Coronal Mass Ejection

17 hours to Thunderbolt

“Look,” Manny said, pointing out the left window and jerking David forward. “Auroras. I’ve never seen them this far south before.”

Cynthia and Elena, seated opposite him, had a better view from their side. Their oohs and ahs filled the cabin as ribbons of red, green, and violet pulsed across the sky.

“Most people don’t realize auroras come from the sun.” Manny paused, then leaned forward. “Ever wonder what would happen if the Earth took a direct hit from a CME?”

Once buckled up in the jet and finally in the air, the pilot settled them into their thirty-thousand-foot altitude. David’s stomach jerked back where it belonged. He didn’t fly much and never got used to take-offs. He sighed, already weary. He didn’t want this conversation, not now, and not with Manny Volynsky. He was still stinging from Manny’s impromptu sermon in the airport lounge—made worse when someone filmed it and it aired on the six o’clock news.

Manny had a captive audience now. The team was enroute to Washington, D.C. Despite their top-secret clearance, the Gulfstream 650 captain was clearly displeased about flying today. Every commercial flight in the country had been grounded due to the red dust. The occasional sudden jolt of turbulence and sharp maneuvers made that displeasure known, briefly waking Dr. Grady, who dozed in the back.

“Yes, Manny, I’ve thought about it,” David said. “I’m a scientist and an advisor to the president. Don’t you think we’ve planned for events like this?”

Manny’s expression soured. “Sure. Lie to the public. That’s always the plan. But this—” he gestured toward the glowing sky “—isn’t going to be so easy to explain when generators start failing.”

David glanced out the window, then to the women, then back to Manny. “I’m an astronomer. I deal with comets. Not solar storms.”

“Then you’re not doing your job.” Manny folded his arms. “You haven’t said a word about the connection between the—hypothetically, we’ll call it a comet—and the sun. In fact, you lied when a reporter asked.”

Cynthia and Elena stared at David. Heat rose to his cheeks. He raised a finger in defense—then stopped himself. “Look, Manny … dear friend. The public doesn’t need to panic right now. Details confuse them. We reveal what they can handle, when they can handle it.”

Manny’s glare didn’t flinch. “David, now is exactly when they need to know.” He pointed past Cynthia and Elena. “Look at the auroras. The colors aren’t normal. And now they’re south of us.”

The women scrambled to the right-side windows.

“That’s either Missouri or southern Illinois,” Cynthia said. “St. Louis, maybe?”

“They stretch all the way to Arkansas,” Elena said. “I’ve never heard of auroras this far south.”

“I have,” Manny said. “And so has David. But he won’t admit it.”

David kept silent.

“That’s right. 1859,” Manny went on. “The Carrington Event. Telegraph lines caught fire. Signals transmitted without batteries. It was global, seen in the Caribbean and Hawaii. You could read the newspaper at night by auroral light. Sound familiar, David?”

David exhaled. “This isn’t that.”

“Then what is it?” Manny yelled.

David forced himself to calm down and smile. “Okay, yes. It’s a solar storm. But not on that level. Auroras sometimes reach Wisconsin.”

“David,” Manny said, voice flat, “we’re flying over Louisville. These auroras are stretching into Tennessee and Kentucky. That’s not normal.”

A long silence followed.

Dr. Grady leaned forward. “What the hell am I missing?”

“We’ll know more tomorrow,” David said. “I wasn’t going to say anything until I was sure. That’s been my rule.”

“We’re not the public,” Elena said. “We’re on your team of elite scientists. Tell us the truth.”

David looked at her—still the same sharp intelligence he remembered. He relented, glancing at Cynthia. She nodded and offered him a slight turn up of her gorgeous lips.

“Fine. A few hours after the comet reappeared from behind the sun, we recorded the largest CME ever—headed straight for Earth.”

The women gasped.

“Go on,” Manny said.

“We don’t know how, but the comet is affecting the sun. Remember the blackout eclipse a few weeks ago?”

“Of course,” Cynthia said. “You said it came from the far side of the sun.”

“It did. There was an electromagnetic plasma exchange between the sun and the comet.” David stood and paced toward the cockpit door. “Now that same energy is between the sun and the Earth.”

Elena looked puzzled. “But why did the sun go black?”

He turned to look into her dark eyes. “Because all its energy was directed toward the comet. Now it’s reversed. The comet—or planet—is between us and the sun.”

“There’s a magnetic attraction,” Manny said. “The sun is discharging toward the planet, and the Earth is in the way.”

David nodded. “Half the sun’s output is hitting Earth. The far side is dark right now.”

“And your calculations?” Cynthia asked.

David inwardly groaned. He returned to his seat. “If they’re right, every satellite on this side of Earth, every major power transformer, will fail within twenty-four hours as our planet rotates through the energy stream.”

“Wait—mass failure of power, communications, transportation?” Cynthia yelped. “What about microchips?”

“EMP effects,” Elena said, her face draining of color.

This was the hard part, the part the government had told David to hold off telling the public. He shook his head gravely. “We can’t stop it. The president asked me to downplay the connection. I’ve done that. No one picked it up.” Except for Stan, the reporter.

“So now it’s a planet, not a comet,” Manny said with quiet vindication.

David shrugged. “It behaves like a comet. But it’s enormous—planet-sized. We’re passing through its tail now. That red dust? It’s from the planet.”

Elena gasped, twisting her hands in her lap. “Will it hit us?”

“We don’t think so. It should pass by after a few days of dust. Then we’ll be clear—until it returns.”

“Returns?” Cynthia clutched her blouse.

“Our paths will intersect again,” Manny said. “Though maybe not for years. But when it comes back, it will be closer. The damage this time will be severe. Next time, catastrophic.”

Silence. Only the hum of the jet’s engines and Grady’s soft snore filled the cabin.

Cynthia focused on David, her expression pleading. “Will you let my father speak at the conference tomorrow?”

David nodded slowly. “Might as well. Mr. Blackstone will try to stop him. We’ll need to act fast.”

“There’ll be media from everywhere,” Elena said, her gaze focused out the plane’s window. “This might be our last chance to warn people.”

Manny met her gaze. “I’ll tell them the truth. Storms. Earthquakes. Tsunamis. Starvation. People deserve a warning.”