Майкл Крайтон - The Andromeda Evolution

“It’s the basis of how my inhibitor spray works.”

“Oh,” he said.

“Exactly. Your past exposure renders you effectively immune to infection via the lungs. This is why you’re here. This is why Stern picked you at the last minute. On a damned hunch.”

Intercepted Transmission

IT WAS A LITTLE AFTER NOON AT NORTHCOM CONTROL center at Peterson AFB. General Rand Stern was thinking to himself that it was lucky his four daughters had grown accustomed to his occasional unexplained absences. They were good kids and had always been very understanding.

The general stood at the head of the room with his hands clasped tightly behind his back. A scrap of paper with an authorization code number was clenched in his fingers. He was pondering whether he would survive to make this particular absence up to his wife and children.

Stern had never felt more helpless in his life.

On the front screens, footage from various orbital telescopes—some military or government, and others seized from private institutions—showed multiple angles of the International Space Station. It was growing increasingly distant, still running dark. The bizarre ribbonlike tether stretched away from it, barely visible, like the thread of a spiderweb floating on the wind.

Whatever had been happening inside for the last hour was invisible from the ground. After the fiasco with the robotic arm, there had been no sign of the field team. In near total silence, a cloud of tension had settled over the control room.

Stern knew a life-or-death fight had occurred. He just didn’t know who had won.

“Sir,” said Stern’s lead analyst. “There’s no sign of them. Perhaps it’s time?”

“Not yet,” replied Stern, his voice quiet and commanding. “When it’s time for that . . . if it’s time, I will advise.”

“Yes, sir.”

“For now,” ordered Stern, “keep Felix and King squadrons on rotating assignment. All fighters are weapons hot and authorized to protect the tether at all costs.”

Stern looked dumbly at the paper in his hands. Spoken out loud, the authorization code would activate Operation Zulu.

Two hours and sixteen minutes earlier, the general had asked for and received presidential authorization for the operation—a secret action plan that, in a single word, would trigger a waterfall of thousands of alerts disseminating down to local municipalities across the United States and its territories and possessions. The unprecedented call would first evacuate members of the upper government to predetermined safe areas. Second, it would declare martial law nationwide.

In addition, Zulu would summon the entire half-million-person force of the US National Guard to their local stations; activate all police and fire department personnel to their command stations; and alert a grassroots network of church leaders and city shelters to begin making preparation for mass casualties. All doctors and nurses would be dispatched to emergency shifts at major metropolitan hospitals.

In military scenario planning, Operation Zulu had been designed for a single unlikely purpose—as a last-ditch response to a full-scale surprise ground invasion from a combined coalition of enemy nations.

Incredibly, an even worse scenario was unfolding.

Stern was considering the activation of Operation Zulu as a response to the high probability of ground and water contamination by a self-replicating extraterrestrial microparticle, which would likely progress northward from infection sites around the equator. First, a wave of refugees would arrive from Mexico and Central America—tens of millions, fleeing reports of a boiling sea of infection. Next, the nation would face an unstoppable chain reaction that would consume soil, air, and water.

The end of the world, in not so many words.

Most of the analysts flinched when the room erupted in a snakelike hiss of radio static.

“Houston says ISS comms are back online, sir,” called an analyst, two fingers pressed to his earpiece radio. The room erupted in murmuring and a sudden burst of applause that Stern silenced with a glance.

“Put the loop room-wide,” responded the general. Seeing the surprise on his analyst’s face, he added, “Mission Control in Houston can hear this, and so can Moscow. We’re all in it together now, good news or bad.”

The analysts shot each other grave looks as speakers around the room crackled with static. Stern’s fingers were locked together behind his back in a painfully tight grip around the damp authorization code. His face was calm.

Standing at the head of the room, Stern looked like a captain about to go down with his ship.

“We’re getting activity on the line, sir,” reported the analyst, as static began to resolve into words. “These comms are between ISS modules. Not directed to us. Audio is patchy. Putting up a real-time transcription.”

< . . . >

ISS-HAMANAKA

. . . tell us what to do.

ISS-STONE

My colleague has a lower leg injury. She’s barely mobile. Do you have medical facilities?

ISS-HAMANAKA

I can treat her. I’m coming out now.

ISS-STONE

Thank you. The hatchway is cleared. Komarov, can you stabilize life support systems and contact Mission Control? Tell them . . . the infection has almost spread to the tether. Once it does, Vedala estimates it’ll reach the planet’s surface in an hour, maybe a lot less.

ISS-KOMAROV

They can hear us now, Stone, if I’m not mistaken.

HOU-CAPCOM

This is Houston. Proceed.

ISS-STONE

Right, okay. Hi. I need every brilliant brain down there in Mission Control. First, confirm what happens if we sever the ribbon Earthside.

HOU-CAPCOM

One minute . . . Stone, we calculate that if we sever that ribbon Earthside, the weight of it will slowly pull the ISS into destructive reentry. That outcome won’t change until the ISS is well beyond geosynch . . . at least thirty-five thousand miles.

ISS-STONE

Then it’s not an option.

HOU-CAPCOM

Right. And we’ve got more bad news. If the ISS decouples from the infected modules up there, the weight of the ribbon will drag them back to Earth. So I’m afraid we’re not seeing a solution from down here.

ISS-STONE

What if . . . what if the ribbon could be severed at a midpoint?

HOU-CAPCOM

That’s interesting. [urgent off-mike whispering] Based on mass calcs, it could work. Earthside tether is subject to the most gravitational pull, so it’s by far the heaviest. We need to separate the ribbon at . . . around thirty miles up. That removes enough weight to send the ISS and upper tether into escape velocity. The lower portion will be short enough to fall to Earth without reentry burn. The ISS will need to decouple from the infected modules immediately afterward, then hit a full deceleration profile to avoid being ejected into deep space.

ISS-STONE

So you’re saying it is possible—

PAFB-STERN

Stone, this is General Stern. It won’t work. Thirty miles is too damn high. An ICBM would aerosolize the ribbon material and defeat our purpose. Likewise, our surface-to-air missiles have a max vertical range of twenty miles. The maximum service ceiling for our aircraft in the area is thirteen miles, not even half of what we need.

ISS-STONE

There is one way.

PAFB-STERN

. . . you’re not seriously—

ISS-STONE

I’ll go back down the climber. If I can sever the ribbon at thirty miles, I could parachute down. . . . Houston, what do you think?

HOU-CAPCOM

Jesus. Uh, yeah, yes. Hold one second. . . . Master inventory shows an old pumpkin suit from the Shuttle days. Stored in Zarya. It’s . . . an advanced crew escape suit, ACES, with a parachute. There’s a drogue and a main stage. Hopefully still functional.