by A. G. Riddle
“I agree,” Min says. “I think if we can make the colony option work, it’s our best move. I don’t trust the grid. I think they’ll double-cross us, and I think that’s the greatest risk.”
“How do we mitigate that risk?” Fowler asks.
“I’ve given it a lot of thought,” James says. “The principal risk is that the grid will be giving us a great deal of technical assistance. If they can control the technology, they can kill us in any number of ways.”
He lets the words hang there for a long moment.
“But,” he continues, “I think we can minimize the threat. First, we allow the grid to provide technical designs, but we conduct the manufacturing, to ensure the parts aren’t made to fail—and we always write all of the software. We also need to make sure Arthur doesn’t have access to that code or any of our networks. As of right now, we don’t have any wireless data networks.”
“What about the daisy-chain repeaters the drones set out?” Min asks.
“Oh, right,” James says, rubbing his temple. “But they’re just voice data—they have no connection to any of our databases and the software is rudimentary. I don’t see much risk there, but we should take it down anyway and just use the radios. From here out, we’ll maintain a ban on wireless data networks.”
“That wouldn’t prevent Arthur from writing code of his own and uploading it to a closed system,” Harry says.
“That’s true,” James replies. “And I think that’s the second part: we need to maintain one hundred percent visual coverage of Arthur at all times. Restrict his access, make sure he doesn’t go near a computer that’s connected to another one.”
“That’s not the only danger,” Min says. “The harvester could launch a direct attack on the colony ships.”
“I’ve given that some thought,” James says. “I think we have to insist that the ships have some form of defense system. Even if we get out of this solar system successfully, we will be crossing a wide swath of space, possibly transiting other solar systems or passing near them—systems where we might encounter hostile technology or civilizations. We need to be able to defend ourselves.”
“Obviously, spaceships are pretty far outside my area of expertise,” Colonel Earls says. “I look at things from a different point of view. When I think about the risks, the human factor is what jumps out at me. Specifically, at some point, certainly in the next year, we’ll have to start telling people that we’re leaving Earth on a starship. I think a portion of the population will have a problem even believing that. And if they believe it, agreeing to it. We could have riots on our hands. We might have a civil war before this is all over. The conflict between Camps Four and Five that we just witnessed is just a small preview of what we might be facing.”
Earls is right. I also hadn’t seen it from that perspective. It’s amazing how hearing from someone with a different point of view reveals your blind spots.
“It would seem,” Fowler says, “that we all have our work cut out for us, no matter what path we choose. It’s apparent that we need to hear the details of Arthur’s proposal before we decide. We don’t have enough information at this point.” He scans the group. “Agreed?”
“I agree,” James says as others chime in and nod.
“I have one other thing I want to add,” Charlotte says. “We’ve compiled an updated census with counts from Camps Seven, Four, and Five. We’re at just over five hundred survivors. Simply put, it’s a very small genetic pool from which to restart the human race. I’m not saying it can’t be done, but it’s one of my concerns. If the trend holds for the rest of the camps in the Atlantic Union, we’re borderline at best. Simply put, we need to find more people. While I agree that our resources should be dedicated to either the underground habitat or shipbuilding, I think we need to consider reaching out to the Caspians, the Pac Alliance, and the homeland settlements sooner rather than later.”
I know Charlotte has family in Australia, at the Pac Alliance headquarters. I haven’t thought about it before, but she must be worried sick about them. I also find her concerns about our population level valid.
“How to get there,” Harry says, “is the problem. The drones have surveyed all of the AU airports. None of the aircraft survived the asteroid strikes. No helos either. There are still three military depots in the camps left to reconnoiter, but I don’t think we can be optimistic at this point.”
“What about the two AU seaports?” Fowler asks.
“Unknown,” James responds. “One of the drones will reach the northern port at Camp Three in the next thirty-six hours. We’ll get a look at the western port at Camp Fifteen about twelve hours after that. I’d be very surprised if any of the vessels anchored there survived. Unless one of those camps wasn’t hit.”
“And,” Colonel Earls says, “none of the other camps or settlements have contacted us. It implies that they’re in the same shape we are. Or worse.”
“I have an idea,” Min says quietly. “I need to talk to Grigory about it, but it could potentially connect us with the other camps.”
The door to the situation room flies open and a staff sergeant leans in. “Colonel, sorry, sir, Captain Brightwell’s on the line. We have a problem.”
Instantly I glance back at the drone footage. I think everyone was so caught up in the conversation that they ignored the screens on the wall.
In the image, the Camp Seven convoy is stopped in the snow. Two ATVs from another camp are parked near them, Atlantic Union soldiers spread out around the vehicles, guns pointing at our convoy. It looks like a roadblock.
“Thank you,” Earls says to the sergeant, who withdrawals instantly, closing the door. Earls activates the radio on the conference table. “Team bravo, Camp Seven actual. Report.”
“Sir, Captain Brightwell here. We’ve made contact with Camp Nine. They’ve ordered me to stand down and surrender my weapons.”
“Who’s ordered you, Captain?”
“General Paroli, sir.”
“Who is General Paroli?” Fowler asks.
