Quarantine

by William Hayashi

  “Not sure. But our telescope would make for an exceptional aiming sight for a laser, would it not? I suspect they’re cooking up a communications system based on point-to-point laser transmission between planets. But I can’t say for sure. They’re both playing their cards close to the vest,” she said, then turned her attention to her food. They ate in silence, as was their custom, immersed in thoughts of their work. When they finished, Andy gathered up the empty plates and took them back to the house.

  The next plot of land over from the farm was devoted to livestock. And though the ethics of raising animals for food was debated often, the town wasn’t ready to purchase animal products from others. As a student, Randolph Redding was a cattleman who traveled around the country during summer vacation with an all-black rodeo, as a trick and bucking bronco rider. With fifteen hundred head of cattle, Randolph’s ranch generated a goodly amount of revenue for the town. He was also leading a team in cellular research and genetics, investigating the feasibility of cloning animal tissue. To produce artificial meat by cloning prime beef muscle and fat tissue would relieve the community of the need for slaughtering animals for food. Randolph’s team knew that once they perfected the method for beef, chicken and seafood were sure to follow.

  With the town generating more electrical power than they consumed, they received a tidy sum from the power company for pumping megawatts of juice into the local grid. Except for the convenience of purchasing supplies and equipment that were too expensive or time consuming to produce locally, they would be self-sufficient should, as the town’s joke went, the zombie apocalypse occur.

  For the most part, there was little commerce in town, revenue from outsiders purchasing goods or services were pooled. And those who needed something the town didn’t provide stopped off at town hall and either picked up a generic credit card or cash.

  Their customs were a great filter for screening potential recruits to join the community. Those who had no problem with the notion of accumulating wealth if such resources went to grow the community, were the people who earned a closer look.

  In addition to the matter of recruiting new members, civil engineer experts were constantly analyzing just how large a community could be reasonably sustained before there was a need to begin another. Once a town reached a certain number of residents, the practicality of operating without some sort of means of barter or currency became untenable. It took an extraordinary person to adjust to this new reality in the small, semi-secret communities. Their mission was no less extraordinary than those living in the space colony, which carried its own risk for being Earth-borne. The very reason the space colony’s original four chose the moon for their first home was precisely to prevent any interference from an overbearing white American. These pocket communities springing up across America had no such protection.

  * * *

  Ever since the so-called separatists were discovered secretly living on the backside of the moon, the U.S. law enforcement community suffered collective embarrassment over the fact that in the neighborhood of two thousand American blacks had disappeared without anyone taking notice. Their immigration to the moon happened in secret over several decades, and the FBI had overlooked, or worse yet, ignored the fact that so many blacks had abruptly disappeared off the streets of America. One day they were going about their daily existence, working, going to school, et cetera, then poof, they were gone.

  Then the American military launched a mission to the moon and landed eight Navy SEALs on the surface in what was a one-way, suicidal mission to try to steal a colonist spacecraft. Unfortunately, by the time the SEALs arrived on the lunar surface, the separatists had lifted their entire underground city out of the moon and flew it out to the edge of the asteroid belt. The SEALs were stranded, although they located an operational outpost with breathable atmosphere, forcing NASA to send them supplies and equipment for over a decade. It was only when the separatists returned to the moon, picked up the remaining, living SEALs, destroying the outpost at the same time, did they begin to enforce the quarantine of Earth’s people from space.

  To be denied anything was anathema to an America convinced of its exceptionalism in the world. And to be denied access to Earth’s orbit and every other body in space was intolerable, especially so when the embargo was enforced by a colony of two thousand, space faring, black Americans. Their very existence destroyed any notion of white exceptionalism in the United States once and for all.

  NASA, after seeing how all attempts to launch anything into space were denied, began long-term planning, focused on missions to run once the embargo was lifted. Several of the space-capable countries of the world tested the resolve of the colonists, some even launching suicide missions designed to destroy the spacecraft. Nothing worked, the embargo held.

  Though the U.S. military had the means of detecting and tracking the colonist’s gravity manipulating spacecraft, they could not duplicate the technology that propelled those ships effortlessly through space, nor did they have a clue about how those same ships generated shields protected them. But that didn’t dissuade the Joint Chiefs of Staff from plotting to destroy them. The latest proposal they sent to the White House was a plan to fire thousands of projectiles toward the colonist’s space station using the Navy’s newest tactical weapon, the rail gun.

  It was the discovery of that proposal by the space station’s A.I. clone that prompted Peanut and Roger to install upgrades to the station’s sensors and shields. The Navy’s rail guns could shoot metal rods at the station at a considerable fraction of the speed of light with kinetic energy rivaling that of a tactical nuclear detonation.

  So far, President Wilcox had rejected any such attack given the memory of just one of the colony’s ships hovering over the White House lawn, it’s shields making it impervious to harm. The ease with which the colonist ship completely ignored missiles fired from helicopters and from the roof of the White House itself was evident to military and civilian bystanders alike.

