Dead Time

by D. L. Orton

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” Dave says. “What is it now?”

  Ted glances sideways at me, and I wonder what he doesn’t want me to know. “The investigators are insisting we step up external examinations of all the biodomes. They suspect an outer seam failed, and if that’s the case, whatever took down the Lou could take down other bubbles at any time. And I got a call from both San Francisco and MIT expressing concern. Those biodomes were built about the same time as the Lou, and if they fail, we’ll lose access to their manufacturing facilities—which means no more batteries, metal tools, or computer parts in North A—”

  “Alright, alright. Let’s not jump to conclusions.” Dave pushes past Bella and grabs the papers out of Ted’s hand. “The Lou was built by different contractors using different suppliers. The failure could have been caused by a poorly manufactured part—or even a construction error. I won’t know for sure until I get all the data back and have a chance to analyze it.” He gives the radio operator a hard glare. “I sent out that inspection team, and they shouldn’t have discussed their findings with anyone except me.”

  “They didn’t, sir. They thought it was time-critical and asked me to relay the message.”

  “Well, let me suggest that you keep a lid on it,” Dave says. “Capisce?”

  Ted nods.

  “And let Frisco and MIT know I’ll have an update for them in the next couple of days.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The printer stops, and we all stare at it, unnerved by the sudden silence.

  Dave shuts his eyes, pinching his temples with one hand.

  “What is it, David?” Bella asks. “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah,” he says and scoops up the papers. “C-Bay was built by the same contractor as the Lou—using the same damn plans.”

  Bella brings her hand up to her throat. “Are we in any danger?”

  “I don’t know.” Dave turns back to Ted. “Get KC on the line and have them track down Shelly. Ask her if the Lou had any unusual air leaks in the days leading up to the failure.”

  Ted nods, looking worried.

  “Do it now,” Dave says. “Let me know as soon as you hear back from her. If I’m right, we may need to get a crew out first thing in the morning.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ted puts on his headphones and gets to work.

  Dave turns to me. “I may need your help—seeing that you can work Outside without a biosuit. You up to it?”

  “Sure,” I say. “If the lab needs more blood, I can work around their schedule.”

  “Good,” Dave says. “I’ll have someone get back to you with the specifics tonight.” He exhales. “Shit, this is not what I needed right now.” He hands the stack of papers to Bella. “Since you’re back in the saddle, why don’t you take a look at these, and we’ll talk when I get home. Tell Soleil she needs to figure out how to make that damn vaccine work before it’s too late.” He strides out of the room.

  I slump down in the chair, happy about the Magic Kingdom news, but almost hungry enough to eat Soylent Green.

  “You gotta give it to the guy,” I say to no one in particular. “He gets shit done.”

  Bella reads the title of the document before glancing at me, her eyes taking in my unshaven face and hospital scrubs. “What happened to you?”

  “Me?” I say, unable to believe she’s addressing me.

  “No, your doppelganger from another universe, Mr. Crusoe. Yes, you.”

  I laugh uncomfortably. “Rough day. But I’m fine, thanks.”

  “Well, get some sleep. You look like hell.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She rounds on Ted and he recoils, expecting to be reprimanded for listening in, I think.

  “And don’t worry, Theodore.” She places her hand on his shoulder. “My husband can be a pompous ass, but he knows his shit when it comes to the biodomes.”

  “Yeah, I hope so,” Ted says, staring at her like she’s one of the Stepford wives. “Because I’m pretty sure the shit’s about to hit the fan.”

  14

  Over and Out

  Lani

  I sign and date the list of meds, slip the inventory sheet inside the box, and close up the flaps. After nearly twenty years inside this fish bowl, it’s going to be hard to say goodbye.

  It would be easier if I knew where we were going.

  Even if we use all the fuel reserves, we don’t have enough to get to Salt Lake, but David has assured us that as soon as he resettles the folks from the Lou, he’ll figure out a way to get diesel out to us. KC is the closest, but they are already packed, and no one here wants to live in a converted airport terminal. There are other options, and now that we have rebreather masks, they aren’t complete fantasy.

