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Saturday Morning
Level Three–Army bunker below New Arcadia 9:00 AM
The pack of pajama boys was a quite a surprise for Captain Rogers. She contacted General Mahon immediately when she learned the boys were from the city below. The hour was late, so army personnel fed the boys, gave them clothes and sleeping accommodations.
Now the ten boys from Gymnasium sit at a large conference table with General Mahon, Captain Rogers, and the general’s staff.
“Captain Rogers briefed me on your experience in New Arcadia and your harrowing escape. What Colonel Cruikshank put you boys through is unthinkable. Despicable. I did not know the man was capable of such evil. Let me affirm, you are safe here,” says General Mahon.
“We couldn’t stay there and let that old bastard steal our youth. We had to get out,” says Zekiel.
“Cruikshank won’t hurt any of you again. We’ve confirmed your report. Cruikshank has sealed the city. Captain Rogers do we have any other news from the city?” asks Mahon.
“New Arcadia cut our access city systems yesterday, shortly after we allowed access to Level Two,” Rogers reports.
“Zsoldos must have figured it was us and not the hackers that opened Level Two to the survivors. I wonder if the colonel knows you boys are missing. I’m sure it would upset him to learn his fountain of youth left the city. You boys want to have some fun with the old colonel?”
“Yes,” the boy's answer.
“OK... shh. Don’t say anything. Let’s see how old Cruikshank is holding up,” says Mahon.
A call is placed to the colonel.
“Colonel Cruikshank I may have some difficulty making it to the council meeting this afternoon, we are busy with survivors from the Parklands,” The general says coyly.
Cruikshank huffs. “Your presence is no longer required, Mahon.”
“I beg your pardon. I am a founding member of the Arcadian Council. The first meeting of the full council is taking place this afternoon. As a founding member I—”
“I have revoked your position on the council.”
“I see. Does this have anything to do with the reports I’m receiving about elevator and stairwell doors being welded shut?”
“You failed to protect New Arcadia. Thousands of topsiders invaded Levels One and Two. I know you gave them access. You are a coward. I cannot risk any of your survivors entering New Arcadia. I ordered the city sealed. We have welded shut every access and entry point. I will not allow your incompetence to pervert the Arcadian ideal and our grand effort to reform humanity.”
“Pervert, what an interesting choice of words Colonel. Now that you’ve sealed yourself into your farcical idea of a utopian city. I suppose you won’t miss your harem of boys, will you?” The general makes a hand gesture. A camera focuses on some boys from Gymnasium.
Colonel Cruikshank reacts with a wide-eyed gasp but recovers, attempting not to display his shock.
Zekiel stands shaking a fist. “Let’s see how long you last without us, you wrinkly old creep.”
Cruikshank chuckles. “Ah, the feisty one. That makes sense. I allowed myself to believe you would gain an appreciation of your service to Arcadia. It’s clear I was mistaken. I should have bled you dry.”
“I pledge my life to defeat you and Arcadia. You will become weak as we will grow strong. We’re coming for you old man. I’ll fight you myself one day, if you survive,” Zekiel swears.
Colonel Cruikshank scowls at the image of the feisty boy.
“Colonel Cruikshank, you’ve made a new enemy today. I renounce the Army’s allegiance to Arcadia. My next call will be to President Baker. New Arcadia, your promise for the future is now your prison,” the general ends the call.
Slingeren Mission Control-10:00 A.M. EST
Dr. Simmons stands in front of a large screen. He views his reflection and straightens the collar of his sport jacket. His long hair is combed. He is ready to give a mission briefing to President Baker. This is a proud moment for Dr. Simmons. He has almost single-handedly brought JPL back to life. Three Harpoon HAIV’s are on course and all systems are nominal. He is confident that Harpoon will be a success. Not only has he saved JPL, he is saving the planet.
The image of a large room with President Baker, Tug Grimes, Mitch Campbell, Jerome Hargrove, and several others sitting at a conference table fills the screen. “Simmons. We received news of the successful launch this morning. Based on your attire and that big smile I trust all is going well,” says President Baker.
“Yes, Mr. President. The mission is proceeding as planned. Impact will occur in two hours. The impactor booms are extended, and we have enabled on-board targeting. From this point until impact, the Harpoons are running autonomously. They will self-adjust for any minor changes needed to hit each target site. We are sending images from the tracking simulators to your screens. We have live images of JZ966 from a space-based telescope and we also have monitoring from land-based telescopes. You’ll be able to view the disruption of the Beast in real time as the nuclear devices detonate.”