  And yet, even after every demonstration that Earth’s weapons were useless, America’s military refused to give up. The half dozen unmanned launches they had sponsored since the embargo began all ended with the rockets dropped into the Atlantic Ocean; a complete waste of billions of dollars. Two of the rockets had nuclear payloads that failed to detonate once they were grabbed by the separatist’s spacecraft, but the military was still not to be denied. No one could seriously pretend there wasn’t a racial component to the military’s obsession with destroying the separatist’s spacecraft and the station. America’s military supremacy ended at the Earth’s atmosphere. The casual way in which a small community of blacks decided that no one was to send man or machine into space until their demand of global nuclear disarmament be met was maddening.

  The military had developed rail gun technology to destroy satellites in orbit from Earth’s surface and could easily hurl deadly projectiles as far as the separatist’s space station out in lunar orbit. They were now being proposed for use against the separatist’s orbiting space station without even knowing if they would be any more effective than the weapons used against the ship over the White House.

  President Wilcox had been fighting the military’s efforts to attack and destroy those ships knowing full well the consequences of direct confrontation. The conversation between the man claiming to be the colony’s Sovereign and President Laughlin, when two of the colony’s residents were detained by federal authorities, was stored online on so many network servers it was impossible to eradicate. As a result, billions of people across the globe viewed the exchange. Interference in the lives of the colonists would not be tolerated, ever. It was that threat always at the forefront of President Wilcox’s mind, keeping her mindful of her sworn duty to protect America and its citizens. To attack the colonial space station in lunar orbit was to invite disaster. So far, the separatists had not taken a life in the defense of their spacecraft and their people, but if one of them was killed in a military attack, Wilcox
was positive the retribution would be horrific.

  Her problem boiled down to how to keep the military in check and prevent it from committing an act that brought disaster down on the American people. The memory of Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, General Kaminski, serving under President Bender, launching the SEALs to land on the surface of the moon against orders, was never far from her mind. The whole mission was a fiasco. The separatists had left nothing behind of value except the functioning outpost, which saved the lives of the SEALs and sent an unambiguous message back to Earth scrawled on the outpost wall: Whitey Go Home! Unfortunately, the military took the entire disaster as a challenge rather than a warning, and their following the Commander in Chief’s orders wasn’t guaranteed.

  President Wilcox called the Chief of Staff on the intercom. “Nathan, could you step in my office, please?”

  Moments later, Slade walked in. “What’s on your mind, Madam President?”

  “I take it you saw the request from the Joint Chiefs. . . again?”

  “Indeed I did,” he said. “I have to wonder just how much of a problem you’re really going to have from the military.”

  “Mutiny?”

  “Look what that asshole Kaminski did, sending those SEALs to the moon. The insanity of sending armed soldiers to confront people who had been living there for decades, traveling to and from Earth at will, in secret no less, simply cannot be denied. As for whether these assholes would launch a unilateral attack against the separatists, I have no idea. I’m going to put my ear to the ground and see what I can find. But I’m not sure if you or I will get a definitive answer. I must caution that a black Chief of Staff and a woman President probably don’t garner much respect from the chairman nor the rest of the chiefs, but that’s not going to stop me from trying. If I find out anything, I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks, Nate. Do you have anything else we should be going over?”

  “I think we’ll have the itinerary for your trip to Europe next month finalized by the end of the week. But nothing’s really pressing right now,” he replied. “I’ll check in this afternoon.”

  “Good enough,” Wilcox replied, as she picked up one of the many folders piled on her desk.

  * * *

  A few miles away, at the Pentagon, General Wilbur Archer was closeted with the Chief of Naval Operations and the Army’s top general, newly appointed just six months ago. They were discussing the logistics of increasing the number of large-bore rail guns deployed around the country.

  “A lead time of four years is totally unacceptable, gentlemen. We cannot afford to leave the United States and its allies vulnerable for that amount of time,” Archer stated. “What’s the holdup?”

  “First of all, we don’t have the funding to get another twenty-five units, sir,” said Fleet Admiral Joseph Park. “Currently, we only have three ships the units can be mounted on. Where are you proposing we deploy them? We have no funding for twenty-two additional attack cruisers.”

  “No worries, I want them land-based to protect installations and harbors. What about you?” Archer asked General Samuel McIntosh, head of the Army.

  “Like Joe, we don’t have the funding. But I can see a couple dozen deployed around the country. Maybe four more around Washington for a start, maybe some of the installations where we’re either going to protect our top-tier people if we come under attack, or some of the secret installations. But my contact at Global Space Technologies needs a minimum of four years to build and deliver.”

  Archer held up his hand for silence and pressed a button on his phone. “Doris, please see if Ted Franks at GST has a few minutes to chat.”

  “Right away, General.”

  The three waited in silence until Doris announced that Franks was on the phone.

  “How the hell are you, Ted. I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time?” asked Archer.

