Turning Point (Book 3): A Time To Live

by Wandrey, Mark

  “You got me, Boss,” he said. They resumed walking. “Dad,” he said, then nodded. She was smiling so hard her face hurt.

  * * *

  General Rose sat on the uncomfortable bench and watched the baseball game between the only two teams on Shangri-La, the La-Las, who were civilians, and the Leathernecks, who were Marines. Being an army general, he didn’t have any skin in the game. His people weren’t very interested in playing games yet. He needed to work on that.

  One bench down, Admiral Kent sat with a teenage girl—his granddaughter. Against all odds, she’d been found alive in Miami Beach with a large group of 33 survivors. It was the second biggest find to date, and the numbers were beginning to go down. Shangri-La’s official population was 13,559, not counting those in decontamination, quarantine, or newly arrived. Sure beat the hell out of a couple hundred living on boats off of San Diego.

  The distinctive Chink! of an aluminum bat hitting a ball was followed by cheering, and a 20-something woman with flowing red hair ran like crazy. Rose smiled and applauded despite his somber mood. Six months and still no real progress.

  The discussion months ago about long-term solutions had yet to yield results. It was a combination of President Bisdorf’s unwillingness to take risks and the aliens’ unwillingness to give more technology. He was just a general, so he did whatever the civilian leadership told him. Even if Shangri-La was a miniaturized version of the United States, it still resembled it.

  As of last month, the courts were up and running. Just yesterday, he’d been walking along the east market and saw a no-shit lawyer’s sign hanging on a building. There were a hell of a lot of libertarians on Shangri-La—the guy had better be careful. Rose smiled and shook his head.

  Of the thirteen-thousand plus residents on Shangri-La, almost half were military, former military, or dependents. That was good and bad. Good in that there were a lot of people who weren’t risk adverse and knew how to fight. Bad in that there was a pretty stark division between service and civilian. He knew they had to be careful it didn’t balkanize their society. He and all the other officers had insisted the first president not be military for just that reason. He knew he’d annoyed more than a few who’d wanted to put up Pendleton as president. He smiled, thinking of Cobb in the hot seat. Might still happen, just not for a few years.

  As if his thoughts had summoned him, Cobb came in with his wife on his arm. The two looked cozy together. Rose didn’t fancy reporters much, but she was extremely popular on both sides. Well, with everyone except Gilchrist who wouldn’t acknowledge she existed. He was still salty about her spending days recording everything on his boat, then hacking his comms. He wouldn’t see reason, even when it was explained to him that her hack had saved their lives.

  Gilchrist had yet to set foot on Shangri-La. He and the Ford were a planet-side base. He’d allowed his carrier to have a drive module installed. They floated near whatever area of operation needed assistance. Repairs had been done, aircraft and fuel provided, and the Gerald R. Ford was now the first (and probably only) fully functional, flying aircraft carrier.

  He seemed satisfied. After what the man had done to keep people alive, neither Rose nor Kent had any problem letting him do his own thing. It was a necessary job, too. They’d proven invaluable during the operation in Washington, D.C. Rose shuddered just remembering it. Must have been a million zombies. A week of operations, and they hadn’t gotten into the Smithsonian. They’d eventually decided to forgo further operations until the flesh-eating population had thinned out some.

  Few people were found alive in any of the government bunkers. A few small groups of government employees were, but nobody in elected positions. It wasn’t until after that fiasco that everyone agreed on the elections which made Bisdorf president.

  Cobb saw him and waved. Rose waved back. He wondered if Kathy had told him she was pregnant yet. He’d found out from Lisha, who’d found out from the horse’s mouth. Lisha thought Kathy was a friend. He needed to remind her that reporters didn’t have friends.

  They found a place to sit, and he glanced at his watch. The sun dropped below the horizon, and the baseball field’s lights came on automatically. As usual, Lisha was late. They enjoyed their time together and were happy leaving it there. After two marriages, he was the first to admit he wasn’t good at it. Lisha was a bit of a mystery, and he wondered how much was under her quiet demeanor that he hadn’t figured out. Chink!

