Twenty-seven years ago Bruce Kendrick had been the weatherman on the Channel 11 news out of Topeka. He'd been noticed by Captain Raymond L. McConnell when a Kansas City blizzard forced McConnell's plane to divert and he'd had to spend the night at the local Sheraton. McConnell had liked the way the kid handled low-pressure fronts, had offered him a job with the network, and the rest, as they say, was history.
Transglobal was filled with stories like that. Most of the top brass, and virtually all of the top performers (which was what TV journalists had evolved into), had been handpicked by the Captain. He owned the network, he had an unerring talent for turning huge profits out of news and features, and he was arguably the most powerful person in the United States. Quite possibly in the world.
The Captain did not owe his title to a naval heritage. According to Transglobal lore, it had begun as a joke, a designation suggested by his autocratic manner. McConnell nevertheless liked the title. He encouraged its use, and it consequently became the accepted form of address by all. He was fond of telling public gatherings that it had derived from subordinates who wished to impress him. And he always got a laugh by adding that he would have preferred "Judge," or better yet, "Excellency," but that his staff had drawn the line.
Everyone who knew the Captain was aware there was no line.
Bruce Kendrick was no stranger to the eleventh floor of the Transglobal Building. McConnell customarily had him in on Thursday afternoons, along with his immediate boss, news director Chuck Parmentier. The purpose of the meetings was to allow the Captain to keep involved with the news operation. Let's take a look at where we've been this week, what we're emphasizing, what the slant has looked like, what's coming up. And perhaps most important, what we want to achieve and how best to go about it.
If McConnell was a dictator, he nevertheless knew enough to ask questions and listen to the answers. He withheld his own views until the very last, and as far as Kendrick could judge, kept an open mind until the time for decision arrived. He was even willing to entertain objections after a decision had been made, and had been known to reverse himself in the face of a compelling argument. It was a quality, Parmentier maintained, utterly unique in the executive suites of the giant news-gathering corporations.
But this was Wednesday, a day early. Kendrick went first to the news chief's office. "It has to be the comet," Parmentier said.
The Captain was not a physically imposing man. He was an inch or two under average height, his hair still black despite his seventy years. He was a lawyer by training, although he'd never practiced. He was standing by a window as they were shown into his suite, looking down at Central Park. The office was immense, decorated with original artwork, including a Remington and a Jardin. "Gentlemen," he said unceremoniously, "we have work to do." A steward wheeled in a tray of donuts and danish, and poured coffee all around.
The Captain circled his desk and sat down. His brows were heavy, his eyes scarcely visible. "Take a look at this," he said. He punched a button and the four o'clock news roundup began to roll.
The daytime anchor's girl-next-door features smiled out from the screen. "This is Janet Martin at the news desk," she said. "There's more fallout from the Comet Tomiko story this afternoon. People along both coasts and near large bodies of water around the world have begun to flee their homes. As Tomiko zeroes in on the Moon, scientists are warning of the possibility that debris might fall into the oceans, generating enormous waves." (Cut to pictures of jammed highways, traffic moving at a crawl.) "How serious is it? Dan Molinari is at the Beaver Meadow Observatory in New York with one of the people who are trying to find out. Dan, how's it look?"
Molinari was standing with a bespectacled little gray-haired man wrapped in a frumpy blue sweater. "Janet, this is Wesley Feinberg of Harvard's AstroLab. He came up here for the total eclipse and hasn't gone home yet. Professor Feinberg, I wonder if you can tell us what's going to happen this weekend."
Parmentier was watching the Captain to try to guess what was wrong.
"… really hard to say, Dan. Anything could happen. There's just no way to predict accurately the aftermath of an event this explosive."
"Professor, we've seen that a lot of people are worried about the oceans. How do you feel about that? Is there a real danger for those who live in coastal areas?"
"Certainly. If I lived on a beachfront, I'd want to be away from it for the next few days. Wouldn't you? Denver's nice this time of year."
McConnell muted the sound, leaving the two images to continue their conversation silently. He looked across the vast expanse of his cherrywood desk, directly at Parmentier. "Well, Chuck," he said, "what do you think?"
"It's a damned good story," said Parmentier. "I don't think I understand what you're driving at, Captain."
Kendrick looked from his boss to the Captain. Parmentier was usually pretty quick on his feet, but when he thought he had a story he could run with he sometimes became obtuse. Kendrick knew right away where this was going, but he was far too shrewd to embarrass the man who signed his paycheck.
McConnell's eyebrows drew together. "Have you considered," he asked, "what will happen if we succeed in panicking two hundred fifty million people? Not to mention our overseas audience?"
Parmentier's face reddened. "Captain, this is a very big story. What do you want us to do? Sit on it?"
"I don't like the way we're playing it, Chuck. We could instigate a major disaster. There've already been deaths out there."
"Accidents."
"They happen when people go around the bend. We are in the process of driving a lot of people around the bend." He spared a glance for Kendrick, who tried to look as if he'd thought all along they should be going easy on this.
"We have a responsibility to the public," Parmentier said.
