Today We Die (The Killing Sands Book 1)

by Daniel Wilde

  The young girl indicated that she had become lost in the storm and had waited in the cave until the storm died down. She was hungry and thirsty, but otherwise, no worse off than when they had last seen her the day before.

  The cave, on the other hand, was quite a sight, according to Mr. Shafik. The men spent many hours exploring the various tunnels and caverns before returning to El-Alamein early this morning. Mr. Shafik minimally described the caves to us, but said he wanted to show us, rather than tell us what was inside. That bothered me because he was so excited about what they found. He wouldn’t budge.

  We spent nearly two hours with Mr. Shafik before he begged leave of our company in desperate need of sleep. We agreed to meet tomorrow at 6:00 AM to travel to the cave, and, hopefully, to retrieve, or at least analyze the two bodies identified in his photographs. He said they’re “no more than 15 to 20 minutes from the caves, walking.”

  During a pleasant dinner of decontaminated and pre-packaged food, in Anta’s room, Anta raised the concern that had been on my mind since our discussion with Mr. Shafik.

  “Do you think Mr. Shafik has been contaminated?” she asked. “If he is, do we have an obligation to tell him the truth about the suits, and maybe even supply him one for the return to the desert? He could be contaminating others.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” I replied, as I tried to get more food into my suit through the decontamination pouch. “Let’s think about it overnight and decide in the morning. My light’s still green.”

  Our conversation then drifted into a discussion of why Mr. Shafik’s client, Dr. Ghannam, needed salt specimens from the Qattara Depression. After dinner, Anta made a quick call to a friend in Cairo. Her friend said that Dr. Ghannam is headed to the moon in two days as part of Egypt’s first attempt at colonization.

  “So, why does he need salt?” I questioned Anta. “Are they running low up there? Perhaps the fries just aren’t worth eating without salt.”

  “Shift!” Anta said with a laugh. “Are you hungry for fries? I’ll have a large order sent up if you like.”

  “I know—I’m a little fixated on fries. They’re awesome! Yeah, let’s get some, even if they taste terrible after decontamination.”

  “You know, it might be simpler than that though,” I continued, returning to the subject. “Maybe the colonists are simply trying to make an ocean and lack just one key ingredient for the salt water.”

  Anta laughed again.

  “I guess Dr. Ghannam could have several reasons for needing salt for his trip to the moon,” Anta said. “We really don’t know anything, apart from Shafik’s talk about energy storage.”

  “Well, actually, I do know a little bit,” I replied, all joking aside. “But it won’t quite get us to the issue of the salt, I don’t think.”

  “Just in case you missed it in history class, even 30 years ago, many people thought space travel was a huge waste of time and money. Populating the moon, as it is now, was even more divisive. Of course, the ‘moonies’ finally won. Initially only scientists, astronauts, members of the military, and their families made the trip to the small moon station, but later, wealthier people began going.

  “I’m sure you remember about 15 years ago, July 4th, 2076, 300 years after the date of the adoption of the American Declaration of Independence, and just 107 years after the United States’ landing of Apollo 11 on the moon on July 20, 1969, the first moon colony was established. It was a pretty elaborate celebration, so you must have seen the footage.”

  “Yeah, I saw it, and I remember it. Typical Americans making a huge to-do about something that was only pretty cool.” Anta grinned.

  “Uh, yeah. Us crazy Americans. Anyway, that newly-inhabited portion of the moon was established as a United States colony. Some argued that it should be made a State. I didn’t ever understand any of the main arguments for statehood; but there was one minor argument that made sense. The United States was down to 48 states with the departure of Texas and New Mexico in the early 2030s. Puerto Rico finally attained statehood in 2048. So, some people thought it would be cool to have 50 states again since the United States’ flag still had 50 stars. That made sense, but it was pretty trivial. It never happened anyway. The United States still has only 49 states.

  “But between 2076 and 2091, England, Portuguese-Brazil, Poland, Mexico, and Burmo-Thailand each established colonies on the moon. And, as you know well, the Egyptians are about to send people up there too.”

