Лю Цысинь - Supernova Era

They had no way of knowing that beneath the mountain valley was buried a sleeping sun.

Historians called it the Common Era Mine. The ICBM was referred to in this way for two reasons. First, because it occupied the world’s deepest missile silo. The 150-meter shaft was covered over by a further twenty meters of earth, making it undiscoverable even during substantial excavations in the mountain valley. Before launch, directional blasting would blow apart the earthen cover and expose the shaft’s mouth. Second, because it waited unattended for the trigger signal, like a mega-landmine buried inside the country awaiting its target’s approach. The CE Mine stood ninety meters tall, and if set outside would have risen like a metallic spire. Now it was in a deep sleep in the silo, with just a clock and a receiving unit operating. Listening silently on its locked-in frequency, the unit no doubt received all kinds of noise from the outside world, but it was waiting for a long string of digits, a prime so large that it would take the fastest computer in the world until the end of time to match it by brute force. And there was only one other copy of this number in existence, saved on the five observers’ laptop computer. When the timer ticked up to 315,360,000 seconds, that is, ten years after it was started, the CE Mine would wake up to the end of its life, switch on its systems, and fly out of the silo through the atmosphere to an orbit five thousand kilometers above the Earth, where it would self-destruct, leaving a gleaming star visible even in daylight for ten seconds or more.

But when the counter had reached just 23,500,817 seconds, the unit received that huge prime, and after it two other numbers precise to the third decimal place. A simple program in the receiver checked the two numbers; if the first was outside the 0–180 range, or the second outside 0–80, nothing would happen, and the unit would continue listening. But this time, the two numbers, while close to the boundary, were still within their respective ranges, which was enough; the program required nothing further. As dawn approached, the mountains of the southwest still slumbered and the valley was cloaked in a light mist, but the CE Mine awakened its sleeping power.

The warmth of electric current coursed through its enormous body. The first thing it did upon waking was extract the two coordinate values from the receiver and put them into the target database, which immediately added a point to the 1:100,000 scale map of the Earth. In a flash the central computer generated flight path parameters, and, learning from the target database that the target was located on a level plain, set the warhead for airburst at an elevation of two thousand meters. Were it conscious, it would have noticed something strange, since in the countless simulated launches run after its installation to test the reliability of the system, the continent in which this target area was located was the only one it had never tested. But this didn’t matter. Everything proceeded according to the program. In its electronic mind, the world was exceedingly simple; all that mattered was the target far off on the Antarctic continent. The rest of the world was just coordinates describing the target point, a point flashing on the very top of the Earth’s transparent spherical coordinate system, luring it to the completion of its exceedingly simple mission.

The CE Mine switched on the fuel tank heating system. Like most ICBMs, it was propelled by liquid fuel, but for the purposes of long-term storage, the propellant was a solid-liquid conversion fuel ordinarily found in a gel-like state and needed to be melted before firing.

The layer of earth atop the silo was blasted away, exposing the CE Mine to the gaze of the dawn sky.

The deep boom of the explosion was heard by a few of the lighter sleepers in the village, who could tell it came from the direction of the valley, but they thought it was only distant thunder and ignored it.

The next sound that came to the village was enough to keep them from going back to sleep, and it startled even more children awake. This time it was a low rumble, as if some gigantic beast was rousing itself deep within the earth, or a faraway flood was surging in their direction, threatening to swallow up the whole world. The paper of their lattice windows trembled. The sound increased in volume and shifted from a deep rumble to a high-pitched roar that shook the tile-roof houses.

The children all ran outside in time to see a gigantic fire dragon climb slowly skyward out of the valley. The fire was too intense to look at directly, and it spread an orange aura over the surrounding hills. The children watched it ascend and increase in speed, going higher and higher and turning into a point of light as its sound grew more muffled. Eventually the light flew due south and soon dissolved into the dawn sky.

The Antarctic morning turned overcast followed by heavy snow, but Davey’s mood remained bright. The cocktail party held at the base the previous night to celebrate victory in the games had lasted late into the night, but he had slept very well. Fully refreshed, he was breakfasting with the generals and senior officials who had come to Antarctica. He valued this breakfast opportunity, since children tended to be in a good mood in the morning, rather than irritated and annoyed from the frustrations and work of the day. Many things could be talked through at breakfast.

The army band played pleasant music in the pressurized hall for the children to listen to as they ate, and everyone was in a good mood.

At the table, Davey said, “I predict that the Chinese children will announce their withdrawal from the games today.”

Seven-star general Scott, who was cutting a piece of steak, grinned. “Nothing special about that. After yesterday’s strike, do they have any other choice?”

Davey raised a glass in his direction. “Getting them off of Antarctica is a whole lot easier now.”

Scott said, “And then knocking out the Russian kids and driving them off. And then Japan and the EU—”

“We’ve got to be a little careful about the Russians. Who knows whether or not they’ve got any bread crumbs in their bag?”

Everyone nodded, understanding the implication of those bread crumbs.

“Can we be truly certain that the Chinese kids don’t have any bread crumbs?” Vaughn asked, spearing a live krill with his fork.

Davey shook a fist at him. “They don’t have any! I told you they wouldn’t. Their bread was too small to leave behind any crumbs! Our gamble succeeded, I’m telling you!”

“When are you going to get more optimistic?” Scott said with a sidelong glance at Vaughn. “You bring a blanket of gloom and depression wherever you go.”

“On my deathbed, I’ll be more optimistic than any of you,” Vaughn said coldly, and swallowed the krill whole.

Then a colonel came in carrying a portable phone, and bent down to whisper something into Davey’s ear before passing the phone to him.

Laughing as he took the phone, Davey said gleefully, “It’s the Chinese kids. I told you, they’re definitely going to drop out of the games!” Then he spoke into the handset: “Is this Huahua? How’re you doing?”

All of a sudden he froze, and his expression turned unnatural, his characteristic sweet smile freezing in place for a few seconds before vanishing entirely. He set down the phone and looked around for Vaughn, just as he did in every moment of crisis. When he found him, he said, “They’ve informed us that they’re still in the game, and have just launched a nuclear missile at our base carrying a four-megaton warhead that will strike its target in twenty-five minutes.”