Shattered Skies

by ALICE HENDERSON

  “In a nutshell.”

  Alarm swept over his face. “I don’t like that nutshell.”

  “Do we stay or get out of here?” she asked.

  Raven inclined his head. “We hightail it into the genebank.”

  “And if the whole thing gets blown skyward while we’re in there?” Dirk asked.

  “That would be unfortunate,” Raven responded.

  They all jogged to the entrance. Dirk worked more quickly than usual, removing the door lock panel and twisting wires together. The door slid open, and they piled inside.

  As Raven worked to the get the lights on, H124’s PRD beeped. She lifted it, opening the comm channel. A stream of numbers flashed across it. She recognized the familiar pattern now—the Phantom Code.

  “Check this out,” she said. “It’s coming in again.”

  Raven lifted his own PRD, watching the scrolling numbers, and recorded the whole sequence as it repeated. “Curious. It’s different again.”

  H124 sent these numbers on to Gordon and Onyx while Raven messed with the power grid. The lights flickered on with a hum. A staircase led off to their right, and so they descended deeper underground. The temperature grew noticeably colder. H124 zipped up her jacket.

  Inside, they found the genebank wonderfully intact. Signs of updates and recent repairs were evident once again. Someone was looking after these sites. Raven downloaded the DNA database and tried to check the security footage, but it too had been recently wiped.

  They returned to the Argo in higher spirits.

  H124 looked to the sky as she boarded it. Part of her was terrified they were just going to let this thing hit. She felt a bit of panic, a scared voice inside her telling her they should be getting back the blast deflection craft. But if they could undo some of this damage…

  They took their seats as the Argo rose into the air. Raven was smiling to himself, looking over the Siberian genebank’s contents on his PRD.

  As the quiet hum of the Argo’s engines threatened to lull H124 to sleep, she sat up straighter in her seat. Dirk sat across from her, frowning at his PRD’s display.

  “This isn’t good,” he mumbled.

  H124 moved beside him.

  “This is the only thing streaming in Delta City now.” It was still an image of Willoughby, but this time it was an animated version of his face. It was so realistic that if you didn’t know him in person, you could definitely be fooled into thinking it was the real thing. In big red letters across the top and bottom the screen read: “Fake news. Do not be alarmed. Go about your duties.”

  The fake Willoughby smiled, and he said in a nearly identical simulated voice, “I created this scare as a hoax. There is no real threat.”

  Then it cut to Olivia’s face, her real face, and at the sight of her grandmother, H124 felt a mixture of revulsion and fear for Willoughby. “Earlier, this man made a broadcast claiming that a giant rock from space, of all preposterous things, was going to fall on Delta City and destroy it. I assure you, no such threat exists. Some of you may have seen images of New Atlantic, but I assure you that an asteroid will not fall anywhere near Delta City. Check the source feed, and you’ll see this is not only an official PPC transmission, but is coming from the highest office here at the media tower. This so-called ‘producer’ was fired earlier this week and took it upon himself to try to cause chaos here in our fine city. So rest assured, no such disaster will befall us, and you can resume enjoying your entertainment. We’re even rolling out some new media streams we’ve dreamed up just for you.”

  It then cut to a “reality” show called Living Authentically with Throw Pillows, where two people sat around a table discussing their latest finds. H124 knew that unbeknownst to the citizens who viewed these shows, they didn’t feature real actors. Instead the shows used realistically animated people who often acted out scripts randomly generated by AI.

  “Mine has little feet and a crown,” one woman bragged to her friend. She cradled a throw pillow with a crooked sewn-on face, along with pink velvet arms and legs.

  Her friend looked at her and snarked, “But look at the footwear for the feet! They aren’t even sandals. They’re like pumps. And they’re so plain.” She rolled her eyes. A laugh track giggled away.

  A couple minutes into the show, the feed cut back to Willoughby’s face. A mocking, high-pitched voice had been dubbed over his own. “It’s an ASS-teroid!” the voice said, tittering. Then a cartoonish rock fell into view. Willoughby’s eyes grew wider, and his nasally voice said, “Uh-oh!” When the rock hit him, he exploded in a comical animation.

