The Solar War (The Long Winter Book 2)

by A. G. Riddle

  Arthur shrugs as if dealing with a petulant child. “If that’s what you want to dedicate resources to, sure.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll use the printer to create a drone. The top will be lined with solar panels far more efficient than anything you’ve ever created. The bottom will house cameras and radios. We can drop flyers if you’d like.” He smirks and adds sarcastically, “Maybe even candy bars.”

  “The data is all we want. And details,” I add.

  “Very well. The vessels would launch at daybreak and fly with the sun, circling the globe, using wind currents and solar energy. The drones will have to make a few stops, but we’ll have the survey results in a few days.”

  “All right. That’s our first priority,” Fowler says.

  “Does that mean you’re letting me out of the cage?” Arthur asks.

  “For work release,” Fowler says. “Contingent on your cooperation and performance.”

  Arthur smiles theatrically at me. “Just like James back in the day. First contact mission style.”

  “Not like James,” Fowler snaps. “We were never willing to shoot him.”

  “Was that a subtle reminder that you’re willing to kill me at the first sign of deception?”

  “Let’s move on,” Fowler says, again ignoring the taunt. “Tell us about the colony world.”

  “Not much to tell. Its mass is ninety-two percent of Earth’s. Gravity is roughly the same.” He raises his eyebrows. “You’ll probably have tall grandkids.”

  I ask perhaps the only question that truly matters. “Tell us about the star it orbits.”

  “In a word, one you humans seem to favor, it sucks.”

  Fowler exhales, clearly annoyed. “We’re going to need something more scientific than that.”

  “All right, Larry, but you can be such a buzzkill.” Fowler’s eyes flash, but Arthur continues as if nothing’s amiss. “It’s a red dwarf.”

  Fowler leans back in his chair, looking shocked. I’m a roboticist, not an astronomer, so I’m not sure why a red dwarf star is a bad thing for us. I can, however, tell that Fowler doesn’t like it.

  Next to him, Charlotte scrunches her eyebrows. “What’s a red dwarf?”

  “It’s a small, dim star,” Emma answers before Arthur can.

  “Then won’t the planet be an ice ball?” Charlotte asks.

  Arthur makes a show of rolling his eyes. “It would—if it were orbiting where Earth is orbiting your sun. Your new paradise, however, is closer to this star than Mercury is to yours. It completes a revolution around its star every twenty days.”

  “Is it tidally locked?” Min asks quickly.

  “Yes.”

  Charlotte looks over at Emma, silently asking what that means.

  “The planet is like our moon,” she says quietly. “It rotates around the star with one side always facing it.” Her focus drifts back to Arthur. “Which presents a number of issues. One side of the planet could be boiling, the other frozen. Not ideal for maintaining a stable atmosphere and life on the surface.”

  Arthur grimaces. “You guys worry too much. The atmosphere is fine.”

  “Details,” Emma insists.

  “All right,” he mutters. “It’s thicker than Earth’s atmosphere, but it needs to be. The air has slightly more nitrogen but it’s breathable. You’ll love it.”

  “Climate?” Charlotte asks.

  “It’s pleasant.” Arthur cocks his head, as if remembering something. “In places.”

  “How stable is the star? How often does it flare?” Fowler asks.

  Arthur shrugs innocently. “We didn’t see any when we were there.”

  “When you were there?” Harry asks.

  “During our survey.”

  “You only saw it once?” Fowler asks, concerned. “You don’t have active surveillance?”

  “Of course not. So many stars, so little time.”

  “When was your survey?” Min asks.

  “Twenty-four hundred years ago. Roughly.”

  Fowler throws his hands up. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Relax,” Arthur says. “As far as the universe goes that was like two minutes ago.”

  Fowler shakes his head and stares at the conference table. “Is it inhabited? Or was it?”

  “Not by anything that matters.”

  “So there is life on the surface,” Charlotte says.

  “Yes, and I’m sure you barbarians are going to find it tasty.”

