by Sandi Gamble
Although we were not particularly close – Cate was an imposing figure under the most benign circumstances – she and I had spent some time together at the Academy. In a curious way, I’d found her to be quite funny.
She made me laugh.
Not that humor would ever have been the first thing one assumed upon meeting Cate. The first thing people noticed about her was her striking beauty. Long, raven locks. Piercing, emerald green eyes. Honey-colored skin. Standing about five foot six inches, with a lean, fit physique, she moved with feline grace and comfort. It was only when she was in a combat situation that her musculature became defined and her ruthless determination and strength came to the fore.
Not long after meeting her, when I’d expressed astonishment at her strength, she smiled. She stood straight and brought her hands down along the lines of her body, accentuating her shapely charms. “Little ole me?” she asked in a coy voice. Then she laughed a strong, hearty laugh. “My dad always said my body was like camouflage. People see a pretty girl and not a ferocious warrior.
“I like it that way.”
“Well, you sure had me fooled,” I said.
“Hey, it’s not like I mind being pretty,” she said, smiling so her eyes twinkled. “I like when boys are nice to me.” Then she paused. “I just like to be able to whip them in battle.”
I smiled. “I like your style.”
If there was anyone I wanted at my side for protection, it was Cate.
Of our group, Cate was the only one besides Jace that I knew at all. There were faces and names I’d seen or heard, but it was their expertise that brought us together, not any social dynamic.
Along with myself, Jace and Cate, a professional communicator, structural engineer, medical doctor, negotiator and a pilot rounded out our group. Each of us, of course, was trained in combat but it was our other expertise that qualified us for the mission.
I wasn’t overly concerned about combat skills. From what I’d been given to understand, if we had truly gone back in time and the ARC’s had already been locked down, then based on the few communications that had come through, we would not be confronting very much in the way of immediate danger in the form of other people. Combat was not high on my list of concerns.
Each of us was deep into his or her own thoughts when the Minister and Ashley arrived for a final briefing before our departure.
With their arrival, the air in the hanger seemed to thicken. I know I straightened up just a little more, watching as their vehicle approached and came to a slow stop. My eyes never left them as they got out and strode over to where we were gathered.
Whatever excitement we felt in our youthful foolishness was quickly transformed into a vague, but very discernable apprehension. Whatever awaited us was not anything we could have been adequately prepared for, certainly not in the Academy. What awaited us was new and completely unknown.
Although we had received the broadest of outlines about our mission the evening before, the Minister and Ashley had come to fully brief us before we embarked. Of course, “fully briefed” was something of a misnomer in this context. Briefings were designed to truly define the parameters of the dangers and the mission. Such parameters were unavailable to us now.
We were silent as the two men came toward us. Standing in the hanger, we glanced at one another, trying to discern each other’s feelings and emotions. I hoped my own expression did not betray the uncertainty that I felt in the pit of my stomach. I did not quite identify it as fear, but it was close.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Ashley said, speaking up as soon as he and the Minister came close. “Thank you again for taking on this very important mission…”
Yes, like we really had a choice! Not that any of us would have opted out of it even if given a real choice in the matter. A mission like this was a once in a lifetime – heck, once in several lifetimes – and we were proud and honored to be the ones going on it. Still, it seemed bad form to make it sound as if we’d invited the opportunity.
“Nothing that has occurred since yesterday evening has done anything to alter our understanding of the events unfolding.” He frowned. “Indeed, if anything, we are learning that the situation is even direr than we might have considered. In short, this is not a mission that we send you on lightly, or happily. It is a matter of life and death, for the future as well as the past. There are some things we can tell you about the mission because there are things that we have learned. However, there are a number of things that we simply do not know. And can’t know.” Then he added, almost as an offhand remark, “None of us like sending anyone into the unknown, but we have no choice.”
At that point, Ashley reminded us that nobody in our timeline had ever been on such an important mission and that the fate of Pulchra and the lives of all Pulchrans rested firmly on our shoulders.
Thanks for taking off the pressure, I thought to myself! I was trying to process what I was hearing with what I already knew. What I was getting was a strange message – there might be “some” as yet undetermined danger to the mission, but it is an absolutely essential mission on which the future and past of our people rests. Okay, got it. Now, why is it again that I wasn’t worried about combat?
Ultimately, his advice to us was to remember our training, remain vigilant and return home safely.
Got it.
Almost as an afterthought, he noted that “You may encounter the odd person here and there, but you are not to approach them or help in any way!”
“Sir,” I asked, unable to help myself, “why not?”
He looked at me for a moment, as if to determine whether my question was sincere or meant to upend his message to us. Seeming to have decided it was a sincere question, he answered, “If indeed you have gone into the past and you do anything to alter the flow of events, you could unwittingly and adversely affect our futures.” He straightened the papers in front of him. “Your mission has a great many unknowns. We are not sending you out to do anything other than gather information,” he emphasized. “We do not expect, or want, you to engage in any events, situations, or realities that you encounter. Simple information gathering, that’s it.”
