Dawn Arrives

by Michael Anderle

  Giles smiled to everyone, raising an empty glass.

  “Has anyone told you people,” he asked, a large smirk on his face, “about Michael? The Patriarch?”

  —

  Out on the street, Eve moved the drunken Giles from a fireman’s carry over her shoulder to the ground carefully so as not to break any of his bones. In the last one hundred and fifty years, the Empire had modified the nanocytes, reducing, in some cases, the all-or-nothing enhancement effort and propelling forward the medical capabilities of Bethany Anne’s people. From what Eve could tell, he didn’t have the right nano’s to completely flush the sake from his system.

  And there was probably a reason for it, given what she’d seen so far. It was rare for Bethany Anne to radically enhance a person until she was completely assured of their commitment.

  Eve shook her head, wondering how best to deal with him.

  “Oh my gaaaahhhd,” he ranted excitedly from his horizontal position in the middle of the street, “this could totally be a new religion in the making!” He chuckled.

  Unfazed by the fact that he’d just been carried out of the bar for running his mouth, he continued his verbal stream of consciousness as he staggered to his feet.

  With his legs spread apart to steady him, Giles blearily looked left, then right before he turned to Eve, whispering loudly enough that people a block away could probably hear him.

  “Eve, imagine if we come back in fifty or even a hundred years for whatever reason and check in. I’ll bet these people are going to be worshiping the goddess of the stars who came to save them, but also kicked ass and took names.”

  He gesticulated not just with his hands and arms, but with his whole body. He looked as if he were fighting an imaginary opponent.

  Eve knew it was the sake.

  And probably his youthful disposition.

  Plus, the Shinjuku lights and atmosphere always seemed to have a strange effect on people.

  Maybe she just needed to get him somewhere a little more...sober.

  Yes, sober was good in all meanings of the word, she thought.

  “Come on, Giles, let’s get you back to the ship,” she cajoled, like a grownup talking to a child.

  Giles didn’t respond. He was now seduced by the lights of the clubs around them. Eve grabbed his arm firmly and pointed Giles in the direction she wanted him to go.

  He’d already caused quite a stir in the club, and she had been aware that people had followed them out. Calling a Pod in the middle of the club quarter probably wouldn’t be the best idea right now.

  Especially not after all his talk of gods and demons and...

  Eve programmed the Pod to meet them on the outskirts of the quarter where it would be quieter. A few streets down the buildings were more commercial, and likely deserted at this hour.

  She started walking with purpose, leaving Giles no choice but to keep up. “What? What’s happening? Where’re we going?” he asked, waving his hand over his shoulder. “But they were listening! I can’t teach the truth of history or archeolothy...Wait,” he looked up at the sky, “did I say ‘archeology,’ or ‘archeolothy?’” He looked down at the little android, who was still walking determinedly forward.

  Getting out of her grip was impossible. He had tried already.

  Eve kept walking, her hand firmly gripping his arm. “We’re leaving. The probability of this getting out of hand, causing a disturbance and affecting the perception of our operation has risen beyond acceptable parameters.”

  Giles stumbled along, trying to keep up with his arm.

  He found his footing and muttered, “It seems you people down here are sensitive about your PR…” before surrendering to his fate.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Somewhere over the Northern Barren Lands of the Former USA

  Giles’ emotions shifted. He felt elated and desolate at the same time.

  He’d read passages from spiritual texts which had suggested that extreme experiences could cause an “awakening.” Maybe this was what they’d been talking about.

  He guided the Pod over the continent that had been called “North America” in his father’s time. His father, Frank Kurns, had talked about it now and again, generally when he was missing a particular whiskey the replicators couldn’t simulate, but this was normally only after he had sampled two or three of the replicator’s attempts.

  He’d told of great cities buzzing with activity. Of staunch individualism. The urban jungles—concrete and asphalt, held up by an ideology that ran on the currency of debt.

  He’d talked about the Chinese restaurant he’d lured Giles’ mother to, and of the something-or-other chicken dish which turned out to be their favorite.

  How he would park a Pod many generations older than the one he flew now between towering buildings to try to avoid being detected by the authorities. They would have asked more questions than their operation at the time would have wanted to answer.

  Giles had tried to picture this place and now, skimming the surface of this desolate wasteland, he found it hard to imagine.

  True, in the more built-up areas Yuko had shown him around New York and the upper east coast of the continent it seemed plausible, but here? He sighed, feeling a deep compassion for the land he saw beneath him.

  Spotting something up ahead, he slowed the Pod. The EI zoomed the cameras on what was below them. It was a gathering of people, but not a city. There were no buildings. Just tents, and…were those mats?

  He zoomed in closer.

  Yes, mats. People with their belongings next to the mats they sat on. And laid on.

  He frowned, wondering if it was some kind of event, or party. But there was nothing else around except a stream about a mile away.

  His heart crumpled in his chest.

  These people lived like this.

  “Maintain position,” he muttered to the EI, trying to collect himself.

  “Position held,” the artificial voice answered. At times he wasn’t sure if ArchAngel was running this for him or one of her subroutines, or he was flying the Pod himself.