  “How dangerous are the indigenous species?” I ask, ignoring his jab.

  Arthur glances away evasively. “Nothing you can’t handle.”

  “Are any of them sentient?” I ask.

  “Negative, Jim. They’re all as dumb as dinosaurs.”

  Dinosaurs. A strange choice of words.

  Min takes his tablet out, still angling it away from Arthur to conceal the images. “Have any of our telescopes ever captured images of the star?”

  “Yes,” Arthur says impatiently. “Your Kepler telescope discovered it.”

  “Designation?” Min asks.

  “Kepler forty-two.”

  Min taps on the tablet. “It is a red dwarf.”

  “Told you,” Arthur says lazily.

  “Kepler identified three extrasolar planets in the system, all in close orbits. Their mass ranges from the size of Mars to Venus.” Min’s expression goes blank. “The star is about a hundred and thirty-one light years away. Over forty parsecs.”

  Charlotte looks confused. “How far is a parsec?”

  “Roughly nineteen trillion miles,” Fowler mutters. To Arthur, he says, “How long will it take us to get there?”

  “That, I don’t know.”

  “Why don’t you know?” I ask.

  “Because I don’t know how much loose matter you will encounter along the way.”

  That confuses me. “Why would that matter?”

  “The ships will have two power sources: a fusion reactor that uses space particles collected along the way and an array of solar panels on the outside of the ship. The fusion reactor will be the primary power source. The more usable matter you encounter, the faster you’ll be able to go.”

  “And you don’t know how much matter is out there along the route?”

  “We’re the grid, James, we don’t expend energy measuring dust motes in space.”

  “Why is fusion the primary source?” Harry asks. “You all use solar. It must be more efficient.”

  “It is. And more dangerous. To harness meaningful amounts of solar energy, you’ll need to transit solar systems, which,” Arthur tilts his head toward us, “we all know can get pretty contentious.”

  Fowler pinches his lower lip. “You’re saying we could encounter hostile aliens.”

  “You’re far more likely to encounter what they left behind.”

  “Before they joined the grid.”

  “More than likely before they went extinct.”

  “And what might they have left behind?” I ask.

  “Late-stage civilizations typically become increasingly paranoid. They build planetary defense systems. Then, when their population goes down the toilet, they never bother to clean up after themselves. As you transit the system collecting solar energy, the ship could be engaged by those automated defense systems. They would see you as an intruder, the prophesied enemy they were built long ago to defend against. It’s safer to stay out in space, running on the fusion reactor. But, if it runs low on fusible matter, you’ll have to alter course for a star system and take your chances.”

  “Surely the grid can tell us which systems have been inhabited,” I say.

  “We can’t. Civilizations rise and fall over time periods that are the blink of an eye to us. We don’t bother checking on everyone. Why would we expend energy watching solar systems we have no interest in?”

  It hits me then: this voyage will be dangerous, even if we do prevent Arthur from double-crossing us.

  “This new world you’r
e promising us,” Emma says quietly, “how do we know you won’t come for its star one day?”

  “Probability.”

  “I don’t follow,” Emma replies.

  “The star’s a red dwarf, remember? That battery’s got no juice. We’ve got bigger fish to fry.” Arthur smirks. “Sorry for the colloquialisms. Communicating via broadcast audio is so laborious. One has to spice it up.”

  Emma’s voice is still quiet, reflective. I know she’s thinking about our children now—all three of them—and their future. “How fast can the ship travel?”

  “Again, that depends on its access to fusible matter and solar input, but it will likely travel at a significant fraction of the speed of light for the vast majority of the trip. I estimate transit time at two thousand years.”

  “Two thousand years,” Emma whispers, a distant look in her eyes.

  “What are our options for enduring a two-thousand-year journey?” I ask.

  “You have two options, James. The smart way and the not smart way.”

  “You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

  “I was afraid you were going to say that. Option one: you can be conscious for the trip.”

