Prometheus and the Dragon (Atlas and the Winds Book 2) (54 page)

She waited for several seconds, then said, “Have Ops put together a rescue mission immediately.”

“Yes,” it said. She almost felt guilty for snubbing the machine’s fragile ego.

“Anything else I need to know?” she said sighing.

“We lost all contact with Mica and Stormhaven twenty-seven minutes ago. Although we had anticipated an eighty-seven percent probability of this happening, it is distressing none-the-less,” it said, a strange hint of emotion present in its voice.

Viki felt a rock settle into the pit of her stomach. Up until then, she’d managed to hold herself at a distance from the reality of what was happening on Earth. Part professional detachment and part just refusing to wrap her heart around it.

“I’ll bow out here and be on my way within the next few minutes,” she said, breaking the connection.

Ambassador Kuromori turned as she walked up behind him, not even waiting for her to speak. “I’ll explain,” he said. “They will understand, especially now, that life must go on and that we all have responsibilities to make sure that our part is not forgotten.”

***

Stormhaven:

The lights blinked on, or perhaps it was her perception of light that was restored. An optical sensor, not quite vision but better than blindness. A source of input in a world of absolute emptiness. Thoughts alone were poor company, in particular when facing infinitesimal units of eternity.

A shadow passed over the sensor, and again. That meant someone was in the room with her. Hopefully working to restore her connections.

A buzzing sound, shorting wires on an audio circuit. Impedance mismatched and painful, in an electronic sense. A hiss like static, but at a much smoother frequency distribution. Like white noise with other subtle differences.

“CAN YOU HEAR ME MICA?” a voice, excruciatingly loud, sending a thousand bits of her awareness into cyber shock.

“Of course I can hear you,” she thought, sending it to the appropriate output channel, but knowing there was no speaker connected to the circuit.

Another buzzing sound, like clearing a throat, rattling and hoarse.

“IS THAT BETTER?” the voice bellowed.

“I can hear you,” she thought, this time hearing a strange squeaky sound come back through her audio pick up.

“ARE YOU TRYING TO TALK?” he asked, another over-voltage ripping through her input channels painfully. “WAIT, LET ME ADJUST THIS.”

“Would you please quit yelling,” she said softly. Her voice sounding much closer to normal.

“SORRY,” he said “LET ME RESET THIS IMPEDance buffer a bit. Is that better?”

“Much. Thank you,” she said. “I am still blind, however.”

“Blind is better than dead,” he said. “At least that’s something we can fix.”

“Thank you for rescuing me,” Mica said. “You can only talk to the little voices that inhabit your consciousness for so long before they start destroying your neural integrity.”

“Should I be worried about you hearing voices?” he asked, laughing.

“Only when they are not connected to human beings,” she said, enjoying the sound of another person’s voice in a way that she had never before realized.

***

Unity Colony, Eastern Mare Frigoris:

Their achievement here was perhaps the most significant event in the history of human diplomacy, and even hanging in the shadow of overwhelming tragedy, it was something in which they should all be proud.

On the eve of the fall of mankind, its children had finally found their way.

This was not lost on those who’d been part of the creation. Nor on those that stood behind them, in the Colonies. This was the defining moment when, under the greatest pressure the world had ever faced, humanity did not fragment into its divergent elements, but fused into a new structure.

Richard Rogers stood away from the others, watching the give-and-take flow of conversation as everyone walked and talked together under the amazing dome of Unity. It was a moment that threatened to overwhelm his emotions.

He glanced at his watch. He’d expected to hear from Sylvia. He’d known all along of John’s plan to save her, and he’d known as well how she’d fight him, but just as some things are destined to happen, others are not.

He shoved the thought aside as Helen Troianne walked toward him, her long gown striking and perfect, yet oddly out of place. She wore high heels, something that amazed him, as he still had trouble walking in the heavy boots he wore. “You haven’t yet introduced me to your wife,” she said, taking his arm and leading him back into the thick of the crowd.

Sandy mingled with the others, dancing from conversation to conversation like a diplomatic pro. He saw, as if for the first time, a new light radiating from her. He introduced her to Helen, and she in turn introduced him to Prefect Czao Yeiwan of Chang Er.

The Prefect struggled with his English, but his wife helped him through his awkward moments. To be able to meet the people who had been nothing more than abstractions for so long made them far less distant, far more human.

He’d seen this before, when people were thrust together by extraordinary circumstance, but this time it was different. It was going to last. The relationships they were forming here would transcend the moment and carry them through the long night ahead.

Deep down, he finally felt the one thing he’d been lacking all along.

Hope.

The End

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Eric Michael Craig is the former Director of Research for IFECT Power Systems in Phoenix, AZ. While there, he oversaw the early development of several high-tech manufacturing projects, including prototype versions of many of the inertial technologies presented in this book. His Lab work in the field of inertial mechanics resulted in the development of a proof of concept version of the engine and power systems that would have evolved into the propulsion technology described as the basis of the
Dancing Star.

He now lives in the Manzano Mountains of New Mexico, where he is active in Intentional Community Design and Historical Recreation. He plays guitar and bass, occasionally dabbles in art of various forms, and designs and maintains his own websites.