  Giles was stunned, and tried to absorb the scene as he steadied his breathing.

  He watched a boy cleaning up some things and playing with a little girl on one of the mats. He had no shoes on. Well, neither of them did, but still, the little boy looked…content.

  Giles became aware of tears running down his cheeks. He wiped his face, and then his eyes. “Goodness,” he mumbled, chiding himself.

  What became of our race?

  His mind grappled with the abject poverty in front of him. Had he seen it in the archives he wouldn’t have believed it, but here he was, not a stone’s throw from his own people.

  His brothers and sisters...suffering.

  The cameras panned over more of the camp. Some occupants seemed to have tents and shelter.

  “Computer, give me a climate evaluation for this area.”

  “Certainly. The climate in this area is relatively mild in terms of wind and rain. However, temperatures each night drop to freezing or below, and highs in the daytime reach extremes. Not ideal for human habitation.”

  “Not ideal at all,” he muttered.

  Giles vividly remembered a field trip to Zalifrax-2 he’d been dragged on way back when he’d first elected Archeology as his major.

  There they were in cabins and the outside temperature would reach a chilly low—nothing compared to what these people were experiencing. But that had been one of the most uncomfortable experiences of his life, an experience that had made him pretty sure he wanted to study civilization from a distance, or at least from the comfort of a space station.

  “Computer, land within five hundred yards of the perimeter.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  The Pod zoomed in and then hovered a foot above the sandy terrain.

  Giles didn’t know what he was going to do, but almost as if he were on autopilot he hit the button to open the door and got out.

  The sand was
hot—he could feel it even through his shoes—and the heat wafted through the air as well as reflecting off the sand.

  He moved forward, barely able to walk because the sand offered little support for his steps.

  The dryness in the air seemed to scorch the insides of his nostrils, and within seconds he started perspiring to deal with the conditions.

  Every ounce of gray matter in his brain told him to get back into the Pod.

  And yet...he couldn’t.

  He walked on, covering the stretch between the Pod and the camp.

  People noticed him and started to gather at the edge of the mats. As he got closer he could hear them talking amongst themselves, wondering who this stranger was, coming out of a strange craft.

  “Hi!” he said, shielding his eyes from the sun with his left arm and waving with the other.

  The people chattered some more and the men pushed their way in front of the women and children to protect what was theirs.

  Giles held both his hands out, palms open. “I’m unarmed, and I’m not here to hurt you. I-I…” His voice caught in his throat and he ended up whispering the last words almost to himself.

  “I want to help,” he finished. He was embarrassed.

  The leather-skinned men, their eyes creased from squinting in the sunlight day after day, regarded him carefully. One of them finally stepped forward. “What do you want from us?”

  His hair had been blond once upon a time, but was now bleached white from the sun. The only indication of his age were his bright blue eyes.

  Giles kept moving forward until he was a few paces out. “I was just passing through and saw your settlement from above. But...I wondered if I could be of assistance.”

  The man looked confused.

  Giles kept talking. “I understand that the temperatures out here are extreme. Freezing or below at night…” his voice trailed off.

  The man started to smile and said something to the men around him, who started chuckling and chattering amongst themselves.

  “I’d like to help...if I can,” Giles repeated.

  “How can you help us?” the man asked. “You have a little...what’s that now? A sky ship? And your clothes...you wouldn’t survive out here come nightfall.”

  Giles glanced at his Pod, and then back to the man. “I…”

  “Doesn’t look like you’re in a position to even help yourself right now,” the man observed, more confident now.

  More people had gathered at the edge of the mats, and children pushed to see what was going on. Their faces were gaunt and drawn, showing signs of advanced starvation.

  Those who were standing there curiously didn’t seem miserable, though, and the children seemed...like children. Playful and happy, even.

  Giles felt stupid for thinking he could help.

  He took a step backward, the weight of ignorance heavy in his chest. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he cursed himself.

  “I’m sorry,” he called, putting his hand up as if to wave goodbye. “I-I was out of line. I’ll go now.” He stumbled and nearly fell over his own feet, struggling against the shifting sand.

  He turned toward the Pod, feeling as if he had been mocked. How could he have been so naive?

  His heart broke for these people, and yet he felt like an idiot compared to them. They were obviously dealing with their lives better than he ever could.

  He started walking, biting back tears and trying to hold in all the emotion churning within him.

  He wiped his face, nudging his glasses and then pushing them back into place. He thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye so he slowed and turned, looking again.

  It was a child.

  The same child he had been watching on the camera. He had left the crowd and was walking with him, trying to keep up as Giles headed back to his Pod.

  Giles stopped and looked at the boy. “Hi.”

  The boy didn’t speak, but he gave Giles a huge, toothy smile. He looked awkward, almost shy, but he wanted to communicate.

  He waved his hand at the stranger.

  Giles glanced back at the camp and saw that three or four other children had followed the first boy. They were laughing and waving…and smiling.

  In that moment Giles couldn’t keep back the tears anymore. His eyes started to leak uncontrollably.

