ASSOCIATION / CH. 18:REPERCUSSIONS
SATURDAY, 20TH JAN, 2292
The most uninformed and uninterested news channels said “Interceptor intercepted!” and spoke about the way that the scientists had ignored the God-given warnings and launched anyway, but at least there wasn't any radioactive material falling to Earth and then moved on to a story about a rabbit with two heads, and gossip about the latest stars and how he said she said he said such and such, and how it was sure to end in wedding bells.
Those who'd at least listened to someone who'd been listening to the broadcast from launch control got the real story, and their headlines shouted things like “SpaceGuard ignores its own experts, runs into known debris.“, and “SpaceGuard forgets to look both ways before starting out!”
Others with a little more foresight ran stories predicting a future shake-up in SpaceGuard personnel, one had a headline of “Willful ignorance destroys SpaceGuard's future!” pointing out that if their entire reason for existence was to divert a comet, they ought to take better care of their tools.
A better informed channel declared it to be “Nuclear-tipped, pig-headed arrogance!” and the very best informed, whose reporters had secured an interview with the publicity-shy student, and had also learned that the ex-launch director had been escorted off SpaceGuard property, simply stated “Interceptor's ex-launch director also denies evidence that sun will come up tomorrow.”
Legal experts asked whether land owners in Restoration had any case to make against SpaceGuard, psychological experts talked about the stress of the situation. People made wild guesses about what might happen to the interceptor now. None of the papers paid any attention to a test-launch of a missile which ended in a fireball; especially not in the country where it was launched from.
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SPACE WATCH, SATURDAY, 20TH JAN, 2292
As the interceptor continued to lose fuel, there was a heated debate within Space-Watch. There were opportunities to intercept the rock, closer to Earth. The targeting would not be as ideal, and with the dwindling fuel reserves there was uncertainty about how to best use it. Two camps developed. One pointed out that if they 'just' changed their approach vector to the moon so they went closer to its surface, then they'd get the same speed boost and deflection they wanted with a much shorter burn. Then they could follow the original intercept path, with a 90% probability that there'd be enough fuel for the final correcting burn.
The other camp said there were good reasons they weren't skimming the surface of the moon, it was too error prone, and that the best option was a long burn that would put the interceptor at an angled intercept course, without the need for a second burn. The first group balked at the thought of not being on the well-planned flight path when it came to intercept. Some argued it didn't matter, there was no preferred direction in space: if the two objects were on a collision course, then they'd crash, if they weren't they wouldn't. Others argued it mattered enormously, they wanted a head-on collision where bad timing meant nothing.
The fact was, of course, pointed out a third group, that without perfect timing from any method, the interceptor would miss, and how much weight did they want to put on the estimates of how fast the fuel was going to be leaking? Might it not speed up?
The newly appointed flight-director dithered, asked for guarantees there were no debris on either flight-plan, and tried to maintain a level head. His gut instinct told him that the modified three-burn strategy was better, but he knew running out of fuel was going to be a disaster. Also, the close lunar flyby was risky. He asked how risky. In the end, the clock decided. They had to go for the direct intercept, as there wasn't time for anything else.
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Data was sent, after it had been verified by multiple sets of eyes and by computers. Cryptographic checksums were sent and cross-checked matched and double checked. The interceptor's computer was asked where it thought it would end up going with those data, and the answer checked with ground-based computers. Everything checked out correctly. Navigation hazards were rigorously sought, warnings to other spacecraft operators were sent. The command was given. Now it was simply a case of waiting.
At the exact time specified, turbopumps span into life, valves opened, high pressure sprays of oxidizer and fuel mixed, combined chemically and released energy. The interceptor went from floating through space in silence to accelerating on a tail of hot gasses. Vibrations went through the spacecraft and the damaged pipes resisted, at least for now. The wounded craft with its rockets blazing, was tracked by remote observation stations on the far side of the moon. Telemetry figures showed the fuel pressure, acceleration, gimble angles and status of the star sensors. All seemed to be going well. Then the damaged feed-pipe fractured under the vibration. A post-mortem of the telemetry saw first one number — fuel pressure — dropping quickly, and then the numbers from the accelerometer dropped off rapidly, but not to zero, and then there was a sudden lurch sideways. They didn't hear anything after that.