  “Yeah. According to my friend in Cairo, we’re sending nearly 1000 people to the moon, including Dr. Ghannam,” Anta said. “But what has any of that to do with salt?”

  “I don’t know. I just wanted to sound smart. Did it work?”

  “A little,” Anta said, smiling.

  “But I know a way to find out about the salt, I think,” I replied, as I walked over and turned on the internal Holo stuck to the wall in Anta’s room. “There are a lot of people up there now—thousands of them. They’re conducting tons of experiments that can’t be conducted here. Lots of the technology we have now on Earth, like the wall units that produce such delicious meals for the lazy among us, was first developed on the moon. Something about low gravity not interfering with the experiments, or something like that. And salt is an essential nutrient and a pretty important part of some of those experiments, or so I’m told. Or, maybe there really is a salt shortage. I don’t know. But I know a guy who can probably tell us.”

  “Well, let’s get him then,” Anta said. “Even though it probably has nothing to do with what we’re out here for.”

  Using the holo, I contacted a colleague from the International World Science and Health Library in Geneva. Dr. Jeffry Undermane, a very large, jolly man, with at least three chins and an appetite the size of Anta’s truck, was asleep when we called. Whoops! Once we got into our scientific mode of inquiry we lost track of time and didn’t realize how late it was. I felt bad for waking him, but he was eager, as always, to discuss science. I knew I could count on him. Every time I’ve needed information about chemistry or technology, he has jumped up and down (sometimes literally) in his zeal to educate me. That’s just the way he is, sleep-deprived or not.

  I quickly related Mr. Shafik’s tale, and explained why we were wearing the chem suits. He was intrigued.

  “Jeffry, what do you make of it? I mean, how, or why, might Dr. Ghannam use salt in relation to the storage or creation of energy?”

  What I really wanted to know, but didn’t believe Jeffry could tell me was, Could there be any relationship between salt and the deaths of the two men in the desert? Is there any relationship at all, or are we fishing in a dry, salt-water pond?

  “The answer is simple!” Jeffry replied. “Dr. Jafari Ghannam is a colleague of a good friend of mine in Cairo. He is on the cutting edge of this research, and has been for the past decade. His writings and research litter the scientific databases dedicated to chemistry and its applications to future scientific endeavors. Dr. Ghannam’s reputation is outstanding in our field!”

  “So what is he working on now?” I asked.

  “Well, about eighty years ago, chemical researchers first learned how to store hydrogen in the form of methanol as part of a method for storing excess energy produced by wind and solar power plants. In layman’s terms, salt is used in the formation of a catalyst which aids in the process of utilizing excess electricity to electrolyze water. The surface of the catalyst is coated with a thin film of basic salts, namely a mixture of lithium, potassium, and cesium acetate. Eventually, through a process that I won’t try to explain, hydrogen can be stored as a liquid. The liquid hydrogen can then be released at a later time to power a fuel cell.”

  “That was layman’s terms?” I asked. Jeffry either ignored, or was completely oblivious to the look of confusion on Anta’s face, and probably mine as well. But I could read her face and it said, quite clearly, What is this guy talking about? Those were my sentiments exactly.

  “Oh yes, I forget who I’m talking
to. I’ll go slower,” he said.

  “Thanks, I think.”

  “Salt makes a funny sizzling noise when it’s thrown on electrolyzed water. Then the electrolyzed water goes crazy and can be scooped up and put into a big bucket. The stuff in the big bucket can be dumped into smaller buckets and used to make the lights go on. Was that better?”

  “You obviously think I’m an idiot. But, thanks, that was better,” I replied. “So, Dr. Ghannam could be using the salt to experiment in the storage of electricity, right?”

  “Yes,” Jeffry said. “But the dumbed-down Shift-sized version isn’t quite accurate. I won’t bother trying to explain it any better. The technology has been in use for decades, in one form or another; but not until the late 2040s was the technology used with any precision or effect. There may be some other purpose for the gathering of salt by Dr. Ghannam, but my belief is that he would be using this salt to continue that research.”

  “Doctor,” Anta said, “we’ve recently received information that Egypt will be sending a group of scientists to the Lunar Space Port two days from now, and that Dr. Ghannam will be traveling with them. Could his research benefit the moon colonies?”

