Authors: James F. David
The development of the Space Delivery System, or space shuttles, was a tremendous step in reducing the cost of delivering a payload to orbit. However, the shuttle depended on disposable parts. Rejecting designs for an STS that did not have disposable components set the space program back twenty years.
—
ALTERNATE PATHWAYS TO SPACE
, EDWARD NORTON
EARTHS ORBIT
T
he launch of shuttle
Atlantis
was flawless, the ship reaching low Earth orbit with no problems. The launch attracted a minor amount of press coverage because shuttle launches were unusual. The space plane delivered most U.S. government payloads to orbit now, the Fellowship performing most of the rest of the orbital lifting. There was little concern expressed over the secrecy surrounding the payload, since shuttles and rockets were still used for sensitive military payloads.
Once in orbit,
Atlantis
made the first of two scheduled orbital corrections. The first happened to match its trajectory with New Hope station. With the station high in geosynchronous orbit,
Atlantis
passed beneath the Fellowship's space station. The second maneuver was scheduled for the second orbit and would move
Atlantis
to a higher orbit.
Inside the cargo hold of STS
Atlantis
rode the rebuilt
Rising Savior
. At the controls, waiting for the second orbit, was Kent Thorpe.
There is no security on this earth; there is only opportunity.
-MACARTHUR: HIS RENDEZVOUS WITH HISTORY
, DOUGLAS MACARTHUR
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA
G
uy Francis had died at the siege of their compound and they missed his technical skills. Cobb "Scarecrow" McGriff had stepped up, younger than Guy, but with an aptitude for disabling security systems. Unfortunately, he was untested in the field. Surveillance told Proctor and his men that the security guard left the reception area every two hours to patrol the perimeter of the building, patrolling the interior every hour. There were checkpoints on his rounds and unless he punched in his code at every point, the central office was notified. They would call then, and if he didn't answer the phone, the police would be notified and a patrol car diverted. Once he began his exterior patrol he could be overdue at a checkpoint by no more than five minutes. Depending on the location of the nearest patrol car, Proctor estimated they would have ten minutes, at the most, from the moment they took out the guard. Proctor, however, had worked out a plan to give them more time.
They waited in the shadows for the guard to start his two A.M. rounds. As soon as the guard was around the corner of the building, they hurried to the front, each man wearing a pack and carrying two five-gallon cans of gasoline. They then split up. Nick Lawson and Sandy Singleton followed the guard, staying in the shadows. Every station he checked in at gave them a few more minutes inside. Only when he became suspicious would they secure him.
Scarecrow McGriff led the way to the front door. He was tall, almost six feet, with hair the color of straw and a slight frame. Growing up on a wheat farm in eastern Washington, he frequently wore the overalls that earned him his nickname. Scarecrow quickly opened the door, then moved to the alarm control box behind the reception desk and disarmed the proximity alarm. Proctor and Jim Nelson entered at Scarecrow's signal, carrying the gasoline. After they carried in the cans and packs left by Nick and Sandy, they followed Scarecrow down the hall. He moved carefully, checking for alarms, but found none. At the end of the hall they went down the stairs. The doors at the bottom were locked and rigged with an alarm system. Cobb traced the wires, then rigged a bypass so when they opened the door the circuit wouldn't be triggered. Inside was a two-story space with a third of it divided into smaller rooms, all filled with electronic gear. The walls of the largest space were lined with equipment, but in the middle of the space was a platform built to sit against a curved object.
"This is it," Proctor said, "but the sphere is gone."
"What now?" Scarecrow asked.
"See if there's a safe," Proctor ordered.
They found one in a back room. Scarecrow was drilling into the safe when Sandy Singleton hurried in.
"The guard's taped and stored," Singleton said.
"Plant the explosives and spread the gasoline," Proctor said.
Cobb finished drilling and packed the holes in the safe with plastic explosives. Then he pressed a detonator into place and attached a radio receiver. They set the explosives off from the next room. The lock was blown out, but the door was still closed. Looking through the jagged hole Proctor could see file folders and equipment. Handing the light to Scarecrow, he had his young safecracker look inside.
"It's part of a backup system for their computer network," Cobb said. "They might have more copies at another location."
"I doubt it," Proctor said. "Control this technology and you control the world. They wouldn't leave multiple copies lying around. Make sure the contents of this safe burn."
When the lab was rigged, they spread the rest of the gasoline in the upstairs offices, planting the remainder of their explosives. Then they set a timer and left the building. They were on the highway when they passed the police car coming to investigate. A few seconds later the building exploded, instantly engulfed in flames.
They changed cars three miles away, and again ten miles later. After the last car change the others celebrated, but Proctor knew the job wasn't finished. There was one more place where the information discovered in that lab was stored—in Dr. Thorpe's head. Where was Thorpe? he wondered. And where was the sphere?
