Prometheus and the Dragon (Atlas and the Winds Book 2) (26 page)

“Your drawing here would give each flight a maximum of 600 passengers,” Daryl said, looking up. He tapped out some numbers on a calculator that he opened on his section of the table. “If we can get the ships all operational in the next four weeks, and assume one flight per ship, per week, to allow for medical screening, we’d be looking at 48,600 children.”

“Good God, Cole, do you realize what you’re asking us to do?” Dave said. “Just the orphans we’d be taking in would be more than the populations of the other colonies put together.”

“So what else is new,” Viki said. “Have you ever heard about Cole doing something half-way?”

***

Unity Colony, Eastern Mare Frigoris:

Jonathon Merrill watched the four carriers floating slowly over the horizon, their payload strung between them like a giant fishing net. It was a big moment, even if it was five months late. An image of the destroyed framework lying twisted on the crater floor flashed through his mind, bringing with it a smoldering anger toward the Chinese. It was their fault that they were only now finishing the dome.

He stood on the rim of the crater, facing a small plain they’d cleared to spread the thin film membrane that would become the dome roof. Behind him, the last sections of the framework were being hauled into place, and crews were inspecting the entire structure for any defects in assembly that might present a problem. Once that was done, they’d take all their skycranes and lift the huge sheet into place.

They’d scheduled one of those pointless but somehow important ceremonies for the arrival of the skin, but since it had been delayed, and they were out of spare time, they’d decided to skip the pomp in favor of production. On the heels of President Hutton’s announcement that the world was doomed, anything calling attention to the fact there would be a privileged few survivors might be rubbing salt in the wounds of those left behind.

“Gov’nr Merrill,” the voice of the Com Officer came over his radio. “President Mito is holding for you. Want me to patch him through?”

“Sure,” he said, watching the heads-up display in his suit activate. “Takao, what’s up?”

“We need to talk,” the JAXA Director said, without the usual delay.

“You’re up here?” he asked. “You weren’t supposed to be on the rotation for a few months yet, were you?”

“That is something we need to discuss,” he said. “I’m on the
Lotus.
The Captain says we’ll be on the ground in about five minutes. Where are you?”

“Watching you from the ridge,” Merrill said. “I’ll be out there before you unhook. Just have him park beside the load. Obviously this isn’t something you want on the air?”

“I will meet you in the forward lock,” he said.

Five minutes later he was unsealing his helmet in the airlock when Takao came through the door. He helped Jonathon unclamp his life support pack, then led him to one of the small staterooms in silence.

“So, what is it that’s so important that you ...” He stopped in mid-thought seeing the expression on Mito’s face.

“There has been an attack on the Austra Launch Center in Queensland,” he said. “As far as we can tell, none of the buildings were destroyed, but several dozen people were killed or captured.”

“What?” he asked, not sure he’d heard him right. “Who? How?” He leaned against the wall to steady himself.

“It was a group that calls themselves
The Army of the Holy Right,”
he said. “They sent threats to all the members of the ISA, but so far they have only attacked your launch center.”

“What do they want?” Jonathon asked.

“They are demanding we abandon our lunar colony and return to Earth to face divine judgment,” Takao said. “The US has no previous records on them. It appears they are a new group, but the way they delivered the threat made them sound like a well established operation.”

“Bastards,” he said. “When did it happen?”

“This morning, just as we were prepping for launch,” he said. “We barely got off the ground when they rushed the gate.”

“You were in Queensland?” Merrill asked.

“I was. I’d been there for several days to supervise the loading of the roof section,” Mito said. “Wilhelm had been there until last night. Fortunately he had departed, or he would have been here too.”

“So why didn’t you go to your office?” he asked. “This is a long way out here to tell me we’ve got a bit of trouble.”

“These were the only ships that got off the ground,” he said. “They hit in an instant, overrunning the security fences and taking the Control Center before we knew what happened.”

“How many of them were there?” Merrill asked, thinking about how large the Launch Center was.

“I saw at least a thousand, but there may well have been more,” he said. “They were well armed, and breached the gates with Humvees and big trucks. The last thing I saw as we were lifting off, were several dozen buses bringing in extra manpower.

***

New York City:

Crosby, Wells, and Feinberg was one of the new brokerage houses that spread like a wildfire during the communications bubble. Unlike many, CWF had managed to survive the subsequent implosion and remain one of the better, and more importantly, profitable, operations on Wall Street.

Parker Elwood was their most junior partner, just an Associate, but he was dedicated to the firm. He’d listened to the President’s speech, and known that by morning they’d be facing the worst disaster the financial world had ever known, so he’d kissed his wife and headed into the office as the sun was setting. He spent the night alone, staring at the world markets as they plummeted into what looked like a bottomless pit.

By morning he understood the inevitability of what was to come. Even so, when the Market opened it fell by fifty percent in the first ten seconds. So fast was the drop the computers had broken from the actual report and had begun to estimate the real position. Exactly eleven seconds after the market opened, it closed, with the electronic safeguards shutting out all sell orders and stabilizing itself just below eleven thousand. The lowest it had been in almost three decades.

He sat still, trying to calculate how much real capital had disappeared from the economy, but his mind refused to wrap itself around the number. It was too large to understand. In eleven seconds, something like a tenth of all the money in the world evaporated. He reached for his coffee and leaned back, putting his feet on the edge of his desk.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered to himself, hitting the button to bring Global Financial News up on his video. The screen stayed blank. He clicked to another of the financial news nets and saw the same thing.

