Callisto Deception

by John Read

  “Won’t be skinny for much longer.”

  “Pregnant,” Marie said, and paused to process a strange emotion. For the first time it almost felt, not wrong, but odd, to bring a child into this new world, a world without Earth. They’d convinced several women to have children once they arrived on Callisto, filling gaps in their genetic algorithms, but Lise would be the first one she knew personally.

  “I guess you’re doing your part for the algorithm, too,” Marie said.

  After a hug and a laugh, Marie started jogging again, and Lise followed. They passed a lake surrounded by weeping willows. A man stood in waist deep water, fly fishing under the willowy canopy.

  “You should try it,” Lise said. “The compatibility application, I mean, at least see what it comes up with.”

  “Not going to happen,” Marie said.

  “Would you consider have another child?” Lise asked. They crested a hill above the lake, and slowed to a walk to catch their breath.

  “Our job is to preserve the human species. I’ll do my part just like everyone else.” Marie and Lise both knew what the algorithm recommended; anyone able to have children should, and there wasn’t much room for debate. Marie had been thinking about this for quite some time.

  The thought chilled her to the core. If John was here they’d do their part, no questions asked. If one of them died young, would the other remarry? Maybe. But when a person goes missing, in a way, they are neither dead nor alive. Marie thought of the Schrodinger rule that applied here in virtual reality and how it seemed to apply to this situation as well.

  Lise touched Marie on the back of the arm. “Promise me you’ll let me know when you’re ready to pick a donor.”

  “It’ll be years before I’m ready to consider it. But I promise, I’ll let you know.” Marie looked into Lise’s eyes. “Eventually, we all have to do our part.”

  Several people on bicycles zoomed by, calling “on your left” as they passed.

  The birdcycles arced overhead and circled around a soccer field where two teams battled over a multicolored ball.

  “Look! There he is!” Lise said, pointing out at the field.

  “The one on the green team with the yellow socks?” Marie said.

  “Yeah, that’s him!” Lise said, her face glowing.

  “A fine specimen,” Marie said.

  “Want to meet him?”

  They went over to the stands and poured paper cups full of water from a cooler. Marie took two swigs, her resistance suit squirting liquid into her mouth.

  Lise shouted and waved her arms, cheering for the players.

  “What’s his name?” Marie asked.

  “Brian,” she answered. “Excuse me.” Lise took a half breath and began to cough. “I think I need some more water, my mouth … so dry…”

  She stumbled back over to the water cooler and leaned on it. The cooler fell over, spilling its contents onto the grass. Marie ran over and placed a hand on Lise’s back.

  “Are you feeling okay?” Marie asked, guessing it was morning sickness.

  Lise’s hands shot up to her neck. She turned and looked Marie in the eyes. Lise’s eyes bulged as if she had just been punched in the gut. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish’s out of water. It looked as if she was trying to scream but nothing came out.

  “Lise!” Marie yelled, then turned. “Help help! Something’s wrong!”

  Marie looked over to the field, and saw Brian running toward her. He stumbled to the ground, hands shooting up to his neck. His eyes bulged, too. His hand shot out toward Lise, and then he lost consciousness, lying on the ground, eyes unblinking.

  Marie ducked as a birdcycle crashed into the ground, missing her by only a few feet. Its occupant ejected from the seat, slamming into the ground and sliding to a stop. Marie looked up as several others hang gliders and cycles fell from the sky, one of the machines impacting with the soccer net.

  Marie held Lise in her arms, then laid her on her back and began doing compressions. Could a resistance suit initiate CPR? she asked herself.

  “One, two, three, four, five,” Marie counted compressions as she’d been taught. “Help,” she cried. She looked around as she continued her compressions. Several other people were doing the same. Several had left VR, leaving their zombie avatars to look for someplace to disappear from existence.

  People shook the bodies and told them to wake up. On the soccer field, a quarter of the players lay on the ground, unmoving.

  A momentary flash of light and the sky turned off. Marie looked around, noticing that it wasn’t just the sky that had vanished; it was everything. She stood there in the blackness, her suit no longer providing any feedback, and she was suddenly very aware that she was weightless.

