“Instead, they probably got a group of rich people with huge egos,” said Nicole.
“Good luck getting billionaires and movie stars to clear drains or fix wiring,” said Jessica.
Anna snorted. “If they make their own beds and clean their own loos, you can count yourself lucky.”
“Doesn’t sound good for America,” said Nicole.
“No, it doesn’t,” said Larry. “If there are any survivors, I wonder what state they’ll be in.” He turned to Elizabeth. “Maybe you have some thoughts?”
Elizabeth looked self-conscious. “Oh dear!” she said. “I don’t know. A crisis can bring out the best or worst in people. It depends so much on the specific situation. But in this case, based on what you said, I’d fear the worst.”
“They might be, like, tearing each other apart?” Anna said.
“I hope to God they’re not,” said Elizabeth. “But who can say? People in bleak survival situations might revert to primal behavior.”
“Like Lord of the Flies?”
“And they had tons of weaponry,” said Jessica. “Big guns plus big egos equals big disaster.”
“How about the Indians or Chinese?” Nicole asked.
Larry shrugged. “According to my relatives in India, their leaders did nothing, just denied, bickered, and vacillated, as always. Since they didn’t even have bunkers or bomb shelters to start with, I don’t rate their chances too highly. But then again, they flew a spacecraft to Mars for the cost of a house in Sydney. You can never tell with them.”
“And the Chinese?”
“They could certainly have managed to build something, given their discipline and resources. But they too were slow to react. So great potential, but late start. I would rate their chances of survival as better than the Indians, but worse than the Americans. Same with the Russians.”
“Africa? South America?”
“Low chances.”
“So that leaves us with western Europe, mainly?”
“Right. I think France and Germany were trying to build something at the last minute, just weeks before the Shroud. They were throwing everything they had at it and might have pulled it off. I’ll rate that possibility at ten percent.”
“How about Scandinavians?” said Jessica. “They were at the cutting edge of everything. If anyone could have done it, it would be them.”
“I think so too,” replied Larry. “They’re our best hope. They’re used to very cold temperatures and spent decades perfecting bomb shelters, living in the shadow of the Soviet Union. More importantly, their culture is—was—less dominated by politics than most others. Their press was far more independent than in the US, and some of their journalists paid attention to the Shroud before their American colleagues. And their astronomers were still respected.”
Larry’s choice of the past tense cast a chill over everyone. Even after a year into the Shroud, their minds had not become inured to the grim reality outside; it invaded their consciousness in myriad subtle ways, tingeing even the most pleasant moments with existential dread.
Nicole pulled herself together. “So there’s a good chance that some of them have made it?”
“I’d say fifty-fifty. As far as I could tell in those chaotic days before the Shroud, their societies were among the last to collapse. And didn’t you tell me, Jessica, that you picked up a radio transmission that sounded like Turkish, a few hours before you came to the Shell? I once met an exchange student from Turkey who told me Finnish sounded similar to her native tongue.”
“So it might have been from Finland?”
“Yes. It was long ago, but do you recall any words?”
Jessica’s memory was a constant source of amazement and exasperation to her family. She could never remember routine, mundane stuff—she ignored appointments, mislaid things, and missed exams, all through sheer forgetfulness. But her memory for facts, figures, sounds, and sights was uncanny. The quirkier the fact, the better and longer she would remember it.
“I remember that they kept saying ‘to land beyond’ over and over. Also, something that sounded like ‘Jakarta.’”
“To land beyond?”
“Yeah, that’s what it sounded like.”
“Hmm … could it have been tulen pian?”
“Maybe. Why, does that mean something?”
“It means ‘come quickly.’”
“And ‘Jakarta’?”
“I’m not sure about that one. The closest Finnish word I know is kartta, meaning ‘map.’”
“Hmm … perhaps they were directing survivors to a certain map location?”
“Yes, perhaps. Just speculation, of course.”
“Perhaps the Scandinavians pooled their resources to build, like, a gigantic shelter,” said Anna. “Wouldn’t that be amazing?”
