End of Days (18 page)

And then there was Sheppard.

Of course Sheppard knew there was another level of leadership entirely—shadowy figures and world leaders who made decisions unrelated to the scientific purpose of the project. But really, he didn’t need to know those people. All he knew was that they never interfered with the science, and they gave them the resources and security necessary to carry out their mission.

The door slid shut, they started to go down, and all Sheppard could think about was the impending crash of the elevator.

The massive room was filled with scientists and technicians, all monitoring and coordinating the launch of the first ship. They either sat at the desks and consoles that filled the room or were frantically buzzing about. Despite the level of what looked like chaos to Sheppard, everything was going as planned. Everybody knew their job. It was calm, controlled chaos, overseen by the best and the brightest.

Sheppard secured a corner of the room and tried to stay out of the way. Ironically, there was really nothing for him to do now. It was as if he had invented the internal combustion engine but had no idea how to drive the car … actually, he really didn’t know how to drive.

The electronic voice over the PA announced,
“T minus seven minutes.”
So far, everything was on schedule and going according to plan.

Sheppard sat quietly in his chair, watching, trying to make sense of what was going on around him. His eye was caught by the far wall of the control room, which was dominated by a bank of television screens. They were showing closed-circuit live feed from the other launch sites around the world. Cameras recorded the ships themselves, the facilities, the security, and the crowds outside the perimeter.

Parker was standing in front of one of the screens and staring intently. Sheppard knew that if that screen was significant enough for Parker to be interested in, it had to be important. In a blur of activity Parker could always sort out the wheat from the chaff. He’d once told Sheppard that his whole job—and Sheppard’s life—depended on that skill.

Sheppard joined him. The screen showed images of riot policemen, shields up, batons swinging, charging into a crowd. There were clouds of tear gas in the air and people on the ground, some of them not moving.

“Where is that?” Sheppard asked.

“Just outside our gates. A large group tried to breach the security fence.”

“Oh, my goodness!”

“They were repelled, but not without loss of life.”

“People died?” Sheppard gasped.

“Not many. Estimates have it at fewer than three hundred.”

“And you consider three hundred people ‘not many’?” Sheppard couldn’t believe his ears.

“It’s all relative,” Parker explained. He pointed to another
screen. “In France, there have been over four thousand deaths already confirmed.”

There was a scene of cars burning and people fleeing, others throwing rocks and bricks, and the ground was littered with the injured and dead.

“That many people tried to enter their launch site?” Sheppard questioned.

“Judgment Day followers tried to storm the facility. They were attacked by others, who were there to cheer on our efforts. The fighting between the two groups became a riot. Very few deaths were caused by our security forces.”

“And what about the other launch sites?” Sheppard asked.

“Britain has been relatively quiet. Same for Russia, India, and China.”

“And Pakistan?”

“The entire country has been the site of mass demonstrations and riots for the past week. Additional troops from the United Nations were airlifted to protect the launch site. Estimates are that over twenty-five thousand people have been killed.”

“Why didn’t I hear anything about this?” Sheppard asked.

“What value would there have been in telling you?” Parker asked. “There was nothing you could do, and it was felt that you needed to focus your time and energy on any last-minute changes that might need to take place.”

Sheppard couldn’t argue with the logic.

“
T minus one minute,”
came the announcement.

“Are you going to have a seat?” Parker asked.

Sheppard shook his head. “I think this is a good place to watch all seven of the launches.”

The top bank of screens showed all seven rockets at their launch pads. The location of each was given at the bottom of the screen, and they were arranged alphabetically, from left to right: China, England, France, India, Pakistan, Russia, and the United States.

“
T minus thirty seconds.”

The tension in the room jumped up a notch. Now nobody was rushing around. All attention was focused on the controls and consoles. A voice in the background began to count down.

“T minus 25 … 24 … all systems are go … 22 … 21 … 20 … guidance system released … 18 … 17 …”

The only other sounds in the room were radio transmissions relaying information or confirming that things were as they should be. Every eye was focused either on the control panels or on the visual of the rocket sitting at the tower.

“We have commit … 9 … 8 …
7
 … 6 … we have ignition … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 … we have liftoff.”

The whole control room started to shake slightly as flames erupted from the bottom of the rocket, oranges and reds that became brilliant white as a cloud of smoke shot out. The rocket, almost in slow motion, began to rise from the ground.

“It has cleared the tower … 34.5 million newtons of thrust … it has cleared the tower.”

Despite the calmness of the voice, Sheppard knew this
was significant. Most malfunctions happened in the first few metres from the ground.

The ship quickly gained speed and elevation. The camera followed it up into the sky.

“Altitude 0.8 kilometres … trajectory is good … launch is good.”

There was a cheer from the room.

Sheppard turned to the screens above his head. He scanned from one image to the next to the next. All seven flights looked good, but what could he tell from a picture?

“China reports successful launch,”
the announcer said.
“Russia reports successful launch. India reports successful launch. Britain reports successful launch. France reports successful launch.”

That left only one site—Pakistan. Sheppard looked at that screen. The rocket was disappearing into the clouds. Was there a problem?

“Pakistan reports successful launch. All seven sites confirm successful launches.”

There was another cheer, even louder than the first, and then almost instantly the technicians settled back into their tasks. There was another launch scheduled in less than thirty minutes, so there was no time for a more prolonged celebration, and really, there wasn’t cause for celebration yet.

“Feeling better?” Parker asked.

“Halfway to feeling better. I was anxious when the Pakistan site didn’t report in right away.”

“I wasn’t worried about that site,” Parker said.

“Why not?”

“Dictatorships and military governments have the capacity to do whatever they need to do to make a launch successful. We had enough security on the ground to safeguard that site.”

