The Effort
Page 9
Ben screamed. His hands made fists that he used to cover his eyes. Tendons in his forearms strained like he wanted to squeeze something hard until it popped. No one spoke. Slowly, Ben lowered his fists and opened his eyes. Love, the interpreter, had jumped from her chair, but everyone else hunkered down to take what was coming. Ben turned to look at the Professor, but the old man had no interest in sympathy. Politicians did what they did. Others had to work within the fallout.
“Please, please,” Ben begged the air, “please tell me Oleg and Yuri got out of Russia in time. Our nuclear team needs their expertise. Ziggy? Julie? Back me up here.”
Ziggy piped up.
“They were our counterparts in the Cold War,” Ziggy explained to the room. “After the fall of the Soviet Union, we became collaborators and worked on nuclear strategies for planetary defense for over two decades.”
He looked to Julie Schmidt, who nodded agreement. Ben leaned in to shout into his microphone, “Throw us a fucking bone, people!”
Several minions picked up their phones and scrambled to dial.
“I’ll call the Kremlin,” the other overlord said, and rose with her security badge dangling from her matronly bosom. Ben shook his head and winced. Rogue Russia was a feature of impact scenario 51, and there was no helping it then or now.
“That gold-chain-wearing thug won’t change his mind,” Ben told her.
Jin-soo’s pleasant face turned sober.
“Well,” he said into the quiet, “that saves us from having to make a difficult choice with the Space Station.”
“There was no choice,” Ben hissed. “We needed those Soyuz parts. Anyone who knows anything knows that. I already added them to the list.”
His whole body was shaking with fury and fear. The science core team looked to him, the UN staff looked to him, Love and the Professor looked to him—and Ben hated them all in that small moment. Chuck finally spoke up. Chuck was Ben’s rock through all these dealings, albeit a soft and pudgy one.
“Ben’s right, there was no choice. Without the Soyuz subassemblies from the Russians, it’ll take at least two years to build our HYCIV. And that’s only if the US and China come around with full resources.”
Love was still standing. She looked around her, trying to read expressions so she wouldn’t have to ask what the rest of them knew but avoided in all discussion.
“Do we have two years? Before the comet gets close?”
No one said anything, which was answer enough.
“C-could you be wrong?” Love asked Ben.
He wouldn’t look up or respond. Chuck finally cleared his throat.
“Ben predicted the trajectory of asteroid Toutatis to within thirty kilometers when it was 8.5 billion kilometers away. That’s a fractional precision of point zero zero zero zero zero zero zero four.”
Ben picked up a pen with a shaky hand and slashed X’s on page after page of his list.
* * *
BEN FLUCTUATED TOO quickly between the extremes of tireless frenetic energy, caustic impatience, and defeated emotional exhaustion.
“You need to eat and sleep—” Chuck yelled at Ben.
He was the only one who would dare, so surely Ben deserved it.
“Either you’re gonna collapse, or I’ll have to knock you on your scrawny ass next time you flip out.”
“I’ll order food delivery—” Ben muttered.
“Go to camp!”
Ben cringed at Chuck’s volume and then wobbled as he stood.
“Someone call me a jeep,” he said. “Please.”
Several minions reached for their phones at once. Ben didn’t look like a man who called the shots in any situation outside of the present, but the present was all that mattered.
“I’ll go, too,” Love said, and stood.
The Professor didn’t look up as the two walked out of the Janus meeting room. He was bent over in his armchair with his forehead nearly touching his knees. It might have looked like he was napping if it weren’t for his arthritic, white-knuckled fists squeezing his cane. Whatever caused him pain, the Professor tried to keep it to himself.
“It’s no secret the Professor’s got one foot in the grave,” Ben told Love, once they were alone in the elevator.
“Is that a fortune from the fortune-teller?” Love asked.
Ben looked up at her and tried not to take her height as a personal affront.
“It’s a fact.”
There was nothing further to say, so they continued to the lobby.
“Oh, it stopped raining,” Ben said absently, as he walked out into the clear night.
“It stopped raining three days ago,” Love told him.
I’m so tired, Ben thought. And we’ve only just begun.
Ben had always been terrified of failure. His family and teachers were shocked when he quit competitive chess in his junior year of high school. As national champion, all Ben had to do was defend his title. No one could understand the move, but no one saw Ben sleepless during the tournaments, sick to his stomach at the thought of facing off against an opponent in front of a live audience with media attention. Winning was not a victory, only a relief.
Ben and Love waited for a jeep in the dead of night. Harsh spotlights cast either blue-white light or black shadow on all the moving staffers, converting a spaceport to a defense effort piece by piece.
“How…how did this come together so quickly?” Love asked, over the loud vibrations of a passing helicopter overhead.
Ben could see there was so much Love didn’t understand, but she paced her questions with his failing stamina and her own patience.
“There’ve always been comets and asteroids,” Ben replied, “and there will always be comets and asteroids. It’s humans that have no precedent. We’re the variable—”
“So you always knew it was a possibility,” Love interrupted. “But how did you get all these different people and governments to work together?”