A shadow flashed by his window, an airplane passing over the building. He glanced outside, shaking his head and scooting up to the desk to open his browser. He punched in the Online Financial Services Net, FSN.WEB, but the page hesitated for several seconds before it redirected him to www.us.treasury.gov. “The homepage for the US Treasury Department?” he asked in confusion. He punched in FSN.WEB again, and bounced through to the Treasury Department.

“What the hell’s going on?” he wondered, reaching to pick up his phone. Another shadow passed over the window, but this time he saw it as a solid object. A bird? He paused and his phone beeped.

“Elwood,” he said, answering it and leaning forward to rest his forehead on his free hand.

“Parker, this is Grant Wells. Have you seen the Treasury Department’s announcement?” his boss asked. The man’s voice, rich and resonant under normal circumstances, sounded like he’d been sucking helium.

“Not yet,” he said. “What are they doing, sir?”

“You have to read it,” he said. “You won’t believe me if I tell you. It’s a disaster, a fucking catastrophe.” The line clicked off and he hung up.

He turned and looked at the website, scrolling down the page slowly.

“
Effective 12:00 PM EDT,”
the website said,
“all US Stock Exchanges are closed until after the impact of Asteroid Antu. All public and private corporations with a gross value of over 500,000 USD, headquartered or conducting business within the United States or any of its territories, are hereby nationalized by Presidential Decree, and will no longer be traded on any world market. There will be no securities, currency, or commodity trading until further notice. The US economy will remain in its current fixed position for the duration of this situation.”

The announcement went on, giving particulars about how the transfer of ownership would be handled, and a hundred other details. Finally he stood up and walked to over to look at the world below, not sure what he should do. He was out of work, and this was all he’d ever wanted to do. It was the end of his life. And it came six months before the end of the world.

Leaning his head against the window, he stared down at the street. A fire truck was pulling through the gridlocked cars. He couldn’t see what was going on, but there was a crowd standing in front of the building.

Another shadow caught his attention, but this time he saw it for what it was: his boss, Grant Wells, plummeting toward the sidewalk, forty stories below. For a moment he hesitated, then he pulled open the window and stepped out to follow him down into the concrete canyon.

***

Chang Er Prefecture, Tycho:

Becki and Lin-Tzu sat in silence, listening to the Prefect make his pronouncement. It was a formality, because the decision had already been made. It was also setting a precedent, and sending a clear message to the Standing Committee. Chang Er Prefecture would not be pressured by the People’s Army.

General Wan Len-Ji was being exiled for his part in planning the assault on the US Prometheus Project. If Prometheus had survived, it was likely the Earth would have been saved. It had been less of a punishment than Czao had wanted, but he wasn’t ready to execute the General. Instead, he was having him loaded and shipped back to Earth, possibly only delaying the General’s death by the length of time it would take for him to starve once the biosphere collapsed.

“You are making a dangerous enemy,” Wan said. “You are accusing me of being part of something in which you were also responsible. I do not take this pronouncement lightly, nor will it go unchallenged. Once I am before the Standing Committee, we will see who stays here and who is condemned to Earth. I assure you, that you will regret this.”

“Perhaps so, General,” the Prefect said. “But what amazes me is you do not regret your actions, even when they will result in the deaths of billions.”

“You have not heard the last of me,” Wan said, as the two officers pulled him to a standing position and ushered him toward the door.

“Colonel Yao, please wait,” the Prefect said, as the guards fell in behind the General and marched him toward the Launch Pad. The lander was waiting for him. He was to be the only passenger to head downhill since the asteroid had been discovered.

He nodded toward the empty chairs in front of his desk. “Please sit,” he said, settling himself into his chair. “As the highest ranking officer in the People’s Army at Chang Er, I would like to offer you command of the Prefecture’s defense forces. You are an exemplary officer, and unlike your predecessor, I think you may understand the desirability of diplomacy over brute force.”

“Prefect, I am not the ranking officer,” she said, confused. “There are at least four officers above me in the chain of command. Surely they would be more suited to this position.”

“Lin-Tzu,” he used her given name, consciously trying to reduce the formality of their discussion. “The officers you speak of have all resigned their commissions, or have had them stripped as a result of their part in the assault on the US colony. What General Wan did not know was that the Committee had already decided that he is to be executed. He has no friends in power on Earth.”

Lin-Tzu stared at him in shock. “I don’t know that I am qualified for the position,” she said.

“My wife speaks highly of you,” he said. “She has reported to me often that you are extremely good at dealing with the Americans. Much of our future may depend on being able to put our difficulties behind us so that we can work together. The long-term survival of the species may hang on whether we can forge alliances with the other colonies.”

“The politics of Earth are going to be much different in the coming months,” Becki said. “Insanity will take root down there, and we will need to start making our own political opportunities. Our path must be lead by the necessity of survival, and not the ideologically driven ways of our fathers.”

Lin-Tzu looked at her friend; she’d come a long way from the sheltered wife of the Prefect she’d met eighteen months ago. She sounded like a polished politician. Like a woman who had come into her time. She glanced at Czao, and noticed he was in full agreement. Perhaps, she realized, she was finally seeing where the true power hid. Behind the throne.

***

Chapter Seventeen:

Walking it Back

Washington: