by Jim Wurst
“… Or that the entire thing is computer-driven without human control,” suggested Tal.
“Please don’t say that again,” suggested Tamar.
“But what if it is artificial intelligence?”
“It’s more likely a loose network of individuals highly skilled…” Worth continued.
“Such as 360s,” Juan said.
Everyone paused and instinctively and embarrassingly glance around the room.
Worth grabbed back the conversation. “They never meet, maybe never met. At least one, probably more, has access to supercomputers. That’s the key. Supercomputers must be involved to network so effectively and hide their tracks.”
“Great, there’s only some 5,000 such computers on Earth, space stations and the Moon,” Juan said.
“6,112,” added Tamar.
“At least, we can discount space stations and the Moon. They limit the traffic off of stations compared to what happens on Earth. They couldn’t hide the origins of space transmissions.”
Sean took a break. “This shouldn’t be investigated by techies only. We’re thinking like computer experts, we need other frames of reference politics, religion, even philosophy. We have to understand why they are doing this, not how.”
“We need to recruit more imagination,” Worth added.
“At least as much as they have. They are not doing this to prove how clever they are. They’re not sociopaths creating viruses to crash computers. They could do it, but they’re not. Nearly everything they do is technically sophisticated, but almost childish in content. But you don’t poke the world’s most powerful governments in the eye for a schoolyard prank. Their abilities and actions don’t match. We focus too much on the how and who, somebody has to deal with the why.”
“So, they are planning, what?” asked Tal.
Sean’s special ping sounded. He bolted to his computer and pulled up the image the ping cited. It was an afternoon quiz show.
“What’s this?” he asked, puzzled by his own computer.
“Some stupid quiz show,” Juan noted.
They watched as the host speaking in a language slightly above white noise prompted the contestants. But every third word was with a computer voice saying “Zhidoi.” SID was playing its old game. The team stared at the screen. Finally, the announcer said, “Alright, contestants. For 200 points, what is…”
But instead of a question, SID said, “Ask Ailes about Zhidoi.”
“The Great Flood!” the contestant squealed.
“Correct!”
The technicians stared at each other. Sean and Worth caught their breaths, realizing in time that they weren’t supposed to know that Zhidoi had any special meaning. The others were genuinely confused.
“What the hell was that?” asked Tamar.
Speaking up from his computer, Tal read, “Zhidoi is an industrial city in the Qinghai Province of China. Pretty high elevation, 3000 meters. Population three million. Some heavy metal manufacturing. Class 5 pollution. At least two secret military sites. Major claim to fame is that it is near the headwaters of both the Mekong and Yangtze Rivers. Nothing special here.”
“So, who’s supposed to ask about Zhidoi?”
“I can think of someone,” Sean noted.
CHAPTER 45
The sweepers’ pilots were receiving their daily briefing in the assembly hall. As usual, Ron sat next to Kate. They were all checking their tablets.
“Everyone got your coordinates for the day?” the ensign asked as she updated the master screen. The screen showed a grid with the Roosevelt in the center and numbers in the other squares designating each cleaner’s responsibility. The data transmitted to each tablet. “Sensors show nothing unusually large in our field today. The video crew that arrived yesterday will be here until tomorrow, so we do not factor their ship in. However, at VIP ship is arriving at approximately 1040 today when we are over US space. Once its trajectory gets set, they will instruct you to stand down or move further from the station to ensure no complications. One final point, that European team wants to interview a cleaner. They will inform the lucky pilot of the captain’s decision after mess tonight. Finally, double check your grid. If there are no questions, you may leave.”
There were no questions, so the pilots got up in unison and walked out.
Kate asked Ron, “Who do you think is going to get on TV?” She was petite. Most crew members were on the small size lanky didn’t work well in space.
“Don’t know. But you can bet it won’t be you or me.”
“Why is that?”
“I’m too junior and you, well…” Pause before punchline. “Well, you’re too ugly.” He got the desired slap on the back of his head.
CHAPTER 46
Sandy was determined to make it to Colorado. Most people would want to escape the putrid swamp of Alabama. There were enclaves for the rich and while climate change didn’t change everything, but the bulk of the southern states along the Gulf Coast were empty of everyone who could escape. Decades of pollution from the land and sea had created a dead zone along the northern coast of the Gulf. Oxygen-sucking algae was the only life-form of any note. Pink, red, green tides would take turns roiling up on shore and leave a new collection of rot on the beaches that even the crows avoided. Shrimp and any edible fish were long gone. Attempts to create kelp and “good” algae farms got pummeled. There was nothing left to do but move inland and pretend it was normal.
Sandy had enough. She was young enough and pretty enough to find a decent job in the cool cities of the Rockies. She had to leave Alabama and cross four state lines, most likely by foot. Each state had its own methods for keeping people out. She didn’t worry about Mississippi. The government didn’t care so long as you kept walking. Besides, she had an aunt in Winona so she could pretend she had a legitimate reason for being there, and her accent was close enough so not to draw attention. She needed to offer some relief to a truck driver and a couple of guards at the border, but that was a small price to pay. She straightened up, rinsed her mouth with moonshine, and kept walking.
Omar lived in Russellville, and he was staying put. He had no choice; he was only eight. Besides, he didn’t know any other world. Escape? To where? Sandy passed within ten miles of Omar’s village but didn’t notice. They designed the villages not to be noticeable, and the bulk of the populace was fine with that. The villages had fences but no barbed wire. They only locked the gates at night. The guards had no visible weapons. The residents weren’t prisoners; they were there to receive help, the easier it was to make sure they had the minimal food necessary and that no medical surprises were brewing. They were free to leave so long as they went back to the Gulf.
And they were villages, not camps. Too often in history “camp” came after “internment,” “concentration,” “re-education.” No, these were villages, with all the accompanying imagery of neo-Roman town halls, squares with a gazebo in the center, and park benches delicately placed among the scrubs and flowering trees. There were a few trees and benches.
It was also purely a matter of demographics that everyone in the village was black. Occasionally, a white person would be among the team of doctors or aid workers who visited. Omar was five before he saw a white face. He stared wide-eyed at the doctor, tugged at his mother, and asked, “What’s wrong with her face?”
By the time Sandy got to the great river the next night, Omar was engaged in his favorite past-time staring at the stars. It was a rare privilege he didn’t know he had. No light pollution. Unlike so many others, he could see clearly into space. On nights with a weak moon, such as this one, he could also see several large stars moving quickly through the blackness. When he asked his mother about the stars that ran so quickly, she told him those were space stations. That people lived up there and looked down at the Earth. Why? To see what is happening here. Why don’t they just ask us?
Arkansas was a problem. The Ozark watershed gave the state a bit of an advantage, but they wrapped the state on three sides by Mississippi, Louisiana, Texas, and Oklahoma. Arkansas was like an icicle in a bowl of warm water it was still an icicle, but not forever. As everywhere across the South, mosquitoes were the prime enemy, they could spray all they wanted, but the mosquito populations grew larger and more aggressive every season. Arkansas couldn’t stop mosquitos, but every human at the state line got checked for cholera, Zika and the rest. She needed a lot of moonshine mouthwash to get across the border.
When she got to Oklahoma, she was getting excited despite her embedded cynicism. But then she faced the awful reality that she was in Oklahoma. Everyone knew a scorched scar ran ragged through the Great Plains from Texas to North Dakota, but no one warned her of the boring hell-scape of this place. What water and soil they had they had poisoned, there was no defense against the temperature rises, what soil hadn’t blown away baked. The state was a giant brick. A regular round of earthquakes over the decades had cracked the brick, what water underneath was a witches’ brew of unidentifiable chemicals identifying the chemicals would have been an unnecessary burden. At least there weren’t any mosquitoes there wasn’t any water. Sandy might have been able to fake her away so far, but there was no one here to con.
She was lucky when the first sandstorm hit. She saw it coming from miles away and found an old gas station in time. What had been the checkout counter became her bomb shelter. Before squeezing herself under the counter, she took one more look at a monster she never imagined possible. The sandstorm was first visible as a billowing cloud of sand, but as it got closer it grew. Instead of a cloud, it was now a tower. Instead of being brown, it was now black. Mesmerized, she watched it snatch up more dirt and sucking it up as if it were a giant, angry straw. It grew meaner and howled louder and she realized what she was facing a sand tornado. She had enough experience with traditional tornados to know that the path of destruction was very narrow, but very thorough. If it missed her, it missed her. But if it hit her, every bit of sand and dirt would strike like a tiny piece of buckshot traveling at the speed of a missile. It wouldn’t matter how many counters she was hiding behind.
