Prometheus and the Dragon (Atlas and the Winds Book 2) (41 page)

Joshua had explained they were going to be boarding the ship before they hoisted the dropships into place for the flight, so she knew she wouldn’t get to see how it was done. That was ok with her, especially since her children were losing patience with waiting around in a tightly packed crowd of strangers.

“Mommy, when do we get to go ‘board?” Samantha whined, jerking her arm up and down like a pull chain on a lamp. She was four, and from her vantage point close to the floor, she couldn’t see what was happening. Her world was full of adult butts, and not much else.

“Soon Sammy,” she said, trying to hold her hand still in spite of the child’s persistent thrashing.

“When’s Dad coming to get us?” her son Steven, a far more mature six years old, asked. He resisted the urge to jerk on her arm, and she was grateful for his somewhat more tolerant attitude.

“He said he’d be back as soon as they’re ready,” she said, looking down into his brown eyes and trying to smile. “It shouldn’t be too much longer.”

“What do they have to get ready for?” he asked. “Can’t we go inside the spaceship while they’re doing it?”

“I don’t know what they have to do, but it’s important stuff. Like what your Dad does all the time,” she said.

“Like putting air in the rockets?” Samantha asked. “It’s why they go
whoosh.”

“Yes Sammy, it’s why they go whoosh,” she said, looking up and rolling her eyes. Someone beside her snickered.

“You’re so dumb,” Steven said. “And Dad told me this spaceship doesn’t go whoosh anyway. It’s like the one Mister Sprock flew on TV.” The snicker erupted into a full-blown laugh, and Cecelia blushed.

“Would you two please hush now,” she said, squatting down to their level and whispering. “You need to be quiet so we can hear when Daddy calls us. We wouldn’t want to miss our spaceship would we?”

Steven’s eyes got huge and he glared at his sister like it was all her fault. “Shut up, Samantha,” he hissed, pressing a finger to his lips.

She scrunched her face up like a Shar Pei and stuck her tongue out at him, but she didn’t make a sound.

When she stood up, she saw her husband almost running across the tarmac toward them. “Come on, move it!” he yelled, waving his arms like he was trying to beat an imaginary dead horse back to life. Several of the people around her exchanged curious glances, and a few of them started to amble toward the ship.

“Move! Move!
Move!”
he barked, beating the invisible horse harder. Some of them started trotting toward the open hatch on the front of the ship but it wasn’t until they heard a distinct popping that they understood the importance of his screaming.

The source of the sound was still out of sight, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out it was gunfire. So the rocket scientists, and mere mortals alike, shifted gears into a full gallop toward the safety of the ship.

Joshua grabbed Steven up into his arms as they raced past him. Cecelia swung her daughter off the ground, running full-out toward the open hatch. Three army soldiers stood on each side of the airlock looking behind the people as they came charging out into the open. The nearest guard started waving his arms and ran far to the left as the frightened passengers approached. The banging behind them grew louder and he dropped to one knee, taking aim past the crowd. Seeing him, several people swerved out of his way and he opened up, emptying the clip in his rifle and slapping the flip-clip into place.

Bullets scuffed the ground around him as several shots rang out. One of them nearly grazed his leg, but he held his position and rattled off another clip. The two other soldiers opened fire in the next instant. Cecelia saw one of them lurch sideways and look down at his arm. A thick red spot covered the back of his sleeve. He stumbled away from the door, and switching his gun to the opposite side, hammered off several more rounds before he collapsed. He shook his head and sat there for several seconds before he fell onto his back.

She reached the stairs a step ahead of her husband, pushing Sammy up into the arms of a uniformed officer standing inside. She twisted around and almost slung Steven bodily through the door. When she turned around again to look at her husband, he was gone. She paused, wanting to go after him, but strong hands grabbed her from behind and hauled her inside. “No,” she screamed, but the surging people carried her further and further into the ship.

Just as she was forced upstairs to the mid-deck, she caught a glimpse of Joshua through the still open hatch. He was picking up the wounded soldier and throwing him over his shoulder. He’d grabbed his gun and was shooting at the advancing mob while he staged a one man fighting withdrawal back toward the
Lynx
.

The floor lurched sideways and then up at her, like an express elevator running at a forty-five degree slope. Several people screamed in surprise and through it all she heard Sammy crying. Putting aside her fear for her husband, she pushed her way through the packed hallway until she found her daughter. Steven had his arms around her and was squeezing her. She wasn’t scared, she was angry because he wouldn’t let go.

“Where’s Dad?” he asked, looking serious, too serious for a six year old.

“I can’t see him right now,” she said. She knew better than to lie to her son. He could see it better than his father could.

“Did he save that army man?” he asked.

“I know he tried,” she said, not knowing what else she could say.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and froze, not wanting to turn around. Taking a deep breath, and closing her eyes in one of those instant prayers that every woman learns as soon as they have kids, or a fighter pilot husband, she turned.

And looked straight into the smiling eyes of her husband. A split second later she noticed the blood that covered him. Fresh, bright red, blood. “Oh my God, you’ve been shot,” she gasped.

He looked down at his shirt in shock. “It’s ok, it’s not my blood,” he said. “It isn’t as bad as it looks.”

“Did you save him, Dad?” Steven asked.

“You betcha I did,” he said. “He’ll be fine. We’re all going to be fine.” It was unfortunate, at that very moment, a missile fired from the mob exploded just below them. The ship shuddered violently and felt like it was falling for several seconds before the lights went out.

“This is your Captain speaking,” a voice came through the darkness. “We might experience some turbulence, so if you all don’t mind sitting down right where you’re standing, we’re going to try to get some altitude under us before they pull off another shot.”

