Ocean of Storms

by Christopher Mari

  Donovan was amazed that NASA had been able to design and build the command module and lander so quickly. Much of this was due to the organization using Apollo’s specs as a guide, but even more of the process relied on NASA’s ability to use computer simulations to check for any defects or possible malfunctions. Everything’s running like clockwork, he thought.

  He couldn’t believe that this was the same NASA he had come to only four months earlier. The designers, engineers, and technicians, the thousands of people working around the clock to get this mission off the ground, seemed to have been given new life with this task ahead of them. Even the Chinese orbiter turned out to be a boon, Donovan realized. It got us to do what we needed to do in a hurry.

  He also realized history was repeating itself. Just as everything seemed to be flowing smoothly inside NASA as Apollo, and now Phoenix, was making its remarkable strides toward the stars, the world outside was falling into chaos. Even the President’s announcement of a manned mission scheduled for June did little to comfort the restless masses outside these gates. The impact of the EM pulse was still being felt across the globe. Riots continued to flare up now and then. The conflict was not as bad as before the Chinese mission but still bad. Crime in every city was on the rise. Protests were a daily occurrence. Even the Chinese fleet had yet to return to port; they continued to circle Taiwan, waiting. The American ships stationed off South Korea, as well as the vast majority of the Pacific Fleet, remained on full alert.

  Donovan tried to block out these negative thoughts and concentrate on the towering Saturn VII looming before him in the bright morning sun. Syd and her crew had been waiting on the launchpad, strapped tight into their seats, for well over an hour. No one wanted to give the go signal before every system was quadruple-checked.

  “She sure is something,” said Moose.

  “Beautiful,” agreed Zell. “I remember when they were half this size.”

  “So do I,” said Donovan. Being here made him think of his father and how much he would have loved to be atop one of these boosters.

  Suddenly, the group saw smoke begin to pour out from under the rocket as it prepared to launch.

  “The clock is running!” Benny enthused.

  Seconds later there was a deafening boom as the engines fired and the rocket broke loose from its moorings. Slowly it began to move, rising up from the launch tower with steady, determined speed. The thousands of onlookers gathered around the Cape cheered wildly.

  “Go, baby, go!” yelled Benny.

  “Liftoff! We have liftoff of Phoenix 5, a mission that will renew humanity’s quest for knowledge in our—”

  “Look at it go!”

  The crowd at the Cape cheered madly, their euphoria seemingly boosting Phoenix from its moorings to the Earth. Around the world, their feelings were mirrored by the people watching in their homes, gathered in public places from Times Square to Red Square, standing together to watch this bold step into history. The tragedies of the past several months were temporarily forgotten and, in this brief moment, the world was united in the joy and promise of what lay ahead.

  On the tarmac, the team watched with grim, serious expressions. Moose, watching Phoenix intently, was the first to notice the thin trail of smoke coming from the rocket’s ascent engine.

  “Oh my God,” Moose said.

  They saw the explosion before they heard it. A blast that sounded like a neutron bomb that came from above the launchpad. The rocket slammed back down into the launch tube with a sickening crunch. The burning fuel roared underground for a moment; then the entire Earth seemed to shift as it exploded. The fuel, now loose, began to ignite in the air, sending a torrent of flames up into the sky. With an aching groan, the toppling booster began snapping power cables and tearing through metal. Within seconds, the sheer heat from the rocket had melted the tower like wax. Whatever wasn’t burned away was crushed by the weight of collapsing metal. After the rocket tumbled to the ground, shrieking and bellowing in its death throes, there was a pause. During that dreadful second, everyone hoped it was all over. Then came a powerful blast, knocking everyone to the ground.

  “Syd!” Donovan yelled, getting up to run to the pad.

  “No, Alan, no!” yelled Zell as he pulled him back. Donovan tried to fight him but eventually collapsed in a heap on the tarmac.

  The launch area was consumed in a column of fire. Everywhere they looked, people were screaming, running for their lives. Another explosion rocked the pad as everything nearby was instantly immolated. A massive cloud of dust and debris consumed the area, covering all with a thick blanket of ash.

  The crew stayed down for a second longer, then picked up their heads. Their world had just ended. After another second or two the smoke began to clear.

  “My God in heaven,” Zell said, looking out over the landscape.

  The others followed his stare and were stunned. Where just ten minutes ago there had stood a pristine rocket ready for launch, there was now a burning crater belching out smoke and ash into the morning sky.

  Chapter 7

  April 21

  The White House

  Washington, DC

  2:20 p.m.

  “Now explain it to me again, gentlemen. But this time in plain English, if you don’t mind.”

  The President sat in the antique rocking chair near the fireplace in the Oval Office. A chair once owned by JFK. Seated around her on plush cream-colored couches were General McKenna, John Dieckman, and Cal Walker. All of them, with the exception of the President, were shifting in their seats. Four days had passed since the accident that claimed the lives of Lieutenant Weaver and her crew. The three men had just spent the last twenty minutes explaining to the President, in very technical terms, what their preliminary investigation revealed.

