“You can’t relearn how to—”
“If the teachers are dead, Commander, no, we can’t. We’re a community defined by limitations. If we lose equipment and the knowledge to reproduce it—not to mention operate it—then it’s gone forever. Fortunately, we’ve avoided similar catastrophic incidents like that one.”
“I see,” Sif said. “Your knowledge of the past, like the NASA records, it’s spotty, isn’t it?”
President Carlisle nodded. “As much information as possible was brought to Phoenix, but yes, it’s incomplete. When the decision was made to man the complex, there was very little time left. They did the best they could.”
“What makes Resolute’s culture of B. subtilis so special, Mr. President?” Hunter asked.
“Your culture was modified in two important ways, Colonel. One was for rapid growth, and the other was to intensify its antifungal properties. It’ll kill the Riy.”
Sif remembered now—that particular experiment wasn’t one of her assigned responsibilities, but she recalled the basic details clearly enough. The president was correct. “Still, sir, if the blackened areas we saw from orbit were covered by Riy, I don’t see how we could grow enough to cover the entire planet.”
“It isn’t just the culture, Commander. You’re also carrying a flyer, correct? Designed to spend months in the Martian atmosphere?”
“Correct.” Sif had an idea where he was going.
“We’ll spread it from the air, Commander, using your flyer.”
Sif did a quick mental rundown of the flyer’s capabilities. They had used Beagle in Earth’s atmosphere, and Lucas said the cargo landers should work, too, but she wasn’t too sure about the flyer. Even if they could launch it successfully, they would have to modify it to carry the culture and devise a way to deliver it. “It may not be that simple, sir. We’ll need to discuss your proposal with Mr. Hoover,” she said, glancing at Hunter. “He’ll be able to tell us if the flyer could be used as you suggest.”
“We already have, Commander, and Lucas assures us it could. As a matter of fact, he’s working on the modifications as we speak.”
Sif took a long pull on her Scotch and savored the burn this time. Maybe, just maybe, these people were telling the whole truth, and they really would be able to save the planet from the Riy. “When can we speak to him?”
President Carlisle glanced at the clock on the wall—Sif noticed it was a real clock, wound with a key, and it looked old. Another touchstone to their past.
“I believe soon, but Steven should be able to tell you for sure.” He walked to his desk and pressed a button. “Steven, when is the next communication window with Resolute?”
“Twenty minutes, Mr. President.”
“Then Commander Wagner, Colonel Webb, I suggest you follow Jacques up to the radio room. I’m sure Lucas is anxious to hear your voices.”
Sif and Hunter stood, catching the cue that their meeting with the president of the North American Alliance was over.
Hunter offered his hand first. “Thank you, Mr. President.”
Sif shook his hand, too. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“The pleasure is all mine, believe me. I hope you’ll find Phoenix lives up to your expectations.”
So far everything seemed up to par, but still, the creepy vibe she felt in the mess hall back at Ellsworth was scratching at the back of her mind, and she couldn’t shake it, even after a double of two-hundred-year-old single malt.
Just then Jacques appeared in the doorway, and the president motioned toward him. “Jacques, please take our guests back up to Level One and patch them in with Lucas Hoover.”
“This way, please,” Jacques said, and he led them from the president’s office.
Chapter 46
Resolute
“Flyer launch simulation results are nominal, my liege.”
“Thank you, Liv.” Lucas finished his fifth attempt to adjust the flyer’s launch sequence and atmospheric insertion programming, and this time, it looked like it was going to work, which was a good thing, considering he had already told the people down below that it would. “Guess we won’t look like liars now, Livvy dear.”
“I do not understand ‘Livvy dear,’ my liege. Please explain.”
When he wasn’t loading the cargo landers, adjusting their software, and working on the flyer, Lucas spent his time tweaking Liv’s software. She was beginning to converse with him—not like a human would, of course, but she had come a long way in the last couple of days. He should’ve been in on the AI design team in the first place, he thought. “‘Livvy dear’ is another way of saying your name, Liv. That’s all.”
Lucas pushed himself forward, toward the flyer. The tanks in its fuselage designed for storing atmospheric samples weren’t very large, but they would work just fine for carrying the B. subtilis culture he was growing in the science section. It was growing fast, too, just as advertised. The release mechanisms he fitted to the tanks were part of another experiment. They weren’t perfect and looked a little more jury-rigged than he liked, but they should perform well enough to accomplish what the people below required.
He ran his hand over the flyer’s thin aluminum skin and couldn’t help but think that everything that had happened to them was meant to be. This machine, built to soar in the Martian upper atmosphere, might be the answer to ridding their planet of whatever had ruined it so many years ago.
Lucas Hoover wasn’t a religious man, but he didn’t believe in pure circumstance, either. Things didn’t just happen by chance, especially something like this. Maybe they were brought here for a reason.
Liv’s voice surprised him.
“Your name is Lucas Hoover, and I call you ‘my liege.’ My name is Liv, and you call me ‘Livvy dear.’ It is the same.”