Screens in the Camp David conference room display a simulation of the Harpoons moving toward JZ966. Another screen displays a black-and-white image of the oblong gray asteroid.
“This is extraordinary Dr. Simmons. We’ll be able to watch the Harpoons destroy the Beast and save the world. Splendid work, Simmons,” exclaims President Baker.
Dr. Simmons beams, absorbing the praise.
Jerome Hargrove rises from the conference table, stepping closer to the large screen displaying the real-time image of the Beast to get a better look. He points to the screen. “Dr. Simmons. Is that an object moving toward 966?”
Dr. Simmons’ preening is interrupted. He looks at the image of 966, then looks closer. He is instantly sober. He runs to his computer zooming in on the object and checking calculations.
One of Dr. Simmons’s team reports. “An unknown object is on a direct path to collide with the Beast.”
Another of his team adds. “The object is approaching from behind JZ966, is approximately one-third the size of JZ966 and is traveling at forty-six thousand miles per hour.”
Dr. Simmons looks up from his screen. “This is... unexpected.”
The smaller asteroid crashes into the Beast. Gray rock and dust erupt from the Beast. Everyone in the conference room inhales unable to breathe as they watch the space collision. The telescope operator switches to a wide view of the debris field. The collision severed a large piece off the top of the Beast. The impact propels the chunk of rock through space.
A buzz of commotion erupts in the mission control room. Duffy moves from mission specialist to mission specialist barking instructions. Dr. Simmons works at his computer screen touching and swiping through images and calculations.
“An asteroid hit our asteroid!” Jerome shouts.
“We can see that, Jerome,” replies Mitch.
“That’s a nasty-looking chunk,” states Tug.
The conference room erupts with questions. “Will it miss Earth now?” “Did the impact destroy the Beast?” “Where’s the broken piece headed?”
President Baker views the image of the Beast now spinning slowly surrounded by rocks and dust. “Silence,” he yells. He waits for the room to quiet. “Stop talking. Silence.” He gets silence. “Simmons. What now? How does this affect the mission?”
Dr. Simmons motions with his hand to study calculations and simulations while receiving audible reports from his team. “As you all witnessed, an asteroid struck the Beast. An event that was not anticipated. The trajectory of the Beast has changed somewhat. We need time to calculate this new trajectory, but I assure you, the Beast is still headed toward Earth and extremely dangerous.”
Dr. Simmons pauses for a moment listening to reports. “We will send instructions to adjust the course of the Harpoons, using hydrazine thrusters. The Harpoons are one hundred seven minutes from impact. I believe we have time to adjust for successful disruption of the Beast.”
“Dr. Simmons. I don’t think anyone could have anticipated what happened. Too bad the other rock wasn’t bigger it could have done the job for us,” says President Baker.
“Let’s find out where that big chunk is heading,” says Tug.
Dr. Simmons nods as he listens to the mission team’s discussion.
“We’ll let you and the mission crew work this out. Give us an update when you have more information, Simmons,” says President Baker.
New Arcadia–10:00 AM
Cruikshank storms angrily around his quarters. He swings his cane at a Chinese vase sending shattered pieces to the floor then smacks an antique military helmet sending it flying across the room. “How could this happen? How did they escape? Is everyone around me incompetent?”
The colonel holds his cane ready to swing at a Japanese Samurai statue.
Zsoldos stands nearby. “Black Guard have searched Gymnasium. They found two boys,” he states calmly.
The report of two boys in Gymnasium stops the colonel mid-swing, saving the statue. “Two? Will two be enough?”
“They can alternate spa treatments. You may have to spa less often to allow them recovery time, but it will work if they remain healthy.”
“I’ve analyzed the video recording of your call with General Mahon. The camera focused on the boy named Zekiel and the boys near him. I could not get a complete count of the boys in the conference room.”
Cruikshank places a call to City Guard. “Commander. Have your City Guard search for the boys from Gymnasium? They’re crafty urchins. It wouldn’t surprise me if you found one or two hiding out.”
“There have been no sightings of the missing boys in the city, but City Guard will conduct a search. There have been no attempts to leave the city since the sealing was complete. However, we have reports of several attempted entries. Some attempts have been very persistent. I am happy to report sealing the city has stopped all intruders,” the Guard Commander explains.
“Persistent entry attempts? What do you mean?” the colonel inquires, his curiosity peaked.
