by A. G. Riddle
There has been talk of setting up schools, but I suspect it isn’t high on the priority list. Survival is the order of the day. Every able-bodied person is working on sustaining the camp and supporting NASA’s next mission. That’s what I would be doing if I were physically able.
The door to Room 54 is closed. It’s white, made of a synthetic, thick material that echoes like fiberglass when I knock.
The door cracks open, revealing a woman with blond hair and dark bruises under her eyes, as though she hasn’t had a good night of sleep in a long time. I’m leaning on the cane, Oscar beside me, not sure exactly how to begin.
“Can I help you?” she asks, suspiciously.
“Hi. My name is Emma Matthews.”
“I’m Abby Sinclair. What’s this about?”
“I’m a friend of your brother-in-law.”
Her expression turns hard. “James?”
“Yes.”
“What do you want?”
Okay, didn’t see that coming. “I’d like to talk.”
“About James?”
The words are like a bear trap she’s tossed on the floor. She stares at me, expecting me to step forward. I decide to step around it.
“I’d like to talk about moving you and your family out of here and into a habitat.”
She squints, studying my face. Finally she lets the door swing open, silently inviting me in.
It’s clear to me why they call them rooms and not suites. The Sinclair family is living in what amounts to a twenty-by-thirty-foot space with two beds along the wall, a small table, one enclosed bathroom, and a sitting area. Their son, Jack, looks to be early elementary school age, maybe seven or eight. The daughter is a toddler, maybe two years old, maybe a little less. They’re both sitting at the table tapping away on tablets, the older child helping the younger with something. It’s adorable. And a sad sight that this is how these kids, and so many others, are spending their days now.
“Jack,” Abby calls out, “take your sister to the living room and continue your lessons. No games or video.”
The kids move to chairs ten feet away. That’s the living room, I guess.
Abby motions me to the table and we sit, Oscar standing placidly by the door, clearly out of place. Abby scowls at him, as if she knows him and hates him.
I try to make my tone friendly. “The AtlanticNet has school lessons?”
Abby nods curtly. “There’s a shared curriculum.”
“Is it any good?”
“It’s all we have.”
So much for small talk.
“We’re all getting by with what we have,” I say quietly. “Which is why family is more important than ever.”
“That sort of depends on how family treats you, doesn’t it?”
This isn’t going well.
“It does,” I say. “And it’s important when you do something for family, for them to know about it. So they can know how much you care.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying the only reason you and your family are here is James.”
She falls silent.
“Let me guess,” I say. “Some men from the government came to your house and told you that you were to be resettled into one of the last habitable zones on this planet. Saved from the war, taken to safety. Did you ask why?”
She shakes her head. “No. I didn’t.”
“Do you want to know why?”
“That’s what you came here to tell me, isn’t it?”
“That’s only part of why I’m here. The rest, I need you to keep a secret—for your own safety. What I’m going to share with you is classified government information. I’m not supposed to be telling you.”
That gets her attention. She glances over at the children. “Kids, put your headphones on, right now.”
I put my hands on the table and interlace my fingers. “James means a great deal to me. I don’t know what happened between you and him or his brother and him, or even why he was sent to prison. But I’ve gotten to know him very well, and I know he’s a very good person.”
Abby simply stares at me, making no reaction.
“This is what hasn’t been released to the public: the Long Winter is not a natural phenomenon. The Earth is getting colder because there are alien objects out there that are deliberately blocking the solar output that should be making its way to Earth. James was recruited for a mission to go investigate these objects. His expertise in robotics was essential to building drones that discovered exactly what they are and why they’re here. I was on that mission with him.” I pause. “Yesterday the mission director told me that in return for joining that mission, James only asked for one thing: that you all be taken to safety.”
Abby places her hands on the table and gazes at them as if the answer is somewhere in the wrinkles.
“If Alex had known that,” she says, shaking her head, “he might not have even come here. We’d probably be buried under ten feet of snow.”
“James can be equally stubborn.” I lean closer to her. “That’s all the more reason why it’s important for families to stick together right now. So the voices of reason can cut through the old grudges and hatred. We need each other. And I know he cares so much about you all.”
Abby takes a look around the cramped room where the four of them live. “You mentioned a new habitat?”
“Yes. Next to the one I share with James and Oscar.”
The mention of Oscar’s name draws a sneer, and she glances in his direction. Yes, she knows him.
“I’m sensing there’s a catch,” she says.
“There’s not. I know that James wants the best for you all. And I know that if he asked for the habitat for you, you might learn that he had done it—and refuse to accept it. So I did it instead. It’s yours. No strings attached. You can move whenever you’re ready. The transfer has already been approved.”
“Thank you,” she says quietly.
“I ask only one thing, and it’s not a requirement. Only a request.”
“Which is?”
“That you come and visit James. If Alex doesn’t want to come, then simply drop off the kids, or you and the kids can come by. That’s all.”
