The freighter was a hurtling meteor of ice and steel, thirty-two tons of inert mass tracing the arc dictated by the forces which had acted on it. Its fall through the afternoon sky went mostly unnoticed across the eastern third of the Indian Ocean, except by a navigational satellite in high orbit, the commercial radars at Colombo and Djakarta, and a Chinese warship in the Gulf of Thailand.
As air friction tore at the tumbling spacecraft, the great disk of reinforced ice shattered, jagged chunks of it spinning away as it passed over the island of Sumatera. One piece smashed into a tree-covered hillside near Siabu, scattering a family of civet cats. Another buried itself dramatically in a rice paddy on the flats near Dumai, scattering a family of farmers.
But the freighter itself remained whole, its dive becoming steeper as it neared the surface. Sumatera slid away beneath, then the islands of the Strait of Malacca and the tip of the Malay Peninsula.
By now the spacecraft was lighting up the radar screens at Paya Lebar Airport in Singapore. Controllers there watched in astonishment as it dove toward the Singapore Strait at more than four thousand klicks per hour.
The pilot of a Boeing 350 which had just taken off from the airport saw it as a fiery streak which bisected the sky less than a kilometer in front of his plane.
A million people heard the thunder from a cloudless sky, the death-rattle shattering windows all across the city. A hailstorm of glittery razor-edged fragments rained down to the streets from the jagged wall of high rises facing the harbor.
Thousands on the Singapore waterfront witnessed with amazement the spectacular fountain and plume of steam that erupted as the T-ship plunged into the waters of the strait.
But then it seemed to be over. There was much pointing, many voices raised in excitement, a few raised in hysteria. Those who had missed the moment rushed to hear the story from those who had witnessed it. The waterfront was a carnival of questions.
And then the waters of the strait rose up in a sudden rolling, roiling surge. Like a miniature tsunami, the concussion wave smashed small boats against each other and swept onlookers from floating piers and sea walls.
By the time the surge drained back into the strait, E49851 had become a killer many times over.
CHAPTER 11
—CGC—
“We accept this judgment…”
Night is the winter of the Amazon, and dawn its spring. Shortly after 5 a.m. each day, Hiroko Sasaki left the Director’s Residence to make the twenty-minute walk in the clammy-warm tropical air to the headquarters tower. The walk was her morning tea, awakening her mind, and daily constitutional, unlimbering her body.
On reaching her office, she would hide behind a Privacy One cocoon to read the active files, compose policy drafts, and update her own logs. Unlike the time she spent at the Director’s Residence, this was a working hermitism.
Word of the Singapore disaster found Sasaki there reviewing the October dispatch from Ur. The first report, from Prainha’s operations monitor, was annoyingly sparse—a launch anomaly in Kenya, a T-ship down.
She tried to call Havens at Kasigau, but was told that the center was under Code Black.
“Search all sources,” she told her com system.
Moments later, a single window came up on the display wall. The Current Events stack of DIANA, the Asian information net, had a report of a plane crash in the Singapore Strait. By the time Sasaki reached Havens and Dryke at Kasigau, DIANA was calling it a meteor strike, and Panasian television was offering the first pictures of capsized boats, broken windows, and the anguish of shaken and grieving survivors.
Havens looked chastened, guilt-haunted, and confused. Dryke seemed more under control, though he was tight-lipped, his body coiled anger.
“Mr. Dryke, is the port under assault?” she asked.
“No. It’s over. We—”
“Are the facilities intact?”
“Kasigau wasn’t touched.”
Sasaki allowed herself a moment of relief. “What can you tell me?”
“There was a missile launched against a T-ship. Against the thrust beam, I mean. An occlusion trick. They had salvage fusing, beat the castle defenses. The moment our burn beam lit it up, it blew like a fireworks rocket. Everything we did after that just made it worse. Like judo. They went after our weakness and used our strength against us.”
“More facts and fewer metaphors, please, Mr. Dryke. Site Director Havens,” Sasaki said.
Havens raised her eyes toward the camera.
“Have you suspended operations?”
“Yes. We shut down immediately.”
“Please resume launch operations at the first opportunity.”
Her face wrinkled in puzzlement. “Resume—”
“At first opportunity. Priority is to be given to Memphis cargoes.”
In helpless confusion, Havens looked to Dryke for support. But Dryke understood, as Sasaki expected he would. “Yeah, I agree,” he said, nodding slowly. “If we shut down we’re doing them a favor. If they try to hit us again now they’ll be doing us a favor. Fire up the lasers.”
Havens’s face twisted unhappily. “I have some very shaky people in flight operations—”
“Then rotate a new shift in,” said Sasaki. “But get the freighters flying again. Refer all outside inquiries here. All statements are to come from me.”
“Yes, Director.”
“I will expect a more complete report from both of you in thirty minutes.”
“We’re on it,” Dryke said.
There were six windows on the display wall now. Arms crossed over her chest, Sasaki stood before the wall and surveyed them. DIANA had corrected its story once more; the falling object was now a satellite. Orbital flight controllers on Highstar had provided Allied with a flight track confirming the aborted launch from Kasigau. Nikkei Telemedia had joined Panasian at the scene. The Kenyan commerce minister was demanding a conference. Panasian was demanding a statement. But of Jeremiah, there was no word.
Sasaki was able to placate the Kenyan commerce minister with five minutes of earnest concern and a promise of more. That duty discharged, she composed a brief statement for the media:
“Reports reaching me indicate that at approximately eleven twenty-five Greenwich Mean Time this morning, an Allied Transcon T-3 freight capsule launched from Kasigau Launch Center in Kenya crashed into the Singapore Strait. Allied has begun an immediate investigation into the circumstances surrounding this most unfortunate event. We are deeply concerned by reports of damage and loss of life in Singapore harbor. Allied will extend every possible assistance to the government of Singapore and to those touched by this incident.”
It said too much and too little, but it was better than silence, and would keep the dogs at bay for a time. She recorded it and sent it out to the European and Asian information nets and to Newslink, the private media clearinghouse. Within five minutes, Sasaki’s face had appeared in three of the windows on her display wall.
By then, her staff sociodynamicist had answered her call and joined her in the office. Oker was not far behind. They watched the feeds together, quietly sharing their perceptions, until the Kenyan President called and Sasaki banished the others from the room.
That conference was longer and more difficult than the first. It took nearly half an hour before Jomu was satisfied, and the price this time was much higher.
Havens and Dryke were waiting for her when she finished with Jomu. But she kept them waiting, calling the sociodynamicist back into her office.