Attribution

by Christine Horner

  Zedd threw the compressed sack back. “I’m sick to death of your reptilian brain.”

  “Would you two idiots stop it for once?”

  Just north of Vegas, Cadence was in no mood, and neither was Truby.

  The vehicle had broken down twice, two tiny vacuum leaks that had been difficult to pinpoint during the heat of the day. All four of them could have been scoping out New Las Vegas this evening, but instead, they had once again agreed to avoid night flying.

  Truby’s computer tablet searched for an unlicensed private satellite. Illegal, but well-cloaked amidst orbiting space junk, they were there.

  “He’s the jerk that keeps trying to ditch us,” whined Hector before flinging the bag at Zedd like a game of dodgeball.

  The sleeping bag’s cover seam split with a thud against Zedd’s torso, the bag unraveling in his arms. An expletive went flying and so did Zedd as he dove at Hector. A full-out wrestling match ensued on the desert floor. Dust and dirt rose along with arms and legs. It was a match of wit and strength rather than raw violence, a challenge for alpha position.

  Appearing to enjoy the show, Cadence leaned against the vehicle next to Truby. “They can sleep with each other tonight.”

  Grunts and groans, a headlock, then an attempt at a half Nelson.

  “See that? You’re looking at all of human history right there,” stated Truby for the record.

  Having had enough, she separated herself from the vehicle, preparing to intervene when something small fell out of Zedd’s torn pant pocket. It looked just like the hummingbird drones sent by Young to intimidate Truby. She reached in for it. Zedd abandoned Hector to snatch it off the ground before Truby could palm it. He wordlessly tucked it back in his pocket, brushing dirt out of his hair.

  “Internet shopping again?” asked Truby.

  Hector lay on the ground, chest heaving. “I had you, Zero, and you know it!”

  “Pretty cool, huh? I found it on the ground near the Inn.” Zedd pulled his new pet back out of his pocket. “I tried to fix it, but lookie here. It’s burnt toast.”

  “Lookie?”

  Thirty minutes later, Truby, Cadence, Hector, and Zedd each lay well apart in individual sleeping bags staring sleeplessly at a night sky made darker by cloud cover. Small, maybe large, insects and creatures of the night and their companions seemed to mock them. The nocturnal noises made everyone jittery.

  Cadence wiggled herself to within three feet of Truby, whose own stomach was tied in knots. The pressure was made worse by deactivated BioIDs rendered mute. It was one thing to lament the bondage of technology, quite another to be disconnected from it entirely.

  Tensions were high. The strain of uncertainty and distrust was increasing the closer they got to New Las Vegas. Zedd’s hummingbird drone had left Truby reeling as her imagination conjured nonstop images of a Vegas in the desert wiped out by tsunami, triggered by an earthquake, something only the wildest imagination could dream up.

  Anguished faces, parents searching for missing children, and a little girl crying for her father swirled together in the blackness. The survivor’s guilt was nearly unbearable.

  What was happening in the world? Who was in control?

  A twisted smile, his warped sense of the world, Terrance Young’s face would be a deep and dark shadow forever blotting out Truby’s sun. Thinking back, Young had hounded her this past year with a string of nonsensical video projects. Her stomach caved in as if she’d just taken a blow upon realizing she’d willingly done the work. She’d just wanted Young to go away. But, now she saw the genius behind it. Truby curled up into a fetal position on her side

  2021 :: Stockholm, Sweden — “I think you know who we are without formal introductions,” said Young, a manipulative smile playing on his lips. When Thomas said nothing, “That’s what I thought”

  He was at a disadvantage. Young’s “small chat” had led him into a windowless conference room. A high-level security lapel pin had allowed them to pass beyond an unmarked sliding door in the Global Security Council Building. Young ushered General Frohm in first before insisting that it wouldn’t take long—if Thomas were a good sport.

  Capitulating, Thomas heard the faint beep of the room’s security system auto-activating. He knew he couldn’t leave until excused.

  A thin beam of pink light horizontally and vertically scanned the meeting room end to end, including its occupants. “Enjoy your meeting, General Frohm,” suggested a pleasant digital voice.

