Prometheus and the Dragon (Atlas and the Winds Book 2) (38 page)

“What has happened on Earth is of no concern to me,” Yuri said. “This is between us. You should consider that we did not kill you outright, even when it was within our power to do so.”

“You should have,” Hassien snarled.

“Did you miss your medication this morning?” Yuri said, rolling his eyes. The Arab General bristled and sputtered but said nothing.

“You have women and children to think about. Families. Children too young to have grown to hate. There are only six hundred of you left. You cannot afford this hatred.” Yuri leaned forward. “You have daughter and son of your own. Do not make me murderer of your family.”

Faruq took a deep breath and pursed his lips. It was obvious he wanted nothing more than to fire off another round at the Commander. “Go on.” he said, after several seconds.

“If it were possible, would you be able to convince your men to find another location to establish colony of your own?” Romanov said.

Hassien blinked several times, trying to fit the Russian’s words into his understanding. Yuri could tell he did not see what was being offered.

“While I was recovering,” the Russian explained, “we had several shipments arrive. We have resources that were not available, that have not yet been deployed. Dr. Titov suggested, if we were to give you several habitat domes, life support processor and garden, you could establish an independent colony. It would not be easy, but it would be possible.”

“An interesting proposition,” Faruq said. “What guarantees would we have that you would support us in this endeavor?”

“None,” Yuri said. “Just as we have none that you will not turn against us and attack later.”

“This is true,” the Arab said.

“We will give you two rovers, one light and one heavy. We will also provide provisions for you to mount an expedition to find new colony site. We will guarantee your families can remain here while you establish your own colony. If all goes well, once you have done that, we go back to peaceful mistrust of each other.”

“Agreed,” Hassien said. “Now untie me, so I can tell my men.”

Commander Romanov hesitated only an instant before he came around his desk to cut the Arab leader loose.

It was a point neither of them missed.

***

Jerusalem:

The Baha'i Medical Center was usually a quiet place, tending to the needs of pilgrims and a few of the locals. Jerusalem was a torn city even before the war had started, but because of their steadfast neutrality, neither faction really trusted the BMC doctors and staff. It wasn’t that anyone really thought they were second-rate, it was that they never knew who might be in the bed next to them.

Dr. Gareth O’Kelley worked the emergency room. He’d seen it all during his twenty-four month assignment for the Without Borders Relief Mission, and the Baha'i Center had, by far, been his easiest posting. A state of the art facility, with competent staff and a secure supply of both water and electricity. He felt like he was in any of the nicer private hospitals he’d worked at in Boston or Washington.

He’d been told this hospital had its moments though, during the height of the third Palestinian uprising, before the treaty had determined to whom each of the sacred Historical Sites belonged. Not everybody agreed with the agreement, but at least they’d decided who was in charge of what.

Dr. O’Kelley knew this would be his last posting. Antu was, after all, only three weeks away. But he tried not to think about it, and he kept his head in the ER in spite of the desperation he, and everyone else around him felt. The dark shadow of fear had been a constant companion for the last five months. It wasn’t something anyone could accept. The death of the world was just too big to swallow whole.

Unfortunately some days, life itself cut the reality up into bite sized bits.

Today was shaping up to be one of those. They’d just received a call from a transport unit responding to what appeared to be a mass beating. There were seven victims found battered and bruised behind a small shop half-way across town. All of them were unconscious, and at least two were reported to be in critical condition.

They were bringing them here because they appeared to be Palestinian, and because it was Saturday, the predominantly Jewish hospitals nearer to the location were understaffed. In the last few months, the Sabbath had become far more important than saving lives. Dr. O’Kelley stood by, with a triage team and two other doctors on call. They only had six beds in the ER, but they’d brought a gurney in and were going to stick the seventh patient in the hall right in front of the monitor station.

The first ambulance arrived, transporting the two most critically injured. He watched as the back doors flew open and the medic grabbed the bottom end of the gurney and hauled it out in the open. A sheet had been laid over the patient, and it was blood-soaked. “We’re going to need a type and cross match as soon as they’re inside,” he barked.

“That’s an awful lot of blood for a beating,” the head nurse said as the doors hissed open and the medic shoved the patient through. He didn’t even bother to come inside, turning to run back to help with the next victim.

Dr. O’Kelley pried an eye open on the first patient, a Palestinian woman in her late twenties, to check for pupil response. Her face was bruised and covered with blood. Her eyes were almost glued shut. When he got one of them open he knew she was bad, very bad. There was so much blood on the surface of her eye he couldn’t even see the iris, let alone the pupil. He checked her pulse. Nothing.

He glanced up at the nurse and shook his head. This one was gone. He shoved the gurney sideways out of the way as the second patient came through the door. Outside he heard the siren of another ambulance.

This patient was definitely still alive, gasping for air and gurgling a stream of blood out of his mouth. It was pink and foamy as it slowly ran a trail down his face. He was about the same age and ethnicity as the dead woman, and showed all the same bruising and bleeding. Not bothering to check his pupils, he ripped the man’s shirt open and plugged his stethoscope into his ears. He paused, in shock. The man’s entire chest was purple, not like he’d been beaten, but like he’d been squeezed. There wasn’t an inch of his skin that wasn’t uniformly contused. He looked at the man’s arms. The same thing.

“What the hell is this?” he asked, glancing up at the nurse whose expression matched what he was feeling. He touched the man’s arm, and blood oozed through the skin where his fingers pressed. He pulled the shirt open the rest of the way and looked at the edge where it was pinned under the man’s body. Blood wicked along the fabric. Too much blood.

