Stormhaven Rising (Atlas and the Winds Book 1) (43 page)

Cole smiled at his friend. “The thing we need to know is that we can use it to offset the government’s advantage.”

“If we can get them deployed without being caught,” Daryl said.

“Which brings us to another question,” Cole said. “How do we get them outside without getting the shit shot out of us?”

“If I may suggest a solution?” Mica said, joining in unexpectedly.

“Of course, Mica,” Cole said.

“I can shut down the satellite network for as long as you require,” it said. “I have acquired total access to the Defnet systems and can utilize it at will.”

“At will?” Tom asked, a split second before Cole formed the question.

“Whenever instructed to do so,” Mica corrected.

“Really. How long have you been able to do this?” Cole asked.

“Since before the launch of the
Dancing Star
,” it said. “I used this ability to scramble their systems during your flight. It was effective in slowing their response. At that point I had limited access to their systems, but determined that improving my infiltration capacity would have a high desirability as the situation increased in intensity. Was I wrong in doing so?”

“No. I wouldn’t say you were wrong. But please check with me before you do anything active outside our network.” Cole said.

“Understood,” Mica said.

“How long can you blind their satellites?” Dave asked, joining the conversation from across the room, where he stood beside Cole staring at the image of the weapon.

“Potentially as long as required,” Mica said. “And since the F-35 Lightning is dependent upon satellite guidance for targeting its weapons systems, it would be essentially possible to operate with impunity.”

“They still have cannons. Those are a live-fire, local-targeting weapon,” Cole said, glancing at Dave for confirmation.

“True, but the pilots utilize satellite-based Situational Awareness technology. Without it they can’t even access their night-flight map,” he said. “I flew a Lightning in training, and we were told to keep one eye on the HUD, one on the SA screen, and one out the window.”

“A three eyed pilot is a genetic improbability,” Mica said, unaware of the obviousness of its comment.

“Exactly.” Dave almost laughed. “Pilots only use line-of-sight weapons during daylight and with close-in targets. They’re trained to trust their Situational Awareness more than their real-world vision.”

“So, you’re saying that if we could feed them false SA data they’d never even notice if we pulled the projectors out into the field?” Daryl asked.

“Probably true,” Dave nodded.

“Mica, can you send up a spoofing signal to the satellite rather than just jamming their signal?” Cole asked.

“Theoretically,” the computer replied. “Do I have permission to research the protocols in the Defense Network to confirm this?”

“Yes,” Cole said, pleased that the limit he’d just placed on the computer was obviously in place.

After less than a second Mica said, “I have located the data, and have completed my analysis. I can provide false information to the patrol craft without being detected.”

“Then let’s see if we can use it to sneak the
Dancing Star
and the
Pegasus
off the field tonight,” Cole suggested.

“Shapiro’s going to have a shit-fit over that one.” Tom chuckled.

***

Lunar Resource Station, Promontorium Heraclides:

The Mobile Prospector Lab was shipped mostly assembled, and had survived the transit intact. Working together, under Susan’s supervision, they’d managed to get it operational in less than a day. Not that it was an easy day, even in the lunar gravity, but they’d gotten it done.

When it was all together, it resembled a pull-toy train for a giant child. It stood nearly twelve-feet tall and over a hundred feet long with all the trailing components in place. The Command Locomotion Module rode on six huge wire-frame wheels with the spherical pilot deck extending in front of the first set of wheels and the cylindrical habitat areas running back over the motor framework. Other than the pilot area, there was a small galley, an airlock, a bunk area for the crew and very little else to it.

In its present configuration the CLM was attached to three trailers, each of them riding on independent wheels. With the exception of the Utility Module that provided power and life support to the whole MPL, the other lab modules could be left behind or changed out for future mission-specific hardware. Interconnecting flexible tunnels also meant that the entire MPL was kept pressurized, making it possible for the crew to walk from end-to-end without going outside.

She’d insisted that she take it for a crawl around the immediate area, checking the autopilot, life support, and communications systems for problems before she set out. At full-throttle she’d managed to get it up to ten kilometers an hour but it had the greatest power-to-range efficiency at half that speed. Calling it a snail would be an insult to snails everywhere. Still, what it lacked in speed, it made up for in sure-footedness, easily climbing a forty-degree hillside with the trailers in tow.

The original mission planners had wanted the MPL to make several progressively longer sorties away from the LRS, all of them being done only when the lander was available to shuttle the crew back to the Base in the event of a breakdown. NASA didn’t like to take risks, but when she’d argued that if she didn’t get rolling before the end of the work shift she was going to have to wait until the next sunrise to make her first exploratory run, they’d capitulated. She’d promised to take enough extra air for her EVA suit, so that in the worst case, she could sit and wait for the
Reliant
to return.

As an added insurance policy, she had Tony Baker fabricate a small rack on the last laboratory module, and they strapped one of the LRS’s electroquads to it. They also rigged a charger from one of the external power couplings on the Utility Module and ran the cable back to the small scooter. It might only have a hundred mile range, but she felt more comfortable knowing that if she broke down in terrain too rough to get her out with the lander, she’d be able to get to where they could, without having to walk. She also knew, that with the autopilot able to keep the MPL moving on its own, she’d be able to use the E-quad to do some sightseeing.

