Prometheus and the Dragon (Atlas and the Winds Book 2) (33 page)

“Do you want us to open fire on them?” the pilot asked, still showing no emotion in his voice.

“Yes!” he said, panic overwhelming any concern he might have over the loss of innocent life. “Stop them!”

The camera reeled for a moment, then swung back to track the action on the ground. Rockets leapt out of the spectators from several locations, the crowd surging away from the sources as if they knew what was coming at them from above. He closed his eyes as the ground around a cluster of men holding several rocket launchers erupted into a cloud of dust. He waited several seconds before he opened them again, relieved that the camera was moving on to their next target. Suddenly, the camera lurched to the side in a dizzying spin.

“We’re hit,” the pilot said. “Launch the
Marian
before they break through.” The ground swung back into view, dangerously close and covered by running people. In the next instant it slammed sideways as the tail of the chopper hit the ground. The remotely powered camera spun clear of the wreckage as if in slow motion, and he looked into the dark eyes of a small girl briefly before it smashed into her and the signal faded.

He sat frozen, unable to absorb what had happened, the radio in his hand announcing they had gotten away with the
Marian
before it had taken damage.

The ship and its treasures were intact, but his soul had been shattered by the eyes of an innocent angel.

***

Chapter Twenty-One:

A Deepening Sea of Red

Lunagrad, Boscovich Crater:

“I am in command of this entire facility,” Yuri Romanov said through clenched teeth. “You will do as I say and stand aside.”

The two Arab guards stared at him like he was a bug under a microscope. Neither reacted, nor did they move.

“Perhaps I have not made myself clear,” he said. “I am your commanding officer. You will stand aside or I will have you taken into custody.” Blood was pounding at his temples, and he was about to take them both down by physical force if necessary.

“You are not any longer,” the taller of the two guards said in carefully modulated Russian. “We take our orders only from General al Hassien. We have claimed this section of base as sovereign territory of Pan Arab Alliance. You have no jurisdiction here.”

“Excuse me?” Yuri bellowed, his rage boiling over. “By what right do you make this claim to our facilities? You are nothing but a hoard of thieving bastards. You will bring your so-called General to me immediately.” Three men working on a power interconnect behind the Commander stopped at the raised voices. One of them ran down the hall and the other two joined him, carrying wrenches they held like clubs.

“The General is busy making plans and cannot be bothered,” the guard said. This time his tone carried a clear message of condescension. The other guard reached behind his back and produced a very dangerous and substantially proportioned hooked knife. He didn’t threaten with it, but it was clear if there were to be violence, he was more than capable of putting it to use without lost time.

Sergei Titov and three other men came running up the corridor in time to see the man pull his mini scimitar. He slid to a stop beside the Commander. “What’s going on here?”

“These brigands have taken over garden dome and several habitat areas,” he said in rapid Russian. “They are telling me they are no longer under my command.”

“Hassien?” he asked.

“Apparently he is behind this,” Yuri nodded.

“These dogs think they can keep secrets,” the first guard said in Arabic.

“As do you,” Sergei said, also in their native tongue. “Perhaps you would advise your leader that he should consider negotiating before this matter gets further out of hand.”

“Negotiating?” Yuri said, picking up on one of the few words he knew in Arabic. “We do not negotiate with terrorists.” He turned and glanced back at the men standing behind him. In that instant the second guard leapt forward, slipping his knife between Commander Romanov’s ribs. He spun, jerking the blade from the grip of the Arab holding it. He pulled its length out of his chest, and noticing the coppery redness of his own blood on it, turned it around and buried it deeply into his assailant’s throat.

They both hit the floor together, Sergei grabbing Yuri’s feet to drag him back from where the remaining Russians were tearing the first guard to death with their bare hands. The Russian Commander stared up at the ceiling fighting with the pain. He knew his heart was still beating, but the pain in his chest was unbearable. He waved his arm to get the doctor’s attention.

Clearing his throat and tasting blood in his mouth, he tried to speak. “Get guards on life support,” he hissed. “We must control area.” He gasped, gurgling sounds accompanying his breath.

“First, I get you to Medical,” Sergei said.

“First, you do as I say.” Yuri grabbed the front of his uniform in his bloody hand and pulled him close. “Then you come back for me.”

***

Unity Colony, Eastern Mare Frigoris:

Back in the
Draco
for a few days while the medical equipment on the
Archangel
Michael
was being serviced, Dave Randall felt more at home than he’d been in almost two years. The Archangel Mission, for all it was essential, was an exhausting effort, and an emotional rollercoaster. More dangerous than they had anticipated, and the most stress he thought he could endure and still keep his sanity, it was also the one project in all of Stormhaven that carried the most hope for humanity. He was relieved to be off the
Michael
for the time being, but at the same time he was torn by the thought that being away might mean children who deserved a future would never get one.

His personal familiarity with the ship he called home, mingled with the acid of frustration, had left him out of touch. When Viki asked him to meet with the Council of Unity Colony to discuss their thoughts on the Chinese attack on the
Wilford Woodruff,
he jumped at the chance to do something distracting. Plus, he wanted to see the Dome.

He’d seen it from above and it was spectacular. He expected, even in its unterraformed roughness, it would be amazing inside. It would also be the one chance he might have to walk across the lunar surface in regular clothes. Soon enough it would look like the Earth, in a bottle.

He landed the
Draco
outside the largest airlock he’d ever seen. Easily big enough to fly the ship into without worrying about coming close to the doors. Over the top of the lock a clear bubble protruded, and a group of people stood watching him land. It was disturbing to see how small they looked hanging onto the side of the dome. A soap bubble sticking to the side of a giant crystal tortoise shell.

