Stormhaven Rising (Atlas and the Winds Book 1) (28 page)

***

Camp Kryptonite:

Shapiro sat staring at the olive drab walls of his tent office. Yesterday had been a long day and today threatened to be another one. The only thing positive that had come from the first meeting was the two hours of observations on the small flying machine while it was parked in their camp. Of course, very little could be interpreted from the information except that the craft’s engines were definitely the source of the repeater malfunctions that had been plaguing them.

The situation had continued to disintegrate after Stormhaven had walked out on the meeting and by morning, the
Dancing Star
and a virtually identical second vehicle, the
Pegasus
, were parked on the grounds in front of the community. The two ships dwarfed the growing crowd of news vehicles clustered around them.

Before sunrise SNN and GNS had gone online with live coverage of the countdown to launch. Two of the monitors in a bank along one end of his office had been set up to watch their webfeeds, while the other screens showed real-time images from the dozens of cameras around Camp Kryptonite.

Shapiro had watched them move several of the satellite trucks out of the way and they were now busily building an amphitheater in front of the two ships, complete with risers and stage lights. It looked like they were setting up for a reenactment of Woodstock rather than building a launch pad, but Shapiro knew from his first night here that nothing about Stormhaven even vaguely resembled what you’d expect.

Schimmel had been the first to come in this morning, expressing amusement over the fact that Stormhaven had given away more information to the press, than the Agency had gathered in several days of scrutiny. Frustrated, Shapiro had suggested that he should go sign up for one of the press tours. It was starting to look like that was the only way they’d get any hard data.

A few minutes later, Watkins came in with another hopeless report of failed efforts, and he’d sent her packing with a similar recommendation.

When DeMarko showed up on her heels, he was met at the door with a growling snarl. “What do you want?”

“Sorry boss, I came by to let you know that they sent over an invite to attend the launch.” He sat down, ignoring Shapiro’s attitude.

“They don’t have clearance and they’re not going to get it,” he said. “There will be no launch.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t think they care,” DeMarko said.

“I know that, but we’ve got to stop them, somehow.” Shapiro stood up, walking over to the monitors to turn the sound down. “Our orders don’t include letting them get away with it.”

“Have you looked out there this morning?” DeMarko asked. “The road into Stormhaven looks like a highway. There have to be hundreds of cars an hour coming in.”

“You’re shitting me.” Shapiro said.

“Nope,” he said. Tapping his comlink he asked, “Schimmel, link surveillance camera six into the boss’s office."

One of his monitors changed to a view of a sprawling village of campfires and RVs. “These are all civilians camping along the fence. There are six to eight thousand here already, and if it doesn’t slow down, it’ll be 50,000 by tonight,” DeMarko said.

Shapiro shook his head. “Damn. They sure know how to work the public don’t they?” he said. “If we shut them down, we’re going to have a riot. That could be a real problem.”

“It already is,” DeMarko said. “Maybe you should take this up with Secretary Anderson?"

Nodding, he punched in the Secretary’s direct number on his phone. “If we can’t get them to give up,” he said, “then we’re going to need to get ugly, and we’ll be doing it in front of a live audience.”

He waited several seconds for the call to connect. “Shapiro here sir,” he said.

“Good morning,” Anderson said. He sounded strange, almost distant.

“The situation at Stormhaven is getting out of control,” the agent said.

“I’ve read your report, and I’ve been watching the news. They’re thumbing their noses at us.” The Secretary sounded almost amused.

“Yes, sir. I’ve been discussing it with my negotiator and we’re both of the opinion that they’re going to launch regardless of having permission.”

“So stop them,” Anderson said. “Why’s that a problem?”

“It’s going to be media fiasco if we do,” he said. “If we have to go in hot, it’ll be on live TV and end up with a lot of exposure we don’t need right now given the big picture.”

“Make it look like their problem,” Anderson suggested. “You’ve got a covert-ops team there. Create an accident.”

Shapiro frowned. “Getting inside is an issue. There are literally thousands of eyes on those ships all the time.”

“Do what you can, and then if they still manage to get off the ground, we’ll make sure the Air Force hands them their catastrophe after they get out of sight. Spaceflight is a dangerous business you know.” Anderson chuckled.

“Yes sir. I understand.”

“Good.” The connection closed leaving Shapiro wondering if there was something else on Anderson’s mind. He didn’t seem to get the point.

“So what did he recommend? DeMarko asked, ignoring the confused expression of his boss’s face.

“Find Abrams,” he said. “He gets to play after all.”

***

Looking for Trouble

Space Command, Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado:

“Look Doctor, we’ve already put a crew in orbit and you’re telling me you still don’t have a design started? I’ve got a problem with this.” Victor Marquez drummed his fingers on the Nimitz.

“General, it is this absurd need to develop a multi-target warhead that’s making the project more challenging than it needs to be.” Ward Danielson smiled across the video link, as if this fact alone should make it obvious that the deflection strategy should be abandoned.

“The President’s orders are not up for debate. Therefore, the project is exactly as complex as it needs to be. Now how long until we have a functional design?” General Marquez forced himself to remain calm.

“I can’t give you an answer. I’m only in charge of the warhead. The targeting and propulsion systems still have to be determined.” Danielson said, unaware of the General’s anger.

“You’re in charge of the entire missile development program. You have to know how much progress the people under your command are making. I’m asking a simple question."