  “What’s wrong, Mister?” the little boy asked.

  Giles tried to answer.

  The little boy grabbed Giles’ hand. “It’s ok. No matter what happens, it’ll all be ok.”

  The other children caught up with them. One of the boys wrapped his arms around Giles’ legs and hugged him and a little girl a bit bigger than the first boy put her arms up to be picked up.

  Spontaneously—and still overwhelmed—Giles bent down and picked her up. Then he realized the children were cheering. Clapping. Laughing. The one who was hugging his legs was pulling at his pants to try to get him to come back to the camp.

  The little girl whispered in his ear, “I think you should come back and talk to my dad.”

  Giles used the back of his other hand to wipe the tears from his face and started striding back to the camp.

  “Seems the children want you to stay,” the man with the sun-bleached hair called to him.

  “Yes, er...it appears so,” Giles agreed.

  “Let me show you around. If you want to help us, you might as well see what we’re up against.”

  Giles followed the man around the mats and through the camp, still carrying the little girl, with the entourage of children following in his wake.

  “I’m Dwayne, by the way,” the man with the leathery skin and young eyes told him, offering his hand as they scrambled over the sand.

  Giles took it. “Giles.”

  Dwayne smirked amicably. “Sounds like a smart-person kind of name,” he commented, leading the way across the sandy terrain.

  Northern Barren Lands (former USA)

  Giles was perspiring more than he ever had in his life, and the sun was burning the sensitive skin under his eyes and on his cheeks as it beat down and reflected off the sand.

  The children were still following, but more quietly now. They knew not to overexert themselves in the middle of the day.

  Dwayne waved his arms around as he explained the setup. “We’re moving off in that direction now. Our scouts have found signs of water that way. If we can find water then we’ll find food, and by this time next year we’ll have a settlement and farms.”

  Giles shook his head in awe. “So you’ve been traveling like this for weeks already?”

  Dwayne nodded. “Yes, ever since we ran out of water at the last place.”

  Giles pulled up his wrist computer and punched in some instructions to see if he could get a read on the distances involved. Dwayne watched in mild interest and one of the children poked his nose over Giles’ arm to see what he was doing.

  Giles frowned. “By my calculations you have at least another ten days of walking to get to anywhere that looks like it might have enough water.”

  He looked off to the north, trying to see any sign of anything but desert. He squinted, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him or if indeed there really were hills or something farther over that way. If there were hills, they’d get water. He knew enough of natural science and had done enough survival classes in hostile terrain (SCHT) to please his mother before his last field trip.

  Dwayne scratched his head. “You’re probably right,” he agreed, looking back at the camp. “Many of them won’t make it,” he added more quietly so the children didn’t hear.

  Giles heard perfectly. His chest imploded, and the lump in his throat swelled. He tried to keep it together, since he’d feel like a fool if Dwayne saw him crying.

  He coughed to try and hide his feelings and turned his back to think.

  Eventually it came to him. “Let me take one of your scouts to the location you’re interested in,” he suggested. “In my Pod.” He pointed at the ship he’d shown up in.
>
  Dwayne had both hands on his hips. “How’s that going to help?”

  Giles shook his head. “Well, at least you’ll know that’s where you want to be, and that you’re not heading to a mirage or a pipedream.”

  Dwayne shrugged.

  “And if it is the right place, the least I can do is take a few people at a time—maybe the weakest—so they have half a chance.”

  Dwayne looked out at his camp. “There are over two hundred people here,” he said, moved by Giles’ kind offer.

  Giles nodded. “I want to do everything I can. Let me start with making sure this new place has water.”

  Dwayne agreed and went back into the camp to find someone, while Giles and the chattering children headed back to his Pod. He answered questions about seeing an alien, and what space was like.

  Dwayne met him at his Pod within ten minutes with a younger man. “This is Bernie,” he said. Bernie had dark hair and darker skin, which wasn’t quite as weathered as his leader’s. “Bernie knows these parts, and he knows what we’re looking for in terms of terrain and farm land.”

  “Good,” Giles said, focused on his task now. He shook Bernie’s hand. “Good to meet you, Bernie. I’m Giles. Shall we?” he said, waving to the Pod.

  Bernie looked somewhat bewildered by the concept of stepping into a space machine with a strange person, but Dwayne clamped a strong hand across his shoulders. “We’re all counting on you, boy. Do your thing, and hurry back.”

  The words mobilized Bernie, and Giles helped him into the Pod and the harness before stepping in himself.

  Moments later the Pod silently took off and disappeared in the direction of the promised land, under the gaze of dozens of awestruck children and exhausted, dehydrated grownups.

  Northern Barren Lands (former USA)

  Bernie hopped out of the Pod and immediately started exploring the new environment.

  At first his senses were overwhelmed. There was rich soil beneath his feet, a certain sign of water.

  Mountains were visible in the distance and there was gently sloping land all around.

  There was moisture in the air, as well as the fresh scent of vegetation. It was if he’d stepped out of purgatory into a Utopian world of plenty.