So, with a final nod from the Director himself, she headed out east-northeast from the highlands of the Promontorium Heraclides, downhill toward the relative flatlands of the Sinus Iridum. The autopilot took over the maneuvering of the MPL, steering and dodging small craters without her intervention. After several hours of staring out the windows at the slowly changing landscape she went back into the galley to fix herself a meal. The robot brain of the MPL knew what it could handle, and if something came up that was beyond its ability to interpret, it would call for her attention. After a while she dozed, boredom far outweighing the excitement of traveling across the lunar wasteland. Occasionally she’d wake, jostled by a small lurch or bump, but even those settled into her subconscious, leaving her to her dreams.

***

San Francisco:

The ceremony at the government’s new Center for Abused Women and Children had gone as planned. The President delivered a moving oratory about the future of humanity depending on the children of today having a sheltered place from which to build a promising tomorrow.

Even as she spoke the words, she knew she should have read the speech beforehand. The flowing and passionate dedication hung bitterly in her throat. She choked and stumbled on their empty promise.

She’d been fine, until she’d recognized the name of this place as one of those that had been sacrificed, even before its birth, to feed the deepening maw of the Hammerthrow and Colony budgets. Halfway through the speech she flashed back to the order she’d signed, dropping the ax on a dozen similar places.

In her mind it had been trading one shelter for another. One destiny in the moment, for one in the future. She felt the promise she was making to these children lying in ruin around her. Empty words.

Instead of taking the time to enjoy those guests who stood in awe of her, she rushed to the door, leaving John to make the public show of support. Her hands trembled for the few brief handshakes that she endured between the podium and the door. The plastic expression that stretched thinly across her face threatened to tear into a terrified grimace of anguish.

John had watched the words came out of her, bringing entire chunks of her soul with them. When she apologized with only a brief glance, she knew he’d understood, stepping into the breach to cover her tracks with his diplomatic polish.

Waiting for him to finish with the photo-op, she sat in her office in Air Force One trying to relax. Understanding even without knowing, Janice brought her a snifter of cognac and disappeared to run interference and allow her privacy with her thoughts. Music rolled softly from the media player and she’d almost managed to get her emotions under control when the door to her office opened slightly. “Yes?” she said.

“Sorry to disturb you, Sylvia,” John stuck his head in, “but I think you’ve got something you need to deal with.”

“What else is new,” she said, opening her eyes and setting the crystal glass on the table. She glanced out the window. The sun had set.

“Norman just went off on GNS. Did you know he was planning to do that?” he asked, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

“What?” She tilted the chair up and swiveled to face him. “I haven’t spoken to him since last night.”

“He called a press conference about an hour ago and announced that GNS was involved in a conspiracy to assassinate some of the Cabinet.” John sat down on the corner of her desk. “He issued arrest warrants for Gordon Hanford and Bradford Stone."

“Excuse me?” She stood up uncertainly, shaking off the fog that had wrapped her legs like a blanket. She had been sitting motionless for longer than she’d realized. “They’re the ones that caused him so much trouble during his appointment hearings. He’s held a grudge ever since then.”

“Yeah, I know,” John said, “You don’t think this is legit?”

“I’m sure he’d have let me know if it was,” she said, grabbing the phone on her desk. “Captain, get us airborne immediately. I need to get to Washington right now.” Outside, the engines were starting to spin-up even before she put the headset down. The cabin lights flickered and the buckle-in chime sounded as the plane eased forward.

“If this isn’t something real, I’m going to kill that bastard,” she growled through clenched teeth. “I sure as hell don’t need him playing games.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t do something like this without a reason,” John offered in Norman’s defense.

She grabbed the phone again, “Janice get me Secretary Anderson. I want to talk to him, immediately.” She held the phone, waiting for the call to connect through.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, his office says he’s not available,” Janice said after several seconds.

“Have them hunt his ass down. I don’t care what he’s doing, he’s available to me.” She slammed the phone down, her eyes flashing fire.

“I don’t know what he’s up to, but I’m going to have his balls for breakfast.”

***

Oops

Camp Kryptonite:

“What the hell do you mean,
they’re gone?
” Shapiro barked into the comlink. He stood in line in the mess tent waiting for his dinner. It was later than normal, and he’d expected to be eating alone, but with so many troops stationed at the camp, there was still a line hours after sundown.

“Exactly what I said,” Schimmel replied. “They’ve moved the ships. They’re gone.”

Shapiro slammed his tray down with a clattering rattle and swore under his breath. The soldier beside him nodded, “Yeah, the food sucks.”

He looked at the man blankly, shook his head and took off toward the door at a dead run. “Play back the video. What happened?"

“We already did. They just flew them out,” Schimmel said.

“Didn’t the fighters see it? Where the hell was the patrol?” Shapiro asked.

“Maybe they were sleeping,” he suggested.

“At 600 miles per hour? I hope not.” He ran through the back door of the main tent.“I’m almost there, patch me through to the pilots. I want to talk with them."

Schimmel was holding a radio as he skidded through the door. “Watchdog One, this is AiC Shapiro. Do you read me?”

“Roger, AiC. What can I do for you?” the pilot drawled, casually.

“Please confirm the location of the Stormhaven craft,” Shapiro asked, already knowing the answer.

“They’re right where they were, sir.”

“No. They are not,” Shapiro said, stunned.

“Begging your pardon, sir.” Annoyance crept into the pilot’s voice. “I’ve got a satellite fix on the ships. They’re still standing right where they left them.”

“Please do a fly-over and confirm that for me,” Shapiro said, his voice level but tight.