The Prometheus Effect

by David Fleming

  The submarine commander took the printout and read the short message. Kyle waited stoically two paces behind him. “Attack on US soil. Space-based kinetic weapons. Heavy damage to targets. White House destroyed. Minimal loss of life. President not harmed. Stay on mission.”

  The commander looked to Kyle for some sort of reaction and saw none.

  “Stay on mission?” the commander asked. “An act of war has been committed, and we are to ‘stay on mission’? That doesn’t make any sense at all! Unless the agency that put us on this mission knew this was going to happen.”

  Kyle remained respectfully silent.

  The commander presented the message to Kyle. “You have permission to speak,” he said.

  Kyle took the message but didn’t read it. He didn’t have to. Everything was going according to plan. Except the suspicions of the commander. He had to give the commander credit: the man was sharp. “You seem to be implying something, sir?” he asked.

  “Implying? Let me make this crystal clear. I am accusing you of having knowledge of this mission that was not shared with the commander of this vessel. I will not be treated like a puppet. It compromises the safety of my crew when vital information is withheld.”

  “Sir—”

  The commander flashed a palm at Kyle to forestall his response. “If you don’t have something relevant to tell me, then don’t talk until you do.” He lowered his hand.

  Kyle stood at attention. “Sir,” he said gently, “as long as this submarine is in the water, you are her commander. My job is to follow orders within the chain of command.”

  At face value, he hadn’t said anything of merit—certainly not enough to let him off the hook—but if one jumped to the obvious key phrase, “chain of command”… So that was it, the commander thought. Someone higher up in the chain thought it necessary to keep him in the dark. Who was this Kyle kid anyway? The commander thought he knew, but a gulf of mistrust had been developing within him since the spook incident.

  Wait a minute…

  “XO Smith.”

  “Sir.”

  “After we picked up that spook and someone took over our navigation remotely, how long was it before we dropped him off?”

  “Approximately seven days, sir.”

  “And from the moment you returned to the boat until we reach our destination, how many days will have passed?”

  Is that a hint of a smile on my XO?

  “About seven days… sir,” Kyle replied.

  “Seems to be one hell of a coincidence. I don’t believe in coincidences, mister. I want to know what’s going on.”

  “Sir, if you feel that you can no longer trust me, I will step down and let one of the other officers take my place. Have me sedated in the infirmary if you feel it’s necessary for the protection of the crew and this boat. I will not, however, violate my orders.” Kyle stood like a man awaiting final judgement.

  The commander fixed him with a stare. His XO had withheld information—was still withholding information. Of that he was certain. He was also the most capable XO he had ever served with, and would make a fine commander someday. He’d noted that bit of praise in the XO’s last evaluation. The commander tried to imagine himself in the XO’s shoes. Would he cave in to his superior’s demands in the face of higher orders? His answer surprised him: When submarines fly! He would tell his commander to shove it. That’s why he wasn’t an admiral by now. His honesty and integrity had left him with no stomach for political niceties. And Kyle must hold a great deal of respect for him to make the offer of stepping down. His concern for the safety of everyone involved seemed genuine. He wasn’t playing fair. The kid was really putting him to the test.

  “That won’t be necessary, XO Smith. Return to your post,” the commander said.

  CHAPTER 78

  In a lavish bunker complex under the mountains west of Chengdu, China, four men lounged in stately chairs surrounding an ornate desk. The president of the United States had requested an audience; they had agreed, and had instructed him to call back in six hours. This gave the men opportunity to gather for the occasion. No translator would be needed, for they had all spent semesters receiving education in American colleges. It is money well spent when your enemy teaches your spies and future leaders.

  The phone on their desk rang at one minute past noon. It was well past midnight on the other end of the line—a planned inconvenience.

  “Good morning, Mr. President. How nice of you to call,” said China’s paramount leader, keeping the phone on speaker for all to hear.

  “President Feng, thank you for taking my call. It appears that we are both victims of a gross misunderstanding.”

  “Our intelligence reports state otherwise, Mr. President,” Feng said. “One does not deploy one billion dollars’ worth of aircraft and ten million in ordnance to fix a misunderstanding. However, it is very much the type of thing one would do to protect a secret. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “We don’t have fusion, Feng.”

  “Of course you don’t. We took that ability away from you by bombing the only place you did have it, Harold.” If the US president wanted to do away with traditional niceties, so be it.

  “I don’t know what to tell you, other than you have been deceived. If it were reasonable for us to do so, don’t you think we would have launched a counterstrike by now? There is no need to escalate aggression over a mistake! I’m sure your spy satellites can confirm that we are not preparing to retaliate.”

  Feng made a gesture to the military general at his side; the man nodded in confirmation. “Such action would be foolhardy indeed,” Feng said, “considering we have the ability to target and destroy any American city of our choosing within fifteen minutes. Including the office you now sit in.”

  “Dammit, Feng. I’m here in good faith to show we have nothing to hide. If you launch another weapon, anywhere, we all lose.”

  Feng spoke slowly. “Is that a threat… Mr. President? Your country is no longer the superpower of years past. I suggest you select your words carefully.”

