Deep Storm

McPherson stopped the playback. He plucked a tissue from a box on his desk, wiped his eyes. "We have dumping grounds for our old nuclear weapons, too," he said in a low voice.

"Like Ocotillo Mountain. Asher was researching the site. That's how we-"

"But you see, Dr. Crane," McPherson interrupted, "here's what keeps me up at night. Before we dump our old weapons, we disarm them."

Crane stared silently at McPherson for a moment, processing what he'd just said.

"You don't think-" Hui began. Then she fell silent.

"What's buried down there, beneath the Moho?" McPherson asked. "Oh, yes. Thousands of devices. Active devices. Unimaginable weapons, black holes locked together in rapid orbits. To de-arm the weapon, you'd simply decouple each pair so they could never touch. Right?" He leaned across his desk. "So if this is just a dumping ground, why wasn't that done?"

"Because-" Crane found that his mouth had suddenly gone dry. "Because they haven't been decommissioned."

McPherson nodded very slowly, "Maybe I'm wrong. But I don't think it's a dump."

"You think it's an active storage facility," Crane said slowly.

"Hidden away on a useless planet," McPherson replied. "Until…" He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.

Slowly, Crane and Ping walked through the echoing hangar. They passed the wreckage that had once been the Facility, heading for the security exit in the far wall. As they walked, Crane found his mind drawn irresistibly to the eyewitness account left behind six hundred years before by Jón Albarn, the Danish fisherman: A hole appeared in the heavens. And through that hole shewed a giant Eye, wreathed in white flame…

They navigated the security exit and stepped out onto the tarmac, into pitiless light. The sun was a ball of fire in a field of perfect cerulean. And as Crane glanced up toward the sky, he wondered if he would ever be able to look at it in quite the same way again.