The Alejandra Variations by Paul Cook

of mineral resources. It could be that they were making sure the forces of the United States or western Europe wouldn't be able to get at the supplies of vanadium, manganese, gold, and bauxite so abundant there. Or perhaps the Russian convoy was moving toward the Falkland Islands and the oilfields beneath their shores that the U.S. depended so greatly upon. It could be the first step toward a blockade.
    Mallory pointed at one of the computer screens. "We're getting some input right now from the Pentagon war room. Apparently, they've alerted all of our armed forces. They've even notified Heimdall Station in earth orbit. If anything happens up there, it'll mean our one platform against the three Salyut stations. It could be messy all the way around."
    Nicholas didn't like the feel of it.
    He knew human nature too well. He knew that tensions built up slowly, but sooner or later those tensions found release. He knew that if one or two nuclear devices were allowed to be detonated—even for saber-rattling purposes—it would then be easier for anyone, anywhere, to set off a bomb in his neighbor's territory. The escalation might be incremental—or it might be instant. The experts often disagreed. But the Mnemos Nine Environmental scenarios suggested that if even one or two warheads were used in bush wars in Africa or in desert skirmishes in Iran or Afghanistan, the radioactivity in the atmosphere would accumulate to dangerous levels. Strontium 90 and Cesium 137 would linger for many many years. Nitrogen in the upper atmosphere would be reconverted by any kind of nuclear detonation—and the ozone layer would be affected. Ultraviolet radiation would then pelt the planet, causing untold damage to all organisms living on the surface, particularly the small ones so important to the biological chains.
    It was all part of the Mnemos Nine scenarios, and the banks in front of them were absorbing as much data as they could for future extrapolations.
    Nicholas turned to Mallory. "How many other Strategics are here?"
    "Stewart Flinn and Paul Northcott. Steve Childs is only an hour away. They got him into the Tube in Minnesota as soon as things started looking nasty."
    Melissa Salazar had been speaking in low tones with the few technicians. She picked up a special telephone and spoke into it for a few seconds. After a brief spell of listening and shaking her head, she hung up.
    "I'm afraid that you're going to have to get right into the thick of things, Nicholas," she said with a hand on his arm. Given the look in her eyes, and the somberness in her voice, Nicholas knew that, although she was being genuinely solicitous of his condition, she also had other things on her mind.
    She said, "We've got to put you into an important scenario, if you think you're up to it. We'd give it to someone else, but it's just been discovered that there's something going on down in southern Arizona. That's your old stomping grounds. Massingale won't be here yet for—"
    Nicholas held his hand up to stop her. "Don't worry, Sal. That's what I'm here for." Dr. Massingale would arrive while he was under, so there should be nothing risky about a small trip into the system.
    Melissa seemed tense. "Derek here will be going under in an hour or so, because we want to monitor those trawlers. But this thing down around Tucson just came in."
    While Nick could still feel the drift of the drugs within his system, he knew that he would be able to go with the scenario without any problem. He only wished that there could've been a little more time…
    "All right, Sal," he said. "I wanted to see the couches anyway."
    Melissa nodded grimly. "Let's go," she said.
    Faster! the impulses told him. Faster!
    But he couldn't press the gas pedal to the floor any harder than he was doing at the moment. His heart raced, and his hands, sweating feverishly in the harsh, desert heat, gripped the steering wheel as if it were the only tangible object in the known universe.
    Outside the car, the