Revelations: The Final Harvest

By douglas edgel

"This is a sweeping novel chockablock with story lines and disastrous events, mixed with a compelling undercurrent of inspiration...A graphic look at Armageddon, by a talented author." (Santa Barbara News Press)

• Language: English
• Publisher: douglas edgel
• Release date: May 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476289199

douglas edgel

Douglas Edgel was a nondestructive test engineer in the aerospace/space vehicle industry and the nuclear power industry for over 20 years. He has resided in many of the States over the years and now lives in Louisiana, where he is the Quality Assurance Director for UTLX Manufacturing.

Book preview

EVOLUTION

In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.

—Genesis 1:1

Time and space began with a mighty explosion, a sudden release of energy unlike anything of which humankind has the ability or intelligence to conceive. In fact, it would be far worse than trite to call it an explosion. This eruption of energy was so magnificently powerful that it was near to the realm of God. Perhaps, the very domain of God.

In the beginning, creation’s seed was a coagulation of atoms and molecules of infinitesimal size, infinite density, and fermented with an inferno of infinite temperature. At a critical, unyielding point, this incomprehensible mass detonated, and within no more than a second, the immeasurably high temperature plummeted to mere thousands of millions of degrees. The universe was born, raging with a storm of photons, electrons, neutrinos, and their antiparticles. The building blocks of life were released.

For the next thousands of millions of years, the universe expanded and the great vastness of particles and antiparticles cooled, slowly ever slowly, creating a dimension where mortality could dwell. Stars were born and elements reacted with one another, forming increasingly superior atomic structures that would grow and develop in the womb of an endless vacuum. In this array of grace and wonder, fortuitous gravitational forces drew in the constituents, and spiraling galaxies eventually distinguished themselves. Amid these star conglomerations of lyrical form and rotation, solar systems developed.

Within these organized solar systems, made of the cosmos’ relinquished dross, larger masses fell into unified orbits, clinging to their mother stars, while more defiant debris took wild, unconventional, and sometimes unpredictable paths. These smaller, seemingly harmless objects came to be known as asteroids and comets.

In nineteen hundred and ninety-two Anno Domini, one of these rebellious comets made a perilous swipe past a planet called Jupiter, in a unique solar system at the edge of a galaxy called the Milky Way. The mountain-sized comet had taken this same course for more than twenty years without incident. However, this time, nature—or whatever force one chooses to call it—swept the comet within 75,000 miles of Jupiter, close enough in terms of an endless universe to cause even the icy comet to burn with fear.

Jupiter’s colossal tidal forces invisibly reached out, ripped the comet apart, and left a wavering string of craggy rock. As the remaining pieces cried out, staggering to regain their orbital path, their tears of icy dust were blown outward by the solar winds in a streaming tail, putting a punctuation mark on the power and glory demonstrated by Jupiter. The defenseless comet had been diminished to a lesser form, its unity lost forever as it continued away from Jupiter in the cold emptiness of outer space.

It would take almost a year before the inhabitants of the Earth would discover this injured comet, initially by three dedicated astronomers called by the names Eugene and Carolyn Shoemaker, and David Levi. They peered through their telescope at California’s Palomar Observatory in March of 1993, and distinguished the stream of pearls from the surrounding ebony sky. After an anxious confirmation that this wasn’t a previously documented comet, it was appropriately named Shoemaker-Levi 9.

The scientific community soon received the news. It didn’t take long before some of them made the obvious projection that the fragmenting of Shoemaker-Levi 9 was of minor significance compared to the ultimate destiny awaiting this comet at the end of its final oblong orbit past Jupiter.

And that anticipated day came on July 16, 1994, when the comet procession neared Jupiter for one final encounter with the gargantuan planet.

On the approach, an icy halo formed around each fragment of the comet, as if to give one last burst of defiant energy to avoid a certain death—but to no avail. The first piece roared into Jupiter’s -100 degree F surface of noxious gases, impacting with a greater force than all of Earth’s nuclear arsenals combined. The comet fragment instantaneously disintegrated. Jupiter rumbled violently all the way down to its 50,000 degree F core of metalline hydrogen, sending shockwaves and enormous clouds of hydrogen and helium gases reverberating tempestuously into the vacuum of outer space. Ravaging fireballs and billowing vapors of black smoke spewed forth from the turbulent convulsion, reaching out tens of thousands of miles into space— Jupiter howled with the snarling echoes of explosions and cried with the swirling fury of firestorms.

