by Kevin Gordon
The Mississippi river was a muddy mess, its arteries clogged with years of accumulated soil, blown from the farthest corners of what was America. A submarine sat in its depths like a lonely crocodile, waiting for easy prey to tiptoe by. It housed the council of the Homestead, able to disappear under the waters should another Countdown occur.
Charlie always hated to come there, as he despised most forms of authority. When he was in the Navy, he was written up four times for insubordinate behavior. Twice he was almost dishonorably discharged only to have the paperwork revoked by his Lieutenant. Whatever kind of an asshole you are, said the Lieutenant after one of his screw-ups, you’re a damned smart asshole. And that he was. He could learn a ship’s systems in days, rather than weeks. He knew how to program the computers, how to rewire the systems. And at the same time, he was a vicious soldier with dozens of medals for valor. He could go out with a small platoon of men and accomplish what a whole battalion couldn’t. Three times in the second Iraq war he single-handedly tracked groups of insurgents and routed them with only five men at his side. He was unparalleled at hand-to-hand combat, but more than that, he was a skilled technician who could disarm IED’s in a heartbeat, then rewire them as part of his own traps. He gained the nickname ‘Snake Eye’ for his ability to kill without remorse.
As such, the Homestead needed him and hated him. It was he that coordinated the movement of the Shuttle to Scott, he that trained the youngsters to pilot the subs, drive the cars, program the computers. He was anywhere and everywhere, and with each child he taught, another soldier, another loyal follower joined his ranks. He had a charisma that was irresistible to the young and insufferable to the old, and worst of all, he knew it.
As he and Frank walked along a narrow path leading to the sub, Charlie took another drag from his cigar, before throwing it into the muddy soup of the river.
“Why do you think they called us back? Why not just conference on the cell?” asked Frank.
“Who knows, who cares.” He zipped up his bomber jacket, as they rounded down the last stairwell leading to the sub. Through the dozens of archetypes they passed, each one coming to extreme attention to Charlie, and he eagerly saluted them back. He was the closest thing there was to a living legend, and most of the younger generation worshiped the ground he walked on. “It’ll give me a chance to update them on my change of mind ‘bout the Shuttle.”
As they rounded the final gantry leading to the sub, an archetype saluted them, his eyes focused on Charlie. “Sir!”
Charlie paused in front of him, scanning him quickly up and down. “Yes?”
“You should be informed, sir, that the Deaconess is onboard.”
Charlie gritted his teeth like he just took a swig of cod liver oil, and nodded. “What’s your name?”
“Francis, sir!” The young boy came to rigid attention, his pock-marked face focused straight ahead, with tightly-drawn lips. He was huge for his age, with burly shoulders and thick arms buried under his black uniform. “Francis Hill sir!”
Charlie nodded. “Good job, Francis Hill. I’m gonna need a few more hands for my work. I’ll put you on the list.”
Francis beamed from ear to ear. “Yes sir!”
Charlie moved on, with Frank pulling out his gun and checking it.
“What’re you gonna do, shoot ‘er? Put that thing away.”
“This deaconess’ gettin’ to be a lot o’ trouble,” grumbled Frank. “I’ve been hearing some rumors from the prototypes. She’s been tryin’ to recruit some of ours!”
“You’re giving her more credit that she’s worth. We can get rid of her anytime we choose. After all, she’s just an old woman like the rest.”
They descended into the sub, and kept quiet, wary of prying ears and eyes. It was a small vessel, tighter and more cramped than his own, but it was the only sub that was projected to be able to make it up the Mississippi. Charlie stood for a moment, outside the door to the council chambers.
One day, this sub will go up in fire and flame, and the glory days of the Homestead will begin. I must take this abuse, this subservience, only for now. He took a deep breath, and walked in with the broadest of smiles.
The council sat in darkness before him. Thirteen members, in echo of the original thirteen colonies, sat around a wide, ovular table whose polished, wooden surface gleamed in the pale light. Around the perimeter, four archetypes sat, each holding MP5 guns in their hands.
“Come, Charlie, won’t you sit?” asked Davis, the default head of the Homestead. One of the oldest council members, he was the only one that held elected office before the Countdown, albeit for scarce a year. But he knew how to turn a phrase, how to build a consensus, and most of all, had a strong desire for power, which enabled him to keep control over the others and even men like Charlie. He was also a remarkably intelligent man, and that fact irked Charlie more than anything else. Charlie sat in a chair next to Deaconess Rodriguez, with Frank assuming a soldier’s stance behind him.
“No greetings for the council? None for your colleague, the Deaconess, who was quite gracious with us?”
“I’m not here to be polite, or gracious,” snapped Charlie. “I’m here to do work.”
“And how is the work coming?” asked the Deaconess. “Are we any closer to launch?”
“That’s why I’m here,” said Charlie to the council, ignoring the Deaconess. “I’ve decided the Shuttle will be impossible to launch.”
“Why? We’ve spent so much time.”
“As you know, we’ve been unable to get the solid rocket boosters prepped for launch. They were used shortly before Countdown, and were never prepped for reuse. And we just don’t have the skilled manpower to do it. And even if we had a full STS system, the launch of the shuttle is manpower intensive, and we just don’t have it.”