  “A generational ship.”

  “Correct.”

  “And option two?” I ask.

  “Stasis. Which, if you haven’t guessed, is the smart option.”

  “Why?”

  “Because... humanity, James. Look at what you all were doing to the planet and each other before we showed up. Imagine cramming everyone who’s left into a relatively small space for a couple thousand years. I rate the chance of the generational ship arriving at your new home at about two hundredths of one percent.”

  “And stasis?”

  “Fifty-fifty at best.”

  “And how do we improve those odds?” Harry asks.

  “You don’t.”

  “Well, we’re going to,” Fowler says flatly. “What are the risks with the stasis option?”

  “Besides the ones mentioned—hostile encounters—there are, let’s see, where to start… Interstellar phenomena, for example. Bad weather and bumps in the road, if you will. We can discuss those ad nauseum, but there’s still nothing you can do about it. Stars go nova, gravity acts weird sometimes, and occasionally you hit an asteroid field so wide you can’t go around. Suffice it to say, the ship could encounter something that would destroy it.”

  “Well, what are the risks we can do something about?” I ask.

  “The only one is mechanical failure. Two thousand years is a long time for any machine to function continuously.”

  I nod, happy to finally have a problem I can solve. “So we make backups and backups for the backups, and we wake up from stasis periodically and check them and recheck them.”

  “James, I already factored that into the fifty-fifty odds.”

  Chapter 50

  Emma

  I’m in the infirmary, lying in bed, when James arrives with our lunch: two warm MREs and bottles of water.

  I accept the carton as he hands it over. “Do I really have to eat in bed too?”

  “Bedrest means resting in bed.”

  “All the time?”

  “At least for the first trimester.”

  “I’m going crazy in here.”

  He smiles. “You’re not alone. Everyone in the bunker is getting restless.”

  “When are we moving?”

  “I guess when we figure out where we’re going. The drone surveys will probably be complete tomorrow.”

  “What did you think of what Arthur said?”

  James glances away. “It’s a lot to take in.”

  “Does it change your mind? Fifty-fifty odds at best.”

  James snorts. “Fifty-fifty. I doubt it.”

  “You think he’s lying?”

  “He was precise about the odds for a generational ship making it. I figure he rounded up. Or maybe even outright lied to get us to go for his plan. He wants us in stasis.”

  “Even if the odds are less than fifty-fifty, do you still think we should leave?”

  “I think those are the best odds we’ve got. And I’m counting on something else that could increase our chances. A factor that Arthur hasn’t accounted for.”

  “Which is?”

  “Us.”

  “Us?”

  “Humanity’s will to survive. We’re still here—beaten, but alive. At every turn, the grid has underestimated us.”

  In the situation room, Fowler stands before the bank of wall screens. The largest shows drone footage of a sprawling warehouse next to a smaller building, which I recognize as a manufacturing plant. The walls are battered but both buildings are still standing.

  “The drone survey is complete,” Fowler says. He’s stoic, which I take as a bad sign. “I’ll let Secretary Earls give the report.”

  Earls stands. “Our latest census, based on life-sign readings and hand counts, estimates that a total of nine hundred and thirty-seven people in the AU survived the asteroid strike.”

  The number is a gut punch. Fewer than a thousand of us left. Around the room, we all seem to take a minute to process it. James, Min, and Harry are expressionless, staring at the table. But I see the disappointment on Charlotte’s face.

  “How many injured?” James asks.

  “As of now, we have two hundred and seventy-seven reported injuries that prevent full-time work. We expect that number to climb as we get more solid information from the last three camps we’ve contacted.”

  “Age distribution?” Min asks quietly.

  “Roughly fifty-five percent are under the age of eighteen. Forty percent under the age of fifty. Obviously, there are very few in Dr. Fowler’s and my age category. Again, these distributions are from the camps we’ve directly surveyed. But the percentages will probably hold in the other camps.”

  “About one and a half kids for every adult,” Charlotte says. “That’s manageable.”

