Free Powersat (The Grand Tour) by Ben Bova Page A

onto the edge of the bed beside him, still stunned into silence. The screen was showing people in the streets now, dazed, staring, as billows of dirty gray smoke wafted into the bright blue sky. Police cars were arriving. Fire trucks pulled up, the firefighters looking bewildered, perplexed, with really nothing to do except stare at the shattered bridge in helpless anger.
    A frightened-looking young man in his shirtsleeves appeared on the screen, obviously in the television station’s studio. His hands were trembling as he held a flimsy sheet of paper.
    “We’ve just received word,” he said, his voice shaking, too, “that the Brooklyn Bridge in New York City has also been blown up. And the Sunshine Skyway Bridge over Tampa Bay in Florida has been attacked, as well.”
    “Those sons of bitches,” Dan muttered. “Those murdering sons of bitches.”
    For hours Jane and Dan sat there watching the horror. Three bridges destroyed. Thousands killed. Bits and scraps of information were added as the Sun sank into the Pacific, slowly turning their hotel room dark except for the flickering TV screen. A huge supertanker filled with liquefied natural gas had blown up precisely as it passed beneath the Golden Gate Bridge. The same tactic blew up the Sunshine Skyway Bridge across Tampa Bay. In New York, three trucks loaded with chemical fertilizers had stopped precisely in the center of the Brooklyn Bridge and then exploded. The terrorists presumably went up in the blast Three bridges. Thousands killed.
    At nine P.M. the president of the United States appeared on television from his home in Florida, where he’d been spending the holiday weekend.
    “This is a tragic Fourth of July,” he said, his face ashen, bleak. “The American people will not forget this day. Nor will we stop until the terrorists and their sponsors are rooted out and destroyed. I have ordered the secretary of defense and the Joint Chiefs of Staff to meet with me tonight … .”
    Once the president finished his grisly little speech, Dan clicked off the television. The only light in the room came from the window. Down in the streets sirens still wailed like lost demons keening for the dead.
    Beside him, Jane stirred. “No. Turn it back on. I want to see—”
    “We’ve seen it a couple dozen times, Jane. There’s nothing new to show.”
    “We drove over that bridge,”she said, as if just realizing how close they had come to death. “An hour or so later and …”
    “We’d be dead, along with the rest of them.”
    She nodded.
    “But we’re not dead, Jane. We’re alive. And I love you. I’ll protect you. We’ll be all right, I promise.”
    She rested her head on his shoulder and he held her tightly. “It’s all right, Jane. We’re safe. Don’t be afraid.”
    “I know,” she murmured. “I love you, Dan. I don’t ever want to be separated from you.”
    He lifted her chin gently. In the shadows he could see a wisp of terrycloth fiber that clung to her cheek. He brushed it off, then kissed her.
    “Let’s get married,” he said. “Right away. Tonight.”
    Dabbing at her eyes, Jane made a weak smile. “You want to make an honest woman of me?”
    “I want to marry you, Jane Thornton. I want you to come to Japan with me.”
    “You’re going back to Japan? Now?”
    “I’ve got to,” he said. “Yamagata’s demo satellite is almost finished, but there’s still a lot of work to do. And I’m under contract. I’ve got to go back.”
    She said nothing for a moment. Then, “And I’ve got a reelection campaign to start planning for.”
    “But that’s years away, isn’t it?”
    “There are only one hundred senators in the world, Dan. I’m not going to give that up. I can’t.”
    “But—”
    “Dan, it’s my career. My world. Now, with this terror attack, I’ve got to be there.”
    He nodded glumly.
    “You can get out of your contract with the Japanese.”
    “But I don’t want to:”
    “You don’t? Why?”
    “That power