Prometheus and the Dragon (Atlas and the Winds Book 2) (28 page)

Yuri Romanov sent word to his superiors, including his opinion that it might have been a deliberate act. The official response had been to tell him to do nothing that would upset the Arab portion of the crew.

“So, how do we make sure it does not happen again?” Yuri said to Sergei as they sat eating their breakfast. “We cannot afford to post guards on suit lockers, but I’m afraid we must. Will take two days to verify every suit is not defective, and in meantime, we either work with risk hanging over us, or we take holiday.”

“Are we verifying safety of suits used by our Arab comrades?” the Doctor said.

“Why should we bother, we both know it was sabotage,” the Commander said.

“Possibly, but if we do not at least make show of it, they will accuse us of not taking responsibility for their safety,” he said, sipping his orange juice and grimacing. It tasted like that rehydrated plastic imitation orange substance the Americans liked so well.

“If we do insist on checking their suits, and anything goes wrong with them later, we will be blamed,” Yuri said. “Honestly, I doubt I could trust my own men not to take vengeance.”

“That is true,” Sergei said. “We are in difficult position, and it appears to be deteriorating each day.”

“Commander Romanov.” Faruq al Hassien walked purposefully across the mess hall. His tone had lost its diplomatic polish since the base was now split between Russians and Arabs. “I must speak to you at once,” he said, stopping with a slight skid at the edge of the table.

“I am here. Talk,” the Russian said, not looking up at the man.

“In private,” Hassien insisted.

“Please, I am eating breakfast. Can it not wait?” the Commander said, rolling his eyes up at the Arab.

“No. I will not tolerate accusations made against my people. The death of your comrade was a regrettable accident. However, if your men continue to verbally assault my men, the next time it will not be an accident,” he said.

“Is that threat?” Romanov said, unfolding from his seat. “I am sure you did not mean to sound as it did. Perhaps you should make sure I understand your meaning.” Romanov was a huge man, one who was as wide as he was high, and usually did not appear tall. But when he straightened, he stood more than a foot above the Arab.

To his credit, Faruq didn’t back away. A badger staring down a bear. “I meant precisely what I said, and if I were to say it in a dozen languages to make sure you heard me clearly, I doubt you would ever understand my words.” He shot a look at the doctor that flashed with the frozen rage of a fanatic, spun on his heel, and disappeared across the room, muttering what was most certainly a curse upon Romanov’s ancestors. People parted in front of him, leaving a wake of staring faces as he passed.

Yuri sat back down and looked at his watch. “Too early,” he said, shaking his head and growling out a deep sigh.

“Da. We do seem to have problem,” Sergei said, wondering how far this was going to spin out of control before it became a cyclone in its own right.

***

Rio De Janeiro, Brazil:

Rio was at once one of the most modern cities in South America, and one of the most harsh. For all that Brazil had pulled itself out of the Third World, it seemed to suffer more keenly with the things the First World had begun to outgrow. Wealth and poverty existed intermingled on every street. The high and the low, staring at each other, but unable to connect across the gap that held them forever locked in a titanic clash of culture. Both born of the same spirit, twins of different fathers, and only separated by a transparent wall of circumstance.

When he was much younger, Colton had traveled to Brazil, visiting both Brasilia and Rio, for conferences on global climate change. He’d loved the culture, while at the same time finding the abject poverty terrifying in its overpowering presence. Cardboard favela, barely more than boxes and tape, clung to the hills at the edges of the city. Washed away during the frequent rains and rebuilt overnight by their tenants, only to face the same thing the next day. A cycle of survival that kept them entrenched in their misery, never gaining a foothold deep enough to push out.

That was why the very first Archangel flight was sent to this human wasteland, where the people’s pride and determination kept them clinging to the thin membrane of their lives, even when man and nature threatened to sweep them away. And where Antu would certainly tip the scale with a final certainty.

No announcement had gone out before hand, and none was needed when the Archangel
Michael
hung above the open hilltop, waiting for a chance to land. The word spread like wildfire. People swarmed around the ship as it settled into the grassy field. Thousands. More people than Dave had ever seen in one place, even in his old rock and roll days.

“Colton should be here,” he said, to no one in particular.

“There are so many of them.” Angelyne Hoagland, their team doctor, stood on the bridge nearby. “And we’re only supposed to pick 600. How do we do that?” she said. “Tell me, how can you look them all in the face and tell them that we can’t take them. Which kids do we leave behind?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered, suddenly understanding what Cole saw in his nightmares. “He knew it would come to this day. It’s no wonder he fears his dreams.”

“What?” she said, turning to face him.

“Colton. He once told me he was afraid to dream. He never explained why, just that he had ongoing nightmares. Now I know what it was that tore at him. He knew all along we’d be here,” Dave said, feeling a wave of crushing sadness roll over him.

“Do you think he really saw this?” she asked.

“Maybe not this specific moment, but he knew what we’d be facing,” he said. “I felt this same anguish coming from him the night before we launched the
Star.
We were sitting alone, and he was trying to explain it to me.”

“God, what he must be going through, watching it play out in reality,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said, taking a deep breath and steeling himself for what they must do. “Let’s go get set up.”