It was the first time he had ever heard Liv speak on her own without being prompted by a command or question. She wasn’t supposed to be able to do that. The designers said she would learn and adapt as the mission went along, but they never said anything about her being able to start a conversation on her own. “Yes, Liv, you’re correct. It is kind of the same thing.” Then he realized she’d called him by his proper name, Lucas, not Potato. “Liv, may I ask you a question?”
“Livvy dear is standing by.”
Lucas grinned and shook his head. “Liv, you called me Potato earlier, correct?”
“That is correct. But your real name is Lucas.”
“Why, pray tell, did you call me Potato?”
“Christopher McAllen programmed me to do so.”
“What?” He couldn’t believe his ears. “Chris McAllen programmed you to call me that?”
“That is correct. You were to be referred to as Potato for a certain amount of time after exiting stasis. That time period has now expired.”
“That son of a bitch,” Lucas said, slapping his hand against his thigh. He and Chris McAllen were classmates in college, and Chris was one of Liv’s principal code writers.
“Mr. McAllen predicted you would refer to him as such. He programmed me to tell you to lighten up, have fun on Mars, and get home safe.”
Get home safe. He and Chris were good friends, always pulling pranks on each other. They shared a lot of laughs, and as it turned out, Lucas thought sadly, Chris had the last one.
“Communication window opening in five minutes, my liege.”
“Thank you, Liv.” Lucas wiped a tear from his eye, pushed away from the flyer, and made his way down the tunnel toward the command center. “Good one, Chris,” he said softly to himself.
“Resolute, this is Phoenix. Come in. Over.”
“Phoenix, this is Resolute, I have you five-by-five. Over.”
Sif never thought she would be so happy to hear Lucas Hoover’s voice. She stepped closer to the mic. “Staying busy up there, mister?”
“Like a weightless one-armed paperhanger. Thanks for leaving me up here all alone, by the way. It’s a ton of fun.”
“Great to hear your voic
e, Lucas.”
“Yours, too, Sif. I assume Hunter is with you?”
“Right here, Lucas,” Hunter said. “Any problems up there?”
“Nada. The ship’s been behaving herself. I’m assuming they’ve told you about the flyer and the B. subtilis?”
“They have,” Hunter replied. “Is it a go?”
“The culture is growing like wildfire, and I’ve modified the flyer’s tanks to act as a delivery system. Launch and insertion sims are good. Given the culture’s growth rate, in another week we’ll be a go.”
“I always knew you were good for something,” Sif said.
“Yeah, well, I’m getting pretty tired of the toothpaste food up here. Please tell me the eats are good?”
“How does a thick, juicy bison steak sound?”
“Great, and thanks for rubbing it in, Sif. Sheesh.” He paused. “So, what’s it like down there?”
There was so much to tell him, but she didn’t have much time until the comm window closed and Resolute would be out of radio range. “It’s different, Lucas.” She wasn’t sure what else to say. She turned toward the radio operator. “Has he been told about the Riy?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She leaned toward the mic again as the first crackles of static came through the overhead speaker. “A large portion of the planet is uninhabitable. The black areas we saw from orbit.”
“Yes, I know. They told me what it was. Hard to believe.”
“It’s very real, Lucas. We’ve seen the Riy. Up close.”
The static was getting worse.
“I’m glad you su—ived.” He was starting to break up.
“What you’re doing up there can save the planet, Lucas.”
“Like I sa—should be ready in a wee—talk during the next com—ndow.”
“Copy all, Lucas. Take care of yourself up there.”
The radio operator spoke up. “He’s out of range, Colonel.”
“When’s the next comm window?”
“Nineteen hours, sir.”
Jacques Nadeau stepped forward. “In the meantime, Colonel, Commander, how about we take a tour of your new home?”
As Major Murphy explained, Phoenix really was a small city underground, full of people going about their daily lives. Like other underground facilities Sif had been exposed to in her military career, it was a long series of interconnected hallways, but they were spacious, open, and if one lived down here long enough, one might forget that they were, in fact, underground. The air, although recycled, didn’t smell as musty and old as Sif expected. In the open spaces where the hallways connected, she could smell the outside air, the trees surrounding Hay River, and the water from Great Slave Lake. Jacques explained that during the months when the temperatures weren’t below freezing, they pumped fresh air throughout the facility.
Jacques accompanied them from the communications center and handed them off to another person, a Captain Michael Johansson, who was just as impressive a figure as Major Murphy. He was tall, with close-cropped dark hair, and intense gray eyes.
The first level seemed very familiar, as it was home to the North American Alliance’s military forces—not large, but it didn’t have to be. As far as these people knew, Phoenix was the only place still left on the planet where a large community of survivors of the Riy apocalypse lived. There were no outside threats from rival countries or groups, no land grabs, no nothing. The military was, then, mostly a security force, tasked with law enforcement and patrolling the aboveground portion of the complex. As in the president’s suite, Sif spotted security cameras here and there, although some of them didn’t appear to be operational.
