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Speed Glacier


Contents:

Moon Wolf Wakes Up

The Way Out

Connect with S.A. Barton


By S.A. Barton

Copyright 2013 S.A. Barton

Smashwords Edition



Moon Wolf B2 stood on the edge of a great cliff of ice, looking at the sea beginning to part below him. They were finally underway. Eleven hundred ecowarriors stood on the surface of the glacier to watch the launch. Looking side to side, Moon Wolf B2 could only see a few of them; they were spread out so widely along the edge and over the interior that even those few were little more than black dots in his vision. For five years they had all stayed under the surface to avoid being seen by satellites or sightseers, all working and living in a network of tunnels carved in the ice to which they would return as the gigantic mass picked up speed.

While they had been very careful to remain within up to this point, it didn’t matter who saw people on the glacier now. A crowd would be, by far, its least remarkable feature. Moon Wolf B2 turned his back on the sea, looking back over the gnarled surface of ice and snow toward the horizon. Although the enormity of the—vehicle? It didn’t seem like the term should apply to something the size of one of those little European countries you can never remember the name of—was such that he could not even see the sea beyond the horizon looking back along its full length. He could, however, see the rising trail they left behind them. Like a jet, they were leaving a line of clouds. Unlike a jet, they were leaving a triple trail of puffs strung in line like pearls on a necklace, each one of them big enough to hide Mount Everest in. He didn’t have to strain his ears to hear what was making those gigantic pearls, either. Even twenty-five miles away the continuous staccato roll of thunder was audible. On the stern of the glacier where it was freshly broken free from the mainland, one in the center and two more, eight kilometers to either side of the first, were three deep pits plated with enough steel to make a decommissioned aircraft carrier. He knew this because what plated each pit was the dismembered remains of a decommissioned aircraft carrier, floated to the edge of the pack ice under the guise of a green initiative to create undersea harborages for threatened fish and cold-water sponges. He had been part of the crew disassembling the moldering Soviet-era ships, transported with great difficulty and packed with enormous volumes of waterproof and buoyant expansible foam. In each pit, five times per second and in unison, a gun (for lack of a better word) fired a pellet of some specialized hydrogen (helium?) compound—Moon Wolf B2 was more of a worker bee and less of a scientist—and another gun blasted that pellet with a laser when it reached the bottom of the pit, triggering fusion.

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