Free Powersat (The Grand Tour) by Ben Bova

Dan,” she asked, almost wistfully, “how would you feel about being a senator’s husband?”
    “Move to Washington? Quit Yamagata?”
    “It wouldn’t be easy for you, I know. But you could start your own company in Washington, couldn’t you? I could help you; I know a lot of very influential people.”
    “I’ve got to finish my contract with Yamagata,” he said. “I can’t run out on him. Bad enough I’m going to go into competition with him afterward.”
    “You don’t really have to go back to Japan, do you?”
    “You’ve definitely decided to run for reelection?”
    She hesitated a heartbeat. Then, “Not set-in-concrete definitely, no.”
    Dan squinted at the lowering Sun, then abruptly turned back toward the parking area. “We’d better talk about this over dinner.”
    She glanced out toward the ocean. The sun was close to setting. Already the sky was turning flame red. He needs time to think about this, she realized. He’s made a major step
in asking me to marry him. Now I’m asking him to completely scramble his plans.
    “Over dinner,” she agreed. Reluctantly.
     
     
    I n the bathroom of the suite they’d taken at the St. Mark’s, Dan was slathering foamy white lather across his face, wearing the fluffy terrycloth robe that the hotel provided. Quit Yamagata’s project and move to Washington, he was thinking. Become Senator Thornton’s husband. He picked up his razor. She’d never come to Japan; it’d be stupid for me to ask her to give up everything she’s achieved just to marry me.
    The explosion came like a clap of thunder, sharp and so hard that Dan dropped the razor. Dan not only heard it, he felt it. The floor jumped. Earthquake? he wondered. But now he heard a long rumbling growl.
    “What the hell was that?” Dan called, his face covered with lather.
    “A sonic boom?” Jane answered from the bedroom, where she was dressing for dinner.
    “Didn’t sound like a sonic boom,” Dan said, reaching for his razor. This was earthquake country, he knew, although nothing seemed to be shaking. Just that one shock. The roll of toilet paper wasn’t even swaying.
    From far away he heard the wail of a siren. A fire truck, maybe, or an ambulance. Then another.
    “Oh my god.”
    He wasn’t certain that he’d heard Jane correctly.
    “What did—”
    “Dan. Come here.”
    “What is it?”
    “Come in here! Now!” He’d never heard Jane’s voice sound so urgent. “Now, Dan!”
    He grabbed a towel and started wiping the lather off his face as he stepped into the bedroom. More sirens were screaming down on the street outside. Jane had turned on the television. The screen showed the Golden Gate Bridge. The middle of its main span was covered in billowing black
smoke. Where the suspension cables come down from the towers, Dan realized.
    The sound was muted. Dan looked for the remote control. Then he saw the central span of the bridge split in two and both sides sagged into the water, slowly peeling away from each other like two limp strips of cardboard and plunging down, cars and trucks and buses sliding along their collapsing lengths, falling, splashing into the cold deep water far below.
    “Jesus H. Christ,” Dan gasped.
    Jane stood horrified, her fists pressed to her face, her eyes filling with tears.
    The remote was on the floor, Dan saw. Jane must have dropped it there. She stood frozen in front of the TV screen, half dressed, unmoving, unspeaking.
    Dan sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly feeling very weary, drained, as if all the energy had been sapped out of him. He bent down and retrieved the remote, thumbed on the sound.
    “ … no telling how many have been killed,” a voice-over was saying, shocked, hollow. The screen showed the bridge span dangling into the strait, objects still splashing into the water. “Our traffic helicopter was apparently caught in the explosion. We’ve lost contact with it. I guess it’s down there with all the other wreckage.”
    Jane sank down