Continued From Part 3

"REPEAT AGAIN, COLONEL," General Epstein requested. "Did you say that you're in command of Buran?"

"Yes sir. I'm in control of this vehicle. I have one Soviet prisoner." Rob looked at the unconscious woman.

"What about the Inferno and the rest of the crew?"

"Gone," Rob said. "The tank exploded. There were three American casualties and four Soviet ones."

"Understood," Epstein said sorrowfully. "I'll inform the families. Anything we can do for you now?"

"Yeah, where's Theo?"

"He went to Edwards."

"Copy," Rob said. "Buran out." He punched in a new frequency, then closed the cargo bay doors. He busied himself with the preparations for the de-orbit burn and re-entry, then tried to get through to Theo.

Paul cupped the husk of the sunflower's dead bloom in his left hand and retrieved his sphere with his other hand. He looked at the silvery orb, and it began to glow with a surge of energy deep within. Paul directed that energy at the plant's stalk. New life poured into the flower, and its foliage turned green again. The huge bloom became vibrant again and lifted itself up, strong and alive once more. And in its own quiet way, it said "thank you."

Hewitt talked to the President as Air Force One prepared to land at the nearest airport. An ambulance would be standing by, ready to take the stricken leader to surgery. "Colonel Barnes is in command of the Buran, sir. The Inferno and the Skyhunter were destroyed when the external tank exploded."

"Any other survivors?" the President asked weakly.

"One Soviet." The President nodded.

The red phone rang, and George Fox answered it. "It's Orlov," he said, handing the phone to Hewitt.

Hewitt held the phone to the President's ear. "I am sorry the Inferno was destroyed, comrade," the Defense minister said. "We only wanted to eliminate the Skyhunter."

"It looks like we've decided to be civilized after all," the President answered, in a hoarse whisper. "There will always be hope for peace, my friend, even in the darkest hour."

"I understand. When you recover, we will all meet again in Iceland, yes?"

"Yes. I'm sure we can work something out. Goodbye."

"I hope you get well soon. Dosvedanya." The phone jarred as the jet touched down on the runway. The President tried to relax as he was strapped into a gurney and taken off the plane.

Half a world away in Moscow, Orlov put down the phone, his face pensive and stern.

"So it's over?" Peredenkov asked.

"Oh no. The real battle has only just begun, comrade."

"Rob, you old S.O.B., I knew you'd make it!" Theo yelled. "Are you really in the Buran?"

"That's right. Theo, I need you to do me a fave. There's a guy I know on the L.A.P.D. His name's Palmer Calhoun and he's a detective. Ask him to get down to LAX as soon as possible."

"The airport? Why?"

"I'm landing there," Rob replied.

"Rob! That's insane! You can't land that thing at a civilian airport!"

"If I land at Edwards, they'll cart me and this hunk of junk off and no one will ever know about what happened. I need you to get someone else, too. There's a reporter at the ABC studios named Holli Johnson. She interviewed me last year. Tell her to get down to LAX, too."

"Rob, you're out of your mind-"

"Stop flappin' your jaws," Rob snapped. "Get on it and then get your butt into your T-38. I'm going to need some help getting down."

"More like divine intervention," Theo muttered to himself. He picked up the phone.

The Soviet woman began to stir as the Buran entered its "window" into the atmosphere. Rob grabbed the gun and put it in his lap. "I hope this foreign flea-trap works," he grunted. A diffused orange glow became visible outside the cabin windows. The re-entry was beginning.

The woman opened her eyes and looked at Rob apprehensively. Rob was too busy playing the control stick to pay much attention to her. The orbiter shuddered a little, but not nearly as much as he feared. Far from being a "hunk of junk," the Buran was as sturdy as her NASA counterparts. The energy of the orbiter, which was travelling in excess of Mach 24 when it encountered the atmosphere, was converted into heat as the craft slowed down. By the time Rob was approaching the coast of California, Buran had slowed down to about Mach 7. The hot part of the ride was over.

Rob slung the shuttle through a long series of roll reversals, slowing it further. He punched in the frequency for the control tower at LAX and asked for permission to land. Theo had already been in touch with them, and they nervously agreed. What choice did they have? Rob was determined to land there.

Speaking of Theo, it was just shortly after his conversation with the tower that Rob saw his T-38 approaching. Rob dialed up his frequency. "Good to see you, bud. How does she look?"

Theo swooped around the orbiter and examined it from all sides. "Looks good. I just hope that runway's long enough for you to land in one piece. What are we going to do about support systems?"

"I don't give a damn about that," Rob said. "I just want this thing to get me down to the ground. After that I could care less if it rots."

Paul Forrester yawned and stretched. He got up, took a shower, and dressed. He shook Scott's shoulder. "Wake up, sleepy-head."

Scott stirred reluctantly. "Morning," he said, not very enthusiastically. He sat up on the edge of the bed and coughed.