"Goddammit, Chuck, save that kind of talk for the politicians. This is me. I will not be responsible for creating several nights of mayhem. For killing God knows how many people before this is over. And maybe inviting a few lawsuits."
Parmentier was not a man to be threatened lightly, even by the Captain. "We have no choice, sir," he said, pronouncing each word deliberately and with a touch of outrage, "but to present the truth to our viewers. The truth is that there may be major disruptions over the next few days. Places like New York are vulnerable. It's our job to tell them what we know."
McConnell's eyes grew hard and he looked at Kendrick. "Bruce, I wanted you in here because I thought this was something we all need to agree on. What's your opinion?"
Kendrick cleared his throat and started to talk in circles. "Never mind," said the Captain. "I can see you'll try to protect your boss. And that's good, Bruce. Up to a point. But this-" He got up and studied a Remington on his desk. "The truth is, Bruce, that we really don't know what's going to happen. Everything is speculation, and speculation should not be passed off as hard news. Do I make myself clear?"
"I suppose," said Parmentier, "we could shift the emphasis."
"Yes," said the Captain. "That's exactly what we will do. We will shift the emphasis."
His tone suggested that, unless anyone wanted to debate the issue, the interview was over. Parmentier and Kendrick rose. Kendrick said he'd get right on it. And both men started for the door.
"One more thing," said McConnell. "Over the weekend-"
"Yes, sir?"
"We'll do the network broadcasts from field stations. See Jim. He's already setting it up. I don't want any of our people in the building, or anywhere near the city, after tomorrow." White House, Oval Office. 4:48 P.M.
Feinberg smiled innocuously out of the screen. "Certainly. If I lived near an ocean, I'd want to be away from it for the next few days. Wouldn't you? Denver's nice this time of year."
Henry killed the picture. "Sometimes I wish for the old days," he said.
"How do you mean, Henry?" asked Kerr.
"When national leaders could have nitwits shot. There's a lot to be said for that." He'd just finished a conference call
with his counterparts in Japan, Britain, Germany, Russia, and China. Everyone was adrift. Germany and Russia were acting, moving people inland. They could do that. They didn't have thousands of miles of coastline to concern themselves with. Others were taking moderate measures, stockpiling supplies, planning for disaster relief, and putting the military on standby. Britain and Japan, without any interior to speak of, were at the mercy of events.
Henry didn't like his own policy, which consisted of watching, waiting, and trying to reassure everyone. Of hoping he could ride it out. We'll deal with the consequences as they arise, he told himself. Maybe we'll get lucky. Some religious leaders were urging him to declare a national day of prayer. That was all the nation would need during a crisis, to see its president on his knees.
Nobody makes it to the Oval Office without taking a lot of heat. By the time he arrives, he's scarred, cynical, tough, single-minded. And he doesn't believe anybody or anything can't be handled. (Or she doesn't. The United States had had its first woman president. She'd served one term, 2017-2021, and refused the nomination for a second with the comment, Not worth it.)
She was wrong, of course. It was worth it. Henry knew that. And every other politician in the country worthy of the name knew it. Even in times like this, when so much depended on his decisions, and the way was so murky, it was worth it. Especially in times like this. There was no chance at greatness without a decent challenge. He'd been concerned that he would disappear into the history books with people like Polk and Cleveland, effective presidents who might have ranked high had a sufficient misfortune risen to confront them. You can't be a Lincoln without a civil war. It now appeared he had his civil war.
Despite the overwhelming nature of the problem, he'd thrown aside his dark mood of the morning. He needed to get everything right. And he needed to be lucky.
But there was no reason to believe that would not happen.
7.
TRANSGLOBAL WORLD REPORT. 6:45 P.M.
"An Indonesian plane crashed in the Bay of Bengal today with all aboard, two hundred seventy people, believed lost. Rescue operations are hampered by bad weather.
"Rebels in Patagonia admitted responsibility for the bombing of a government office building, where eleven people, including an American diplomat, were killed last week.
"Here at home, people continue to take to the roads in unprecedented numbers, frightened by reports that pieces of the Moon might fall into the oceans Saturday night. We should remind our viewers that many scientists have said that such an event is unlikely. This is Bruce Kendrick with the World Report." White House Rose Garden. 7:44 P.M.
In the evening, Henry could see the comet. It was a bright, blurry patch in the west, lingering for a short time after sunset. It would, astronomers noted, move rapidly up the sky over the next few nights.
STATEMENT BY THE PRESIDENT. 8:00 P.M.
Delivered over all networks.
"My fellow Americans,
"As you're aware, Comet Tomiko is approaching the Moon, and is expected to collide with it Saturday evening at approximately ten thirty-five P.M. eastern daylight time.
"I'm pleased to tell you that evacuation of Moonbase, and as a precaution, of the two space stations, is going ahead with all deliberate speed. We do not anticipate any difficulty getting everyone out of harm's way.
"There's been some concern about pieces of moonrock being jarred loose and coming our way. It appears that the force of the impact may be sufficient to severely disrupt the Moon. As a result there may be some debris. But there is no immediate cause for concern. Your government has been monitoring the situation, and the angle of the strike is such that scientists are confident we have nothing to fear.
