o Features: Blackout or observatory functionality
Kau looked around at the committee members. Their faces were glued to the illum wall, save Anton and Celeste, who were huddled by the model.
‘You’ll love Celeste. Everyone does…she’s a rising star.’ Those words rang in his ears. Looking at the model, he didn’t doubt she was a rising star, but could he trust her? Only a few days ago he’d asked about the community development, and she’d said it wasn’t finished. But the work shown here would have been completed ages ago. The sheer scale and detail of it showed she had been holding out on him too.
‘Can I help you, Li Junior?’ Celeste shouted across the workshop. She must have caught him staring at them. Anton eyeballed him, and so did a few of the other committee members, keen not to miss a public flogging.
Kau walked over to them, trying to hold back his frustration. ‘Why didn’t you share this when I asked last week?’
Celeste stole a look at Anton before saying, ‘it wasn’t ready.’ She jutted her chin as if daring him to defy her.
Bullshit. With Anton by her side and the sixty or so eyeballs looking at him, he had to tread carefully. Acquiesce too much; they’d think he was a soft touch; be too firm, and he’d add another bullseye on his walking, talking target. Why did he have to play this game with Celeste?
‘Presumably, it is now,’ he said. ‘So, can you – please – share?’
‘As you wish,’ Celeste gave a generous smile. ‘Our priority was to ensure all the blueprints and development plans were with the construction teams ASAP. Feel free to contact them if you want to see a prototype. I’ll send you their details.’
The first civilians, true civilians, were due to walk over the Mars threshold in March 2067, in a little less than five years’ time. With the number of planned developments, each taking around two months in construction, there was a whole ton of man, woman and Ai-ssistant power needed. Although there was opportunity for a slight deviation either side, Anton had said the Earth was likely to be completely uninhabitable in sixty years’ time. Their moving to Mars now enabled a smoother transition and enhanced their lifestyle.
‘How many teams will be working on this development to hit the target date?’ Kau asked.
‘At least five thousand. To complete the developments for this design from pre-fabricated structures,’ Celeste said to Kau specifically, and then to everyone else. ‘Any other questions?’ Barely waiting for a response, she turned back to Kau and said, ‘I believe you’re presenting next?’ He thought he saw her give a cheeky wink.
Anton put his meaty hands on Kau’s shoulders. He forced him towards the door, and an unsettling thought turned over in his mind. That he had just been ambushed.
* * *
Kau still hadn’t got used to playing the waiting game. Anton’s chronic lateness was as consistent as Kau’s response to it. It was 18.20; Anton was twenty minutes late for their meeting already. According to Anton’s eternally-optimistic Personal Ai-ssistant, ‘Mr Cheyka was due back from his meeting forty-five minutes ago.’
After Celeste’s presentation, Kau had led everyone back to the conference room and talked through his preliminary migration strategy. Albeit reluctantly, since his report was so clearly, embarrassingly out of date. The crafty smiles and stifled amusement confirmed he’d played right into their hands.
He talked through the planned phasing of the relocation, starting with the first phase of VIPs. Those with priority occupations, from priority Provinces and CMCDs. He presented his suggested Civilian Communication Plan, and his considerations for the Mars-adaptation programme. The disinterested looks and unstifled yawns said that no one was paying attention; he didn’t bother asking if anyone had any questions.
Kau heard Anton before he saw him; his wheeze bellowing, his shoes clopping on the floor before he finally blustered in. The underarms of his shirt had his trademark tinge from dried sweat accumulated from the day; his forehead was freshly-clammy.
‘Come in, come in.’ Anton opened the door and clopped to his desk.
Anton’s workspace always felt lived in, not like some of the other Heads Of offices, which seemed far too pristine for any work to get done. There were the usual signs of distinction on the walls, his merits and awards. There was a map of Mars, where Province lines were drawn like a Xiangqi board – all he needed now were the pieces.