"Is something wrong?" Paul asked, concerned.

"Yeah. I feel gross," Scott said. He scratched his tummy and grimaced. "My stomach hurts. Man, I had the weirdest dream."

"About what?"

"Something about atomic bombs and space. I don't remember it very well."

"You feel good enough to eat?" Paul asked, slinging the camera onto his shoulder.

Scott rubbed his eyes. "Yeah."

"What do you want?"

"A taco," Scott said. He laughed at himself. Mexican food for breakfast?

Paul laughed, then stopped suddenly. "That was a joke, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess it was," Scott said. He stood up and trudged to the bathroom. Paul heard the shower start as he flipped the TV on.

"...sources in Washington tell us that a major nuclear crisis was, indeed, narrowly avoided. It's our understanding that the Inferno exploded about half-an-hour ago..."

Paul glanced at the bathroom and bit his lip. Then he sat down to watch the news report.

Rob gritted his teeth as he came up on the main runway at the Los Angeles International Airport. "LAX has never seen a snowstorm like this," he said grimly. He landed hard and fast, but the touch-down was smooth. He stepped on the brakes, and Theo touched down right behind him.

"Damn," Rob said. He wasn't slowing down as fast as he needed to. The Soviet woman began struggling and he picked the gun up and held it to her forehead. She quieted down.

Rob pushed on the brakes harder and they locked. He uttered a string of expletives as the shuttle starting swinging around. In a cloud of dust, the tires screeched and the orbiter lurched briefly. It skidded to a halt a mere ten feet from the end of the runway.

Theo had jumped onto one of the emergency vehicles that was pulling up to the craft. Now he jumped off. "Hose it down!" he yelled to the fire captain. "We've got to keep it cool until NASA gets here!"

The captain nodded, and the firemen brought a ladder up to the side of the shuttle.

Inside, Rob pressed the gun into the woman's head as his rage returned. His vengeance was certainly justified. All he had to do was apply just a little pressure to the trigger...

A baffling burst of memories, or something, suddenly flooded his head. "I'm not going to kill anyone and neither are you...war, that's why...there's been enough killing." It was ironic, really. When the Russians killed Scott, they were killing themselves. Rob's arm slumped and the gun clattered to the ground. "You were right, Scotty," he whispered, with a far-away look in his eyes. "But I didn't expect you to be blue." Then he blinked, took out his pocketknife, and cut the woman loose. "Sorry," he apologized.

"I was only going to tell you about the drag parachute," she said, in a heavily accented voice.

"Oh." What had he just been thinking? Something about war. "I'm sorry about what happened. But we did avoid a war."

"Yes," she said. "That's the important thing. I am Tatiana Murova. I'm sorry about your astronauts."

"I'm sorry about yours," he replied, just as sincerely.

"I can understand your anger." She wiped some of the sweat off his face. "You see, I also have training as psychologist. You've been through a very traumatic experience."

"No kidding," Rob said. "What about you?"

"I'm alive. That's the important thing. Tell me, who is Scotty?"

"Scotty?" Rob repeated. He thought. "I don't know anyone named Scotty."

"Are you sure? I thought you said that name just before you decided not to shoot me. Maybe I didn't hear you right. Why did you decide not to kill me?"

"You know why," Rob said. "War. Killing isn't the answer."

"I understand."

There was a pop and a low hiss as Theo sprung the emergency exit hatch on the flight deck. He scrambled on board. "Your friend and the reporter are waiting," he said to Rob breathlessly. "Go on, I'll take care of the orbiter."

"This is Tatiana," Rob introduced. "She'll help. It's good to see you, buddy." He embraced Theo briefly, then climbed down the ladder.

"My main man Palm," he said, shaking Palmer Calhoun's hand.

"Good to see you again," the detective said. "Miss Johnson here can't wait to hear your story, and neither can I."

"Good," Rob said. "How fast can you get us to the ABC studios?"

It was the exclusive of the century. Millions of viewers put off whatever they were doing-work, school, whatever-to watch Rob tell his story. And he told it all. He talked about the Machiavellian satellite that was named after a video game, the Skyhunter, which caused the whole crisis, and the subject of anti-satellite weapons in general, emphasizing the dangerous instability they introduced into the nuclear equation. He talked about the sabotage and eventual destruction of the Inferno. He talked about how World War Three had been narrowly skirted. He told how he commandeered the Buran, negotiated the fiery re-entry, and managed to land-barely-at LAX. Then he talked about broader things-peace, war, how one became the other, and how the former could become the world's dream. Only one theme from the story was missing, but that was only because Rob could no longer remember it.

