Nomad by Matthew Mather

wait for my dad. He’s in Rome somewhere.”
    Angela tossed Jess the keys. “Okay. You can have the place while I’m gone. But you’ll be waiting a long time for your dad.”
    Jess caught the keys and narrowed her eyes, frowning. “What? Why?”
    Angela strode toward the door and Celeste stood aside. “Because he’s in Germany.”
    “Germany? What do you mean? Did he call you?” Jess didn’t know her father even knew Ricardo, never mind his sister, but then her father was resourceful.
    Stopping at the door, Angela shook her head and pointed behind Jess. “No, he didn’t call me, but maybe you should call him .”
    Jess turned to see what Angela pointed at, and found herself staring at her father’s face. On the TV. Below his face, in block red letters: Dr. Ben Rollins, European Space Operations, Darmstadt. Germany.
     

13
     
    D ARMSTADT, G ERMANY
     
     
     
     
    BEN HATED HELICOPTERS. Coming in low and fast, they skimmed the treetops, the town of Darmstadt just visible in the distance. Darmstadt was famous for two things: the heavy element #110, Darmstadium, was named after it, and in 1912 chemists at Merck first synthesized the drug Ecstasy here. Actually, it was famous for three things, Ben thought as the pilot banked sharp right at almost ninety degrees, giving him a view straight down onto the glittering solar-paneled roof of ESOC—Darmstadt was also home to the European Space Operations Command.
    The undulating carpet of green forest gave way to a compound of buildings bordered by a train yard on one side, and an intersection of the autobahn highways on the other. A huge white radar dish towered above the trees; a giant mushroom nestled above other smaller dishes and antennae. Snow-capped mountains shimmered on the horizon.
    His lunch almost came back up as the helicopter executed another swinging turn to bring it to a stop, hovering in mid-air. Ben burped. Herded into a cavalcade of black limos outside the Grand Hotel in Rome, they had sped off to a small airstrip where they’d been whisked to Frankfurt airport on a ten-seater Learjet—the last few hours were a blur. This helicopter was the final leg of their sprint to Darmstadt, and Ben still had no idea why.
    “You okay?” Roger asked as the helicopter sank below the tree line. “You don’t look so good.”
    The landing skids settled onto the ground, shaking them, as the whine of the engine and rotors came down a notch. “I am now,” Ben groaned.
    Out the window he saw Dr. Müller waving at him with one hand while shielding his eyes from the rotor blast of leaves and dust with the other. He ran toward the helicopter, two guards in black fatigues trailing him. The copilot turned around to open Ben’s door, the engine still whining, the rotors still spinning.
    “Ben,” Dr. Müller yelled over the noise, “glad you could make it.” He extended his hand to shake.
    Unstrapping his harness, Ben shouted back, “You didn’t give me much choice.” Ignoring Müller’s offered hand, he jumped down onto the grass. Roger stepped out behind him, turning to collect their bags.
    “Sorry for rushing you in like this, but we need your help,” Dr. Müller explained, leading Ben away from the helicopter, pointing toward a set of blue glass doors in the side of the ESOC building.
    The whine of the engines ratcheted back up several decibels. “With what?” Ben asked, leaning into Müller’s ear.
    Behind them the helicopter roared, and Ben glanced back to see it leap into the sky, kicking up a new cloud of dust and dirt. Loaded down with their bags, Roger followed. One of the guards in black ballistic vests opened the door ahead of them, and Müller let Ben enter first.
    “With media,” Dr. Müller said as they walked inside. “While you’ve been traveling, a lot has happened. This idiot Dr. Menzinger of the Swiss Institute has been on all the news networks ranting about Armageddon. Chaos erupted in some cities.” He held out a hand and stopped