  Young continued, “As the safety of our young geniuses and their families remains paramount, General Frohm,” nodding respectfully toward his superior, “and I, thought you might like to be made aware GSC security recently notified us they’ve been picking up intermittent unauthorized transmissions.” Young paused to raise his eyebrows. “From where to whom, we can’t say. Yet.”

  Thomas wasn’t going to be a good sport. He rose from his chair. “I’m sure you’ll work it out.” Striding toward the door, “Gentlemen, my wife, and daughters will miss me.”

  “Indeed.” Young punched a code into the security panel next to the sliding door, nodding cordially.

  “Find the proof we need to link him to the Gritts causing Project WREN trouble,” ordered General Frohm after Thomas exited.

  CHAPTER 39

  Americas Sector M9-47G :: New Las Vegas Desert

  Truby, Hector, Cadence, and Zedd wandered incredulously through a motley crowd of off-gridders and travelers camped in the desert.

  “We could have been here two days ago instead of hiding out like snakes,” said Zedd, pulling his hat down to shield his face from the sun.

  “Do some of these people look familiar or is it just me?” asked Truby as she inspected passing faces. A man in a turban bumped into her, saluting, his brown eyes flashing.

  “Can’t we get any closer?” asked Cadence. “I can’t even see Vegas.”

  “That’s the point,” said Hector.

  What they did see was still a shock. Besides the unexpected crowd that had arrived before them, the desert wasn’t desert at all. They stood in the middle of the biblical Garden of Eden trickling all the way out from New Las Vegas. Grasses short and tall, flowers and small trees dotted the landscape creating its own ecosphere and weather as clouds formed over the swath of abundance on the desert floor. Remarkable was how the vegetation naturally reduced the temperature compared to the surrounding natural landscaping. What kept the garden green was imported humus and a recycling covered water channel that used dikes to move the water through a human constructed underground aquifer.

  The crowd was several hundred and growing. Scattered about was everything from hovering long-distance flying vehicles to sophisticated eco-shelters that used sensory-based nanotechnology to generate a temporary life-shelter to suit native conditions. A few salvaged canvas Army tents and cots even dotted the landscape.

  Everywhere, people of all ages, genders, and heritages seemed to have personal reasons for being there. Some off-gridders sold wares; others marched around with U.S. flags demarcated with universal NO signs. Regardless of the reasons and the means, tolerance and comradery were emerging as common purpose forged by fire. Some shared resources, passing out water drops and self-filling water bottles. The odd thing was that Truby felt like she was late to her own party.

  As they moved closer to the frontline, the mood and the crowd became something else—divisive. Four armed National Guard service men and women and two military vehicles blocked Highway 15 into New Las Vegas. Why had the departing convoy left only a handful of contingents?

  A billboard-sized GSC global state of emergency hologram looped continuously. Protestors demanded information about missing friends and family and to be allowed to pass. Though no visible border existed between the people and the way into the city via the desert, something was preventing the masses from finishing their journey. A line was clearly drawn in the sand.

  Inspecting the roadblock, Truby inadvertently walked hard into something or someone
. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  “You!” Cadence was hugging an old man before Truby realized it was Park Ranger Pete out of uniform.

  “How did you get here?”

  “We hitched a ride,” Pete winked.

  “Hello, Truby,” said Rose holding Pete’s hand, giving Truby a wink herself.

  “You found me,” she hugged the precocious girl. Truby had a lot of questions, but she would save them for later.

  ___

  In the evening, a few National Guard wandered through the camp with security wands and German Shepherds. It was surprisingly quiet for the volume of campers bedding down for the night. Finding safety in numbers, many opted for a rare opportunity to sleep under the stars. Truby had chosen to camp closer toward the road in the rear. The site gave them a little privacy, room to breathe, and access to Interstate 15 if they should suddenly require it. She wondered how most of the people had gotten here. So isolated at the Old Faithful Inn, she hadn’t thought about others being in the picture when they arrived. It was an embarrassingly flagrant oversight.

  Truby’s camp sat around a warming device that generated heat as well as ambient light without polluting the environment.