  She reached to flip up her glasses, but stopped as a computerized voice spoke in her headset. “Resetting Program.” Three seconds later, the light returned, and Marie stood in the bedroom of her apartment. She left her flat, bolting down the stairs to the street where several others stood around looking lost.

  “What happened?” Marie yelled to a man across the street. He just shrugged.

  “Marie,” someone yelled. Marie looked around. “Marie!” the voice called again. It was Diana. The two women found each other in the crowd.

  “Look, that’s Kathy, from the Victoria. There’s Mika, from the Melbourne. But Phillip and Kai, my neighbors from the Klondike, they didn’t appear. Something’s very wrong, Marie.”

  “Is anyone here from the Klondike?” Marie yelled. Diana and Marie hurried through the crowd, asking each person which ship they were from.

  Marie started running down the street. “Is there anyone from the Klondike here? Anyone?” she yelled.

  Marie got to the end of her road, where the town ended, and the park began. The distant hills pixelated, the lake ceased reflecting the sky, and structures began to vanish. Marie screamed, her body jolting as the suit demagnetized, leaving her weightless once more. Panic ballooned in her chest. Branson!

  Again, she reached for her glasses, to return to the reality of the spaceship, but once more her suit went rigid, this time pressing her into a seated position. The light returned and they were in the auditorium. She looked around and saw thousands of people seated as if they were about to watch a symphony. Something was different than before; a quarter of the seats were empty. Several people began to scream at each other, and at the center of the room.

  On the screen behind the stage, a camera followed Hoshi. She climbed up the stairs that led to the stage, walked to the middle, and stood silently as if collecting her thoughts. She then took three steps forward, and sat on the edge of the stage, letting her legs dangle over. Her image projected up onto the screen, and the room went silent.

  “As many of you know, there is an asteroid field located between Mars and Jupiter,” Hoshi began. “We’re passing through that field now. The probability of a ship impacting an asteroid is minuscule, even for a ship of this size.”

  There was an eerie silence in the room.

  “We saw the rock on the radar thirty minutes ago, but there was a fault in our asteroid deflection cannon, and it didn’t fire. We started the boot up procedure on the thrusters, and they came online, but it was too late. The asteroid was the size of a baseball. It penetrated the Klondike’s hull, passing through several of the compartments, including the O2 supply and hydrogen tanks.”

  Hoshi paused, before stating in a slow and methodical tone, “All lives were lost.”

  14

  Commander Tayler set our alarm clocks to 0530. I stumbled out of my room, reaching for a mug and pouring myself a coffee. An oval tube snaked from behind my head, squirting warm, flavored liquid into my mouth, and I wondered if it actually contained caffeine. I set the mug down and looked at Amelia. She had dark patches around her eyes and I remembered that there were cameras in our headsets and we were looking at each other’s real eyes.

  At 0600 we gathered on the beach. Serene wore the same short-shorts an
d I subconsciously focused on her toned legs. They reminded me of Marie. My wife had run five miles a day up until Branson was born. When I glanced up at her face, she noticed me checking her out and rolled her eyes, as if to say, “Don’t even think about it.” I would have told her not to worry about it but lacked the energy.

  “Walk with me,” Tayler said. We followed him along the sand. Kevin, Avro, Amelia and I to the commander’s left, and Serene, Johnson, Jamaal Nash, and Luke Singer to his right. A flock of pelicans passed above us, wings beating the air with a ferocity we could feel. The tide clawed at the shore, reaching up the beach and drenching our shoes.

  “Our mission is full of unknowns. But if the MDF presence on Mars was any indication of what these trillionaires are capable of, Callisto’s inhabitants might blow us out of space the moment we arrive. I don’t want anyone thinking we’re wasting our time.”

  Tayler stopped and turned to face us. “We could teach you how to use these Jupiter Jump Ships to their full potential. And we will, in time. But today, and tomorrow, and the day after that, we’re going to be learning something far more important.”