Observation videos showed a flash from the interceptor, as leaking fuel and oxidiser combined in the body of the spacecraft. The explosion tore through panels and wires including those that sent power to the radio unit. The computer registered that its connection to that, unreliable at the best of times, was lost entirely. It further registered that the main fuel was gone. Options were limited. It had no backup communication with Mission Control, no self-destruct capability, The computer tried to do what it could; it regained stability and by comparing the apparent position of the Sun, Earth and Moon to fixed stars, it calculated its course and position. It was going to miss the target, and the remaining maneuvering fuel was insufficient for it to reach the planned intercept point, or, indeed, any other intercept. Perhaps the radio would start working again sometime. It switched into hibernation mode, awaiting that signal; it would never come.
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THE PALACE, INFORMAL MINISTERIAL MEETING, SATURDAY EVENING, 20TH JAN, 2292>
“So, SpaceWatch's last best hope is now so much nuclear-tipped space debris?”
“Yes, your Majesty.” the science minister confirmed.
“Well, they can't say they weren't warned about the risk. Twice.” the Queen added, shaking her head.
“No. It looked like it might still work for a bit, until the fuel tank blew up or whatever happened.” the minister for rocketry added.
“Do they know why it did that?” the King asked.
“Telemetry apparently recorded a loss of fuel pressure.” she replied, “Presumably it was damage during the debris strike.”
“And the other launch?” the queen asked.
“According to this report, it got near to where the closest detector would have seen it around the edge of the interceptor's plume, and blew up.” the minister for rocketry responded. “The satellite-based monitoring reported a high power transmission pulse about a hundred milliseconds before the explosion, it came from the general area of their launch control system, but that's very hard to pinpoint. But I'd say it's a hundred percent accuracy for the dreams.”
“Any signs of radioactive release?” the King asked.
“Not so far.” the science minister replied.
“We did send them the specification of the rockets seen in the dream, after all.” the queen pointed out. “Maybe it was just a test launch.”
Maria pulled a face. “Except that the satellite footage of the launchpad prior to firing the interceptor shows a lot of activity. Including swapping of things that could have been warheads with other things which look suspiciously like bags being filled from a lorry load of sand or gravel.”
Tasha added “We also note a distinct lack of messages going to or from their chief of military, post-launch. That might just be that he's changed wrist unit, but...”
“So, why did they go ahead and launch?” the queen asked, and seeing no reply was going to come from Maria or Tasha, she looked at the head of the diplomatic service, “any ideas, Ralph?”
“None of my counterparts claim that they know for sure.” Ralph Trinket said with a shrug. “There are some guesses, but it could have just been a show of defiance.”
“Either way, it does look rather like they were planning at firing more than just angry words.” the King said. “I wonder if the time has come for more direct intervention. If that weapon system is really ready enough that they thought they could launch a sneak attack, that's a truly scary development.”
“Is there any point in talking to their ambassador?” Maria asked.
“Not really.” Ralph replied “Not unless you want to listen to a lot of regurgitated denials. Their 'Great Leader' isn't exactly known for changing policy in response to pressure on his ambassadors.”
“What would be the chances of talking to him directly?” the minister for rocketry asked, then blushed at speaking out of turn.
“Would you want to?” the minister for foreign affairs answered dismissively.
“Hold on, minister.” the king said, “Direct talks might actually be a good idea. And for all their paranoia, we've historically had a better relationship with them than many countries.”
“Well, certainly better than certain countries, your Majesty.” the minister for foreign affairs agreed, “I expect some are probably considering the relative benefits of sending in some assassination squads, compared to facing a surprise attack.”
Ralph suddenly said, “Oh, my sincere apologies, your majesties. I don't know if anyone can make sense of this...” he handed out a few copies of part of a blueprint. “I presume it's some kind of hint about something. Our ambassador there was called to a meeting which got cancelled. That's not unusual, but while he was waiting, one of the secretaries gave him a picture of the great leader her six year old son had drawn. That sort of thing isn't unusual either. It was framed, but she explicitly told him she expected he'd need to take it out of the frame to send home. This was on the back of a picture.”
“Does that sound like an official leak to you, Ralph?” Maria asked.
