Fear the Survivors

by Stephen Moss

  “With that completed, we began the job of isolating the island, Ilhéu de Rolas, from the civilian population, for a radius of ten miles from the island proper.” A circle appeared on the map showing a ten-mile radius around the small island off the southern coast of Principe. “To do this we had to clear a path across the island to provide a clear defensive barrier. The path is a minimum of four hundred feet wide and has been dynamited, burn-cleared, and then bulldozed. We have constructed two parallel, twenty-five-foot, razor wire fences to stop any ‘accidental’ ingress across the border.

  “To stop any deliberate ingress, in the no-man’s land between the fences we have placed a series of movement sensors, seismic monitors, and active radar arrays linked to a series of German MLG-27 automated cannons, spaced at two-hundred-foot intervals along the land-border’s length, and set to automatically take out anything moving in or above the perimeter with their 1,700-round-per-minute fire of depleted uranium, 27mm rounds.”

  Several of the officers in the room inadvertently whistled at the statement. While the size of the naval presence had already proven the severe approach the taskforce was taking to defending the site, the use of automated cannons to defend a land-based perimeter was both unprecedented and unflinchingly brutal.

  The cannons were completely without mercy, and the amassed group knew that they would shred anyone unfortunate to wander into the area into mincemeat in less than a second. But Quavoce and Barrett knew that the step was absolutely necessary, because though they were saddened by what would happen if some local foolishly tried to cross the perimeter, they also knew that if Lana or one of the other two surviving Agents tried to get close enough to the Rolas Island to launch a handheld surface-to-surface missile, they had to be stopped at all costs. Those missiles had a range of up to seven miles. Any longer-range munition fired over the perimeter would meet the same end as anyone trying to carry a handheld missile launcher into range. Anything and everything that crossed the fire lane that the Brazilians and Germans had constructed would be pummeled into oblivion. It was a necessary evil.

  Already the system was proving reassuringly, if brutally, effective on any birds and animals small enough to get through the razor wire, the patch of land between the fences becoming a grisly graveyard for their torn carcasses. The system was capable of tracking and killing up to forty separate targets at any point along the fence. In time, the local animals would learn to avoid the area; until then their deaths would be mourned, but not avoided.

  “As you all know, a strict no-fly zone is in place over the perimeter, and our Japanese colleagues are maintaining a rotating submarine presence at the shore-points at either end, where the land perimeter joins the wider water perimeter, providing constant coverage of the coastal portions with their more than effective subsurface capability.

  “There is only one access point through the perimeter, on the west coast, at which we have set up a two-stage, ‘airlock’ autocannon system that can be deactivated in steps to allow ground access without losing perimeter integrity at any point. Air support from a rotating Tiger Attack Helicopter Squadron also provided by our German colleagues will enforce the no-fly zone, with longer-range support provided by the F-35Ns aboard the Reagan.”

  With the ground defenses covered, the proxy Brazilian Major Garrincha moved his briefing on to the second stage of construction that was occurring on Rolas Island itself. They had started by extending the small pier on the island to allow midsized ships to dock and unload building materials to supply the rest of their building work. The small hotel had been converted and massively expanded into accommodations for the Brazilian construction workers who were employed on the central project of the island, where a massive concrete platform was being constructed.

  Nearly half a mile on each side, the foundation of the platform had already smothered half the island. They were building the anchor for the greatest structure ever conceived by man, and as the designs slowly unfolded in front of the room, the group’s curiosity steadily grew until eventually Major Garrincha finished his part of the brief and took a seat, giving the floor back to General Milton.

  “And now we come to the part of the agenda that I imagine most of you have been waiting for: the reason why we have gone to such extreme measures to secure this area against any and all possible attack or infiltration. Gentlemen, I am proud to announce to you that you are part of one of the most ambitious and significant projects in human history. For there is a reason why we have chosen this particular island. Its location puts it on a phenomenally short list of candidates for what we are trying to accomplish. For the massive platform my colleague Major Garrincha has described will be the anchor for a nanotube cable over fifty-thousand miles long.

  “A cable that will be attached to counterweight that will hold it out perpendicular to the earth’s equator. A cable that will extend directly into space, and form the very first elevator out of Earth’s atmosphere.”

  - - -

  Two hours later, the meeting of the senior officers of the Rolas Defense Task Force finally broke up. The meeting had become an engaging question-and-answer session after the general’s explanation of the purpose of the new international base. The general and Lord Mantil left together, a helicopter taking them both to their accommodations on Rolas Island as they talked more about the meeting.

  “I think that went well, Lord Mantil.” The general was still getting used to the Agent’s real name, but as his respect for his alien ally continued to march steadily upward, so too did his desire to show that respect in no uncertain terms.

  “Indeed, General Milton,” said Quavoce, “they seemed surprisingly receptive to our plans once they had gotten over the initial shock. I think once we start to initiate the connection procedures, it will start to feel more real to them.”