“Let’s see. Yes, this person is stubborn. The access door at stairwell twenty-seven has fourteen entry attempts. The requestor is verified but since we sealed the door, entry was unsuccessful. We understand there was a small risk of locking out some Arcadians. A small price to pay for the safety of the city and the greater good of New Arcadia,” answers the Commander.
The colonel wonders out loud. “Could some boys have changed their mind?”
Zsoldos checks the city map on his VUE. “Stairwell twenty-seven is two hundred yards from Gymnasium. There are closer stairwells, but it’s on the same corridor. What is the name of the Arcadian requesting entry?”
“Ah yes, I have it. The name is Gordon Szarek,” the commander replies cheerfully.
“Gordon, Gordon Szarek! He’s the Gymnasium attendant. You idiot! Get that door open! He could have the boys with him!” exclaims the colonel.
Las Vegas–8:30 AM
Rick cruises slowly while he gets used to the Scout. Riding this old bike is a manual operation. All four of his limbs are required to control the cycle. His right hand twists the throttle controlling speed. His right hand also brakes the front wheel by gripping a lever with his fingers. The toe of his right boot presses a pedal to brake the rear wheel. He moves through the gears by pressing or lifting a pedal with his left foot while simultaneously pulling and releasing the clutch lever with his left hand. All of this requires more dexterity and coordination than he is used to managing.
He longs for an Autocar, but he knows those days are over. He shifts into third gear; gripping the clutch and pressing his foot on the gear pedal. Feeling the gear pedal click, he releases the clutch and increases the throttle. The bike jumps forward with a bolt of speed. He enters HWY 215 and moves to fourth gear looking east. The Las Vegas strip is a line of smoldering broken buildings. Smoke and wrecked vehicles fill the landscape. The helmet covering his face protects him from the sandy grit in the air but does little to mask the smell of death.
Rick has made the trip to Las Vegas many times. He remembers the clear blue morning skies, the cool crisp air, and the stunning sight of the Red Rock mountains north of the city. He recalls marveling at the natural beauty of the mountains and desert surrounding the city of sin.
This morning there are no clouds. The sky is brown, and the air is heavy and thick. Dust covers everything and swirls in the wind. Brown muck hides the Red Rock Mountains. Storms have scourged the city. Rick swerves through a tangle of cars and revs the cycle to pick up speed as he takes the ramp from the 215 to the 15; Highway 15 South, the highway to Los Angeles.
Asteroid storms have raged for three nights. They will get worse. Dead wrecks block progress clogging the highway once bustling with people who had somewhere to go and some place to be.
Rick guns the throttle to swerve around a burned-out truck as he passes the state line. He is in California.
Munday’s Hideaway–8:30 AM
The mood is somber in Munday’s Hideaway. Breakfast is prepared and eaten in silence. The occupants’ distance themselves from each other, some stay in their sleeping areas while others make busy work in the mine complex. The deaths of Gloria and the two boys is a horror fresh on everyone’s mind.
Carlos, the thirteen-year-old son of Rodrigo, walks through the lower level of the mine. As he passes through the garden, he checks the vegetables and fruit trees. He walks to the farm to check on the piglets when he hears soft music coming from the atrium.
Carlos ducks through the low rocky passage. When he steps out the other end, he looks in amazement at the sparkling veins of gold running through smoky white granite. Soft music echoes in the chamber. Lights illuminate the high walls shifting from yellow to blue then purple. In the center of the room, he sees Alyssa sitting on a stone bench holding a fluffy white lamb. She cuddles the soft creature whispering to it. Carlos stands silent, watching.
Alyssa rubs her cheek on the lambs’ soft fleece as she hums with the music. Something alerts her and she looks to the entrance. Her quick movement startles Carlos. He jerks up, hitting his head on the rough ceiling of the passage. He coyly rubs his head, his vision never straying from the girl.
Alyssa smiles as she moves her eyes to the bench and back to the boy. Carlos steps into the Atrium as the lights turn emerald green. He feels tall standing over the young girl who looks up to him in the sparkling light. Alyssa scoots to make room on the bench. Carlos sits next to her. “Sorry to interrupt you.”
“It’s okay. I had to get away. It’s too weird up there.”
“It’s horrible. So many people dying. The weird thing is all I can think about is...” Carlos pauses for a moment, as he looks up at the roof of the Atrium. “I was going to be on the basketball team this year. Now, that’s never gonna happen. I guess it’s selfish to feel sorry for myself.”