The foundation of a relationship is communication. Communication is built on honesty. Honesty on trust. Without trust, the relationship crumbles.
— CHRISTY MAITLAND
FELLOWSHIP COMPOUND, MEXICO
M
ark stepped off the Fellowship shuttle just before sunset. Micah and Floyd were with him, both there to make sure he didn't leave the compound with Christy. They had argued with Mark for a half an hour trying to convince him to remain in orbit. When they were this close to completing the mission God had given them, they didn't want Mark to take any unnecessary risks. It amused Mark the way they treated him, as if he were Adam and Christy Eve.
As Mark walked through their Mexico compound, he shook hands with a dozen friends he hadn't seen in over a year. Others were members of the Fellowship whom Mark had never met, but faithful workers nevertheless. Mark greeted all, even though he was anxious to move on. Christy would be here soon, with Roland, and he planned to use his last trip to Earth well. There was much to do, and little time.
He met Christy and Roland at the gate, kissing Christy and shaking hands with Roland. Despite their months together on the return voyage, Mark had never warmed up to Roland—too many editorials critical of the to change Roland's views. His first editorial upon returning focused on the lack of diversity on planet America, his second on the environmental impact of the Fellowship colonists. Tobias Stoop could have written the second article, Mark thought bitterly.
The three of them walked together to the compound canteen, filling coffee cups and settling at a small table in the corner of the cafeteria. Regular shuttle runs were taking emigrants to
Covenant and Prophet, and
lifting spheres shuttled back and forth to orbit, hauling tons of cargo with each lift.
Covenant
was nearly full and
Prophet
would be within a week. On the ground, trucks rumbled in and out of the compound night and day, the ground crews divided into shifts and working around the clock.
"Isn't this an unusual amount of activity?" Roland asked.
"We don't usually have two Ark ships in orbit at the same time," Mark said.
"I suppose that explains it," Roland said.
A bad start, Christy thought. Roland was digging for information and Mark's answer was taken as evasive.
"Grayson Goldwyn asked Roland to meet with you, Mark, as his representative," Christy said. "Mr. Goldwyn has a very generous proposal."
"I'm listening," Mark said.
"I mean really listen," Christy said, squeezing his arm.
"I'll really listen," Mark said, letting Christy open his heart to Roland.
"Mr. Goldwyn is prepared to set up a foundation to sponsor families who want to move to planet America. This new foundation would pay for passage, supplies, and provide financial support while the colonists get themselves established."
"We're doing that now," Mark said. "We would be happy to accept his donation."
"You're not listening," Roland said, imitating Christy. "You're moving your people to America, but there are so many more who would like the same opportunity. The Goldwyn Foundation would select these colonists and the Fellowship would provide transportation. You would be reimbursed for the costs, of course."
"You would select non-Christians," Mark said.
"The Foundation would support people of diverse faiths."
"It would upset the balance on planet America," Mark said.
"You don't have balance," Roland argued. "All your people are sitting on the same side of a scale. A healthy society needs people to sit on both ends so that there is balance. It's diversity that makes a society great."
"Diversity brings divisiveness," Mark argued. "Our new society isn't well enough established yet to introduce radically different points of view. Harmony and cooperation depend on common values and shared beliefs."
"It's diversity that made this country great."
"Is it diversity that made Japan great?" Mark countered.
Christy had heard these arguments before and knew it was time to intervene. Before she could speak, she heard a distant rhythmic thumping.
As it grew louder the canteen quieted, the two dozen people gathered for meals now listening. Suddenly Mark stood, panicked. Then he reached out, grabbing Roland by the front of his shirt, dragging him from his chair.
"They won't hurt you, Mark," Roland said. "They just want to make sure that everyone has the same opportunity that your people have."
Mark's reply was drowned in the roar of turbine engines and thumping rotors.
War is not a parlor game in which the players obediently stick to the rules. Where life and death are at stake, rules and obligations go by the board.
—ALBERT EINSTEIN
APPROACHING THE FELLOWSHIP COMPOUND, MEXICO
S
eldom do you get a second chance in the military, but Colonel Watson had his. Mr. Fry had pulled strings to get him the assignment of taking the Mexican compound, Colonel Watson understanding he would be in debt to Fry if he succeeded, and his career over if he didn't.
The Apache gunships led the way toward the compound, flying over, making sure there were no missile defenses. Colonel Watson's troop transports followed, trained to spread out, overcome any resistance, and occupy the compound. The spacecraft were to be secured first, technical facilities second, and finally the rest of the compound. Acquiring technology was the primary mission, the secondary goal was Mark Shepherd. He'd made a fool of Watson once before, but this time it was Watson who planned on doing the laughing.
