Prometheus and the Dragon (Atlas and the Winds Book 2) (31 page)

“Let’s get you unsuited, then we’ll take a quick tour before you meet with Susan,” Carter offered.

“Actually, I’m carrying papers from the President for her,” he said, turning around so that Carter could help him with his LSU. “I’m supposed to have the two of you read these documents as soon as possible.”

“Well then, we’ll skip the tour for now,” he said.

Ten minutes later they were sitting in Susan Winslow’s office, the new larger office she’d just moved into, reading over the new Presidential Orders. They outlined a provisional government for the Colony that consisted of three branches. A Civilian, a Scientific and a Security Department. Decisions about the colony would be made by a Council consisting of the three branch heads, and a so far unnamed Chancellor, who would act as Ambassador, preside over meetings and mediate, but otherwise have no direct power.

Separate documents put Susan as permanent head of the Civilian branch, Carter was given the Scientific department, and General Marquez was to oversee Security. No provisions were made for elections because of the clear need for professional management rather than governance by popular opinion. Their successors would be named by unanimous appointment of the three Council members.

The government of New Hope was to remain subservient to the US government, unless contact was lost during the crisis. If that were to happen, they’d become the sole US authority, and were charged with reestablishing an American presence on Earth at the earliest possible opportunity.

The entire set of documents had been ratified by the Congress during what may have been its last session, and signed into law by President Hutton. The copies carried to New Hope by General Marquez were to be secured for posterity in the colony.

In addition, Marquez escorted in the cargo of the
Lynx
the original copies of the Declaration of Independence, and the Constitution of the United States.

“Wow,” Susan said, sitting back as she finished reading the papers. “Does anybody else feel like we’ve just been made responsible for the entire future?” She looked down at her hands, and placed them firmly on the desk to hide their shaking.

“It does make it real, doesn’t it?” Carter said.

“I understand,” Marquez said. “I read those documents on the flight up.” Opening his briefcase again, he pulled out a bottle of gold liquor. He handed the bottle to Susan. “This is from the President’s private reserve. She personally told me to give it to you. She said it would help with your nerves.”

“She knew how this would feel, didn’t she?” Susan said, looking around and finding three plastic mugs. She poured them each a small measure of the bourbon, and looked at the label on the bottle. It had the name of the distillery, a date, and the Presidential Seal.

Marquez stood, holding the cup in salute. “To President Hutton, and our new hope for the future.”

***

Sentinel Colony:

“We’ve got an unidentified ship approaching from the farside,” the operations officer said, interrupting Viki’s quiet meal. She’d taken to eating alone in her apartment since the colony had started to be overrun with orphan children. It really wasn’t that bad, but sometimes the dining rooms were a little chaotic now that the average age of the colonists was just under eighteen. The Archangel Mission was delivering almost 2,400 children a week, and they were only building residences for about 1,800 of them, no matter how fast they worked.

“Really? Have you established com?” she asked, swallowing a mouthful and pushing back from the table. She grabbed a coverall out of the closet and slipped into it while she spoke.

“We’ve tried on the usual channels, but they haven’t responded,” he said. “We’re scanning it now. It’s using a form of inertial drive, but it’s operating at an odd frequency, very near the usual com channels. That might be why they’re not hearing us.”

“Do they seem hostile?” she asked, clipping a wireless link over her ear and heading out.

“We can’t tell. It’s moving slowly like it’s not intending to be on an attack run, but it doesn’t look like any of the ships we’ve seen before,” he said. “Stand by, we’re receiving a low-power transmission.”

“I’ll be there in two minutes,” she said. “Give me a report then.” The halls were clear. They’d just finished a recreation center and school for the kids, and it was clear across the colony. Most of the foot traffic had migrated with it.

“They’ve identified themselves as the LDS transport ship
Wilford Woodruff,”
he said, as she came into Ops. “They claim to have been attacked by the Chinese and are asking for help to repair the damage they sustained.”

“Attacked by the Chinese? Where?” she asked.

“Over Tycho,” he said. “They were on approach, and apparently ended up over the Chang Er Colony. They’ve got a problem with their harmonic tuning, and they can’t make the transit back unless we can fix it.”

“Have them put down in an open berth, and we’ll see what we can do. Have their Captain meet me in the conference room,” she said.

“Problem with that,” he said, gesturing toward the window. She looked out and realized what it was instantly. The
Woodruff
floated over the landing facility. It was easily five times the size of one of their carriers. They’d have to park outside the Colony and walk in.

“So put them out on the Earthward Flats and have their Captain come in,” she said.

“They can’t do that either,” he said. “Apparently they’ve got no suits.”

Mormons without suits?
“Fine. Do they have an airlock?” she asked in exasperation.

“Yes, they do,” he said. “They asked if you’d like to tour their ship.”

“Tell them I’m on my way,” she said, heading down to the airlock. “Have an engineering team meet me at the landing bay. We’ll take a mini out to where they put down.”

“The team’s already standing by,” he said. “The Captain’s name is Stark,” he added, as she disappeared down the hall.

“Just what we need, the Chinese starting another war up here,” she muttered to herself.

***

Chapter Twenty:

Terror and Promises

Damascus, Syria:

The world watched as Israel moved across the Syrian countryside. The war had not gone well since the Russians had pulled out of their positions, but it still had taken several weeks for their armies to reach the capital. Ahead of the artillery, an endless stream of refugees ran. Driven from their homes by the advancing Israeli forces, they arrived in Damascus in ever-increasing numbers.

