What Yakub was going to say was forgotten when his secretary poked his head inside the tent and announced that the bomb was all but ready.
They stepped back to the sun-scorched sand and Yakub handed them thick gray eyeglasses. “A weapon like this has never been fired, but our experts predict it will get shiny.” They followed him to the observation site. “You should be safe at this distance,” he explained, “but that means we couldn’t bring enough wire to detonate the bomb from here. The builders tell me they’re going to try a new method. They’re going to use the air as a wire.”
“Is that possible?” asked Gilberto. “We haven’t heard of that in Likasi.”
“The work that began in Likasi is being multiplied in colonies that find a way to study in secret. This particular trick was discovered at the Puerto Rico school. They were studying thunderstorms and stumbled on wireless transmission. So far it’s only workable for small amounts of energy, but we’re living in promising times.” Yakub’s gaze was still on the horizon, but the corner of his eye confirmed that Gilberto looked as discouraged as he’d intended. “Now we wait, although I don’t know what else they need to adjust.”
The minutes passed. Even if they weren’t standing in the open on the desert sand, the anticipation would still be making Yakub sweat. His colleagues in the Alliance counted on the success of their experts; they’d told him repeatedly that their chance to remedy the state of the world depended on a usable bomb. His predecessor had been one of several dozen couriers who’d risked their lives transporting research notes between secret workshops; the project had demanded the intelligence and the health of thousands of people. The might of the empires had been based on the invention and exclusive possession of a unique form of weapon. Yakub agreed with his colleagues’ sentiment that now it was their turn to build their own.
Without warning, because none was possible, because to a race of bipeds just descended from trees an accurate summation of the facts would have carried no meaning and an explanation of the meaning would have sliced into their hearts, the glow of a light not made for fleshly eyes filled the span of the horizon followed by an eruption that spread rampaging in all directions in an unstoppable avalanche of wind that slammed against men and women like the forbidden secret of creation foolishly unleashed and the painful scream of reality itself as it was ripped apart and the dreadful foretaste of every death within its power and the sound of God’s foot stomping on the sins of mortals.
They left their position and walked to meet with the builders. No word was said; words had lost their usefulness. Even Yakub trembled with terror at what he’d seen. His legs threatened to fail him under the weight of his thoughts. He dared not take another look at the gigantic mushroom that had sprouted in the distance, or at any of his fellow human beings. He still wasn’t able to aim his eyes at those of the bomb experts when he joined their celebration and embraced them with hands that to him felt full of soot. He didn’t recognize his voice when he finally found it and said, “Congratulations to all of you, and to the countless others who have worked toward this moment. Your genius has brought our liberation.”
“People first lived by the sun,” said Gediminas all of a sudden. None of the others understood what he was talking about, and he didn’t seem to be addressing them. “Until one day,” he went on, “they lit their own fires.” He paid no mind to their puzzled reaction. “Then they learned to make fire work for them. And even the storm was subdued to their will.” He glanced with terror at the cloud that still grew behind him. “Now the cycle is complete; people have stolen the sun’s secret.” He fell silent for a long while, and the others followed suit. When the mystery about his meaning seemed like it had finally moved them to voice a question, Gediminas added, “This is a Fifth Age of Fire,” and no more was said until they returned to the camp.
Afternoon, August 17 (Julian), 1999
Namib Desert
They spent the hours that followed drinking more water and resting. When the air began to cool, they sat around a fire outside Yakub’s tent.
“What progress are they making at the other schools?” Gilberto was trying to talk of anything that wasn’t the bomb.
“As far as I know,” said Yakub, “there are three more around the world. But it’s getting harder to get any study done. The Inquisition has taken an acute interest in a theory proposed by Neema’s mother, the Long Genealogy of Humankind.”
“I’ve heard of it,” said Hana. “I can imagine why it would bother them.”
“Bother falls short,” he replied. “My people trade with the Mijikenda of Zanzibar, and they have tales of ancient bones that travelers find by chance. That sends the Danes in a frenzy to hide the bones. The same thing is happening all over the world. Cities are expanding, and engineers need to dig. Remains of ancestors have begun showing up in inconvenient places, and when they look a bit too apelike, the colonial governor declares the findings blasphemous and orders their destruction.”
“One can only hope there are more to be found,” said Gilberto.
“I couldn’t tell you,” said Yakub. “That’s a matter to address after we win.”
“What happens to someone who is hit by this bomb?” asked Gediminas, and Gilberto’s face stiffened.
Yakub wanted to ask what unspoken disagreement existed between Gilberto and his secretary, but didn’t think it was the right moment. “Those at the center of the explosion simply disappear. Their bodies turn to nothing. It may not even hurt; I don’t know.”
“It almost sounds merciful,” said Hana in an unmistakable tone.
“Those reached by the mushroom will die of burns,” continued Yakub. “Even those who don’t get too badly burned may be hit by a building flung away by the wind.”
“How do you know so many details?” asked Gilberto.
Piedad tried, and failed, to give Yakub a discreet look. “Well, there isn’t really any harm in you knowing. This is not the first detonation.”
Before Gilberto could protest, Hana said, “Something told me you wouldn’t have risked trying the wireless method in our presence without knowing it worked.”
“You’re right,” said Piedad.
“Where was the actual first test?” asked Hana. “Please tell me you haven’t started war already.”
“Your doubts insult us,” said Yakub.
Ignoring the barb, Piedad replied, “We chose Atacama. It’s as isolated and as inhospitable as Namib. We tested the effects on a large group of carefully positioned goats.”
Gediminas wasn’t done with his questions. “We were a very long distance from the mushroom. Why did we have to?”
Yakub explained, “The explosive material produces invisible energy that kills humans. Those who aren’t caught in the explosion, but stand much closer than we were, may only feel a wave of heat at first, but they will die too.”
“How?” asked the old man, perplexed by the idea of a mysterious killing force.
Gilberto spoke before Yakub could, “Like Neema. They will spend years in pain that will only worsen as their insides rot with poison. They will be cursed to a slow death.”
Gediminas hesitated under Gilberto’s disapproving gaze, but in the end decided to speak again. “When are you planning to do this?”
Piedad ignored Gilberto’s discomfort and said, “With all the obstacles we face in communicating and smuggling materials from one place to another, it will take us three years to complete the production of three more bombs. As it happens, the year 2002 provides us with a perfect opportunity for a strike: three holy days will fall in the same week.”
“We mustn’t waste any time,” said Yakub. “It was difficult enough to get one bomb made and transported here.”