  The President thought they were purposely trying to obscure their findings by burying the causes of the accident in technical jargon. Either they weren’t sure of what had caused the malfunction or they were trying to mask their own mistakes. The President assumed the latter.

  The accident aboard Phoenix 5 did more than kill three Americans and injure scores of others who had gathered to watch the launch; it had reignited the panic that had followed the announcement of the signal. Wild stories were everywhere. Aliens had blown up the rocket in order to prevent their detection on the Moon. The invaders were masking their armada through some kind of Star Trek cloaking device, which rendered their ships invisible. Politicians across the world were engaged in a conspiracy that would allow them to remain in power while the aliens came down to serve as overlords to an enslaved human race. Such stories would be laughable if not for the fact that so many people—more than the President cared to admit—honestly believed them. It was as if the Chinese mission had never happened. And everyone had an excuse for the irrefutable Chinese evidence to the contrary that there were no aliens currently residing on the Moon. The pictures were doctored. The Chinese were in on the conspiracy. The news media caught every conspiracy theory and reported it as fact. On the Internet every half-baked idea burst into a full-blown exposé as if it were kindling. The President had gone on television the night of the accident to reassure the American public that the accident was just that, an accident. She asked for patience as the investigations went forward. She asked for calm.

  Nothing she said did any good.

  This morning she had declared martial law in New York, Atlanta, Chicago, Detroit, and Los Angeles. Two thousand five hundred people were arrested in a single night in a wave of looting and violence in Los Angeles. In New York, someone had exploded a pipe bomb in Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, killing hundreds of parishioners, which led to a series of attacks on mosques across the city. She would very likely need to send the National Guard into several other major cities before nightfall. As much as she despised the idea of tanks in the streets of American cities, the gathering death toll was almost more than she could bear. She recalled history often and prayed she was making the right decisions. More o
ften she thought of how history would look upon her own actions.

  Dieckman, clearing his throat, was the first to speak. “Madam President, as far as we can tell, we believe the fire was caused by an exposed wire in the ignition circuit that ignited the fuel prematurely.”

  “And would you mind telling me how you know that?”

  “We were lucky,” Deke explained. “One of the first pieces recovered was the segment of the craft that housed the ignition circuit. The frayed wire was still there. It couldn’t have been any clearer than if it had dropped right into our laps.”

  “Then explain to me one more thing,” the President said, leaning forward slightly. “How in the hell did that get past the inspection teams?”

  Walker shifted almost imperceptibly. “Impossible to say at this juncture.”

  “That’s not good enough, Dr. Walker,” the President declared in an almost too-quiet voice. “That’s not half as good enough. We lost some good people on that launchpad. But moreover, we’re losing more and more American lives each and every day as these riots go on. Riots, I might add, that are the direct result of Phoenix 5.”

  “I understand that, Madam President.”

  “I don’t think you do, Deke,” she said. “I don’t think any of you do. Now again, what happened?”

  Deke looked at the President sheepishly. “We screwed up, ma’am. Badly.”

  The President seemed momentarily satisfied by his admission of guilt. She maintained her fixed gaze on Deke, hoping to draw more out of the head of the Astronaut Office.

  “Madam President,” Walker suddenly interjected. “With all due respect, you are asking us to send a manned mission to the Moon by June with almost no lead time. This would have been impossible even in the days of Apollo. Why, we needed almost a decade to figure out how to—”

  “But you figured it out, Dr. Walker. That part’s done. We know how to get to the Moon. We did it six times, as all you fellas at NASA keep reminding me. We know what it takes. All I’ve asked of you gentlemen is to reassemble the pieces and make sure that we get there safely, before the Chinese do.” The President turned to General McKenna. “General, what’s the current status of the Chinese program?”

  “Ma’am,” McKenna began, “our latest intel indicates that the Chinese are still incapable of building a viable lander. We understand that they have conducted tests recently on military bases and have been unable to construct one that will be able to withstand impact with the lunar surface. They’ve had two accidents so far, both fatalities.”

  “So they have a rocket that can get to the Moon, and we have the know-how to land us there,” the President mused. “Fine situation.”

  “Madam President,” Cal Walker began, pressing the tips of his fingers together. “Perhaps we can still beat the Chinese there. After all, if they are still incapable of landing on the Moon, they surely won’t send a mission they are certain will fail. If you would give us more time, perhaps postpone the mission indefinitely until after the review board—”

  “Time, Doctor, is a luxury we don’t have. We need to get to the Moon by June, if not sooner. If we wait any longer, then there might not be an America left for these astronauts to come home to.”

  “Ma’am,” Deke said, “you don’t mean—”

  “Gentlemen, we are facing the possibility that we may have to put the entire country under martial law. There are reports of militia movements in the West planning an insurrection against the government in light of the recent declarations of martial law in major cities. If we don’t do something soon to quell the panic in our streets, the entire situation may . . .”