  Some popcorn sounded good, so he walked behind the bleachers where they kept the popcorn. There was a small line which he didn’t mind. Like the ballgame and the movie theater that was under construction, it meant people had some hope for the present and the future.

  “Evening, General.”

  “Mr. Gregory,” Rose said. “I saw your sign yesterday. How’s business?”

  “You don’t appreciate the law, do you?” Gregory was a tall, gray-haired lawyer they’d rescued from Washington, D.C. One of several, he was the one who’d taken it upon himself to champion the cause of the Heptagon.

  “Appreciate isn’t a word I’d use in relation to leeches.”

  “Amusing,” Gregory said with a chilly smile. “I was talking to President Bisdorf about the need to start the trial for those accused of being with the rumored Genesis conspiracy.”

  “Accused, rumored, right.” His turn to get some popcorn came, and he got a small bag. When he turned around Gregory was still there. “What exactly do you want?”

  “The President wants you to represent the accused.”

  Rose laughed so hard he almost dropped his popcorn. “Wait, you’re serious?”

  * * *

  “I don’t know if I’m ever going to get used to this,” Alex said as the stars redshifted out the forward cockpit window of the Azanti II. A bluish light was steadily growing.

  “It’s pretty cool,” Alison agreed. “Doesn’t really look like Star Trek, though.”

  “Can’t have everything,” Wade agreed.

  “What is Star Trek?” First Scout asked.

  “A type of entertainment,” Alex explained.

  “I see. Please monitor the shield flow on the forward focus.”

  “It wasn’t this complicated the first time we flew FTL,” Alison said.

  “From what you have said,” First Scout replied, “it was a miracle you survived.”

  “Thanks?” Alex asked.

  “You are welcome.” The three humans exchanged bemused looks as their Vulpes expert continued to use the strange, black rod that was apparently a computer. “This craft is performing within 14% of optimal capabilities based on my design.”

  “It that good?”

  “Good enough for short range reconnaissance.”

  “Coming out of FTL,” Alex announced and touched the controls. The stars returned to normal, and the bluish light was replaced by a sphere of the deepest azure imaginable. Lines or striations were visible around the planet as was a swirling storm highlighted with whites. “Welcome to Neptune.”

  “Holy shit that’s beautiful!” Alison said.

  “Sure is,” Alex agreed.

  “Looks fake,” Wade said, cocking his head.

  First Scout glanced up from his computer, shrugged, and went back to work.

  Alex had to admit, it was a little anticlimactic. They’d had the Azanti II out for eight hours, and this completed their grand tour of the solar system. In no more than what was an average workday, three humans had visited every planet in the solar system.

  “What about Pluto?” Alison asked.

  “Not a planet,” Wade mumbled, taking a selfie.

  “Says who?”

  “Scientists.”

  “Bullshit,” she retorted.

  “This is the last planet in your solar system based on our established norms,” First Scout said. Wade gave Alison a smug look, and she narrowed her eyes dangerously at him.

  “What about another solar system?” Alex asked.

  “This ship is unsuitable for such a t
rip,” First Scout said. “As we’ve discussed. With these drives, it would take more than one of your years to reach the closest star, and there is nothing worth visiting there.”

  “You’ve never explained why you bothered coming to Earth,” Alison said. “Our technology is so poor and, according to you, we’re so warlike, why bother? What do we have?”

  “Life is more precious than you realize,” First Scout said. “Far more precious. The system you take for granted is nearly a garden world by galactic standards. You have one world with an excellent environment, two which could be readily adapted, and three moons that, with some work, could be made usable as well.”

  “So, just real estate?” Alison persisted. “Doesn’t seem worth it to deal with us.” Alex shot her a look. “What? I mean, look what happened.”

  “We saw potential in you as well.”