“Let’s hope they did,” said Nicole. “When we leave this place, it’ll be nice to have some other humans to connect with. Even if they’re on the other side of the planet.”
“Indeed!” Larry nodded and smiled, though he couldn’t help mentally rephrasing Nicole’s words: If we leave this place.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Journals
Larry’s journal
As human beings, our capacity to adjust to any situation is incredible. Take the five of us here, leading lives that seem almost normal. Our private thoughts might dwell on the unspeakable horror of the Shroud, but we don’t talk about it. Instead, we talk about everyday matters, deal with practical issues, eat, sleep, even laugh, play, and sing.
Outside, the outlook is as grim as ever—not even the slightest glimmer of light or a gust of warm air. The exterior thermometer still shows -127, and the light meter reads zero. And there’s no signal on the radio.
But inside, things have gone much better than expected. We’ve managed to stay alive and healthy for an entire year. We’ve suffered only minor glitches in the equipment. More importantly, we’ve all been smoothly settling into our roles here. The Millers and I were a family, and now we’re a team as well. If I were religious, I would be sending a prayer of thanks to God. But since I’ve a rational mind, I would also have to condemn Him for wrapping us in the Shroud in the first place. Perhaps it’s best that I’m not a believer. Anger and gratitude are hard to reconcile.
I think, instead, I would like to record my appreciation toward my team members.
Nicole, after all the years she spent in a busy surgical ward, must find it hard to adjust to the total lack of professional challenge or stimulation here. But she gives no sign of frustration or regret. She’s been as wonderful as ever—supportive in public and affectionate in private. I haven’t figured out what she sees in me, as all her previous relationships seem to have been with extroverted, charismatic, “party animal” types. Compared to them, I must appear dull and stodgy. Perhaps she sees me more as a father figure? Whatever it is, I’m not complaining. I used to worry that she’d get bored with me, but that hasn’t happened yet. Perhaps being the only man left on the continent has preserved my appeal!
Anna has been as sweet, lively, and delightful as ever. I’m so glad I took the trouble to set up her greenhouse. Even though, as Jessica pointed out, having all those flowering perennials is a luxury, Anna’s joy in her botanical friends makes it all worthwhile. And she’s been such an unexpected asset in Geo. She’s perhaps the least mechanically minded of us all, and my choice of her as my assistant was perhaps more for the pleasure of her company than her skills. But she’s been extremely willing to help out with all the tedious maintenance tasks. And when I want to talk about some of my energy worries, she’s a great listener.
Jessica has been a great asset as well. She was a natural fit in Air, so her enthusiasm and competence there came as no surprise. What has come as a pleasant surprise, or perhaps just a relief, is that she no longer seems to compare our existence here unfavorably to the pre-Shroud life. She seems less prone to criticizing things just for the sake of being critical. Now, when she points out flaws, it s
eems to be more constructively motivated. That I can live with. Her intelligence will prove invaluable if (when?) things start to fail. I used to think of her as clumsy and uncoordinated. Either I was wrong, or she has outgrown that phase and is turning into a young woman of dark good looks and sultry charm. It’s tragic that two such attractive girls should blush unseen in the Shell.
And Elizabeth … how can I praise her enough? She’s such a wonderfully calming and reassuring influence on all of us. She must have anxieties like the rest of us, but that never stops her from looking after others. And she doesn’t have to do much; her smiling, warm, gentle, lovely presence is enough to hold us together and keep us sane. And she seems to have grown younger and sprightlier during the past year. This morning when she emerged from the shower with her face aglow, I could have taken her for a forty-year-old. And the other day in the kitchen, as she offered me the Shell-shaped cake she baked for my birthday, her cheeks blushing from the oven’s heat and her eyes dancing with mischief, she seemed like Jessica’s older sister. She’s too modest to admit it, but her influence is more vital than anything I do with my machines and systems and work schedules. My only regret is that I don’t get to spend any time with her alone. When I think of how many things could go wrong here, and how even some little things could blow this place wide open to the elements, I’m terrified. I could use some of her calming influence! I sometimes envy Anna and Jessica for being able to snuggle up to her at night. It would be so nice to drop all my adult worries and be a child again in her arms …
Anna’s journal
A year ago, before Larry showed up in our backyard, I couldn’t have imagined that I’d now be sitting in a warm, pleasant room, sipping coffee and scribbling this entry. I’m as optimistic as they come, but not even I could hold on to any hope. Beyond a certain point, optimism is just stupidity. But that point hadn’t come then, as events proved.
