Stormhaven Rising (Atlas and the Winds Book 1) (39 page)

She’d decided that the first site survey she wanted to do was just inside the south rim of Plato. She liked the idea that the floor of the crater was smooth and that the crater rim was steep enough to provide some shelter for the residences. It would help if she had a clue as to how they intended to build the colony, or how large it would turn out to be, but she was hopeful that her first choice would be suitable.

Even at the MPL’s best speed, it would take her a week just to get across the Sinus Iridum, making the crater floor at least nine days away. That meant if she could get rolling by end of shift tomorrow, she’d make her destination just before the local sunset.

Studying the charts and thinking over her options, a slight change in pressure told her that someone was cycling the lock. “Hello?” she hollered out from the map room.

Tony Baker popped through the door. “Randy just left for the ISS, apparently they’re sending up another geologist” he said. “They’ve also managed to get four more canisters of supplies launched out of White Sands.” He looked at her like he was trying to figure out what she was doing with all the maps spread out across the table. She still hadn’t told anyone else about the new mission, but now that they were sending up new people, she knew she’d have to give them the news.

“I figured they’d be making us work skinny up here,” she said.

“Sure, if you say so. It’s kinda surprising to the rest of us too.” He stared at her for several more seconds before he stepped around her and put his hand in the center of the map she’d been studying. “Care to explain?” he asked.

She looked up at him, feeling frustration welling up. She’d hoped to hold off a bit longer, but she knew it wasn’t going to make it any easier. “Did Randy drop the last container of the MPL before he headed out?”

“He bounced it down about ten minutes ago and he’s already back up to the
Reliant
.” He still held his hand in the middle of the map and showed no sign of being deflected. “Owen’s a little pissed. He’d expected to be heading home, but Randy told him that wasn’t going to happen this time.”

“Nobody goes home till the party’s over,” she said, moving his hand out of her way and rolling the maps up to stick them back in their storage tube.

“So what’s the story?” he said. “NASA seems to have gone insane and it’s making us all a little nervous. I tried to ask for clarification from Huston, but other than saying that Randy was right about Owen, they’re not talking.”

“I don’t suppose they are,” she said.

“You know what’s going on,” he said, leaning back against the wall.

“Yeah,” she admitted, sighing heavily. “I’ve been told to hold off talking to anyone until it was absolutely necessary.” Tucking the tubes under her arm, she headed toward the airlock. She stopped at the equipment rack and turned back toward him. “You and DJ drag the pieces of the MPL over to Building Seven and when that’s done, we’ll have a meeting. I’d rather not have to do this more than once.” She snapped her gloves on, slung the PLS over her shoulders, and grabbed her fishbowl before turning into the airlock. “Are you coming?” she asked.

***

Stormhaven:

They stood on the bridge of the
Draco
, the third of Stormhaven’s ships, where it sat waiting at the end of the fabrication shop like an unfulfilled promise. Far below them, the dervish dance of robots wove a hypnotic pattern at an impossible pace. Seeming to occupy space simultaneously for brief instants, the eye lingered between the reality of a near miss and the illusion of spatial distortion. To an engineer it was an impressive achievement of automation, and to anyone else it was simply astonishing.

Each of the two Japanese visitors fell into one category, but both watched in fascination as Mica spun her magic in nanosecond increments. “You have an impressive facility Mr. Taylor. I am sure my government would love to study your processes,” Ambassador Kuromori said.

“In fact, these processes were developed by an automation expert with a certain intuitive understanding.” Cole grinned at his secret.

“Ah, a fortunate find for you,” Sayo Itaki, the technical attaché who was accompanying the Ambassador, said, smiling.

“And indeed it is our misfortune,” Kuromori said, turning away from the window to face the interior of the ship. “It was our intent to offer you a manufacturing pact in exchange for access to your technology. Though I fear that it is we who should be begging education from you in this field.”

Cole chuckled out loud. “Ambassador, I should say that anything we have here is available to you if you could do one thing for us.” Cole’s speech patterns had drifted toward the Japanese syntax, while Viki and Tom grinned at the chameleon smoothness of his ability to make someone feel at ease.

“And that would be?” Kuromori asked.

“We seem to be at odds with our government at the moment—“ Cole began.

“And who isn’t right now?” Kuromori interrupted, rolling his eyes in a very American gesture.

“Yes, but you have certain status that can be useful in keeping us from being pushed below the radar grid,” Tom explained.

“Ah, I understand what it is that you are asking.” The light returned to his face. Obviously the Ambassador had been frustrated by the possibility that there might not be a place from which to negotiate. “You need a champion in the world court. Perhaps someone to challenge their right to impose this blockade."

“Yes, exactly,” Cole agreed. “We know that we’re all up against the same thing, Ambassador. We don’t have time to...“ He stopped himself from using a colorful metaphor.

“Pussy-foot around?” the old man finished for him, smiling broadly. “I do believe we have a foundation from which to build.”

“Excellent!” Cole said, holding his arm out to indicate that they should head back inside the community. “Then I think Dr. Itaki needs to sit down with our Science and Fabrication team, while you and I discuss the details of the political problem.”

***

Atlanta, Georgia:

The lights were off in the huge sanctuary that served as both a television studio and the headquarters of the Faith Unlimited Network, but Nathaniel Sommerset enjoyed the darkness. It was cool and comforting to him, but mostly it was quiet. He often sat alone in the church listening for that still voice that came in moments like this.

He’d just finished his daily broadcast and the congregation had filed out, feeling good about themselves and their personal relationship with the Savior. It had been a powerful meeting today, and the Lord had moved him to deliver a strong message on faith and the blessings of eternal life. He allowed himself a bit of pride, even knowing that it was a sin, but it was one of the few that he had ever permitted himself.