  We haven’t given up on repairing the biodome wall, but the council has decided to plan for the worst—and with a snowstorm brewing, no one is arguing. Everyone is packing up for a cross-country trek through the mountains in winter.

  “Your attention, please!” Ally’s voice booms over the intercom. “Dr. Hudson and my sister, Mindy the Magnificent, have located the underground city! I repeat: They have found the Magic Kingdom.” She giggles. “And get this folks, it’s only a hundred and thirty-four miles away as the crow flies.”

  The mood in the clinic improves substantially, and I suspect the rest of the folks in the Bub are just as relieved.

  “They don’t know how many people are inside,” Ally adds, “and a rockslide took out their radio antenna a while ago. We have no way to contact them.”

  Murmurs break out around the room, and I raise my hand to curb the noise.

  “But,” she continues, “all the exterior access doors appear to be sealed—which is the good news. The bad news is: We’ll have to send someone on foot to check if the power is still on, find the airlock, and figure out how to get inside. There will be a town hall meeting tonight to discuss the new options. Ally, out.”

  The mood at dinner that night is jubilant—despite all the unknowns—and when Mindy and Madders walk in, people are so busy cheering and slapping them on the back that the two of them barely have time to eat. When I mention that the celebration is a bit premature, Madders places his hand on my shoulder and gazes around the room.

  “You’re right, as usual,” he says, “but the last couple of weeks have been pretty rough on folks, and hope is a good thing.”

  I drop my gaze and finish my dinner.

  After the dishes are cleared, we get down to business.

  We discuss sending a couple of people on foot. But even if they take the electric golf cart and don’t run into any bad weather—which is doubtful at best—it could take weeks.

  “We don’t have that kind of time,” Madders says.

  Becky suggests that we could fly someone up to the mountain, and they could walk the rest of the way. But that idea doesn’t prove to be any better.

  “There’s no place to land between here and the bloody mountain,” Madders says. “I checked.” He shakes his head. “I know time is of the essence, but unless someone’s got a helicopter packed away in mothballs, it’s gonna have to be on foot—and believe me, it won’t be a walk in the park.”

  Mindy suggests we drop someone from the plane with a parachute, and after a bit of back and forth, people start taking the idea seriously. Unfortunately, there’s only one parachute—in need of some patching—so it will have to be a solo mission.

  “But I can drop supplies, including a radio,” Madders says, “so we’ll be able to get status updates and send out more equipment if needed.” He glances around the room. “I think it could work.”

  Then comes the hard decision: Who to send?

  Mindy volunteers right away, but I immediately veto the idea. “Anyone under thirty is out. We can’t afford to lose you. Population Control would never approve it, and neither would I.”

  “Agreed,” Madders says. “Whoever goes could be marooned for days or even weeks. If we can’t figure out a way to get inside the mountain, he o
r she would have to hike back to the Bub—through mountainous terrain in winter, wearing a rebreather mask 24/7.”

  “One false step, one slip of the mask, and…” Ally slices her finger across her throat. “Just like those poor folks who died when the patch failed. Nobody’s lived Outside for that long. Ever.”

  “They’d have to take an emergency bubble,” Madders says, thinking out loud. “And set it up at night so they could eat, drink and sleep with the mask off. We’d have to rig up some way for them to haul it around and some way to power it over an extended period.”

  “Or I could go,” I say.

  There’s nothing you can do for Shannon right now, but you can do this. For everyone.

  I shrug. “I wouldn’t need a mask or a portable bubble, I’m good with my hands, and I’ve survived Outside before. I’m pretty much the perfect choice.”

  There are protests from around the room, all of them centered on the fact that I’m the only doctor.

  “I’ll have the radio,” I say. “Lucy will be back on her feet in a day or two, and Becky has surgical training…”

  Everyone looks at Becky.