"While I will not underestimate the gravity of the situation, the most serious danger we face right now is the possibility that some Americans will overreact. This is a time when we must remain calm and not allow ourselves to be stampeded by fear or rumor. We are in this together and we will come through it together. I have directed that federal agencies and military units be put on alert to render assistance, should that become necessary. Meantime, the safest place for you and your family this weekend is at home.
"Thank you very much. And good evening." Moonbase Spaceport. 11:28 P.M.
Tony had ferried two loads of passengers to L1 in record time. During the second run, the Micro completed its six-thousandth hour in flight. That imposed a series of routine service requirements on the maintenance crew. When he arrived at Moonbase, they went after it with their checklists. They examined thrusters and docking assemblies, inspected life support, and set themselves to replacing those parts that were subject to a high degree of wear. Among these parts were the actuator valves for the attitude jets.
The evacuation planners intended to abandon the micro-bus, along with the other two moonbuses, after they'd completed their mission and everyone was aboard the space planes. Consequently, much of the six-thousand-hour maintenance routine should have been unnecessary. But in the communication between the command function and the operational crews, that detail was lost.
Tony's Micro was subjected to the full treatment. Workers knew only that they had ninety minutes to perform a maintenance that normally required five hours. The result was, as one might imagine, that thoroughness was sacrificed.
Like all pure space vehicles, the Micro was equipped with a single engine and a group of attitude jets. It was fueled by a mixture of powdered aluminum and liquid oxygen. After a cumulative burn time, the jets were inclined to slag, and therefore required periodic replacement.
The jets were mounted on a bracket between ring-shaped fuel intake manifolds circling the ship. One ring carried fuel; the other, oxidizer. The pitch/yaw assembly consisted of four jets facing out, equally spaced around the ship. The roll assembly was the same except that the jets were locked in the bracket so they faced tangentially, two clockwise, two counter. The Micro had four assemblies total, pitch/yaw in front and back, roll around the center, and a fourth set mounted along the thrust axis, two forward and two back, used for fine position maneuvering.
Wherever possible, parts converged. All pipes, fittings, and manifold outlets were identical for all ferries, buses, and cargo haulers, even though the haulers used larger engines. Consequently, the piping was oversized for the smaller engines, and could deliver more fuel or oxidizer than necessary. Flow was controlled by an actuator valve. Moonbase manufactured two types of engines: large for the cargo carriers, and small for the buses. In the big engines, volumetric flow was doubled.
Because of convergence, both units looked identical. Those designed for oxidizer were rounded; those for fuel had flat surfaces. But the only way to distinguish between valves for large and small engines was to look at the part designator. There was no throttle in the vehicle; current opened the valve, lack of current closed it.
The technician charged with installing the units was a thirty-year-old engineer from the University of Texas. His name was Elias Tobin, and up until that time he had a perfect work record in a job that required absolute attention to detail. But Elias was under pressure to finish, because lubricants needed to be replaced, engine lines inspected, and the engine recalibrated. Later, an investigation team would determine that under the circumstances, the only essential task among those assigned to Elias was the replacement of the actuator valves.
He got it wrong.
Fortunately, it was not in itself a serious error.
LUFTHANSA ADVISORY TO U.S. TERMINALS. 11:47 P.M.
Lufthansa Airlines announces that, as a precaution against expected celestial events this weekend, all flights will be grounded after 8:30 P.M. EDT, Saturday, April 13. Resumption of service is tentatively scheduled for 12:01 A.M. EDT, Wednesday, April 17, but will depend on existing conditions.
CHAPTER FOUR
FLIGHT
Thursday, April 11
1.
L1, Pilots' Quarters. 3:06 A.M.
The phone brought Rachel Quinn out of a deep s
leep. She flicked on the table lamp and looked at her watch. "Quinn," she said into the speaker.
"Rachel." The voice was familiar, but she couldn't immediately place it. "I'm sorry to wake you at this ungodly hour."
The station director. "It's okay, John. What's wrong?"
"I wonder if you could come by my office."
"Now?"
"Please. It's urgent."
She slipped out of bed and fifteen minutes later emerged from an elevator in the executive suites of the administration section. Lights were on and people were working. The director's secretary looked up as she entered. "Please go in, Colonel."
John Barringer was arrogant, ruthless, and capable of throwing tantrums. When she walked in he was bent over printouts with an aide. He signed for her to take a seat, dismissed the aide, and came over to her. "Rachel," he said, "When were you planning on taking Lowell back to Skyport?"
"Tomorrow," she said.
"I wonder if I could have you move your schedule up a little bit?"
All she needed to do was get some supplies on board. Food and water. "I don't see why not," she said. "When did you want us to get under way?"
"ASAP. We've got our hands full with the evacuation, and you can help."
"Sure. What do you need?"
Barringer leaned back and crossed one leg over the other. "There's a crunch at Moonbase. They have a lot of people to get out. Right now they're shipping them over here. You could go home by way of Luna, pick some of them up, and get them clear. Help take a little of the pressure off."
"I didn't realize it was that close," she said. "I understood there was no problem."
"Let's say they've tried to keep the public statements optimistic. In any case, we'd appreciate the assistance."
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