Chapter 40
James
It’s been two days since I gave the presentation to the Atlantic Union Congress. There’s been no decision yet. I count that as a bad sign. I feel like a trial lawyer who has made his case, as best he could, for an innocent client facing the death penalty—and now that client’s fate is in the hands of people who don’t understand the case and may act irrationally or selfishly. It’s driving me crazy.
I’m sitting in Fowler’s office at NASA headquarters, talking with him about the mission, when his assistant, a Marine lieutenant, knocks and enters.
“Sir, the Executive Council is asking for you. Both of you.”
This time, we meet with the leaders of the Atlantic Union in a smaller room: a situation room at the executive office building. The elected leaders of all of the union’s preeminent nations are seated at a long conference table. The president of the United States speaks first.
“Gentlemen, you are a go for your mission.”
Relief floods through me. I can actually feel the stress draining from my body.
The feeling doesn’t last long.
“But there are two conditions,” the president says, his gruff voice getting rougher with each passing word, like a chainsaw cranking. “First, the launch will not take place until we’ve recovered and retrofitted at least two hundred nuclear warheads.”
“Retrofitted for what?” I ask.
“Deployment in space. I’m sure the two of you can arrive at the reason, but I’ll say it so there’s no ambiguity: we believe your mission could antagonize our enemy and cause them to respond with force. We want to be ready to defend ourselves.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
“That could take years.” I practically shout the words.
�
��Maybe.” The president fixes me with a hard stare. “But I hear you’re pretty good with robotics. Perhaps you could assist in the recovery and redesign efforts.”
Fowler shoots me a look that says, Let me handle this.
“And the second condition?” Fowler asks.
“Before you inform the Caspians or the Pac, we need to be ready here on the ground.”
“Ready how?” Fowler asks softly.
“For war.”
I can’t hold my tongue anymore. “What does that mean?”
“It means, Dr. Sinclair, that we need to secure our new borders, build up our military presence on those borders, and strengthen our spy network abroad so that we can be ready and able to respond to any act of aggression.”
“That works against everything we’re trying to do! A military buildup will siphon resources from the nuclear refitting—as well as the mission, not to mention putting the other nations on guard. You know they have spies here in the AU. They’ll know about the military buildup the moment it starts. They’ll respond in kind.”
The president looks me directly in the eye. “Those are the conditions, gentlemen.”
His message is clear; the decision has been made. And it won’t be unmade.
In Fowler’s office, I pace, fit to be tied.
“This is ludicrous. They’re talking about fortifying borders for this habitable zone that we can’t possibly defend against either the Caspians or the Pac, not to mention that huge solar array out there. Offense is our only chance of survival.”
Fowler leans back in his office chair, reflecting. His voice is barely above a whisper.
“There’s nothing we can do about it, James. Our job is science. This is politics. These are people—irrational, frightened, angry people—who sometimes make bad decisions. We have our orders.”
I’m exhausted when I get home. As I enter the anteroom that blasts me with warm air, I hear Emma’s voice inside, talking with someone, a woman.
“The doctors say I simply won’t regain the bone density I’ve lost. My recovery is plateaued.”
“Have you told James?”
“No.”
I’m inclined to leave again, to give her privacy, but I know that voice—the person she’s talking to. It seems impossible.
My curiosity overwhelms me.
I push into the habitat. My nephew, Jack, is sitting in our makeshift living room-rehab center. A young girl, a toddler, sits beside him. I’ve never met her in person before, but I know it’s my niece, Sarah. The two of them are playing on their tablets, not a care in the world. It’s a beautiful sight after a long day.
Emma gets up from the table when she sees me. Abby turns. I expect to see a scowl on her face, but her expression is blank.
I walk over slowly, not sure what to say. Emma saves me.
“James, Abby came by and brought the kids. She thought you might like to see them.”
Only then do the kids realize I’m there. Jack tosses his tablet aside and runs over to me.
“Uncle James!”
He practically bowls me over. I hug him as tightly as I think his little body can stand. It’s the best feeling I’ve had in a long time. I’ve wondered what their parents told them about what happened to me. About my long absence. Whatever it was, it hasn’t affected how he feels about me.
Sarah wanders over to me cautiously, eyeing her brother. He reaches out an arm and pulls her into us.
“This is Sarah. She can’t talk real well yet, but she can run.”
I shake her hand and say, in mock seriousness, “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am. And don’t worry, talking is overrated. Running is all that matters right now.”
A shy smile spreads across her face, and her big, adorable cheeks flush with red. She reminds me a lot of Abby.
I can’t help but look around, searching for my brother. There’s no one in the bathroom. No one in my office. He’s not here.
We visit for an hour. I really want to tell them the tale of the first contact mission. I admit: it’s to brag. It’s to make them think I’m important or cool or just interesting. Or maybe it’s to let them know that I’m more than a convicted criminal. That I’m a good person.