Carlos examines Alyssa’s face studying every curve of her soft cheeks and the shape of her lips. Her eyes, swollen and tearful. He touches her shoulder softly. “You’ve been crying.”
Alyssa nods, rubbing her cheek on the lambs’ soft fur. “I guess, I was feeling sorry for myself, too. I wanted to go to the fashion show. This is fashion week. My friend Charnel is a model. She’ll walk on the runway. She’s rich and beautiful with so many friends. Everyone adores her. She’s so sweet. She’s even nice to me. I was hoping my parents would let me watch her.” She pulls the lamb closer, keeping one side of her face buried in the thick fleece. She allows a tear to flow. “But now, everyone is dead.”
“What a sorry pair we are. They’ve lost their lives and we sit here crying for the lives we wish we had,” Carlos muses.
“The life we’ve lost.”
“Yeah.”
“We should be thankful. We are so lucky to have Uncle Rob and the hideaway.” Alyssa says.
“At least we tried to save Aunt Gloria and her friends. My dad tried,” Carlos says.
“I miss my dad. He’s still out there where everyone is dying,” Alyssa trembles; more tears flow. She leans into the boy.
Carlos comforts the weeping girl. Unsure what to say; he holds her tightly rocking her slowly in his arms then whispers, “What a pair we are.” He pauses then adds, “We’ll be OK. We’ll all be OK.”
New Arcadia–11:30 AM–Stairwell 27
Sparks sputter from an automated cutting torch as it slices through the weld seam that seals the door. Black Guard stand watch ready to rush in and rescue the boys.
When the stairwell door opens the Black Guard find Gymnasium attendant, Gordon Szarek slumped on the floor in a pool of drying blood. A medical team is called. Minutes later, the medical team is moving Gordon on a maglev medical gurney.
Cruikshank watches the stream as Black Guard report. “It’s hard to believe, but he’s alive. Half his head is bashed in. It looks like a deflated ball. The med team is transporting him to the infirmary now.”
Nolan stands in the open door of Gymnasium. He watches the levitating maglev’s and vehicles as they zip past. He spots a medical team and gurney flanked by Black Guard moving up the corridor. As the medical team gets closer, Nolan can see that the body on the gurney is a dark blue tunic.
Nolan rushes to the gurney as it passes Gymnasium. He grabs the edge of the gurney clutching the body crying, “What did the bad boys do to you?” Gordon’s mouth moves but he does not speak. He pats Nolan softly with his blood dried hand.
“I’m coming with you,” cries Nolan. A Black Guard pulls Nolan away from the gurney. “I want to go with him, please. He’s my dad. He’s my dad!”
“You can see him later,” the Black Guard says, lifting the boy and placing him inside Gymnasium.
Nolan sits in the doorway weeping.
Slingeren Mission Control 11:57 A.M. EST
Dr. Simmons stands pensively in front of the thin screen to once again brief the president. He’s draped his sport jacket over a chair. His shirt sleeves are rolled up and his hair frizzled. The president is at the conference table surrounded by his staff.
“Mr. President. Before I update you on the progress of Harpoon, which is going well under the circumstances. I have unfortunate news regarding the large fragment that broke off from the Beast.”
“All right, Simmons. Like I told you, cut it to the bone. What’s happening?” President Baker asks brusquely.
“The asteroid that collided with JZ966 continued out into space and is no longer a threat. However, the piece dissected from 966 is heading directly for Earth. It is 560 feet in diameter and 145 feet in height. Basically, it cleaved the top of the Beast off. The collision propelled the fragment at an accelerated rate of speed. The object is traveling at 45,000 miles per hour. We estimate it will enter the Earth’s atmosphere over the mid-west of the United States at eleven thirty-seven A.M. and impact somewhere in the Los Angeles basin thirty seconds later. If this fragment impacts the densely populated Los Angeles basin, the death and damage will be multitudes greater than the Baltimore impact.”
A shocked gasp fills the room followed by muffled sobs. President Baker stands with his hands extended. “Stay calm. We’ve had plenty of bad news and there’s surely more to come. This should not be a shock to anyone. We’re here to find solutions. Let’s solve this problem. Simmons, what is your recommendation?”
“The ICBM installation at Minot AFB in North Dakota should prepare to launch. They have two-and-a-half hours. The teams here will help with targeting calculations. That should give them plenty of time to start the launch sequence.”
Tug gives an anxious look to General Casey. Tug, Casey, and several Air Force staff members move to a corner of the conference room to plan for a sub-orbital nuclear intercept.