“Even though it meant the deaths of thousands of people,” Sheppard pointed out.

“I’m more worried about the riots in France,” Parker said. “Democracies, even in today’s distorted reality, still have to try, or appear to try, to follow the general rules of law.”

“Is that what we call it … the general rules of law?” Sheppard asked.

“It’s the best that can be done, and I guess it’s been good enough. We’ve managed to keep sufficient order in place to launch those rockets … although, quite frankly, there were many times when I thought the whole thing was going to break down into complete anarchy.”

“Was it really that close?” Sheppard asked.

“It’s been a long time since you’ve been outside one of our complexes. You’d hardly recognize life out there. Food and resources are scarce, safety and security and law and order are even rarer.”

“I really have lived in a bubble,” Sheppard admitted.

“Which is the only reason you have lived. Out there it’s become the proverbial jungle, with survival of the fittest the only real law in many places. It’s come to what Thomas Hobbes suggested life is: poor, nasty, brutish, and rather short.”

Sheppard knew he was right, but he also knew he didn’t want to think about any of that anymore. He had to stay focused on the task at hand. He turned back to the
screens. They were still following the rockets, which were getting smaller and smaller as they gained elevation and jettisoned the spent stages of the booster rockets. Soon they would be in space, safe from any possible interference or sabotage, heading toward the asteroid with nuclear warheads as their cargo.

If none of the second set of launches was successful, there would still be enough firepower to create the second-strongest power source in the solar system—second only to the sun. In fact, when all the nuclear bombs were deployed and exploded at the same time, as planned, then the flash would be twenty or thirty times brighter than the sun, and anybody watching without eye protection would experience corneal damage, risking at least temporary blindness.

Other screens showed the next rockets at the second towers, waiting to launch. It was exciting and sobering. All the success of the first seven rockets was washed away in the possibility that something could happen to the next seven ships.

“I’m going to step outside for a while,” Sheppard said.

Parker got up to accompany him.

“You don’t have to go. I’ll be fine.”

“You will be fine and I
do
have to go,” Parker replied.

There was no point in arguing. Sheppard knew the rules as well as Parker did. There was no choice. He had to be protected at all times.

They exited the bunker. It was brighter outside, but the residue of the rocket firing had created a haze that partially blocked the sun.

“Do you smell it?” Parker asked.

“Yes, very strong. Is that rocket fuel?”

“Tear gas,” he said. “It’s blowing back from the demonstrations.”

“I just wish none of that was happening out there,” Sheppard said. “I regret every life that has to be taken.”

“Sometimes you have to break a few eggs to make an omelette.”

“These aren’t eggs, Parker. They’re human lives.”

“Which have to be sacrificed for the common good. We’re trying to save over nine billion lives, so losing a few thousand, even a few hundred thousand—that has to be an acceptable trade-off, wouldn’t you think?”

“I suppose it makes sense, if you think about it that way,” Sheppard said.

“There is no
other
way to think about it. This is a war, and in times of war there will be casualties. We have to do whatever is necessary to ensure the victory for the
good
guys, and
we’re
the good guys. Heck, if you think about it, we’re even trying to save the lives of the bad guys, the guys trying to kill us!”

“I wish everybody thought of us that way. It’s hard to be considered the Devil incarnate by so many people. There must be hundreds of thousands of people who want me dead.”

“No,” Parker said, shaking his head. “It’s
much
more than that. I would say more like twenty or thirty million people think you’re evil and would happily dance on your grave.”

“That’s
so
much more reassuring.”

“Just stating a fact. And remember that even though
millions of people want you dead, there are
billions
of good people, even deeply religious people, who pray for our success. I’ll take billions over millions any day.”

“I guess you’re right,” Sheppard admitted.

“I
know
I’m right. And these people who hate you are hardly innocents. They would take your life, my life, and the lives of all of these scientists in a second. And in doing so they would not only cause the deaths of billions, but destroy untold billions of people still to be born. How much sympathy can you have for people who want to destroy mankind?”

Sheppard had never seen Parker speak so passionately. He was always so cool, calm, professional—unseen eyes behind dark sunglasses watching everything around him, never showing his emotions.

“I think it’s time for us to get back inside for the next launches,” Parker said.

Sheppard was happy to head back into the bunker. Suddenly he felt very exposed standing outside. He wondered if any of those millions of people who wanted him dead were close at hand, just outside the fence … or even closer.

It was like watching a replay of the first round of launches. Sheppard knew that the success or failure of each launch was an independent variable, but having seen seven successes already he felt more confident. The announcer again gave the countdown.

“We have commit … 9 … 8 … 7 … 6 … we have ignition … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 … we have liftoff.”

The ground started to shake and the rockets on all screens began to lift off. The announcer gave more assurances as the rockets gained elevation. With these ships and the seven already in orbit, that meant that—

Sheppard’s eyes widened in shock as the image on the middle screen exploded into a fireball in the sky!

The sound was deafening and the room seemed to shake. All around them, on screens that filled the room, Joshua Fitchett and Billy watched as the first rockets soared into the sky. Seven ships from seven launch sites, and all were perfect. The cameras on the ground continued to follow them until they got smaller and smaller and finally disappeared from view.

Fitchett muted the sound and they stood in silence.

“That was amazing,” Billy said.

“It’s even more amazing in person.”

“You’ve been to a launch?”

“You have to remember that this facility was once used as a launch site for satellites. I’ve been here for more than twenty-five launches. As well, I’ve been party to another dozen launches at the Cape Canaveral site. My companies developed and manufactured many of the components in
those ships. Aerospace technology has always been one of my areas of interest and expertise.”