Over the next six days, the violent scene was to be repeated twenty-one more times until the last fragment of the comet was depleted of tangible existence.

From Earth, astronomers studied the spectacle of grandeur with self- gratification and much jubilation, almost in a manner that would imply they somehow had accomplished an impossible feat, that it was they who had caused such a marvelous display of force. But with the excitement brought on by an event that might occur only once in a million years, a little embellishment could be forgiven.

At the other end of the spectrum, there were the neurotic alarmists who feared some sort of terrible backlash against the Earth. To squelch this paranoia, the all-knowing scientists at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena assured the public there would be no effect on other planets, and certainly, there would be little consequence for Jupiter itself. After all, it was a mere comet, a tiny string of rocks hitting a giant planet that is four hundred million miles away from the Earth.

What could happen?

But as an uncelebrated prophet is said to have cautioned: Don’t let the presumed absolutes of our worldly science deceive you; God is the very creator of what the mortal calls science, and He has hidden away principles we’ve never even dreamed of. . . .

ONE

" . . . If therefore thou shalt not watch, I will come on thee as a thief, and thou shalt not know what hour I will come upon thee."

—Revelation 3:3

Seatbelt lights flashed and the clicking of latches ricocheted through the cabin of tense passengers as the 767's wings jostled and the fuselage pitched and yawed in clear-air turbulence. Levon Halston calmly put his hand around the jittering plastic cup and steadily lifted it to his lips, gulping the last swallow of lukewarm cocoa. He glanced out the window, then gave a comforting smile to the man in the seat beside him. Just wind currents, Levon told him. The man nodded nervously as he cinched his lap belt tighter.

As an astrophysicist on contract with the U.S. National Science Foundation, Levon fully understood the physics of atmosphere, wind flow, and the speed and weight at which an aerodynamic object could be supported in the air. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, it would take something foreign or mechanical to bring a plane down. And as for terrorists, since the World Trade Center attacks, security was so tight you couldn’t pass a kidney stone through the airport gates, and if anyone were to attempt foul play in the air, passengers would be on them so fast they’d think they were an Afgan woman who’d just taken off her vale in public. Levon was more concerned about the microwaved beefsteak they were serving for lunch; his forty-nine-year-old stomach was getting a little finicky about what it would digest without giving him grief.

But the turbulence and his discriminating stomach were minor distractions to him right now. The main thing on his mind was why he was on his way to the Pentagon. Secretary of State Lana Williams had called three days prior and asked—or more like insisted—that he attend a meeting there. When he asked for the details, all she would say was that she wanted to get his professional input on a matter of concern, and that there would be several representatives from other countries attending the meeting. That was as much information as she could convey right then over the phone.

Levon didn’t press the issue. He knew Lana well enough to trust her judgment.

Almost two years ago he met Lana in Washington while he was there to give a lecture at a conference on interstellar dark matter, and they quickly developed an intimate relationship. One might call it love at first sight, or predestined soul mating. Levon, however, wouldn’t call it that. There was a logical, biological reason for their attraction, although, since his strong suit wasn’t biology or psychology, he couldn’t come up with a scientific name for it.

Since the day they met, the romance went through peaks and valleys, mainly because they lived two thousand miles apart and neither one was ready to relocate and jeopardize his or her career. It made for a strained relationship, with a rushed weekend in Washington, or an eight-hour stopover in Tucson, Salt Lake City, or some other obscure airline hub. It was a wonder they bothered to keep it up. The only reason they did stay together was they were in love, even though neither one had confessed to the obvious.

The last time he saw Lana was six weeks ago. And although he told himself it was only gas, anticipation bubbled in his stomach as the plane’s wings cut through the low-hanging fog, and smoke blew off from the landing gear with the plane touching down at Ronald Regan Washington National Airport. Levon’s thoughts were primarily of Lana, and secondarily, why she had summoned him.

When he came out of the boarding-ramp tunnel, a stiff-postured man in a wrinkle-free black suit walked directly to him and said, Come with me, Mr. Halston, and his expressionless face didn’t utter another word as he escorted Levon through the airport and outside to a black limousine with government plates.