  Truby called the meeting to order like she did at the Inn, “Okay, let’s investigate.”

  “Code for ‘I don’t have a plan,’” said Zedd.

  “We do. Truby, may I?” Rose stood as if preordained.

  Hector, Cadence, and Zedd glanced at Truby with equal skepticism and suspicion.

  “Please proceed, Rose.” Truby raised her eyebrows at Pete who smiled proudly.

  Rose picked up her walking stick, stepping where all could see her. “We are approximately one mile northeast of New Las Vegas. First, a little history.” Rose cleared her throat to make sure she had everyone’s attention. “As the drought in the West worsened, the Southern Nevada Water Authority was court-ordered to reroute Colorado River water to the highest priority cities.

  “Projected water shortages were so bad, the Global Security Council’s first project was to quietly launch an outside-the-box contest only open to the best and most brilliant minds worldwide. A group of young Alphas submitted a plan.”

  “Yes, born around 2020, Alphas came after Gen Z or TransGenerationals, but history tells of many famous Alphas ahead of their time,” supplied Cadence.

  “da Vinci, Madame Curie, Tesla, Hawking,” said Hector.

  “Yes, and my favorite, Einstein. The Alphas exceeded expectations when they included in the proposal a way to create climate-proof cities by adapting existing infrastructure. Despite aggressive . . .”

  Not to be outdone by Hector, Zedd put on smart glasses, rapid eye movement controlling his tablet. “I got this, Rose.”

  A 3D rendering of Nevada sprang above the artificial heat source which dimmed. As Rose continued her narration, Zedd worked his tablet like a magician, the hologram transfiguring along with the storyline.

  “As I was saying, despite aggressive campaigns by nations around the world, Las Vegas was selected as the site of the first intercontinental geothermal hydropower superstructure known as WREN because of the city’s proximity to the Colorado River. The Colorado River Aqueduct also already had underground water pipes in place.

  “Lake Meade and the Grand Canyon could be adapted to hold massive quantities of water, cutting many years off the construction timeline.”

  “Vegas was also chosen due to the wide-open spaces available to create additional solar and wind farms. And because of what happened in China,” added Truby.

  “Don’t forget about the unhappy people,” said Pete, slurping on an edible-encased water drop.

  “Right. Many people were very angry about how much destruction to nature the project would cause,” said Rose.

  Pete grew mournful, wiping moisture from his eyes, “My lady, Old Faithful.”

  “You mean, your old lady, Faithful.” Zedd’s laughter at his cleverness met with dead silence. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  CHAPTER 40

  Truby was the one feeling sorry. Lost in her own private thoughts, she stared at the hologram hanging in the air as Rose continued with her recitation.

  “The seawater is piped in from the northwest coast to the desalination station in Vegas. It takes a lot of pressure to move that much water. That’s where the internal turbines and geothermal power come in, power created from heat from the Earth’s core.” Rose paused again like an experienced speaker. “Old Faithful became irregular when the drilling disrupted the integrity of the caldera where Old Faithful sits. No pressure, no eruption.”

  “Damage to natural phenomena was more widescale than originally estimated. It always is.” Pete blew his nose.

  While everyone focused on Rose, Zedd withdrew the hummingbird drone from his pocket. He sneered at Hector’s M.I.T. sweatshirt folded neatly on his sleeping bag nearby. People like him knew nothing of the real world, Zedd simmered. He had no idea what Cadence saw in the knuckle-dragger. He leaned on his side looking bored while Hector sorted out what was obvious to Zedd.

  “This doesn’t make sense,” Hector said, scratching at his chin. “What happened to the solar water tubes that California and some European coastal countries had off their shorelines to desalinate water?”

  “Some billionaire bought up the patent rights claiming he was going to mass-produce them,” explained Truby. “But, they soon disappeared. Follow the money trail. Maybe he has a financial stake in WREN and the mass production of the global water superstructures.”

  “Except now it’s destroyed, supposedly.”

  “But the earthquake— We felt it, too,” said Cadence.

  Hector thought about it. “Well, I guess tapping into the Earth’s crust could trigger earthquakes. Like when they drilled into Yellowstone’s supervolcano magma chamber in 2019 to try to relieve the pressure.”