***

Chapter Eighteen:

Holding Fire

Chang Er Prefecture, Tycho:

Under General Wan, they had established a network of patrols and small domed bunkers at regular intervals around the crater edge. Radar had been installed on the central peak, and several heavy rovers mounted with turret based missile launchers rolled on a continuous patrol between the SAM racks. It was a good system, operating both under the direct control of the Com Center and independently in the event of a communications failure.

Colonel Yao Lin-Tzu saw very little need to change any part of their defenses, since the US colony was beginning to build up a military presence as well.

“We have an unidentified heavy carrier approaching,” the Radar Officer said through her earpiece. “It will be passing over the southern rim in twenty-five seconds.”

“What is it?” she asked, walking into the radar room.

“Very large,” he said. “Possibly one of those carriers that has been shuttling supplies to the base on the far side. They usually stay far south of here.”

“Do we have a visual confirmation?” she said, looking over his shoulder.

“We have a patrol that should have it,” he said. “Unit Four is on the upper road.”

***

On Patrol, above the Southern Rim of Tycho:

The two soldiers would only manage to get two orbits around the rim of the crater during their watch, but at least they didn’t have to stay zipped inside their suits. Other than the bumpy road and boredom, they had little to do except watch the landscape rolling by. Sometimes they played cards or read books, while the computer followed the beacons along the well worn patrol path. Today they were listening to music, and didn’t hear the first transmission from Command.

By the time they heard the voice, they’d already seen the ship hanging very close to the horizon and moving straight toward them. The computer automatically armed their rack of missiles, then alerted them to the approaching craft. A targeting solution showed up on their screen in the next instant. They both sat forward, turning the music down, and hearing the communications officer for the first time.

“... Hostile intent. Can you confirm?”

“Hostile intent?” The crewman asked, looking at his Sergeant. His hand hovered over the launch button for only an instant before they bounced over a rock in the path and he slapped the console.

***

Wilford Woodruff, on approach to the Zion Repository:

“What was that?” Levi Stanford asked, feeling the ship lurch, and hearing a distant rumble. The First Counselor to the Prophet was an imposing man, and when he asked a question, he expected an answer.

“We’re checking,” the bridge officer said. “We think it was an explosion in one of the grain holds.”

“Seeds don’t explode.” He pointed out the obvious.

“We know that, Counselor Stanford, but we have no way of checking without sending someone down to physically look at the silo,” he said. “We’ve got a damage control team on its way now.”

***

Chang Er Prefecture, Tycho:

“Patrol Four just fired on the vessel,” the radar officer said, watching the explosion scatter debris under the ship. “They’re firing again,” he added a second later.

“Stop them,” Lin-Tzu barked, listening while the com officer relayed her orders.

“Cease fire. I repeat, cease fire. Stand down Patrol Four,” the officer almost yelled into the radio.

“Confirmed cease fire command,” the Sergeant in the rover said. “We’re seeing substantial damage to the undercarriage of the vehicle, and it is losing something from its cargo hold. We cannot identify what is venting, but there is a lot of it.”

“Is the ship still operational?” Colonel Yao cut in on the channel.

“It appears so,” he said. “It is only losing cargo.”

“Why did you fire?” she asked. “You were told to establish visual and identify, not attack unless it showed hostile intent.”

“We only received part of your previous message,” he said.

“Continue monitoring the craft to make sure it is not disabled, and that it leaves our airspace. Once it is clear, try to identify what it is losing, then report to my office immediately. We will send out a replacement rover to continue your watch.” Her voice sounded like ice, and the com officer flinched on behalf of the rover crew. She’d never heard the Colonel sound like she wanted blood, and now that she had, she hoped never to hear it again.

***

Wilford Woodruff, on approach to the Zion Repository:

The First Counselor stormed onto the bridge. He was a retired engineer and former Navy Admiral. He’d done four tours of duty in the Persian Gulf as a pilot, and had logged more than enough time in a Lightning to recognize what had happened. They’d taken a missile hit.

“Status report?” he ordered, even though it wasn’t his ship. No one blinked. He still had the same command presence he’d had when he was in uniform, so it was just natural for him to take charge.

“It appears we’ve been shot,” Jeremiah Stark said. The Captain was in his thirties, and had been given command of this ship because of his degree in astrophysics, not because of having any military experience. He was a good man, but if this was an attack, they needed Stanford’s tactical knowledge.

“Do we know who did it?” the First Counselor asked.

“No, sir,” Stark said. “We’ve got no visual sensors left on the bottom, and they weren’t active when we took the first round. We were over territory claimed by China.”

“Do we have communications?” he asked. He hadn’t been in on the design of the ship, but he thought he remembered that the high-gain antenna were all located on the lower hull.

The Captain shook his head. “Short-range only. The Americans and everyone else are too far away.”

“Are we still space-worthy?” Stanford asked.

“Yes, sir, we’re intact in all the living areas, but we’re losing mass from at least one of the holds,” he said.

“How much are we losing?” he asked, sitting down on the edge of one of the consoles to think.

“It’s difficult to say, but we’re having to manually recalibrate the engine tuning continuously,” the Captain said. “Probably more than a couple tons a second.”

***

Chang Er Prefecture, Tycho:

It took more than two hours for the Command Officer to realize Unit Four was not returning to base. It then took almost another two hours to have one of the other patrols divert and locate the missing rover. They found it buried under a huge ridge of dark red pellets. It had been completely crushed, with the crew inside. Both men were dead. They collected samples of the material and headed back to the Operations Center.