Gravity Wars: Saturn Protocol, page 25
-58-
On O.S. Artemis, a seasoned military team worked in shifts to maintain a 24/7 watch in the direction of Iapetus. Earth could no longer afford any hits against the surface. Earth Defense had to do better.
Lieutenant Commander Rogers stood at the central console of the detection section, scanning the array of monitors displaying data from Artemis’s powerful radars and telescopes.
“Commander, I’ve got something,” Ensign Smith called out from her station. “Unidentified object detected near the Moon. It’s heavy and moving fast, certainly another iron ball.”
Rogers stepped to Smith’s console. The display showed a rapidly approaching object.
“Magnify and give me a detailed scan,”
Rogers ordered.
Smith’s fingers flew over her controls. The screen zoomed in, revealing a dark, spherical object hurtling through space. The readings confirmed its mass and velocity: a 20,000 kg iron projectile moving at 34,722 meters per second.
“Initial trajectory analysis?” Rogers asked.
“It’s on a collision course with Earth. Projected impact site: North America. Estimated time to impact: three hours.”
Rogers felt a knot tighten in his stomach.
“Alert Earth Defense command,” Rogers said. “Priority one.”
The control room sprang into action, each member knowing their role. Communications officers relayed the message to the Earth Defense Command Center as the interception protocols were initiated.
Rogers watched the data stream in, knowing every second counted. His team had done their part. Hopefully, they had spotted the object in time.
***
Three missiles left their launch silos on O.S. Apollo, exhaust trails glowing brightly. The missiles each carried a 100-kiloton nuclear warhead to try to deflect the incoming iron ball.
The missiles burned hot, straining to reach the incoming target soon enough. It was a race. If they reached the iron ball too late, it wouldn’t matter how close they detonated the warhead. Nuclear explosions did not have the same kinetic strike power in space because of the lack of atmosphere.
Inside the missiles, the AIs continuously adjusted trajectory, calculating the optimal point of interception with the incoming iron projectile.
Later, Lieutenant Mitchell said in the O.S. Apollo Missile Commander Center, “Missile one is approaching target.” Her eyes were fixed on the telemetry data, fingers poised over the control console, ready to make any necessary adjustments.
As the first missile neared the hurtling iron ball, the sensors began their final preparations. The AI triggered the final approach sequence, fine-tuning the missile’s path to ensure maximum accuracy.
“Detonation in T-minus ten seconds,” Mitchell said.
The countdown ticked away. The first missile closed in, and in a flash, detonated.
The explosion was a radiant bloom of energy that briefly outshone the stars. Unfortunately, the telemetry data revealed that the detonation had been too far from the target.
“Minimal impact,” Mitchell said. “The iron ball’s trajectory is unchanged.”
“Damn,” someone whispered.
Soon, the second missile streaked forward, its AI recalculating the approach based on the data from the failed detonation. The missile adjusted with micro-thrusters. The iron ball loomed large on its sensors.
“Adjusting trajectory,” the AI said.
“Detonation in T-minus fifteen seconds,” Mitchell said.
The missile’s sensors locked onto the target, the AI calculating the exact moment of detonation. The missile closed the distance. Another flash appeared. The explosion was closer this time, but the data showed it was still insufficient.
“Detonation too far,” Mitchell said. “Impact with Earth still imminent.”
All eyes turned to the final missile.
The last AI used the cumulative data from the previous attempts. The AI, a newer model, performed countless calculations, each bringing the last warhead closer to the precise point of detonation.
“The missile is on final approach,” Mitchell said. “Detonation in T-minus twenty seconds.”
The iron projectile grew larger on the screens.
“Ten seconds… nine… eight…” Mitchell counted down.
The missile’s AI calculated the final approach, adjusting its thrusters to align with the projected detonation point. The missile closed in, its proximity sensors beeping.
“Three seconds… two… one…”
The warhead detonated, the explosion enveloping the iron ball. The force of the blast nudged it, altering its trajectory.
“Direct hit,” Mitchell shouted. “Trajectory altered!”
***
The 20,000 kg iron ball hurtled at a blistering 34,722 meters per second. The last detonation had nudged it just enough to alter the trajectory. Now, its course was precariously close to the planet, skimming the upper atmosphere.
In the O.S. Apollo Command Center, General Hargrove watched the telemetry data intently. Every eye in the chamber was fixed on the displays that mapped the iron projectile’s altered trajectory.
“Telemetry update,” Lieutenant Mitchell reported. “Object is now skimming the upper atmosphere. Impact probability reduced to zero.”
A collective sigh swept through the chamber, but Hargrove focused on the screens. “I want constant updates until its gone.”
The exosphere where the iron ball traveled was composed mainly of hydrogen and helium atoms, offering little to slow its advance. However, the sheer speed of the object meant even these sparse particles generated significant heat through friction.
Then the iron ball moved into the thermosphere, where the atmospheric density increased slightly. Here, the friction intensified, creating a brilliant tail of plasma. The iron ball glowed. The thermosphere, while still thin, exerted enough resistance to affect the iron ball’s outer layers, causing them to vaporize in a trail of luminous particles.
