Stormhaven Rising (Atlas and the Winds Book 1) (50 page)

“Mr. Taylor is proposing the establishment of an international organization to oversee the deployment of their space technologies,” he said. “In exchange for certain protections, he is offering total disclosure of their scientific and engineering knowledge.”

Mito sat scanning the document, blinking. “Total access?” he asked.

“Yes,” Kuromori said. “He has, in good faith, already provided the technical specifications for their ships and the propulsion systems they employ.”

“He has?” He saw that several dozen documents were attached to the agreement. All told, over a terabyte of data had been included.

“I am en route to meet with the Prime Minister and the Emperor to give them my opinion of this agreement,” he said. “I would like to have you review their technical disclosures before I arrive. If the information can be verified, I am of the opinion that we need to accept their offer."

Mito looked at his watch. “When will you be meeting?"

“Tomorrow morning,” he said. “I know that only allows you sixteen hours, but Dr. Itaki should be arriving at your office soon. She has been studying the documents and has seen their facilities first hand. She will be able to advise you on the more abstract aspects of their science."

“Ambassador, this is quite a large amount of information,” Mito said, scrolling his epad down the files. “Is there a reason we are in such a rush, besides the asteroid?”

“In fact there is,” Kuromori said, nodding. “The assassination of Secretary Anderson has changed the political topography in America more than is publicly known. The situation at Stormhaven’s headquarters is likely to end in violence unless we can intervene.”

“In American internal affairs?” Mito asked.

“That is why I need your assessment,” the Ambassador said. “If they are offering what it appears to be, then we have a moral obligation to humanity to interpose ourselves between Stormhaven and the US military.”

***

Stormhaven:

“May I join you?” Bradford Stone stood holding his tray, looking at Viki and Danielle. The cafeteria was crowded, far more crowded than normal, and there were no tables open. “That is, if you don’t mind being seen with a wanted criminal,” he added, throwing in his best charming smile for good measure.

“Of course,” Viki said, nodding at the seat beside Danielle.

“You too?” Danielle said. She’d been heads-down on the flight simulator for the last several days and had no idea the government had issued a warrant for the journalist.

“I don’t believe we’ve had the chance to meet,” he said, setting his tray beside her and offering his hand. “Brad Stone, former anchorman and nefarious master terrorist.” She grinned at him.

“Danielle Cavanaugh, former astronomer and bearer of bad news,” she said with equal panache.

“Dr. Cavanaugh?” he asked. “I think I’ve heard of you. Weren’t you with Spacewatch? Nichole Thompson interviewed you once didn’t she?”

“The program was called Spaceguard,” she said. “I’m surprised you’d remember, that was quite a few years back. During my undergrad studies.”

“You were quite memorable,” he said, winking. “That was the piece that got Nikki the science desk at GNS. It was a good piece.” He picked up his fork and froze, the blood draining from his face. Viki could see the wheels spinning in his head as he put the utensil down. She stopped eating too, waiting for him to piece it together and watching the process of understanding play out on his face.

“Uhm, can I ask a question?” he said, staring at Viki and trying to frame his thoughts.

“Sure, as long as we’re off the record here,” she said, smiling, but making her meaning clear.

“I’ve got several completely disparate statements that are pointing at a conclusion I’m not sure I want to think about,” he paused, looking at Danielle like he was trying to read the truth in her face. She nodded.

“Go ahead,” Viki said.

He pursed his lips, looking like he’d been eating dry soda crackers. He looked down at the table in front of him where he began ticking off points on his fingers. “Spaceguard. The screwed up behavior in Washington. All the strange missile launches. The ISS dropping off the radar. You said you were the bearer of bad news. Bad news. And then you implied that you were—"

“Also wanted by the government,” Danielle offered.

Nodding, he looked back at Viki. “How much time do we have?”

“About twenty-two months,” Viki said.

“And they’re sitting on this? Those lousy bastards. Those lying sons-of-bitches,” he said, sputtering.

“How long have you known about it?” he said, looking at Dani.

“About a month now,” she said.

“Right. When the Secretary backed out and the Damascus summit tanked,” he said. “That’s why you told me I’d find the angle on Herman pulling out.”

Viki nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell me this when I first got here?” he said, visibly angry.

“The disclosure of the asteroid has been the biggest bargaining chip we’ve had,” she said. “Cole and I talked about telling you and decided that if you took it public we’d lose what little edge we have in negotiating with the government.”

“So far they’ve been concerned that we’d spill the beans,” Danielle said, “and it’s kept them from kicking in our doors.”

“You’re blackmailing the whole fricking Administration?” A grin broke out at the corners of his mouth and spread like a wildfire across his face.

“We’d prefer to call it capitalizing on an opportunity,” Viki said, matching his grin.

“That could be the understatement of all time,” he said, laughing in spite of the gravity of the situation.

His cell phone beeped and he looked at the display: Greg Baker. He punched it onto the speaker. “Yeah Greg, what’s up?” he said.

“Brad, we’ve got a problem out here,” he said, his voice sounding stressed over the tiny speaker. Viki knew GNS and a couple of the other services had kept their trucks and small crews out front. Only Brad had moved inside when the GNS warrants had been issued. Nobody else on their local crew had been listed as conspirators.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“The guard units from up on the hill are moving down here and it looks like they mean business,” he said.

“Greg, this is Viki Rosnikov. What do you mean they’re moving down? Are they coming onto Stormhaven property?” she asked.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” he said. “They’re coming in. They don’t look like they’re heading toward your main gate though. I think they’re ...” he paused. “Hang on a second. One of the Humvees is headed here. They’ve got a guy manning the fifty cal on the back.”