Candice Rasmussen was an American manager of the Red Cross/Red Crescent World Refugee Mission, one of exactly six Americans in the city. She was integral to the relocation efforts of the refugees, manning the intake center on the outskirts of the city. She logged the names of the displaced into the UN database, and kept the uplink services operational. It had been a long night, punctuated by the near continuous thunder of the advancing artillery.

She’d been in this position with the RC/RC for enough years to recognize what was happening. She knew the PTSD these people would be carrying with them. She’d seen it in Tel Aviv just a month ago, but now the tides of war had carried the human flotsam in the opposite direction.

Even though five million extra bodies had crowded into the city, this time it was different. There were far fewer people arriving bloodied. It was almost as if the Israelis were being gentle, trying to give them time to get out of the way before they opened up on them. It was odd, considering how the Knesset had howled for vengeance. She understood the desire for retribution could make even the most civilized people bloodthirsty. Their restraint was admirable, even if it was unexpected.

Taking a break during a slight slowdown in the rivers of humanity, she stood outside the tent that served as their registration center, under the shadow of their uplink dishes. Stretching and yawning, she stared up at the clear sky, listening for the sounds of the artillery pounding away in the distance. It had been so much a part of the last few days she hadn’t immediately noticed its absence. She heard the sound of birds across the road, and children playing somewhere beyond the tent. But there was no thunder from the guns.

She was about to go back inside and ask if anyone knew why they’d stopped, when a different sound caught her attention. A screaming buzz, like the whine of a saw blade gone insane. She scanned the sky looking for the source. A small flash of light caught her eye, and she stared at it trying to identify what kind of aircraft it was.

It arced overhead, its buzzing transforming into a shrill whistle as it passed. A missile? With wings? It skimmed the ground only a few hundred feet over her, and she realized what she was seeing.

A Cruise Missile. Alone.

In the moment that she opened her mouth to scream a warning the fireball erupted, incinerating her in a nuclear fury so abrupt her body was gone before her mind could absorb the truth of her own death.

Damascus, along with the five million refugees that had been herded there with care and deliberation, simply ceased to exist.

Built over a millennia, and erased in a single instant.

***

Washington:

“It hasn’t spread as quickly as we’d anticipated,” Gene Reynolds said, sitting down at the table in the Situation Room. “Although Israel has used a half-dozen moderate-yield nukes, the majority of the fighting has remained conventional. The Russians have maintained a hands-off position since they withdrew, and as far as we can tell, they haven’t elevated their alert status.”

“At least that’s good news,” Sylvia said. “But China’s still on alert since we attacked Jiuquan. Are they showing an interest in the conflict?”

“No ma’am,” he said. “Their army is working on relocating their people out of coastal and low-lying inland areas. Other than keeping their Air Force and Navy on full alert status, they seem to be minding their own business.”

“Syria and Saudi Arabia have asked for us to intervene on their behalf,” John said. “To quote their Ambassadors, ‘we need to get our dog on a leash before this turns into a true jihad, the likes of which the world has never seen.’ The UN is threatening to rescind our veto powers in the Security Council if we don’t stop protecting the Israelis.”

“Let’s look at that jihad threat for a minute,” Secretary Worthington said. “We’ve never confirmed whether the Saudis have nuclear potential, but we know they have chemical and bio capacity. We also know they could get Pakistan into the fray. In fact, I’m surprised they haven’t already.”

“Me too,” Dick said. He’d been extraordinarily quiet since she’d railroaded him into taking the Chancellery position at New Hope. She knew it was tearing at him inside, even though he’d capitulated. Now he seemed disengaged at every meeting they had, like he’d already distanced himself from the affairs of Earth.

“The question is, can we exert any force over the Israelis?” the President asked. “I’ve called and talked to Prime Minister Mehta several times, but he’s spoken of nothing other than their need to restore balance and security to the region.”

“Balance by being the last man standing?” the Vice President said. “When we should have intervened was when the Russians first invaded. If we’d propped up the Israelis then, they wouldn’t be bent on revenge.”

“The President and I talked about it when it happened,” the Secretary of Defense said. “We were already spread too thin. We still are. I’m thinking we might be smart to start closing down our overseas bases and pulling the troops back to North America. If they’re going to have to fight to survive, it should at least be here on American soil with their families.”

Sylvia made sure she had Gene’s attention and gave a slight nod, giving her approval for the idea without putting it up for debate. Beside her Dick smiled, also very subtly, but enough for her to know he too approved of the idea.

“Where do we stand on the evacuation of the West Coast?” she asked, picking up the conversation and directing it away from the military situation.

“Everything below the 1,000 foot elevation in California, Oregon, and Washington is clear of everyone who will leave, with the exception of critical military and civilian infrastructure,” Secretary Worthington said. “We’re still working on the coastal facing areas up to 2,000 feet, but should have them evacuated by mid-December. We’ve had a few rough spots, but pretty much we’re getting a high degree of cooperation. There was an ugly exchange between a regular Army unit stationed in the LA basin and a group of street gangs, but once we called in the Air Force, the area quieted down quite a bit.”

“You bombed a street gang?” John Herman asked in shock.

“Well not exactly a street gang, more like a paramilitary guerilla organization,” he said. “They were using shoulder mounted rocket launchers and armor piercing rounds. We lost six Guardsmen in the incident.”

“And we flattened two square blocks of former high dollar real estate,” Gene added. “Fortunately, there were very few witnesses left after the bombing.”

“Oh Jesus. And this is the America I’m inheriting,” John said. “Can I change my mind?”