"All right," Zorlok agreed. They were standing little more than a breath apart, and he saw her as if looking through gauze, in a room that was washed gray with late afternoon rain-light.
Through the open door that led onto the balcony they could hear the rain. It was like perfectly orchestrated music, with rhythmic percussion: harmonic bass notes from the larger drops, and delicate trills and melodious tinkling from the water that dripped off the eaves and cascaded onto the balcony floor. Its ballad built and swelled, joining its sweet refrain to the song of their own racing blood.
Occasionally a little spray of mist would drift into the room to land upon their skin, skin that was so hot that Zorlok was surprised when he didn't hear it sizzle. All thought and awareness of anything beyond themselves ceased. There was only pleasure, the feel of her tongue against his, the rake of her fingernails across his back, and the soft, suppleness of her body, molded so completely against him.
A passenger carrying air vessel just taking off roared overhead, but Zorlok and Vilna were oblivious to its passing. A drenched pigeon, seeking shelter from the rain, landed under the eaves of the balcony and fluttered its feathers, but they were unaware of its presence. There were only the two of them in their private cocoon, caught up in a burst of ecstasy that made them one.
21
Kambye had agreed with the Great Council to put its nuclear warhead-armed missiles on line to join with the much larger forces of Amalon and Korsra. Flag Officer Klye Mnobonti examined the missiles which had been positioned by the crews in response to the earlier instructions.
Because of the additional fifty missiles they had received from Amalon and Korsra, there were a total of one hundred missiles in three locations, two locations of forty missiles and one with twenty missiles. They were separated by a distance of ten miles, and Flag Officer Mnobonti was sitting in the open doorway of a spin-wing air vessel looking down the missile array below, as the pilot shot an approach toward the landing pad.
“Flag Officer Mnobonti,” Colonel Buekinari said, approaching the commander as he stepped out of the spin-wing craft, the rotor blades still turning overhead.
“Yes, Colonel?”
“We have just received a transmission from Biskandal.”
Mnobonti sighed. “They aren’t about to reposition the missiles again, are they? I thought they had some sort of fantastic data processor that didn’t make mistakes. Very well, let me see it.”
Mnobonti held out his hand to take the piece of paper from his second in command.
We have computed that there is a 99.7% chance of success in our mission to destroy the Plym Stel before it impacts with our planet, but for this operation to work, launch sequence, approach and detonation must be exactly as planned.
Therefore all field launch controls are to be surrendered to universal command. Field commanders are hereby directed to program the following operational commands into all devices, then to transfer launch codes, and data processor access to Flag Officer Balik and Flag Officer Jaco at Supreme Military Command Center, Biskandal.
Mnobonti crushed the sheet of paper in his hand then threw it to the ground, where it was whipped up by the still turning rotor blades.
“Balik and Jaco are quite deranged if they think I am going to surrender any of Kambye’s autonomy to them. Both countries have held us in subjugation ever since the great war. Well, now, they depend upon us for their survival.”
Mnobonti smiled. “I have waited many years for this opportunity.”
“But, Flag Officer, does not the fate of the world depend upon the success of this operation? And doesn’t that success depend upon the exactness of the launch?” Buekinari asked.
“Tell me, Colonel Buekinari is it your contention that our soldiers are not well enough trained to initiate a proper launch sequence?” Mnobonti challenged.
“No, sir, it isn’t that, it’s just that our launch must be perfectly timed with that of Korsra and Amalon.”
“We have been given the coordinates and the time, down to the last mili-second, have we not?”
“Yes, sir, we have.”
“Then this is what we shall do. We will transmit the launch codes so that they may think they are controlling our launch, but just before the actual launch, we will disconnect central access to the data processors. We will fire all of our missiles at the exact instant they do, but we will control it ourselves.”
Mnobonti smiled again. “Then, after the Plym Stellar-body is destroyed, we will share the secret with the rest of the world that we were the ones who provided the final step needed to save every sentient being on the planet.
“And, because we have not disclosed that we held back five nuclear bombs from the initial inventory, when the world’s nuclear and anti-matter weapons have expended, Kambye will be the most powerful nation.”
On the day and hour of the launch, all sentient beings felt a surge of relief as the improved chances for success were made known. What had initially started out to be a desperate prayer for survival now looked very much as if it would be an example of sentient beings exhibiting superiority over random acts of the universe.
Celebration parties were planned as hundreds of thousands gathered as close to the launch sites as possible so they could watch, in person the event that would be the salvation of all sentient kind. In addition, all the launches were to be broadcast so that nearly five billion people would be watching on their image screens. Theaters, auditoriums, and stadiums with giant screens invited the public to watch so that the event could be shared by all.
Zorlok and Vilna had no wish to view the proceedings with others. They preferred to watch the launch together, sharing in intimacy the event that would determine the survival of every living thing.
