this war.”
A frustrated “Arrrgh!” echoed from one of the workstations, and a man and woman laughed as another man stalked across the room to a large empty water jug. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a $20, then stuffed it in. “What’s that about?” Charlie asked.
“That’s the ‘dead scientist’ jar.” Norman smirked. “When the Tank started, people used to keep saying ‘If only we had Einstein on this’ or ‘If only I could show this to Wheeler’. Really, they wouldn’t be nearly as helpful as we think, because we tend to imagine that dead scientists would still know what we know. So, to keep the frustrations down, anytime anyone wishes they had a brilliant dead scientist, they put the money in the jar. Then, on the last Friday of the month, we buy booze.” He looked at the forlorn man who had just surrendered his money, “That was $20 he put in? He must’ve been wishing for a Nobel Prize winner. Those guys are expensive.”
“Sounds like a great place you’ve got here, bro.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Baines.” Carol had suddenly materialized behind them, tapping Norman on the shoulder. “You just got a call for a debriefing tomorrow with Miss Lugasharmanaska and several military officials. 0900 hours.”
“Luga’s coming?” Norman’s eyes got wide, and he rubbed his hand across his stubble. “I need to shave.”
“Dude!” Charles shook his head.
“What?!”
“You remember how upset mom got when I married a Mormon, and now you’re trying to look nice for a demon?” He could barely contain his laughter as he tried not to conjure a mental image.
“Not just a demon, Charlie, a succubus.” Norman grinned as he emphasized the word. “They can look like ANYONE.”
“Fair point, but I’ll stick with my human wife, thanks.” Charles checked his watch. “Well, I need to head on over to Yale, why don’t you stop by my office next time you’re at Applied Technologies.”
“I’ll do that.” The two men embraced briefly with shoulder slapping all around. “See ya, flyboy!”
“See ya, nutjob.”
Destroyer “Turner Joy” off the coast of Virginia, June 2009
The old destroyer swung her bows around and lined up for another pass at the crimson-red sea that lay stretched out in front of her. Her previous path was marked by a brilliant blue streak across the water, one that made the sea look healthy in comparison with the red mess that lay either side. Turner Joy’s pumps whined and the sprays fired out from amidships, marking the start of another pass.
“Is this going to work?” Sophia Metaxas looked doubtful, the extent of the marine disaster that had hit Earth seemed too devastating to be countered by blue dye.
“It stands a good chance.” Captain Reynolds was surveying the scene through the bridge binoculars. “The blue dye limits penetration of the wavelengths of light required for photosynthesis, and so the algae starve to death. We used a technique much like this in World War Two as an anti-submarine weapon.” He glanced sideways at Sophia.
“How?”
“Now, this ain’t no shit. We sprayed blue paint on the surface of the sea. When the submarine put its periscope up, the paint covered the lens and the skipper thought he was still underwater. So he kept on going up and when he reached 150 feet in the air, we shot him down with the anti-aircraft guns.”
Reynold’s face was completely deadpan. Sophia stared at him for a few moments as the sheer outrageousness of the story sank in. Then she started to splutter with barely-suppressed laughter. “I guess that must be what they call an old sea story?”
“One of many Sophia. Beware any that start with NTANS. But the dye thing might actually work. If we can kill off the deeper layers of the algal bloom, we can skim or pump and filter the surface layer. It’s worked inland, there’s a good chance it’ll work out here. Provided the dye doesn’t disperse too fast.”
Sophia’s mouth twisted. As expected, the Third Bowl of Wrath had hit a week or so earlier with major rivers suddenly starting to turn red with algal bloom. Once-rich fishing rivers had been decimated, their banks lined with the stinking carcasses of poisoned fish and the birds that had fed on them. The disaster, though, had been limited compared with the carnage at sea since governments had been forewarned and were waiting. The spread of the algal bloom had been limited by booms placed across the rivers, the application of finely-powdered clay had agglomerated the algae and allowed it to be skimmed off. The battle had lasted two weeks and had been a total victory for the humans. The rivers had been cleaned out and only one area of fresh water contamination remained, in the Great Lakes. That was under sustained assault from Canadian Kingston Class patrol ships and its area was shrinking daily. Now, the lessons from that battle were being applied to the algal blooms at sea.
“At least we’ve won one. Out of three.”
“Two out of three Sophia. Cipro is effective against proto-anthrax and the stockpiles are being increased every day. We won’t get caught by that one again. Even out here, we’re getting the measure of this Bowl, bit by bit. This isn’t the only area of experimental treatment you know. There’s another area off Long Island that’s being used for biological control experiments. If we can make a predator that feeds on this particular algae, we’ll have a defense in place against further attacks.”
“It’s the next one that worries me, the rain of fire.”
“I read about that. I looked up Revelation after our last chat. Hold one. Bring her around to two-seven-zero, make revolutions for ten knots. This old girl is doing well. That does sound like Belial getting back to work, doesn’t it?”
“What I want to know is, how come Revelation predicted all this stuff so accurately? It was written two thousand years ago and its been perfect up to date. Every Bowl exactly as described.”
“Oh, that’s easy Sophia. Yahweh didn’t make the prophesies to fit future events, he’s making today’s events fit old prophecies. It’s an old trick, been used for centuries. Either make the prophecies so vague and ill-defined that anything can fit them or manufacture events to match the prophecies. Let’s just hope the city defense people can abort any sky-volcano attacks before we get another Detroit.”
(Props to Chewie for the first two parts).
Chapter Fifteen
Border Post 1147E, North of Maesot, Thailand
Being part of the Tahan Phran militia had its advantages. Having the opportunity to operate this border post was one of them. Technically intended to provide border surveillance and cut down on cross-border infiltration, it was also a nice little money-earner for the local militia. It was a secure, well-run stopping point for travellers and tourists who could leave their cars and trucks and walk around in perfect safety. The women from the nearby village came up and cooked food for the visitors. When a bus load of tourists arrived, it was a great day for everybody involved. The tourists would take delight in eating real Thai food, not the bland approximation that most restaurants catering to tourists served. They would buy the jewelry and souvenirs that the local people had made, take advantage of the clean latrines and wash basins, paying a purely nominal charge of course and quite forgetting that what would have been a nominal charge in Bangkok was truly exorbitant out here. Especially since all the necessary supplies were issued cost-free by the Army.
There were even a few guest huts where people could stay overnight if they wished and that was both another source of income and the supply of some more basic entertainment. The Tahan Phran contingent was mostly comprised of young men in their early twenties, fit and well turned-out. The younger European women in the tourist busses seemed to find them quite irresistible and the arrival of a tourist bus for the night usually meant that at least one of the young militiamen would get lucky. The girls in the Tahan Phran outfit might have been expected to object but they had their own suitors. It seemed that the male tourists found girls who handled guns with nonchalant competence equally irresistible.
Captain Momrajong “Lon” Thongtaem smiled happily at the stray thoughts, then continued his inspection of the border post perimeter. Despite the various distractions of the day, the post had continued to function as a military base, sending out patrols to check the border and establishing road blocks so that trucks could be inspected for contraband. Sometimes drugs, sometimes people, sometimes just the small luxuries of life that were commonplace
