by A. G. Riddle
The Pac Alliance fared better, owing mostly to three secret settlements it had created. James and Harry were hopeful about survivors from London and New Berlin, but like Caspiagrad, the cities were completely destroyed.
New Atlanta was luckier. The sprawling city lies in ruins, but thousands of its residents survived underground and in fortified buildings far from the city center. James offered a simple explanation: when the harvester mobilized the asteroids, it was likely in the Kuiper Belt. The asteroids took months at a minimum and likely over a year to reach Earth. When the harvester set the asteroids in motion, the Atlanta settlement was much smaller than it was when the asteroids hit. In short, the city grew faster than the harvester anticipated, enabling some to escape the blast radius (or hide below ground). In a strange way, Chandler’s crusade to leave the evacuation camps saved those people. I wonder if that’s how they’ll see it when they arrive. Will they give him credit? See him as a savior and visionary? He will likely suggest as much.
The first of those survivors arrived last week—a ship from the Pac Alliance, carrying soldiers mostly. They’re housed at the CENTCOM bunker in Camp Seven. Thus far, no one here in Camp Nine has been told about the new arrivals. But word will get out soon—the Pac Alliance residents will need to join our salvage teams. Food is also a concern. The Pac Alliance has promised to bring enough provisions to feed their people, there’s no way for us to verify that.
James has been working non-stop. But last night, he announced that he was taking a day off—and that he had a surprise for me.
In the morning, we get the kids up and fed and off to school, and with a sly smile he says, “Bundle up, and follow me.”
He leads me out of the warehouse to one of the Canary landing pads. In addition to the Canary drones, he and Harry have created four transport dirigibles. They look almost like miniature Zeppelins. They’re much slower than a helicopter, and their payload capacity is small, four people at most, but the crafts are faster than the trucks or light ATVs—and provide a much smoother trip. To my surprise, Izumi and Min are waiting by one inflated behemoth.
“Up, up, and away we go,” James says.
“To where?” I ask.
“You’ll see when we get there.”
Min operates the vessel, lifting us up into the dim morning light, over the warehouse and manufacturing plant, the solar panels beside it glittering in the sunlight.
We head south, across the white expanse, past the salvage teams scouring the humps in the snow, dragging out pieces and tossing them into the troop carriers. From up here, the world looks so peaceful. It’s dead quiet except for the low hum of the electric motor propelling us forward.
I wonder where we’re going. Is this some kind of weird post-apocalyptic double date?
A few hours into the journey, I spot the remnants of the Olympus building on the horizon. We’re nearing Camp Seven. The dirigible is losing altitude.
“Camp Seven?” I ask James.
“Maybe.”
I punch his shoulder, and he smiles.
The craft sets down just outside the CENTCOM bunker, and we hurry in out of the cold. Inside, the overhead lights are on and so are the cubicle lights, glowing like lanterns across the large open space.
A soldier steps out of the closest cubicle. He’s Asian, dressed in a Pac Alliance uniform. Seeing a foreign army soldier here in the heart of the AU gives me pause.
The man simply nods to us and raises his handheld radio and speaks quickly in Chinese.
Min leans close to James and whispers, “He’s informed his commander that we’ve arrived.”
Is that why James brought him? To translate? To listen to the troops here, looking for any clues that they may have ill intentions toward us? The AU Army has the advantage in numbers, but that will soon change as more of the Pac Alliance survivors arrive.
Another Asian man emerges from a cubicle farther down the corridor. I recognize him. Sora Nakamura. When James and I returned from the first contact mission, he was our liaison at the Pac Alliance. Nakamura was first to contact us, offering help and shelter. But we never trusted him. We waited for Fowler to contact us, and chose to share what we knew with him first. Nakamura never trusted us after that, even when James presented his plan for the attack on Ceres. Even now, I can tell he’s suspicious of us.
“Welcome,” he says simply.
“How was your trip?” James asks.
“Acceptable.”
Izumi takes a step forward. “Sora-san, if your people are ready, I’ll perform exams and provide whatever care I can.”
He nods curtly and says something in Japanese. Izumi responds quietly; then she motions for us to follow her down the corridor. The cubicles near the entrance are occupied by soldiers, most lying on the floor, watching tablets, headphones in. Deeper into the bunker, the cubicles are filled with women and children, some coughing, others moaning in pain.
Between Izumi and Min, they should be able to communicate with most of the people here. Speaking in their native language will be comforting as they do the physical exams and administer care. Another smart move by James. He’s trying to establish some trust with the Pac Alliance.
Izumi leads us inside the infirmary and then turns to me. “We’ll start bringing the Pac Alliance patients in shortly.” She smiles. “But there’s another exam we need to do first.”
I glance from her to James, whose face is a mask. “What is this?”
James marches to one of the exam beds and pulls a machine from behind the curtain. “Ultrasound time. By Izumi’s calculation, we should be able to find out the gender of our child. Any interest?”
“I’d love to.”