“I'm not sure. It's certainly not a method they've used before. Well, not the whole thing. The message on the back of a child's drawing is fairly standard, but not the secretary delivering it. Normally its a senior official.”
“It seems to be the fuel system of the launcher.” the minister for rocketry volunteered.
“Anything unusual about it?” the King asked.
“Did the ambassador happen to tell you what this annotation means?” she pointed at a piece of hand-writing.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“Oh, yes, sorry.” Ralph fumbled with is notepad, still flustered about forgetting the blueprint. “The rough translation says 'As war-minister's future; absent on prototype.' It's a poetic form, and he's not sure if it means on prototype, or because of prototype, or both.”
The rocketry minister passed her copy to the science minister, “What do you think, might it be a defueling valve?”
After a little while he nodded his head. “Quite possible. Quite quite possible. I can't see any alternative. How embarrassing for them.”
“Could you elaborate?” the queen asked.
“There needs to be a way of getting the fuel out of a rocket as well as in, your majesty, in case you decide not to launch. It looks like someone forgot that. The reason they launched was that the alternative was to keep a ticking bomb on the launchpad, with no way to defuse it safely.”
“Ah. So, not 'we can still launch it as a test', more 'we have to launch it, make it a test?'” the king summarised.
“Yes, your majesty.”
“I think a confidential briefing to our allies that 'we have good reason to believe...' might be in order, Ralph. Since we don't know what sort of leak this was then it would be best if we don't say how we know. But it might calm some of them to learn that a redesign is in the works.”
“Would it be a huge amount of work, minister?” he asked the minister for rocketry.
“I doubt it, your majesty. Should I ask my colleagues?”
“If it wasn't an official leak, it might be better if the document wasn't spread about.” Maria offered, hesitantly, thinking that having even an occasional informant in the leader's office could be very helpful.
“We take your misgivings seriously, Maria.” the Queen said.
“Absolutely.” her husband agreed. “Ralph, one copy to remain on file, other copies to be destroyed.”
“Certainly, your majesty.”
“Now, minister,” the king turned to the foreign affairs minister, “I would like you to arrange for direct talks between my wife and I and their great leader and his, ah, prime consort, I believe the correct term is. Perhaps on no-one's home territory. The topic would be de-escalation of the present tension.”
“Very well, sir. What approach should I take? Last chance to avoid an assassination squad?” the minister asked.
“Nothing that threatening, I'm certain!” rebuked the queen.
“I'd suggest you start by asking about the ambassador's family, is his daughter still at the school near the U.N. headquarters?” Ralph suggested, “Then ask, by the way, if his government felt like disclosing the target list for the missile they almost launched.” He looked at their majesties to see if he should continue. They nodded in encouragement, Ralph was good at this sort of thing. “Then say it doesn't really matter but you were very pleased they'd decided against it, and then sympathise about how distressing it must have been to hear that loved ones might be at risk, and would it be possible to arrange a face to face discussion between their majesties and their great leader and his primary consort?”
The minister for foreign affairs shook his head in admiration. “Your majesties, might I nominate Ralph for this task? As a mere politician I don't think I'm quite as able to serve in this delicate task as well as he is.”
“Nonsense, minister!” exclaimed the king, “We have total confidence in you. You may of course borrow one of Ralph's junior colleagues for the initial chit-chat if you like. I'm sure Ralph can recommend someone?”
“Oh, certainly, your Majesty.”
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<9am Monday 22nd Jan, Embassy of the People's State of the Beautiful Peninsula>
“Your Excellency, it's so nice to see you.” Edward, Ralph's nominee substitute enthused. “We must catch up some time! How is your family? They are well? Your daughter is still at that college near the United Nations headquarters?”
The ambassador was a little taken aback at the greeting, since he was fairly sure that this man loathed him. But all was fair in diplomacy and war. “Yes, yes, all is fine. My daughter has a job at the United Nations now, can you believe it?”
“Ah, how our children grow! And what beautiful irony! She must tell you so much about what goes on behind closed doors, I'm sure. Or does she work to cause division from within?”
“She is a dutiful daughter.” the Ambassador said, wondering why there was so much talk about Lilly, was she under threat?
