Gregg Hurwitz - Minutes to Burn

"Yes, but I've arranged it all after we hit Baltra-it's just the airports that are tangled in military red tape. Boating between islands is a logistical pain in the ass, but not a political one." Rex turned to face the others. "In all, it's an eight-day trip-two days transport out, four days on Sangre, one day back. If all goes well, we'll be back for New Year's. Your job is to make sure I don't get shot, stabbed, or drawn and quartered in Guayaquil, to get me through the airports without any cavity searches, and to help me blanket Sangre de Dios and get the gear in place."

"Aren't there scientists out there already who can do this?" Cameron asked. "And save us the trip?"

"That's a very good question, Miss…" Rex looked at her expectantly.

"Chief," Cameron said. "Kates. But Cameron will do just fine. And a straightforward answer without the condescension."

Rex whistled. "Lo siento mucho."

"No problema."

Rex suppressed a smile as he leaned forward. "All right, Cameron. The reason the scientists there can't take care of it is because their funding, as you can imagine, has gone to even further shit as a result of the economic turmoil, and they can barely afford upkeep, let alone cutting-edge technology. Shipping's gone to hell, so we can't send the equipment down to them. We can hardly get through via phone, fax, or E-mail just to find out what the hell's going on. On top of all that, they're fleeing the islands in droves."

"Why?" Cameron asked.

"Because they're not as courageous as we are." Rex smiled. "Or as stupid. 'The few, the proud…'"

"That's the Marines," Szabla said.

Rex waved her off. "Same difference."

Tucker was listening intently. "Why's Sangre de Dios so important?" he asked.

"Because it sits over a network of fissures running south from the Galapagos Fracture Zone and, more significant, fissures running inland from the East Pacific Rise-it's near the source of both major forces that affect movement of the entire Nazca plate."

Tank watched Rex blankly. When Rex finished speaking, Tank turned to the others. "English?" he said.

"It's near where shit is the most fucked up," Szabla replied.

"Because of that," Rex continued, "it's our canary in the coal mine." He noticed that Tucker was jotting notes in a small pad. "That's C-A-N-A-R-Y."

Tucker looked at him self-consciously, then slid the pad back into his pocket. "Just thought it would help keep me up on things," he said.

Rex flashed a grin. "Indeed."

"I'm sure you're all aware of the severe ozone deficiency in that region." Donald stood and crossed to a large cabinet, pulling it open. "You'll need to take every precaution down there. Protective contacts, SPF one hundred lotion." He pulled out several tubes of sunblock and waved them at the soldiers. "Get it everywhere-webs of your fingers, insides of your ears; if you part your hair, rub it along the exposed line of scalp." He held the tubes out to Derek, but Derek waved him off.

"We're covered," Cameron said. "Customary operating supplies for missions in ozone-poor regions."

Derek clapped his hands once and rose. "We'll be lifting out at 2300 from the base. Any other questions?"

"Yeah," Savage said, thunking his bootless foot on the table. His voice was gravelly with phlegm, so he cleared his throat and spit in the corner. "You think we could see about getting me another boot sometime soon?"

Cameron walked out of the women's room on the third floor of the New Center and headed down the hall toward the stairs, her boots loud on the tiled floor. Sealed with yellow police tape, the elevator doors were now used as a bulletin board. Cameron stopped for a moment and glanced at the flyers advertising lecture series and research trips.

One section of the doors was dedicated to the tropical ozone problem. Her eyes flickered over the papers, trying to condense the information.

Evidently, tropical regions had always suffered the highest penetration of UV radiation. Since the Initial Event, ocean surface heating from tectonic activity had only compounded the problem. It had spawned hurricanes that, in combination with aberrant weather patterns, had evolved into hypercanes, massive hurricanes that were so tall they reached into the stratosphere. Because of their elongation, hypercanes pumped water from the ocean surface directly into the stratosphere, introducing massive amounts of HO and HO2. This accelerated the hox catalytic cycle, a natural process that broke down ozone and removed it from the stratosphere. It took a full year for the ozone balance to normalize after a hypercane, and one had been occurring every three to four months. For the past five years, the flyer warned, people, plants, and animals near the equator had been absorbing unprecedented amounts of UV radiation.

A tear sheet listed the effects of ultraviolet B on organisms-reduced shoot length and average leaf area in plants; decreases in rates of photo-synthesis; structural damages to light-sensitive plankton; corruption of bird, reptile, and insect eggs; reduced proportion of healthy hatchlings. But the reported effects on humans were the most disturbing. The ten percent reduction in equatorial stratospheric ozone had led to a forty percent increase in the incidence of basal cell carcinoma, and a sixty percent increase in squamous cell carcinoma in Ecuador, Colombia, and northern Peru. The study also reported a rise in the number of cataracts, and a condition described cryptically as a general weakening of the immune system.

Cameron looked down and realized she was clutching her belly. She stared at her hand, laid protectively over the greens and grays of her camouflage shirt, tense and spread-fingered. Suddenly feeling lightheaded, she leaned against the elevator doors, holding her stomach. Her eyes caught on a small sign posted among the ozone bulletins that cheerily announced, "We're living in the warmest climate to exist in millions of years!"

A door opened down the hall, and Cameron straightened up quickly when she saw Rex heading her way. She wiped the sweat from her fore-head with the back of a sleeve.

"I love a woman in uniform," Rex said, snapping her a mock salute. A flicker of concern crossed his eyes when he took note of her expression, and she was surprised by it. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah," she said, turning to the stairs. "Swell."

Cameron had always found the ritual of preparing for a mission comforting. Cleaning and lubing the guns, rolling the socks back into themselves, putting fresh batteries in the weapons lights. One rule was never broken on the teams: Always pack your own gear. That included everything from filling the canteens to jamming the mags.

She shoved down on the kit bag so she could get the zipper closed. When she finished, she was straddling the large olive-drab duffel, her bare feet cold against the floorboards. Pausing, she took in the small living room. One yellow couch sitting at a slight tilt due to the missing leg, an empty gun mag resting atop a TV on the floor, a ripped Kings schedule on the wall-they lived as if they were still in college. Until recently, they had been home so infrequently it never seemed worthwhile to spend the time and effort to get the house more comfortable. That would change when they got back. She'd start looking in some of those catalogs, the ones with lots of beiges and candles, and order a few things to get the place looking like it was inhabited by adults. Once they found regular jobs, maybe they could even have some friends over for dinner. If they made any friends.

Wearing a towel around his waist, his hair still wet from the shower, Justin walked into the room, his handsome, even smile texturing his face with wrinkles. "You ready?"

Cameron shrugged, then patted her stomach. "Not so pleased about bringing a hitchhiker."