Skyfall

“So have some more coffee if you like, then we get you down to make-up, with the exception of the lovely Sharon, and I'll see you all in auditorium three. A live and lively audience that includes the entire Rotary Club of Potlach, Michigan and their wives….”

“Oy!” Shakey groaned. “Double equity rate for that!”

“So don't get lost and I'll see you there in about a half an hour.”

The door opened and a man stuck his head in and waved a piece of paper. “Mike, a newsbreak just in on the wire. You can use it with your guest.”

“My mother-in-law died?” Shakey said brightly.

“Even worse than that,” Mike said reading quickly. He looked up at Cooper. “What can this mean, Dr. Cooper? NASA has just released the news that there was, and I quote, '. . an atomic explosion in the vicinity of Prometheus. The satellite appears to be undamaged although there have been crew injuries. The cause of the explosion is unknown, although the origin of the explosion is known not to be American.' What do they mean origin! Are there spaceships up there taking potshots at the thing?”

“No, of course not. It would be technically feasible I suppose for the atomic fuel to explode — but that could not be done, certainly, without damaging the vehicle. Origin, of course. They must mean an atomic missile. They are saying that we did not fire an atomic missile at Prometheus….”

“But if we didn't — someone else did? Who?”

“I don't know, really. France, England, China, the Soviets, they are all armed with this type of ground-to-satellite defense missile. A lot would depend where Prometheus was at the time of the explosion, since these rockets are for national defense and have a limited range. Of course, they can be fired from submarines.”

“How awful,” Sharon said.

“Awful is the least of it, baby.” Mike was pacing back and forth excitedly. “Someone is so worried about being blown up by the rocket that they tried to blow it up first. The whole world trembles in fear. Death from the skies. Atomic poisoning. We've got a program coming up, folks, that'll send our Nielsen rating higher than that satellite!”

35

GET 24:39

“I can't tell them this. You can't expect me to tell them this!” Flax shook his head so emphatically that his heavy cheeks flapped. He was almost shouting into the phone and he realized that the men at the other consoles were turning to look at him. That didn't matter. Nothing mattered any more; tragedy was closing in from all sides. He could not cope with it all. Simon Dillwater was still speaking when Flax hung up the phone. This was no way to treat your boss, but nothing did really matter very much any more. He turned slowly, blinking through fatigue-sore eyes.

“Mike,” he called to the man at the nearest console, and waved him over.

“What's up, Flax? Not more trouble?”

“You'll hear about it. Look, take these keys, they unlock the big desk in my office. Bottom drawer. There's a bottle of slivovitz there. Get it and bring it to me.”

“Shliv-o-what?”

“Plum brandy. It's the only bottle there. Get cracking.”

“Flax, you know the rules about drinking, you wouldn't want to…”

“I would. Screw the rules. My people are dying up there.”

He was surprised, shocked, to find tears in his eyes. They ran slowly down his cheeks and he really did not mind. He was mourning the dead. This last thing about the solar flares was almost too much to handle. How could he tell them? Nothing had gone right with this mission from the beginning and it wasn't over yet.

He sighed tremulously, not even realizing he had made the sound, a tired fat man at the end of his tether. He mopped away sweat and tears with his sopping handkerchief. And stared at nothing until the slivovitz arrived. It was transparent and moved like oil in the bottle and appeared harmless. So was nitroglycerine and it looked the same way. He uncorked the bottle and inhaled deeply of the rich odor of decay. It smelled even worse than tequila, which he also adored. There was a half-empty container of coffee at his elbow and, scarcely aware he was doing it, he poured the cold remains onto the floor, then filled it halfway with the slivovitz.

Marvelous! It cut a track down his throat and exploded like a bomb in his stomach, sending waves of warmth out to his extremities. Marvelous, and while the effect still lasted he threw the microphone switch.

“Come in, Prometheus, Mission Control here.” He had to repeat the call twice before there was a response.

“Hello, Flax.”

It was Patrick, his voice thick and slurred. “Yes, Flax here, is that you, Patrick?”

“Yes. Coretta's given me a shot, for the pain. Can't talk too well. Pain is A-OK. I told her to give Nadya a bigger one and she did and Nadya is sleeping. No change with Ely. Our eyes are bandaged. The doctor does not know if the blindness is temporary or permanent.” There was no alteration in his voice as he said this. “Did you find out yet who threw that thing at us?”

“Negative. You'll have the news as soon as I hear.”