He paused for several seconds and then added, “Director Lange, if you’re on board, please report to the bridge immediately.”

***

Unity Colony, Eastern Mare Frigoris:

They had set the table up in the open air, on a stone stage that lay against the crater’s central up thrust ridge. The banana colored grass had spread like weeds since they’d introduced it to the interior, and it gave the air the sweet smell of a tropical forest. The air was still tinged with the distant odor of the regolith, but it was yielding its wet-ash stench to a more natural and fragrant scent.

Behind the hill, crews were working on the first foundations of what would become the colony’s government and administrative complex. For now, the distant mechanical thunder almost seemed as soothing as a far off, rumbling storm. The open space itself giving freshness to the fact they were indeed truly alive.

The mood of the delegates was high, bordering on enthusiastic. A strange counterpoint to the crushing reality of what the Earth was facing a mere eight days away.

Becki Czao glowed, a radiant centerpiece to the conference, she had finally blossomed into her place at center stage. The fact that she represented the most troublesome colony on the moon remained hidden beneath her overwhelming charm. She bowed politely as she was introduced to the other delegates, brushing each of them with a delicately worded edification. She was in her element, and intended to come away from the negotiations with everything her people needed.

She was as surprised as everyone else when the Sentinel Delegation arrived. Not that they weren’t expected, because at least some of the delegates were prepared to debate whether they were entitled to participate, but when those seated at the table realized who had come with them, the stunned silence was profound. Even Becki, the relative newcomer to the world of diplomacy, knew who had walked into the room and that his mere presence had somehow shifted the fabric of the discussion.

“Ambassador Kuromori,” Dick Rogers said, jumping to his feet and bowing. A split second later Takao Mito joined him. Although the New Hope Chancellor showed his respect openly, the expression on Mito’s face bordered on adoration.

“I did not know you were in the colonies,” he said.

“I did not expect to be here, my old friend,” Kuromori said, returning the respectful bow. “Mr. Vice President, or is it Mr. Chancellor now?” he bowed again.

“Distinguished friends,” he went on, gesturing for those who still stood to sit. “I trust we have not missed anything of importance?”

“Not yet,” Helen Troianne said. “We were about to start the proceedings, but if you wish to address us in an informal capacity we would welcome your comments.”

“Ah, I am not here to address you in an informal manner,” he said, stepping forward and handing her a black folder. “I am here to present our credentials to this august group, and request formal recognition.”

He waited while she opened the portfolio and read over the first page. Her eyes widened, and she struggled to contain a smile. The fact that her face displayed any emotion at all indicated to everyone the level to which she was surprised. She passed the folder to Chancellor Rogers without comment.

“In the closing session of the United Nations World Assembly, dated twenty-seven December of this year,” Kuromori recited. “Formal recognition is granted to Stormhaven, and thus is conveyed the full and lawful status as a Sovereign Nation of the Earth. Territories granted and held under such Declaration are the Sentinel Keep Lunar Facility, and the Zion Repository of Luna, as a protectorate jurisdiction. These Territories, collectively known as Stormhaven, are to be considered full and equal Members of the World Assembly and are not to be denied rights on the basis of race, creed or religion. Signed this day, Kenneth M’Benga, Secretary General, United Nations World Assembly.”

“How did you get this through?” Dick Rogers asked, stunned.

“We simply waited until you lost interest in international affairs,” he said. “The session was officially declared, even though the United States representative was absent.”

“Well then, I guess that puts the debate to rest. Who am I to argue,” he said, smiling in spite of himself.

“If it pleases the Chair, I would now like to present my personal credentials and request a seat at this meeting as the duly authorized Ambassador of Stormhaven,” he said, taking a second folder from the woman standing behind him and passing it to Madam Troianne.

“Please, Ambassador Kuromori,” she said, taking it and laying it in front of her unopened. “I’m sure no one here questions your worthiness or qualifications to sit at this table. Indeed, I personally look forward to working with you as we strive to bring a lasting peace to the colonies.”

Becki sat back in her chair, smiling. Mentally she was working the details of the new diplomatic topography into place. Kuromori might have upstaged her, but she was sure he would only prove to be an ally in the end. Ultimately, he had stood firm against the American interests before. She was sure he would again.

***

Salt Lake City, Utah:

The
Joseph Smith
was not the largest of the ships the LDS church had constructed, nor was it the fastest, but it was perhaps the most spectacular. A shining silver spire extended upward from a sphere almost three hundred feet in diameter. Four nacelle extended from the main chamber outward, to what were clearly the engine assemblies. Its skin was polished to a perfect shine that seemed to glow in the early morning light.

It had snowed during the night, covering the square with a pure white blanket before the sky cleared to let the light through. Inside the Temple, the Prophet and Apostles were preparing to make their journey to Zion, blessing each other, and the two hundred women who would be joining them. It was an emotional and private ceremony, evocative of the days when a group of Mormon pioneers were preparing to cross the harsh wastelands to establish settlements in the western United States. It was a scene that had played out hundreds of times in their history, and would most likely repeat hundreds of times again in the future. The difference this time was they were not leaving behind oppression, they were leaving behind everything.

Quietly they filed into the ship, no fanfare, no singing choirs. But this was only the beginning of their Mission. For the next six days, they would remain in orbit, broadcasting blessings upon the faithful. The
Joseph Smith
would be visible above the Earth, a shining star in the sky until the moment when Antu finally robbed the Earth of its view of the heavens. A symbol to the Saints everywhere that the Church would live on.

***