A staff member speaks up. “We should provide notice to the U.K., Russia, China, New Korea, India and Pakistan of our intent to detonate a nuclear weapon in US air space. We don’t want anyone to misinterpret our actions.”
“Yes, get word to all nuclear nations or as many as you can. We must save Los Angeles. However, I believe we still have a huge asteroid aimed at Earth. Simmons by my watch the Harpoons should be minutes from impact. That is, if we’re still on track. Give us your update. You said you have better news.”
“Yes sir. We used the thrusters and Harpoons attitude control system and the navigation subsystem cameras to re-center on the asteroid. This allowed us to use the navigation filter to solve for the inertial position and velocity of the spacecrafts, with respect to the asteroid. We did this by making use of simulation software that’s part of the orbit determination toolbox, which is an advanced mission simulation and analysis tool.”
“And once again in English, please doctor,” says Mitch.
“Oh, yes. We have reacquired target locations on the Beast. Impact will occur in two minutes. There are some contingencies. There was no time to re-scan the object. We don’t know the extent of damage to the Beast from the collision, so we have not updated the disruption simulation. The other challenge; Beast is now rotating, so it’s difficult to ensure each Harpoon will hit its optimal impact location for crater creation, and therefore, difficult to predict the shock propagation from the nuclear detonations.”
“That was better. I got the gist of that,” says Mitch.
“You, and the mission crew have worked very hard under difficult circumstances. I’m pleased to hear you’ve salvaged the mission. Now all we can do is hope for the best and let the Harpoons do the rest,” says President Baker.
Everyone in the room stops working to focus on the large screens displaying real time video of the Beast. A trail of dust and rocks follows the large asteroid. A section of the large wall screen displays still images from the Harpoons. The images stutter in at a rate of ten images per second. The Harpoons are closer to the Beast with each new image. Mission control audio accompanies the images.
“Confirm booms extended and locked.” “1 minute to impact.” “Impactors 660 clicks out.” Seconds pass. “Last image from impactors sent.” “Impact–fire command issued to NED’s.”
A space-based telescope transmits real-time video of the Harpoon’s approach. The time between the impactors striking the asteroid creating craters and the fire command for the nuclear explosives is one millisecond, faster than the blink of an eye.
The nuclear devices detonate at three separate target locations creating huge explosions of rock and dust. The space telescope switches from camera view to X-ray view, enabling examination of the asteroid through dust and debris. The front face and sides of the asteroid are pulverized and blasted away. The shock from the nuclear blasts reverberates through the one-kilometer wide, space rock.
The Beast slowly breaks up as fragments spread apart. Over the next two minutes, hundreds of rocky chunks of diverse size from one hundred feet to three hundred feet in diameter become visible on the x-ray image. The real-time video image is a cloud of dust with a few large pieces becoming visible. Besides the large pieces, hundreds of smaller bits make up a loose jumble of rocks.
“Oh, no!” exclaims Jerome.
“Dear Lord. What have we done?” cries Mitch
President Baker watches the objects in the X-ray view continue to spread apart. “Simmons, have we made the situation better or worse? Where are those rocks headed? Out to space, I hope.”
Dr. Simmons is nervous and upset. “None of our simulations predicted this. The asteroid that hit 966 must have caused multiple fractures throughout the core, increasing the porosity. We should not have so many large pieces. We expected a more complete disruption with smaller fragments.”
Dr. Simmons listens to a report in his VUE. He gulps and nods. “The shattered mass appears to be on course for Earth.”
“Simmons. Lots of pieces is better than one big rock though, right?” asks Mitch.
Dr. Simmons’ mind is racing through all the variables that made things go wrong but does his best to answer the senator. “Well, ah. Yes. A single impact from an intact JZ966 would have guaranteed humanity’s destruction. Hundreds of large impacts spread across Earth will be devastating but Earth and the creatures living upon it will survive. Some of them anyway. This... this shouldn’t have happened. Too many variables.”
“Earth is seventy percent ocean. Hopefully, most of them will land in the sea,” states Jerome.
Dr. Simmons brightens. “Secretary Hargrove is correct. Many of the fragments will probably land in the oceans, resulting in less damage. We will track the largest fragments and determine which one's pose the highest risk to population centers.”
“When can we expect this pile of rock to hit our atmosphere?” asks Tug.
Dr. Simmons turns to one of his team, then reports. “The impacts will begin around seven p.m., eastern standard time.”