Thirty minutes later, the car approached the Pentagon, an institutional structure that looked smaller and more insignificant than Levon imagined. The scars from the 2001 terrorist attack weren’t even in the subconscious anymore. He had been to D.C. so many times he lost count, yet he never crossed the river into Virginia, and aerial views were all he ever saw of the Pentagon—usually on the news or something of that nature. Levon wasn’t the sightseeing type. Except for spending time with Lana, he didn’t much care to be in Washington, or any big city, for that matter.

In fact, he downright resented most anything that tore him away from his ongoing projects at the Kitt Peak National Observatory, a place where he relished the quiet seclusion in the Arizona mountains. At an altitude of seven thousand feet on the Papago Indian reservation, Levon found his only peace. It was as physically close to his first love, the stars, as he could get.

The limousine slowed and pulled down a driveway marked Restricted and stopped at the curb, where a woman stood waiting. Levon knew she was there even before he saw her intoxicating eyes and unforgettable smile gleaming through the tinted widow; he could feel her presence. Her posture was straight, her demeanor professional and authoritative, yet, natural. Although she was forty-six, she looked much younger. The way she leaned over in her trim black suit to open the door, the way her skirt grazed the top of her smooth knees, the way the fine blond strands of her hair fluttered in the light breeze, the way the subtle hues of her ivory skin contrasted with her white blouse, everything about her, even the air around her, was infinitely appealing.

She opened the passenger door and extended her hand, her expression softening as their eyes met. Hello, Levon, she greeted, firmly shaking his hand. I’m sorry I didn’t have time to meet you at the airport. It’s good to see you. It’s been a while.

Levon, with his faded brown tie loosened down to the second button and an outdated scientific calculator and notepad hanging halfway out of his front pocket, awkwardly maneuvered his six-foot-four-inch frame out of the car and shook her hand. Then he wrapped his other arm around her and hugged tightly for a moment. A long moment. I didn’t realize how much I missed you until now. He always missed her greatly, even if he didn’t consciously realize it.

Lana smiled. Well, you know where I live. You could come out more often.

You know how busy we both are.

Her smile faded, replaced by discouragement. I know.

What’s this all about, anyway? Levon asked, still holding onto her hand.

Her mood seemed to suddenly shift, as her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared ever so slightly. It’s about what you know best, but never talked about it with me. You think I’m part of the bureaucracy.

Lana, Levon said with a tight smile, "you’re the Secretary of State. You are the bureaucracy."

Technically, you work for the government too. . .

That’s a little different; I didn’t lobby to get my job. Levon put his head down, quickly realizing that was the wrong thing to say.

Lana sighed. Come on—she turned, pulling her hand away, and took a step toward the building—I’ll explain everything in the meeting. Levon didn’t move and she stopped, turned back to him, and looked deep into his questioning eyes. "Okay, it’s about Jupiter. I’ve been assigned to organize a multinational effort to understand what we’re up against, and after talking to one of your colleagues, I think you know more about Jupiter than anyone else. I just wish you would have told me about it before. I’m on your side."

Jupiter was one of the few things Levon didn’t discuss with Lana and he felt a little guilty, almost as if he’d been hiding some sort of embarrassing personal secret. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it before. I didn’t get a very positive response from the scientific community when I first made the discovery. I . . . I just forgot to mention the whole thing to you.

After eyeing Levon unforgivingly for no more than two seconds, Lana responded, You can still recite Bible Scriptures from your college theology class. Word for word. From twenty-five years ago. And you don’t even believe in God. With Levon wondering where that left hook came from, she looked at her watch. Come on, we’re late.

Levon quietly followed behind Lana, wishing he had divulged more information to her before.

Levon had been the first to track the orbital deviation of Jupiter seven years ago, and although it was a minor sweep outside the planet’s normal path, and difficult to recognize, he knew it was an authentic discovery. When he presented his hypothesis before an esteemed group at the 2010 fall conference of the American Astronomical Society in Washington, D.C., they all shrugged and balked at such a theory, mainly because none of them had detected an anomaly with Jupiter. Then again, most of them were too busy hustling government grants to try.

