Read Online GEN13 - Version 2.0 by Unknown Author - Free Book Online
Authors: Unknown Author
Tags: Sholly Fisch
Ads: Link
among them.
It would take several hours more before deep-sea recovery equipment could be deployed to locate the wreck of the Kolodny on the ocean floor. Robot probes explored the ins and outs of the lost submarine, sending video images to the surface, where the recovery crew could puzzle over the tragedy and try to uncover some clue as to what had happened.
But as the robots made their way through the Kolodny, their most chilling discovery wasn’t any new revelation about what caused the submarine to sink.
It was the fact that, of the twenty-four nuclear missiles that the Kolodny had carried . . .
... only twenty-three were still on board.
“... calling this the worst American Naval tragedy in more than thirty years. Government sources are declining to release the names of those who were lost at this time, waiting until they can first contact the victims’ families. However, we have confirmation that the death toll has already climbed to well over one hundred, and recovery efforts are still underway.
“Investigators are still trying to deter min e the cause of the deadly accident. This was the scene at dawn, when combined rescue teams from ...”
Lynch sat on the sofa and slowly took a sip from his cup of black coffee. He watched the early morning newscast through narrowed eyes, digesting the information.
Lynch didn’t know about the missing Trident missile. It wasn’t the sort of tidbit that was being handed over to the media, so the newscast made no mention of it. Still, the information that was reported was more than enough to capture Lynch’s attention anyway.
Several feet away, Sarah stretched and twisted her body before the picture window that looked out over the concrete canyons of Manhattan. Her routine wasn’t quite t’ai-chi, and it wasn’t quite yoga, although it incorporated aspects of both. Sarah preferred to do this part of her exercise routine here, rather than in the room that housed their gym equipment, to take advantage of the more attractive view that the picture window afforded. Which was ironic, actually, since Sarah generally worked her way through her routine with her eyes closed, seemingly oblivious to everything around her.
It was a familiar scene, one that could be found in the apartment almost every day at about this time. Ordinarily, unless you counted Grunge’s snoring (which had been known to elicit complaints from people two blocks away), the rest of the apartment was quiet in the early hours. Most members of Gen 13 weren’t exactly morning people.
If truth be told, Sarah treasured this time of day. No one would describe her as shy or retiring, especially when something threatened one of her causes or principles. Yet, compared to people like Grunge or Roxy, she was positively stoic. The quiet time gave Sarah the opportunity to center herself and set the tone for the day. It was a big part of what made her seem so much older than her teenage years. That, and boundless wisdom and maturity, she told herself with a smile.
In a couple of hours, the apartment would erupt into a raucous din of noise, music, and conversation. This time, on the other hand, was for her.
Or maybe not just for her. Sarah was also glad for the daily time with Lynch, who routinely rose even before she did. Lynch was a man of even fewer words than Sarah, and a hard man to know. They never said much of anything to each other during this time, other than wishing each other a good morning. But the simple proximity as they went through their morning routines with no one else around had given them something in common, and built some sort of a bond between them.
Today was different, though. The peace was shattered as Kat came barrelling out of her room like a runaway freight train.
“It’s after eight! Why didn’t anyone wake me? I’ve gotta go! I’m going to be late! Where’s my left shoe?”
Kat was dressed to the nines for her day of interviews—or mostly dressed, anyway. She was still buttoning
It would take several hours more before deep-sea recovery equipment could be deployed to locate the wreck of the Kolodny on the ocean floor. Robot probes explored the ins and outs of the lost submarine, sending video images to the surface, where the recovery crew could puzzle over the tragedy and try to uncover some clue as to what had happened.
But as the robots made their way through the Kolodny, their most chilling discovery wasn’t any new revelation about what caused the submarine to sink.
It was the fact that, of the twenty-four nuclear missiles that the Kolodny had carried . . .
... only twenty-three were still on board.
“... calling this the worst American Naval tragedy in more than thirty years. Government sources are declining to release the names of those who were lost at this time, waiting until they can first contact the victims’ families. However, we have confirmation that the death toll has already climbed to well over one hundred, and recovery efforts are still underway.
“Investigators are still trying to deter min e the cause of the deadly accident. This was the scene at dawn, when combined rescue teams from ...”
Lynch sat on the sofa and slowly took a sip from his cup of black coffee. He watched the early morning newscast through narrowed eyes, digesting the information.
Lynch didn’t know about the missing Trident missile. It wasn’t the sort of tidbit that was being handed over to the media, so the newscast made no mention of it. Still, the information that was reported was more than enough to capture Lynch’s attention anyway.
Several feet away, Sarah stretched and twisted her body before the picture window that looked out over the concrete canyons of Manhattan. Her routine wasn’t quite t’ai-chi, and it wasn’t quite yoga, although it incorporated aspects of both. Sarah preferred to do this part of her exercise routine here, rather than in the room that housed their gym equipment, to take advantage of the more attractive view that the picture window afforded. Which was ironic, actually, since Sarah generally worked her way through her routine with her eyes closed, seemingly oblivious to everything around her.
It was a familiar scene, one that could be found in the apartment almost every day at about this time. Ordinarily, unless you counted Grunge’s snoring (which had been known to elicit complaints from people two blocks away), the rest of the apartment was quiet in the early hours. Most members of Gen 13 weren’t exactly morning people.
If truth be told, Sarah treasured this time of day. No one would describe her as shy or retiring, especially when something threatened one of her causes or principles. Yet, compared to people like Grunge or Roxy, she was positively stoic. The quiet time gave Sarah the opportunity to center herself and set the tone for the day. It was a big part of what made her seem so much older than her teenage years. That, and boundless wisdom and maturity, she told herself with a smile.
In a couple of hours, the apartment would erupt into a raucous din of noise, music, and conversation. This time, on the other hand, was for her.
Or maybe not just for her. Sarah was also glad for the daily time with Lynch, who routinely rose even before she did. Lynch was a man of even fewer words than Sarah, and a hard man to know. They never said much of anything to each other during this time, other than wishing each other a good morning. But the simple proximity as they went through their morning routines with no one else around had given them something in common, and built some sort of a bond between them.
Today was different, though. The peace was shattered as Kat came barrelling out of her room like a runaway freight train.
“It’s after eight! Why didn’t anyone wake me? I’ve gotta go! I’m going to be late! Where’s my left shoe?”
Kat was dressed to the nines for her day of interviews—or mostly dressed, anyway. She was still buttoning
Similar Books