A transparent connecting tunnel snaked out on tractor treads from the bottom of the dome, jamming its universal seal against the lower forward hatch. Dave felt it nudge against the mono-carbon plating, and wondered how well it would hold pressure. The indicator light on the lock flashed green, so he opened the hatch and stepped out.

“General Randall,” one of the men waiting at the far end of the hall called out in a heavy Australian accent, striding forward to meet him before he’d even finished walking down the ramp.

“General?” Dave asked, as the man grabbed his hand and pumped it vigorously. “How about just Dave?” He knew he was having his hand pulverized by Jonathon Merrill. They’d met in passing before, but he was shocked by how familiar he felt. Perhaps it was his reputation. Trailing behind him at a far more respectable pace was Takao Mito and a woman he didn’t know, but who conducted herself with a manner that said she was born to lead.

Merrill turned to face his colleagues grinning at them with such enthusiasm they all joined him, in spite of their desire to appear proper. “May I introduce General Randall, of the Independent Space Alliance.”

Dave almost blushed at the pompous title bestowed on him by the Australian. As far as he knew, he was just a ship captain.

“I’d like to introduce Takao Mito of JAXA, and our new Chief Administrator, Helen Troianne,” Merrill said.

Mito bowed. “We’ve met before General,” he said. “At the ceremony in Tokyo. I am honored to see you again.”

“The honor is mine, Director Mito,” Dave said, returning the polite bow.

“Madam Administrator,” Dave said, nodding in her direction and taking her offered hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Merci,” she said in a cosmopolitan European accent that sounded slightly German, by way of Paris. She was a stunning beauty in a well bred and restrained way that caused Dave to consciously remind himself Viki was still waiting for him at home. Not that he was tempted, just that he was still very much male. She smiled at him, and he knew she’d registered his reaction, and felt himself blush in embarrassment.

“Please, let us show you the Dome,” Merrill said. “I’m very proud of it, if I have to say so myself.” He took Dave’s arm and almost dragged him down the hallway and through a set of double doors.

Dave’s ears popped, and he realized he was inside. The pressure in the dome was a little lower than the air in the corridor, and it smelled like real air, in spite of the slight ashen fragrance of the soil itself. Beneath his feet, concrete stones formed steps downward to a small ledge. Above him the sky rose up and across the top of the crater until it almost disappeared in the distance. A heavy haze faded the details to obscurity.

He stood there staring around, and he remembered the first time he’d seen the Biome at Stormhaven. It was the same kind of reaction, but orders of magnitude more intense. He wanted to laugh, or maybe cry. Instead he just blinked. Words escaped him. He’d been wrong. It wasn’t Earth in a bottle. It was a whole little world being born in the womb of the moon.

He bent down and touched the odd, yellow grass beside the steps. It was warm and damp. It felt like grass, but was the color of banana peels. “It is a genetic hybrid we created to affix nitrogen to the soil. There are about thirty varieties already planted in test patches,” she said. “We are also planting seedlings of a hybrid bonsai and a type of bamboo.”

“We’ve imported about eighty tons of microbes for converting the regolith to more viable soil,” Merrill said. He hadn’t turned loose of Dave’s arm, and it dawned on him why. This could have been quite a shock to someone a little less used to the unusual. He was sure there had been more than one that had stumbled their first time through those doors.

“This would even humble Cole,” Dave said, with reverence. “I’m speechless.”

Two hours later, sitting at a wooden table on another ledge about a quarter of the way around the Dome, Dave finally got around to the purpose of his visit.

“Viki has asked me to let you know about an incident that happened sometime last month,” he said.

“Are you talking about that Mormon transport that got its butt shot off?” Jonathon Merrill asked. “We already know all about it.”

“You do?” Dave asked startled.

“Sure, the Americans asked us if we wanted to get involved in their little hunting party. Seems they want to send a message to the Chinese to lighten up a bit,” he said.

“New Hope’s going after the Chinese?” Dave asked.

“Actually, they are not planning on attacking, per se,” Helen said. “When they asked us to participate in their operation, they stated it was simply an observation mission. Their Security Director, a man by the name of Victor Marquez, contacted us this morning to see if we were interested in becoming involved.”

“Interesting,” Dave said. “When I left this morning, I don’t believe they’d asked us to participate.”

“How can I put this delicately,” she said. “General Marquez said they did not plan to ask you as you are not ... how did he put it?”

“An independent national interest,” Director Mito said. “A separate nation state.”

“He didn’t come out and say it in so many words, but he suggested that in his opinion, Sentinel Colony was under the jurisdiction of the United States,” Jonathon said, grinning again. “I think we told him as far as we knew, he’d be better off climbing under your umbrella for protection.”

“I’m sure that went over well,” Dave said, shaking his head.

“Actually, he did take it pretty well,” the Administrator said. “What really upset him was when we told him we’d see if you were going to be involved, and then we’d make our decision based on your position on the matter.”

Dave closed his eyes and laughed, trying to imagine Marquez swallowing that one.

***

Vandenberg, California:

“Jee-zus Christ, will you look at that,” Corporal Jones said into the intercom. “There’ve got to be ten thousand of them motherfuckers. And they’re pushing through the fences like they don’t give a shit.”

“Just give me a target to shoot at, Jones,” Sergeant Winchell said. “Pay attention. We’ve got to turn them back before they get to the launch pads.”

“Yeah Sarge, I got it,” he said, never taking his eyes off the sighting scope. “Punching it in now.” The turret whined as motors reacted to his input and aimed the barrel toward the surging mob.