After the conference, Levon dropped his membership in the Society, and was essentially shunned and written off as an eccentric scientist by most of his colleagues.

But he never did revel in the elitists’ narrow views, and he couldn’t give a rat’s rear end what they thought about his expertise. The fact was, he was one of the world’s leading authorities in astronomy, encompassing everything from the largest star down to the quark. He understood all the axioms inside and out, but for him that was the easy part. Maybe what set him apart from the others was his intuition, his inner voice that told him there was something hidden between the formulae and the final calculations, something that traditional science was too arrogant to understand. There was some other element, a domain in our own world and the universe that had not yet been explored, some hidden key that could let the genie out of the bottle and finally reveal the mysteries of the universe. He just hadn’t been able to capture and quantify what that something was yet.

Inside the Pentagon, Lana led Levon down a hallway and to a security checkpoint where a guard booth barricaded the pathway. Lana unclipped the badge from her lapel and pressed it against a small scanner next to the one-inch-thick window, and a fluorescent beam shot down from a cylinder above her head and verified her DNA signature.

Do you have your security badge, Levon? she asked as the green light blinked on the scanner.

Levon fumbled through his back pockets and pulled out a blank, brown card about the size and thickness of a credit card.

Put it over the scanner, Lana instructed, and then wait for the light to scan you.

Levon put the card next to the scanner, then uncomfortably watched the fluorescent light flash around him. These things gave him the creeps.

The guard behind the glass looked up from his computer screen and spoke through a microphone: Hold on a minute, Madame Secretary. This one’s on the inactive list. I’ll have to run a check.

Seemingly perturbed—but Levon wasn’t sure if it was at him or the guard—Lana folded her arms and silently tolerated the delay.

The guard typed for a moment on his terminal, and then pressed a button on the wall next to him. A harsh buzzer sounded, along with a click from the door adjacent to the barrier. You’re clear, the guard announced.

Lana pushed the heavy door open, and led Levon down the corridor to a conference room. At the long, oak table inside, sat twelve men and three women; some with their noses in electronic notepads, some tapping pens on the table, and others just staring in boredom. They all looked up as Lana and Levon walked in.

As Levon scanned the room, he recognized two of the men: one was Jose Fernandez. With his hair slicked back in curly rows and enough grease gobbed through it to fry french fries, Fernandez lounged in his chair and smiled arrogantly at Levon. This guy was a quasi astronomer with questionable credentials, in Levon’s view. Since 2002, when he graduated from MIT, Fernandez had been doing most of his work at the Arecibo Observatory in Puerto Rico. Over the years, his boot-licking endeared him to the Washington crowd, paying off in the form of numerous government contracts that sometimes rewarded him with unheard of cash bonuses for completing meaningless projects. Of course, Levon had seen through Fernandez long ago, when he met him during a seminar at MIT. Fernandez had no passion for astronomy back then, and he still didn’t. His professional survival depended on stealing other astronomer’s theories, fudging numbers, and jumping on any bandwagon that came along. He told people what he thought they wanted to hear and what would make him look good, whether it was a technically sound principle or not. If the truth be known, Fernandez didn’t have much in the cerebral department, and his theories about the universe were irritatingly antiquated.

It always amazed Levon that eighty percent of the space research budget went to people like Fernandez. Millions of taxpayer dollars were constantly being wasted on fruitless projects, such as listening for extraterrestrials on wide band energy spectrum receivers. Those kinds of studies were worthless. The whole SETI (Search for ExtraTerrestrial Intelligence) program was worthless. The only reason the government funded such projects was because Hollywood had hyped ETs for so many years that by now the entire public was convinced that the Earth was on the verge of making contact with one of these imaginary civilizations. As far as Levon was concerned, if there were other life somewhere in the universe, it was too far away, and the physics of reaching it had already been proven impossible—no matter what kind of scientifically unsound schemes the movies portrayed. Any research in that direction was just a boondoggle for lazy astronomers.

The other person at the table whom Levon recognized was Eric Sadslow. There were only a handful of good astronomers left in the world, and Eric was one of them. Levon rated Eric as the brightest astrophysicist ever, and not because he was his former professor at the University of Arizona. Eric knew his science and loved his work, and unlike Fernandez, he had dignity and backbone. His work had made tremendous strides in understanding supernovae, neutron stars, and the resulting phenomenon of black holes and singularities.