  “President Feng, and anyone else who is listening in, give me a week to sort this out. Allow reason and cooler heads a chance to prevail. Will you agree to that much? For the sake of both our countries… and everyone else who stands to lose if we fail?”

  Feng made a toothy smile. The president was all but groveling at his feet. This was even better than he had hoped for. One week. Plenty for China’s needs. And for the United States to experience China’s true weapon.

  “You may have your week, Mr. President. Use it wisely.”

  Feng killed the connection before the president could respond.

  “Their navy is in full recall to protect their coastlines,” the general informed him, “except for one carrier group en route to the Seychelles area—to retrieve the artifact, we assume. The carrier and her support vessels are some of the oldest and most obsolete in their fleet. They will be no trouble. Half our fleet and the majority of our submarines are already in the area. The US forces will be vastly outnumbered.”

  “Excellent,” Feng said. Turning to his Director of National Space Administration, he asked, “And what of the stones we have thrown toward the American side of the pond?”

  “According to the last telemetry data, all are on optimal trajectories. We are unable to verify the asteroids’ locations visibly, but infrared scans confirm telemetry. If the American navy remains on the coastlines, they will be destroyed along with major coastal cities. The mission is guaranteed to succeed this time, President Feng.”

  Feng drummed his fingers on the desk. “Keep the kinetics armed. We may still have some cleaning up to do after the impacts.”

  ***

  Two men in the white uniforms of the Chinese navy guarded Sebastian as he huddled over a safety rail of China’s flagship aircraft carrier. The fresh air was supposed to help with the seasickness, but staring down at the relentless waves exacerbated it instead. His hangover added its own vile twist. High win
ds ripped streamers of bile sideways from his mouth with each retch.

  He closed his eyes and attempted a breathing exercise. He retched again and felt something tear in his abdomen. How could a ship this big have so much motion? When his bladder threatened to burst, he tried peeing through the rails and off the ship. Howling wind blew urine back in his face.

  The men behind him wore expressions of revolted amusement. Why were they even there? They stood too far away to prevent him from jumping. Not that he would try; he had too much to lose now. Even if he did jump, he doubted they would mount a rescue. That attitude would have to change. It was a good thing he had passed out before revealing everything he knew.

  When their flight from Las Vegas landed, he and the deputy minister had immediately boarded a waiting military transport jet. When they landed on the carrier, Sebastian had run straight from the jet to his present location. He had yet to see the inside of the carrier.

  He retched again. A groan escaped from his lips as he let his face fall against cold steel.

  Someone grabbed the back of his head, and he sensed pressure being applied to the side of his neck. When the pressure released, it felt like a rough bandage remained.

  “For seasick,” said a uniformed man in passable English. He spoke with the air of a doctor. “Your presence is expected inside when it takes effect.” The doctor turned smartly on his heel and marched to the island control tower.

  After ten minutes, Sebastian’s body began to relax, though his mind remained fuzzy. A fair trade. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and signaled his readiness to go inside.

  His guards led him to the tower, but barred him from entering. One guard stepped inside and came back with a wet towel and a change of clothes. “Strip,” he ordered. “You stink.”

  Sebastian was more than happy to oblige. They tossed his reeking clothes over the side of the ship. The new ones felt coarse and rough on his skin, and they were orange, like prison garb. But they were clean.

  “You may enter now,” the guard said.

  Inside, a tiny man with a face of stone stood next to the deputy minister. Judging by all of his medals, pips, and tassels, he had to be an admiral of the Chinese navy. On second glance, Sebastian recognized the man’s face from news stories. This man enjoyed taunting US warships. The media had labeled him a dangerous warmonger. Sebastian had no desire to test this man’s patience, but his goals required him to do so. If he gave away everything now, he would be fish bait.

  The admiral spoke to Sebastian in Chinese. The deputy minister translated. “We will be in the Seychelles area in two days. Our satellites and reconnaissance flights show nothing out of the ordinary. You will now tell us, please, exactly where the artifact is being kept.”

  No, I won’t, Sebastian thought. “I don’t know exactly where it is,” he said, which was true. “Do you have an aerial map of the area?”

  The admiral led them to a digital navigation table. A glossy touch screen comprised the entire tabletop. It sat awkwardly lower than customary for one obvious reason: the admiral’s small stature. No self-respecting admiral wanted to command while sitting in a booster chair.

  The admiral pulled up a static satellite image. Sebastian knew they possessed technology to show real-time feeds, but he supposed they were reluctant to show it. Their sonar and reconnaissance data had determined the placement of numerous ships and submarines, all of which were marked with icons. A Chinese armada converged on the Seychelles, closely followed by unwelcome guests. A good portion of the Russian fleet shadowed them. A spattering of North Korean ships was attempting a blockade of the Russians.

  Sebastian couldn’t contain his curiosity. “What’s going on here?” he asked, pointing at the North Koreans.

  The deputy minister responded, “It’s nice to have trained flies. They are not your concern.” He tapped the table lightly. “Where is the artifact?”

  “Can you center the image over the Seychelles?”