“My people only received the mission parameters yesterday,” Danielson said. “It’s taking some time to analyze his specifications and they’re still involved in assessing the options.”

“Yesterday?” Marquez slapped his desktop. “Who dropped the ball?”

“The mission is very intricate. I’m sure it’s had a bearing on the development,” Danielson said.

“You’re saying that you didn’t have anything to work with until yesterday,” Marquez asked.

“Dr. Anthony’s specifications are going to take quite some time to figure out. He’s proposing the use of sixteen MRV style missiles with eight warheads each. They will detonate in a very elaborate sequence. Perhaps we should consider a simpler approach?”

“Yes I know your opinion, Dr. Danielson,” Marquez growled.

“But General, I have a duty to all of humanity to suggest the most viable course of action.”

“I recommend that, since you’re not designing the mission plan, you just suck it up and get on with the work,” Marquez said, jabbing his finger on the disconnect switch before the scientist could repeat himself yet again.

Without waiting for the screen to darken he punched the code for Dr. Anthony’s office.

“Good morning, General. What can I do for you?” Carter said, smiling.

“I hate to be so abrupt Doctor, but I have a question for you.” He tried to choke down his frustration so that his voice wouldn’t automatically put the astronomer on the defensive.

“Absolutely. Fire away.”

“Why was there such a delay in getting the mission specifications to Danielson?” He held his hands flat on the desk waiting for his answer, expecting to hear some irrelevant excuse.

“Delay?” Carter’s face showed his confusion. “I sent the specs to him the day I got to Houston. Maybe eight or nine days ago?”

“Really?” Marquez asked, shocked. “You’re sure he got them?”

“That’s the day he started ragging everybody about my plan. I figured it was in response.” Dr. Anthony leaned out of the camera range. “I should have a receipt from when I sent the file."

A couple seconds later a small image of the confirmation receipt popped up in the corner of Marquez’ screen. “It says he opened it that day.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” the General said. “It seems we’ve got some wasted time to account for."

“Anytime, I’m always available if you have more questions.”

“From now on, please CC me anything you send to Danielson.”

“No problem.” Carter smiled again as General Marquez snapped the connection closed.

It was obvious that Danielson was becoming more of a problem than he was worth. Grabbing his headset he punched into the com system.

“Get me a helo and a crew. I’m about to go get me a piece of ass.”

“Excuse me, General?” the confused officer on the other end of the link asked.

“I need transport to the Missile Development Center at Camp Mars,” he explained. It was time to put an end to Danielson’s political games before they put an end to the planet.

***

TLS Reliant:

Susan stared out the window, looking at the narrow slice of the lunar surface she could see from the pilot’s station. It was still a half-day away but the view was breathtaking. After the insane stress of Alpha, the trip outbound had been a vacation. She and Randy had listened to music on the uplink and had managed to relax into a strange but comfortable routine.

She’d also been right that there was a mutual attraction between them, so they’d had the chance to live out her fantasy. Repeatedly. It had been fun, even if it hadn’t been really great. It wasn’t that he was an inept lover, she was sure he’d be excellent on Earth, but the action and reaction of two bodies trying to stay in close contact had turned a sensual moment into an exercise in muscle strain.

They’d tried everything, up to and including duct tape, though nothing had made it any easier. There was no way to satisfy each other without tumbling recklessly around the cabin. Through determination and diligent experimentation they finally discovered that taking turns at foreplay was the only activity that could be enjoyed without risk of bodily injury.

On this last morning of the flight, she floated naked near the window studying the wrinkled grey mountains of the lunar surface, picking out landmarks she’d seen on maps and photographs. A gentle hand startled her back into the moment, as Randy slid himself between her legs. His booties firmly set on the mesh floor while she floated conveniently in front of him.

“Morning,” she smiled, grabbing a hand-hold above the instrument panel to keep from floating away.

He winked at her but said nothing, pulling her body into firm contact. She closed her eyes, just drifting away when the comlink hissed and a voice from Houston came on the speaker. “
Reliant
this is Capcom Houston. Please stand by for a video uplink from President Hutton."

“Shit!” she hissed clamping her thighs together and twisting herself around to face the communications console. Randy groaned in pain from being spun across the room by the neck.

“Negative on the last transmission
Reliant
, say again."

“Can they see us?” she whispered, frantically looking for her flight suit. He shook his head pointing to the camera over the monitor. The red light was still off.

Remembering where she’d left her clothes, she shoved herself through the hole into the lower cabin.

“Please repeat that last transmission
Reliant
, we have the President of the United States waiting for a visual channel.”

“Copy Houston, please stand by.” He laughed watching Susan bouncing around the small cabin like a ping-pong ball, stretching and pulling at her tangled jumpsuit. He launched himself after her and grabbed her, stopping her tumbling.

“Calm down. Get a clean suit. It’s easier than trying to straighten this one out."

“Randy. Is there a problem up there?” Capcom asked, after several more seconds had passed.

“Negative, Houston. No problem. We’ll be with you in a minute,” he said, struggling not to laugh at her panicked face.

In spite of his suggestion, she’d managed to get herself into the old suit and sweating from the exertion, pushed herself through the hatch to the command deck. “Get dressed,” she whispered.

Reaching the console, she punched the button to activate the camera. The screen lit up and she was staring into the face of Sylvia Hutton.

“Sorry for the delay, Madam President,” she said, knowing that her embarrassment was obvious. The two seconds for the signal to reach Earth and back only made her feel like she was being studied.