Eric had been telling Levon for the last year or so that he was going to retire because the work wasn’t fun anymore. He said he was tired of the increasing influence the government had assumed in directing scientific studies, and retiring the Space Shuttle was the last bonehead straw. Levon understood all too well why he felt that way. The days of individual thinking and privately funded astronomy were all but gone, the days when a scientist would be free to investigate the unknown regions of the universe without the constant interference from government red tape. In the last six or seven years, most of the private money had gone the way of greed and was being spent on the lucrative communication satellite industry. What would the people of the world do without their high definition TV, cell phones, and portable high-speed Internet links? According to Levon, the only thing the satellites did that was worthwhile was the geographical exploration, and not much money was being put into that.

The choices were whittled down to studying what the government felt was important, or giving up all hope of discovering any more about the universe. Unfortunately, it appeared that Eric was ready to opt for the latter. Levon was surprised to see him at this forum today.

Lana softly smiled at Levon and walked toward the front of the table. Levon grinned back, not really knowing how to read her. Sometimes he felt it would be easier for him to find the end of the universe than to understand a woman.

He took a seat next to Sadslow. What’s going on, Eric? Why didn’t you call me and tell me you were coming?

Sadslow leaned over and whispered, I was going to call you, but they told me I couldn’t talk about it. They want us to explain the consequences of Jupiter’s new position.

Levon whispered back, Do you think they’ll listen to what we have to say? Basically, the government isn’t very responsive unless they have some kind of hard evidence.

Well, all we can do is—

Okay, people, Lana said, standing at the front of the table. The low chatter in the room stopped. "First of all, I want to remind each of you that anything spoken of in this room is considered top-secret. I know that sounds a bit overkill, but there may be some ground we cover in this meeting which is currently labeled as such. The government will deny this meeting ever took place. We can’t stop you from talking about Jupiter or anything else related to your science, but you cannot discuss, allude to, divulge any of the contents, or even acknowledge the existence of this meeting. Lana ran through all this as if reading word for word from the rules, then she glibly added, You all know the drill."

A piece of paper lay beside each person at the table. Lana picked up the one next to her and continued, With that out of the way. . . . In front of you, you will find a list of the people present here and the country they represent.

The others picked up their papers and scanned the names. Levon glanced at the list, leaned back in his chair, stretched his long legs under the table, and gazed at Lana.

Let’s get started, Lana said, sitting down and pushing a microphone toward the center of the table. Apparently the microphone was for recording purposes or something because her voice hadn’t been amplified. I apologize for not giving you more details about the meeting, but we want to limit the public’s knowledge on the subject we are about to discuss. We don’t want to alarm people unnecessarily.

Two of the men held their fingers to earpieces, listening for the translation in their own tongues, and occasionally looking toward the translators who were behind a window in the back of the room.

Lana continued, Some of you may have an idea what our concern is—

I know it has something to do with Jupiter’s anomalous orbital degradation, Jose Fernandez blurted out.

Levon rolled his eyes, thinking it was no wonder this guy was going on his fourth divorce, part of a rumor-mill tidbit that said even Jose’s parents kicked him out of the house on his eighteenth birthday.

Jose went on, And I’ve assured the government that this is a recent occurrence, and the likelihood of any detrimental effects is almost nil—it’s all in my report. I don’t see that we have anything of significance to discuss on that subject.

Thank you, Mr. Fernandez, Lana responded with a dismissive smile. "Even so, we’ve had data presented to us which seems to suggest that this isn’t a recent occurrence, and we want to get a range of professional opinions and recommendations. She glanced over at Eric Sadslow. Mr. Sadslow has brought it to our attention that there might be some serious ramifications if Jupiter keeps moving. She reached into her briefcase and took out some research papers Sadslow had given her earlier. Scanning them, she said, Mr. Sadslow, would you be so kind as to give us a synopsis of your findings?"