He paused and gazed at each one of us, taking an extra few moments to lock his eyes on mine. “Do you understand?” he asked quietly. Then, again in a voice that rose to an angry roar, “Do you understand?!”
“Yes!” we replied in a single voice. I had never encountered anyone in my lifetime that had spoken in such a way, loud and obnoxious, to drive home a point. It certainly grabbed our attention and made us stand up and take notice.
“Good,” he said. Then he vacated the podium, making way for Shaun to come to the podium to announce that, “While you are away, your PAD’s will not work.”
There was an audible intake of breath from us as a group. Without our PAD’s it would be impossible to communicate. We would be isolated. Adrift. Vulnerable.
“The only communication that will be transmitted from them will be your medical information which will be closely monitored by Justin on his portable Electronic Medical Hub, (EMH).” He glanced at Justin and gave him a quick nod. “Justin is prepared for just about any medical possibility. He can provide, literally, a medical science lab in the field. You can rely on that.” With that, Shaun turned and left the podium.
There was a moment of awkward quiet before the Minister stepped up to each of us individually shook our hand and quietly repeated the same words, one after the other. “Speedy return, do us proud.”
And just like that, the formal ceremony was over. I felt as if I could not breathe. The future – my future – was upon me! It was time. When he had shared his words with each of us, I turned to my father. I felt like a little girl again as I wrapped my arms around him. I wanted his strength, his comfort, his protection. I wanted to be his little girl again. But, as I well knew, I was no longer a child. I felt the strength of his embrace. I hugged him as hard as I could. And then, at the same moment, we released one another.
These Fúyúns are sturdy and rather large flying machines developed by the Chinese, and more commonly known as the Fú. In design, they are similar to a spacecraft yet able to hover using only air pressure – an astonishingly helpful feature, and magnetic levitation. I felt safe approaching the Fú. I loved and appreciated the forward-thinking Chinese engineers; they seemed to always seek the most elegant engineering solution to any problem or design. Without question, they were the technological leaders of our world. In the Fú they had created a machine which, as the name implies – literally means floating on clouds – and would serve our purposes well.
Not only was the design brilliant but with the development of the Fú’s the Chinese came upon an exceptional use for the many tons of chrome rubbish found lying around during the resettlement period. With the ruling that all machinery and transport developed needed to meet strict environmental codes, enforced by the OWG, many thought the real genius of the Fú was its incredible material efficiency.
Behind us, the gathering applauded. But the sound of their clapping faded as we each found our seats and strapped ourselves in.
“Everyone in?” the pilot asked.
One by one, we acknowledged that we were, in fact, securely in place. None of us had time to be emotional or philosophical. Once we were in position, we had practical matters to consider which occupied our attention. Each of us had a sequenced series of tasks that we had to complete before take-off.
“Doors to shut,” the pilot said, initiating the take-off sequence.
The doors shut. As they did, I glanced to my left, and caught a last glimpse of my father. His expression no longer showed pride. Rather, his eyes were filled with worry. It would be that look, that look of concern on his face that would remain in my thoughts in the coming hours and days.
“Beginning launch sequence,” Tim intoned. Although he was in control of his voice, it was clear to me that he did so only by a Herculean effort. Beneath the smooth tone of his voice, I could hear the strain; his voice was washed with emotion, his fear was obvious.
“Launch sequence.”
One by one, we authorized the sequence to go forward, each of us displaying the same effort to maintain our calm vocal tone. The design of the Fú was a “fail-safe” design, one that allowed any one of us to halt the sequence and the take-off. However, with no indication of any mechanical problem, none of us had any mind or reason to do something like that. The launch sequence proceeded smoothly and, in a few moments, the Fú trembled slightly – like the sighing of a large animal – and we all experienced the subtle lift as we rose from the ground. Rising smoothly, Tim adjusted his controls and the machine oriented itself and turned toward our destination.
Having been a frequent passenger on the Fúyún’s as I had traveled to the mainland with my mother and father for business, I was familiar with the smoothness and speed of the flights to the mainland. As I attended to my responsibilities, I tried not to think of those other, earlier trips.
In no time, we could spot the coastline below us.
“Leaving ocean space,” the pilot announced. “Land beneath us.”
And just like that, we were now flying over land, heading toward the Denver International Airport.
As we crossed the coastline, I glanced down and could see the hulls of broken ships and the wreckage of ocean liners scattered along the shore. I shook my head at the hubris of man as I allowed myself to gaze at the once proud and mighty relics of how man sought to tame the ocean. How mighty man once thought of himself! But now look at his relics! Rusting and rotting, awaiting nature’s inevitable cleansing as she erases any and every footprint of human society and trespass. The first indication that we were indeed back in the past.
Tim adjusted our flight pattern and, as he spoke into the microphone that connected with our headsets, moved us toward the remains of the great “city of angels” – Los Angeles.