“Science has no borders,” Ben said simply.
It sounded like a bumper sticker, but it was true. For as long as Ben could remember, there had been an international network of scientists dedicated to collaboration in the name of planetary defense. Despite wars, espionage, broken promises, cyberattacks, and sanctions between their countries, scientists kept communications open with a flow of ideas. When UD3 was discovered weeks ago, these scientists didn’t wait for public opinion or permission from demagogues.
“We acted with the allies we had—”
“The UN and the European Union,” Love finished for him.
“This space center already had an Ariane rocket close to complete,” Ben explained. “And thank God. It was slated for a mission to resupply the ISS. Sorry, that’s the International Space Station. You’ll get used to all the acronyms.”
“What about the Space Station? How will they get supplies now?”
“They won’t.”
Love continued to stare. She was going to make him state the obvious, awful truth.
“Evacuation could have been a possibility,” Ben continued, “if the Russians had rotated out the defunct Soyuz capsule with a new one. But they’re keeping their new Soyuz to repurpose its subassemblies. Just like I would have.”
When Love opened her mouth, he held up a hand.
“We need to worry about the seven point five billion humans and, like, nine million different species of creatures living on Earth. As in, the only known life in the universe,” he said, staring into her eyes to drill in the point.
After a silence, he added in a whisper, “Those astronauts are strangers to you, but they are no strangers to this spaceport. Marcel and Anneke can barely—”
He changed the subject.
“By the way, if I pass out, or scream at you, or start crying uncontrollably…just gimme some space and try not to hate me. Deal?”
Love had to consider. She nodded; it was a deal.
“I should probably hit up the meds station in the gift shop,” Ben said.
“And if you need anything else,” Ben said, “Amy’s usually floating around helping out.”
“The girlfriend?”
“My girlfriend,” Ben clarified. “And she’s got her own skill set, so everyone needs to cut her some slack.”
“How’d they let you bring her here?”
Ben shrugged.
“They needed me, and I needed her. Not that Amy gave me much choice,” he added. “But she was right. Love makes saving the world less lonely. I guess it makes everything less lonely.”
“I do things on my own,” Love whispered, like it was a curse.
“It’s a weird name, Love,” Ben mused. “Must be annoying. You know, popping your head up every time someone says that word in conversation.”
“People say it less than you think,” she said. “And mean it even less.”
Ben closed his dry eyes and considered this. He wobbled and nearly stumbled. Love asked if humans could survive the impact of an eight-kilometer comet.
“Maybe,” Ben hedged. “In some parts of the world.”
“So, where’s it gonna hit?”
Ben shook his head and winced. He told Love that an accurate trajectory required a thirty-day observation arc, at the very least. Any premature estimation would be grossly negligent, unethical on an unprecedented scale.
Love cut in, but Ben interrupted her interruption as the faster talker. “You need to understand impact scenarios fifty-three, fifty-four, fifty-five, and fifty-six…”
He tried to describe the simulations where a nuclear power, upon learning that the site of an impending impact was safely on the other side of the planet, decides to jeopardize all defense efforts and shoot down interceptors that could knock the asteroid or comet into a new, less favorable trajectory or even split the thing into several dangerous pieces. The glazed look on Love’s face was the same look everyone gave when he spoke too fast in an uninterrupted gush of words with no pauses between them. Only the Professor could understand Ben when he spoke this way, and only when the old man wasn’t doubled over in pain.
“The site of impact will be classified,” Ben said, much more slowly. “It’s too dangerous to release. That’s why we need to keep it secret until we can knock UD3 safely off course,” he said.
“So knock it off course, then.”
Ben rolled his eyes. “Yeah, thanks. That’s why they pay you the big bucks, right?”
Love put a hand on her slim hip and waited for the inevitable lecture.
“First of all,” Ben said, lifting his index finger, “we’ve never built anything with that kind of capability. Jin-soo’s Iowa team has a model for a HYCIV, but it’s only been tested with simulation software.
“Second, we don’t have time to build the subassemblies, let alone assemble the whole damn thing and prep for launch. That’s why we’ll have to scavenge for parts, but lots of politicians can’t accept the likelihood of world calamity or even human extinction. And others…Others will never release their grip on power. Never.”
Ben took a few breaths while his words hung in the air. He asked if Love was fluent in Russian. She nodded with her eyebrows raised.
“We’ve got two nuclear physicists hopefully on their way here. Ex–Cold Warriors like Ziggy and Julie. They were trying to slip past the Russian border, but…easier said than done.”
“Can they find a way? To make the Effort work?”
Ben attempted a weak smile. If only they had met under usual circumstances: some SoCal hipster bar, where Love could dismiss him for being a plain old nerd with no stock options instead of a failure to his entire race.