“I'm sure you were as relieved as we were that your government decided not to launch the missile with real warheads on it. We have the most beautiful pictures of them being removed and replaced by sandbags, have you seen them? They're circulating at the U.N., perhaps your daughter will get you copies.
"Oh, has your government released the list of lucky cities that would have been hit? I'm sure it would have included the U.N. headquarters, wouldn't it? Such a fortuitous change of foreign policy, I must say we're all glad! But I'm sorry, I'm babbling on and I must introduce you to our minister of foreign affairs."
“Your Excellency.” the minister leapt in, and offered his hand.
“Minister.” the ambassador responded quickly, though his mind was struggling to process what had just been said. Not a threat from them but from his own state? Is that what was being said? What was this about a missile? “I'm afraid that I don't know what missile is being referred to.”
“Oh, so you weren't aware of that risk to your daughter? Well, we'd guessed she was at risk, we don't know. But no matter, your Excellency, since it seems to have passed now. Perhaps you can ask your government about it; I'm sure they'll be able to fill you in. But I'm here on a somewhat different note. Their majesties, in view of the current, ah, tension, shall we say, regarding your country's dangerous new rocket, have expressed a desire to meet with your great leader and his principle consort, face to face, perhaps in a third country? I know these things normally take years to organise, but their majesties would really like to discuss de-escalation of present tension quite quickly. It would be, ah, most unfortunate if the more hot-headed countries of the world felt that the time for diplomacy was over, wouldn't it?”
“You bring a request for direct talks? Between your King and our Great Leader?”
“Yes, yes. I'm sorry, was I speaking too quickly? Our King and Queen, and your leader and his principle consort.”
“No, not too quickly, but... I am not aware of a new missile or photographs, or any great change in international tensions, so I'm rather at a loss. But I will certainly convey your request to my government.”
“Oh, that's quite all right. I do have one still photo from the films, for you.” He handed over the picture, clearly showing the missile on its launcher, with workers around it. “But, as Edward has said, the films are circulating quite freely at the United Nations.”
“The Beautiful State does not have an official presence at that capitalist imperialist organisation. Although of course they do pay my daughter a good salary.”
“I'm just personally curious, how does that work? She works there with the approval of your government that she is there?”
“Yes, yes, it is fully approved. She learns English, she learns how you capitalists exploit their workers, she learns how you think, and after she is called home, she will talk about what trauma she has encountered there and her mother and I hope that she will either become an ambassador for our people or will educate others.”
“Ah, I understand. She has a menial job then?”
“I honestly do not know, she talks more to her mother than to me. But when I went through this system I worked as a cleaner of toilets. It was not pleasant, but I endured it for the sake of my country. I presume she must have a similar job. She is a bright girl, but what capitalist oppressor would give a freedom-loving girl from the Beautiful Peninsula a better job?”
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MONDAY EVENING.
Lilly closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. The office party had be such great fun, but now she needed to call home. Calm down, girl, or the party's over for ever. She had so much she couldn't tell her parents! Not least about her job. Well, not yet, anyway. She wiped off her makeup, adjusted her hair and faced the camera. Had any of the make-up escaped? No. Closing her eyes once more, she mentally prepared herself. She was a dutiful daughter, and a loyal citizen of the Beautiful State. She needed to ask about the rocket. Did they know there had almost been war? Did they know the Beautiful Peninsula was on the verge of destruction? Did they know the 'Great Leader' was a madman who'd almost sparked a nuclear war? NO! She couldn't ask that! Did they know that some countries were talking of assassination squads or invading? That was safe ground. Perhaps she'd have to tell them about her job, translating the Great Leader's speeches and other material from home into English. She'd been a little economical with the truth to most of her colleagues, saying that her parents had been born in the Beautiful State, and that's how she spoke the language. Some people knew the truth, of course. And now she was being offered a new passport. So tempting, especially if the Great Leader really planned to launch that terror weapon. But she was a dutiful daughter and a good citizen. She couldn't wait to come home and tell people all about the horrors of capitalism. Yeah, right. Well, maybe if that involved telling them how to beat the system and get out! Especially if she could get her little brother out too. Maybe she'd be able to make contact with the underground church. Oh, stop going off script, Lilly! You'll get in deep trouble, and need that passport. Dutiful, good citizen, down-trodden worker on a good salary in a lovely work-provided apartment. Ha! Who are you trying to fool? You love it here, you just want your little brother out, too. She hadn't seen him in two years.
