A Time for Patriots

Patrick put in a call to Bradley’s cell phone to make sure the plane was put away — it was, and Brad was already back at the Civil Air Patrol squadron, in utility uniform, awaiting a briefing on the new terrorist attack — then turned to Boomer, who had finally joined him on the deck. “Jon and the FBI have full control of the Class-C airspace, and they’re going to close it, so you’re our guest for the immediate future,” he said.

“Fine with me,” Boomer said. He motioned to a young woman standing beside him. “You remember Gonzo, don’t you?”

“You mean Major Faulkner? Of course,” Patrick said, extending a hand. Jessica Faulkner was one of the more experienced astronauts in the U.S. Space Defense Force. A Marine Corps F-35 Lightning II fighter pilot before the program was canceled, the petite red-haired, green-eyed woman was also wearing an EEAS, which accentuated her curves very, very well indeed. She shook hands. “How are you, Major? Or is it Colonel by now?”

“I took an early retirement a few months ago, sir,” Jessica said. “I’m with Sky Masters, Inc., now. They’re practically the only ones flying the spaceplanes.”

“Well, congratulations on your retirement and new employment,” Patrick said. “Boy, Boomer, is there anyone from the Space Defense Force that Jon hasn’t hired lately?”

“Just you, sir,” Boomer said. “Do you know why they’ve closed the Class-C airspace, General?”

“No, but I guess I don’t have a need to know,” Patrick said. “I assume it has to do with whatever Jon brought in the Skytrain.”

“The only reason it’s a secret is because the FBI is involved — if it was up to me, we’d be telling the world,” Boomer said. “The White House gave the FBI a couple of Jon’s newest unmanned surveillance aircraft and two CIDs to search for bad guys.” He looked at Patrick and added, “The most qualified guy to deploy UAVs and CIDs is standing right beside me, sir. Why aren’t you assigned to this?”

“I’ll tell you when it’s safe to tell you,” Patrick said.

“So there’s a reason other than you decided to move to Nowhere, Nevada, and babysit what’s left of the Space Defense Force?”

“Keep it to yourself,” Patrick said. He nodded at the XS-19 Midnight spaceplane. “Anything fun in the jet?”

“Boy, you really are unplugged out here, aren’t you, sir?” Boomer remarked. He turned to Jessica. “Hey, Gonzo, how about getting out of the EEAS and we’ll meet up with you in a few.”

“Sure, Boomer,” Jessica said. She understood: Go away, because the grown-ups want to talk. “Nice to see you again, sir.” She gave Boomer a warning glare but said nothing as she turned and walked out of earshot.

“She’s a cutie,” Patrick said.

“Jon only hires the cute ones,” Boomer said. His expression started to turn much more serious. “Jon doesn’t keep you informed of what’s going on in the company, does he, sir? You still have a top-secret clearance, don’t you?”

“I do, but if I don’t have a need to know, I’m not entitled to a briefing,” Patrick said.

“That’s Air Force and Department of Defense policy,” Boomer said. “I’m talking about company policy.”

“I don’t work for Sky Masters,” Patrick said. “Besides, what’s the difference? Sky Masters is a major defense contractor. They should follow DoD guidelines for operational security.”

“For DoD programs, yes, sir,” Boomer said. “But what if it wasn’t a DoD program?”

“I’m not following you, Boomer.”

Boomer thought for a moment, then nodded toward the cargo bay. “Let’s go up and take a look, sir.”

“Am I cleared?”

“As far as I’m concerned you are,” Boomer said. “Heck, after all, it was your idea — Jon just took all the credit for it, of course.”

Boomer ascended the boarding ladder, and Patrick followed. The Midnight’s cargo-bay doors atop the fuselage had been opened to help ventilate residual heat from reentry. Boomer climbed up onto the fuselage and motioned inside the cargo bay. “It was meant as a subscale test article for a nonreusable booster, but it’s been working so well that Jon told me to rewrite the entire proposal and submit it for spaceplane use. Remember the ‘Serviceman’ idea you developed?”

“What?” Patrick remarked, peering inside the cargo bay in surprise. What he saw resembled a large silver propane tank, with thruster nozzles on each end and two visible grappling arms on top. “That’s ‘Serviceman’?”

“That, sir, is a one-hundred-and-ten-million-dollar Navy — not Air Force, not Space Defense Force — contract to build three demonstration units of an autonomous, reusable satellite refueling, rearming, and space-debris cleanup system — the very one you proposed when you were still working for Sky Masters,” Boomer said stonily.

“I knew nothing about it,” Patrick said.

“Jon got the contract less than six months after you left the company,” Boomer said. “I think it became a Navy project because of Joseph Gardner… and because if it was Air Force, you might find out about it sooner.”

“Me?”