  “For me too, Lord Mantil,” said Barrett with a smile. “I have to admit I am still having trouble dealing with the concept. I suppose you must have these on your home world, but it is still difficult to envision this, even having seen the plans.” He shook his head and then leaned in close to the Mobiliei, “Have you ever ridden up one of them?”

  Quavoce allowed a pleasant smile to spread across his lips and said, “Of course, General.” He paused, then went on with as little condescension as possible, “There are literally thousands of these elevators spanning the equator of our world. Most spaceports have several strands running up from the same location. Some of the larger ones have a hundred or more, with staging posts along the way to allow egress at different orbital levels and direct links to orbital hubs and space stations.

  “A lot of our intercontinental travel is now via elevator, with glide planes using them to climb out of the atmosphere then be released at the appropriate level to then glide down through the atmosphere to their destinations, like your space shuttles do.” Quavoce went on in a reassuring voice, “Elevator travel is as commonplace as airplane travel is to you, as safe and as a part of life as trains or cargo ships. As a child, my school even went on field trips into space … several times.”

  Though Quavoce’s face stayed pleasant, Barrett had a sense that behind that mask, the Agent was remembering something, straying back to a time before he had set himself against his country and his race. The general was right, but Quavoce set the thought aside and returned to the present, looking into Barrett’s eyes. “General, once this is complete, a whole new era will begin for your race. This step will open up space like the invention of the compass unleashed our respective ancestors upon each of our world’s oceans. I only wish you were discovering it with the innocence and simple curiosity we did, instead of in response to the threat of annihilation.”

  Barrett could feel the shame emanating from the humanoid sitting next to him on the helicopter, and he felt the need to say something, but what, he had no idea. They sat in silence for a minute, each man unsure of how to get past this point, until the general found a change of topic to bridge the void, “I understand from Major Toranssen
that you rescued a refugee when escaping Iran. How is she doing?”

  While Captain Falster had eventually returned to America to work on another project, she had first dropped Banu off at Rolas to reunite with Quavoce. It had been a surprisingly heartfelt reunion given the brief time they had had together, but Banu held Quavoce up as a savior, a guardian, and felt the weight of the unspoken promise he had made to protect her as her only solid foundation in her fast changing universe. This was compounded by the fact that he remained the only person she knew that could speak with her in the local dialect of her home, a home that no longer existed.

  Quavoce looked up at Barrett, “Young Banu is as well as can be expected. She had not yet learned to read, though she is trying hard to catch up now, and it will be a while before she is comfortable with any language other than her native dialect. But she is a quick learner, a function of her young age. Hopefully soon I will no longer be her only real access to the outside world.”

  Inwardly he sighed, but he did not let the emotion show. “I have tried to explain some measure of what is happening to her, but I fear she still does not really understand. She still talks of home and I fear it will be a long time before she truly grasps the extent of the devastation in that region.” Barrett nodded, thinking of the plague that still ravished the rural parts of the Middle East, as well as a swathe of Southern America and sub-Saharan Africa, and many backwater locales in Cambodia, Laos, Vietnam, northern India, and Nepal. In total it had claimed nearly two million lives across the planet, a figure that would have been far greater had Martin and Jack not been so successful blocking it in the most unprotected regions. But it had still wiped out whole communities where isolation or political strife had not allowed the inoculation developed by Madeline Cavanagh and Ayala Zubaideh to spread.

  The northern Iranian region where Banu had spent every day of her eleven-year life had been one of those communities that had gone unnoticed by the antigen. Everyone Banu had ever met before the night Quavoce took her away was now dead. A thousand ghost towns haunting the countryside of stricken nations in the aftermath of the satellite’s final solution. The plague had sparked a string of political posturing across the region that was only redoubled by Russia’s implacable anger over the launch of HATV missiles from Pakistan. Arguments still raged about what reparations must be made, as America and Europe tried desperately to calm the enraged parties on both sides. Tanks still amassed along Russia’s borders with its former allies of Kurdistan and Uzbekistan, as Russia threatened to roll through them en route to Islamabad.

  On the other side of the region, the devastation of Gaza City had sent the Muslim world into a frenzy and fueled claims of genocide by the Israelis. While few truly believed the Jews were responsible for the plague that had taken its strangely dispersed toll around the globe, there were those for whom anti-Semitic demagoguery was the only fuel in their political engines, and their rhetoric was rampant.

  The general and Lord Mantil went silent as the helicopter approached Rolas Island. The first signs of the bridge that would eventually join the island to the mainland were already evident as construction proceeded apace. Crews continued their work into the night, cycling out as long shifts came to a close, fresh men and women replacing them.

  General Barrett looked out over the work as the helicopter came into land. They were rushing, he knew that, but they could only keep their intentions secret for so long. Ayala’s new friends at the CIA and MI6 had told her that rumors were already spreading about the sudden arrival of forces in Sao Tome. While a wide variety of speculations were apparently floating around, Barrett was sure that once any of the three remaining Agents heard about the work they were doing they would link it with the island’s particular location along the equator and figure out what they were up to. After that, it was only a matter of time before one or all of them came knocking, and they had to be ready when they did. As ready as they could be.