“Shit that’s no good,” Brad said. They could hear the sounds of a conversation going on in the background. It sounded hostile even though they couldn’t understand what was being said.

“Yeah, Brad,” he came back on the line, “they’re telling us we’ve got five minutes to clear out and they’re making a show out of pointing their guns at us. They want to make sure we get their meaning.”

“Is it just you, or are they rousting everybody?” Viki said.

“There busting everybody’s chops out here,” he said. “We’re going to be rolling in a couple minutes, as soon as we can throw the gear in the back of the truck.”

“I understand,” Brad said. “Get out of here, and don’t be heroic.”

“Gotcha, Brad,” he said. “Trust me, I’m not tooled to be a hero. Good luck.” The line clicked off.

“Mica, we need to let Cole know what’s going on,” Viki said. “I think this is a bad sign.”

“I have already informed him and he agrees with your assessment,” Mica said. Even the computer’s voice carried an edge of stress.

***

A Shifting Sense of Reality

Grants, New Mexico:

The polychrome paint on the SUV surprised Nichole. She was sure, they put her in a black vehicle. Now it was sand-beige with pin-striping. She’d spent the first day in the back seat in shock, not knowing what her situation was. The rear windows of the truck were opaque and she sat alone. She didn’t ask questions. She also didn’t offer protest. The two men appeared as uninterested in her condition as she was with theirs.

She recognized one of them as the man who’d talked to her at the news conference where Anderson had raised the threat level. She would have looked at his card to get his name, but when she’d smashed into the side of the truck she’d lost her purse. She was sure the name on the card wasn’t his real name anyway.

The first day they’d made their way out of the city, crossing the George Washington Bridge, then dropping onto surface streets and back highways. As far as she could tell, they were not heading south toward Washington, but after dozens of hours she’d lost track of where they were, or which direction they’d been traveling.

Around sundown that first day, the man she recognized asked her if she was hungry. She shook her head, but mumbled that she needed to find a bathroom. She wasn’t thinking about escaping. Any desire to run had been washed out under the crushing weight of the futility she felt. She reassured him she’d cooperate.

“You’re not under arrest,” he’d said. “We’re trying to keep you
from being arrested.
” She hadn’t believed him at first, but on the second or third day when they’d gone hours out of their way to avoid a Highway Patrolman, she’d begun to doubt her original assessment. Neither man seemed motivated to give her any answers so she rode in silence, contemplating why things were spinning so far out of control.

Five days from New York she’d asked them where they were, for the first time taking an interest in what they might be trying to do. “South of Burns, Wyoming,” he’d said.

Wyoming?

“Is there some point to this road trip?” she asked later that afternoon, when the one she recognized had returned with a cardboard bucket of chicken. They were at a rundown truck stop on a back highway somewhere in the mountains of Colorado.

“Aren’t you enjoying yourself?” he asked.

“No,” she said, grabbing a drumstick out of the bucket.

“Well, fortunately, we’re almost there,” he said, turning to face the front as the other man pulled them out onto the road. There were a few tense minutes as the two of them watched another Highway Patrol slowly pass. Both men smiled as the trooper glanced at them.

“Think he made us?” the driver said.

“I don’t think so,” the familiar one said. “Maybe we should cut across into Utah. The weather’s been pretty good so the passes should be open."

“That’s going to add a day,” the driver said. “I think if they had her on the wire they’d already have gotten us. I think we’re better off catching I-25 down to Albuquerque and making some speed.”

“How about you?” the one she knew asked, turning to face her.

“I’m for getting this trip over with,” she said, shrugging.

Thirteen hours later they sat in a four-lane parking lot that had once been I-40, watching several helicopters circling just south of the highway. Traffic had ground to a halt, as every driver on the road tried to see what was happening.

“Must be something big going on up there,” the driver said.

“I don’t like it,” the other man said. “It looks like that’s just about our exit."

“That’s what I was thinking,” he said, twisting to look around at the traffic behind them. A set of blinking patrol lights were easing up along the right hand shoulder.

“Get down,” the one on the passenger side said, rolling his window down as the squad car pulled up beside them. She leaned over in the seat so that her head wouldn’t be visible.

“Excuse me,” he shouted, “what’s going on up there?”

“The military’s working a situation the other side of Zuni Pueblo,” the officer said. “They’re playing hell with the traffic while they unload their crap at the sidings.”

“How much longer will this take?” he asked.

“Who the hell knows?” the officer said. “It looks like they’ve got enough stuff down there to invade Mexico. You might as well just sit back and relax. You’re not going anywhere for a while.”

“Thanks, officer,” he said, turning back to the driver and rolling his window up as the cop drove away.

“Think we ought to call in and let them know what’s going on?” the driver said. “This could be headed in their direction.”

“Unless there’s been an Indian uprising out on the Reservation, I’m sure it is,” he said. “They probably know already, but it never hurts to give them a heads-up.” He grabbed his satphone off the dashboard and flipping it open said, “Call: Tom Stevens.”

Nichole finally knew where they were headed.

***

Crater Plato, North of Mare Imbrium:

The Mobile Prospector Lab crawled forward as it had for days. Susan had been spending as much time as she could on the electroquad scouting around the MPL, while the computer drove the train toward her first major goal. Hundreds of dull, empty miles lay behind her, and she finally allowed herself a little excitement at the thought of reaching her destination. Unfortunately, Plato itself was large enough that the far rim disappeared over the horizon and if she hadn’t had the computer map to tell her she was there, it would have looked like any other vast expanse of lunar wasteland.