  The admiral did so. Evidently he understood English but chose not to speak it.

  Chinese submarines surrounded the area. That would be very fortuitous, when the moment was right.

  Sebastian whirled his finger in the air over a spot on the plot. “My best guess is that it is being kept in one of the islands in this group here.” A lie. “The entrance is only accessible by submarine. A smaller attack submarine at that. I doubt one of your Dynasty class boomers would fit.” Enough truth to keep him needed—and alive—for two more days. Once he kept his end of the deal, he was sure the sight of the artifact would quash any negativity they felt toward him. I must see the look on their faces when they witness it for themselves.

  The admiral paced once around the navigation table, contemplatively rubbing his chin. As though remembering Sebastian still remained in his presence, he turned to the guard, pointed at Sebastian, and spoke his first word of English.

  “Brig.”

  CHAPTER 79

  The moon’s Operations Center shared similarities with the one planetside, but whereas the City’s ops center offered relaxing chairs for long brainstorming and planning sessions, the moon’s had been designed for quick and efficient implementation of action plans and dealing with emergency situations. In a fraction of the space used in the City building, technicians manned wrap-around work stations and deeply recessed alcoves along the walls. The flow of information flashed holographically around the room in synchronized patterns.

  Mykl slipped in unnoticed and took a seat in the protective shadow of a work station. He had a perfect view of Jack, manipulating video feeds on a chest-high virtual screen circling him. The computer system redisplayed and magnified everything he accessed on a larger curved surface to keep everyone updated.

  Mykl observed from his hiding spot for two hours. He should have brought Stinker to keep him company—and to keep him calm. The images he saw educated him on the abominations of war. His thumping heart wanted him to run. Only Jack’s seemingly unfazed affect kept his own emotions anchored.

  He had mixed feelings when Tina was rescued. She was a nice enough girl but… she was a girl.

  The conversation with the president showed a side of Jack that Mykl hadn’t seen before. He learned much from it.

  When the operation finally wound down and the lights were turned up, a man with a clear view of Mykl outed him. The man made no accusations, just a simple nod toward him while making eye contact with Jack.

  Jack wore a should-have-known expression on his face. “How much?” he asked.

  Mykl crawled out from under the work station. His butt ached from sitting on the hard floor. Stinker would have made an excellent cushion. “I came here right after I saw the flashes in space on my wall screen,” he said.

  “Of course you did,” Jack said.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you,” he said to all present. “We can go back to normal staffing for now. If something unexpected comes up, we know where to find you.”

  That drew a few chuckles. All but three people left the room. They gave Mykl smiles, nods, and hellos as they filed past. None seemed put off by his spying.

  Jack hooked an empty chair with his foot and sent it rolling toward Mykl. “Questions?”

  This wasn’t to be a “bad boy” lecture then. Good. Mykl climbed into the adult-height chair and scooted his butt to the back. The soles of his shoes pointed at Jack. “You could have stopped those missiles, or whatever they were, from launching. Couldn’t you?” he asked.

  “They were EMP and nuclear-tipped kinetic weapons. Who do you think China would suspect if all those weapons failed to launch?”

  “Us. No, not us, but the US,” Mykl replied.

  “And when they feared that their space-based weapons had been discovered, they would attempt to launch a preemptive strike with missiles even more powerful. And when they found those to be nonresponsive?”

  “More blame,” said Mykl.

  “And more fear. It doesn’t take computers to run a war. They only make them more
efficient. I’ve been preventing this type of incident from happening for decades. It’s time for the madness to end, and it had to start somewhere. Nations of the world that aren’t already at war are mobilizing resources to join in. America is currently being viewed as a victim, and the world is waiting for their response before taking sides.”

  “And you still want me to think of a solution for all of this?”

  “If you can. It’s not easy when the pieces to the puzzle keep changing, is it?”

  Mykl didn’t need to respond to that. Jack had been at this almost a century, yet his best solution to the current state of the puzzle involved allowing bombs to fall on American soil. What did he expect Mykl to come up with to prevent the next bomb from falling out of the sky? Magic and fantasy saved the world just fine in books, but this required something real. Something extraordinary. It would take substantially more thought—and computer resources.

  “I need full, unrestricted access to all files and camera feeds,” Mykl said. “And I need the most up-to-date and real-time information available. Future plans would be beneficial too.”

  “There are some secrets that I cannot allow you to see… yet. All other restrictions to your access will be removed before you return to your computer.”

  The world once again revolved at Mykl’s fingertips. What wonders would reveal themselves now?

  “I’m going to check on Dawn first. Then I’ll get started,” Mykl said.

  “She’s on sublevel six,” Jack said as Mykl got up to leave.

  “Oh—and the restroom?” Mykl asked.

  Jack pointed to his right.

  ***

  Six levels deep inside the moon base, the elevator opened onto a large area with the stillness of a cemetery. And it was cold. Long hallways radiated from a central hub, connecting concentric rings of compartments like the spokes of a wheel.

  Mykl zipped his jumpsuit to the top. Dr. Lee noticed him and waved him over.