  The feed cut back to the reality show.

  Dirk bounced around between media streams. “There are number of feeds up now. Delta City is streaming as usual.” He flipped to the different stations, all of them showing some inane program, but this time inundating the viewer with cuts of the space rock blowing up the goofy Willoughby.

  “She’s made a meme out of it,” Dirk breathed. “This will totally discredit him.”

  H124 stood stunned. “She’s…she’s completely diabolical. I don’t get it. She knows that one already destroyed New Atlantic. Do the citizens really believe they’re safe?”

  Dirk shook his head. “It’s entirely possible they believe her. She’s made it all seem like a hoax.”

  H124 blinked. “So…so she can what? Just keep working there till the last minute? Then bail somehow while the city perishes?”

  “They still hope to get the A14.”

  “That’s a huge gamble.”

  “One she’s obviously willing to take.”

  Just then H124’s PRD beeped, the comm system signaling her. She saw it was from Rowan and opened the comm window, worried to hear how things were going. They’d taken over the feeds successfully, but it wasn’t looking good now.

  On her display, chaos reigned behind Rowan. He stood outside the atmospheric shield wall, people streaming down from the wall behind him on ladders and ropes, leaping onto the ground and fleeing. The shield was down. With fewer people manning their consoles, the shield had collapsed, allowing people to escape en masse.

  Though Olivia had restored the streams, it wasn’t yet business as usual. Delta City was in a state of panic.

  Rowan helped up a person who had fallen, and the man limped out of sight. “It’s amazing, H. People listened. They’ve been evacuating for hours. We’ve been trying to get them to safety, to the bomb shelters. But it’s been a nightmare. People are trampling each other. One PPC exec even killed someone to jockey for position. Everyone fell on him like lunatics.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “But already the flow is ebbing. Now that Olivia has the feeds back up, people are being reassured and returning to their consoles.”

  “Can you try the broadcast again later?” Dirk asked.

  Rowan’s face fell. “There’s a problem with that.” He hesitated.

  “Yes?” H124 prompted.

  “Willoughby was supposed to meet me at a rendezvous point. He never showed.”

  H124 felt her stomach clench. “How long ago?”

  “More than five hours. He closed down all the other feeds and replaced them with his transmission. He was out of his office by then, transmitting from a sub-tower that doesn’t get used anymore. It should have been an easy escape. We’d already stashed a transport for him to take to the shield wall. But he never showed.” People pushed against Rowan as he fought to stay upright. “I can’t stay here much longer. I’ve got to oversee their escape.”

  “But where is he?” she asked him.

  Rowan grimaced. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know.”

  Desperate people streamed around him. She saw an exec in a suit, a cluster of dirty, ragged people who likely lived on the street, then a handful of clean, comfortably dressed individuals who must have been
citizens. Their eyes bulged at the scene around them, mouths open in vacant confusion. It was probably the first time they’d been unplugged from the network in years.

  All the same, the variety of classes showed that the signal had reached everyone—citizens, workers, execs, even the homeless. A woman in rags bumped into Rowan, grabbing onto him. “Which way do I go?” she pleaded, the panic clear in her eyes. “How long till it hits?”

  “I have to go,” Rowan told them. “I’m sorry.” He signed off.

  H124 stood there in awe. Her mind raced over the possibilities. What had become of Willoughby? Had he been captured? Killed? Merely delayed somehow? Maybe his transport had broken down.

  They continued back to the Rover satellite location, this time flying over the top of the world. She’d read from old books that a great pack of sea ice once covered the ocean there, but now there was nothing of it left.

  As they sailed over the vast blue, H124 tried to call Willoughby a number of times, but couldn’t get through.

  At the satellite location, Rowan and Byron rendezvoused with them. They’d done all they could for now. The bomb shelters were full. They needed the Rovers’ vast database of historical knowledge to search for additional shelters where people could hide.