The interview was interrupted by the appearance of federal officers, who carted him away after charging him with treason. A public outrage of incredible magnitude resulted, and the next day the President, who was recovering nicely from open heart surgery, caved into the public pressure and granted the astronaut a full pardon. The Inferno's saboteur was identified and imprisoned without bail pending grand jury action. Meanwhile, Congress passed resolutions urging new arms reduction measures and limitations on the development and testing of new weapons, and the Supreme Soviet immediately approved similar measures. Arms negotiations is Geneva were proceeding with renewed vigor. The road ahead would be a long and difficult one, but it seemed that the popularly-dubbed "Snowstorm" crisis had ignited a new resolve among the Earth's many peoples-a resolve that might persist until the day when the last warhead was triumphantly dismantled.

There was just one small problem. The President of the Soviet Union was missing, and nobody seemed to know where he was.

"We are tired of being hostages to fear," the President said from his hospital bed. "Let the bombers rust on the airfields. Let the missiles rot in their silos. This world has seen enough war. We must change our ways now, while there is still time enough for peace. We have a world to reclaim, an environment to heal, and the entire Universe to explore. There are better things to do than fight each other. The future begins today..."

"Are you sure you want to retire?" General Epstein asked Rob, after the astronaut's examination at Bethesda Naval Hospital.

"Absolutely," Rob said, as he buttoned up his shirt. He hopped off the examination table. "For the first time in my life, I have a life to think about."

"I hate to lose you," Epstein said. "You're good, Rob. Damn good. The nation needs men like you up in that space station."

"Sorry General," Rob apologized. He motioned upwards with his thumb. "All that stuff up there will wait. We need to take care of business down here first."

The attending physician, Dr. Sylvester, walked in with a uniformed Army officer.

"This is Brigadier General Kent Burrows," Epstein introduced. "He's the Army's expert on CBR warfare."

"CBR?" Dr. Sylvester asked.

"Chemical, biological, radiological," Burrows said. He shook Rob's hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Colonel. Dr. Sylvester here tells me you're just fine, but we still don't understand why you survived the nerve agent. Are you sure it was CYA?"

"Positive," Rob said.

"What does CYA stand for?" Dr. Sylvester asked.

"Calcium yohimbine acetate. It paralyzes the central nervous system. The victims usually die of heart failure."

"Is calcium the binding agent?"

"Yes sir."

Sylvester nodded. "What can you tell me about the metabolism of that compound?"

"It metabolizes fairly slowly in the gastrointestinal tract. It's typically combined with an aerosol anesthetic which knocks the victim out and gives the CYA time to work."

"I see." Dr. Sylvester picked up Rob's chart and studied it for a moment. Then he looked up at Rob. "So, you have a chronic acne condition."

"Yeah," Rob said.

"Have you been on erythromycin for that?"

Rob shook his head. "Tetracycline. I'm allergic to erythromycin."

Sylvester nodded. "Did you take a pill before the launch?"

"Yeah, about ten minutes before. Why?"

"Bingo!" Sylvester exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "There you have it, gentlemen. Chelation. That's the answer we're looking for."

"Chelation?" Epstein said.

"Yes. You see, tetracycline binds chemically with calcium. When the CYA entered Rob's system, most of it locked onto the tetracycline, thus rendering it harmless."

"Unbelievable," Burrows said. "You're one lucky puppy, Colonel."

"Yeah," Rob said. "I knew that."

"I can't rule out permanent nerve damage, Rob," Sylvester said. "I want you to come back three weeks from now for more tests."

"Okay," Rob said. He looked at Epstein. "Does this mean I qualify for disability?"

"It does."

"I've turned over a new leaf," Rob explained to Theo, as they moved Rob's stuff out of his apartment. "I'm going to crusade for disarmament."

"That's very noble," Theo replied, "but you won't be able to afford Porsches and video games on a crusader's salary."

Rob patted the back of the disconnected Skyhunter, which he had donated to the local mall. "That's okay. It's just a game, and now it's over. I've saved the world once. That's enough for anybody."

"What did you think of the President's speech?"

"Propaganda," Rob said. "It'll never happen unless we make it happen." His gaze swept around the room. He was giving it all up: the models, the centerfolds, the guns. He had lived for so long in the ashes of his own dreams, the dark corners of dead-end streets, the empty pleasures of the fast lane. It was time to become a kid again, to see the world with brand-new eyes and want it all-not for himself, but to share. One man could make a difference-even a self-proclaimed failure of a man. There was so much to do, to learn, to discover. He had gone to the ends of the Earth and even out to space to find freedom from his own sense of worthlessness, but in the end he found that freedom in the most unlikely place of all-inside himself.

The boom of thunder interrupted his thoughts. "We'd better hurry," Theo said. "It's going to cut loose." Even as he spoke, big drops of rain spattered the ground outside in dramatic confirmation.

"Hey Theo," Rob said abruptly. "Have you ever stopped to enjoy the rain?"

Theo looked dumbfounded. "What?"