He often fought with that one. Pride. But he’d accomplished so much for the Lord that he knew he’d be forgiven when his day of deliverance came. So now, instead of feeling the need to ask for forgiveness, he was praying for inspiration.

“What new message do You need for me to give our people, my Lord? How should I prepare them for the day when they will come unto Thee?” he asked, as he knelt alone in his sanctuary.

He paused, feeling the light of God filling his soul and nearly wept in the moment. It happened to him often these days, and he knew it was the feeling of Divine Inspiration that was washing over him.

Thunder from an approaching storm rumbled through the walls of the church as if it were the voice of the Lord, and a slight smile creased the corners of his mouth. The weather reports had predicted the possibility of rain so the sound, while amusing, didn’t seem particularly significant. His gaze shifted, settling on the intricate stained-glass window that stood behind the pulpit. The sun shone briefly through, lighting the room with the colors of the rainbow.

Another low rumble, louder this time, rattled the candles on the front of the riser and he turned and stared. The ground shook and he knew that the storm was nearly on top of the church. But the sun still lit the window.

The wind picked up and he could hear the glass creaking. He tried to go back to his prayer, ignoring the sounds as best he could. “Lord, show me what You want from me. Guide me, and I will do Your work faithfully.” Lightning flashed and the thunder pounded almost instantly. “In spite of the storm,” he added as an afterthought.

Another flash, and then darkness fell over him like a heavy shroud. He spiraled down into unconsciousness, not knowing what had happened. Except that he’d heard the voice of God, and he knew what was expected of him.

The storm was approaching.

***

Amundsen Radio Observatory, Amundsen Crater, Luna:

Word had not arrived at the small laboratory that they were going to become the front line in China’s
Zhen-Long
program. For the moment, they shared their workspace with life-support equipment and the He3 processor. It was a cramped space, carved out a floor below the surface and hidden under the back shell of the radio telescope that dominated the observatory installation.

But that was fine with Dr. Chun and his three technicians.

Their work was so secret that even most of the Taikonauts that worked with them had no clue what they were actually doing. It also meant they had an unusual degree of autonomy.

The Forced Helium Reaction Experiment had arrived early today and they were busily uncrating it and inspecting the components. The manager of the Amundsen Crater Facility, Pau Du, was the only other person at the southern facility who knew the true nature of their work. He had delivered it to them personally, and now stood watching them eagerly opening the storage container. He smiled at their enthusiasm. “Dr. Chun, may I have a word with you?” Pau interrupted reluctantly.

The scientist spun around to look at Pau, startled that he was still in the lab. “Of course, Manager Pau,” he said. Then glancing back at the technicians, he gestured that they should continue with their work.

Pau waited for him outside the door. “What can I do for you?” he said, closing the hatch behind him.

“You have new orders, Chun.” He held out a microdisk.

Alarm played across the doctor’s face. “I do?” he said, taking the disk and swallowing hard on the knot of fear that appeared in his chest. “I’m not being transferred? There is no one here that could complete the work.”

Pau smiled and shook his head. “No, you have been promoted. These orders will explain everything.” He nodded, and left the scientist to read his new assignment in silence. Chun slipped the disk in his portable reader and watched the file load.

Chun had been promoted, to Director of Warhead Development for
Zhen-Long
. Further, the orders stated, he’d been given the responsibility of developing a one-thousand gigaton warhead and overseeing its testing and deployment within the next sixteen months. He was told that the new Prefect would give him further instructions when he arrived at Chang Er later in the week.

Zhen-Long? Prefect?
A million questions flashed through his mind, but for now he put them aside. He had an experiment to finish unpacking.

***

Camp Kryptonite:

“No, I’m afraid Secretary Anderson is still not available,” the secretary said, offering no explanation.

“But I’m ... having a crisis here.” He said it, even as he realized exactly how cliché it sounded.

“I am sorry to hear that, Agent Shapiro.” He could hear the woman trying to control her urge to giggle, and it didn’t help that DeMarko and Watkins were both caught in a life and death struggle not to laugh. He tried to glare them into silence, but neither appeared to notice.

“Fine, when do you think he’s going to be available?”

“I honestly don’t know. He left immediately following his meeting with the President last night, and gave instructions that he not be disturbed under any circumstances. I can put you through to Undersecretary Worthington. He’s just arrived and I’m sure he’d be willing to take your call, Agent Shapiro."

Shapiro glanced at his watch: 8:00 AM in Washington. He’d been trying to get through to Secretary Anderson since Kuromori had gone into Stormhaven last night. It had been a long night. A very long night. Especially when he was being stonewalled by his boss’s staff. This shouldn’t happen when the situation he was dealing with was so critical to the country’s interest. Something had to be wrong.

“Never mind,” he said, reaching the end of his patience. “I’ll call Secretary Herman.” He slammed the satphone closed with a violent flip of his wrist.

“With Kuromori in there, I really don’t need this turning into an armed standoff,” he growled, glancing at the screens that showed the cameras scanning the front of Stormhaven. “For all we know, we’ve got a hostage situation with the Ambassador.“ Shapiro was looking up the direct line number for the Secretary of State.

“I don’t think so,” DeMarko said, nodding at the screen where the Ambassador’s car was visible pulling out of the ramp and starting to run the press gauntlet toward the gate.

He stopped dialing and grabbed a radio off the table. “Gate. Send someone down to the junction. I want to talk to the Ambassador. Do not let him drive away. Use force if necessary.”