  H124 was happy to see them and Gordon, but couldn’t fight the terrible feeling in her gut. Something bad had happened to Willoughby.

  Everyone converged on Orion’s lab to come up with the next stage. They planned to pick up a larger crew and head to the biggest genebank of all, located in a place called Antarctica, at the very bottom of the world. Some adjustments had to be made to the Argo to keep rime from building up on the exterior.

  As they collected around a table, H124’s comm window beeped on her PRD. She looked down, stunned at the name blinking on her display. She looked to Raven in horror. “It’s Olivia.”

  “Why would she reach out to you?” he asked.

  “She wants the A14,” H124 gasped.

  “Don’t answer it!” Dirk said, his eyes flashing with rage. “She can go to hell!”

  H124 was ready to ignore the incoming call, but a thought came to mind. “She might know something about Willoughby.”

  “Or she might be trying to get a handle on your location,” Rowan said warily.

  “I can mask your location,” Onyx offered, already typing in commands in her virtual keyboard. She looked up. “Okay. It’s safe to answer if you want to.”

  Hesitantly, H124 moved to face a blank wall, where all Olivia would be able to discern was a featureless grey surface.

  She opened the comm window, and the woman’s perfectly coiffed silver hair and conceited appearance turned H124’s stomach. She wore a red business suit, her matching red lips smiling smugly in her ivory face.

  “I have a little present for you, my dear,” Olivia oozed. She stood on some kind of white surface, with a staircase rising in the background. In the distance, H124 could make out a blue expanse of seawater. The camera bobbed up and down somewhat with the motion of the waves. Then it panned down and revealed Willoughby, on his knees and badly beaten. Deep purple-and-black bruises masked his face, and his lip was busted. One eye was swollen shut. He hung his head, his usually impeccable suit torn and bloodied. Behind him stood a man clad entirely in black, the brim of his hat shading his cruel, black eyes and glistening pale skin.

  A Repurposer.

  He held a gleaming tool to Willoughby’s skull, ready to dig in through the bone. His slit of a mouth was drawn up in a tight little smile.

  “Deliver the A14 to the following location,” Olivia went on, “and I’ll spare him.” Coordinates streamed into H124’s PRD, her map bringing up a location near the outskirts of Delta City. “If you don’t, well…” She smirked, her eyes cold and calculating. “I’ll do worse than kill him.” She gazed down at him, grasping his chin. “I’ve always believed he would best serve the PPC as a Menial. Just sitting there, with vacant eyes, pressing a button now and then. He deserves a break after all the hard work he’s done.” She sneered into the camera. “You have twenty-four hours.”

  The transmission ended.

  H124’s mind exploded. “We can’t let her do this! Where is she?” It had been a strange location, one she didn’t recognize. In the wider shots, she could see more of the sea stretching out. With the bobbing motion of the camera, it must have been on a boat of some kind.

  Onyx’s hand flew over her virtual keyboard. “Let me see.” The hacker continued to work, eyes narrowed on her display. “She shielded her location. I’m having trouble getting coordinates.”

  “We can’t let them get the A14,” Raven said firmly, stepping toward her. “If they divert the asteroid, everything we’ve been hoping for will be for nothing.”

  “And we can’t just let her destroy Willoughby!” H124 cried, her voice rising. Her temperature shot up as she began to simmer.

  “He knew what he was doing,” Rowan told her. “Knew it was a huge risk. And it paid off. A lot of people got out. And if we get a stream back up, even more will get out.”

  H124’s eyes had gone wide. She fought back a well of emotion surging up inside her. She blinked back stinging tears, the image of Willoughby kneeling before Olivia seared into her mind.

  “He knew the risks,” Rowan went on. “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.” Rowan seemed so calm about it, so certain that they should turn their backs on Willoughby, as if the decision were so simple.

  She opened her mouth, but Byron beat her to it. He jabbed a finger at Rowan’s chest. “How can you be so cavalier about it? It’s her father, for god’s sake.”