  He was silent for a moment, and I wondered how many times the commander had trained for battle. “We’ll learn to work together as a team. We’ll learn to fight together as a single cohesive unit. We’ll even learn to die together.”

  “What happens if you die in the simulator?” I asked.

  “We can die in the simulator?” Amelia said.

  “He means die in simulation, like dying in a video game,” Avro said.

  Kevin raised a hand. “You have a question, Dr. Patel?” the commander said.

  “Where do we go when we die?” Kevin said.

  “Patel, you’ll have your answer within the hour. I guarantee it.”

  Kevin gulped and Commander Tayler smiled. We could tell he was up to something.

  “Look at your watches and tell me what you see,” the commander said.

  “It’s six forty-two,” Serene said.

  “And what else?” Tayler asked.

  “It’s December seventh?” Luke Singer said, glancing up from his watch. “Which is strange, because that’s not the date.”

  “Hey, John isn’t that your birthday?” Kevin said.

  “Uh, oh,” Avro said. “What year is it?”

  “Ah, 2074?” Serene answered. “Why?”

  “No, in this VR program, what year is it supposed to be?” Avro clarified.

  Tayler grinned. “You’ll find out in about thirty seconds.”

  We looked at each other, half expecting a sea monster to rise from the surf. Serene squatted like a tennis player waiting for the serve. Luke Singer and Jamaal Lawson stood back to back, ready to fight. Twenty seconds passed and nothing happened. Then sand began to vibrate as if a backhoe just plowed over nearby dunes. The distant hills began to grumble like giants digesting their lunch. A flock of birds in a perfect V disappeared and reappeared beyond a speckling of cumulus clouds. Then another V appeared, and another.

  Avro answered his question. “Well shit, Commander. I’d say this is 1941.”

  I looked at the airplanes. “And this is Honolulu.”

  The first Zero emerged from behind the tree line; its approach had been hidden by shoreline palms. The silver plane released a bomb. The shell cracked through the thatched roof of our beach home and blasted through the living room floor. I clenched my teeth in anticipation. The bomb was time delayed.

  The house exploded in a ball of red and yellow flames. Bamboo shot through the air like spears from Troy, the blast pelting our faces with debris and heat. Flaming two-by fours cartwheeled into the sand and ocean.

  Two Zeros dove toward us from the west with guns spewing fire. Bullets puckered the sand in two sets of parallel streams that arced across the beach. We scattered toward the palms like hockey players racing across the line.

  “This way,” Tayler ordered, and began running along the hard dirt between the palms and the sand. A Zero approached from the sea, spitting fire from its guns. I skidded to a halt as black volcanic earth exploded in my path. The others paused too, letting the bullets pass.

  The commander led us down a path through the trees until we burst into a clearing, an airfield. The low repetitive pulse of anti-aircraft fire hammered on my eardrums as soldiers ran across the field, firing rifles at the sky.

  A fighter plane idled on the runway. The Wildcat’s yellow-tipped propeller spun slow enough that the blades were almost visible. A white and blue star on the fuselage reflected the morning light; this plane was the pride of the American Navy. The pilot throttled up, and the plane rolled forward, accelerating down the concrete runway. A Zero banked overhead, nosing down, and riddled the Wildcat with bullets. The American aircraft veered off the runway, bounced across the field, crashed into a maintenance shack and burst into flames.

  A soldier slapped a fresh ammunition canister in to a 40mm anti-aircraft gun and pounded the sky. The attacking Zero fell to pieces overhead, its wing breaking apart at the root. It spun into the ground, collapsing in a mangled pile. Only the tail, with red circle and stripes, survived the crash.

  Double speakers hanging from the barrack’s eaves sounded the message, “Air raid Pearl Harbor. This is not drill."

  “Get to the hangars,” Tayler yelled. “You’ll find aircraft fueled, armed, and ready to go.”

  “I don’t know how to fly!” Kevin yelled.

  “See those two B-17s?” Tayler said. “Patel, take the one of the left and I’ll join you. Shephard, you take the one on the right, you just became tail gunners. Johnson, join Amelia, you just became a pilot.”