Anton blotted his forehead and collapsed on to his chair. His eyes hung on Kau as his chest gave a series of accordion-wheezes. ‘Seems you’ve got some catching up to do,’ he said finally and laughed, his fingers drummed on the ornately-carved walnut desk. Then as abruptly as his laughing began, it stopped. ‘I want the first completed draft of the report by the end of this week,’ he said. ‘No excuses.’
That was an ambitious target, considering the first migration wasn’t for another five years. Maybe there was an internal deadline Kau wasn’t privy to. ‘Yes, Sir,’ he said, because there was nothing else to say.
Anton released his neck from the top three buttons of his shirt. He had a slight groove where it dug in underneath his chin. Kau had never dared probe to how and why Anton was a man of size. The UA ruled that a certain amount of exercise must be completed each day to be compliant with health insurance. ‘Junk’ food had been disbanded before he had been born, it was doubtful natural produce substantiated Anton’s mass. Despite Anton’s delusions of grandeur and systematic praying on other people’s weaknesses, clearly, he was infallible to some weaknesses of his own. Kau thought of his own double life. Though it was early days, and he had Celeste, he’d found himself looking for something, anything, to help blunt the edges. Maybe Anton needed something to blunt his edges too.
‘It seems I have,’ Kau said, determined not to let Anton, or any of them, bring him down. They would have to cooperate with him at some point, and if not, he’d have to find a way to make them. ‘That reminds me, Anton. I need the VIP names from you.’ Dignitaries, innovators, Heads Of and other notables would migrate as part of Phase 1, establish themselves soonest, and not suffer the indignity of getting used to living on Mars alongside the plebs. But he needed confirmation of who specifically, so he could create different versions, depending on the recipient. The priority, of course, was to ensure the maiden voyage for the most important people was exemplary.
‘Also, have you heard the status of my final domestic migration project? I’m keen to finish it off,’ he said. Then hastily added, ‘Sir.’
Anton grunted. ‘I haven’t, no. It’s not been my priority, but I’ll get you the VIP names.’ His fingers stopped drumming on the table. ‘Back to why I’ve called you here. I want you to get in touch with your mother.’ He gave a look that said it was the noblest task in the world.
‘You see, I have a few problems. One, the Ghetto has the kid – you let that happen. Two, no one trusts you. It isn’t enough to say ‘I pick you’ at the end of the film before the credits roll – you should have stopped it happening in the first place. And then, Markov, you know, has a big mouth…he’s been telling all and sundry how little effort you put up against your mother and co., and that in fact, you were quite helpful to them.’ Anton leaned back in his chair. Red petal-blotches bloomed on his face. ‘Information is knowledge, and knowledge is power; some feel you may, or have designs to, abuse the information you’ve been privy to.’
Kau had been waiting for this, and strangely, was glad it was finally being aired.
‘We make mistakes. I get it, she’s your mother, and you wouldn’t be the man you are if you that little episode at the lab didn’t tug on your heart strings,’ Anton said, disregarding Kau to look at something underneath his desk, and he gave a heavy sigh. ‘But now is the chance for you to make it up.’
Resolving this would be the only way Kau could move forward – get the information he needed for his UA life, and act as armour for his double-agent, Ghetto life.
‘This is your chance to redeem yourself. Show me, show everyone, that you’re the man
we all hope you are.’
‘Thank you for the opportunity,’ Kau said, and painted on an enthusiastic smile.
‘Good. We need the kid back,’ Anton said. ‘But first, you’ll need to take a lie detection test. Set everyone’s mind at ease, I’m sure you understand. The first step to proving that you can be trusted.’
Fear clamped around Kau’s throat; if he was to be marched off to a lie detection test now, that was it, it was all over.
‘Earliest the lab can arrange is in two days’ time,’ Anton mused; he was looking for a reaction, but Kau wouldn’t give what him one.
‘Thank you, Sir. I appreciate the opportunity to put this to bed, and for me to go some way to make up for my juvenile mistakes.’
Anton smiled, seeming satisfied. Or was he? His sarcastic smirks were infamous for keeping you second guessing; Kau had yet to distinguish the reality behind his smile.
‘Have you seen your father lately?’ Anton hauled himself up from behind his desk.