  “Not at all, General. I always have time for you. What’s on your mind today?”

  “I’m sitting here with Navy and Army discussing deploying a couple of dozen new wide-bore rail guns.”

  “And?”

  “And I want to know why it’s going to take four years for you to deliver twenty-five more units.”

  “First of all, General, you don’t have the funding, either on the books or off, to pay for them. And second, since we cannot sell them to anyone but the United States military, we’re not going to stockpile any of those units just in case. By the way, a report on the development of the man-portable unit just crossed my desk. We’re getting close.”

  “How close?” Archer asked.

  “First tests in about six months.”

  “Outstanding! But I really need to know why I have to wait four years for the DS500s? We’re sitting here with our asses hanging out, defenseless against those damn colonists,” Archer growled.

  “Begging the General’s pardon, but it’s been over a decade since any of the separatists have been back, save for their taking out any rockets sent into orbit. I would suggest that even if you did have a bunch of the 500s deployed, there’s no real threat from those people,” Franks started. “Or, and tell me if I’m talking out of school here, are you thinking about using the 500s as a first strike weapon?”

  The heads of the two branches were silent, waiting to hear General Archer’s reply.

  “Let me ask you this, Ted, what’s the range of a DS500?”

  “They were designed to knock satellites out of orbit, you know that,” Franks replied cautiously.

  “And once in space the rods could conceivably continue on forever with no loss of velocity, correct?”

  “For all practical purposes. Hey! You’re not thinking about trying to destroy their station, the one in lunar orbit, are you? Sir, that’s just about the most dangerous thing that I personally think you can do. I have—we have—no idea if the projectiles from a 500 can even damage their station, let alone one of their ships. You saw that White House footage. Nothing the F-22s or the attack ‘copters threw at that ship made the least bit of difference. You must believe that their station is even better protected than their ships. And please tell me if I’m stepping out of line, but do you have the go ahead to—no, never mind, I don’t want to know,” Franks shuddered.

  “Right. Now, about that timetable,” said Archer.

  Franks was silent for a few moments, “If the government authorizes and pays for overtime, we could maybe shave six months off that four years for delivery. Installation is another matter. I’ll check with our logistics people. Do you want to give the word now?”

  “Let me get back to you, Ted.”

  “Very good, General. I look forward to your call.”

  Once the call disconnected, Archer said, “I want locations, land-based, for these new units. As for to what use I plan to put them, let’s just say that with a non-nuclear United States coming in the next five years, we have to be vigilant, we have to be prepared, and we have to anticipate the challenges of a post-nuclear Earth to meet them head-on.”

  When he stood, the other two gathered their papers, shook hands and left the room. In the elevator, Park turned to McIntosh and whispered, even though they were alone, “I sure hope he’s not going to pull a fucking Kaminski with this shit.”

  “I’ll get him his locations, even pull together the logistics to deploy, but if he’s seriously considering an attack, it’s going to have to be under direct orders from POTUS! Hell, I’d give my left nut to get one of their ships, but their capabilities scare the living shit out of me if we must go head-to-head against them. Look how easily they handle anything that’s launched. Nothing touches them, nothing works once it gets in the air. I ain’t looking forward to poking the bear,” McIntosh shook his head.

  Moments later, the elevator doors opened and they each took off in a different direction, thinking about the likely risk they were being ordered to undertake.

  Unfinished Business

  There were several changes underwa
y in the United States, changes that had not happened before in the recorded history. The most visible was how fed up African Americans were with the insults, slights, injuries, and murders that occurred all too frequently at the hands of white police officers who went unpunished. The existence of the off-world colony was responsible for much of this change. African Americans pointed to the space colonist’s accomplishments as proof of what they could produce without the unrelenting bigotry and racism woven into the fabric of American society. Predictably, most conservative whites couldn’t entertain the notion that blacks had built the colony alone, there had to be someone white behind the colony with all its advanced technology.

  The U.S. law enforcement community, along with the offices of military intelligence, spent countless hours and millions of dollars pouring over the roll call of colonists when the colony lifted itself out of the moon’s bedrock. Every single person listed was investigated back to their birth and if their parents or friends warranted a closer look, those lives were also put under a microscope.

  The focus of all these investigations was to discover exactly who was behind the technologies employed in the colony. None of the investigations discovered anyone white or foreign associated with the colony.

  The U.S. military had a gravity wave detector that could locate the ships and space stations of the separatists. Though the detector’s technology was over a quarter of a century old, it was one thing to track and observe the manipulation of gravity, it was quite another to duplicate the technology.

  America’s lead research scientist in the study of gravity was Dr. Martin Harris, also the inventor of the first gravity wave detector. After nearly thirty years of research, he didn’t have a clue as to how the colonist’s technology worked. His studies of the sensor data from the colonist’s spacecraft ships demonstrated that they could reach a substantial fraction of the speed of light, enough so that the ship’s clocks would slow compared to those on Earth, but revealed no clue about the methods employed.