Executive Intent

“Coming open.” Boomer motored both canopies open. “Here we are, Jeff,” he said. “I’m unstrapping to help the Maytag repairman out.” He unbuckled himself, made sure his tether and umbilicals were secure, then floated free of the Black Stallion spaceplane. Using handholds, he maneuvered himself to the aft cockpit, unstrapped McCallum, double-checked his tether and umbilicals, helped him out of the spaceplane, then retrieved his soft-pack and clipped it onto his space suit. “Have fun out there, honey,” he said. “I’ll be waiting.”

“Kiss kiss,” McCallum said. He grasped his Handheld Maneuverability Unit maneuvering gun, aimed it properly, and hit the trigger. Small spurts of nitrogen gas easily propelled him across to the Kingfisher-8 weapon garage. “Armstrong, verify Eight’s radars are standby, nose is cold.”

“Kingfisher-Eight’s radar is in standby, nose is cold, power is off; however, be advised, continuity is not being monitored,” Seeker radioed from Armstrong. “Clear to approach, advise extreme caution, sir.”

“Roger that. Moving in.”

Boomer checked that McCallum’s umbilicals were free and clear, then returned to his seat in the Black Stallion-his suit didn’t provide the same radiation or micrometeorite protection as McCallum’s did, so it was safer for him to use the spacecraft for protection as much as possible. Once inside, he motored the aft cockpit canopy up and down a few times, and each time it registered closed and locked. “Looks like the canopy fault has cleared,” he reported.

“We’ll check it over carefully before we do the next reentry,” Raydon said.

About fifteen minutes later, McCallum radioed, “I’ve found the bad circuit boards. Should be another twenty minutes and I’ll be done.”

“Holler if you need any help, Jeff,” Boomer said.

“Wouldn’t you feel kinda naked, coming out here in just your leotards?”

“Nah. Besides, I’m sure the family jewels are pretty much cooked already. Luckily when I started flying in space, I decided to freeze a bunch of the swimmers for safekeeping, just in case the ol’ magazine starts spitting out nothing but blanks.”

“Really? You did that?”

“Haven’t you?”

“Don’t listen to him, Jeff-that’s an urban myth,” Seeker said. “Boomer might be firing blanks for other reasons.”

Ten minutes before impact, the payload section of the DF-21 rocket opened and ejected a single kill vehicle, a rectangular device no larger than a refrigerator, covered in thruster nozzles aimed in all directions. The nose section had a radar guidance sensor, slaved to the position of the Kingfisher-8 satellite ahead. As the Kingfisher weapon garage rose above Earth’s horizon, the kill vehicle’s radar locked onto it and began making its own intercept corrections.

“Okay, Armstrong, I’ve replaced boards T-7 and RF-15 in the continuity control module,” McCallum reported several minutes later. “I’m pretty sure that should do it. If it doesn’t, I’ll need to replace the entire module. We’ll need to bring one up. I’m heading back to the Stud.” During his space walk, Kingfisher-8 and the S-9 had drifted closer to each other-the two spacecraft were in their own orbits and would eventually proceed on their own paths unless corrected-so it didn’t take as long as before for McCallum to fly himself back.

Boomer exited the spaceplane, made sure the tethers and umbilicals were properly stowed, connected McCallum back to the Stud, stowed the soft-pack, got him back into his seat, and strapped him in. “How many space walks does that make for you, Jeff?” he asked.

“Three on this deployment and eleven overall,” he replied. “You?”

“I stopped keeping count a long time ago, bud,” Boomer said. “It’s gotta be several dozen.”

“Unbelievable! I never would have thought that spacewalking and going into orbit would be so commonplace.”

“A lot of otherwise smart folks still don’t believe it.”

“To tell the truth, spacewalking made me nervous as hell at first,” McCallum admitted. “I can’t shake the feeling of falling.”

“I got the same way at first-like standing on a tall bridge looking down,” Boomer said. “You get over it. Now I just enjoy the view.” Boomer climbed back into the Black Stallion, reconnected his air and communications lines, and strapped in. He maneuvered the spaceplane about a hundred yards away from Kingfisher-8. “We’re clear, Armstrong,” he radioed. “Clear to power it back up.”

“I want you farther away, Boomer,” Kai radioed. “The continuity circuits control weapon arming and safing. If it’s still malfunctioning, you could get a Trinity in the face. Prepare to head to the transfer orbit.”

“Interface with the transfer orbit won’t be for another three hours, General,” Seeker said.

“Okay. Move out to at least a mile, Boomer.”

“Roger,” Boomer replied. On intercom he said, “I think the boss is getting more and more cautious these days. He’s starting to sound like the guys in NASA.”

“Better safe than sorry,” McCallum said. “The guy didn’t get to be a one-star by taking too many chances.”