Post by Evangeline on Apr 25, 2008 21:32:02 GMT -5
PROLOGUE: ERUPTION + 6 YEARS
The submarine proceeded slowly at 12 knots on an NNE heading, not concerned with the possibility of any attack. She - a living, seeing, self-possessed she - carried inside her inner spaces a small support crew of specially adapted forklifts and a handful of humans, in addition to a cargo of ballistic missiles which were now armed and ready. As soon as she was in position, they broke open their orders and proceeded with final preparations and confirmation of launch codes, but the final implementation was up to the sub herself, and there was no special urgency. Finally, her co-ordinates were correct.
The support crew's commanding officer, a 'lift of middling years, initiated a link through the integrated communications system. "Missiles are fully armed, Captain. They're all yours now."
"Thank you, Commander." the contralto voice replied, almost subvocalizing. "It still seems so strange NOT to be doing this in an all-fired hurry."
"They're more concerned with coverage than speed for these things." the LTC replied. "Assuming this idea works at all."
"The payloads aren't really our concern once they're out." the sub sighed. "I can only hope things turn out as everyone wants. OK, you can prepare for launch now, ma'am."
Moments later, the surface of the sea was broken by several Trident II missiles, surging upwards into trajectories that would take them over the territory of what was the United States, before a supervolcano eruption buried it in ash and plunged the rest of the world into a volcanic winter which had only recently abated. As they approached their target zones, within fifteen minutes' time, the payloads ejected from the main bodies of the missiles; yet another charge separated them into sections which tumbled for another few miles before their coatings ripped away with the forces of wind and friction, to disperse their contents over miles of ash-layered land. The skies were now filled with thousands of small canisters, each in turn exploding and spreading BB-sized peat pellets throughout the target zone. In each of those pellets, there was a seed - grass, herb or shrub - that would, with moisture and the nourishing volcanic ash, grow. It was a damned expensive way to plant a garden, but as safe as it was ever going to get.
On the sub's main command deck, a youngish-looking human male, clad in working blues, stepped up. "It's done?"
"It's done." The LTC nodded. "Up to you now." To be honest, the 'lift was a little uneasy in this ruined earth. He would be quite relieved once the Amberite "Hellrode" them back to the Earth he had been born on, the Great Manufacturer's Earth.
The submarine proceeded slowly at 12 knots on an NNE heading, not concerned with the possibility of any attack. She - a living, seeing, self-possessed she - carried inside her inner spaces a small support crew of specially adapted forklifts and a handful of humans, in addition to a cargo of ballistic missiles which were now armed and ready. As soon as she was in position, they broke open their orders and proceeded with final preparations and confirmation of launch codes, but the final implementation was up to the sub herself, and there was no special urgency. Finally, her co-ordinates were correct.
The support crew's commanding officer, a 'lift of middling years, initiated a link through the integrated communications system. "Missiles are fully armed, Captain. They're all yours now."
"Thank you, Commander." the contralto voice replied, almost subvocalizing. "It still seems so strange NOT to be doing this in an all-fired hurry."
"They're more concerned with coverage than speed for these things." the LTC replied. "Assuming this idea works at all."
"The payloads aren't really our concern once they're out." the sub sighed. "I can only hope things turn out as everyone wants. OK, you can prepare for launch now, ma'am."
Moments later, the surface of the sea was broken by several Trident II missiles, surging upwards into trajectories that would take them over the territory of what was the United States, before a supervolcano eruption buried it in ash and plunged the rest of the world into a volcanic winter which had only recently abated. As they approached their target zones, within fifteen minutes' time, the payloads ejected from the main bodies of the missiles; yet another charge separated them into sections which tumbled for another few miles before their coatings ripped away with the forces of wind and friction, to disperse their contents over miles of ash-layered land. The skies were now filled with thousands of small canisters, each in turn exploding and spreading BB-sized peat pellets throughout the target zone. In each of those pellets, there was a seed - grass, herb or shrub - that would, with moisture and the nourishing volcanic ash, grow. It was a damned expensive way to plant a garden, but as safe as it was ever going to get.
On the sub's main command deck, a youngish-looking human male, clad in working blues, stepped up. "It's done?"
"It's done." The LTC nodded. "Up to you now." To be honest, the 'lift was a little uneasy in this ruined earth. He would be quite relieved once the Amberite "Hellrode" them back to the Earth he had been born on, the Great Manufacturer's Earth.