Kau shook his head and stood up too. He had no intention of seeing him. When his mother, Solo and Kodi left the archive chamber through the secret passageway, his father hadn’t moved from the ground, a stain seeping further into the floor. Kau and his mother had managed to grapple a few words before she’d left; he’d known what she was going to ask him – to come with her, leave for the Ghetto, but he wasn’t ready to run and leave his life, be on the wrong side of the UA. He knew what happened when you did that. But he couldn’t commit to being a UA-er either. The only solution was to help her from behind UA lines by feeding them information. She’d asked him to collect some mementoes for her. A jewellery box, some things in a drawer, but he hadn’t been able to. Not yet, anyway. He wasn’t ready, and in truth, was unsure if he ever could be again. In the archive chamber, he and his father had shared a look. One which said everything, but nothing at the same time.
Kau had run to Anton and the guards, feigning shock, and tried to help their Immobilised bodies. Anton had been sat upright, but still had paralysis in his face and legs. He’d tried to shout at Kau, but his lips were still loose, and spit dripped down his chin and saturated his shirt. Had it been that sight that made Anton twist the knife in him, that had provoked ‘Li Junior’? Kau had maintained he and his father were loyal to the UA – he couldn’t bring himself to put his father directly in harm’s way – but that Solo had threatened them with Voltarms and Immobilisers, that other Ghettoites joined too, and they were outnumbered. His father had quietly agreed, but had said no more, and hadn’t gone back to work since.
Anton opened the door and made to usher Kau out. ‘That’s probably wise. I couldn’t save him now, even if I wanted to. I’ve saved him before, but this is different. Everything he worked for, that we worked together on, gone, just like that,’ Anton said and clicked his fingers. He all but pushed Kau out of his office, but before he shut the door, he turned and looked at him with deep contemplation.
‘He should have never married your mother.’
* * *
Anton’s words still murmured in Kau’s ear as he finally poured himself that whisky and dragged his feet to the basement. He had finished his tumbler by the time he’d opened the safe and took out Chandra’s comm. He had a lot to update them on today and decided a written update would be easier. Give them a chance to read over the words and digest the Project’s plans. He had taken the notes from the meeting and encrypted them, in case somehow, they got into the wrong hands. The Ghetto would want to mobilise a counter-action to Project Epomenzoic, and there would be a role for him too, he was sure. That was if he passed the lie-detection test. And updating them on that might be more palatable written, than spoken. He knew how worried his mother would be – the prospect of a lie-detection test didn’t fill him with ease either, but what other option did he have? He hoped the Ghetto would have something up their sleeve, from their Autonarmy days. But what if they didn’t? His only hope was a neuroscientist, twenty-five years out of action from the front line, and a techy forty-five minutes away, who he could only contact via a secret comm system. Kau punched his fist into his hand, that wasn’t fair. She was his mother, and Chandra hadn’t asked for any of this. He threw back the glass to try for any last hint of whisky. How could he possibly subvert the test? Perhaps it would be for the best if he was found out. All the lies and the double bluffing would come to an end. Maybe he could even escape to the Ghetto himself.
He looked at the empty glass and was thirsty for another; he shouldn’t, but everything was crashing around him, and he had no idea what to do next.
‘Mr Li,’ the home-comp synthesised voice beckoned from above in the kitchen. ‘You have Celeste Crosbie waiting for you outside. Please respond to her directly.’
Though he wasn’t unhappy to see her, the thought of her conspiring against him with the rest of them was highly undesirable.
He opened the door, and she stood there, cheeks wet with tears, her hands ran through her hair. Celeste’s lapis-blues darted behind him, looking around the house.
‘What’s going on, Kau?’
CHAPTER 24
Tuesday 16th May 2062
The towering stacks of pallets inside the artic lorry’s wagon pincered Jun’s body with the comfort of an iron chair. With every spear of pain, she was reminded that she only had herself to blame. No one had wanted her to go on the dummy run in the first place.