Such a beautiful and evocative name! And yet, to me, I couldn’t help but feel deep sadness as I wondered what had become of all those “angels”.
“Oh my,” Tim sighed under his breath.
Below us, all that remained of what must have once been a magnificent metropolis was a shadow, a mere suggestion. Mighty? No more. All that was left were ruins, crisscrossed by streets and freeways emptied of traffic or people, and crumbling buildings in various stages of disrepair.
The streets and freeways seemed to extend endlessly toward the horizon. The buildings seemed to dot a landscape that rolled out as far as the eye could see. But there were no angels, and no ghosts either. Just the empty hulls of what was once a place millions called home. The extent of the ruins below us was our second indication that we had indeed gone back in time. The thriving metropolis of our own time was nowhere to be seen.
“Note that there are no indications of a modern, rebuilt city,” Tim said breaking me out of my deep thought. “And the coastline has changed dramatically.”
I shook my head in wonder. Whatever other lesson nature taught, the most basic was that nature should never be trifled with. She always takes back what is hers. We needed no further proof than what was obvious below us. For Jace and me, it seemed that our lessons at the academy truly did no justice at all to what we now saw unfolding before our own eyes, neither of us truly appreciated the extent of damage done to the pre-purge earth. Man had created metropolises that he believed would last for eternity, but, as it turned out, eternity is but the blink of nature’s eye. Looking at what had transpired to the world beneath us I felt my breath taken away. Nature was taking back what rightfully belonged to her. Rusted automobiles littered what had once been wide boulevards and tree-lined streets and avenues.
I shudder, imagining what the people – the “angels” – must have suffered in those last horrible months after the doors to the ARC were locked down, leaving them to fend for themselves in the most severe of environments. I imagined that as bad as the physical torment of those times, the worst of it was the sense of being abandoned. Left behind. Alone.
I sighed deeply. Like all others, I had grown up living my life with the presumption of communal good, of an enveloping matrix which allows me to address the world as an individual as well as a member of that communal enterprise. I had the presumption – as I’m sure these poor “angels” had – of a communal structure that ensures many aspects of life – delivering electricity, removing garbage and waste, making food available, clean water – and to have that suddenly snatched away so that each and every aspect of survival became an individual mission… how could that sense of abandonment been anything less than astonishing?
Regardless, the psychosocial torment they experienced must fully have been what is meant by the term, “existential crisis”. How interesting that term had been when I studied it in my classes. How horrible to consider now, as I looked down and imagined what it must have been like to actually experience it!
More than the hunger, more than the thirst, the cold, or the brutal heat I could only imagine it would have been that deep and unrelenting fear and aloneness that was most devastating. Each of these angels must have cried out in anguish, and only hearing silence from their community were left to struggle like animals just trying to survive from one day, one moment, to the next.
Horrible. Beyond horrible.
My imaginings left me unsettled and disturbed. I drew a deep breath and turned my attention to the gauges in front of me, trying to focus on the matter at hand.
“Something to think about, no?” Tim asked, glancing in my direction. His expression told me that he might as well have read my thoughts. His voice, still erased of emotion, cut through me. Yes, the scene below us was “something to think about”. The devastation on the ground held many secrets about our past that we were yet to discover if we were ever to discover them.
I nodded slightly, not trusting myself to speak.
One thing
that was obvious from the landscape below us was that whatever else occurred during the evacuation process into the ARCs, whatever had been successful or necessary, there was a great deal that had not been well-thought out or well-executed. Emergency management clearly had not managed the vast evacuation as well or as efficiently as circumstances required.
“Farewell, City of Angels,” Tim said, guiding us away from the scene below us.
We might have left the City of Angels behind us for the moment, but we could not escape the evidence of nature’s power over man. I looked down as we moved over the landmass. From my studies and from my own visits to the mainland, I knew how so much of the events played out that it seemed to be written into my soul. There had been dozens of dams holding back the Colorado River at any number of points, but with no upkeep from man, the river eventually reclaimed its original path – after all, nature would have her dominance. Man could forestall many things if he had acted prudently and consistently.
After two centuries without maintenance or upkeep, erosion and rust will weaken the spillways, causing them to collapse under surging flood waters created by heavy spring runoffs from the mountain’s melting ice. This, in turn, will cause a domino effect on each dam along its path until the waters reach the Hoover Dam. With the growing water pressure from each collapsing dam finally reaching its greatest pressure when the waters surge against the Hoover Dam, the mighty dam will not withstand the rushing water and will give way, allowing it to once again spill out from its man-made limits and find its way back to the ocean.
Despite the damage this will cause to man-made structures, ultimately the destruction of these dams will be a good thing – as all things in nature are – because new estuaries will be created, which will quickly become breeding grounds for hundreds or thousands of species of animals. That it will wash away a large chunk of the human environment in doing so is something that cannot be avoided.