Prometheus and the Dragon (Atlas and the Winds Book 2) (39 page)

“I expected as much,” Kuromori said. “Anything for my friends.”

***

Washington:

Secretary Worthington sat, his back stiff, in the chair across from the President, watching her grind sleep out of her eyes. He could tell she wasn’t happy about being pulled out of bed at this ungodly hour, but he knew he had no choice in the matter.

“It is definitely a very advanced biological weapon,” he said. “We’re getting very little information from Tel Aviv except it’s remarkably fast, and almost one hundred percent lethal.”

“What does that mean to us?” she said.

“It means it’s going to spread across the Middle East quickly, but may have some trouble jumping from there to here.” He referred to a file on his epad. “Because this disease kills within six hours, it would never survive a plane flight across the open ocean. The pilot and crew would likely be dead before they made a landing anywhere in this hemisphere.”

“Are we sure about that?” she said, staring at her empty coffee cup like she expected it to fill by sheer force of will.

“Not entirely,” he said. “We’ve got no clue about whether it has a dormant state that would allow it to transmit in a non-presenting stage, or whether other organisms can provide an inherently immune transportation vector.”

“What about Europe and Russia?” she asked, frowning at the un-materialized coffee, and pushing her cup out of reach.

“They’re probably going to be in trouble soon if they aren’t already,” he said. He shot a map to her desktop screen, and watched as she read it. “We’ve got to assume an eighty percent infection rate in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. That means by tomorrow evening, both cities will be dead.”

“Jerusalem?” she said. “That would tend to rule out this being something unleashed by the Pan Arab Alliance, wouldn’t it?”

“Not necessarily,” he said. “Even if you disregard the idea of an entire city being a mass suicide bomb, you have to understand that Jerusalem is probably the most moderate of all the Arab controlled cities. It’s a tourist town. Fundamentalists from both sides of the aisle have no respect for those who live there.”

“So how do we slow it down?” she asked, looking at the map.

“We seal our borders against any nation in the region,” he said.

“Europe too?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said. “We can’t take the chance it might be transmitted live on an aircraft. We have no idea how it propagates, and until we do, we can’t take the risk.”

“What about our bases over there?” She ran her fingers through her uncombed hair. “We’ve got at least ten facilities in Europe and the UK that are still operational. And all of the NATO bases too.”

“Yes ma’am. Until we know for sure, we have to assume they’re total losses.” He looked down at his epad, trying not to make eye contact. He could feel her glare burning into him despite his best effort to ignore it.

“What if it somehow makes it here?” she asked, after several seconds.

He uploaded another file to her screen. “This is what we’re projecting when and if it arrives,” he paused as she studied the animation. He watched her face go blank, then white, as she stared at the map, the green areas shifting steadily to red. “Within seventy-two hours we’ve got sixty percent losses in the major cities, even with the best quarantine controls we can implement. Within seven days we’re over ninety percent.”

“How long until it gets here?” she asked, her voice a quiet croaking sound.

“For all we know, it may be here already,” he said. “I recommend you seal the borders and evacuate to the bunkers immediately. At least then, we’ve got some control over our level of exposure. Without that, what you see there will become reality.”

She watched the screen until the animation ended. Nineteen days and six hours. It’d beat Antu by less than forty-eight hours.

***

Chapter Twenty-Five:

Cathedrals of Dust

Zion Repository, east of Schuster Crater:

Viki lead the small group of people down into the tunnel beneath the lunar surface. She had never been inside a Mormon Temple, and in fact, she still wasn’t within the true boundaries of the Temple itself. She’d been lead through a smaller airlock beneath the gleaming golden edifice. She’d been awestruck as they’d made their approach over the intricate and beautiful structure, but as she entered the cavernous Great Hall, she was astounded.

“This is amazing,” she said, staring down the length of the primary tunnel. Even though it was well-lit, it disappeared into the distance. The walls shimmered like polished jewels, and the lights danced in rainbows off the smooth facets of cut crystal.

“Thank you,” Bishop Zane Clayton stood beside her, showing more than a little bit of pride in their achievement. “We honestly didn’t expect it to be this dazzling when we started the drilling, but there was far more differentiation in the subsurface rock than we’d expected.”

“So far we’ve not tunneled into the surface at all. Everything we’ve built is on the surface,” she said, walking up to the wall and sliding her fingers over the fused surface. “This must have taken you quite a while to excavate.”

“Actually, we cut the first drift in under a week,” he said. “The lasers gave us the finish in a single step.”

“How large is the Repository?” she asked, stumbling a little on the name. “It isn’t a colony per se is it?”

“No, although there will be several hundred people here as caretakers, it’s not designed to be self-sufficient,” he said, leading her along the gallery as they talked. Side tunnels, only slightly smaller than the Great Hall, branched out at right angles. Here and there a person passed, smiling and nodding at them, but otherwise leaving them alone.

“So what is it you’re doing?” she asked. “Repository makes it sound like a library or storage facility.”

“Strictly speaking, both are true,” another man said, walking up behind them. He was a striking presence, and Viki almost felt the desire to bow.

“First Counselor Stanford,” the Bishop said by way of introduction. “Dr. Viktoria Rosnikov, the Director of Sentinel.”

“A pleasure,” the Counselor said, smiling and shaking her hand. “I understand we’re in your debt for the repairs to the
Wilford Woodruff.”

“It was no problem,” she said. “Fortunately we had the expertise on hand.”