A third patient was wheeled inside. This time it was definitely not a Palestinian. She was a blond, also fairly young and dressed in very American looking clothes. She looked like she’d been a tourist. Her face was bruised and she was unconscious. Her breathing was labored, and even from several feet away, O’Kelley could hear the deep gurgling in her lungs.

“Get him into bed one,” he said, spinning to look at the woman. Her eyes were shut and small tears of blood seeped from their corners. He pulled scissors out of his pocket and cut her blouse open. The same thing. Uniform bruising covered her body. The edges of her bra straps were coated with bright fresh blood.

“Bed two,” he said, shoving the gurney toward a waiting nurse.

The door slid open again and someone outside called him. “Doctor O’Kelley, come quick.”

Outside, a woman in white scrubs held a man in a medic uniform under her arm. He was hacking like an asthmatic with pneumonia, doubled over at the waist and wobbling from side to side. On the ground between his feet were bright red splatters of blood. “He was driving that ambulance,” she said, pointing at the first one to have arrived.

“Get him inside,” he said, looking up to see four more ambulances pulling into the hospital lot. They’d only been told to expect three. He looked back at the hospital doors and saw the head nurse talking on the phone at the desk.

She caught his attention, and waved frantically for him to come back inside. She looked pale, almost white. “Here he is now,” she said, as he sprinted in. She handed him the phone and collapsed into a chair.

“ER, O’Kelley here,” he said.

“This is Dr. Ebrihim Moshaud,” the voice on the phone said. “I am with the Israeli Center for Disease Prevention. We are declaring a National Emergency. You are hereby ordered to take maximum biohazard precautions. We believe we are currently experiencing a biological attack using some form of modified hemorrhagic virus. The means of transmittal are not known, so use extreme care when treating any potential patients. Do you understand what I have told you?”

“Yes Doctor,” he said, looking down at the blood covering the front of his scrubs. His eyes lingered at a small spot of red on the skin above his wrist. It was centered in a slowly spreading ring of purple. He glanced at his watch, strangely detached from reality.

Twelve minutes from exposure to infection.

***

Unity Colony, Eastern Mare Frigoris:

Helen Troianne was an Elder Statesman, even if she was neither elder nor a man. She smiled in sympathy at Chancellor Rogers across the video link, showing that she understood his position, but was unwilling to accept it.

“Of course Chancellor, I acknowledge your statement that Stormhaven and its Sentinel Colony are not legally qualified as Independent nation states according to UN guidelines,” she said. “However, as they represent the largest single population on the lunar surface, and indeed may be more than fifty percent of the total human occupancy here, to exclude them from this meeting is not something we are prepared to accept.”

“Population has never been a consideration for national status. My government holds they are not entitled to a seat at the negotiating table,” Dick said, trying to match her polished delivery. “We would, however, be willing to entertain the possibility of including them as an observer to the proceedings, providing such a concession does not imply potential future status.”

The Unity Administrator let her smile slip ever so slightly, chilling from cordial to disapproving in a delicate cascade. “I’m sorry Chancellor Rogers, if that is your position, then I believe we are at an impasse. Perhaps you should discuss this with your President, and then we can continue.”

“You are willing to allow the Chinese threat to continue here on the lunar surface simply because we will not concede Stormhaven is a nation in its own right?” he said, trying to keep the conversation alive.

“Yes,” she said. Her smile shifting again toward a warmer climate. “You must understand that Unity in particular, as well as every other colony here with the exception of the Russians and the Chinese, owe their existence to them. Without their benevolent grant of technology, none of us would be here.”

“That’s not entirely true,” he said. “New Hope was built primarily on the back of our existing space program.”

“And who defended it against the Chinese when they attacked Prometheus? Would you have been able to muster the national will to build the colony at all after the ISS disaster?” She sat back and shook her head. “Perhaps you need to reconsider and then decide whether they have been a part of your past, and whether they deserve to be a part of the future.”

“This is your official and final position on the matter?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said again. “If you will concede to this point, Unity stands ready to host this, and any future meetings held in the name of peace and cooperation.”

“Very well,” he said sighing. “It’s been a pleasure talking to you, Madam Troianne. I will be in touch as soon as we’ve reached a decision.”

“Good day to you, Chancellor,” she said, closing the connection.

“Can you believe those arrogant bastards?” Jonathon Merrill spat, as soon as she nodded that they were offline.

“They seem to have some other motive in claiming Sentinel does not deserve status,” she said. “I believe they feel if they can control the representation, Stormhaven will acquiesce to being a part of their holdings.”

“I know Colton Taylor well enough to know better than that,” Takao Mito said.

“You’d think they would, too. Haven’t they locked horns with him enough to know better?” Jonathon said. “I never took the Americans for stupid, but I’m having my doubts.”

***

Stormhaven:

Tom took the call. Colton was in no shape to deal with anyone. It took him exactly five seconds to decide where he could find the expertise to handle the problem. His next call went out to Japan. It took all of thirty seconds for Mica to locate Akihiro Kuromori. He was staying at a Buddhist Temple near the base of Mount Fuji. He’d resigned as the Japanese Ambassador shortly after the ISA agreements had been signed, and he was planning to live out his last days in quiet contemplation of his life and its place in the universe.

Tom had other ideas.

“Mr. Stevens,” he said, looking somewhat shocked, but much more relaxed than he had the last time they’d met. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“I wish I could say this was purely a social call,” Tom said. “Unfortunately I find myself needing to ask a small favor.”