  “All due respect sir,” Serene said, “I know how to fly a damned aircraft.”

  “Aren’t we a little short staffed?” Luke Singer said, pointing at the squadron of attacking aircraft on the horizon.

  Tayler ignored him and said, “P-forties are in the hangar to the east. Wildcats to the north.” He pointed at the hangars as two of them exploded in a mushroom cloud of flames. “Scratch that. No Wildcats.”

  Amelia and Kevin ran toward the B-17s as the rest of us ran for the P-40s. Technicians were everywhere, loading ammo, and running for cover.

  I climbed the ladder of the nearest Warhawk, pulled on a leather headset and tested the comms. They were pre-set. I hit the starter as the Allison-engine’s twin superchargers caressed my ears with the most glorious sound a pilot’s mind can fathom.

  The P-40 had six fifty-inch Browning machine guns. I felt the trigger under my finger.

  Tayler’s voice crackled over the radio. “Orville, Avro, flank the torpedo bombers from the ocean.”

  “Copy. Flank the bombers,” Avro said, as we taxied across the tarmac.

  Commander Tayler’s voice came again, “Nash, Singer, cover the Fortresses.”

  I taxied by Serene’s aircraft and watched as she settled into her cockpit. Her eyes narrowed in concentration as she flipped multiple switches, spooling up the four cyclone rotary engines. Something about a woman behind the controls of a powerful aircraft was very seductive. But maybe I was just on an adrenaline high.

  I taxied left and right, trying to see around my 1,000 horse power engine. “Shit Avro! There are holes in the runway,” I yelled.

  “Fast taxi, single file,” Avro said, “Stay on my six ... [radio static]. There’s the clearing … [radio static]. Take off!”

  Avro and I punched in our throttles as Singer and Nash took to the runway behind us. The anti-aircraft gun did its job and no Zeroes bothered us as we took flight. I pulled back on the stick, raising the nose forty-five degrees. The island sank beneath us as Avro and I climbed at full power.

  Below us, Singer and Nash circled the airfield while Serene Johnson and Commander Tayler lumbered into the air in the B-17.

  “This is a mess, over,” I said watching squadrons of enemy aircraft make their way toward the harbor.

  “Stay high and to the east,” Avro said. “We’ll hide in the sun. Make strafin
g passes, try not to sacrifice altitude for speed. After each pass, head back into the sun.”

  “Copy that,” I said, lining up for our first pass. Avro went first, lowering his nose and hitting the throttle. I followed at his four o’clock and pressed the trigger. Flames shot from the three barrels on each wing. The plane recoiled. I applied forward pressure on the controls to compensate. Japanese gunners took aim from rear canopies and fired back. Bullets arced through the air, flickering against a background of sky and earth.

  Smoke billowed from enemy bombers like steam from a locomotive. We pulled out of range and took inventory of our targets. Three began falling in an accelerative dive, while a fourth entered a spiral, having taken a hit on the starboard aileron.

  We lined up again for another run. “Avro, we’ve got fighters approaching from the North. Fight or flight, buddy? Over,” I said.

  “Finish this run then follow me.”

  Avro lined up for another attack as the fighters approached at high speed. He strafed six of the bombers, sending a few well-placed rounds into each plane, but not enough to guarantee a kill. I hit five in a similar fashion. Smoke poured from the Nakajimas. We’d hit fuel tanks and hydraulic lines, but the targets stayed airborne.

  “Stay on my six,” Avro said. “We’re going in.”

  “Going in where?”

  He twisted his P-40 to the right then left, descending to the bomber’s flight level. I followed a few plane lengths behind. He soared between the larger aircraft, opening fire whenever a bomber crossed his path. The Zeros orbited above the bombers, holding their fire to avoid shooting their comrades.

  The first wave of bombers released their ordinance over the harbor.

  “Follow the bombs,” Avro yelled. “There’s nothing more we can do from here.”

  We dove, placing the bombers between us and the pursuing fighters. At sea level, the USS Arizona took a direct hit. Its hull bucked and the giant battle ship began to list.