Prometheus and the Dragon (Atlas and the Winds Book 2) (42 page)

Unity Colony, Eastern Mare Frigoris:

It had been a long day, and not entirely without surprises. Among them was the Chinese claim that the US was militarizing the rim of Plato with Prometheus-style gun emplacements. An allegation which, disturbingly, the Americans did not deny. There had been other charges made, but most had been trivial by comparison. To the inexperienced, it seemed like a lot of pointless squabbling, but Kuromori seemed unruffled, and in fact, rather pleased with the day’s progress.

He sat with his feet propped on a chair along the side of the communal dining table in the
Cassiopeia’s
mid-deck lounge. Viki and Danielle sat with him, seeming far more disturbed by the proceedings.

“You are troubled?” he asked, smiling his best inscrutable smile.

“Frankly, yes,” Viki said. “It seems they aren’t interested in making progress. All I heard was accusations and counter-accusations all day.”

“Ah yes. It is the dance,” he said. “All such meetings start out with everyone stepping on each other’s toes. It is the nature of human relations. By the end of the week, we will all be dancing together nicely.”

“Really?” she said. “You expected it to go this way?”

“Indeed not,” he said. “I expected it to be far more contentious than it was. Obviously everyone here wants this to turn out well. I could identify no party that wished to block our goal of living in peace.”

“The Chinese sure seemed to be throwing boulders on the dance floor to me,” Danielle said.

“Minor obstacles.” He brushed them away with a wave of his hand. “The US will argue their weapons are defensive in nature, and they can be used to save the moon and the Earth from ever facing this fate again. The Chinese will counter with the condition they never be made mobile or placed in any area where they could be used against their facilities.”

“You seem sure of that,” Viki said.

“If it does not come to be from their own mouths, then I will put the idea on the table myself,” he said. “Personally, I would feel much safer with the guns deployed than without them. Are we not now seeing the value of having a permanent meteor defense in place?”

“Granted,” she said, her face showing a twinge of emotion.

“See? That is how the dance works,” Kuromori said. “Our place in this is not to be on the floor with the others, but rather to be conducting the orchestra, and thereby controlling the flow of the dancers.” He stood slowly, putting his teacup on the sink behind him. “Now, if you lovely ladies will excuse me, I must get some sleep before tomorrow’s session.” He bowed to each of them, and slipped away to his room.

***

Rome, Italy:

The motorcade wound its way through the narrow streets, a caravan of almost a hundred vehicles, snarling what little traffic was still out, as it proceeded along its random seeming route. In actuality the route they had taken served two purposes, to give the Pontiff and his people a last tour of the ancient city, and to confound the Army of the Holy Right. The entire nation was under quarantine, and fortunately most of the traffic they encountered was government officials conducting their last minute Affairs of State.

Their ship,
The Grail,
waited at the edge of the stratosphere, its landing site as yet undisclosed even to the crew. There had been several possibilities pre-selected, and security around each of them had been in place for days. In the event that any appeared to be at risk, they could switch at the last moment to another. The lead vehicle in the motorcade was charged with making the final determination and kept in constant contact with
The Grail
and their ground forces.

After almost an hour of driving in circles, they’d made a determination and headed to what was reported to be the safest possible site.

Scattered back through the convoy, four buses carried the nuns and priests that were to accompany the Cardinals and the Pontiff up to the
Marian Destiny.
They were still kept segregated, even though they knew this would have to change. In the last of these buses, Father Lucio Andriotti sat lost in his thoughts, a young man who had been drafted into this mission and now contemplated whether he was more afraid of flying into space, or of sleeping with a Sister. He’d grown up in a church orphanage, and had only ever attended school under the watchful eyes of the nuns. He’d developed more than a little respect, or perhaps fear, of their swift and unwavering discipline.

He’d prayed to God every day, asking why he had been called to this service. He was comfortable with his celibacy. It made him feel holy, clean, and sacred. He did not want to procreate, even in the blessed service of God Himself. It was not in his nature. It would never be in his nature.

Riding toward the moment of their exodus, he chewed at his nails, biting them to the quick and beyond, until they bled at the corners. He wanted to run, to hide and let Antu take him along with the rest of humanity.

When the bus stopped he could flee, running away from this responsibility. Then he remembered the security forces that surrounded the launch site. Surely they would turn him back and seal his fate.

The moment arrived and he filed out with the rest of his Brethren, standing in a group watching the Sisters climbing out of their buses. They wore different colored habits, from dozens of orders, some traditional and others more modern. He tried not to stare, but he couldn’t help noticing they were all young, possibly younger than he. Even from a distance, he could see they were every bit as fearful, several of them also chewing at their fingers nervously. It gave him some comfort knowing he was not alone in his trepidation.

The two groups watched in silence as the Holy See and the College of Cardinals boarded the ship. Then the Sisters were called to board, and finally it was their turn. He filed up the gangway and into the belly of the ship, finding a seat near the center of a long row. Thankfully, the Sisters were in another section, so he could relax a bit and look around. He knew none of the priests that sat with him, but smiled at the one in the seat next to him.

“Pardon me, Brother,” the man said in a thick German accent. “Are you aware your nose is bleeding?”

He looked down at the front of his shirt, seeing several dark wet spots on the black fabric. He cleared his throat to respond and was surprised to taste copper in the back of his mouth.

He realized instantly what was wrong, but instead of fear, he felt relief. He knew he would never have to face the reality of that conjugal night.