Izumi applies the gel and moves the transducer over my belly.
After what seems like a million years, she turns the monitor toward us, revealing the black and white image.
“Congratulations, you’re having a boy.”
The sun is setting when we return to Camp Nine. The moment I step inside the building, I hear the roar of a crowd, the voices drowning each other out.
James steps in front of me and marches toward the commotion. There must be a hundred people gathered in the mess hall. They’re flowing out into the corridor. Armed AU soldiers are formed up around the crowd, eying them.
Through the din, I hear Richard Chandler’s voice.
“James Sinclair was charged with protecting us. Look how that turned out. The planet is ruined. Now we’re being asked to trust him again—with saving us? Please, people, for the sake of your family, it’s time we demanded a change in leadership. It’s time we demanded a seat at the table. It’s time we demanded answers. We’re breaking our backs every day. We’re owed that much.”
The crowd erupts in cheers. The moment they recede, Chandler continues. “We deserve to know what the plan is. If they really have one, that is. I’m not going to do a single bit of work until they’ve answered that question. But the only way we’re going to get that answer is if you join me. Alone, I don’t stand a chance of making a difference. Together, they can’t ignore us any longer.”
The crowd pulses back and forth, calling and chanting, the words inaudible.
“And if you go back to work,” Chandler says, “you’re betraying us all. James Sinclair and his cronies who are pulling our strings can’t survive without us. But we can survive without them.”
Chapter 55
James
Last night, Fowler and Earls made a wise decision: they let the rally run its course. They didn’t order the troops to break it up. If they had, Chandler would have pointed at them and said, “There are your oppressors in action.”
The rally lasted long into the night, keeping most who didn’t attend (like Emma and me) awake.
This morning, the strike began. About half of the salvage crews didn’t go out. I imagine many of those people aren’t genuinely interested in Chandler’s message. They just don’t want to go out in the blistering cold, digging through the snow for salvage un
der a fading sun. But we need that salvage to make the parts that will carry us off this planet. There’s no choice. Either they work, or we all die.
There is some good news: none of the army personnel joined the boycott.
In the situation room, at our morning staff meeting, Fowler simply says, “Options?”
Grigory shrugs. “Is obvious. No work, no food.”
“That,” Charlotte says, “will simply make Chandler’s point—that we have all the power and they have no say.”
“We do,” Grigory spits out. “And we should. We’re the only people with the skills to get us off this planet. We have to be in charge of the resources for everyone’s safety. We don’t have time for discussion.”
“There’s a very simple solution here,” Earls says, voice guarded. “By instigating a strike, Richard Chandler has endangered public safety.”
All eyes focus on him.
“Given the current circumstances,” Earls continues, “I believe we should consider that a capital offense.”
For a long moment, no one says anything.
“We could put him on ice,” Harry says. “It’s ready for testing, isn’t it, Izumi?”
“Almost,” she replies cautiously.
“How would it work?” Min asks.
Harry shrugs. “We’d put him in stasis for a few days, bring him out and run medical tests, then put him under until we arrive at the colony world.”
Emma shakes her head. “Making him an involuntary test subject might scare the rest of the population. It’s dangerous. Plus, consider the implications. He goes into stasis and wakes up on the colony world. He doesn’t have to endure the cold, the rationing—any of the misery here. If that happens to him, I bet hordes of people would line up to make trouble just so they could join him and get out of working.”
Fowler closes his eyes and rubs his eyelids. “What a mess.”
I can’t believe what I’m about to say, but it seems the easiest—most humane—solution. “There’s another option. Let’s think about Chandler’s motivations. Ego. His own insecurity. Revenge against me—for getting him thrown off the first contact mission and his chance at glory. And, most recently, for crippling him.”
“He’s not too fond of me either,” Fowler says. “I’m the guy that pulled him from the mission.”
I nod. “What he wants is what we’ve taken from him: recognition and acclaim. Power.”
“What’re you saying?” Fowler asks.
“We bring him into the fold.”
Grigory throws his hands up. “You must be joking.”
“We do it on our terms. First, we announce our plan to the AU citizens. It gives them clarity. Most think we’re building another bunker, or preparing to go somewhere else on Earth, launching satellites to help.”
“It looks like appeasement,” Earls says.
“I think we can mitigate that. When the scavenging teams return tonight, we announce our plan and that we are going to make them part of the process by allowing them to name our new home world—by popular vote. They’ll also vote to elect a representative to join this group. If last night is any indication, it will be Chandler. I think having him close, where we can watch him, is far better than executing him or putting him in stasis... besides the morality of it, the unknown is how the population will respond to his execution or banishment via stasis.”
The door pops open and Brightwell leans in. After his promotion, one of Earls’s first official acts was to promote her to full colonel—and give her more responsibility: namely, command of all the AU troops. Everyone above her rank has been relegated to planning, which basically keeps them out of the way.
“Sir, sorry to interrupt, but launch control at the acceleration ring hasn’t checked in for six hours.”