  “On paper,” Fowler says. “The reality is that within the over-eighteen cohort, most skew toward the lower age bands. Young adults, with no parenting experience. Not that they’ll have much time to do any parenting. We need to put them to work.”

  “Who will watch the children?” Charlotte asks.

  “The injured—if they can,” Fowler says quietly.

  “What about physical assets?” James asks. “Buildings, supplies, etc.?”

  “Mixed news there,” Earls replies. “Four of the camps, including Camp Seven, were completely obliterated—at least all of the above-ground structures are leveled.”

  “The ports?” Harry asks.

  “Gone. The two coastal camps were hit hard.” Earls motions to the two buildings on the screen. “But there is some good news. This is Camp Nine. Warehouse nine-oh-three and plant nine-two. Both are in pretty good shape. Captain Brightwell’s team has been working on the three-D printers inside. As mentioned previously, forty are operational.”

  “What was the manufacturing plant’s specialty?” I ask.

  “Food processing. It takes the greenhouse output and packages it into MREs, using recycled MRE bags and cartons. Or used to. The warehouse was full of fresh food at the time of the asteroid strike, but it’s all gone bad now.”

  “How big is the warehouse?” James asks.

  “About two hundred thousand square feet,” Earls replies. “That’s roughly two hundred square feet of living space for every person in the AU. A lot more than we have here.”

  “I think we should assume we’ll find other survivors elsewhere,” Min says quietly. “And that we’ll bring them to the AU.”

  “I agree,” Fowler says. “Earls and I have discussed moving all of the survivors to Camp Nine and transforming the warehouse to house everyone. I want to hear your thoughts. Reasons against, considerations?”

  “It’s the obvious choice,” James says. “We need to think through the implementation. I favor getting the living quarters set up before moving everyone, es
pecially the sick and injured.” He cuts his eyes at me quickly, and then continues. “Giving them more time to recover is ideal. I also favor moving in stages. I feel food is still our greatest dilemma, in the short term at least. I suggest we assign scavenging teams to every camp, have them dig through the wreckage for valuable, hard-to-print parts and food.”

  “I agree,” Fowler says. “That clarifies another point: the solar drone we send out needs to search for more than survivors. It needs to identify food and medical supplies too. Has Izumi sent a list?”

  “Yes,” James says. “Those are the priorities as I see them: food recovery from the debris, prepping warehouse nine-oh-three for residency, and building the solar drone for the global survey. I think Harry, Min, and I should take the lead on the solar drone. We’ll take Arthur to the plant, write the software, and launch the vessel.”

  “I’ll continue directing the search of the debris,” Earls says. “With the other camps, we’ve got more ground to cover. The snow is also piling up. The deeper it gets, the harder it is to search. Time is not on our side there.”

  “I’ll assign a team to the interior planning for warehouse nine-oh-three,” Fowler says. “But I feel our greatest challenge is what happens after. Whether we proceed with Arthur’s plan to leave Earth or we make a stand here.” He scans the group. “I want to hear from everyone on this.”

  All eyes turn to Charlotte and me.

  “Emma,” Charlotte says.

  I’ve thought a lot about what I would say to this question. I haven’t had much else to do in the infirmary.

  “I have two children,” I begin. “And another on the way. Leaving Earth is uncertain. That’s true. But staying is a dead end. I vote to leave.”

  “Same,” Charlotte says.

  “I don’t see that we have any real choice,” Harry says. “Plus, starships. I’m in.”

  “Yes,” Min says. “I agree. We leave or we die here.”

  Fowler eyes Secretary Earls. “I defer to the civilian leadership on the decision. My troops and I will support any decision.”

  “Even after hearing the odds from Arthur,” James says, “I feel we should take the grid’s offer. There are challenges and a lot of work to do. But I vote to go. Izumi and Grigory agree. I want to note that Grigory has reservations and initially favored fighting back against the grid. That said, he will support the decision.”