“Object temperature peaking at 3,000 degrees Celsius,” Mitchell said. “No significant deceleration detected.”
As the iron ball streaked through the thermosphere, it arced slightly, influenced by the remaining gravitational pull and the drag from the atmosphere. This slight arc was critical, keeping it from plunging deeper into denser layers of the atmosphere where it could have caused horrible damage.
The mesosphere, typically known for burning up meteors, was next. Luckily, the iron projectile’s trajectory kept it too high to interact with this layer. The blazing trail continued to streak across the sky.
On O.S. Apollo, Hargrove leaned closer to the main display. “How long until it exits the atmosphere?”
“Estimated three minutes,” Mitchell said. “Object on course to bypass Earth.”
Although the threat of impact was gone, the operation was not yet over. Every sensor and telescope was trained on the iron ball, tracking it as it neared the edge of the atmosphere.
The iron ball finally approached the boundary of the thermosphere and the exosphere, its blazing trail starting to dim as it moved away from the thicker atmospheric layers. The friction-induced plasma sheath began to dissipate, leaving a cooling, dark mass.
The last atmospheric particles brushed against it as the iron projectile sped back into the vacuum of space. The brilliant glow faded completely, and it returned to its original dark appearance.
“Object has exited the atmosphere,” Mitchell said. “Trajectory is taking it away from Earth. We’re in the clear.”
A round of applause erupted. Hargrove allowed himself a rare smile.
Earth Defense was improving. This was proof. But it still didn’t always turn out that way. The new AI had proven its worth. That meant all the missiles needed them. But could Earth still produce enough of them? That was the question, among many others.
-59-
Director Livia Drusus was at her Himalayan retreat, wanting to escape the horrible destruction on Earth. She also wanted to get away from the spies, sycophants, and assassins.
She knew others thirsted for her position and wanted her dead. She needed to think. She needed serenity for that.
Livia stood in a room higher than the one where she had met Petty and Huber a few years ago. She stared out a grand window at Mount Everest, which was so stark and beautiful. There was a storm brewing in the background, but right now, sunlight sparkled off the mountain’s snow.
Livia breathed deeply, trying to relax.
She had aged these past few years. The responsibility and weight of power had put creases in her once smooth face. She hated looking in a mirror. She had once been so beautiful. A quirk of her mouth, a lift of an eyebrow, and men would rush to do whatever she asked.
They still did that, but not because of her beauty, but because of her power, or out of fear.
What had Machiavelli asked in The Prince? Is it better to be loved or to be feared? Livia knew the answer. It was far better to be feared because you could induce fear in others. But if someone were to love you, they had to decide to do that.
As a ruler, she did not want to give that choice. So fear. Yes, she would rule through fear. But she had also learned something else from reading Machiavelli. That it was better to do all your dirty deeds at once, rather than continuously doing them. People would be horrified and sickened by all the evil things you had done. But here was the most marvelous thing about the human animal. They seemed to forget such things over time.
Over time, the pebble in their shoe was right in front of them. That is what filled their thoughts. Thus the evil that you had done, over time, you could do a kind act here, no longer doing those evil things, and people would think, “She has changed. She is so much better. She is not the harridan we thought she was.”
Livia had done her hard actions in the beginning. Well, she had tried to do it that way. This damn space bombardment would not end. It had forced her to hard actions in order to check the growing chaos on Earth.
They were getting better at deflecting some of the hideous iron balls. Others smashed into the planet in the oceans or deserts, not striking another critically needed factory.
How could the aliens be so accurate? If only they could capture one of the iron projectiles and study it. Surely, each ball had a guidance system and thrusters, and an AI in order to make course corrections.
Earth’s space force personnel—
Livia made a face.
James Petty controlled the space forces. He doled out a fact here and there. But that arrogant, muscular brute stood in her way of attaining all the power.
Livia hated that, and Petty.
She wanted to be the sole ruler of Earth, making all the critical decisions.
Livia turned from the window, sat on a couch and picked up a computer tablet. She turned it on and began to read reports.
She crossed her legs. They were still beautiful and tan. She often lay in a tanning bed. The doctors told her this and that, suggesting that tanning was bad. She didn’t trust the doctors. Oh, maybe to set a broken arm, but for other things, they were so often politically motivated, of that she was certain.
She read more reports.
As she did, Livia became curious and then angry at what she saw. She started to study types of stock shares that had plummeted and which factories had been destroyed by iron projectiles.
During this six-month period—
“My goodness,” Livia said. “Is this right?”
Petty’s stocks had only been minimally hit, maybe 15 to 16 percent, whereas hers… Livia had taken a staggering 48 percent loss.
She continued to study. Her losses weren’t the highest, but… she sat back and thought about it.
Could Earth Defense, as they called it, try more or harder to deflect the iron balls that would hit Petty’s main industries or those of his closest allies? Did that mean Earth Defense tried less or let the iron balls through that were targeted against her or her closest allies’ factories?
Livia continued to study, making a careful compilation of the data. Petty’s closest allies had lost 24 percent of their infrastructures, whereas her allies had lost 41 percent.
