The Solar War (The Long Winter Book 2)

by A. G. Riddle

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means,” he says slowly, “that the rations you eat aren’t just for you.”

  “Who told you?”

  “That’s not the issue at hand. This conversation is about your unborn child.”

  “There are more lives at stake down here.”

  “But none more important to you or to James. A person can’t fight if they have nothing to fight for.”

  Chapter 21

  James

  “Oscar?” I ask, studying his face. I’m nearly certain of what’s happened to him, but I hope I’m wrong.

  “Oscar isn’t here right now.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Call me Arthur. You met one of my colleagues a few years ago.” He pauses. “At Ceres.”

  Grigory races to the troop carrier, reaches into a bag and draws out a semi-automatic rifle and whirls toward Arthur and me. I turn and put myself in front of the gun, hands raised. The barrel shakes as Grigory stares in rage at Arthur, finger on the trigger.

  Behind me, Arthur speaks slowly, tone condescending. “Temper, temper, Grigory. This tin man is your only way off this desolate rock. Better behave.”

  Grigory shouts in Russian, spit issuing from his mouth. I step toward him, hands still held up.

  “Cool it, Grigory. We need to figure out what we’re dealing with.”

  “We’re dealing with the enemy!”

  I step forward again and extend my hand. “Give me the gun,” I whisper. “There will be a time and place, but it’s not here and not now.”

  He glowers at me. Finally, his finger slips away from the trigger and his body relaxes as he looks up at the sky. I take the gun and hold it to my side, afraid to put it back in the truck where he can get to it.

  Arthur watches Grigory walk away, then continues in the same leisurely, arrogant tone. “Now. Where were we? Oh yes, introductions. At Ceres, you called my associate Art. Why not call me Arthur? I’m older by roughly sixty thousand years, but share some of the same basic programming.”

  “What are you? Are you the harvester?”

  “No, the harvester is a separate entity. I operate independently, usually in situations like this.”

  “What do you want?”

  “We still want the same thing: the output from your sun.”

  “That’s not going to work for us.”

  Arthur smiles, a wicked, knowing smile. “No, it certainly won’t.”

  “Then why are we talking?”

  “This is a negotiation.”

  “Negotiation of what?”

  “Your surrender.”

  Chapter 22

  Emma

  In the mess hall, I find Madison setting up for the day’s lesson, the school-aged kids already starting to take their seats at the long tables.

  I grab her arm and practically drag her from the room. “I need to talk to you.”

  “What—”

  In the hall, I spin and stare at her. “You told Fowler I was pregnant.”

  She straightens and lifts her chin defiantly. “I did.”

  “I told you that in confidence.”

  She studies me for a minute, as if organizing her thoughts.

  “The other parents have been talking about extreme rationing,” she says, eyes locked on me. “Everyone’s for it. I knew it would come up in the leadership meeting. So I had to tell Fowler. I knew you wouldn’t tell him—and that you would advocate for the extreme rationing. It’s our best chance, but you need to eat, Em. I’ll tell the entire bunker if I have to. You can hate me for the rest of my life, but this is a child’s life we’re talking about.”

  I exhale deeply and stare at the ceiling, willing a response to emerge from the cauldron of emotions swirling in my mind.

  As I have with Madison for the last thirty-something years, I settle on a single word, utter it, and walk away.

  “Fine.”

  I find Fowler at the desk in the office nook off the bunk rooms, the same nook James occupied before he left.

  “What’re you doing?” I ask, leaning against the door frame.

  “Trying to figure out what James was working on. Thought there might be a clue as to what happened to him.”

  He holds up a hand sketch that looks to me like a small drone with an improvised head for boring on it. There are shorthand notes and numbers around it, like Sanskrit wrapping an ancient drawing.

  “It’s all Greek to me,” Fowler says. “If Harry was here, maybe he could make sense of it. Not much we can do with it.”

  In my life, I’ve never felt as trapped as I do now. Even when the ISS was torn to pieces and I was stranded in that module, I still held on to hope. This feels much darker. Maybe it’s the lack of food or maybe it’s the simple fact that we are literally buried under a world that has just been ruined, but it feels as if I’m staring into the abyss and all I can see is a dead end. If I’m feeling it, I know others are. I trained for scenarios like this. I’ve survived several of them in the last few years. And I wonder: Does that make me qualified to do something about it? Maybe it does. Maybe that’s the role I can play down here—and I think it’s every bit as important as what James is doing on the surface.

  “There is something we can do.”

  Fowler glances up at me.

  “James is clearly working through something on the surface. We’ve got our own struggle down here.”

  “Which is?”

  “To keep hope alive.”

  Fowler nods solemnly.

  “If we don’t, things will get bad down here. We’re already hungry and scared.”

  Fowler’s gaze drifts away from me. “We’ll survive,” he says, the words coming out hollow, as if he barely believes them.

  “We will. But surviving isn’t just about staying alive. It’s about holding on to what you’re surviving for. Those were your words to me an hour ago in the kitchen.”

  “What are you proposing?”

