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microphone with his hand. “Kaylee, run to the observation room and see what’s happening. I need an update, anything I can use to convince these people. And please ask Daniel to bring me another bottle of water.”
    Kaylee removes the earpiece, unclips the microphone, and hurries from the room. Sam swivels his chair away from the camera and stares out the window as the arguing continues nearly seventeen hundred miles away. From what Sam can make of the conversation, the President seems to be leaning toward Janice Baker’s assertion that more information is needed. A possibly fatal mistake. Kaylee returns and slides a pile of papers across the desk. Sam takes a moment to digest the latest information as Daniel slips in and places a bottle of water in front of him.
    Sam says loudly into the mike, “Major Garcia, did you receive the latest update?”
    â€œNo, Sam, I don’t have anything. What is it?” she says.
    â€œAnother large CME erupted almost five minutes ago.”
    â€œIs that one headed toward Earth, Dr. Blake?” President Harris says.
    â€œUnknown, sir. But with these coronal ejections occurring more frequently we need to act now, Mr. President,” Sam says, his voice laced with anger. “These other CMEs could arrive here much more quickly. Think of the first one as a snowplow clearing the road, sir. The following plasma storms will accelerate as they travel down the cleared path.”
    Janice Baker says, “But, Dr. Blake, you’ve said repeatedly you don’t even know if they’re heading toward us.”
    Sam addresses the President directly. “Sir, the first indications suggested they are. I wish to God I could say with one hundred percent certainty, but I can’t. I will tell you this: I believe with ninety percent certainty they are racing toward Earth. Do we want to risk everything on a ten percent difference?”
    Sam reaches for the water bottle as an eruption of voices fills his ear. Then the President’s voice drowns out all others.
    â€œDr. Blake, Major Garcia, I’m going with your assumptions. I want a detailed plan to minimize the damage and I want it in thirty minutes. Get busy, people. Dr. Blake, do we have that long?”
    Samuel Blake looks at the clock on the wall. “I hope so, Mr. President.”
    â€œI do, too,” President Harris says before the audio connection goes dead in Sam’s ear.

C HAPTER 11
    The Marshall home
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    T here have been no power surges during the past few minutes. Zeke puts the sandpaper aside and begins the process of creating another piece of usable walnut. As he turns for the drying shed, he finds his father staring at the subtle shading of the wooden top, a piece of fine-grit sandpaper dangling from his hand.
    â€œAre you okay, Dad?”
    His father turns away from the table, absently rubbing his left arm. “I’m fine, son. Guess I just spaced out for a moment.” He stands and lays the sandpaper aside before walking stiffly in Zeke’s direction. “I’m going to run back to the house.”
    â€œYou feeling okay?”
    His father brushes by him without a word. Zeke follows his progress through the shop and out into the sunshine. He appears to be walking with a slight limp.
    Once his father is out of sight behind the ancient oak tree bulging onto the path from the shop to the house, Zeke grabs the walnut board and sights down the edge to check the crown. When gluing the boards edge to edge to form the table’s larger top, it’s important to alternate the crowns—the direction the grain of the wood is running—for stability. Zeke carries the piece of wood to the table saw to cut it to size. But before he can switch the saw on a scream pierces the quiet.
    He pushes the board aside and races out of the shop. Rushing up the path, he finds his father crumpled on the ground with his mother kneeling over him. Zeke slides to his knees next to