The launch would take place two hours after darkness, Biskandal time, and after dinner, Zorlok and Vilna sat together in the gathering room to view the launch.
The announcer at the largest of the four Amalon sites was speaking breathlessly into an audio transmitter device:
“It is now fifteen minutes until the most important event in all sentient history. It is believed that the eyes of five billion beings will be on the imaging screens tonight. What, but a few weeks ago, seemed to be a certain death sentence now holds the promise of being solved by the technological genius of sentient beings.
“Calculations have determined launch sequence, approach angles, and detonation patterns so that success is practically guaranteed. And to insure that everything takes place exactly as it should, the simultaneous launch of every missile will be controlled from central command, in Biskandal.
“This is what we have been told will happen. Forty-nine days from now, a total of six hundred missiles will strike the oncoming body at exactly the same time. Now, think of a large ball of cheese from which you wish to carve two large slices. You cannot hack at the cheese, for to do so would chop it into many small and unusable pieces.
“What you want are two large, intact slices.
“That is what we want from the Plym Stellar-body, two large, intact slices. With a perfectly coordinated strike of the six hundred missiles, we will get those two, clean, slices, and they will be carved from the Plym Stellar-body in such a way as to hurl them away from the current approach path. They will then miss us by a very wide margin, and we will never see them again.
“What remains of the Plym Stel will be deflected by the combined blasts and be caught up in a solar orbit to become a very small planet, the tenth, in our solar system.”
“My,” Vilna said, with a happy smile. “How did they figure all of that out?”
“We have some very smart scientists and technicians,” Zorlok said. “And aren’t we happy for that?”
The central command room was filled with small imaging monitors providing readouts from every launch site on all three continents.
“Begin transfer,” an amplified voice said.
“Amalon transfer underway, sir.”
The large, central monitor
reflected the transfer by a very rapid display of launch codes which, after a few seconds of numbers flashing by so fast that they couldn’t be read, concluded with the words: Amalon available.
“Korsra transfer underway, sir.”
The large central monitor repeated the earlier display with flashing numbers, concluding with: Korsra available.
The same sequence occurred again, ending with the flashed message: Kambye available.
With all missiles on line, no further action was needed. The launch would be automatic as soon as the release point was reached.
In the upper right hand corner of image screens, the launch numbers began counting down. In bars all over the world viewers, happy that they were witnessing the event that would spare them all, lifted their drinks toward the screens. In auditoriums and stadiums, hundreds of thousands of voices began a vocal countdown. In worship centers people watched in reverent hope.
Zorlok took Vilna’s hand and she squeezed it tightly.
The missiles streamed into the air and people all over the world cheered.
“Merciful Omo!” one of the controllers in the command center shouted in a panic–stricken voice. “Flag Officer Balik!”
“What is it?”
“The Kambye missiles! We have no connection to them!”
“You mean they didn’t launch?”
“Yes, sir, they launched, but they were thirty-seven seconds late.”
“Balik! That will disrupt the detonation sequence!” Jaco said.
“We will have forty-nine days until impact,” one of the controllers said. “Maybe we can adjust them in flight.”
“Run an analysis,” Balik ordered.
“Buekinari, you fool!” Mnobonti shouted to his launch commander. “You launched too late!”
“I’m sorry, Flag Officer! But when we separated the data processor’s connection with central command in Biskandal, it delayed our access by thirty-seven seconds.”
“Flag Officer, there is a visual information transfer from Flag Officer Balik,” the communications officer said.
“This screen,” Mnobonti said and, a second later, a very worried Balik’s face appeared.
“Mnobonti, what happened? Why did we lose control of your launch?”
“We conducted the launch ourselves,” Mnobonti replied.
“But why, man?”
“I had no follow up authority from our First Director to transfer operational command,” Mnobonti said.
“But that isn’t true, Mnobonti,” Balik charged. “There was an agreement signed by all three national leaders to coordinate all efforts and to transfer control of all missiles and weapons to Central Command in Biskandal.”
“Perhaps that is so,” Mnobonti said, “but I saw no reason to surrender our national sovereignty to another. It was my decision to maintain control of the launch.”
Balik closed his eyes, and was silent for a long moment. When he spoke again, there was no anger or challenge in his voice. There was only sadness.
“Mnobonti, you have just sealed our fate. All life is going to come to an end, because of you.”
Before Mnobonti could respond, the screen went black.
22
Forty-nine days, seven hours, fifteen minutes and twenty-two seconds after launch, the missiles of Amalon and Korsra struck precisely as targeted, and together. Thirty seven seconds later, the Kambye missiles struck.
Atar Mitron, who had been among the first to discover the incoming object, and ten more of the world’s top astronomers and physicists were gathered in Biskandal to study the results of the launch attempt. Flag Officer Balik and Flag Officer Jaco were also present.
After a very intensive examination of the data, one of the observers gave his report.
