Chapter 4 – Heat and Wind
In southern Siberia, two farm labourers were more glad than usual that the working day was coming to an end. Repairing stone walls was heavy work in any weather, let alone in an unexpected, unseasonable heat wave. The tractor was parked in the barn for the night, and its cooling engine made metallic clinking noises in the still air as the metal started to contract.
"I tell you, Gregor, that this is not natural. Not natural at all." sighed Anton as he mopped his brow with the back of his forearm before replacing his cap. His friend merely grunted in reply, but silently was in full agreement.
"I thought that last week's snow really was the end of the good weather for the year." Anton continued. "But just look at it now! All around us first thing this morning and nearly all gone by this afternoon! And how quickly it got warm when the clouds disappeared. I tell you, it's not natural!"
"So you keep saying." responded his companion. "You're right, though." He wrinkled his nose. "You sweat like a pig in this heat. Marishka won't come near you tonight if you don't clean up first."
"You're no flower garden either!" retorted Anton. "You'd best bathe as well if you want her sister to notice you in the right way. Your really caught some sunburn as well. That sun was so bright this afternoon. I tell you, it's……"
"Not natural. Yes, yes. I agree with you. Now just change the subject!" Gregor said testily as they trudged down the hill to their respective farm cottages.
"All right." Anton paused. " Hey! Old Nicolai was down in Novosibirsk yesterday. Went to see his cousin. He said there's some sort of fuss going on. Lots of political 'apparatchiki' were in town. Quite a few military as well. His cousin's taxi service hasn't had so much business in years ferrying them to Tolmachevo airport. Travelling with their families or mistresses, too, he said. Lots of suitcases. Lots of Western aeroplanes landing and taking off." His face broke into a wry smile. "The old Ilyushins not good enough for them apparently. Oh no! Got to fly in bloody big 'Amerikanski' Boeings or 'Angliski' Airbuses. Stuck-up bastards!"
"Did they say where they were going?" asked Gregor.
"Niet. Some said 'conference' and some said 'holidays', but nobody said where." Anton spat as he continued walking. "Good riddance, I say." He idly scratched the reddened skin on his forearm, but stopped when it began to sting as he rubbed it.
"The frost will damage all the buds that are coming out when it comes back." said Gregor. "Imagine that! Buds on trees in November." He just managed to stop himself commenting on how unnatural it was.
At four o'clock in the morning, his lover Marishka awoke to the sound of Anton's grunts and groans, to find him sitting on the side of the bed. She reached over and switched on the bedside light, and gasped in horror at the blisters covering his face and arms. By the time they approached the doctor's house in nearby Mocisce in the dark, the number of people they saw similarly afflicted was of no comfort at all.
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"Leni, I'm telling you, this is 'not' a fault with the equipment!" shouted Chief Controller Lars Berensen down the telephone line. "There's not an ATC centre east of Helsinki that can see a goddamned thing on their long-range radar!" He closed his eyes in exasperation and stopped listening to the equally irate voice at the other end of the line. He decided that enough was enough.
"Listen! Listen, Leni! We've got over twenty intermittent targets on the scope coming out of the east, originating from Russia, when we can see anything at all in the clutter. No, they're not military flights, they're airliners. Some are circling and descending near Stockholm, and my guess is that they made visual ID of Arlanda airport, because there's only occasional radio contact through all this static. Every domestic flight was grounded hours ago and all the European fly-overs are accounted for or still on the ground in neighbouring countries. Those Russkis that aren't circling are heading mostly westwards, but that's probably not where they want to be going right now. We've had reports that there's a phenomenal easterly jet stream at altitudes over ten thousand metres – maybe over two hundred and fifty knots! Greenland is reporting the same thing but from the north-east. They are badly off course and probably don't have enough fuel for a transatlantic crossing from here. The wind's getting up to strong gusts at lower altitudes and some runways will have to be closed soon if it keeps getting up like this."
He paused to listen to his colleague's reluctant acceptance of what he was being told.
"OK, OK. That's right, Leni! Get every major airport to shine searchlights into the air, and all runway lights on. Make ready for visual landings. They won't be able to talk through all this background slush anyway. Any airport you can't make telephone contact with, use couriers from where you can communicate with – anything at all!"