“Truly,” he said. “Now to clarify my answer about the Repository. It is indeed both a library and a storage center, for genetic samples. Held within these walls are the samples from every member in good standing of the Church. Here they will remain frozen for a hundred years, so that when the Earth has recovered, we may return and repopulate the planet.”

“It represents the essence of almost thirty-one million people,” Clayton said. He turned and walked down a side hall several steps, and accessed a small screen. “Here, for example, are the eggs of one Sister. Her family history is recorded with her sample, so that when the time comes, we may fertilize her egg with someone we know is not a member of her family.”

“How will you incubate the eggs?” Viki asked.

“We have two hundred volunteer Sisters who will provide womb service,” Stanford said, cracking a very Colton-esque grin.

“For thirty-one MILLION?” she asked.

“Of course not,” the Bishop said. “We only allow our Sisters to have children until they reach thirty-five.”

“Thirty-five, why?” she asked, thinking she suddenly felt old.

“Because thirty-six is too many,” he said.

“Actually, the ones who have volunteered to come here as part of the Repository Mission, are only to provide sufficient children to make sure that, when we return to Earth, our population will include women who are still at a viable childbearing age,” the Counselor said.

“Ahh,” she said. “That makes it easy to plan for a set population for the duration of your mission. It’s a very good idea.”

“The Prophet himself came up with the plan,” Bishop Clayton said. “Or actually, Heavenly Father showed him His wishes.”

“Either way, it’s an excellent plan,” she said.

“Since you are the first outsider to visit us here, I assume you had some reason for your trip?” Stanford said.

“Oh yes, sorry,” Viki said. “I’m here to invite you to attend a meeting with the other colonies. We hope to establish a treaty to prevent further misunderstandings like the one that caused your ship to be fired upon.”

“The Chinese will be attending this meeting?” the Counselor asked.

“In fact, it was their idea,” she said.

“We’ll be there,” he said, “providing you can help us with transportation. We have no small vehicles here at Zion. Once the
Joseph Smith
arrives with the Prophet and the Apostles, we don’t intend to leave the Repository until we return to Earth.”

***

Cape Canaveral, Florida:

Joshua Lange had taken to sleeping on the grounds. His wife and kids had moved with him into one of the small apartments kept in reserve for the astronauts. He’d decided that it was just too dangerous to live outside the security of the Agency’s facilities. His wife Cecelia had protested until he’d shown her the report on the Vandenberg massacre.

An unfortunate side effect of their move was every time something went wrong, he was right at hand. He didn’t like that much, but it went with the job. This morning though, when the President called, he was particularly annoyed. For the first time in months, he and Cece were rather intimately involved, and the call came in a few seconds too soon for them to have finished.

“Yes ma’am, I was awake,” he said, sitting on the side of his bed and looking into the small video screen on his handheld. “I’m always awake in the middle of the night,” he added under his breath, instantly regretting it.

“Aren’t we all lately,” she said. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m giving the order to evacuate Canaveral and Houston immediately.”

“Excuse me? We’ve still got two and a half weeks before we’re supposed to pull up the rope,” he said.

“The situation has changed,” she said. “The Mid-East has gotten out of hand. We believe they have released a bio-weapon and there’s a possibility we’ll not be able to contain it to the region.”

“Holy shit,” Cecelia said behind him. She slapped her hand over her mouth and stared up at the ceiling.

“It’s spreading faster than anything we’ve ever encountered. If you’re not quarantined within the next twenty-four hours it may be too late,” the President said. “If you have any people in Europe, do NOT allow them to return. This is that serious a threat.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said. “We’ve got at least a week before we can start closing up launch operations at Canaveral.”

“Not anymore you don’t,” she said. “Good luck Joshua.”

***

New Hope Colony, Plato:

The commons had been overwhelmed with a pressing mass of human flesh. Three thousand people had shoved into the colony in twelve days. Boatloads of NASA’s finest, crammed into the open areas like the refugees they’d become. The tired, the poor, but most just those yearning to breathe. At least for a while longer.

When the commons had filled to capacity, they’d spread out along the edges of the interconnecting tunnels, staking claim to small patches of ground like the homeless clung to their turf along a Bronx alleyway. It was painfully tragic to see families sprawling out on the open ground, but everyone knew it was only temporary. New domes were popping up at a breakneck pace, and with each exterior completed, its future residents swarmed in and finished the interior, freeing the experienced crews to move on to the next.

Food had been stockpiled to buffer them over until the gardens came up to full capacity. No one was hungry, and they’d continue to eat, even if they were all down to a tight 1,200 calories a day.

Walking through the huddled masses, Dick Rogers was aware of two things, the warm and almost overpowering scent of too many bodies with too little water for showers, and the fact he had no Secret Service escort for the first time in over eight years. The first bothered him far more than the second. He also felt a slight twinge at the idea that he’d showered this morning, but he didn’t suppose anyone would notice.

“Mr. Vice President,” a woman sprung up in front of him, smiling broadly. Behind her, two small children sat playing with some electronic toy, oblivious to their situation. “I just want to say how proud I am of the work you and the President did, trying to save the world.”

“Thank you,” he said, thoroughly shocked at her apparent good spirits. “I’m not the Vice President anymore, though.”

“Why not? Did the President die?” she asked, horror playing across her face. Several others looked up, and realizing who she was talking to, stood up. “Are you the President now?”

“No, she’s fine. I just resigned to take a position here in the Colony,” he said, putting on his most reassuring face. “I guess I’m in charge.”