There were barracks, an armory—which held a variety of weapons Sif recognized, all rifles and handguns, but nothing heavy as far as she could tell—a mess hall, and an entertainment complex with pool tables, dartboards, and a bar, which made her smile. At least some of the old traditions survived.
“As you can see, Commander, Colonel, we are a small force, but very capable,” Johansson said.
“How do you train your pilots?” Sif asked.
“Our aviators are selected based on a series of tests our children take when they reach their teen years—it’s how we decide which functions our young ones will perform when they get older.”
“So, they can’t choose what they want to be when they grow up?” Sif asked.
“If they show an aptitude for numerous functions, then yes, they have a choice,” the captain explained. “It’s how we ensure all the different jobs and skills needed to keep the facility operating are nurtured and kept viable. Not everyone can be a pilot, or a scientist, or a laborer. If they do show an aptitude for flying, they’ll train with an active crew until they’re ready to take the controls themselves. It’s a multiyear process.”
Every person had a function to perform, based on test scores. It made sense, considering the relatively small pool of people who lived here, but it seemed so odd, so very different from her own world. Regardless, she could fit in here, maybe as an instructor. She didn’t have any time in a C-130 but could pick it up quickly enough. “What do you say, Hunter? Think we could find a place in the Alliance’s Air Force?”
He laughed. “As long as they don’t hand out some sort of silly gold wings, I’m in.”
She could tell Hunter was growing more comfortable here, as well.
“With your experience,” Johansson said, “you could fit in immediately. We could use you both.”
“How many trained aircrews do you have, Captain?” Sif asked.
“Five full crews, one per aircraft. The planes aren’t always all mission-capable, though. We average two to three airplanes mission-ready at any one time.”
“That sounds familiar.” Sif wondered what else they used the transports for, apart from the relocation efforts. “What are their missions, exactly?”
“Mostly reconnaissance over the North American Alliance territory, ma’am. We fly south to keep track of the Riy advances. We have staging points at Ellsworth and one farther east near Detroit.”
“And you use them to relocate the . . . indigenous peoples.” Sif didn’t like the term but didn’t know what else to call them.
“Correct, ma’am.”
“When will we see the second level?” Hunter abruptly asked. “Your medical facilities are on Level Two, correct?”
“Yes, sir, they are.”
“Good. I’d like to see them first, if we can.”
Sif watched the captain pause, just as the major had before. She knew he was receiving instructions via an earbud, which meant their tour was being closely monitored. It made her wonder why they were being so careful about what they said, but then again, it might just be the way this whole society operated. Regardless, it raised doubts in her mind, and she didn’t like the feeling.
“We can go down to the next level, sir, if you’ve seen enough of Level One.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Hunter replied.
As they headed down the corridor toward the elevator, Sif slowed her pace, and Hunter did the same, giving them some distance from their guide. She whispered to Hunter, “You want to see Litsa and the others, right?”
He nodded. “I think it’s about time.”
“Damn straight it is.”
Chapter 47
When she stepped from the elevator, Sif felt as if she had gone topside. Level Two was characterized by a huge open space, almost dome-like, which seemed to stretch way into the distance. There were trees, grass, the sounds of birds singing, and above, a blue sky with clouds passing by.
“We try to make this level appear as much as possible as if we’re living aboveground,” Captain Johansson said. “We can even adjust the seasons, to an extent.”
“The sky looks so real. Is it some sort of screen?” Sif asked. There was even a sun, not as bright as the real one, but she could feel the warmth against her face.
“Exactly. Quite remarkable, isn’t it? You spend enough time here, and
you forget you’re underground.”
From what Sif could see, there were streets attached to the main dome—large tunnels—heading away in a spoke pattern, with what appeared to be the fronts of houses on either side. “Living quarters?”
“Yes, our family housing. Each dwelling is unique in its own way. The quarters themselves extend back beyond the front facades into the rock.”
“You can’t tell me this was built back in the 1950s,” Sif remarked.
“No, but its basic design came from a person you’re probably familiar with. His name was Disney.”
“No shit,” Hunter said.
Sif had visited the Disney parks as a child and knew their “Imagineers” were experts at creating entire worlds in tiny spaces.
“When the facility was first built, the designers wanted something that would feel like a person never left home—so they’d always remember what life was like,” Johansson explained. “They were able to secure the services of some of the Disney people, and they did this. We’ve improved on it over time, of course, but it really is an incredible achievement.”
As they walked through the domed space, Sif watched the people. They seemed curious enough but kept their distance. “Are they scared of us?”
“No, of course not,” Johansson said. “We’re a very close-knit society, Commander. We don’t get outsiders very often.”
“Your medical facilities are on this level, correct?” Sif asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, pointing to a tunnel entrance to his right. “Right through there is our quarantine area. The four other people with you in the cave are there, and I’ve been told you can see them now. If you’d like.”
“Now would be a great time, Captain,” Hunter said.
“This way, please.”
“Are your doctors chosen in the same manner as your pilots?” Sif asked.
“Correct, based on their aptitude testing.”
The Phoenix Descent Page 22