“Twenty percent of the mass of the approaching body has been blasted free,” Professor Felron said. “The consequence of the combined detonations was not enough to push the oncoming object into solar orbit, but should push it into an orbit around our planet.
“However, due to the asymmetric effect caused by the uncoordinated explosions, there were no precise excisions as we had hoped. Instead of two, intact bodies being hurled free of our plane of orbit, we now have twenty million tons of debris heading toward us, and that debris will impact our planet.
“This will have the same as the simultaneous detonation of one million megatons of nuclear bombs.”
After rendering his report, Professor Felron sat back down, and for several seconds thereafter, there was absolute silence. Then, Mitron stood to address the small group.
“We have all studied the data,” he said. “Are there any dissenting opinions?”
The other men looked at each other, almost as if wishing one of them would be in disagreement. Nobody offered a dissenting opinion.
Mitron sighed. “I sort of hoped there would be,” he said.
“One man,” Flag Officer Balik said. “The fate of the entire world was decided by one man.”
“Unfortunately that is true,” Mitron replied. He reached for his hat. “I must call on the First Director. I wish to Omo that I could give him a different report.”
“Yes, sir,” the Chief of Staff said later, as Mitron waited in the First Director’s office. “First Director Lemil will see you now.”
“What do you have for me, Professor?” Lemil asked, as Mitron stepped into his office.
Mitron had brought charts with him, and he set them up on an easel so that he could illustrate his report.
“As you are aware, First Director, the plan that was worked out depended upon a precisely coordinated launch. You are also aware that we did not achieve that. As a result, we have failed. We are going to be impacted by twenty million tons of rock. And what’s left of the Plym Stel won’t be put into a solar orbit, rather it will be put into orbit around our own planet. It will give us a moon.”
“I beg your pardon, a moon? What, exactly is a moon?”
“Just as planets rotate around the sun, moons rotate around their host planet. There are at least one hundred forty-eight moons in our solar system, though none of the first three planets orbiting the sun, has a moon, we of course, being the third planet.”
“Is it dangerous to have a...what did you call it? A moon?”
“No, as I said there are many moons in the solar system and they have no ill-effect on their host planets. But that won’t matter to us. As I said, the problem we are facing is the ejecta from the blasts. None of it will be thrown clear of our surface. We will be struck by thousands of objects, from as small as the desk you are sitting behind, to some which are as large as one tenth the size of this continent. There will be approximately thirty minutes from the first until the last, but long before the last impact, all life will have ceased to exist.”
“You say that with such detachment,” the First Director commented.
“I’m sorry, but I have worked on this for so long and with such intensity that I have lost all element of fear, or even regret.
“There are tens of billions of solar systems within our single stel collective, and there are trillions of stel collectives. There is no doubt in my mind, First Director, but that as many as a trillion other planets could be, or have been occupied, by sentient beings. And given those mathematical odds, I am certain that in the past, trillions of other sentient beings have gone through the same thing we are facing now, just as trillions, throughout the universe, will be going through this in the future.”
“Mitron, do you believe in the Omniscient One?”
“Yes.”
“You, a scientist, believe in Omo?”
“Look at it this way, First Director. There are only two possibilities to existence; chaos, or order. If the universe was all chaos, none of us would be here. Therefore, there must be order.
“And by definition, order, means direction. There cannot be direction, without a director. Yes, I believe in Omo.”
Lemil said, “Yes, yes, that is a good explanation and I must say, under th
e circumstances, it is also comforting.”
He was quiet for another long moment. “Do you know, I always wanted to be First Director? As a child, I read of the First Directors in our history, Truax, of course, who established our nation, Rockvinian who kept the country together during the civil war, and Kadari, who led the movement to blend all the languages and races into one.” He chuckled, a low, self-deprecating laugh.
“I too, will go down in history now. Just as Odega Truax was the first First Director, I will be known as the last First Director of Amalon. The irony of course, is that there won’t be any history, because there won’t be anyone to record it.”
With the failure to divert the oncoming body, what had been hope for salvation, and even excitement about the universal cooperation to save the world, turned into despair and utter depression. When it was learned that the reason for the lack of success wasn’t the lack of technology, but the result of one sentient being’s selfish action, the depression deepened.
“And so it comes down to this,” Theist Wolco, one of the most renowned and revered religious figures said, while speaking by international image screen hookup.
“We, as sentient beings, were given dominion over the planet and over all living things by the Omniscient One. We have made marvelous technological advances, and with our Omo-given intellect, we had at our fingertips the means for our survival.
“What we did not have, and where we were found lacking as sentient beings, was the ability to put aside greed, jealousy, and arrogance, the scourge of the sentient race. And now that delinquency means that we all must die.
“Yes, it was the shortcoming of but one person, but are we not all, one, under Omo? And is the imperfection of one, not the imperfection of us all? That weakness, my friends, means that we have failed the noble experiment in which Omo has allowed us to participate.
Terminal Event Page 13