Sadslow took off his steel-rimmed glasses and set them on the table. Gentlemen—and ladies, excuse me—most of my research is in the past. I spend my time these days setting up curriculum and giving lectures at the University. But I’ve discussed the Jupiter phenomenon with Levon Halston—he motioned to Levon and Levon nodded—"and I’m inclined to agree with his assessment. We risk a great deal by idly standing by and not investigating the possibilities. Levon’s calculations indicate that the effects of Jupiter’s new position could have devastating consequences on other planets in the solar system. A change in one planetary body’s path could have a domino effect on the rest of the planets. For example: let’s say Jupiter takes out another planet as it moves through the solar system. The debris from such a collision could be catastrophic. There would be millions of pieces of space rock thrown into unknown orbits that could collide with the Earth—and what if the asteroid belt gets disrupted? Why, we could have a game of dodge-ball right here in our own orbit."

That’s ridiculous, Jose mumbled.

Lana ignored Jose and looked at the four-star general beside her. What is the status of the G-27 project, General?

Wearing his dress blues, General Willie Hutton promptly stood up. He took great pride in the Air Force’s G-27 program. It was his baby. It all started two years ago when a previously undocumented comet—since named Elijah—passed within twenty thousand miles of the Earth, and spooked the United States government into initiating the G-27 project. Hutton wanted charge of this one, and he had a straight line to enough political ears to get it. The top-secret program was intended to develop a propulsion and guidance system that would be capable of delivering a nuclear warhead to any comet or asteroid whose orbit came in conflict with the Earth’s. And like everything else the government did, it was behind schedule and way over budget.

Hutton cleared his throat. We have the missile technology to get far enough out there, he said in a gravelly voice, and the nuclear warheads have been allotted for the project, but our biggest problem is the timing.

Timing? A man with a Russian accent questioned.

Yes. To hit the incoming projectile far enough away from the Earth so it won’t scatter debris back into the atmosphere, we need at least two to three days notice. And we also need time to program the guidance system—and we’ll need one of you people to give us the exact coordinates, give or take a mile.

Whispers darted through the room.

The woman representing Australia abruptly stopped typing on her electronic notepad. I’m not sure we can—

A Japanese man stood up and cut her off: "Are you saying you want to shoot off a nuclear bomb outside the Earth’s atmosphere every time we think a meteor might hit us? Do you realize what would happen if—"

Now, hold on! Lana intervened, and the whispering ceased. "We haven’t said we are going to do anything yet. All we want to do here is evaluate the options."

Hutton grinned proudly at Lana’s authoritative control over the meeting. He’d been her commander in the Gulf War, when she flew Blackhawk helicopters. She was a firecracker back then, and she still didn’t let herself get pushed around. After the War, she moved to F-16s, eventually becoming one of the Air Force’s top trainers, being groomed for the higher ranks. But to everyone’s dismay, she finished her twelve-year stint and went into politics, just after the World Trade Center attacks. Hutton was as surprised as anyone, and he didn’t much like her decision. She would have made general if she’d stuck with it. Either way, though, she’d done well for herself, and he liked to think he had a hand in it.

Why not use lasers? the female representative from Africa suggested. That would be the logical choice. It’s a little more up-to-date and more in-line with current thinking.

Lana shook her head. We can’t get past the politics long enough to get the laser satellites back into orbit.

Let’s land a propulsion system on any asteroid that’s in danger of hitting us, the Australian woman with the electronic notepad proposed.

That takes time, Sadslow countered. Asteroids could come at us without too much warning, and in multiples.

Nothing’s going to happen, Fernandez insisted. We’re wasting our time. Jupiter is millions of miles away—and it’s going away from us, not toward us!

Thank you, Mr. Fernandez, Lana said, turning to Levon. She hesitated when she realized he was staring at her. She blushed and tried to suppress a smile, but the corners of her mouth broke slightly upward. What do you think, Mr. Halston?

The admiration left Levon’s eyes and a serious expression settled over his countenance as he looked around the table at the other faces. Except for Sadslow and Lana, their expressions were blank. These people still didn’t get it. He leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. Basically, Eric pretty much told you what I think. I’ve been tracking Jupiter’s drift for about ten or twelve years now—Jose Fernandez rolled his eyes—and it’s to the point where it could come into the path of other orbits; mainly Saturn right now, and who knows after that. The whole solar system could be thrown off balance.

Is there an immediate concern? Lana asked.

Maybe not immediate, but if Jupiter does collide with something, we could be vulnerable to the repercussions.

How much time do we have to prepare? Lana asked.

