Webster gave his advisor a sideways glance. “I thought it was more?”
“That’s our eighteen to sixty four. Add in some healthy folks over that mark, too, and the number climbs.”
Webster shook his head. “They’ve got more,” he said quietly. Those fanatics were united against the nation in a way never before seen. They would not go down easily.
The two reflected a minute, sipping their coffee and staring at the walls.
“Even if they do,” Roberts said, “winter’s coming.”
Dr. Eckert’s variables were based on the planet’s orientation. Seasonal impact played a role. Armies who knew what to look for could take advantage of such information. Wars had been fought and won on the basis of such events. There were precedents; earthquakes, volcanic explosions, even asteroid impacts. Such earth shattering events could certainly shift the balance.
If the mission failed, none of it would matter. If it succeeded, and the world spared, the war would proceed to its natural conclusion. What the president and his advisor were looking at, though, was something in between.
They’d been over and back, the variables changed with every scenario, but one thing was clear. They couldn’t go it alone. And they had precious few allies to count on. It was time to call the chairman.
* * *
Harvey Roberts emerged with the marching orders. He assembled the troops, then proceeded to make himself the most unpopular man in the mountain.
“…it’s no reflection on your work or your abilities,” Roberts explained to the shell-shocked group, “it’s just the way the president wants it…”
The chief of staff then laid it out in no uncertain terms, so there was no mistaking the directive. This was a house cleaning.
“…so given the fact that circumstances are going to be changing rapidly over the next days and weeks, it has to be now. I’m sorry to be the bearer on this, folks. Honest to God I am.”
The majority of the grunts on site, upwards of eighty percent of them by some estimates, were heading south to the front. Their replacements, taken from non-combat zones, were set to arrive within the hour. The president and his number-one aid had made all the arrangements behind closed doors, and even the four star generals in the room had no clue it was coming. They, too, were being rotated out, though not directly into harm’s way. Assigned to forward posts, they’d be acting as intermediaries for the citizen militias. Not such a bad deal, but for men accustomed to running the show, it was a clear demotion.
There were no complaints, no rumblings of discontent. The soldiers disbursed and began making preparations. The president emerged briefly, but only to call a few of the officers in. Roberts knew those were the only upper echelon soldiers retained, set to take on support roles to the new leadership. They would serve temporarily as on-site trainers, bring the incoming replacements up to speed—a lateral move at best. Nobody in the mountain was better off than they’d been before Harvey Roberts had emerged to ruin their careers.
* * *
The chief of staff knew better than to show his feelings to the president, as frustrated as he’d been over the course of the day. He knew why the change was happening. There couldn’t be any divided loyalties, and the orders about to come down weren’t going to be popular. The previous leadership had their minds made up about how far this war should go. The replacements had no such preconceived ideas to cloud their judgement.
“I’m afraid it’s about to get a whole lot worse, Harvey,” Webster said, pouring himself a coffee out of the lone remaining Air Force One pot. There was no steam, and it looked muddy. He took a sip and winced. “I know you’re frustrated. I wish I could take some of the heat, but I need you to be the bad guy for a while longer. When I need to rally these guys, I can’t have them hating my guts.”
“You’re thinking we get overrun, then? No matter what happens up there, I mean.”
Webster nodded.
“Jesus,” Roberts said, a soft whisper that betrayed his sense of dread. “I mean…oh, Jesus. I knew the regular army wouldn’t hold, but I thought the militia at least.”
“They’ll beat them back for a while, but it’s simple physics Harvey. Raw tonnage, theirs against ours. They’ve got fifty to our every one for Christ’s sake. There’s no stemming that tide. Believe me, I’ve tried to figure it out. Can’t be done.”
“What about the nuclear option, then?” He couldn’t believe he was even suggesting it. But the alternative…
“Wouldn’t work,” Webster said flatly. Reacting to Roberts’ quizzical expression, he explained further; “It’s the blowback. We’d contaminate ourselves. Nuclear winter, maybe. But all of that might still be okay, except that it still wouldn’t stop these sons of whores. Not in their current state. It’s a feeding frenzy out there. Europe’s even more fucked, if you can believe it.”
Roberts was stunned. He’d thought himself on top of most recent developments, but none of this was familiar. He wondered where the president was getting his additional information. The replacements, he realized with sudden certainty. The ones Webster was bringing in. They must have been in talks with him all this time. Without Roberts’ knowledge.