  “Or,” interjected Zedd, “using high water pressure like in fracking to purposely create earthquakes! Hello?”

  Absorbed, Hector didn’t hear the sarcasm in Zedd’s voice. “So... if the water isn’t stored at the Grand Reservoir like a giant water tower, where’s it going?”

  “The black market!”

  “I don’t know.” Hector seriously considered everything he’d just heard.

  “What’s trucked out of that Canyon is what’s behind this,” Pete said, unrolling his bedding.

  Truby’s mind tried to sort the balls in play. She missed a simpler world in which a line drive past the shortstop that brought home two runners on base was the day’s hot topic of conversation.

  A closer pass by security. This time they walked the near side of a neighboring camp of aging National Guard vets with “Katrina” and “Trump” embroidered on ball caps. The German Shepherd began to bark, straining on her leash.

  “Shut everything down!” whispered Truby.

  Zedd’s tablet beeped as he and everyone else slid into sleeping bags or bedrolls. He pulled his sleeping bag over his head as if out for the night. Undercover, a red echo marker flashed a warning on his tablet. The incessant barking grew louder. Heart racing, he didn’t dare move. Zedd heard the footfalls of heavy boots on uneven ground before feeling one bump up against his leg. The noise of the security wand as it passed nearby grew more demanding.

  “Unauthorized external devices will be confiscated and destroyed. Give them up voluntarily or be detained for questioning,” the female Guard demanded.

  “Nothing to declare here, young lady,” said Pete yawning and stretching. “Just tired folks in need of respite.”

  Ears picking up a high frequency sound only she could hear, the military work dog began to whine between yaps as she pulled the second National Guardsman between Zedd and Hector.

  “Good girl,” he praised.

  The female Guard waved the security wand directly over Zedd. “You there. Hands first, show yourself.”

  Still undercover, he felt the wand’s pulsating energy field. Unable to breathe, he sucked in fresh air as his h
ead popped out after his hands. “Look, you’ve got the wrong—”

  The woman Guard stepped over Zedd, pointing at Hector’s sweatshirt, security device flashing orange and making a racket. “Pick it up. Show me.”

  “My shirt? What for?” asked Hector confused.

  Impatient, the woman kicked it, the sweatshirt lifting slightly off the ground. The hummingbird fell out of the pocket, landing with a heavy thud almost directly in front of her feet. She instinctively jumped back.

  The trained Shepherd’s tail wagged there was no threat. She picked it up in her mouth to show her human.

  “Drone. High-tech stuff. You just bought a ticket to come with us,” she said.

  “No! He didn’t do anything!” cried Cadence.

  “It’s not mine!”

  “Anybody else care to claim it?” dared the other Guardsman.

  Silence collided with furtive, guilty glances. Disgusted, Hector stood, giving in to the inevitable. Knowing enough to remain silent, he slipped on his all-terrain shoes to be led out by the two National Guards. But not without trudging over, instead of around, Zedd’s sleeping bag. A slight crunching noise, Hector felt the satisfaction of knowing he’d smashed Zedd’s tablet. He gave it a little bounce as Zedd’s elbow flew into his calf.

  After security was out of hearing distance, Cadence whimpered.

  Zedd rolled on his side, away from accusatory stares.

  Rose moved her sleeping bag next to Cadence, the girl stroking her hair to comfort the young woman. “He’ll be okay, Cadence,” Rose tried.

  “We have two jobs instead of one now, folks,” said Truby. “Get some sleep.”

  Pete was already softly snoring.

  Later, unable to sleep, Truby left her warm sleeping bag to meet the chill of nature’s indifference. Things had just gotten more complicated. They hadn’t even arrived twelve hours ago, and already they were down a player. Zedd’s game was still unclear to Truby. Uncertain whose team he was on, she had gambled by not ratting him out. She was about to tell the Guards to take a hike when Pete rapped his walking stick beside his bedroll twice sharply on the ground, giving a quick shake of his head. Had she taken the defensive, she would also be detained as a person of interest. She aimlessly walked the hard desert thinking of another little boy.