  “Ahhhh, indeed. Now the pieces come together. I recently attended a seminar where we discussed difficulties the colonies are having with the storage of surplus electricity they are creating. They are having intermittent power outages on the moon. Now knowing that Dr. Ghannam is traveling to the moon makes it reasonable to believe that his salt specimens will be traveling to the moon with him. He will certainly be experimenting with catalysts needed to store energy at low gravity. That makes sense. I would be happy to make some inquiries if it will aid you in your quest.”

  “No thank you Jeffry,” I replied quickly. “If we think of some reason this information may be useful to what we’re doing, I’ll call you again. Right now, I can’t see any relationship between what we’re trying to accomplish in El-Alamein and what Dr. Ghannam is going to do on the moon. And, I’ve had all the insults I can take for the time being. Perhaps it’s nothing more interesting than coincidence. Thank you for taking the time to speak with us.”

  “Ahhh, both insulting you and educating you have been my pleasure Shift! And it was wonderful to meet you Ms. Anta! Even with your chem suit, your beauty will inspire my sleep this evening! Good night.”

  “Th-thank you Dr. Undermane,” Anta stuttered. “You’re very kind.”

  I repressed my laughter until the Holo closed, and then let it erupt. Anta was not nearly as amused as me. I guess she wasn’t thrilled about being in the large man’s dreams tonight. Ha. Then she hit me.

  Before she physically pushed me out of her room for my “rude” behavior, Anta mentioned that her older brother, Hasani Chalthoum, will also be traveling with the lunar party on Egypt VIII. He is Egypt’s Junior Ambassador to the IWO. Anta seemed very excited to hear and see his perspective of the moon through holo messaging tomorrow evening.

  As I try to fall asleep tonight, I’ve also become curious about Anta’s brother’s perspectives because I now have knowledge that ties his expedition to mine—if only loosely. Anta’s cute when she’s embarrassed.

  January 5, 2093—Anta

  Disgusting. Dr. Undermane just paid me the ultimate compliment, if I was a whore. I better not find myself in his dreams tonight. Plus, now my hand hurts. I hit Shift—hard—for thinking that was funny. He deserved it. He wouldn’t shut up. When I shoved him out into the hall he looked like he was going to sulk. It’s a good thing I didn’t puncture his suit. That would have been terrible.

  January 6, 2093—Egypt VIII Space Log

  Takeoff: January 6, 2093, 1800 hours EET.

  Destination: International Lunar Space Station, United States Moon Colony.

  Operating time estimate until landing: 6 hours, 16 minutes

  All systems operational and functioning within calculated parameters.

  On board: Pilot; two co-pilots; 28 operations officers; 983 passengers (547 male, 436 female) including 173 youth under age 18.

  Passenger List:

  . . .(edited for brevity) . . .

  Dr. Jafari Ghannam (Cairo, Egypt)

  Miss Shani Ghannam, age 7 (Cairo, Egypt)

  Ambassador Hasani Chalthoum (Cairo, Egypt)

  . . .

  January 6, 2093—Shift

  This morning, just after 6:00 AM, Anta and I met Mr. Shafik at his office to begin our journey into the Qattara Depression. Cue the epic music! On the way in we discussed whether or not to tell Mr. Shafik the truth. We agreed that until we know more about what we’re facing, we can’t. It was bad enough to have to swear the police chief to secrecy. I couldn’t imagine a tour guide keeping his mouth shut.

  Our drive into the Depression, in Mr. Shafik’s SUV, was without complication. Mr. Shafik continued to quiz us about the chem suits and we continued to redirect the conversation back to what Mr. Shafik discovered in the caves. Neither he nor we wanted to share more, so the conversation stalled eventually and we continued on in companionable silence.

  Despite being so dry that the guts of the bugs hitting the windshield instantly dried and likely became permanently stuck to the glass, the Depression was a beautiful, serene place. There were high dunes and low, salty deadpans as far as we could see. Wisps of sand sprayed into the air from the crests of the dunes. Rugged and rocky hills and mountains shot into the sky on the horizon far in the distance. A few rocky outcroppings rose from the sand here and there like sentries guarding the land.