“Have you sent a team?” Earls says.
“They’re prepping now. I thought you all would like to know.”
Earls gives a curt nod. “Proceed, Colonel.”
I stand and move toward the door. “I’m going with you.”
“Me too,” Grigory says.
“Me three,” Harry calls out to a few chuckles.
In the dirigible, I raise the binoculars and peer down at the launch control station. The building looks tiny next to the giant crater, like a prairie home perched on the edge of the Grand Canyon.
My worst fear was that the Pac Alliance soldiers had moved on the station and captured it as a bargaining chip. But the only vehicles here are ours. All of the outer doors are closed, including the main entrance and the loading dock.
When we land, I notice tracks in the snow: what looks like the trail of two people. Actually, I think it’s one person—coming and going.
Brightwell and her team set up at the main entrance and turn the door handle carefully, peeking through the opening with a mirror.
“Two down,” Brightwell calls out.
Down.
Dead.
Brightwell’s team rushes into the building. Harry, Grigory, and I stand out in the freezing cold until they yell to us, “Clear.”
Inside, two AU soldiers lie in pools of blood. Brightwell crouches near the closest. “Blunt force trauma to the head. They died fast. Never had a chance to draw their guns.”
“Arthur,” Grigory says.
Brightwell looks up at him. “Impossible. There are six guards outside his cell. And cameras inside it and around it. He didn’t leave last night.”
Grigory sulks. “Someone did. One set of tracks to this building, one away from it.”
“They could have snuck out during the riots,” Harry says.
I study the two dead soldiers. “But why? Why kill these two guards and return?” It occurs to me then. “Harry, do a software check.”
“What am I looking for?”
“Viruses. Or any additional code we didn’t put there.” I focus on Grigory. “Let’s search the building. See if anything’s gone.”
An hour later, Harry has finished the systems check. It’s clear. Nothing added, nothing deleted, nothing modified. And it’s the same for the building. It doesn’t make sense.
But there is one place we haven’t searched. If I’m right, it will all make sense.
“Colonel, I need two of your men to search the launch bay and the capsule.”
“I thought the capsule was empty.”
“It should be. But if I’m right, there’s a bomb inside. And it could go off when it’s opened.”
“Then we need to get you all outside, sir—into the dirigible and away from the building.”
When we’re at a safe distance, one of Brightwell’s men calls over the radio: “Opening launch-bay doors.”
Harry, Grigory, and I peer down from the dirigible, the seconds ticking by like hours.
“Capsule is intact. No other items in sight. Proceeding to open it.”
The building is utterly still in the snow-covered expanse. I wait, expecting an explosion. But nothing happens.
“It’s clear. Completely empty.”
Harry glances at me. “It doesn’t add up.”
“No, Harry, it doesn’t. We’re missing something.”
That night, we hold a meeting that includes every adult citizen of the AU. In broad strokes, we lay out our plan to leave Earth and settle a new world.
The meeting is brutal, an endless stream of questions. In the end, however, I think it will help people, renew their will to live, to work, and fight for a better future. We’re giving them hope.
The announcement that they will be able to name our new home world is met with enthusiasm, as is the news that they’ll have a representative on the colony planning committee. From my point of view, that’s the extent of the good news. As expected, Richard Chandler wins the election.
The meeting ends with a grave pronouncement from Fowler: that from now on, anyone without a perfect work record will not have a place on the colony ship. Tomorrow will be the real test of whether the strike continues.
In the situation room,
Chandler sits at one end of the table, our team eying him, no one smiling, a few, like Grigory and Earls, staring daggers at him.
We brief him on our plan, leaving out most of the details. We don’t tell him much more than we told the crowd last night. We also leave out one big piece of information: that there aren’t enough places on the ships for everyone. That knowledge is dangerous. Especially in Chandler’s hands.
After the meeting, I’m making my way down the corridor, toward my flat, when I hear the clicking of a cane on the concrete floor. I turn, expecting to see Emma. But it’s Chandler, a malicious grin on his face.
“It’s begun, James.”
“What has?”
“My revenge.”
Chapter 56
Emma
As the sun fades, so does the power available in the converted warehouse. Heating is rationed. Food is rationed. The clock keeps ticking. Our time on this planet is slipping away.
Though we work constantly, James and I try to make time for our family. Twice a week, we share a meal with his brother, Alex, and my sister, Madison, and their families. Sam and Allie love seeing their cousins. The kids typically don’t fight too much. Playing in the halls of this warehouse is what passes for normal for them. I know they sense something is very wrong, but we’ve done our best to insulate them from the truth of how grave our situation is.
The bottom line is that we have to leave Earth soon. How soon, no one knows for sure. We have food for another five months, but we’re about to get another influx of residents. The first survivors from Atlanta will arrive soon, and we don’t know how much food they will bring. Survival now is simply a function of how many mouths we need to feed. Soon the world will have one more, and he’s the one I worry about most.