  “I’m fine,” she says, stroking her daughter’s hair. “It won’t happen again.”

  There’s discussion for more than an hour, but the choice is obvious, and everyone eventually agrees.

  ∞

  Madders circles the plane around so we get a good look at the massive concrete ledge cut out of the mountainside. There’s a short tunnel leading into the center of the rocky gash, with a door big enough to drive a semi through at the end.

  “Wow,” I say, apprehension filling me with the jitters.

  “I told you it was awesome,” Mindy says. “It must be effing huge inside.”

  “How sure are you this is the place?” I ask Madders.

  “Well, it’s a bloody awful place to put a drive-in movie theater, don’t you think?” He gives me an indulgent smile. “I’m certain it’s the right place. Kirk says it matches the description exactly—right down to the access road on the south slope.”

  “Okay.” I swallow and check the compass in my pocket for the tenth time. “If you say so.”

  “Remember,” he says, “when I give the signal, pop the door handle and push with your shoulder. You only need to open the door enough to get your feet on the landing gear strut—just like we practiced.”

  “Yes,” I say, my heart leaping into my throat.

  The copilot’s seat has been removed from the plane, and I’m sitting on the floor facing backward, my feet wedged against the back seat.

  I go over the actions one more time. “I open the door, put my feet on the strut, and roll out toward the tail, pivoting over the landing gear and letting gravity pull me down.”

  “Good,” he says. “Don’t push off, just fall, keeping your feet on the strut until you’re well below the plane. You don’t want to hit the landing gear.”

  “Okay.”

  He glances over at me. “Use your hands to protect the parachute handles until you’re clear. Once your main chute has deployed, steer toward the ledge. You may pick up some wind coming down the mountain slope. So head into it when you brake and land.”

  “I got it, Madders,” I say, flexing my fingers to dissipate the adrenaline.

  “Once you give me the signal,” he says, “I’ll do another flyover, and Mindy will push out the backpack.”

  Mindy nods, her eyes wide behind the rebreather mask.

  “Pay attention to where your gear lands,” he says. “You’re going to need that radio—and the supplies.”

  I swallow down the acid in the back of my throat. “Let’s do it.”

  Madders brings the plane around and then reduces the airspeed, tips the wing down on my side, and cuts the engine power.

  “Go!”

  I shove the door open and fling my feet out, but my shoe snags on the door handle, twisting me around.

  “Shit!”

  I yank my foot free and the shoe disappears, but I’m facing the wrong way now.

  For an instant I consider aborting the jump, but I’m already in the slipstream. I place my sock-covered foot on the strut, cover the release handles with my arms, and fall backward toward the tail.

  The next few seconds are a blur, but I don’t get hung up on the seat belt, don’t release the chute prematurely, and don’t hit the landing gear.

  Once I’m in free fall, it’s a lot noisier than I expected, and my stomach is in the wrong place. All I can see is blue sky and the plane moving away.

  The disorientation makes it hard to think, and I close my eyes, trying to force my brain to work.

  You’re upside-down, Lani. Take it easy. Once you deploy the canopy, you’ll be fine.

  I release the pilot chute, and a slight jerk lifts my head and wrenches my stomach into place.

  A few moments later, there’s a bigger jolt, yanking me hard against the harness and causing the straps to cut into my skin. I let out the breath I’ve been holding and look up into a cloudless blue sky.

  A bright orange canopy is fluttering above me.

  “Well, that must have looked graceful,” I say aloud.

  I grab the toggles and turn the chute around, looking for the massive concrete ledge. When I see it, I steer in that direction, testing how much strength it takes to slow my descent: not much. I do a full 360, taking in the beautiful scenery—snow-capped mountains to the west, and rolling, golden plains spreading out to the east. The parachute is surprisingly easy to steer, and I let out a whoop of pure joy.

  This is the most fun I’ve had in ages.