  “Have you ever read The Birthright?”

  He squints, as if trying to place the name. “The psychology book? Sure. It was all the rage twenty years ago.”

  “I want to form a study group for the book.”

  “Why?”

  “I think it offers what we need right now.”

  A small smile forms at his lips. “Food?”

  “No, it’s far more essential than that. The book gives us a distraction. And maybe even something to believe in.”

  That afternoon, when the kids are gathered in the mess hall for school, I lead the adults down to the sub-basement. The dark cavernous space is the only area large enough to host the meeting. The common rooms between the bunk rooms would be too crowded.

  Somehow, the sub-basement is perfect for the event. I’ve set out LED lanterns in a circle with blankets and pillows for people to sit on. The concrete columns rising up throughout the room make it feel like a cave down here, or some ancient catacomb where we’re meeting in secret, a sect brought together to discuss some great revelation.

  Nearly all of the adults in the Citadel are present, including Fowler, Min, Earls, and most of the soldiers. Madison, Charlotte, and Abby are upstairs conducting the school and a few other adults are keeping the younger children.

  I’ve spent the last two years teaching aspiring astronauts how to survive in space. This is oddly similar—it’s as if I’m teaching, but my audience is different, and the environment we’re trying to survive is arguably much harsher than space: our own minds.

  The Birthright is first and foremost a psychology book—one that offers theories that were hotly debated twenty years ago. I’m not exactly qualified to lead a discussion about those ideas, but I’m going to do the best I can because I think everyone here might benefit from it.

  “I’d like to start by reading the opening of The Birthright.” My voice, though quiet, still echoes in the vast space.

  On my tablet, I turn the first page of the book.

  “Every human is born with a birthr
ight. That birthright is happiness. Our greatest challenge to achieving happiness is not the obstacles we encounter in our life. The true barrier to happiness lies inside of us—and it’s the one thing we can’t ever escape: our own mind.

  “From birth, we are educated on countless aspects of life on earth, from personal hygiene to personal finance, but there is no widely accepted curriculum for understanding and managing our own minds. Indeed, almost every human remains the victim of their own mind throughout their entire life, never learning to master it, or manage it, or even understand it. The Birthright was written to change that. This book is an owner’s manual for a human mind. If you read it and do the maintenance it recommends, your mind will run smoothly. It will break down less often, and in the end, it will take you to your birthright. Indeed, a well-tuned mind is the only road to true and lasting happiness.”

  Chapter 23

  James

  I stare at Arthur in disbelief. “Why negotiate with us? Why not just kill us? You’ve clearly already started the job.”

  “I suspect you can surmise why I’m negotiating, James. You are, after all, a step ahead of your entire species. Always have been.”

  “The conservation of energy.”

  “Exactly. Gold star.”

  Arthur’s tone drips with condescension. The facial expressions are a departure from those displayed by Art—the avatar the grid previously showed us on Ceres. I wonder why. More than that, I want to know what Arthur has done to Oscar, how the harvester took over his body. That might reveal a way to defeat Arthur.

  “What have you done to Oscar?”

  “Nothing really. Just packed his primitive little AI program away in a dark corner.”

  “You sent something down with the asteroids. The black substance.”

  “Yes,” Arthur says as if he’s growing bored. “A physical insertion medium. Used to deploy my code. Barbaric stuff. Haven’t had to use it in eight thousand years.”

  “You’ve certainly changed your attitude since Ceres.”

  “We’re the grid, James. We adapt. The other harvester tried to reason with you then. Unemotionally. With the facts. It offered you peace and you chose war.” Arthur’s eyes drift over to the rubble pile that used to be a family’s home. “How’d that turn out for you?”

  “You don’t have to be smug about your victory.”

  “Oh, but I do. Because you need to know how the grid really sees you. As an inferior species. Vermin in its way. You need to understand how serious we are. You need to realize that the harvester up there is willing to wipe you from this planet.”

  “And why hasn’t it?”

  “Conservation of energy—remember, James? Let me explain. Let’s say you build a power plant. You need this power plant for your people to survive. But you realize that there’s a local termite population eating away at the power lines. You knew about them before you started construction, but you thought they could never harm the power lines. You miscalculated. But not by much. They can’t destroy the whole power plant. But they can cause issues. They can get in the way and degrade output temporarily. You can kill these termites, but there are so many of them and they are, unfortunately, rather resilient little bugs. They go underground and they run and they hide and every now and then they’ll get organized enough to strike back. Hunting them down and killing every last one of them takes time and energy, which you could be using to build another power plant.”

  Arthur pauses. When I don’t react, he shrugs theatrically.

  “So what do you do? You take a hammer and kill a bunch of the termites to scare them. Then you give them a choice.”

  “Which is?”

  “The same choice you had last time. Join the grid. I’ll help you make that happen.”

  “You act like I have that much authority. I don’t speak for the entire human race.”

  “Perhaps. But you underestimate your role here, James. At this point, you are your species’ only hope of survival. The choice is yours.”

  “The answer’s still no.”

