Shattered Skies

by ALICE HENDERSON

  Nimbus continued hesitantly. “While no one now knows the exact composition of the Apollo Project particles, from what I’ve been able to determine sending up weather balloons, they seem to be in a layer lower than where dirt and sulfate aerosol particles become suspended, say, after a volcanic eruption.”

  “Or an impact?” Dirk asked.

  “Exactly.”

  “So when all that dirt and dust gets kicked up into the atmosphere and blocks out the sun, it will also block off the source of light to the Apollo Project particles,” Nimbus concluded.

  Dirk stared at her in amazement. “You’re saying they’d come down?”

  She couldn’t help but smile a little. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “For good?” Byron asked. “No more intolerable heat and cold swings? No more constant violent storms?”

  She nodded. “The earth’s systems can start to return to what they were before the project was launched.”

  “Wouldn’t it cause another massive heat wave?” Orion asked, speaking up for the first time.

  H124 listened, riveted.

  Nimbus nodded. “Initially. But we’re looking at a probable global firestorm when the asteroid hits anyway, so things will be a little hot regardless.”

  Byron rubbed his stubble thoughtfully. “Firestorm? That’s interesting.”

  H124 looked at him, puzzled. “Interesting?”

  “Yeah. Agrobugs.”

  She frowned. “Agrobugs?” The tiny engineered robots had been built in antiquity to replace extinct pollinators, but they had ended up destroying far more than the pests they were intended to control. They’d begun killing any living thing where they’d been released, from plants to grazing animals. And they’d killed the Rover radar expert, Cal.

  Byron glanced around at them all. “After the disaster at the radar astronomy facility, I asked around the Badlander camps to see if anyone’s tried to expand into that territory in the west, and what they did about those things. They used fire. Flamethrowers. Said it was pretty effective, but they just couldn’t cover a large enough area. But a global firestorm?”

  H124 lifted her eyebrows. “You’re right. Interesting.”

  “So this natural disaster could undo a lot of fucked up things humanity has done,” Dirk added.

  “But to let it hit…” H124 said in a pained expression.

  Raven spoke up. “I’ve been reading a lot of the research we’ve found over the years about natural disaster mitigation. Did you know that long ago, they used to try to stop forest fires? They worried about the forests and private property being destroyed, so for decades they actively fought any fire that sprang up. But something strange happened. The forests became monocultures, with very little biodiversity. And then when there was a forest fire, it would sweep though these overgrown forests with wild abandon, entering cities, ending up being far more devastating than they would have been if the smaller forest fires had been allowed to burn naturally over the years. So they started setting fires, fires they could control, to burn out the underbrush. And it even turned out that some pine trees required fire for their cones to open and propagate, so it not only prevented massive, devastating fires, but the forest would come back afterward, refreshed, with new plant growth, new diversity, aspens among the pines, and open spaces where grazers like deer and elk could forage.”

  Dirk cleared his throat. “It would also deal a blow to the PPC. New Atlantic was the cream of the crop for them, and it’s gone. Basin City is gone. BEC City has been nuked, and it was the second most powerful city. That leaves only two bastions for the PPC—Delta City and Melbourne City. With the Delta City PPC wiped off the map after this asteroid strike, that gives this plan a hell of a better chance at success. All the shit they’ve been doing—destroying these experimental forests, setting off nukes for god’s sake—all that would be over.”

  H124 hadn’t heard of Melbourne City. “Where’s that last city?”

  “On a continent in the southern hemisphere,” Raven explained.

  “Is the PPC big there?”

  Raven shook his head. “From what we know, they’re not as big as they once were. They put out a minimum of programming that we’ve picked up over the years. Nothing on the scale of Delta or BEC City. So we think they have a pretty small population.”

  Orion held up his hand. “So let me get this straight—you want to let this sucker hit so that the earth can come back naturally on its own?”

  “Think about it,” Raven went on. “We’ve caused 98.5 percent of species to go extinct. Just us. Humans. Not volcanism. Not disease. Us. We let this thing hit, and when the initial disaster is over, we go topside and de-extinct as many animals as we can. Give them a fighting chance. Right now they don’t have any. And what you’re saying about the Apollo Project and the agrobugs…things will start to return a little bit to normal. Eventually those places where the agrobugs are could become natural grazing lands again. New species would evolve. It would be a whole new amazing world.”

  Seeing that everyone remained silent, Raven went on. “The question we have to ask ourselves is do we preserve the earth now, like it is, destroyed by geo-engineering, with almost no biodiversity and a devastating regime in power, or do we give it a chance to reset, put some of all the wrong we’ve done back to right, and once more give wildlife and humans the chance to live and thrive?”

  Everyone glanced around the table, the tension palpable.

  Orion spoke up. “If we do this, we’d need to up the game to urge people to get out of Delta City and seek shelter. The shield there can protect against a lot of things, but not a direct hit from the asteroid.”

  Byron nodded. “Rowan’s pirate broadcasts just aren’t enough. The PPC gets them offline in a matter of minutes.”