***

Chapter Twenty-Seven:

Ultimatum from the Chaos

Stormhaven:

Four days, and still they had not come. There was no way to estimate how large the Army of the Holy Right had gotten, but now Mica was back online they were scanning the government webs for news. The Austra Port in Queensland had been the first to fall, followed by an assault on one of the European Launch Centers. Vandenberg had nearly been taken, and Canaveral had been overrun by another of his groups. Nathaniel Sommerset claimed to have millions of followers on every continent, and looking out across the ground around the community, it looked as if they were all coming here for their Armageddon party.

Tom sat alone in his office, watching a screen tied into the western cameras. They’d also managed to get an audio feed from his camp. Tom had listened for as long as he could, hoping to get some idea as to what strategy they would use against them. After several hours of nonstop rant about the evils of humanity, and how they were embodied in the very presence of the
Devil Incarnate and his demons,
otherwise known as Colton Taylor and Stormhaven, he could take no more. Instead he just watched.

Every two hours, regular as clockwork, Sommerset would climb up onto the roof of his semi-trailer to deliver another
Hellfire and Damnation
sermon. These were broadcast via his satellite to the rest of his followers, and as he professed in his prayers, to the heathen savages upon whom he was about to impart the Wrath of God. Tom folded his arms behind his head and leaned back in his chair, watching the madman gyrate his way into a holy frenzy, at once both enraged and awestruck by the man’s skills as an orator. Even without his voice, he carried a presence about him that projected across the distance as a tangible manifestation.

“Why don’t you have Mica just jam his signal?” Shapiro said, appearing at his door. “Or was that yesterday’s magic?”

“I discussed it with her,” he said, twisting in his chair. “We decided to silence him would just turn him into a modern day martyr. Killing his television presence would be tantamount to crucifying him.”

“Yeah, but it would slow down the arrival of new converts,” he said. “Have you estimated how many there are out there?”

“Almost a hundred thousand,” he said. “Give or take a few.”

“Then why the hell are we still here?” Doug asked, sitting down in one of the chairs and mimicking Tom’s casual posture.

“Because the only way we can give those staying behind a chance in hell, is if we can hold them off until Mother Nature kicks the shit out of them,” he said. “We’ve got to keep the place from being overrun until Antu is right on top of us. Mica’s projecting if we can wait until less than an hour from impact before we leave, the automated defenses will be able to keep them out until the earthquakes and other biblical plagues take over.”

“Jeez, that’s calling it awfully damn close isn’t it?” Shapiro asked, leaning forward and snatching a jelly bean out of the bowl on Tom’s desk.

“Yeah, but it’s what we’ve got to do,” he shrugged. “We’ve got three of the Archangel ships in the fabrication barn. They’re all heavily armored, and there’s no way they can develop enough firepower out there to stop them.”

“How does Cole feel about this?” he asked.

“Who the hell knows?” he said. “He’s pretty well out of it.”

“He looked bad the other day. He’s not making any progress?” Doug asked.

Tom shook his head. “I think if we hadn’t found him, he would have starved himself to death. He keeps talking about things he should have done, or things we’ve forgotten. It’s driving him crazy.”

“Has he explained what he means?” he grabbed a handful of the beans and popped them in his mouth. “I’m pretty sure you guys brought more stuff up there than everybody else put together.”

“Yeah. I told him that, but he’s wracking himself trying to figure out what we didn’t remember,” Tom sat forward, propping his head on his hands. “He didn’t used to be like this, but I think he feels responsible for putting Glen into a place he didn’t need to be and it’s twisting inside him, somehow.”

“Excuse me, Tom,” Mica interrupted. Since the computer had claimed sentience it had started addressing everyone more casually.

“Yeah Mica, what’s up?” he said.

“I am watching a small group of people from the Sommerset encampment approaching the front gate. They are carrying a cross draped in white linens over their heads. It appears to be a sign of truce.”

“Can you tell what they want?” he asked.

“They are discussing whether we will take their offer,” Mica said. “I have no reference regarding what they mean.”

“Stop them at the gate,” Tom said. “I think I’ll go have a word with them.”

***

Washington:

The White House seemed an empty marble tomb full of the ghosts of those who’d gone before. Faces stared out from the portraits along the walls, with eyes focused beyond her onto some distant horizon. A place hidden in a future only they saw, and which she had forever lost for them.

She’d hoped her portrait would have hung here someday. Sylvia Hutton, enshrined among the immortals. But now instead, she hung her head before them. She had failed, and those visionaries who had once inspired her, now tormented her.

She’d wandered the halls for the last several days wondering how she’d let it happen. Why she lost everything, not just for herself, but for everyone. They’d come so far, reaching out to stop the wheelwork of the universe, but all they’d done was to pause the machinery of fate, briefly stealing hope from the certainty of destiny.

She condemned herself on the rack of hubris, tearing her soul for defiance of God. The time had come, the tribulation was over. Or perhaps it was just beginning. Her place was here, enduring the trials beside the Earth she’d failed to defend.

Aimlessly strolling toward her office, she ran her fingers across the woodwork, the antiques that gave history their substance, feeling their textures and sensing the life that lay behind them. Far behind her a sound and she turned, almost expecting the specter of Washington or Jefferson to be following her.

Instead it was Janice, quietly coming in like she had every morning.

“Good morning, Madam President,” she said, startled to see Sylvia up and about at this time of morning.

“Good morning, Janice,” she said, looking at the woman through different eyes. She was not a young woman by any stretch of the imagination, but she was still far from over the hill either. She was attractive, almost elegant, and even today, two days from the fall of humanity, she looked composed. Almost serene.