Livia slammed the tablet onto a table. This was evidence of a long-term plot. It couldn’t be a coincidence.
I must run Earth Defense. They have two Orion ships and the space marines. I must assassinate Petty at the earliest opportunity.
Livia stood, moved to the window and stared at Mount Everest. The storm was rolling in front of it. She could no longer see the entire mountain, the highest point on Earth.
Should she send her best agents, have them pinpoint Petty’s location, and then launch a salvo of nuclear missiles to take out that orbital station? If she guessed wrong, she would weaken Earth Defense for no gain.
At this point, it was so touch-and-go deflecting the horrible iron projectiles. How could the aliens have such fantastic targeting capabilities? Perhaps Earth needed to launch EW pods across the probable path of the iron balls. They could start with the straight path from Iapetus to Earth. Shouldn’t they be launching counter-missiles into deep space to intercept the iron balls out there?
Livia couldn’t believe this.
I am coming up with so many good ideas. Why hasn’t Earth Defense come up with these ideas? Why don’t we launch the Orion ships at deeper intercept points?
Then Livia knew. I must control Earth completely, as I have the better ideas.
Petty had inserted himself into orbital space and made it his territory.
Livia needed to think. She couldn’t afford to weaken Earth Defense at this critical juncture. If the aliens continued to destroy the major industrial sites, there would be no coming back from it.
She could launch nukes to take out an orbital station. Or maybe she needed to suborn a critical person near Petty.
Livia smiled.
That was an interesting idea. Could she recruit Petty’s people? She would have to think about this carefully and talk to her spy chief.
This was the main game. The aliens, in a sense, were the third force. Either she or Petty must control Earth.
“It must be me,” Livia said. “I have the imaginative intelligence to beat the aliens. Look at how far I’ve come. I destroyed Gray. Now, Petty is all that stands between a full dictatorship and me.
Livia once more retired to the couch. She put her chin on her chest and continued to think deeply about this.
-60-
NEARING SATURN
APRIL 2071
The man slowly became aware, although he wasn’t sure what that meant. Then he realized that it was freezing. He was freezing. Was he mumbling because of that? He heard answers, but they meant nothing to him. He just wanted to be warm again and go back to sleep.
Sleep.
Something about that was almost magical. Oh, right, he had been asleep. For a long time. Now, he was awake. That meant—
He opened his eyes. All he saw was blurriness everywhere he looked.
Have I gone blind?
That would be bad.
No. That would be a catastrophe. Should I be panicking at the thought of being blind? Why am I so calm about this?
That implied injected drugs or extreme lethargy on his part. If it was lethargy, he should try to do more.
He blinked. That hurt, feeling gritty and something… something else.
Did that make him nervous, frightened?
After several seconds, he moved his body and tried to shift his limbs. Pins stabbed his muscles everywhere. He groaned aloud at the hot agony.
Afterward, he heard voices. They were definitely speaking Chinese. No, it wasn’t voices, but a single voice. It spoke fast in Chinese, jabbering, it seemed like.
He couldn’t sit up to tell the speaker to shut up. He didn’t have the strength to sit up. But he was starting to remember…
Who am I?
He struggled with the concept. Then it hit him all at once.
I’m Colonel Mike Steele.
As he made or received the revelation, other knowledge began flooding into his sluggish mind.
Technicians had put him in stasis and stuck him on a stealth spaceship. That meant he must have been waking up from long-term stasis.
The Chinese voice suddenly became insistent.
Could that be the alien’s language? Had the aliens captured the stealth ship? Damn. That would be the worst outcome of all. He needed to figure this out fast and then do something about it.
“Wake up, Mike Steele,” he said.
The Chinese voice ceased immediately. Another voice began. This one… he had watched movies where actors spoke… German. It was a strong-sounding, manly language, but he didn’t understand more than word or two in German.
“Why don’t you speak English?” Steele asked. He thought he had boomed the question. Later, he would realize he had barely whispered it.
“English, is that your language?” asked robotically. “Are you in need of assistance?”
“Are you my co-pilot?” Steele asked.
“I am AI Boreas. I have been running the Phantom Echo for nearly three years. My cargo is finally beginning to stir. That is you, Colonel Mike Steele.”
“What about the co-pilot?”
“I am afraid he is nil.”
Steele didn’t know what that meant. It couldn’t be good, though, because his head began to hurt. Despite the throbbing, he began to revive more fully. Slowly, carefully, he moved his limbs. It hurt like feet beginning to thaw after being extremely cold. That had happened when he’d played hockey as a kid. The motion helped him focus. That hurt his eyes at first. Then, he began seeing.
There were adhesive pads pressed to his skin. The pads sprouted wires attached to the stasis unit.
One by one, he peeled the pads off his skin. It made him shiver, but he became more aware. As he did—
His torso, stomach and legs had shriveled horribly during his stasis. This was horrifying.
“I’ve lost weight,” Steele said.
“That is true,” Boreas said. “You have lost 82 pounds in total.”
“What the hell,” Steele said. “That means I’m barely 134 pounds.”