What can I say about the past year? I can describe it only in such extreme and contradictory terms—strange and disorienting at first, yet now familiar and comfortable. Terrible, yet wonderful. Incredibly sad, yet unbelievably joyful. Billions have perished, but we’re alive and well. It’s colder than Mars outside, but snug and pleasant in here. It’s a barren wasteland outside, but the Eco dome is a veritable jungle of all kinds of marvelous plants. How glad I am that I took all those classes in botany and ecology and went on those field trips, and how I wish I’d spent even more time on them and less on partying! Almost everything I learned has come in useful, and the computer database has helped me plug some of the huge gaps in my knowledge.
As we had expected, we ran out of store-bought fruit in two weeks after moving in and had to wait until July for the peaches. But the fruit was well worth the wait. They looked rather washed out, but my, were they delicious!!! And I’m not even as great a peach fan as Jess, who was obviously delighted when she took her first bite. The tree should keep us in fruit for several years, but I’ve saved some seeds in case something happens to it. And then came the tropical delights—the bananas and mangoes. The bananas were only okay—better for baking—but the dwarf Alphonso mangoes, a fast-growing hybrid variety, were out of this world. If it wasn’t for Larry’s Indian roots we would never have heard of this fruit. In the old days we were content to eat the local Honey Gold or Pearl varieties. The difference is night and day. Trust the Asians to know what’s good to eat! (I guess that’s not much comfort for a people who’ve probably vanished from the face of the planet.) I can’t wait for the avocado, but it’s still a young tree. Give it a year or three.
Only one minor gripe—one would think a guy with Larry’s breadth of knowledge would have heard of hydroponics, but no, he hasn’t made any provision for growing plants without soil. But I’ll rig something up in the corner of Eco and see if it can grow something for our daily salad.
Toward the end of the year we started running low on fertilizer. There’s still enough left for a few more months, but I’m going to start experimenting with manure from the bioconverters, just in case. The first batch of manure came out in November, and I ran some basic chem panels on them. They seem alright, but I need to be cautious. Perhaps I’ll try it on the rose bush first. I love that plant but it is a luxury, and if I have to kill something by accident let it be that and not a fruit-bearing tree. That shows how pragmatic I can be, contrary to what Jessica might think. It’s just that I’d be pragmatic only as a last resort!
Talking of my sister, it’s remarkable how little interaction I’ve had with her given that we all live in one small space and are perhaps the only two girls left on this continent. She seems to be quieter, less on edge. Perhaps she’s finding that life here isn’t too bad. I hope she’s getting along well with Larry. She doesn’t realize it, but she needs him just as much as the rest of us. And surely he and the rest of us need her as well.
Nicole’s journal
Putting my thoughts down is a new experience. I never did it in my pre-Shell days. There was no time! Having so much leisure continues to be a novel sensation, even after a year. It’s making me think about things that never entered my mind before. Pre-Shell, I thought only about my job or home. I never had time for what Mum calls “existential questions.” She, of course, with her background in philosophy and psychology and her interest in spiritual matters, has always pondered such questions, and is at peace with herself despite that. Lacking her sense of peace, I find my thoughts disturbing. My basic question is about what it means to be alive. What’s life’s purpose? In the old days, if the topic ever came up, my response would have been brief and simple—my purpose is to give my patients the best possible care, while I raise my daughters and then help them raise their kids. But my patients are gone. The girls are growing into adulthood but are unlikely to become mothers. I guess I had implicitly believed in my place as one strand in the web of life, but now that we might all be extinct really soon, what should I live for? Larry, with his love for me, can’t see how I could even entertain that question. Nevertheless, I’d like some kind of answer.