“You’re going to order them to surrender.” The words, even as they spilt from his own lips, gave Roberts a shudder.
“If that’s what I have to do, I’ll do it,” said the president. His tone was resolved, but his eyes betrayed an underlying fear. He would be the first one sacrificed when the time came.
“I want you to start working on alternative communication. Get me in touch with Space Force One somehow,”—Webster put up a hand to stop the inevitable protest—“I don’t care how you do it. Find a way. I’m putting a stop to this now and forever. Even if it comes at the expense of, well—”
He couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought. Even if it came at the expense of the nation, which it well might. America was not in a position of strength going forward, even if the disaster came to a halt. The Americas would be reeling for a long time. With power struggles elsewhere, it would be inevitable that some forgotten powers unaffected by the crisis would come to the fore.
“I’ll get right on it sir. We’ll find a way.”
“Good,” the president said. “Thank you. I appreciate being able to count on you, Harvey.”
“Of course, sir.”
“And being able to bend your ear, as well. I need it more than you know.”
“Yes sir.”
“And Harvey?”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“I’d like to speak with a priest at some point. Maybe the bishop who handled the benediction.”
The chief of staff looked bemused, prompting the president to add; “At my inauguration. Bishop Donovan, was it? I could use a priest right about now. And he was a good listener when I needed one. A lot like you, in fact, though you’ll understand if I defer to an expert when it comes to prayer.”
Roberts smiled. “How can I argue with that? I’ll look into it.”
“Thanks.”
* * *
“Cardinal Donovan? A promotion?”
“Yes, Mr. President. I don’t suppose it hurt that I stood by the president for the swearing in. The Vatican took notice, much to my surprise.”
“Well congratulations. Well deserved.” In all honesty he had no idea if it was well deserved or not, but niceties were all he had to kill time before getting to the point.
“I’m sorry to drag you all the way out here, Cardinal—“
“Father Donovan’ll be fine, Mr. President.”
“Ah, much better. I was hoping to have a chat with a good honest priest. Not put on airs or anything.”
“No sir. No need for that.”
“I’d ask you to call me Randall, you know, if it weren’t for the situation and all…”
“Quite alright, Mr. President. I wouldn’t think of it.”
“Right. Thanks.”
The Cardinal shuffled his feet, prompting the president
to invite him to sit. He sat silent for a minute, inviting the president to explain himself.
“The reason I asked you here, among other things, was to ask your council—of a spiritual sort, I mean—on a mission that might be happening soon. One that could affect, well, everyone really. And things might go wrong. Very wrong.” He took a breath, having spilled it all out in one long effort. He really should’ve have said even that, honestly. Too late now, he thought, pressing on. “So what I really need to know is, from a spiritual standpoint, what sort of preparations I should be making for myself, personally. The sort of thing a leader should do when faced with a momentous decision. You know, I’ve been praying…”
“That’s always the right thing.”
“But I haven’t gotten any answers back.”
“Ah, that. I suggest you keep listening. But what’s bothering you specifically Mr. President? I trust that’s the real reason we’re speaking.”
“Yes.” Webster turned away, suddenly feeling the whole conversation was a bit foolish. What was he looking for, anyway? Whatever it was, it wouldn’t come from a guru, sent to hand him all the answers. That’d be too easy, and nothing in President Webster’s life was easy. Not any more. So instead of answers, he simply told the Cardinal what was bothering him. And when they were finished, he felt better. Not perfect, but better. The Cardinal’s best advice had been to remind him that the answers, with God’s help and guidance, would have to come from him.
50.
The army corps of engineers had put together a comprehensive review package for the crew. By way of surveillance footage, newsreels, and amateur video documentation, the fall of Joffrey was documented in heartbreaking detail. A comprehensive, chilling examination of the gravimetric effect; how it worked, it’s unpredictable nature, and—most vital for the mission—what it took to stop it.
It was an odd sensation, floating weightless alongside his crewmates, watching his own image on video going over the details with John Masters. Masters’ contribution had been critical, filling in gaps and providing insight on Dean’s ongoing research. It was proving equally valuable on second viewing.
“So looking at the effectiveness here,”—‘video’ Dean pointed to a section of Joffrey where the structures had remained intact longer than most—“and here,”—Dean indicated another spot that held up—“what do we have in common?”