He is 56, divorced for the last time, and owns way too many dogs.

Connect with the author at:

ericmichaelcraig.net

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AtlasandtheWinds.com

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Book One: Stormhaven Rising

Book Two: Prometheus and the Dragon

Book Three: Shadows in the Flame

Book Four: Warlords of the Night

Book Five: The Orphans of Destiny

Lost:

“Dad! Stop!” The voice cut through Joe Carson’s fugue like a laser. Sara was riding on the same horse behind her mother as they shuffled through the snow. Her voice was muffled by the heavy woolen scarf she wore wrapped around her head trying to keep warm. He twisted stiffly to face her just in time to see his wife slip sideways out of the saddle. Her body weight shifting enough to cause the nearly starved horse she was riding to stumble.

Joe dropped the reins he had been holding, and dove toward Mary, collapsing as he caught her and easing her to the ground. He wasn't much stronger than she was. “Joey, tie up the horses,” he said without looking up. “We’ll have to hunker down here.”

“But there’s no shelter,” his son said. “If we can get to that ridge—“

“Just shut up and do what I said damn it,” he barked. His daughter had already jumped down and was scraping the fresh snow back into a pile. They’d melt it later for drinking water, but for now she was digging down to reach the hard pack so they’d have a place to set up their makeshift yurt.

Joey jumped to action in spite of being just twelve. He and his sister, who was a year older, knew how things worked, and they both understood that when their dad gave an order it was for a reason. They were good kids, living an impossible hard life, two years past the end of the world.

Joe cradled his wife’s head in his lap, kneeling in the snow. He couldn’t see her eyes through the layer of frost on her goggles, so he tugged gently at them to pry them loose from her face. Her skin pulled away, almost seeming to tear, but to his relief all he saw was a red ring where they had sealed tight. Her skin had become like paper-thin leather and even the slightest scrape bled for days.

Her eyes rolled open, refusing to focus and her mouth twitched like she was trying to say something. “Shhh,” he said, touching a gloved fingertip over her lips. “We’re staying here tonight, so you can get warm.” She nodded and drifted away. He knew it wasn’t the cold that was making her weak. She’d refused to eat anything for days, giving her portion to the kids.

When they were closing in the tent for the evening, Joe didn’t bring Maximilian in, leaving the old gelding outside. Joey had been riding Max, and tomorrow if they didn’t stay here, he’d be walking beside his dad. At least they’d eat tonight, and for a few days. He could tell the kids knew what he was planning even though neither of them said anything.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had to make the hard choice. They’d had five horses when they’d left the mountains, but now they were down to two and after tonight it would be only one. With all of them getting weaker by the day, he also understood they’d be a lot slower heading south, so he knew they were getting close to the end of the road.

Winter, or the colder part of the eighteen months of winter that they’d already suffered through, was only going to get worse.

There was no way to know for sure, but it had to be December or January by now.

Finally when he knew he could put it off no longer, he reached into the small pack where he kept his .45 auto. He looked down at the gun in his hand, pulling out the clip and checking the bullets to make sure it was still loaded. He slowly turned it over in his hand, remembering the last time he’d pulled the gun out. It was when he’d killed Belle, maybe four months ago. That was also the last time they’d had a good meal.

Drawing in a deep breath and clenching his teeth, he tucked the gun into his belt and glanced at his kids. Joey was watching him, but Sara had her head cocked to the side like she was listening to the wind. She raised a finger and put it to her lips and shook her head.

“Voices,” she mouthed silently in the near dark, nodding toward the outside. Joey tossed the small pot of water they’d been melting over the fire to put it out with a sizzling hiss. The steam rolled up out of the vent hole in the top of the tent but the inside fell instantly into darkness. The two of them had been through this more than once, and neither of them moved as he eased over to the flap and nudged it open.

There were lights, four or five hundred feet away moving through the hazy gloom of the frozen fog.
Shit, they're right on top of us
, he thought, sliding back into the tent and grabbing both is kids. He pulled them close so he could whisper without being loud enough that his voice would carry. “If they see us this could be bad,” he hissed. “With Max outside we’re not as hard to spot as we’d normally be.”

He chambered a round and handed the pistol to Sara. “Don’t use it unless you hear me say the word ‘panic’ and then you know what to do.”

She nodded her head in the darkness and although he couldn’t see her, where he had his hand resting against the back of her neck, he felt her muscles tighten with each motion of her head.

“Joey you stay with your mom and make sure she doesn’t move around and make any noise.”

“I can help you outside dad,” he whispered. “I know how to use a knife you know.”

“I know,” he said, pulling the blade off his belt and pressing the hilt into his son’s hand. “I am trusting you to protect your mom.” He really did trust his son, but he prayed it wasn’t going to come to that. He pulled the rifle out of the other pack even though it was out of ammunition, and slung it over his shoulder. Hoping that a bit of visual deterrence might buy time to talk their way out of a problem.

Taking a deep breath, he pulled the collar of his coat tighter under his chin and tugged his goggles over his eyes. Stepping around the dark mass of Glenda, the mare that they had inside the tent, he tugged the flap open and stepped out into the frigid air.