Davis drummed his fingers on the table. It was a habit Charlie always hated, watching his bony fingers pound relentlessly on the wooden surface. Davis wasn’t much for shows of power, but Charlie knew he liked to remind everyone about the power he had. So, often in meetings just like these, he would make everyone wait, while his fingers drummed on the tabletop. Charlie didn’t even think Davis thought of anything in particular. He just wanted to remind everyone who was the alpha; who followed whom. “What is your alternative?”
“A company called Scaled Composites created a private launch ship, called SpaceShipOne. Before Countdown, they had just completed its successor, SpaceShipTwo, also called ‘Enterprise.’ It’s a small, plane-like craft that’s launched from the bottom of a large plane called White Knight Two, or ‘Eve’ for short. It’s much simpler to operate than the shuttle, and wouldn’t require the amount of skilled labor to launch.”
Murmurs of approval ran through the council. “Will it reach the Watchers?”
“It should, but just in case, we can mount a Pegasus rocket booster underneath. Enterprise can attain orbital altitude without it, but the booster will give it the extra thrust to reach a Watcher’s ship.”
“So you’ve wasted all this manpower on a futile endeavor?” demanded the Deaconess. “When we have cities to clean out, roads to clear?! I thought you knew what you were doing!”
Charlie sat back, as if she didn’t utter a word.
“Charlie, the Deaconess’ concerns are valid,” said Davis. “Why did it take you this long to realize this?”
“I’ve had a lot on my mind, and—”
The Deaconess bolted out of her chair. “You mean like the takeover of the Homestead?!”
Charlie slammed his fist on the table, as Frank pulled his gun and leveled it on the Deaconess. The archetypes in the corner raised their weapons, though didn’t quite know who to target.
“Enough!” shouted Davis, slamming his palm on the table and getting to his feet. “Lower your weapons, and be seated.” Frank slowly holstered his, as the archetypes backed away. The Deaconess sat slowly, her eyes still trained on Charlie. “We have barely two million people left in America—think on that! A
nd you two want to start a civil war, make more people die, just in a foolish quest for power?” He sat back, frustrated and disgusted. “You both are here because you both control the two halves of society. Charlie, the prototypes and archetypes all default to you, while the entire workforce follows your direction, Deaconess. What neither of you seem to understand is that society cannot function without both of these halves. To have a military, scientist and leadership force without civilians to do the day to day work would be impossible. Conversely, to have a society of only workers, and no military to enforce order, or scientists or leaders to push ahead into the future, would also be untenable. Both of you must give up your designs on taking over the Homestead!”
“I have no designs whatsoever for such a thing!” yelled the Deaconess. “I am of your generation, Davis, so you know that my time in this world is short. What I do want is respect!” She whirled to bore her eyes into Charlie. “Your archetypes walk around as if they are gods inheriting the Earth; your prototypes get treated as if they are royalty, while in the streets the rest of humanity pulls out the corpses, clears the roads. The rest of humanity is dying because of insufficient medical care, losing hope because of the meals of jellyfish they now must eat! There is a growing imbalance in this society that will only lead to civil war if this council collapses!”
“That’s why this mission is so important,” said Davis. “Humanity must have a focus.” He leaned forward in his chair. “You both are here because we have new information, and it is so sensitive, that it must remain in this room.” He nodded to the archetypes, who marched out of the room. “Now, as you may have noticed, the dust storms are abating, and there are even times when the moon can be seen.”
Charlie shrugged, as did the Deaconess.
“Well, just a few days ago, one of our oldest and most knowledgeable scientists started looking up at the stars again. Only the very brightest can be seen through the haze, but even they were enough to confirm a suspicion he had.” David took a deep breath. “We are no longer in our home solar system.”
The deaconess sat back, in shock. Charlie merely laughed.
“You’ve got to be joking!”
“No we are not!” shouted Davis, as he slammed his fist in the table. “We have no time for foolishness! His observations have been verified by two others, going to observatories at Grinnell and Cornell Universities. The stars do not match any maps in existence.”
Charlie sat back, now deep in thought.
“Then, we turned our attention to the sun,” added Sou-Lin, second in authority to Davis on the council. Charlie always found her appearance favorable, even if she was just another old hag. “It isn’t the same. Its mass is substantially smaller, and we also determined our orbit is tighter. The Earth has been moved, my friends, and the moon with it.”
“Whoever moved us, wanted us to survive,” said the Deaconess.
“How do you suppose that?” asked Charlie.
“Why else put us around another sun?! And in even a tighter orbit, so we would get the same level of heat? Why take the moon with us, other than to preserve our tides? If what you say is true, then whomever is responsible wants us to live.”
“Which brings us back to the mission to the Watchers,” said Davis. “If we knew that the Watchers were evil, then every living soul would work towards their annihilation. If they were peaceful, and gave us hope, then we all could move on, secure in the knowledge that there would be no further Countdown. We must have answers!”
“And your bickering is complicating matters, as well as your pathetic maneuverings,” added Sou-Lin. “You think we don’t see what’s going on around us? You think we don’t hear the rumors, the conspiracy theories? But we must think of the future of humanity, which it appears neither of you are doing. We are on the brink of extinction. There are so few pockets of humanity left on this world, that all it would take is one war to push us over the edge, make resurrection impossible. The Homestead decrees that you two must work together! So long as we live, we will not tolerate internal politicking or divisiveness. You are both dismissed.”
Charlie got up, and bowed before the council, before offering his hand to the Deaconess. She accepted, and they both forced smiles in front of the council. As Charlie turned to leave, only one thing was on his mind, despite the enormity of the revelation given him.
So long as you live.
Chapter 9