  Rowan looked back at her, somewhat apologetically. “I know. I’m sorry. But you know I’m right.”

  H124 started pacing. “No, I don’t know that. We owe him. Let’s not forget he saved our lives. More than once.” She glanced up at Raven. “I agree we can’t let them have the A14. But I can’t let her do this to Willoughby.” She clenched her jaw. “I’m going after him.” She turned to Onyx. “Any luck with the coordinates?”

  The hacker’s face was screwed up in concentration as she tapped a final key. Her face lit up. “Aoo’,” she said in Navajo. “Got ’em!” She brought up a map, zeroing in on a location in the Pacific Ocean, off the western coast of North America. “They must be on The Morning Star.”

  “What’s that?” H124 asked.

  “A PPC luxury ship,” the hacker answered. “It’s gigantic.” She pulled up an image saved on her PRD. “Here.” The photo revealed an enormous ship with so many decks it towered over the water. Onyx leaned forward in her chair. “They have conferences on it and summits. Meetings. The thing’s a floating city.”

  H124 set her jaw. “I’m going there. I’m not going to let her repurpose Willoughby.” She started pacing again. “I’m going to tell her we’re delivering the A14. By the time they realize we’re not showing, hopefully I’ll have gotten to Willoughby.” She raised her hand to her PRD, but Byron stopped her. “Wait. Don’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “If Olivia is as evil as we think she is, the minute you accede to her demands, she’s going to kill Willoughby anyway. Or worse.”

  H124’s hand halted before she opened the comm window. He was right. “Then I don’t have much time.” She looked to Gordon. “I need something fast. Something long-range that can land on water.”

  The pilot scratched his head, his white hair rumpling. “I’d say we could take the A14, but we’re still converting over the fuel system. And besides, we couldn’t land it on the water.”

  “What about Marlowe’s helicopter?” H124 asked.

  Gordon shook his head. “It doesn’t have the kind of range or speed we’d need.” He cocked a brow. “But I might have just the thing.” He pulled up a map on his PRD and moved it to a location southeast from where they were presently. “There
was a long-range helicopter stashed at this location. It’s old military, armed to the teeth. And boy, is she fast.”

  “Do you think it’s still there?” Raven asked him.

  “Got to hope it is. We could take the Vega down there, pick it up, and be out on the ocean in no time.”

  H124 lit up with gratitude. “Would that work?”

  “If it’s still there,” Gordon added, “and the Death Riders haven’t found it.” He looked at Byron and Dirk. “Or your lot.”

  “I haven’t heard of us picking up something like that,” Dirk told him.

  “Then it’s a plan,” Byron said to H124. “We go for the helicopter.”

  H124 felt a surge of affection for him having her back without question.

  Just then Raven gave a haunted frown. “I just realized something.”

  She turned to him. “What is it?”

  “Olivia’s location…” He brought up his map. “Orion, where is that third fragment due to hit?”

  Orion leaned over his display, bringing up a map. A red circle marked the location in the Pacific Ocean. “Somewhere inside this circle.”

  “Overlay the ship’s coordinates on that.”

  Onyx sent the coordinates to Orion’s display. The ship was right on the edge of the red ring.

  “What the hell?” Orion breathed.

  H124 gulped. “What is it?” She hurried to peer over Orion’s shoulder. She looked anxiously to Onyx. “When they hacked the blast deflection craft last time, didn’t you say they could see everything? The orbits of the fragments, all the data you’d put together?”

  Onyx nodded. “They got everything.”

  H124 stared back at the red dot, the ship, floating just outside the impact zone. “So they know they’ve sailed out to the spot where the fragment will hit.”

  Onyx looked perplexed. “They’d have to know.”

  “So they’re out there to what, see it fall?”

  “I can’t begin to guess,” Raven said.

  H124 leaned over Orion. “When is the fragment due to hit?”

  He checked his PRD. “Fifteen hours and four minutes.”