“He’s the CO of the AU Third Army,” Earls responds. “He’s Italian. So are his troops. He’s in charge of AU northern ground defenses. And he outranks me.”
“Not anymore,” Fowler says. “As of right now, I’m activating the Citadel Continuity Charter.”
Earls cocks his head. “Sir, I’m not familiar.”
“It’s a classified section of the AU treaty that transfers all executive branch powers, including the authority to declare martial law, to the highest-ranking civilian official here in Camp Seven. The chain of command is very clear. Two of the AU Executive Council members survived in the Citadel, and both declined their rights under the charter. Which means I’m in charge.”
“Sir,” Captain Brightwell says over the radio. “Do you copy?”
“Standby, Captain,” Earls replies.
“I should’ve done this sooner,” Fowler says. “Under the authority granted to me by the Citadel Continuity Charter, I hereby appoint you, Nathan Earls, as the new Secretary of Defense for the Atlantic Union. I believe that gives you the authority you need to control the present situation and any others you encounter out there.”
Earls sits there, stunned. “Sir, I certainly appreciate it. But I’m not sure I’m qualified. To be frank, the Citadel assignment was sort of a backwater posting. Before the Long Winter, I was eighteen months from retirement. Probably already at my terminal rank.”
“Well, Mr. Secretary, the world has changed. And as far as I can see, you’re the best man for the job right now. It sounds like you have a situation you need to attend to.”
Earls stands, still slightly stunned. “Yes, sir,” he says absently before making his way out of the room.
To James, Fowler says, “Let’s start prepping for the meeting with Arthur. I want to get this right. But first, I need an hour to work on something.”
“What’s that?” James calls as Fowler heads for the door.
“I need to write
the Citadel Continuity Charter.”
Chapter 49
James
The count just came in: we have almost two hundred survivors in Camp Nine. That takes us to almost seven hundred total. Seven hundred humans left. There are more out there, and we need to find them. The clock is ticking—to reunite everyone and to leave this planet. The temperature dropping outside is like a strange countdown to our fate. The colder it gets, the less time we have left.
In the situation room, Emma, Harry, Fowler, Min, and I have debated all the ways the grid can kill us. And all the ways we can stop them. Now it’s time to hear from our enemy, who, in a strange twist of fate, is also our only way off this planet.
Earls has assigned no fewer than six armed guards to Arthur. They’re dressed in full body armor, helmets included, armed to the teeth. Arthur’s hands are bound with tight metal cuffs. I’m not sure if he can get out of them. But I figure he could take down at least half of the guards and any one of us in this room before he’s neutralized. As such, I’ve ensured that Emma is at the other end of the room, seated at the head of the table.
The wall screens are off, and the table is clear of any tablets or papers that might give him information he could use against us.
He waltzes in leisurely, as if he’s arriving at a restaurant for dinner with old friends. Three guards stay in the situation room; the other three remain outside, guns trained on Arthur.
For a moment, no one says anything. I imagine the rest of the leadership team is a bit taken aback. They knew this person as Oscar. He meant something to every one of us. In our darkest moment, when the Battle of Ceres was lost, he saved us. But for Emma and me, he was much more.
I think Emma sort of saw him as a stepson—and a friend. He was there for her when she couldn’t walk. In our now crumbled habitat here in Camp Seven, he helped her regain her health, coaching her in the exercises, encouraging, admonishing, and educating.
He was my creation, my one true friend when the world turned against me. The thing I loved and nurtured and cared for when it felt as though everything in my life had turned bad.
But the thing I remember most about Oscar is what he did the day the asteroids fell on the Earth. He saved my daughter. He got her to the Citadel faster than any human could have. He also escaped the Citadel when no human could. If he hadn’t swam the backup tube and climbed out of the aquifer, we’d still be down there. He saved all of us. Now he’s gone, replaced by this thing. Our enemy. Perhaps our salvation too.
“You rang,” Arthur says.
“That’s cute,” Fowler mutters. “They told me you’re funny now.”
“I’ve always been funny. James’s barbaric AI was the problem before. Same body. New mind.”
“We’ve discussed your offer,” Fowler says, ignoring Arthur’s commentary. “We’d like to know more about what you’re proposing.”
“I was under the impression my offer was accepted. I was operating under that assumption when I rescued your people from that poorly conceived hole in the ground you called the Citadel.”
Fowler hesitates.
“Let’s talk about the future, not the past,” I say evenly. “Specifically, let’s discuss how we leave this planet and travel to a new home, far from the grid.”
“Well, it’s very simple, James. You give me the means to transform those primitive ships in orbit. I do my work and send you semi-hairless apes on your way, and we all live happily ever after. Sort of.”
“What’s to keep you from killing us once we get to the ships? It’d be convenient, your enemy all in one vulnerable place?” Fowler asks.
“Conservation of energy,” Arthur replies. “I just want rid of you. Out of the solar system, out of my hair. The grid wants your sun, and it wants to spend the least amount of energy capturing it.”
“Understand our point of view,” I say. “You—Arthur—aren’t taking any energy from the grid. You could program the colony ships to explode or simply drift down into the atmosphere and burn up.”