Dutiful daughter Lilly calmed her mind again, and called her mother. She was shocked to see her father's face.
“Lilly, you must tell me. Your salary, it is really from the United Nations?”
“Yes, father. The capitalists want me to stay, so pay me well.”
“So, you are not doing the menial task, like that of a cleaner.” It wasn't a question, not really, but it called for a response.
“No father. I tell my colleagues a half-truth, that my parents left the Beautiful Peninsula when they were young, but taught me the language.”
“Ah, Lilly. You make people think we are not good citizens?”
“Is it disloyal, father? It was a mistake at first, I was misunderstood. But it is very convenient. No one asks why I am working there, they think they know.”
“It is surely not disloyal to infiltrate the seat of enemy power. What is your role? You have access to their secrets?”
“Mother has not told you? I am a translator, father. I translate the speeches of the Great Leader, and the reports in the papers into English.” She could never speak to her parents about the other translation tasks she had, into her mother tongue, and the training for actors to speak the words she wrote.
“Ah, what a good job! To be paid to learn of home! So much better than cleaning toilets! Lilly, I must ask. I have had disturbing news, not from home, but from here. About a rocket, and great tension.”
“I was going to ask you, father. Is it true? There is nothing in the press, yet, but the politicians talk to me of little else.”
“I am told there is a video circulating there. You have seen it?”
“Yes, father. I even have a copy of it.”
“You have stolen a copy? That is excellent spy-work, my daughter! You will send it?”
Lilly took a breath. The only copy she had was the one she was providing a voice-over for. Maybe she'd need that passport they'd offered, after all. “Father, I will not lie to you, I did not steal it. It was given to me, I was required to watch it, even.”
“Required?”
“Yes, father. Tonight I will be working on it more, I have to translate into our language, explain what they think it shows. You will hear my voice, and that of a man, discussing it. I do not know how, but they will replace that sound-track with what I record tonight.” Her father was not stupid, but he could be led, perhaps? “Father, that is fact, but I also have guesses, I think they will soon ask me to make propaganda, as though I were not a loyal citizen. At mealtimes today, the imperialist politicians argued openly of the merits of assassination, preemptive strike or invasion of our home. I think there might be war soon. Is my brother safe? What should I do? Can I be most useful here, however distasteful the work is, or should I return home to fight for our homeland?”
Her mother's voice and face joined her father. “Have no fear for your brother, bright one. He is with us, and the government here want to hold talks, not drop bombs.”
Lilly felt the stress drain out of her. Her brother safe! That was so good! She almost praised God aloud. Her mother, in her role as spy controller, then said “Now, as for you, if they want you to make propaganda, that is a big request. I assume that not everyone thinks you're already a citizen?”
“No, not everyone, not the ones who ask, in fact.”
“That's good. Then surely they must know that if you entered into this of your own accord, then it would ban you from ever returning home. So, my instructions to you, as a dutiful daughter of our Beautiful State, are these: although it would be an ideal position to report on their decadent plots from, you should act as they expect you to, do not draw attention to yourself by seeming eager to make propaganda against your homeland, there will be risks, you should seem scared for the future. The Great Leader will surely not worry if you must say things against himself to convince them to put you in this ideal place, but what they ask will cut you off from your homeland, your friends, your family back home. Or would if you were deciding this alone. So, they must think they buy your loyalty, and you only agree reluctantly. To keep your cover, you must hold out for a new passport, full citizenship. But not only for yourself, also for your brother. You can tell them that he is visiting us, and so is not at home. It is not an opportunity to be missed, to have him also as a loyal agent of the Beautiful State, studying there. He is due to stay with us only until May. It would be natural for him to visit you before he returns home, so I think you must act quickly, convince them it is the only way you will accept their task, for fear for his life. Tell them you have thought about these things, and can see where they are asking you to go. Do not be bashful, they must believe that this is important to you.”
“I will be convincing, for the sake of the state.”
“Most dutiful daughter, you will make me proud. You will send the video?”
“Of course, honoured mother, along with other pictures from this week. I hope they are of use.”