  “What do you think of our potential now?” Wade asked. He’d finished taking selfies and was playing a game on his smart phone.

  “Somewhat diminished. However, even with our ship repaired, we’ve stayed.”

  “So, there is hope for us yet,” Alex said with a little nod.

  “I believe so.” First Scout tapped his computer. “We should return the sensor data to your government.”

  “You recommend both Mars and Venus?” Alex asked, working the controls. It was simple and enjoyable, now that First Scout and Nikki had helped engineer new control interfaces.

  “Yes. They are different, yet both offer advantages. The two worlds are also within our present technology to perform…what do you call it?”

  “Terraforming,” Alex offered.

  “Yes, terraform. Venus will take much longer, while Mars will yield a less rich environment.”

  “Why do you want Europa?” Wade suddenly asked. Alison and Alex both glanced at First Scout. It was a question they hadn’t asked when their alien mentor said they wished to establish a colony there. “I mean, there’s only two of you here.”

  “More will come,” First Scout said.

  “When?” Alex wondered.

  “At the appropriate time. Now, it is best to return to Shangri-La. Life support is down to six hours, and the trip will take 4.1 hours. I will let Nikki know we are on the way back.”

  Alex nodded and finished setting the course. The Azanti II went from a standing stop to relativistic speeds instantly without the ship’s occupants feeling anything. Inside the ship, Alison and Alex looked at each other, both thinking the same thing. What isn’t First Scout telling us?

  * * *

  Nikki looked up from the diagrams, the movement catching Jeremiah’s attention. “Something wrong?”

  “No,” she said, “First Scout has said they are on the way back.”

  “How is the Azanti II performing?”

  “Within acceptable parameters.”

  “Good,” Jeremiah said. “Good. Did First Scout add any of the survey results?”

  “Yes, and he agrees on Venus and Mars.”

  “Oh, wow,” Oz said and set the tray of food he was carrying on a nearby workbench. “We have a lot of work ahead of us.”

  “We already knew that,” Jeremiah said. He left the diagrams displayed on his bench and went to the table. He selected an egg salad sandwich and picked it up, still marveling at how perfectly normal it felt. He held the food and manipulated it, smiling.

  “You like the limbs?” Nikki asked.

  “Without a doubt,” Jeremiah said. “Marvelous.” They’d amputated his left arm just below the elbow, and his right at the elbow. He’d been despondent about getting any sort of prosthetic worth a damn, considering the condition of the world. His ship was a mess, and even though he had 3D printers, he didn’t have the files.

  After he recovered, he was introduced to the living Vulpes. They looked a lot like the dead one he’d found, seemingly years ago, in Texas. They’d already examined his ship, the Azanti, and were impressed with how he and his people had figured out rudimentary uses for the drives. They wanted him to work with them to move humanity into space, bootstrap human technology as it were, and begin building real spaceships.

  When he’d said he would love to, but his lack of hands would make his contribution minimal, Nikki had fabricated a new pair of limbs using a machine called the Pandora. They were shiny silver, living metal with nanites that allowed them to move just like real arms. They reminded him of the second Terminator movie. They were grafted to his stumps in a quite painful procedure, but it was over in minutes, and all pain was gone. The point where the limbs joined his skin was as seamless as though they had grown there naturally. The only cosmetic difference was that they had three fingers instead of four, something Nikki had said was a regrettable error.

  “The Pandora will adapt to your physiology, extending into your skeletal system as necessary, so the limbs are not a danger to you in any situation.”

  “Do I have to recharge them or anything?” he’d asked.

  Nikki had smiled, her tiny teeth flashing. “They are self-contained, and their power source will outlive you.”

  Jeremiah found out how sensitive they were when a razor-sharp, metal spar slipped from the crane in the machine shop a week later and landed on his arm. It hurt, but only like being bumped hard. He’d lifted the spar off with his other hand and couldn’t find so much as a scuff on the shiny metallic surface.