Hiding like contraband in Eli’s wagon was more intense than she’d imagined, but it was their only viable option to get to the North-East-Euro Ghetto – the N-E-E – and to Mikhail. Insisting that she join them instead of Chandra now seemed shortsighted, and not just because the skin on her ankles was sandpapered raw. She craned her neck around the pallet-jungle to look for Solo and Batz, but could only catch occasional glimpses of them, headlamps stretched over their foreheads like they were caving. In one sense they were, venturing into the unknown, and there was no turning back now.
It had all been theoretical a few hours ago back at the Ghetto, when Jun had crowbarred her way into joining them on the dummy run. The sun was yawning into pipe-smoke clouds as the Ghettoites had gathered in the Circle. There was a pleasant stillness to the place, but it hadn’t remained tranquil for long.
Chandra, Solo, Kodi and Jun walked to the Circle with legs made of lead. The earlier spring in Kodi’s spring had unravelled; they’d all unravelled after reading Kau’s message. Jun had realised that there was to be a mass migration of the world, before Chandra had spoken. The Tangram pieces had finally slotted together; Kau’s migratory experience, Odgerel and Kodi’s abilities, and Wei and Markov’s covert testing formed a terrifying reality. Except Mars, she hadn’t known about that, but it made sense. When she’d joined the UA, they’d started experimenting with terraforming, but she hadn’t heard much beyond the rumours and murmurs. The idea of migrating to Mars was too…seismic, surely, to be true, but Kau’s message confirmed it. They’d cooked the planet, boiling it down to fire and floods, and that was all that could sustain. They were hurtling toward self-destruction, and a world-wide migration from Earth was their only hope of long-term survival.
‘Has Kau shared their strategy?’ Jun asked, almost wishing he hadn’t. It would make the nightmare all the more real.
Chandra’s fingers swiped over the Interface and pulled up a four-phased plan: Community & Infrastructure Development, Global Communication & Mobilisation, Launch & Migration and Procurement & Legislation. There were swells and stacks of content streams, each filled with charts and reports, collaborator comments and footnotes. There was a lot to take in.
‘We’ll need to divide reading this systematically between us,’ Chandra said, with a look of weariness that Jun felt only too well. ‘But obviously, the Launch & Migration won’t include any Ghettoites/Autonarmists. We’ll be left to fry.’
Jun and Chandra’s eyes met, and they both found a hint of grit in one another and clung onto it. ‘The question is,’ Jun said, surprising herself with her resolve, ‘wh
at are we going to do about it? We can’t just let this happen without doing something.’
Chandra’s steady eyes fell a little before answering her. ‘We’ll have to find an alternative.’
Solo harrumphed, rubbing her scalp, trying to rub out the anxiety that was festering amongst them all.
At the very least, having a framework for discussion before talking with the Ghettoites would soften the blow, Jun reasoned. But escaping to the N-E-E Ghetto and protecting Kodi had to be the priority; figuring out how they could survive had to wait. Two critical situations, pulling them in two different directions, it wouldn’t work.
‘One, actually, isn’t totally exclusive of the other, but we can talk about that later,’ Chandra said, and brought up a blank canvas on the Interface. ‘Let’s talk strategy.’
It was immediately clear that all Ghettoes across the world would need to collaborate, to ensure their survival, and give support, just like they had with the uprisings. There had to be an alternative solution to migrating to Mars; there had been a well-documented study into the habitability of Antarctica. A UA think-tank years ago had deemed Antarctica was unsustainable to support human life, long-term. But none of them could remember seeing the published report, just excerpts from the executive summary. Antarctica aside, there had to be other options to explore, as well? But what did they know, they weren’t experts? They’d need to find relevant academics and professionals, people who’d want to work with them and find an alternative solution. And it couldn’t stop there. If the UA wanted to draw on the best and brightest as priority for the migration, they would. If their merry band of outlaws were to survive, it was essential to recruit people with diverse knowledge and skill sets. They’d need civil engineers, meteorologists, botanists, medical professionals – the list was endless. But this couldn’t be an exclusive opportunity for those who rejected, or where ostracised by, the UA. Whatever solution they found, if at all, when the time came there should be an open invitation to anyone who didn’t want to go to Mars.
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