  Raven agreed. “We need a bigger plan. A sweeping broadcast that people are forced to pay attention to. One that repeats, over and over, and isn’t immediately replaced by the usual mind-numbing programming.”

  All eyes turned to H124, who was suddenly on the spot. Then she realized. “Willoughby. I’ll contact him now.” She stepped outside so they could continue their meeting.

  She brought up the comm window, using the Badlander coding that would cloak their communication, and called him. He answered right away, his alabaster face beaming. His perfectly coiffed black hair, longer than usual, hung to the back to his collar. He wore an immaculate black suit, white shirt, and purple tie. “H! I was going to call you later today.” He noticed her downcast expression. “What’s wrong?”

  She struggled to find the words. “The PPC destroyed Sanctuary City.”

  He gasped. “What?”

  “You hadn’t heard?”

  His mouth fell open. “No, I hadn’t.” He looked toward the door to his office, his mouth an angry slit. “Olivia?”

  “We don’t know. But probably. They knew about the blast deflection craft and the A14.”

  “Did they get them?”

  “They got the blast deflection craft. The A14 wasn’t there.” She hesitated. “And then they burned Sanctuary City to the ground.”

  “Good god.” His face went pale. “Want me to figure out where they’ve stashed the blast deflection craft?”

  She grimaced. “Actually, we have a different plan now.”

  “Your expression is worth a million words. Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like it?”

  “We are going to let it hit.”

  His eyes went wide, and he cocked his head. “Excuse me?”

  “This is what we’re thinking.” She went on to explain how the Apollo Project would finally come down, the agrobugs would be destroyed, and how decimating the stronghold of the PPC would be a strike that would allow the Rovers’ restoration work to finally succeed, to return the planet back to a healthy state.

  He spoke the obvious reaction. �
��But what about all the people in Delta City?”

  “That’s where you come in.”

  “Go on.”

  “Rowan’s been doing pirate broadcasts, urging people to flee the city and find shelter.”

  “I know. Olivia’s been in a fit about them.”

  “But they just aren’t having a big enough difference. We need a message that will take over all feeds for a lengthy period of time. Even the floating population control signs in the streets so people not jacked into the network can see the warning.”

  Willoughby stroked his jaw thoughtfully. “I’ve actually been thinking about this. About a way to do this very thing. Where is Rowan now?”

  “He’s at a Badlander camp west of Delta City.”

  “Tell him to contact me. I’ll arrange a way in for him. I’m going to need his help to pull this off.” He met her gaze. “And what are you going to do?”

  “We’re still figuring that out.” She worried about saying anything about the genebanks before they figured out the source of the leak.

  “Be careful,” he told her. He hesitated, as if he wanted to say something more, but didn’t.

  “You, too. Let me know when your plan is underway.”

  “I will.”

  Reluctantly, she closed the comm window. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to act around Willoughby, knowing he was her father. She wanted to say more, but didn’t know how to express the conflicted emotions within her. Being around people, people she cared about, was so new to her. She didn’t know how to talk to Rowan about her feelings for Byron, or the other way around. She felt awkward and out of place when someone near her cried, because she wasn’t sure how she should respond. Hug them? Put a hand on their shoulder? The Rovers and Badlanders had been around others their whole lives, fighting, loving, expressing their feelings. It all came so naturally to them. Often she felt like an outsider, all elbows and knees with her tongue tied.

  When she returned to the engineering lab, Gordon had joined them.

  “So what’s the next step?” Dirk asked.

  “Some of us should travel to these DNA vaults and secure them,” Raven said.

  “Where are they?” Gordon asked.

  “Farther than we’ve traveled before. The first two I think we should check out are to the extreme northeast of this continent. They’re both on large islands. One’s called Newfoundland, and the other was named Greenland to attract settlers, but apparently it was covered mostly in ice.” He paused, then grinned at Gordon. “You might be interested in a new method of transport recently discovered by one of our scouting teams.”

  He lifted his brow. “Do tell.”

  “It’s an airship. But unlike anything we’ve found before. Apparently, it was designed to stay aloft for weeks at a time, and carry more than 30,000 pounds of cargo. It can cruise at altitudes of 30,000 feet and reach speeds of 210 mph. We call it the Argo. And it’s roomy enough to transport any DNA samples we may need to move.”

  Gordon cracked a grin. “And you have it here?”

  Raven smiled. “Yep. Brought it here just two months ago. One of our aeronautic engineers, Winslow, has been undertaking restoration and repairs.” He looked at the others. “It’s just what we need for an expedition like this to the genebanks.”

  * * * *

  When Raven had mentioned an airship, H124 immediately thought of the sleek, metallic triangular ones used by the PPC, with a tiny cabin underneath that could hold only a pilot, a weapons officer, and a handful of other crew members and PPC officials.

  So when they walked out onto the airstrip and saw it, her jaw hung open.

