Prometheus and the Dragon (Atlas and the Winds Book 2) (4 page)

“It’s probably been dissected and reassembled twice by now.” He shrugged, staring at the controls. “They moved her into a hangar at Canaveral and haven’t had it out since. Mica says they’ve been studying and testing it. Apparently they’re planning to test-fly it for the first time in the next few weeks.”

“Geez, Cole guessed that one right,” she said. “Somehow he knew they’d sit on it until it was too late to be useful.”

“We offered them a crew and training to boot.”

Apparently making a decision, he pushed forward on the throttles and they arced toward the center of the crater, gaining speed as they approached.

A voice rang from the Com system, “Unauthorized craft, you have entered a US restricted traffic area. Please change your heading.”

“Or else what?” he said, without opening a channel. “They’ve got no defenses that we’ve seen from our flyovers during approach. We’ve been watching them, and so far, there are no signs of weapons.”

“Neither do we,” she reminded him.

“Good point,” he said, “but we’re not building the biggest gun humanity’s ever tried to play with.” Out the window they were screaming toward a slight ridge. The massive projectors towered above the surface, and Dave banked to the left to avoid their support girders.

“Shit,” Viki hissed at his childish fighter jock maneuvers. “You’ve always gotta be screwing around.” She grinned at him even though she knew he was just showing off. “I can see that Cole’s been a bad influence on you.”

“Unauthorized vehicle, you are being recorded for documentation purposes. Your presence here is a violation of United States Law and will be reported to the authorities.”

“Right,” he said flatly. “So they’re gonna jerk my license.” Then in a more circumspect tone he replied into the com. “Sorry New Hope, we were off line with communications and meant no trespass.”

“Dave, is that you?” a woman’s voice said, replacing the flight controller. “Don’t make me come up there and spank you. Get out of here before I have to do you bodily harm. Clear?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, easing up on the controls to gain altitude.

“Who’s that?” Viki asked, arching an eyebrow at his sudden submissive attitude.

“My ex-wife,” he grunted. “Some damn fool in Washington put her in charge up here.”

Struggling not to laugh, Viki slapped her hand over her mouth. But the giggles bubbled out in little snorts and gasps, until he pointed over to the left and down at the rim of the crater. The expression on his face cut her off cold, telling her the game was over and he was back to business.

“Stormhaven Flight to US Operations Center,” he paused, circling the mini around for another look at what had caught his attention. “Susan, are you still there?” he asked, slowing to a stop a few thousand feet inside the rugged crater edge.

“Copy, Stormhaven Flight,” she said, annoyance clear in her tone. “I asked you politely to leave. Is there some problem with following that instruction? I don’t have time for games.”

“Negative, Operations. I think you might have a crewman down out here.” He flipped on the landing lights and spun them down the side of the crater wall, centering the beam on the broken body of an astronaut. Without the lights, Viki hadn’t seen a thing.

“Hang on Dave, let me call for a roster,” she said, clicking the channel closed. After several seconds she came back. “I don’t think so. Nobody’s reported missing, but we’ve got a couple out of radio range.”

“We’re looking at a body out here on a heading of about 140 degrees from your com towers.” He glanced over his shoulder to check their position. “He’s about 800 feet above the floor of the crater wedged in a rocky crevasse. It’s gonna take you several hours of hard climbing to get here.”

He nodded at Viki, glancing at his helmet to indicate he was thinking about suiting up. “Would you like us to render aid?” They floated down toward the suited figure, and she stared, not really wanting to look but knowing she was going to need to face it if Susan acquiesced.

“Can you help him without risk to yourself?” Susan asked, almost managing to sound concerned for his safety.

“No,” he said. “He’s well beyond help, but I can bring the body in for you. His suit’s been pretty badly torn and he’s definitely been breathing vacuum too long to be alive.”

“Roger that, Stormhaven Flight,” Susan said. “Do what you can, but don’t take any unnecessary risks.”

“Copy Gov’nr,” he said. “I’ll be careful.”

He slid out of his seat, handing control over to Viki while he put on his light suit. Not really designed for this type of operation, she knew he’d have to work quickly and depend on her piloting skills to keep him close enough to the wall of the crater to not be jerked around by the umbilical cord.

A few minutes later he’d crawled out the back hatch and over to the edge of the mini’s flatbed. Through the comlink she could hear his breathing, and knew from those times she’d crossed the open areas in one of these suits, it would feel stifling and hot. His breath would be rolling back in his face unmercifully, since there was no air conditioning system like in the full duty space suits. These transfer suits got hot fast. In just a few minutes, you could bake in your own body heat. She knew he had to be sweating before he got to the point where he could jump to the surface.

She watched as he grabbed the man by the arm and tugged him over his shoulder in a fireman carry. The body looked stiff when he tossed it onto the bed of the vehicle without a second glance.
He’s dead, it doesn’t matter to him anymore,
she reminded herself.

Viki stepped out of the way as soon as he’d unsealed his helmet, and asked, “So he’s dead?”
Duh. Of course he’s dead,
she thought.

Nodding, he took the controls and slipped clear of the rim. Turning to dive towards the landing pad at the New Hope Colony, he frowned. “New Hope Operations, this is Stormhaven Flight on approach to your pad. Do you have a crew suited and waiting?”

“Copy, Stormhaven Flight.” the original voice answered. “You are clear for visual approach. We show no traffic in the pattern. Will you be needing medical attention for your passenger?”

“Did you folks not hear me say he’s dead?” Dave said sarcastically.

“Affirmative, Dave,” Susan came back on again. “But we have to make sure to do this by the book, if you understand.”

“Copy,” Dave said. “By the book.”

