Winter World (The Long Winter #1)(29)

The vice president speaks. Then the senator. And finally Fowler. I can barely focus on the words. In my mind, I’m already up in that ship, in the lab, building what I need for the mission.

The screen behind the podium comes to life, showing a launch platform and a rocket ready to lift off. It’s not here at Kennedy; the scene is at night, and it’s nine a.m. here. The text at the bottom of the screen reveals the location: Baikonur Cosmodrome, Kazakhstan.

Roscosmos and their partners are launching first—an unmanned payload. The countdown in the lower right ticks down to zero, and the rocket spews white smoke, trembles, and lifts off, climbing out of the camera’s view. Another camera tracks it soaring into the atmosphere. Then nothing.

I hear murmurs behind me. I glance back. There must be two hundred people in the auditorium, and every face is stricken. The unspoken assumption is that the rocket was destroyed before it reached orbit.

The screen flickers to life again. The view is from space, looking down at Earth. The payload made it. The rocket detaches and tumbles back toward the ground. The capsule floats free, the thrusters occasionally puffing out white smoke.

Cheers go up around the room, and we all watch and wait and hope—and several minutes later, the capsule is still up there, unharmed.

There’s a muted Russian dialogue in the background. Fowler steps to the podium and translates.

“Ladies and gentlemen, capsule 1-P achieved low Earth orbit five minutes ago and has experienced no solar anomalies.”

The crowd erupts, most standing, clapping, high-fiving, and cheering. Dan Hampstead whistles. As someone who will shortly be blasted into space in a similar capsule, I have to say, I’m pretty thrilled about the news myself.

The screen changes to another launch site: Jiuquan Satellite Launch Center, China’s main launch facility for large payloads and manned flights. It’s located in the Gobi Desert region of Mongolia, and its lights glitter in the darkness.

The rocket lifts off and achieves orbit with no interference.

The Japanese are next, launching from the Tanegashima Space Center. Another successful launch.

Then the rotation starts again: Baikonur, Jiuquan, and Tanegashima all send up a second payload.

Finally, it’s time for the first manned launch. It’ll come from Baikonur, and though they don’t say the name of the cosmonaut, I know it’s Grigory—he’s the only Russian on the crew. Unexpectedly, I’m overcome with nervousness. It was one thing to watch the payloads go up. This is someone I know—one of my crewmates on the Pax. I’ve known him less than a day, but I consider him a friend. And I’m worried.

As before, the rocket climbs to space and darkness follows. Another wave of celebration rises as the screen switches to the view of Earth from Grigory’s capsule.

Jiuquan launches next. Min is in that capsule. Tanegashima follows, with Izumi. Half of my ship’s crew is already up there, waiting.

They launched the first payloads under the cover of night—when the launch sites and rockets were on the dark side of the Earth, out of the line of sight of the Sun. That was smart. It upped the chances of success. But Kennedy and the Guiana Space Centre will launch in sight of the Sun. If there is something out there watching, from the vantage point of the Sun, it will see our next launches. And those launches start now.

The screen switches to the launch pads where rockets are waiting. They take off one after another, like a fireworks show—the crescendo of the greatest Fourth of July in history.

None of these payloads are harmed, either. No alterations to their vector. No debris impacts.

That reminds me of Emma Matthews. She’s up there, still in geosynchronous orbit with North America. If she’s awake, I bet she can see it all. I hope she can. And that it gives her hope. Because we’re coming for her.





Chapter 21





Emma





Through the porthole, I watch the launches from the ground. There must be two dozen of them, streaking into the sky in a blaze and then breaking apart. It’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen, more breathtaking than the first time I looked down on Earth from space.

But why? Why so many? Are they rebuilding the space station?

Or are they coming for me?

That’s a dangerous thought. I don’t want to be let down. I know the reality of my situation: I’m one person, floating in a compromised capsule. Whatever this operation is, it’s bigger than a rescue mission. It has something to do with what the probe found—and the Long Winter. I hope they’ve found a way to stop it. If they need to leave me to do that, so be it.

All the same, I stare out the capsule’s tiny window, my eyes glued to the trails of white smoke streaming into the sky, the rockets breaking away, the capsules tumbling free in space. And I wait, and mentally prepare myself.

Just in case one of those ships is for me.





Chapter 22





James





Half of the unmanned launches have finished when they usher the crew out of the room. These are my last minutes on Earth, and they go by in a blur.

Handlers slip me into a suit. They check it once, twice, three times before walking me out into the mid-morning air and loading me onto a bus. It powers across the complex, toward the launch site that towers in the distance like a skyscraper on a prairie, utterly out of place in the beauty of the flat Florida coast.