Welling from the depths of the vibrating quarry, a boiling cloud expanded over the site, obliterating everything from sight. In the nearby complex, sirens began to howl, and the great dish trembled from the quake of the blast.
Already rushing up the crumbling spiral, the cannies reached the top and dashed onto green grass seconds before the sloping road broke apart and the pieces tumbled into the smoky abyss.
Some sec man came charging out of a barracks, and the cannies gunned them down, pausing only to take their blasters. A line of trucks and a lone APC stood on a bare patch of ground nearby. Not knowing how to rig a tank, Scarface bypassed the military wag and used the stock of the longblaster to break the window of the best-looking truck. Climbing inside, he reached under the dashboard and ripped wires loose, then started touching one to another until the engine started. Twisting the connections closed, the cannie chief shoved the wag into gear and roared off at top speed.
“Where now?” Cooler asked, breathing hard.
Scarface shifted gears. “We’re going home.”
“Virginny is due north of here,” Snake said. “Mebbe a tad east.”
“Too dangerous. I heard them say they were setting traps for someone named Ryan,” Digger answered, hugging the moaning Mad Dog close to his chest. “He be coming after their boss. Got the roads covered north, east and south of here.”
“Remember that caravan we attacked? Heard someone yell for ‘Ryan.’ Mebbe that’s him. Great! Let the fuckers kill each other,” Scarface decided, steering into the trees, plowing through bushes and greenery. “We’ll avoid both by heading west.”
Chapter Eighteen
High above the polluted world, the Kite floated along through the cold vacuum of space. Tiny retro jets flared occasionally to correct the satellite’s altitude, adjusting pitch and yaw against the complex gravitational forces of the Earth below and the moon above.
A thousand more satellite’s moved around the world like bees buzzing about a hive. Some were large and slow, barely tethered at the extreme limits of Earth’s gravitational field. Others were small and fast, beeping antiques from a bygone age. Most sported huge dish antennae, simple communications relays for television and the multinational businesses of the predark world. Both as dead as dinosaurs. A few of the satellites were of unknown purpose or origin, strange ovals whose hulls were a flat black, making them nigh invisible against the starry backdrop of space.
Several hundred miles away, a squat armored sphere bearing the design of an American flag became alive with dim lights, and spun weakly about on its vertical axis, pinhead sensors flickering as it registered the presence of the huge oncoming satellite. Radar beams scanned the goliath, and the master computer couldn’t find a match within its military data banks.
A radio signal was immediately sent to NORAD.
Command in Wyoming. But neither the mammoth Cheyenne Mountain nor the North American Air Defense headquarters existed anymore, and the request for instructions went unanswered. The guardian satellite instantly tried contacting the Pentagon. No response. Then it tracked desperately for Looking Glass, the flying headquarters of SAC, but the Boeing 777 was nowhere to be located. Following the dictates of its programming, the guardian demanded immediate verification from the White house. There was only static. Finally the war satellite broke top secret seals and beamed an emergency signal to the armored bunker at Camp David. Nothing, only the crackle of the never ending sheet lightning from the isotope-filled clouds masking the planet.
Subprograms flared into operation, but the auxiliary routines failed to boot, so they were tried again a dozen times before the reserve files were accessed. But the long ages and steady bombardment of the solar winds had claimed a toll on the military orbiter. When reserve files were sluggishly activated, the first was filled with corrupted data, as well the second, but the fail-safe backup proved functional and the weapon systems of the hunter-killer were brought online within seconds.
Now a direct warning was broadcast at the intruder in international Morse code. There was no reply. The mandatory warning was tried once more with the same results. Hardwired circuits pulsed into life, and hatches irised wide. Distance was gauged, speed, vectors, trajectory, and two small missiles streaked toward the lumbering Kite.