  It was massive. Not metallic or silver, but blue-black and reflective, with three tremendous air sacs above a capacious structure beneath. Four fins jutted out from its hull, like airplane tail fins. On the rear and sides of the craft, four engines fitted with propellers stood out. For landing, two long pneumatic tubes ran along the length of the ship on either side, so it could even land on water. Even the landing rails stood a good foot taller than her, and the entire airship itself towered at more than ninety feet.

  On the Argo’s sides stood two self-defense pods. Gunners could climb into them and use weapons that swiveled on mounts to defend the airship. H124 hoped they’d never have to use them. The Argo didn’t look like the most maneuverable of ships, and she imagined that in an aerial battle, everything would ride on the successful operation of those guns.

  “We’ve modified the airship a bit,” Raven continued. “It was originally designed as a luxury craft. There are about six sleeping rooms, a main dining room, a recreation room, and enough cargo space for pretty much whatever comes up.”

  Gordon gave a long, low whistle as he circled the airship.

  The entire surface of the air sacs was coated with dark, reflective material. When H124 drew near, she saw that they were all tiny solar cells, the smallest she’d ever seen.

  Raven followed her gaze. “These are the most powerful solar cells we’ve built to date. Originally this ship was filled with helium, making it lighter than air. But helium is hard to come by, and difficult to extract. So we made some modifications. All of these solar cells power a super heater that fires up the air inside it, giving it lift.”

  The thing towered over them, and when they’d walked up to the cabin entrance, the shadow beneath the ship extended far out on every side.

  She walked into the cool just as Gordon completed his circuit. “This is amazing. I flew a zeppelin once, but that was years ago.”

  “The controls probably aren’t much different. You want to take a look?” Raven offered.

  Gordon grinned. “Hell yes, I do.”

  Raven opened the main cabin door, and they filed in. She had expected a utilitarian inner cabin, but what she saw surprised her. It was even more posh than the Big Worm, though the furnishings were decidedly more contemporary. A large lounging area opened off to the right, while the control booth lay to the left. Floor-to-ceiling windows took up all the walls.

  Two Rovers bent over the flight controls, checking off items on their PRDs. Gordon joined them. H124 walked through the lounge into another big room. Here a collection of tables and chairs sat neatly arranged, and a pair of swinging doors on the far side of the room led to a small kitchen. She returned to the dining room and walked down a hall, finding small, individual rooms opening up on both sides of the narrow corridor.

  She opened one of the doors, finding a small bed and desk. She ran her hand along the bedframe, finding that it was made of what felt like lightweight aluminum, but it had been handcrafted and shaped beautifully into the pattern of a swan, its neck arcing gracefully to form the crown of the headboard.

  She was so used to the stark, pragmatic designs of the megacities that craftsmanship like this completely surprised and pleased her. She left the room and opened several other doors, finding that each had different bird sculptures for their beds. She recognized some of them from the field guides she’d been reading: great blue heron, bald eagle, albatross, flamingo, sandhill crane.

  She returned to the control room, where Gordon was still talking with the Rover techs. Winslow stood with them. She noticed H124 and smiled. “I’m going to be piloting this baby,” Winslow told her. “The ship should be ready for flight in a few minutes if you want to tell the others.”

  A rush of excitement pulsed through H124. She grinned. This was going to be completely different from traveling in a plane—sitting in this luxurious lounge, gazing out of the large picture windows at the terrain below. And they were going to a completely different landmass, out over the sea to an entirely new place where none of them had ever stepped foot. She wondered how long it had been since a human had visited the place, and what they’d find. But she also felt nervous. The thought of letting the asteroid strike still hadn’t truly set in.

  She walked down the small ra
mp to where Raven stood talking with Gordon.

  “Shame to miss this magnificent beast in flight,” Gordon was saying.

  “You’re not coming?” H124 asked.

  Gordon hooked a thumb back in the direction of Rivet’s outbuilding. “Kind of want to see the A14 in action. See if we can fix it. Thing like that could prove useful.”

  “You’ll be missed,” she told him.

  Raven turned to her. “Ready to get our gear and push off?”

  She nodded, ready to see what lay ahead.

  * * * *

  Once they were aloft, H124 couldn’t believe how quiet the engine was. They rose magically above the trees, and she could see the expanse of grassland beyond the satellite site.

  Byron had elected to take over Rowan’s task of moving Badlanders into bomb shelters, now more important than ever. They dropped him off west of Delta City and continued on.

  They drifted speedily over the landscape, moving at a much higher elevation than they had with Gordon’s planes. Beneath her, ancient ruined structures and streets passed by. She brought up her PRD display. She’d captured images from a collection of old paper atlases and entered them into her PRD’s basemap as an extra layer. They sailed over a dead forest that stretched to one side of a series of circular streets. The trees ended abruptly as dilapidated houses came into view, crumbling along the avenues. The sun-bleached forest continued on the other side of the development, most of the trees having fallen long ago. She looked at her map. The place was called “Forest Acres,” but not a single tree stood inside the housing development—not even a dead one.

  They sailed on, passing through more of these outlying communities that sprawled along the edges of bigger cities, pressing into what would have been undeveloped land back then before it was covered with houses.