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“Run that by me again.”
“The CIA have reported that a British agent, on temporary loan to them from their military intelligence, piloted a rocket.”
“They piloted a rocket.”
“Yes, sir.”
“In space.”
“That would be correct, sir.”
“...why?”
“Ah.”
The head of NASA’s space program gave their assistant a look .
He fidgeted. Then he caved.
“Apparently that explosion on Ark Angel wasn’t entirely an accident.”
“You mean that explosion that knocked out an entire constellation of satellites?”
“...maybe?”
“Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
“The CIA blew up a space station.” The head of NASA pinched his nose. He wished that he could say that he was surprised, but he really wasn’t, “Do they have any idea how many countries are pissed off about that?”
“I’d say they’re probably more aware of it than we are, sir.”
“So why are they admitting it?”
“Well, that’s the thing, sir.”
“What’s the thing?”
“Their agent.”
“The one that blew up the space station?”
“Yes, that one.”
“What about him? Her? Them?”
“Him, sir.”
“Okay, what about him?”
“Well, you know how we give out patches.”
“You mean the astronaut patches.” The head of NASA didn’t like this was going, “That we hand out to our highly qualified and experienced professional astronauts at the completion of each project in space?”
“Yes, those ones, sir.”
“What about them?”
“He wants one, sir.”
“He wants a patch.”
“His argument is - and I quote - that he flew that station into the planet. And that should qualify him for one, because it was awesome.”
“Really.” He gave his aide another look, “He said that?”
“Well, there were a few more fucks in there sir, but that was the gist of it yes.”
The head of NASA banged his head on the desk and resisted the urge to scream.
“Whatever next?” He said, “We hand them out to any schoolboy with parents rich enough to launch them into orbit?”
“Well, ah, sir.”
“What is it?”
“That’s perhaps more relevant than you think.”
“Why, is he one of their new intake or something?” He frowned, “Are they taking them out of high school now or?”
“Actually, sir, you see, there’s a bit of classified information attached to this request.”
“Which is?”
“I’m not really sure how to put it sir.”
“Spit it out!”
“Ah. Well. He’s fourteen. Fifteen next week.”
“Sorry, to clarify, they sent a fourteen year old up into space to blow up a space station .”
“That’s correct, sir.” The aide paused, “Well, mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“There was a terrorist attack planned on the station. So really they sent him up to kill a terrorist and then disarm the bomb. He was mostly successful.”
“The space station exploded!”
“Yes sir, but New York is still a city. I believe that they classified that as mostly successful.”
Ah.
Well.
He almost forgave the CIA for the fact that an entire constellation of satellites was gone then.
Almost.
At least to the point at which he might listen to them if they grovelled.
“How old did you say he was?”
“Fourteen, sir. Nearly fifteen though!”
“Did they say why they sent a teenager into space at all?”
“Apparently he was the only one that would fit.”
“Fit in what?” He squinted, “The space suit?”
“No, the rocket.”
“They didn’t make it the normal size?”
“Well, you see sir, the rocket was originally for a monkey.”
“A monkey. They were going to send a monkey into space. On a rocket.”
“I believe the monkey’s name was Clive.”
“...but why?” He rubbed his face, “And who signed off on that? I thought ethics was against animal testing in low-gravity environments. I swear I saw an email complaining about that.”
“Technically, sir, the rocket wasn’t based in the United States.” The aide paused, “You’ll remember that Dr Donovan took a sabatical?”
“To go and work on some tropical island somewhere, yes. Unpaid leave for twelve months. A cooling off period after ethics rejec-” The boss paused, “Wait, you mean Drevin decided to let him do that crazy experiment?”
“That would be correct sir.”
“The one with the experimental rocket design.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That didn’t seem like it would work for manned flight at all.”
“Ah, yes, sir.”
“That one of our simulations showed exploding on re-entry.”
“There was a bit of luck there.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes, they didn’t use the rocket for re-entry.”
“Because they were on the space station.”
“Kind of.”
“What do you mean kind of?”
“The hotel did have some emergency escape pods.”
“I see.”
“But he actually rode down in th-”
“You know what. I’m not sure I want to know.”
“So are we going to give him his wings?”
“To recap here, the CIA sent a fourteen year old into space.”
“Nearly fifteen-year-old. Yes, sir.”
“Where he fought off a terrorist attack, blew up a space station, and then piloted it back down to the ground.”
“I think it crashlanded in the sea, but that’s the general idea, sir, yes.”
“And instead of reviewing any of the reasons why this happened in the first place, they’ve decided that they want to give him a badge.”
“I believe he wants to put it on his school bag, sir.”
“And there aren’t any security implications?”
“That might be optimistic.”
“And the CIA are fine with this?”
“The request did come from an official CIA email, sir.”
“The fourteen-year-old has an official CIA email.”
“He’s nearly fifteen, sir, as I keep on saying.”
“I’m not sure why you think that’s any better.”
“It is a whole year older.”
“I think that was rather my point.”
“I’m just saying that he’s nearly fifteen, sir.”
“And he has an official CIA email.”
“Yes.”
“Which he used to email us.”
That made as much sense as anything else in this conversation.
“He also asks whether he can keep Clive.”
“Clive?”
“The monkey.”
“The monkey went up with him?”
“No, but apparently they were good friends.”
“He made friends with the monkey.”
“Yes sir.”
“Why is he asking us for the monkey?”
“I believe that Dr Donovan brought it back to the states with him.”
“Dr Donovan is back in the states?”
“Well, the rocket facility he had taken a sabbatical too has been dismantled.”
“Dismantled.”
“For a given value of dismantled, yes.”
“Wait, what does that mean?”
“More like… blown up, perhaps?”
“Why?”
“Ah, well, you see, Alex was in a bit of a hu-”
“Alex is the fourteen-year-old?”
“The one that’s nearly fifteen, yes.”
“He blew up a space station and a space port?”
“It would seem so.”
The head of NASA paused.
“How keen does the CIA seem on this?”
“Quite keen, sir. Joe Byrne was copied in.”
“The Director of Operations.”
“That would be correct, yes.”
“And he didn’t object?”
“He seemed to think it was cheaper than giving him a medal.”
“Of course. Cost saving. The other most important thing about this whole affair.”
“I’m glad you agree, sir.”
That was almost a joke. The head of NASA gave his aide another look . This didn’t seem like much of a joking matter to him.
“Fine.” He said, “But on one condition only.”
“I’m sure I can discuss it with Mr Byrne, sir.”
“I want the kid banned from all NASA sites. Worldwide. For life.”
“That seems a little exc-”
“He blew up a space port .”
“Only by accident, sir.”
“What do you mean, only by accident ?”
“Are you sure you want that story?”
The head of NASA paused and then pointed to the door in a silent dismissal. Fine, okay, whatever.
Give the kid his wings.
Make them gold and glittery.
Kids liked shiny things, right?
He couldn’t handle much more of this insanity.
If Alex Rider ever came near his facilities, he was pretty sure he’d have a coronary.
And if he ever found out who had planned this whole shitshow, he’d ban them too. Them and all their friends.
Forever.
What a fucking disaster.