  She trailed off. Her eyes looked heavy and tired. All of them could see she was under tremendous strain. She cleared her throat. “We had word this morning that several European countries fear the overthrow of their governments. We’re talking about anarchy, gentlemen. Possibly the end of civilization as we know it. This EM pulse has brought the world to the precipice of another dark age. And we’re the Roman Empire.”

  McKenna, Dieckman, and Walker had all met with their share of presidents. They knew the levelheaded ones from the paranoid ones, the calculating ones from the honest ones. This president was, overall, both levelheaded and honest. For her to admit these things, they knew the world was in very serious trouble.

  “So,” the President said, straightening up in her chair, “I can’t give you time. What can I give you in order to land a crew on the Ocean of Storms?”

  The three men looked at one another. Again, Dieckman spoke first.

  “Engineers. Equipment. Round-the-clock access to factories.”

  “You’ve got it.”

  “We’ll also need a considerable increase in funding, Madam President,” Walker added. “And possibly the aid of the air force personnel who worked on the initial design of the—”

  McKenna looked as if he had been slapped. “Ma’am, I’m as much in favor of this mission as anyone, but we’ve got to consider the costs, especially with the political situation being what it is. Besides the fact that we’ve spent the last decade-plus as the de facto policemen of the world, we have the Taiwan situation to consider. Additionally, we now have troops in major cities across the country, protecting the public. Any military pullback on our part would not only be seen as a sign of weakness, it would be political suicide.”

  For the first time in the meeting the President smiled. “So then you’ll also need a change in the political situation. In other words, a miracle.” She slapped her thighs and stood up. “I’ll see what I can do about that.”

  “Mr. President, thank you very much for taking my call on such short notice.”

  The President of the People’s Republic of China respectfully nodded at the President of the United States of America via teleconference. Sitting alone in the darkened Situation Room of the White House, she was grateful that her Chinese counterpart spoke English so fluently and that the connection linking them was so clear. What she had to say was something that only the leader of the free world could say to the man controlling the most populous country on the planet, and she needed to make sure that every word and every gesture was crystal clear. At this early juncture, even the translators were best left out of the talk, to keep the conference as confidential as possible.

  “I appreciate the opportunity to express my condolences to you personally regarding the loss of your crew,” he said quietly. “A most unfortunate accident.”

  “More unfortunate than you might imagine, Mr. President,” she replied. “And moreover, the accident is specifically what I want to talk to you about.”

  “I’m not sure I understand your meaning, Madam President. Are you implying—”

  “Sir, I am not implying anything. We both know that the loss of our rocket and space vehicle was an accident. We also know that we are both attempting to do something that will have massive political ramifications for the future peace of this planet.”

  “The People’s Republic of China is committed to world peace, Madam President. That is why we are endeavoring to better understand the meaning of the signal coming from the Moon.”

  “Let’s cut to the chase, Mr. President. We both want to get to the Moon. It would not only mean prestige for the nation who makes first contact with an alien species, it would also bring order to our troubled world.”

  “That it would. It would greatly aid your country in particular, which is facing such great civil unrest.”

  “We’re still in the information age, sir. Despite all your best efforts, we know that similar unrest is brewing in your countryside, that your peasants are revolting and have been for some time. It may not be as widespread as the unrest in my own country, but it is there and it is a growing and gathering threat to the stability of your government.”

  “Be that as it may, Madam President, I still do not understand—”

  “I would like to propose a joint mission between the People’s Republic of China and the United States of America—one tha
t would not only ensure that we would get to the Moon successfully but one that also would quell the panic growing every day around the world. What I am asking is that we set aside our differences and form an alliance, a true alliance, to promote world stability.”

  He smiled thinly. “Madam President, the current situation regarding Taiwan would prevent—”

  “Taiwan is not on the table, Mr. President.”

  He sat back in his chair and lit a cigarette. “I see. So what do you propose?”

  “We know your country is using Apollo-style technology to get to the Moon. You’ve successfully built a rocket and command module capable of circumnavigating the Moon. We have the know-how and the experience to build a lander that would set us down in the Ocean of Storms. We therefore combine our programs and missions, using a Chinese command module and an American-built lander to get to the Moon.”

  She watched her Chinese counterpart consider her offer.

  “You are very practical, Madam President. But I feel I must offer a counterproposal. China must be represented on the surface of the Moon, for the sake of world unity and stability, if nothing else. So I suggest a full integration of materials and manpower, including an integrated team landing on the surface of the Moon.”

  “Fair enough, Mr. President.”

  “And as to Taiwan?”

  “Taiwan will still be here when we get back from the Moon. The question is, will anything be left in a few months’ time if we don’t join forces to get there?”

  He smiled again and stubbed out his cigarette. “I will be in contact with you shortly, Madam President.”

  April 22

  Arlington National Cemetery

  Arlington, Virginia