  There was only a light breeze down in the gulfs between the dunes, where we drove. The clusters of insects—those that didn’t become permanent elements of the windshield—swarmed like bees to an overturned can of Pepsi. The world and all living creatures therein, were a smorgasbord to these pests. Anta and I were wearing our chem suits so only Mr. Shafik had to endure the incessant buzzing, landing and biting of the various bugs. He didn’t seem to mind, but certainly, he wasn’t past feeling.

  A short 90 minutes after we left El-Alamein, Mr. Shafik told us to start looking for a small outcropping of rust-colored sandstone in the shape of a snowman. He said the bodies were lying near the butt-end of that rocky snowman. I’d never considered a snowman to have a “butt”. I wondered whether Mr. Shafik had ever seen a snowman.

  Within 40 minutes of locating the sandstone snowman—and it really did look like a snowman—and Mr. Shafik’s verification that this was, indeed, the location of the bodies, we gave up hope that the bodies would ever be found again. As we suspected, the huge sandstorms of days past had covered whatever was left of the bodies.

  We left the snowman and headed toward the cave, on foot, as no road led that direction. Mr. Shafik told us, probably trying to lift our spirits, that we would be pleased with what we saw in the caves. I secretly hoped it was a juice stand. It was dry out there. And, even though its January, I had sweat dripping down my back, forming a small oasis in my underpants.

  In less than 20 minutes, we arrived at the entrance to the cave. Mr. Shafik opened his pack and produced handheld flashlights and headlamps for each of us, which we carefully donned. The headlamps barely fit over the head pieces of our suits with the straps fully extended. Then he led us to a small hole in the side of a rocky hill and got down on his hands and knees. He led the way.

  The cave entrance was very small, and made me glad my mom and sister forced me to eat healthy at home. Entrance to the cave required crawling on hands and knees for several meters. We carefully squeezed past jagged rocky protrusions while trying to avoid kneeling on the remnants of rocks that had broken from the entrance walls and now rested under the sand, quietly and secretly waiting to bruise and bloody our knees. Thankfully, our chem suits are durable and didn’t rip open; plus, with the push of a button, the suits contracted and became rather form fitting in most places, so they didn’t really restrain our progress.

  Claustrophobia, on the other hand, was a real problem for one of us—and it wasn’t one of the men. I l
iterally pushed Anta through in front of me with my hand on a couple of occasions. Her rear end, inside the now tight and form-fitting suit, was . . . well, the situation was awkward, at least for me. But she didn’t comment about me putting my hand on her, and what choice did I have? I wanted to get in and she was in my way. Eight or nine meters in, the cavern opened up into a large room with a few small openings around the outside walls.

  We spent a bit of time exploring the surrounding rooms and tunnels, but their only significance to our investigation was their previously-unknown existence. In the large first room, though, we saw some amazing things! I was as giddy as Mr. Shafik had been when he told us about the cave yesterday. There wasn’t a juice stand, but I literally clapped my hands as I looked around with my flashlight—and I’m not proud of it now. But at that moment, looking at the remains of what appeared to be a very old human camp, I was like a child. In fact, I actually felt like Indiana Jones! I decided to tell Minister Chalthoum. He’d be . . . well, he probably wouldn’t care.

  During my childhood, I was fascinated with archeology and ancient civilizations, particularly civilizations from Persia and Africa. I spent hours watching two-dimensional adventure films on an old 46-inch television set my grandma owned. I explored and suffered, and conquered wild jungles and deserts right alongside Indiana Jones. I stormed the deserts and beaches of Nigeria with Sarah Scorefield, running from and fighting the Nigerian Tero regime of the late-2020s.

  My friends and I used to act out brutal, action-packed scenes from the movies developed around these two fictional characters. Often, by the end of the day, one or more of us went home with a black eye or a bruised elbow or knee. The only aspect of our play that could have been more real would have been the use of real weapons. Thankfully, those were a bit difficult to come by; otherwise, my neighbors, Katie and Shanna, would have killed one of us with their undignified fighting styles.