  Arthur shakes his head. “You’d rather die than join us?”

  “My people would.”

  “That’s unfortunate. And foolish. It’s also very common. That leaves your last choice: evacuate this planet.”

  “How?”

  “The two ships connected to the ISS.”

  “And go where? There are no other habitable worlds in this solar system, and those ships aren’t capable of interstellar travel.”

  “That’s true—but they could be. This is the deal I’m offering you, James. I’ll give you the technical assistance you need to finish those ships and transform them into colony vessels.” Arthur glances down at Oscar’s body. “I’ll use this primitive medium to direct the construction of robots and technology that are far beyond your capabilities.”

  “Construct them from what? You’ve blown this planet to pieces.”

  “Not entirely. I’ve left intact the critical resources you need to leave Earth. That’s my deal. I help you leave and you never come back. Starting right now, we’ll both cease hostilities. If you strike one of the grid’s solar cells, the deal is off. The harvester will finish you. But if you don’t, I’ll help you.”

  “How long do we have?”

  “Fourteen months.”

  “What happens in fourteen months?”

  “Lights out, James.”

  “Zero solar output reaching Earth?”

  “That’s correct. Freeze or starve—in fourteen months, one of those will be your future.”

  I have a million questions. It’s almost impossible to wrap my head around what he’s saying. I ask the most obvious question first: “Where would we go?”

  “I’ve identified a suitable planet. Earthlike. Off the beaten path, if you will.”

  For a long moment, I study him, wondering if it’s a lie, if that planet really is out there. Even if it is, I wonder if the grid will honor their deal.

  Arthur smiles. “Make a smart choice, James. A better choice than you made last time. This is your last chance to save your people.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because you’re the only mind capable of completing the work in time. Also for the reason I just stated. More than anyone else in the world, you know how serious I am. I told you the last time we met that I would return and fight you. Here I am. If you say no right now, I’ll strike you down. I’ll spend the energy required to mobilize another asteroid. One large enough to bury you on this little planet.”

  Grigory fixes me with a stare, eyes burning with rage. He wants to fight. So do I. But with what? And to what end?

  If I say yes, can I trust the grid? Can I make a deal with the enemy that has killed billions of my people? Even if it’s the right move, the world will hate me. If Grigory is any indication, even my friends will hate me.

  Arthur steps closer to me. “Be smart, James. The clock is ticking.” He pauses, studying me. “You know, something else has changed since you first encountered the grid at Ceres. You’re a father now.” He raises his eyebrows. “And you’re about to be again.” He lets his head fall back as if remembering something. “Oh, that’s right, she hasn’t told you.” He smiles. “But Oscar knows—because Oscar was connected to the AtlanticNet health services database. He saw the pregnancy test result the second it came in. He’s been keeping it from you—patient confidentiality and all that. So Oscar knows and now I know and now you know.”

  My mind races. Is it true? Why wouldn’t Emma tell me? Arthur could be lying to try to manipulate me, hoping that if I believe Emma is pregnant that I’ll take the safer option he’s offered.

  “The first trimester is a delicate time for your unborn, isn’t it, James? A time when the mother needs optimal nutrition. Is she getting it down there in the Citadel? They have, what, a couple of weeks left? Bet they’ve started extreme rationing. What a stressful situation. Not good for those expecting. I can help you get her out.”

  Arthur stares at me. “M
ake the right choice this time. For the sake of your people, your wife, your daughter, your unborn child. Last chance, James. What’s it going to be?”

  Chapter 24

  Emma

  Hours turn to days, and the days flow together.

  Each night, in the crowded bunk room, when the lights go out, I hug Allie tight to me, my back against the concrete wall, a place in the bed saved for James. Every morning, I wake hoping that he arrived during the night, that I’ll reach over and feel a warm place where he’s come and gone, already back at work, figuring this out. But every morning it’s the same: a cold place in the bed beside me and a very scared child in my arms.

  Each night, Allie uses her limited speech to ask the same questions: Where’s Da? Go home?

  Tonight, I don’t even have the strength to answer.

  “Mommy needs to rest, sweetie.”

  I close my eyes and try not to let my thoughts rule me. My worst fear is that something’s happened to James. My biggest regret is that I never told him that I’m pregnant. If I ever see him again, that’s the first thing I’m going to do.

  Breakfast is a somber affair now. The adults watch the kids eat their meager rations. Some of the children are old enough to understand what’s happening, and for the ones who aren’t, there’s no good explanation. No explanation that won’t scare them to death.

  Hearing a child say “I’m hungry” has to be the most gut-wrenching thing in a parent’s life, followed closely by the moment when you say, “There’s nothing I can do.”

  Those two moments happen frequently now.

  We have enough food for nine days. In nine days, the first of us will be at risk of death or permanent disability.

  Despite my daily sessions teaching The Birthright, I can tell some people have given up. I can see it in the way they don’t look at me and in the way they don’t respond to their children when they say they’re hungry. I see it in their bodies, their gaunt faces, skinny arms, and lumbering, almost drunken movements.