“Please don’t put this on just their shoulders, Love. Or mine. It’s gonna take all of us. There’s hundreds of engineers and physicists headed our way. The cavalry is coming…”
But can we do it? Ben wondered. That triggered the million-dollar line of questions: Could they launch an interceptor and destroy an eight-kilometer comet? Could they launch before mass hysteria hit, before the talking heads declared World War III, before they all starved or went insane…before the doomsday clock hit zero?
“How much time do we have?” Love finally asked.
Ben held his digital wristwatch right up to her face. It was the same black plastic watch that came in every Effort kit that security doled out. Ben pressed a button on the side of the face to switch from military time to a countdown with T-minus 172 slipping away from their February 1 launch window.
ELEVEN
IMPACT IMMINENT!
Healy in the Bering Sea
August 23
T-minus 162 days to launch
JACK’S MORNING BEGAN with the activity of a hornet’s nest. The science lounge was packed with people waiting for twenty-minute slots of internet time.
“What’s wrong?” Jack asked one of the scientists, as he penned his name at the bottom of the waiting list.
“Comet might hit Russia,” the bearded man whispered.
When Jack took his turn at a computer, he gaped at the biggest, boldest news headlines he had ever seen:
IMPACT IMMINENT!
That’s a lot of i’s and m’s, Jack would remember thinking, or something just as stupid.
Scrolling down the article, he read that a high-ranking Pakistani scientist had leaked calculations for an estimated comet trajectory to a British tabloid for an undisclosed sum. The estimate placed UD3’s impact site in eastern Siberia with a thirteen-month timeline. The international press was trying to locate more expert sources, but many had refused to comment or had disappeared altogether. A Dr. Benjamin Schwartz from NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratories had called into the New York Times headquarters to announce an international body gathered for preemptive action: the Defense Effort for Comet UD3. Schwartz dismissed the estimated comet trajectory with the following comment:
An accurate trajectory requires a 30-day observation arc, at the very least. Any premature estimation is not only inaccurate, it is unethical.
When asked whether the rumors were true that this Pakistani scientist had used Schwartz’s own NEO Deflection app to help calculate his trajectory, or when NASA’s own trajectory calculations would be released, Schwartz had the same response:
No comment.
Jack’s Gmail inbox had five new messages from his parents, who were four hours ahead, on East Coast time. His father wrote to assure him that humans had harnessed nuclear power, eradicated smallpox, and sequenced a genome. If nothing else, they were resourceful, he argued. Something would be done about the comet. (And if not, there wasn’t a damn thing the Campbell family—a tax lawyer, housewife, and photojournalist—could do about it.)
The first of his mother’s four emails contained only one sentence:
I want you to come home.
Jack switched over to social media and witnessed the world awakening through the bright pixels of his monitor. People were suddenly yanked out of the microcosms of their professions; families and failing bodies now faced a widened scope of the solar system and questions they couldn’t answer. The 280-character language of Twitter proved either inadequate or perfect:
Fuck! Is anyone else following this?
Whaaaaat?
A tweet from the US president tried to quickly reassure the public:
My own scientists are working on it. Ignore the dishonest media. Stay calm!
The tweet came paired with an ad banner in the margin. Some entrepreneurial soul was already hawking UD3 merchandise with KEEP CALM AND FIND A BUNKER slogans ripped from World War II posters by the British Ministry of Information.
Jack searched posts on Weibo, but Chinese censors had already updated their algorithms. His searches on UD3 returned:
Sorry this content violates 《微博社区管理规定(试行)》 or
related regulations and policies.
A wave of fear u
nsettled him. Jack heard a sob and turned to see Maya’s bunkmate with the fluffy red hair start crying at her computer. Maya stood up from a nearby computer and quickly moved to comfort her friend. Shock and horror were evident on all the faces of the scientists. The more news Jack read, the more he realized that shock and horror were the least of people’s reactions.
England’s tabloids had posted more than ten hours ago, giving Eurasia, Africa, and Australia time to let the news sink in. Religious leaders on those continents put forth the question: Are the people of this godless age praying enough? They called for Latin masses, live televangelism programming, pilgrimages to Mecca, dances, smoke ceremonies, prayers, readings of religious texts, and singing. The more severe religions called for desperate measures to match these desperate times. Followers sacrificed goats, chickens, and infidels. Embassies of the Western world were targeted with explosives.
Jack felt powerless as he sat stock-still. It was like he was a little boy again, waiting by the curb of his kindergarten for his mother’s white BMW. One day, he watched with mounting fear as every other child got picked up and taken home. The school called his house, but no one picked up the phone. Terror overtook that six-year-old Jack, but his feet stayed planted. He would have waited forever for his reality to normalize, waiting and watching that empty road.
The next thing Jack knew, Maya was squeezing his shoulder.
“You’ve been staring off at nothing for more than ten minutes,” she whispered.
Jack closed his jaw and realized that his mouth was completely dry. He looked around and saw that the scientist on his left had changed from a young woman to a man with a white mustache and beard. He didn’t know how he lost time—not then.