By the time dawn broke, all but three airliners were on the ground somewhere in Scandinavia. Russian officials of varying rank and discipline were involved in negotiating or demanding fuel for immediate take-off, which was being refused because of the bad weather and the fact that few nav aids appeared to be working satisfactorily. Radar screens were full of electric 'snow': GPS instruments displayed messages in various languages to the effect that they did not know where they were. Even magnetic compasses were oscillating uncertainly. Why there was such urgency or desperation for the Russians to get away was a mystery to the Swedish and Norwegian authorities.
The three missing planes were – missing. With no flight plans filed and unable to communicate before ditching in the North Atlantic, no-one knew of their fate until the next day. It is said that drowning is a pleasant sensation after the initial panic, but no-one was in a position to offer confirmation.
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General Landry had Sergeant Harriman call the SGC Crisis Team together as soon as the news reports began to filter in to Cheyenne Mountain.
" Here is a summary of what we know so far." he began, "At around 11:00 GMT yesterday, there was a Solar event causing massive irradiation to the daylight side of the Earth. That's the time when NORAD's global network went down. Radio and TV communication is impossible except within an approximate one thousand kilometre radius of this location. GPS is out. Telephone landline traffic is possible but intermittent: the networks are overloaded. Only a handful of internet sites are still operable and lines are jammed full of people trying to use it. International air traffic was grounded last night and domestic flights first thing this morning."
He paused to let the words sink in to the eight military officers and civilian specialists gathered around the table: the other twenty five members were currently off-world.
"We estimate that around two thirds of the hundreds of communication satellites in orbit are now non-functioning, probably permanently. The International Space Station conducted an emergency evacuation and the Soyuz capsule with the crew is believed to be safely down somewhere in the Caucasus, but exact location unknown. Before they left orbit, they managed to report a huge cloud clearance over the daylight side of Earth, followed hours later by the development of enormous anticyclonic weather patterns over the southern hemisphere, stretching way northwards. The brunt of the solar outburst was borne by India and Eastern Africa, where the Sun was near overhead during the worst of it. Casualties are unknown at present but are expected to be large." He looked to his diplomatic expert. "Colonel Reynolds?"
"Today we were expecting the arrival of the first parties of officials and dependents from the five nations that have known about the Stargate: China, Russia, Canada, UK and France." said the Colonel. "The Canadians are on their way here by surface transport and will arrive tomorrow. The UK and French contingents were unable to take off from their start points. We're getting reports of Chinese transports landing in Alaska and the Aleutians. They appear to be several thousand miles off course to the North. Absent a rapid resumption of flights in the near future, they will need to arrive here by road or rail transport as well." He flicked over the page of hand-written notes. "We believe that the Russian planes were also thrown badly off course after their departures from Central Russia, and it seems a lot of them ended up in Scandinavia instead of heading out over the North Pole. What I don't understand is how they went too far west and the Chinese too far North."
"It'll be due to the weather being stirred up by the huge sudden heating effect to one side of the planet's atmosphere, Sir." Captain Hailey chimed in. "It seems as though the energy burst from the Sun didn't last more than a few hours, but disturbed the balance of the weather systems enough so that high winds and turbulent air currents were set up to even out the pressure and temperature differences between the day and night sides. Extremely windy weather with heavy rain or snow storms could last for a few days or maybe more. Radio communication should improve in time if there are no more outbursts, but with so many satellites fried it won't be up to the standards we had. In a nutshell, the planes were blown way off course and with no reliable navigation aids, ended up where they did."
"Thank you, Captain." said Landry. He turned to face the man on his left. "Colonel Mitchell? Are we ready to start receiving large numbers of ref…… er, people yet?"
"At the SGC – affirmative, Sir." replied the new commander of SG-1. "Alpha site is also in good shape, but Beta and Gamma need another few days at least. As you know some of the families and dependents we moved out there a few weeks back have been demanding to come back. Don't see the danger, don't like the accommodation, homesick children – everything you would expect, Sir. After the shock of learning about the SGC and being uprooted, some are almost to the point of civil disobedience and dealing with their demands has held up work. Those two sites are way behind schedule on establishing transit camps for large numbers of people." He looked up. "And the word 'refugees' is not too strong, Sir. That's exactly what we're facing now."
