(See Cover)
Dawn's first light broke through a heavy haze, diffusing Christmas Island's end-of-the-world ugliness. The barren stretches of sand and scrub, the grey hulls of freighters and barges in the tiny harbor, the naked steel testing towers, the exposed beams of half-completed buildings, all took on a weird beauty. It was already a humid 76°. An 8-knot breeze rippled the coconut fronds. In a small operations building, about 15 technicians sat amid the coffee-cup litter of a sleepless night.
Alone in a darkened room, an electronics technician pressed a microphone switch...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