  Key senior officers on the station already knew the full nature of the threat they faced, including Admirals Cochrane, Burns, and Takano, and Captain Bhade of the Dauntless, of course. Once they publically announced the base’s purpose, Barrett would also brief the permanent detachment that they were training to man the defenses. They all knew there was going to come a time when it would no longer be possible to hide the base’s purpose. When the incomprehensibly long cable began to literally lower from the heavens to the ingenious catchment mechanism they were building, the secret would be out. It was simply not possible to hide a fifty-thousand-mile-long elevator into space.

  - - -

  They had kept the resort’s pool as a retreat for the senior officers stationed on the island, most of whom had been billeted in the old hotel complex, often two to a room. There had been some talk amongst the other officers about the young girl that had accompanied the Major Garrincha to the base, families having not yet been permitted on base for the other officers. But the others soon noticed that the major enjoyed the special attention of all of the company’s most senior staff, and talk died down accordingly.

  The resort encircled the kidney-shaped pool, its light blue ripples bracketed on all sides by the buildings that had once been the home of sauntering tourists. But now the pool seemed at odds with the busy purpose of the tourists’ usurpers, and was a lonely area of calm amongst an ever-growing sea of prefabricated buildings, fast-poured roads, and the behemoth platform that was to be the keystone to Earth’s bridge to the stars.

  Back at the old resort, Banu stood by the window of the strange place that had become her home, staring down at the small pool’s crystal blue waters. Growing up, even the water she drank had been less clear than the shimmering blues and turquoises of that strange pond. It was one of a thousand wonders she was still trying to come to terms with. But today, like most days, she merely sat and wondered at it all, avoiding the questions that swam just out of focus in the back of her mind.

  She heard the strange electronic lock click, and the clunk as the door to their room opened, but she did not turn. She knew Quavoce’s sound and his smell and she did not need to confirm it was him. Instead she stayed there, contemplating the man who had shattered her world, and wondered for the hundredth time whether he had saved her or damned her. Feeling her fears climb in her throat again, she turned to him suddenly, needing to see his eyes, needing to see the boundless assurance and confidence that they offered.

  He was just standing there, behind her, watching her with his seemingly limitless patience. She greeted him in English.

  “Hello, Quavoce. Welcome home.”

  His smile was broad and from the heart and she returned it, turning somewhat sheepish under his gaze. He looked at the little girl and felt for her as a father would, ever hopeful, but unsure of what the future would hold. In his heart he feared that because of her tragic circumstances this progeny may be forever on the eve of going out into the world, a chick that may never be able to fly. He stifled a shudder at the thought.

  He still did not know exactly why he had saved her, but the thought of leaving her there, as yet another life lost to expedience, had simply been too much for him. Smiling still, he turned now to the small kitchenette and took in the simple but hearty meal she had prepared for him. It was beyond him to tell her that he did not need such things, and somehow this food, prepared for him by this young girl, did give him a sustenance of sorts.

  Reverting to her native tongue, she invited him to sit at the table, and began to serve him, agreeing to join him with the same reluctance she always had. Only newlyweds ate together in her culture, and even then only if for some reason they were not sharing their house with one or other of their families.

  In larger groups, women did not eat with the men. And as she sat with him, she felt again how alien it all was. But the sense of the affection this man clearly had for her was palpable. She had never seen such a thing, not from her father, or even her mother, not to this depth, and despite that, it felt as natural to her as breathing. And so, as
the man she knew as Quavoce ate the meal she had prepared, and urged her into a conversation in her fledgling English, she looked at him and felt the stirrings of something she instinctively knew was her first brush with love.

  Chapter 16: Escalation

  Ayala’s understanding of Middle Eastern politics made her a logical choice for the conversation she was heading to as she walked down the famous corridor.

  But her background also made her shun the spotlight of such an auspicious setting, and she had to forcibly resist the urge to lie about her name as she passed through countless security checkpoints. Over the last few months she had developed a network she could only have dreamt of in her days as an active agent of the Mossad. Though her efforts had failed to pin down the atrocity that was Lana Wilson, Ayala’s obvious talents in intelligence gathering had not gone unnoticed by the powers that be.

  By her side was her former handler turned assistant Saul Moskowitz, more at home in the corridors of power than she, perhaps, but also far from comfortable as they passed yet another burly looking Secret Service agent. With officious precision, this one raised his wrist to his mouth and reported their approach as the others had, but did not stop them. They were, after all, expected. Yet another thing that Ayala never liked to be.

  “Mr. President, Ms. Zubaideh and Mr. Moskowitz,” said the president’s secretary as they were ushered into the room. Neal nodded to them from where he was seated on one of the two couches in the room, with Jim Hacker standing behind him like the shadow he had become. Sitting next to Neal was Peter Cusick, the director of the CIA, and a man Ayala had come to know well in the last few weeks. The president leaned against his desk, facing the entire assembled group.

  “Thank you for coming,” said the president, sensing that his guests did not particularly enjoy being called to the White House.