Despite the outer calm of the place, however, there were a lot of worried faces and hushed conversation in the hallways and offices of the HAWC research center when James arrived. He poured himself a mug of coffee and began to go through his mailbox in the test squadron’s mission-planning room. Among the half-week’s worth of mail were several notices telling about a Center-wide briefing for all personnel at eight A.M. The topic was not specified.
It was almost eight-thirty, so he put the meeting out of his mind. He took a sip of coffee and was discarding most of the small pile of mail in his box when J. C. Powell appeared in the doorway.
“Ken, where you been?”
“I just got in. What’s up?”
“You missed the meeting.”
“I just heard about it. What was it?”
“I’ve been trying to reach you all weekend. Your phone’s been off the hook or something.”
“They’re installing videophone in my apartment complex,” he lied. “The phones have been screwed up ever since.”
“Patrick’s in his office. We better go see him.”
“Now? What’s the big deal?” He took another sip of coffee. It was pretty unusual to see Powell so wound up. “The Rooskies declare war or something?”
“Worse,” J.C. said. “They’ve canceled the DreamStar Project.”
James promptly poured a mouthful of coffee down into his lungs and nearly fell out of his chair. “What …?”
“You heard me. Let’s go.”
They hurried down the hallway to McLanahan’s office and burst in on the project director as he was signing a stack of letters.
“Glad you could be with us today, Ken,” Patrick said, finishing his paperwork and dismissing the squadron clerk. He studied James for a moment. “You look like hell, Captain. Hanging out in the casinos all night again?”
Powell dropped into a chair to watch the spectacle. James blurted out, “What’s this about the DreamStar project being canceled?”
“If you’d check your mailbox or put your phone on the hook you’d hear about these minor news flashes—”
“What the hell are you joking around about?” James’ hands were on the colonel’s desk. “Who canceled the project? Why?”
“The project was officially canceled by the Air Force this morning,” McLanahan said wearily. He picked up a red-colored folder containing a single message-letter. “There are too many gaps in the scientists’ knowledge of ANTARES to justify funding … at least in the opinion of the top brass. The flying phase of the project is being canceled until the gaps get filled in … “
James stared at McLanahan. “What do you mean, gaps? I can make it work. I don’t get it …”
“The bottom line is that there’s still only one person who can fly DreamStar — and that’s you. J.C. can’t fly it, at least not past anything more complicated than takeoff and landing. I’ve been trying to learn how to use hand I flunked. Carmichael and his lab can’t really say why it works with you and so far not with anyone else. After my last flight in the ANTARES simulator, I—”
“You were flying in the simulator?” He sounded as if the colonel had committed a major trespass on his territory, his baby. “You tried to fly ANTARES? Why? I’m DreamStar’s pilot, you’re the project director, you—”
“I’ve been training in ANTARES for several months. I thought I had it down, but—”
“That wasn’t a very smart idea, Colonel,” James said. His voice was not sympathetic. “ANTARES can be very unpredictable … “
“Yeah, it damn near killed him,” Powell put in.
“So you submitted a report saying that ANTARES was dangerous, and headquarters canceled the project?”
“That’s not the way it went down, Ken. The project was slated to lose its flight-phase funding at the end of this fiscal year. The cancellation was going to happen anyway. My … accident only moved up the timetable a few months.”
James turned away, tried to control himself, but his mind was working overtime in its reaction to this information. He had just told Kramer and Moffitt that everything was going as planned, that he was even going to countermand the KGB’s order to steal DreamStar … Now the project was going to be canceled. The KGB would never believe that he didn’t know about the cancellation. His creditability would be totally destroyed — they would think he was double-crossing them for sure.
“Sorry, Ken,” McLanahan was saying, “but it seems like they only needed an excuse to shut it down …”
“What will happen to us?”
“We’re reforming the Cheetah ATF program. J.C. will be the senior pilot. I imagine they’ll ask you to stay on in the ANTARES project. They’ll want to continue their research in the laboratory … “
“I won’t fly any more?”
“Only enough for flight-time currency. You’ll get your required twenty hours a calendar quarter in the T-45A trainer, plus a lot of time in the ANTARES simulator. You’ll …”
“You mean I’ll be reduced to a guinea pig?”
“I don’t think you have any choice, Ken,” Powell said. “Being the only guy who can fly DreamStar can be a curse as well as a blessing. Carmichael and his people need you to continue their research. They can’t figure out how to teach others to learn the ANTARES interface unless they figure out how you accomplished it.”
Things were going to hell very, very quickly, James thought. “How soon before we stop flight operations? Will there at least be time for one more flight?” And added quickly, “I hate to see it go out this way …”
McLanahan rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “I had to fight like crazy to get Air Force to agree to let us complete the weapons-mating test. They wouldn’t buy off on any more flight tests, though. Absolutely no way.”
“But they are going to finish the mating test?”
“They’ve been working all weekend on it,” Powell said. “They should have it finished by tonight or tomorrow morning and then start offloading the Scorpion missiles right after that. I wanted to get some pictures of DreamStar with Scorpion missiles on it — it may be the only time we’ll see that for years.”
The weapons-mating test — James had his answer … “What a waste, Colonel,” he said, trying hard to act more subdued while formulating his plan … “An incredible waste. All this time, all this effort …”
McLanahan started shuffling papers, a wordless signal to both pilots that the meeting was over, he had nothing more to say.
“One thing’s for sure,” Powell said to James as they headed for the door. “You’ll go down in the books as the first pilot of a thought-controlled aircraft.”
James only murmured something and nodded. His mind was a long way away — on plans for the last flight of DreamStar.
Unlike most times, it was still light outside when McLanahan returned home that evening. Still more unusual was finding that he had actually beat Wendy home — but then he heard a faint sound from the bedroom. He opened the door and found her sitting cross-legged on the bed, her arms pulling her knees to her chest. She had the shades drawn and the room was in darkness — she must have overridden the automatic lights.
“Wendy? What’s wrong? How long have you been here?”
“Not long … how do you feel?”
“I feel fine … anything wrong?”
“No.”
No tears in her voice, no sadness, but it was hardly like her to coop herself up like this. “Why are you sitting here in the dark?”