  For a moment I wonder how that young, daring juvenile delinquent turned into stodgy old me.

  Bad shit happened.

  I force myself to focus.

  There’s a small lake on the other side of the ridge to the west, and I can see the old dirt road cutting into the eastern side of the mountain. There’s a stiff breeze blowing toward the plains. I head for the far side of the concrete, giving myself room for error when I land.

  Although the ground seems to be approaching way too fast, I wait until I’m close enough to see the cracks on the concrete and then turn and brake into the wind.

  I manage to touch down on my one shoed foot—just like Tinker Bell.

  The chute comes down behind me, and I jog across cracked, broken concrete and stand on the fabric while I take off the harness.

  You did it!

  I roll the parachute into a bundle so it won’t blow away and scan the sky for the airplane. It’s out over the prairie, heading back toward me.

  I wave my arms, signaling that I’m okay.

  Madders tips the wings and a minute later, I see something come out the door of the plane.

  But the makeshift parachute snags on the landing gear, the heavy backpack dangling below it.

  The airplane wobbles precariously.

  Oka fefe.

  I shade my eyes with my hand and stare up. Mindy is leaning out the side of the plane.

  Mother of Pele, what is she trying to do?

  As the plane flies over me, Mindy pushes and tugs at the stuck parachute, but it doesn’t come loose. Madders pulls up over the next ridge and Mindy goes back inside. If the backpack falls off now, it’ll take me days to find it. Madders flies back around, gaining altitude, and then he does a second pass, heading toward me again. But this time he tips the nose down into a shallow dive—and then rolls the plane over.

  I hope Mindy has her seatbelt on tight.

  When the plane is upside-down, the backpack swings around—and the parachute unhooks from the landing gear and falls away.

  Yes!

  Once the plane is righted, I wave my arms again and shout, “You’re one hell of a pilot, Matthew Hudson!”

  The handmade parachute catches the wind and the bundle floats down toward the massive gash where the ledge cuts into the mountain—a near-perfect drop.

  Or at least that’s what I think until all hell breaks loose.<
br />
  Unbelievably loud gunfire erupts behind me, spraying the air with bullets.

  My street-kid instincts kick in, and I drop to the ground. I can see flashes of muzzle fire coming from two turrets mounted in the overhang above the massive service entry doors. I look more carefully and see three other turrets, their weapons silent.

  The guns don’t seem to be swiveling properly, or maybe the targeting mechanism is broken, because the backpack falls through the hot zone without any visible damage. It lands heavily, ten meters from a turret. The machine gun fires more rounds as the parachute floats down next to the backpack.

  A few seconds later, silence returns.

  Good thing I didn’t come down closer to the wall.

  I sit up and then wave at the plane. Madders tips the wings again—oblivious to the gunfire—and then banks and heads back to the Bub.

  I sit there in sun, the cool mountain breeze tousling my hair, feeling like there’s nobody else in the world.

  How am I going to get the backpack without getting shot?

  “The most effective way to get something done… is to do it.”

  I toss my bundled up parachute toward the guns, keeping my foot on the harness so it stays put.

  Nothing happens.

  Okay then.

  I crawl on my hands and knees toward the canopy and repeat the process.

  The guns erupt, spraying the air with bullets.

  I pull the parachute back and toss it half as far.

  No guns.

  I crawl closer.

  For once, luck is on my side, and I manage to get less than a parachute’s length away from the backpack without setting off the firing squad.

  I pull up a large chunk of loose concrete, wrap it up in the canopy, and throw the bundle past the backpack.

  Bang, bang, bang!

  The chute unfurls and a suspension line snags on the backpack. The three closest turrets show no sign of running out of ammunition, and the racket is deafening.

  I start reeling the chute back in, dragging the backpack with it, guns blazing the whole time.

  The parachute comes loose.

  “Damn it.”

  It takes four more tries, but I eventually manage to haul the backpack out of the hot zone.