With a short chuckle, Levon replied, Well, that’s like . . . like trying to predict how much time it will take for a particular grain of sand to migrate from, oh, I don’t know, Cape May to Cape Cod. It might take three weeks, three years, thirty thousand years—or it might keep moving with the currents and end up in Norway. Or it might not migrate at all. It might just stay there on the beach and be built into a sand castle by a six-year-old kid.

So you agree with me, Jose smirked. We’re wasting our time. Jupiter’s movements are harmless.

Sadslow grinned at Levon.

I never agree with you, Fernandez, Levon calmly replied, unless you pirate my ideas. Personally, I don’t think you know the difference between Jupiter and Uranus. Levon knew that was an old pun, but he couldn’t resist; it fit the situation much too well. And it was an old enough pun that a couple of the younger people at the table chuckled, and the rest couldn’t help but smile. He turned back to Lana, serious. If something does happen—one of the men with the earphones finally chuckled—uh, then we’d better be prepared. We’d better have a plan already thought out.

Lana turned to General Hutton. How soon until the G-27 program is in place, General?

Hutton cleared his throat. Well, it’s June . . . and there’s still a lot of hardware to move . . . I’m going to say, oh, by November or December we should be able to fire a live ordnance test.

Lana looked at Levon. Is that enough time?

Levon shrugged. Like I said, who knows? We don’t understand as much as we think we do about the universe. Do you realize that what we know about physics goes right out the proverbial window when we talk about something as basic as the inner workings of a black hole? How can we be so sure we understand what can happen? Even within our own solar system. Off on one of his tangents, he took pause, debating his own words. "But at least we’re doing something. Catastrophic asteroids have hit the Earth in the past, so we can’t be so arrogant and ignorant as to think it can’t happen again."

TWO

Jordan loaded the optical disk into the drive slot and ran the cursor through the directory, searching for the CVJ36 microchip schematic. The guys in the plant had gotten something wrong—the polarity checks weren’t coming out right. Nothing had changed on the design since 2005, so they had to have been following the right procedure.

Since his promotion to Senior Electrical Technician at Si International six months ago, Jordan didn’t have time to check all their work as he used to. If he had his choice, things would have stayed the way they were, with him out on the floor supervising the electricians and helpers. But he was closing in on fifty and had really needed the salary increase to bolster his retirement savings, so he put in for the position vacancy and got it over twelve other highly qualified applicants. Anyone else would have been happy.

He double-clicked on the directory and put his elbow on the desk, resting his cheek in his hand while waiting for the drawing to load onto the hard-drive. The rough edges of a memory chafed his senses as he methodically rubbed his cheekbone and felt the bubbles and valleys of a scar. He opened his jaw, wincing as he moved it from side to side. There was still an occasional, sudden, sharp pain that ran from his ear to his temple. The doctor had told him it was some kind of nerve damage, and that he would probably live with it for the rest of his life. But that wasn’t the true source of Jordan Phillips’ pain, not by a long shot. The real pain festered far deeper than he was willing to acknowledge.

The computer screen went without attention while Jordan’s mind wandered, his thoughts inevitably coercing him to revisit July of 1994.

Since that month, tumultuous gnawing had eaten away at his conscience. . . .

That early July night had possessed a crisp, clean mist, a haze that bordered the horizons of the Earth. Above, generating a powerful contrast, where the stretches of land met the sky, the starry vista was unusually clear. It was as if the powers of Heaven wanted to insure the human creature could view the universe with focused attention on this night.

Outside his small three-bedroom house in a working-class neighborhood of Morro Bay, California, Jordan stepped back from his little Walmart-special telescope with awe and amazement. To most people, the explosion of comet fragments on the dark side of Jupiter would be mere spots on the planet’s surface, blemishes seen only after the fact. But to Jordan, each one was a majestic display of force extending from the outer limits of the solar system and reaching deep into his soul, filling him with the universe’s mysterious magic.

The seventh fragment of Shoemaker-Levy 9 had collided with the dark side of Jupiter, and Jordan had eagerly watched as the planet’s quick rotation brought the telltale scar into view a half hour later. There would be fifteen more impacts from the ill-fated comet, and each was greatly anticipated by all serious sky watchers worldwide, including Jordan and his