Jasade sat in his temporary office, the gray dawn of Florida outside his window. Before him lay a printed draft of a statement.
The draft read:
"With profound sorrow, we announce that the four crew members of the Artemis Program's first crewed mission-Commander Colonel Robert F. O'Donnell (United States), Navigator Lieutenant Colonel Jim Hargrove (United States), Lunar Orbit Engineer Ron Vandenberg (Italy), and Lunar Landing Specialist Allen MacDonald (Canada)-tragically lost their lives in the course of their mission. Their sacrifice will forever be recorded in the history of humanity's exploration of the universe."
Ah, rest in peace, all of you.
It wasn't me who killed you. It was the geomagnetic storm.
If you must blame someone... blame that CNSA observer. If not for him, you could have made an emergency return due to insufficient fuel.
Someone called. The number on the caller ID was rather impressive.
[Incoming call from the White House]
Director Jasade immediately put on a professional smile that was absolutely not sycophantic, ingratiating, or servile.
"Hello, President Vance! Oh, it's such an honor to receive your call, sir!" (Before translation: "Hello, President Vance! Oh, it's such an honor to hear your voice, sir!")
"Jasade, what exactly happened to the lunar mission? In God's name, tell me!"
An authoritative male voice came from the other end.
"President Vance, you're my God! Of course I'll give you an honest report." Jasade bowed at the waist, his face creasing into an affable smile.
Even while doing all that, he managed to spare a moment to glare at Blackwell beside him.
Blackwell's facial muscles twitched, caught between tension and composure.
He had to admit that Jasade was very good at his job. It was only natural that he had lost the competition for director; maintaining good relations with one's superiors was a professional skill too... He was beginning to understand why every administration supported Jasade.
A scientist with political savvy was a rare find.
Realizing that the man on the other end was in a foul mood, Jasade swiftly switched to a mournful tone and said bitterly:
"Mr. President, as you saw, the geomagnetic storm struck during the translunar injection burn. We lost all contact with the SLS rocket. Given the terrifying high-energy radiation in Low Earth Orbit, I'm afraid all four astronauts in the Artemis Moon Landing Program have perished."
"Not even the slightest chance?"
"None whatsoever. As far as we know, the geomagnetic storm penetrated almost every spacecraft in Low Earth Orbit, including the International Space Station. The Orion spacecraft was no exception. The radiation will kill the astronauts."
"But not the Chinese Space Station?"
"Uh, well, you know, that space station... uh, it's rather solidly built." Jasade truly had no idea how to explain it. All he could say was that the Chinese Space Station had thicker hull walls, enough to withstand high-energy particle radiation.
Fortunately, this new president had no background in science or engineering. He was just a writer from some remote small town, easy enough to fool.
Jasade continued, "We don't know the extent of the damage to Orion, but it definitely can't return. And although the geomagnetic storm has ended, communications are still disrupted. We've sent multiple rounds of electromagnetic transmissions to Orion, but received no response."
"This is your rocket, your mission, your chain of command. You should take responsibility. Also, tell me, how many hours have they been out of contact?"
"Eleven hours."
"When will they die?"
Clutching the phone, Jasade turned toward Blackwell and looked straight into his eyes, slowly enunciating every word:
"Within twelve hours, they will die of acute radiation syndrome. But before that, they are more likely to die of hypothermia and oxygen deprivation. I'm sorry, sir."
Under these circumstances, the spacecraft's temperature control and oxygen supply systems must have failed.
"Have you written the death announcement?"
"It's right here on my desk, sir."
"Get ready to announce it. The live television broadcast is already arranged. As it happens, the internet is down right now, so public discussion is cut off. Go make the announcement... and handle the aftermath properly."
"Understood. I'll make certain everything is handled properly."
The president on the other end suddenly sounded a little more weary. "Jasade, I trust you. There aren't many people I trust... I waited so long for this lunar landing. The late president's dying wish was to make America great again, too... Now I've taken up his mantle. Do you understand?"
"I completely understand how you feel, Mr. President," Jasade said with feeling.
"Then tell me, what exactly caused this geomagnetic storm? I don't want to hear any more of those NOAA people's tired platitudes."
Jasade froze briefly and looked at Blackwell again, but the latter merely shook his head.
"I don't know either, Mr. President. I'm sor-"
Before he could finish saying "sorry," the call was abruptly disconnected.
Meanwhile, at the consulate general in Houston.
Inside this pale-gray stone building converted from an old hotel, Counselor Wang had gone the entire night without sleep.
As the consulate official responsible for space cooperation, his original task had simply been to accompany the CNSA observer from home to watch NASA's launch. This young observer was CNSA's prized talent, reportedly the country's most promising rocket engineer. He was not even thirty, with limitless prospects ahead of him.