  He’d experimented after the accident and found that his new arms gave him more strength than he’d had, but not to an extreme. Maybe 20-25% more was his guess. However, the hands and wrists never got tired. They also relayed sensations with the same feel his own hands had. There was one thing he’d yet to get up the nerve to do with his hands. Maybe someday.

  When he was out and about, he wore a long sleeve shirt and gloves. The arms drew far too much attention. Word had spread, and he found himself increasingly showing them off around Shangri-La. General Rose had been asking to see them for a long time.

  Jeremiah munched his sandwich and drank some water. As usual, by the time the meal was done, he’d once again forgotten they weren’t his natural limbs and was surprised by the silver hand that wiped his mouth. Shit, how long is that gonna keep happening?

  “We haven’t started on the Venus colony structure yet,” Oz pointed out.

  “There is no need,” Nikki said. “Floating installations of the type we’ll use on Venus are in my databases. They have been used on many gas giant worlds. All that is required is to find the altitude where the atmospheric conditions are the most favorable, sufficient oxygen can be found, and the gravitational field generators can be constructed.”

  “Oh, so it’s no big deal building floating cities, then?” Oz asked and laughed.

  Jeremiah was glad his cousin had survived his injuries. They’d spent a lot of time together as kids. But while Jeremiah had grown up rich, the beneficiary of his father’s engineering firm’s success, Oz had grown up on the poor side of the family in Gary, Indiana. He’d gone into computer programming and software, while aerospace and hard engineering were Jeremiah’s preferences. Still, Oz was proving to be a vital asset to the budding planetary engineering project.

  Jeremiah had gotten a peek at the atmospheric processors Nikki had retrieved from her databases. She was protective about giving the humans access. Jeremiah couldn’t blame her, considering how they’d been greeted by energy weapons up arrival at earth.

  He took his drink back to the electronic drafting table and examined their work. The Mayflower would be the first colonization ship and the first colony. Thanks to the Vulpes’ anti-gravity and shield technology, the humans could fly the finished city to Mars, land, and begin processing the atmosphere. They’d drop a few gigatons of ice asteroids on the poles and set up alien-powered heat generators. Nikki had said they could probably reheat the planet’s core to jumpstart its magnetic field, though she’d need to do some deep core work after they got there to be sure.

  “Now, we just need President Bisdorf on board,” Jeremiah
said, admiring their handiwork. Of course, lacking deep space mining and enough ships, they’d have to build the Mayflower from Earth’s resources. It was all lying there, waiting for them. All they needed was the manpower.

  “Your president will agree, eventually,” Nikki said with certainty.

  “What makes you think so?” Oz asked.

  “These floating cities have drawbacks, not the least of which is that explosive decompression from a failure could kill everyone on them.”

  Jeremiah’s head came up, a horrified expression on his face. “You said it was impossible.”

  “Impossible, to a degree, yes. However, accidents happen, as you humans are all too aware.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Jeremiah agreed, visibly calming.

  “The other reason is size,” Nikki continued. “You can only grow so far before things will become difficult. I also suspect you humans will tire of staring at your lost world, so close and tantalizing. Perhaps many will think the Russians are correct and want to return home. The results would not be favorable.”

  “I’m sure,” Jeremiah agreed. “If we did though, would you still stay and help?”

  Nikki looked back, her little black eyes studying him. “I don’t know.”

  * * *

  Lisha watched the technician run the quality control test, careful to observe his use of the strain-positive test and the microscope. She noted her results on the card attached to the test article and passed it on. She moved into the next room where Weasel was hunched over a bench, working on some apparatus. He looked up when she entered.

  “How are the tests?”

  “Around 72%,” she said.

  Weasel frowned. “That low?” She nodded. He turned and stared at the equipment he was working on. “It’s something about the wavelength,” he said. “Not enough energy to penetrate denser flesh.”

  “I think you’re right,” Lisha agreed, walking over to stand next to him. “Let’s try those three-emitter configurations.”

  “We haven’t run enough versions on the single,” he complained.