“They were both sound to begin with,” replied Masters, “that’s one thing. I actually had a hand in one of those construction projects back in the expansion days.” It’d been a joint project with his friend and business partner Vern Jones, one of the citizens killed in the disaster. For the first time, Dean noticed Masters’ video image give a discrete upward glance when no one was watching. Thinking of his friend?
“There wasn’t anything notable about them, though” Masters continued, “no more than a lot of other places.”
“Aside from how they were constructed,” Dean heard himself ask on the video feed, “what else can you tell me?”
Dean leaned forward, intent on catching everything Masters had to say, in case he’d missed it when the tape was made.
Masters seemed to think for a minute. “Proximity to the effect may be part of it. A lot of barriers further up got hit worse.”
“And the building materials?”
“Materials? You mean original construction, or the stuff we used to shore it up?”
“The emergency materials.”
Well, that was one of the first areas we zoned in on, so I’d say they got some of the better stuff. Before shortages started slowin’ things down and forcin’ us to use the cheap stuff,” Masters said. “Look there at the western part of town, where the damage ratio’s higher,”—he pointed to another section of the town—“they put everything up on the fly out there, out of pretty cheap material, mostly trucked in from Salem and dropped at the border. That might’ve been a factor, now that I think about it.”
“Construction teams made up of a lot of the same people?” the Dean on the video asked.
“All the same, best I can recall. It was chaotic, ‘s you could imagine”
“Sure,” Shane chimed in, “of course if would’ve been—”
So that eliminates the obvious,” Dean said, shooting the colonel a quick look of apology for talking over him, “but what about the build shape?”
Masters, Shane and the others looked confused.
“From above, I’m saying. Overhead. Look at the way they’re tapered down away from each other. Is it possible the larger frame had something to do with the funnel effect?”
Ignoring the confused expressions, the Dean on the video suddenly sprang forward. Watching in real time, Dean remembered how the idea had taken shape in his mind. He watched himself move around the schematic, tipping his head sideways this way and that, trying to get a fresh perspective. Then, as if by an optical illusion, patterns began to emerge. He urged the others to do the same. And now that Dean had pointed out how to do it, it became plain to each of them in turn.
“Well I’ll be damned.” That one phrase from Chief Masters summed up the sentiment of the room. They could see what Dean saw.
* * *
Dean gathered his shipmates together to go over the new adjustments to his working theory. There wasn’t time enough for deep learning, but he needed to continually share the basic ideas to the group, allowing them to know what changes to their assignments they should prepare for. Not bothering with preamble, he set about getting everyone on the same page as best he could.
“So what are we looking at here?” he said, letting the hypothetical hang in the air. “What happened to turn things around in Joffrey? And what does it mean for our mission?”
“The success of Joffrey was duplicated in other places,” he went on, “but it wasn’t what they thought it was. In fact, their success belied the causes behind it, because nobody thought to look more closely. They were relieved, I guess, and didn’t want to look that gift horse in the mouth. Can’t say as I blame them, but it makes what we’re trying to accomplish up here more difficult. Or it would, if we continued following their lead.”
Dean had their attention, but he wondered if he wasn’t being a little too theatrical. These were professionals. He didn’t need to sugarcoat it so much. Just the facts, ma’am.
“See, it wasn’t a matter of building materials. That was just a surface assumption. And it wasn’t structural integrity, either. None of that explains what we saw.”
Shane spoke up. “If it wasn’t what we thought it was,” he asked, “then what the hell explains it?”
Dean’s expression lit up. He’d been hoping someone would ask. “Exactly what we saw on the tape, Shane,” Dean explained, containing his enthusiasm for the sake of decorum. “The structural relationship to other forms, that’s what caused the channeling. And that’s the way we have to think of it, too, like it’s water we’re dealing with. And flow. Liquid, solid—makes no difference. Architectural, even. The way they flow together entices the dark gravity to follow suit.”
“I’m afraid you’ve lost me,” Shane admitted. There were other shaking heads, the pilot wasn’t the only one confused.
Dean tried again. “Okay, look. It’s like this…it’s not the walls that matter. The walls are nothing. It’s the pattern of the walls, all seen together. The big picture of what shapes and forms they take. Like how drops become buckets, then a river, then the ocean. All those patterns are adding up, interacting with the gravimetric flow cohesively. They’re acting together, forcing it to flow in one direction, like a river bank. Only in this case, it’s flowing up.”
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