His superiors had reminded him over and over to keep a close eye on him.
And now his precious observer was missing.
He no longer wanted to live either.
He had already searched the entire Kennedy Space Center, the hotel, the airport, and the hospitals. He had mobilized every contact he could-NASA's foreign affairs liaison, SpaceX's public relations department, the local police-but every response was the same:
They couldn't find him.
SpaceX's boss, the famous Elon Musk, had even approached him privately several times, asking both openly and obliquely about Observer Gao's whereabouts, but he had rebuffed every inquiry.
Where on earth had he gone?
Even if kidnappers had taken him, shouldn't they have made their demands by now?
Just then, the phone rang again. The counselor shuddered as though he had developed PTSD. With trembling hands, he rubbed his face, took a deep breath, and answered.
The call was from Director Li of CNSA's Foreign Affairs Department, but before Director Li could speak, a chaotic scramble for the phone came through the line.
"Have you found him?"
"Any news?"
"Where's Gao Jian?"
"Is Gao safe?"
"Fuck you, Wang Jieyi! If anything happens to Gao, I'll fucking kill you!!!"
"Hey, hey, there's no need for that! Old Li, please calm down."
He was immediately bombarded by anxious questions from CNSA's Director Dan, Deputy Director Bian, Director Song, Old Li, and a great many veteran space professionals, interspersed with some rather impolite greetings.
Oh, what misery.
Counselor Wang closed his eyes, feeling that his life was about to end. But just then, he suddenly heard cries of alarm outside the window and saw a dazzling glow.
Director Dan's voice rose above the others. "Counselor Wang, what's that sound over there? Why is the wind so loud?"
Counselor Wang did not answer. He hurried to the window, tilted his head back, and stared wide-eyed.
Outside the windows of the Houston consulate general, the sky was burning.
A vast radiance far outshining any aurora lit up beyond the southwestern horizon. At first, it was only a dark-red point, then a second, then a third. They rapidly joined into a line, shifting from dark red to orange-red, then from orange-red to a blinding, incandescent white.
The consulate's windows began to tremble as a low-frequency rumble rolled in from afar.
Countless people on the streets looked up. Some raised their phones to film, but before their cameras had even activated, the sonic boom came roaring toward them.
An immense blast of air thundered across the sky. The glass windows along the consulate corridor shattered, their fragments spinning through the corridor lights. Counselor Wang instinctively raised an arm to shield his face and staggered backward.
Anxious voices came from his phone. "Hello? Hello? Counselor Wang! What happened?"
Counselor Wang hung up, opened his camera, and stared at the line of fire cutting across the sky outside.
Only then did he recognize what it was: an immense, burning meteor trailing thousands of meters of flame, streaking over Houston at terrifying speed, its leading edge driving a massive cone-shaped shock wave through the atmosphere.
Normally, any spacecraft reentering from orbit would enter the atmosphere at a specific angle and land along a smooth deceleration curve. But this thing kept accelerating along its trajectory, until its dazzling shock wave produced a star-like glow, as though the sun had suddenly fallen from the southwest.
An LGM-30G Minuteman III land-based intercontinental ballistic missile launched from inland Wyoming without any authorization. The three-stage solid-fuel rocket, which had entered service in 1970, thundered into the sky under the bewildered eyes of numerous American servicemen on duty at the base.
The intercontinental ballistic missile, carrying no nuclear warhead, shot toward the falling object that resembled a streak of light, tracing another long arc across the northwestern sky.
Two suns rapidly drew together.
More dramatically still, a Jin-class strategic nuclear submarine cruising in the Gulf of Alaska also launched a Julang within mere seconds, without notifying any relevant party. The Julang churned up billowing waves of cloud and shot in the same direction.
Three suns shared the sky.
Counselor Wang held up his phone, keeping the camera firmly trained on the scene.
But the falling object seemed to sense the hostility of the intercontinental missile coming from Wyoming. Midway through its trajectory, it received an enormous acceleration and abruptly surged faster.
Force. It was force.
A force had acted upon the "meteor."
Guided by its inertial navigation system, the Minuteman was now doomed to miss it.
The Julang, launched later but arriving first, now revealed its true purpose: it was intercepting the blatantly hostile Minuteman!
The three suns briefly converged high in the sky.
In an instant, the earth was illuminated a brilliant yellow.
The result of that three-way clash became clear. With unbelievable precision, the Julang shattered the Minuteman. At the same time, the accelerated "meteor" broke through the fireball of the explosion and plunged toward the waters of the Gulf of Mexico.
Only then did the meteor begin to slow down. But clearly, its earlier momentum had been too great, making deceleration particularly difficult.
It hurtled desperately into the far end of the Gulf of Mexico.
Before you continue