When Jack asks what my job is in the camp, I simply say that I’ve been working for the government. Emma plays it up, says that I’m working on projects to save the human race and that I may have already saved us once. Abby seems to have heard this before, or some version of it. She doesn’t look surprised. But Jack reacts as I hoped.
When they’re leaving, Abby instructs Jack to take Sarah and wait in the anteroom by the front door.
To me, her voice low, she says, “I asked Alex if he wanted to come today. He said no.”
I wait, not sure what to say.
“I’m glad you got to see the kids,” Abby continues, sounding conflicted. “Alex and I haven’t told them anything about what happened. We don’t intend to. When they’re old enough, we’ll tell them. And they can decide for themselves what sort of relationship they want to have with you.”
I nod.
“I came by because I felt like you would want to see them.”
“I do.”
“And that you deserve to see them.”
I wait silently, sensing there’s more.
“And also, because we’ve been offered the chance to move into the habitat next door.”
That surprises me. “Really?”
“It would be…” Abby hesitates. “Quite an improvement from where we are now.”
“I see.” What is she asking me? It strikes me then. “Don’t worry. If Alex doesn’t want to see me, I won’t make an issue of it. I won’t come over, or confront him if I see him, or approach any of you if he’s with you.”
Abby nods slowly, the stress draining away from her. I think she dreaded this conversation.
I change the subject. “Abby, I’m so glad you all stopped by. You’re welcome any time.”
Chapter 41
Emma
Perhaps the strangest thing about living here in Camp Seven, and Tunisia, is that there are no seasons. I realize that many parts of the world don’t have well-defined seasons, but this is something else altogether. Here almost every day feels like the last—overcast, with snow flurries. Each week it gets a little colder and the sun fades a little more, as if we’re living under a light being gradually turned off. People hunker down in their cramped barracks or cozy habitats and stay warm at night and march to work in the dim morning light, snow flurries surrounding them like fireflies swarming. The days start to feel the same: work, sleep, repeat. There’s a sense of urgency here, a shared feeling that we’re running out of time.
No one here is working harder than James Sinclair. In the past month, he has thrown himself into work on the new ship design. After some debate, James and the team have named the fleet Sparta. I’m told that the rejected names were Alamo and Verdun. Why they spend so much time on these names is a mystery to me, but it seems important to them. Of course I’d heard the name Sparta, but I never knew the history, which involves a small band of Greek warriors holding off a Persian invasion a long, long time ago. James thinks it will be symbolic for everyone. If the symbolism ups the mission success, I’m for it—we need all the help we can get.
The sites where the ships are being constructed are heavily guarded. I haven’t been to one, so I was very excited when James asked if I wanted a tour.
We ride in the electric, self-driving car to the site, James and I in the front, Oscar in the back, like a bizarre post-apocalyptic family outing.
The camp has changed so much so quickly. More and more people join the military every day. Their time is mostly dedicated to training and exercises. Maybe the government has intelligence that another war is imminent. Maybe they’re planning to start it. Or perhaps the AU leadership thinks we’ll be fighting the solar cells and their creator here on Earth soon. Seeing so many in uniform, marching every day, brings a sense of doom. The fading sunlight only
accentuates it.
Up ahead, a tall chain-link fence surrounds the factory.
A security guard clears us and motions us forward to the main building. It’s absolutely massive. It reminds me of a giant warehouse, a thousand feet wide and seemingly with no end. Workers bustle about, focused on building the new ship’s modules.
I look up at the high ceiling above us. “The building provides cover?”
“Yeah. There are several decoys nearby. Basically, empty buildings, but identical. We even send people to each one every day to complete the charade, just in case they attack. And the shelter allows us to work for longer periods as the temperature continues to drop.”
He motions deeper into the building. “We’re working on something else.” He raises his eyebrows. “Top secret.”
“You have my attention.”
As we walk, James holds up a tablet. The image looks like an ant colony. There are endless passages snaking back and forth, corkscrewing deeper in the ground, ending at a large cavernous space.
“A bunker?”
“We’re calling it the Citadel,” James says. “This location is ideal for it. The water table is deep here, and there’s a large aquifer close by.”
The scale of the bunker isn’t apparent from the diagram, but a glimmer of hope runs through me. Could this be the key to our survival if the Long Winter never ends?
“How large is it?”
He sees the hope in my expression. His tone turns cautious, the answer already apparent. “It can only house about two hundred people—short term. We’re planning to move the most vulnerable down here when the weather gets really bad. Sick. Young.” He pauses. “If the weather gets bad,” He adds. But we both know it will.
“It’ll have water?”
“Yep. And energy.”
I knit my eyebrows, surprised.
“Geothermal. The big challenge has been getting our wells to a depth where we can harvest enough of the geothermal energy. But I think we’ve pretty much solved that. I say ‘we,’ but it’s actually a team of German and Scandinavian scientists. They’re brilliant.”