRO asked.

“Yes, Ronny?”

“We need this project to be in a location that already has plenty of scientists and engineers available and can support the security requirements as well as the manufacturing and integration. I would originally think LockMart’s facilities in Colorado, but I’m not sure there are enough skilled and cleared engineers there to work three or four shifts continuously. If we pulled them from everything they’re doing perhaps, but I don’t know.”

“We need this on a military base in order to keep it protected and buffer it from the public — especially if they find out about it,” the NSA replied.

“I agree,” the Chairman said. “And it needs an airport on-base or at least nearby. What about Patrick down in Florida? Or Vandenberg — the 30th Space Wing is out there.”

“I don’t know if there are enough engineers there. Some would have to fly in and wouldn’t that cause some suspicion?” the science advisor asked.

“I don’t want a lot of suspicion for now.” The President looked at the white paper on his desk. “What are you asking me, Ronny?”

“Well, sir, I think we’ll need authority to commandeer a base somewhere, freeze the period of performance on some current space hardware contracts, then fly a lot of folks into that base. That is unless we can find a civilian facility with a lot of technical folks and the infrastructure to support them.”

“I see.” The President picked up the white paper and handed it to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. “Kevin, I think the answer is right here in front of us. Make it happen.”

“General Riggs, sir, don’t forget your tee-time in forty-five minutes at the officers’ club,” Sarah said, sticking her head in his office. The two-star was such a workaholic that he would “forget” appearances like charity golf tournaments if not badgered into them. But a certain congressman from the district his base was in would be on his team and his base was on the base realignment and closure list. Brownie points counted, even though the Redstone Arsenal was eleventh on the list. He had warned Sarah not to let him miss the golf tournament.

Riggs looked up from his desk at Sarah, who was still standing in his doorway.

“Thanks, Sarah,” he said sarcastically. He looked at the little wooden box on the right side of his desk marked “in” and the stack of paperwork a foot high and leaning dangerously over the edge of the box. Then he looked at the nearly empty “out” box beside it and shook his head. “The things we must do.”

Sarah smiled.

“You want me to send Colonel Roberts?”

“Now, Sarah, what kind of message would that send to Congressman Fields? I’ll go.” General Riggs set his pen back in its holder by his nameplate, then stretched his arms. “I’ll just check my e-mail real quick.”