“Perhaps, but if I did, what then? What if you caught me? A war ensues and you kill me and then launch a weak counterattack at the harvester. It leaves the grid in the same predicament: it must expend energy to eradicate you. If so, my mission fails. I’m incentivized to get you out of the system.”
“Once the ships are out of the system—beyond the Oort cloud—what’s to keep you from killing us then?”
“All I can give you is my promise. Consider this: I’ve never lied to you, James. Nor have any other members of the grid. On Ceres, the first harvester told you what it was and what it wanted. In the seconds before you destroyed it, that harvester told you that another harvester would return, one far stronger, and that it would decimate you. It did. And when your people were slowly starving to death in that bunker, I promised you I would get them out. And I did. Now I’m telling you that I will transport you safely to a new home. I will do just that.”
Arthur takes a step toward the table. The soldiers instantly raise their rifles to point at his chest. Arthur grins. “Relax. Look, what you don’t understand is that we’re on the same team. The grid is this universe’s destiny. Ergo, it’s your destiny. You all will join the grid one day. It’s a matter of when. Not if.”
Fowler holds a hand up. “Let’s focus on the task at hand. Leaving the solar system. How? I want details.”
“As I said, you give me raw materials, I’ll build some robots, and they’ll do the rest.”
“How would you even get the robots into orbit?” Harry asks. “We were almost out of rocket fuel before the asteroid impact.”
“My launch system wouldn’t require fuel. Only power.”
Fowler studies Arthur. “How?”
Arthur sighs. “The details—”
“Are important,” Fowler snaps. “We want to hear them.”
“Very well. I’ll use the same boring drone that created the vertical shaft down to the Citadel.”
“Use it how? I don’t follow,” I comment, truly interested.
“I’ll use the boring drone to create an acceleration ring at one of the impact craters.” Arthur eyes Harry and me. “As you well know, the earth is packed tight there. The underground tunnel will be sealed, maintaining low pressure inside. Not quite vacuum conditions, but low enough to enable the ring to accelerate objects to incredible speeds. We’ll use capsules in the ring. Once the capsules reach exit velocity for Earth’s gravity well, a port in the ring will open and the payload will exit via a vertical shaft. Of course the contents—construction robots, drones, and eventually passengers—will be protected by the capsules.”
It’s an incredible idea, far afield from anything I’ve contemplated. I ask the obvious question: “How would you power it?”
“The ring will be lined with electromagnets that will propel the capsules. Solar panels on the ground next to the ring will power the magnets.”
I seize the opening, hoping he won’t follow my logic. “You’ve said solar output directed at Earth will keep falling, approaching zero in a year. Wouldn’t a geothermal energy source be superior? More reliable. More consistent? You could conceivably use the same boring drone to make the tunnels.”
Arthur smiles, as if amused. “Very good, James. You almost had me. I mean, for nearly three nanoseconds there, I almost went for it. So close.”
I lean back in my chair, not taking the bait.
Arthur glances around the room. “For those of you scratching your heads, James just tried to trick me into making a geothermal energy source that you all could use in case the whole colony ship thing doesn’t work out. Lesson for the day: energy equals life. With a geothermal source, you all could power a self-contained habitat. You could stay on Earth, and that just doesn’t work for us.”
Arthur can taunt me all he wants. I had to try.
“One question,” Harry says. “Once you launch them, what’s to keep the capsules from floating out into space after they exit the atmosphere?”
“Harry,
Harry, Harry, do you actually think I would let you drift in space to your death?”
“Yeah, I definitely think that.”
“Well, rest assured, the first capsules will carry interceptor tugs, small, solar-powered vessels with thrusters capable of steering the capsules. When capsules are sent up, the tugs will attach and ferry them to the station or ships accordingly.”
“It seems to me,” Emma says, “that we’re putting the cart before the horse. We don’t have the parts to create the launch ring, much less the capsules, or the interceptor tugs.”
“Not yet,” Arthur replies. “As I said, you supply raw materials, I’ll build what I need.”
“How?” Fowler asks.
“Before the strike, the Atlantic Union had a dozen three-D printing plants. Did any survive?”
Fowler hesitates. “Yes. One of the manufacturing facilities in Camp Nine is intact. The building was damaged but forty printers are still functioning.”
“A hundred would be better.”
“We still have several camps left to search,” Fowler says. “And the Caspians, Pac Alliance, and new colony cities could have some.”
Arthur rolls his eyes. “Wouldn’t be too optimistic about that.”
“What does that mean?” Charlotte asks, concern evident in her voice.
“Think about it. The AU was spread out among sixteen camps. The Pac Alliance, Caspia, and new colony cities were more concentrated. Larger targets.”
“Which means?” Min asks.
“Larger asteroids.”
Charlotte’s cheeks flush. Min has never been very expressive, but I can tell he’s boiling inside. They both have friends and family in the Pac Alliance, and they want to know what’s happened to them. Arthur’s flippant attitude is salt in a very deep wound.
“Can you help us survey the other human settlements?” I ask, my voice even.