The Apaches completed their pass and began orbiting, looking for signs of resistance—there were none. Civilians scattered in every direction, but there was no small arms fire, missile radar, or heavy weapons. Watson looked out the door of his transport, seeing the well-lit facility ahead. There were three large launch pads used by the shuttles—concrete rings—and four other paved areas used by the lifting spheres. Cargo containers were stacked around the launch sites, and sitting near the cargo were two spheres. He could see one of the shuttle pads from his helicopter, and there was a shuttle parked there. According to their intelligence, there should be two shuttles and three spheres on the ground.
The first helicopters were dropping into the compound, an anthill now, people running aimlessly. Then Watson noticed three men running directly from a warehouse toward one of the Fellowship's shuttles. Watson's stomach knotted. Then, from just out of his sight, came the sound of a thirty-millimeter cannon as an Apache helicopter stitched a line toward the men, then through them. Two of the men were shredded by the large-caliber shells, the third turning and running back toward the warehouse. The shuttle safe, Watson smiled. The mission was going as planned.
The fact that God had David anointed in secret to protect him from Saul leads some to conclude that there is no God. If there was a God, they argue, why would an omnipotent God need to use secrecy to protect a man? It seems to be a very ineffectual response. On the contrary, it takes great strength to put someone you love at risk for their own sake. I've watched my daughters hammering a nail, knowing the risk to their fingers, but I loved them too much to interfere with the valuable lesson that was soon to follow.
—
THE CASE FOR CHRISTIAN VIOLENCE
, JAMES D. FOSTER
FELLOWSHIP COMPOUND, MEXICO
M
ark left the canteen at a dead run heading for the nearest Su t t l e . The Fellowship couldn't risk letting their ships be captured as he ran, Mark heard machine-gun fire. Turning the corner of a warehouse, the sounds of gunfire became louder and he saw troops ahead. Mark continued along the wall of the warehouse, then ducked in an open door. Micah was inside, with Bob Morton and an apprentice pilot—a teenager who had never soloed.
"We've got to get to the shuttle," Mark said breathlessly.
"Too late," Micah said, pointing.
Two bodies lay on the landing pad and on the far side two helicopters were landing, troops spilling out, surrounding the shuttle. Mark's heart broke at the sight of the dead, but he didn't have time to grieve for them.
"We've got to destroy that ship," Mark said.
"I can damage it," Bob offered. "Make sure it won't fly."
Mark looked into Bob's face. The man had been a long and faithful
servant of the Lord, and Mark didn't want to lose him when they were this close to living free.
"Be careful," Mark said, giving his blessing.
"I'm not ready for glory yet," Bob assured Mark, then ran deep into the warehouse.
Mark led Micah and the teen pilot through the warehouse and out the other side. The second shuttle was there, the landing pad protected from the helicopters by a crane, left inadvertently hanging over the pad. They sprinted to the shuttle's open aft cargo hold just as they saw helicopters landing a short distance away, disgorging troops. Suddenly a sphere appeared over a building, shooting into the sky.
"That's one safely away," Mark said. "Two more to
go."
"You take the shuttle, Micah," Mark said. "I'm going to help get the spheres away."
Mark ran toward the sphere pads, ignoring Micah's shouts to come back. Running through stacked cargo modules recklessly, Mark popped out onto a pad just as troops came through the other side, quickly surrounding one of their spheres. Bullets whined past his head, puncturing the metal containers behind him. Without breaking stride he turned, cutting back into the protection of the cargo modules heading for the next sphere—that sphere was lost. A shuttle and a sphere in the hands of the enemy, Mark realized, knowing everything they had worked for was now at risk.
Turning toward where the last sphere was parked, Mark found he was ahead of the troops this time, breaking into the clear. Floyd was there, climbing up the side of the sphere. After Floyd dropped inside, another member of the Fellowship closed and sealed the hatch.
"Take off, Floyd," Mark shouted, even knowing he couldn't be heard.
Then an assault rifle fired from his left and the man who had sealed the hatch fell, knocked back by the bullets piercing his chest. Mark ran toward the fallen man, but bullets ricocheted off the concrete pad around him, turning him back into the stacks of cargo where he hid, watching for Floyd to get away.
Cautiously, troops emerged, circling the sphere. Just as their circle was completed, the whoosh of a takeoff sounded. Mark saw that Micah's shuttle was up and away. Troops fired small arms at the ship, but it continued toward space, unaffected. Then Mark saw one of the Apache helicopters circle low over the launch pad, hovering over Floyd's sphere. Then more troops came, and another circle was formed around the lifting sphere, the inner
circle pointing their weapons at the sphere, the outer circle ready for a counterattack—something Mark knew would not happen.
Mark looked back at the sphere Floyd was in; the Apache helicopter was hovering low, trapping it. Other troops were aiming rocket launchers at the sphere. It was effective containment and now they not only had the sphere, but they also had Floyd.