We can't reach it, Kade projects, his mental voice grim. The Artemis VII is in drydock for repairs after the lunar mission. We don't have another gravity-drive lander.
We don't need a lander, I project back, my mental voice fierce, unyielding. We need a missile.
I look at General Croft. "General, the UN Space Command has kinetic bombardment satellites. The 'Rods from God' program. Can you target the Prometheus Platform?"
Croft’s eyes widen slightly. "Luna, the Prometheus Platform is shielded. A kinetic strike might damage it, but it won't destroy the central broadcast array. And if we miss, the debris will fall on New York."
"Then we don't use a kinetic strike," I say, my voice dropping a fraction, letting the cold, hard steel of my tactical experience bleed into my tone. "We use a bio