“What?” Viki asked, confused.

“He’s not a US astronaut,” Dave said.

“He’s not?” she asked.

“Nope. He’s Chinese,” he said, “and I bet they figured that out when they finished their head count.”

***

Chang Er Prefecture, Tycho:

Becki sat her shift in the communications building like anyone else, but because of her connection to the Prefect and her talent with English, she’d managed to find herself in charge of the US operations monitoring section. Two others worked with her, and she reported directly to Yao Lin-Tzu, and of course, her husband.

Over the year she’d been at Chang Er, they had become more than co-workers, they were friends. They shared secrets, and sometimes this gave Lin-Tzu more than her share of access to privileged information. Not that she’d ever take advantage of it, but on this particular morning, it at least told her why Becki was edgy.

This morning she knew they had a covert operation going on somewhere near the US colony. She’d seen the satellite images of the colony, and most especially those huge gun emplacements. Just looking at them she understood why they’d be worried. They called them Prometheus. Becki had explained the significance of the name, a mortal who stole fire from the ancient Gods and brought it to mankind. A formidable achievement for humanity, to say the least.

Lin-Tzu stood behind Becki’s seat listening in on the com channels she’d dialed up through her right ear. One was the main US frequency, and the other was a special frequency they used for intelligence operations. The US channel had normal traffic, except for one reference regarding an injured or dead crewman. The other channel was silent. During the operation that was to be expected, but the officer should have been checking in once he got back to his skimmer. According to what she’d been told, that was to have been about an hour ago.

“Attention, Chang Er Base, this is Commander Susan Winslow of the New Hope Colony. Do you copy?” Lin-Tzu had been monitoring their normal com frequencies over her left ear, and heard the transmission.

“The Americans are trying to communicate with us,” she said in English, tapping Becki lightly on her shoulder to get her attention.

“What are they saying?” she asked.

“Nothing yet,” she said shaking her head. It was policy for the Chinese com officers to not respond until the US had identified a purpose for their call.

“Chang Er Base, do you copy?” the woman said again, adding, “We know you monitor this communications frequency. Please respond.”

Becki had dialed in and was listening. “She sounds upset,” she said. Lin-Tzu nodded.

“Ok, fine. If you want us to return the body of your missing astronaut, you know how to reach us.”

***

Baghdad International Airport, Baghdad, Iraq:

US occupation of the once proud city had long since ended, but the Russian Ambassador still arrived under cover of darkness, his airliner protected by a squadron of Sukhoi PAK FAs. The Independent Iraqi Coalition had managed to secure unanimous support of the Pan-Arab Alliance and had become a provisional seat of power. The Western governments didn’t feel comfortable here, making it an ideal place for the PAA to use for negotiations it wanted to keep out of the headlines.

This was certainly one of those negotiations.

Roscosmos was broke. Everybody knew it, but the Russian Republic had never given up a fight, especially when survival was on the line. The PAA, on the other hand, had more money than it could spend, even considering most of the world had moved to the hydrogen and broadcast power economy. But plastics were still largely petrochemical, and very expensive at $383 a barrel.

So this was a marriage born of necessity. Two politically disparate people coming together in an alliance for survival, one with the resources and the other with the expertise. Determination had pushed them both forward and all that was left to decide was how many places would be granted for how much money.

At €200 billion for 2,000 positions in the Lunagrad colony, they had become the most expensive tickets ever sold to anyone, yet the most important concession the PAA had pushed for was they were the
first
2,000 seats. This was important, because if the Russians could achieve their best case projection, they were only going to have 3,500 residents in the colony.

Sheikh Rashid al Akla stood on the tarmac, waiting as the Ambassador’s plane rolled to a stop near a hangar once used for US C-5 cargo planes. It was far enough from the terminal any passengers who might be watching the runway would have no idea what was happening.

Ambassador Alexei Andropov was scheduled to be on the ground only long enough to get the documents signed. There was no fanfare, no ceremony, only the activities of the ground crew as they rolled tankers out to refuel the jet for its return flight. To call this a low profile meeting would have been a gross overstatement, but it was what both parties wanted. Some decisions weren’t meant for public scrutiny.

“Ambassador, if you will follow me, we have a table set up inside,” the Sheikh said. There were no handshakes, no kisses on the cheeks. These men didn’t like each other, and they were both past the point where they cared to pretend. This was simply a business meeting.

The Russian carried a briefcase with him and had two guards escorting him. Both of whom stopped at the door, turning to stare out into the darkness. They hadn’t been told what was happening, and knew it was essential it remained none of their business. Inside, Andropov set his case on the table and turning the lock, opened it and withdrew two identical documents.

The Sheikh nodded, sitting down and skimming through the pages. He stopped at the last page, and snapping his fingers repeatedly for a pen, he glared at the Russian.

“Of course, your Excellency,” the Ambassador said, pulling a gold Schaeffer out of his coat and handing it to the Sheikh.

With a simple strong stroke of the pen he signed, first one document, and then the other. Handing one of them to the Russian, he stood and walked across the hangar toward the back door. The meeting was over.

Andropov slipped his copy back into his briefcase and headed back to his plane. Pausing outside the door he looked up into the sky. The moon was just setting, an orange ghost hanging in the dark sky, distant but no longer out of reach.

***

Mount Weather, Virginia:

“You mean they’re spying on us on the lunar surface now?” Dick Rogers sat back, sighing. He idly thumbed the advance toggle for his epad back and forth. “I guess we should’ve figured as much.”

“Sure. The problem is, when we offered to return the body, they didn’t even respond to the message,” Secretary Herman said, pouring coffee for himself and the President. “If they’d just owned up to it, we’d be much more comfortable.”