Rob grabbed his football. "Com'on," he invited, and dashed for the door.

"Are you crazy?" his friend demanded, as Rob leaped out into the rain. "Stupid question," Theo muttered, and ran after him.

Now that the crisis was over, George Fox was anxious to get back to Colorado and resume his search for the alien and his half-breed son. But at the President's request, he had remained in Washington to debrief cosmonaut Murova, who had agreed to an interview.

"Anything else?" Fox asked wearily, after two grueling hours of questioning. The boring interview had made him irritable and restless, and he had left the conference table over an hour ago. Since then, he had paced back and forth or stood-coffee cup in hand-by the room's sole window, which looked over the Potomac. He longed to be back on the hunt.

Ms. Murova had been watching him with great interest all through the interview. She could tell that Fox was a hunter, and when she looked at him she saw a man haunted by the long, fruitless pursuit of his elusive prey. A man who had sacrificed himself for the chase-and for what? She felt sorry for him.

"There is one thing I don't understand," she said, as she watched the government agent gaze out at the river. "Just before he decided not to shoot me, Mr. Barnes said, 'You were right, Scotty. But I didn't expect you to be blue.' But when I asked him who Scotty was, he said he didn't know anyone with that name."

Fox whirled around. "Scotty? Blue?" he blurted. "Oh my God." He jogged to the door and threw it open. "Wylie! Wylie..." The agent continued to repeat the name as he retreated down the long hallway outside. Cosmonaut Murova sat in stunned silence as his voice faded away, then said resignedly, "Americans. They're all so strange." She shrugged and left the room. Tomorrow she and the Buran would go back to the Soviet Union, and she wanted to do some sight-seeing before she left. This unexpected trip to America would be brief, but it would be anything but boring.

It had been a busy week for Paul and Scott. Paul was working hard at the photography studio, Scott was registering for school, and they had rented a small apartment. Right now they were watching Robert Barnes tell his story to Larry King.

Paul was watching Scott more intently than the TV. His son seemed to have an extreme interest in the young astronaut and his harrowing adventure. Paul, sensing the psychic connection between them, quietly took out his sphere and lightly probed the hidden rails of his son's unconscious mind. And in that moment, he alone saw the part of Rob's story that was missing.

His heart was pounding as he put the sphere away. His son had helped save the world, though he might never be aware of it. And with his unique alien perspective, Paul alone could realize why Scott had been involved in what happened.

He understood that the Universe did not plunge blindly into the future. The presence of consciousness could not determine the path of that future, but it could influence it. The planetary consciousness of the Earth was passionately opposed to the use of nuclear weapons, and that proved to be the crucial foundation for what had happened. The "Snowstorm" crisis had threatened to send the world over the brink, and in desperate times desperate measures were sometimes taken. The Universe reached into all the possible futures and pulled back the one link that could avoid the horrific carnage of a thermonuclear holocaust. Stranger things had happened. Paul's people had learned that sometimes, shadows are more real than the objects that cast them. The Universe never revealed all its secrets once and for all. That was part of the joy of exploring it.

Paul forced himself out of his private thought pattern and let the world back in again. He looked at his watch. "I have to go to work, Scott."

"Oh. Okay, have a good day." Scott was clearly wrapped up in the program, but he broke away for a second. "You know, I'm thinking about getting a part-time job after school."

"Good," Paul said. "Then you can buy one of those video things."

"A SKYHUNTER? Nah, it's just a game." Scott turned his attention back to the TV. He gestured at Robert. "It's funny. I feel like I know him for some reason. But I don't."

Paul smiled. "Maybe not. But I think you will."

TO BE CONTINUED...

Scott and Rob will return in

THE FALLING BIRD

NOTES AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

When I wrote SNOWSTORM in 1989, neither I or anyone else imagined how different the world would become over the next few years. The old Soviet Union collapsed, eastern Europe gave up communism, and most countries in the area became allies, why others sadly dissolved in new wars. It's uncertain just yet how this Brave New World will unfold, but the end of the Cold War is certainly good news.

SNOWSTORM is, as before, a cautionary tale about the hazards of threats and war. It is my hope that one day we will no longer need or use such methods in our dealings with our fellow beings.

Thanks to: Sandra L. Smith and Todd Andrews for "Hope For Peace in the Darkest Hour." It was the best present I ever got!

To Dr. John Conner, Merlin Bowman, Nolan Leishman, and Brad Davis for techno guru info. To Lisa Stephens for outstanding pizza service. To Gram, Effie, and Vicki for top-notch editing. To my family for tolerance...to Head Cheerleader Helen Keckler; Ann, Vicki, Victoria, Chris for publicity...to Chris Menefee for braving the first draft...to Benjamin and Nathan, Best Buddies...to all who commented and bought the story and voted for the Fan-Q nomination...all my thanks and hopes!

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