That apart, I’ve been having as great a time as possible under these circumstances. Larry will never allow me to utter a word of praise when I’m talking to him, so here’s my opportunity—Larry, you’ve made life possible for me, and you’ve made it worth living in a hundred ways. Yes, I do sometimes question the value of an existence that, in Jessica’s words, is a “spatiotemporal dead-end.” But if life has any value at all, much of the credit goes to you. I’m glad I have the opportunity to record it here because I don’t know what will happen to me in the years to come. Will I become sad, cynical, embittered, crazy? If so, it’ll be good to look back and read what I wrote before my nature changed.
Coming to more practical matters, there hasn’t been much for me to do, work-wise. The irony is that I’ll be most useful when people get sick, which of course I don’t wish for, so I have to hope to be useless, which gets me back to questioning life’s purpose. But here I am, philosophizing again, when I said I’d be practical. As I wrote earlier, the most practical and useful thing I can do (when things are going well) is to ensure everyone stays fit. The workout routine I concocted—combining yoga, Pilates, aerobics, and weights—has worked really well. Larry and Anna seem to enjoy it, while Jessica does it without complaining. The one I’m worried about is Mum. Though she has become stronger than before, she still seems to get breathless so quickly, and the other day she almost fainted after carrying a pail of water across the kitchen. I guess I should have paid more attention to her health these past years. Both her mother and grandmother died in their 50s from strokes, and she may have inherited that genetic tendency. And now I can’t do an angiogram to see if she has any blocked arteries, and even if she has I can’t do much about it. Larry has built an amazingly well-equipped clinic, but I can hardly expect even him to provide a fully operational operating room and a platoon of nurses!
It’s ironic that I’ve been so preoccupied in taking care of my hospital patients that I’ve
managed to ignore my own family’s health. It’s doubly ironic that, but for the Shroud, I’d never have realized this until it was too late.
Jessica’s journal
1st Year of the Shell—& the Shroud—ends, & were still alive & thriving, sort of. I hand it to Larry, hes done a decent job in building this place. Nevertheless, Id rather not be imprisoned in a synthetic bubble on a dead planet, protected from the vicious cold outside only by heat from a dodgy geothermal well. Food is monotonous, confinement is depressing, & silence is deathly. What I wdnt give to hear traffic on a busy street! Larry has simulated a natural-seeming environment at Central, but fake sun, fan-blown breeze, & digital bird sounds only remind me of what weve lost.
Thats perhaps why I enjoy the Air dome. At least there Im doing something! Air exchangers & purifiers seem to be working so far, & Im getting to know them really well. Each machine has its own personality, something Larry doesnt get. His style is to follow the instructions in the manual to the letter, but thats not how you get best perf. I showed him how we cd cut the power consumption by a third simply by increasing valve pressure by 10% over the manufacturer-specified value. Opened his eyes. Ill say this much—when hes wrong, which is more often than hed like, he has no problem admitting. If he was one of those idiots who dont listen, Id be really worried about future.
Future … thats now a taboo word. Better to think of “extended present,” focus on imm issues we can solve rather than on things outside our control.
Finally, Ive to admit that social aspects of being imprisoned in hermetically sealed space w/ only my family for company havent been all that bad. As long as I do my morning workout, Mum leaves me alone. Shes quieter & more thoughtful than Ive ever seen her, but who but an incurable optimist wdnt be depressed? Talking of incurable optimists, I dont get to see much of Anna. She seems as cheerful as ever—must be enjoying herself w/ all those manures & soils—good for her. In the old days she wd annoy me w/ her pep talks, trying to cure me of what she called “negative thinking.” Fortunately, shes stopped doing that, & on those rare occasions when we are together just the two of us, she doesnt seem to have much to say beyond polite small talk. She pretty much lets me be. Thats what I always wanted, & so shd be pleased, but it somehow leaves me w/ slightly hollow feeling. Perhaps I miss her but am not sure how that cd be. Never missed her company before.
Unlight Page 9