"With respect, we don't know that for sure yet." The tone of voice feigned politeness but it was only a thin veil. All eyes turned to the source of the statement: the Senate's ultra-secret S22 Committee representative Madeleine Witherspoon. Lawyer, upwardly mobile executive, distruster of the military and self-appointed Devil's Advocate to a group of people she looked down on. "There's no evidence yet that any mass evacuation will be necessary. We need more detail of what's happening in Asia. Casualty figures need to be analysed before we start major upheavals. The Sun may settle down again."
"That is true, Ms. Witherspoon." Landry replied diplomatically. "But our role is to prepare for the worst." He turned back to Mitchell. "How long before Beta and Gamma can get back on the project timeline?"
"At this point I estimate six to eight weeks." Mitchell replied in a positive tone. "But we've got to have more resources and materials. We need to draft in more teams of building construction workers. Also we need more credit to buy raw materials and pre-fabricated housing modules. We've reached our spending limits: I'm told by the Finance section that we're short approximately sixteen million dollars to complete phase one of the work."
"That's the other reason for caution." Madeleine interrupted. "You're spending tax dollars like a man with no arms." Landry ignored her, spurring Mitchell on.
"The other aspect to this situation is that new people arriving off world will show the families already out there that this is past being just a precaution, and maybe divert their efforts away from protesting about conditions." he concluded.
General Landry now faced Sergeant Siler. "Gate status, Sergeant? I understand that you're here in place of Colonel Carter."
"Yes, Sir." Siler responded. "The nuclear reactors from Norfolk Naval Shipyard arrived a few hours ago and she's been tied up with their installation most of the night. It's got to a tricky point right now and she can't leave. We hope to have them coupled into the power grid by the end of this week at the earliest. However, the generator that they'll link to is lacking vital spare parts. Estimated delivery on those is three months. It'll work for now, though."
He opened a folder and glanced at a sheet of paper. "Utility power from outside the SGC is reduced since yesterday." he continued. "We can expect more of the same. We can still dial out from the Gate, but probably only once or twice a day if the brown-outs persist. It would help if the whole Mountain could reduce power consumption in the meantime."
"I'll issue orders to that effect." Landry replied. "Colonel Reynolds, how go the negotiations with friendly planets to take refugees?" He didn't hesitate to use the 'R' word this time.
"Anything but 'friendly', I'm afraid, Sir." said Reynolds. "Only a handful has agreed to anything more than limited numbers. Others are threatening internment or worse if we attempt to send droves of people. Teal'c has gone touring the free Jaffa worlds to campaign on our behalf following their lukewarm reactions. I'll get a sitrep from him next week."
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General Landry had a way of making 'suggestions' that could only be interpreted as orders, even though they were not couched as such.
"I think it would be for the good of the program and for yourself if you actually did not report back to this base before noon tomorrow, Colonel." he had told Sam as she exited the infirmary wearing a large band-aid on the back of her left hand. She had automatically begun the reply he was expecting, but there it was – that tone of voice coupled with the line of his mouth that brooked no arguments.
"Yes, Sir. Thank you." was all she had said. Deep down she knew she was over-tired and becoming susceptible to errors. Like the gash she had just received for not moving out of the way quickly enough when the bolts securing the second submarine nuclear reactor proved difficult to tighten, for example. Next could be something more critical.
The Air Force driver's voice had awoken her from her back-seat slumber: he would call for her at 11:30 hours next day. That gave her exactly twelve hours of freedom at home to….. sleep!
But not before one more attempt to make contact with Jack in Washington. To her joy she saw the answer phone light on, and quickly pressed the button. A faint voice could be heard intermittently against a constant hiss of static, but it was almost impossible to make out anything intelligible. She knew it was 'him', though. The recording ended and she was still none the wiser about what he had said. Despite her state of exhaustion, an idea formed. She dived into her briefcase and opened her laptop, leaving it to boot up while she ran to her study. She plugged in the PC microphone she found in the desk drawer and when the machine was ready, recorded the message onto the hard disc. After ten minutes manipulation of the software, she had removed the static noise and enhanced the background voice. She clicked on the 'start' button.
"….. hit the fan here. We….. Senator….. from his elbow. Hit bad……. Tens of thousands…… When I'll be home….. Miss you, Sam…. You."
She sat back, relieved and delighted that she'd been able to listen to at least a few words from him. She tried dialling back to Jack's Washington apartment and then his office to leave a message there, but the line was nothing but electronic mush and she reluctantly gave up. Then tiredness overtook again, and she passed briefly via the bathroom to the welcoming pit of her bed.
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