The force of the storm was so great that Sandy was certain the ground cried. She heard what the gas station windows smash left behind. The tornado was closer, but she didn’t dare peek at how close. Her ears bled from all the howling. She didn’t notice exactly when it happened, but after a few minutes she realized her ears weren’t ringing. The rattling was quieting. She dared peek over the counter. Sand and debris were still swirling through the air, but now there was also some sunlight. The tornado had moved on.
She headed for the main highway, assuming that if another storm came, there would be more place to take shelter. But there would also be more people. She calculated that talking her way past people was better than risking turning into sandpaper. She should have realized from a lifetime of being invisible, no one would pay any attention to her. So long as she kept walking, didn’t loiter around any cars or grocery stores, avoided eye contact, she was in good shape. A police or Border Control car would slow down occasionally to examine this unusual specimen, but ultimately decided it wasn’t worth it to leave their air-conditioned cars.
The tornado also caused Sandy to decide against sleeping in the open. That was another reason for the highway. One day near Tulsa, she saw a larger building ahead. It looked like it would be a good place for the night. She could see some windows freshly covered. Small solar panels scattered around the roof. In the dying light, she could already see some lights in the windows. Whatever this building’s intended use, it was now a squat. The sign was well-battered. Chunks of the lettering were missing. She might have been able to figure out what it had said if she cared. “ he J am s . Inh fe Cent o Religi nd Sc enc .”
She snuck in unnoticed. Her hope that everyone would be too stoned to pay attention was dashed. No one was. She had stumbled on some kind of purity cult. Advertising herself as an orphan seeking solitude and enlightenment in the isolated Rockies, the residents pointed her to a mattress, offered her some tea “Don’t worry, we have a filtration system” and asked discreetly if she had something to share. Seeing that all she had were a few protein bars and the booze, she made excuses. They were disappointed but not aggressive. She collapsed on the mattress and slept through the night. No one touched her.
Omar found the knife half buried in the mud on the steam bed. It was ugly and corroded but to an eight-year-old; it was treasure. Pirate treasure. Charging and slashing at a suspicious overhang of kudzu, Captain Omar vanquished the enemy, collecting all the gold for himself. He twirled the knife in the air to demonstrate to all his confidence. But he caught it by the blade and cut a couple of fingers. It hurt, but he was a brave pirate who would never complain to his mother, so he hid the knife under a rock and went home for dinner. He washed his hands of course so he knew the cuts were clean. He thought nothing of it until he woke up the next morning, his fingers swollen and green.
Sandy’s luck held up so well that she truly believed that she would make it to Colorado. By necessity, she had to turn northwest as she got closer to the border. But that meant entering even more desolate land. There were a few old signs laying claim to property here, indicting she was now on Indian territory. The land looked exactly the same. Equality at last. The illusion was a speck at first, no more than a black smudge on the horizon. She knew it wasn’t a storm rising, no wind, no sound, which was a relief since there was no place to take shelter. It clearly wasn’t a car, not wide enough. Maybe a motorcycle? The smudge took on more form as it got closer. It was a man on a horse.
He was going the opposite direction of what Sandy wanted, but still it was a potential ride. She wasn’t afraid that was a useless emotion, but she didn’t know exactly what she would do when the moment came. And then the moment came, and the rider revealed. The rider was an Indian. Of course he was. What else did she expect? That would not help her. Asking an Indian for help was a ridiculous waste of energy for a white person. Her special skills would not be useful with someone who would undoubtedly hate her on sight. He rode up to her, deliberately, steadily, never breaking pace, never veering off course. He stopped in front of her.
As bad as the situation was, it was now worse. He was a tribal policeman. Huge chunks of the Plains returned to the First Peoples, now that the Second Peoples had worn them out. Sandy thought the Native Americans were fanatics for accepting such a deal. But she like most non-Indians had heard stories about Indian magic that was restoring the land. Nonsense, she thought. The rider sat motionless his black eyes stared at her. She wanted to say something, but she didn’t know what. Asking for help would undoubtedly result in an ironic chuckle. Before she could open her mouth, he looked down on her whiteness, took out his rifle and pointed it west.
“Keep walking.”
And he rode off.
CHAPTER 47
Once a month during the new moon when the heavens were the darkest the Prairie Grass Evangelical Church sponsored a sky watch. They rented a high-resolution telescope from the university, and a professor volunteered her time to point out the stars and the galloping planets. But what everyone was most interested in was brighter and faster than any planet. They wanted to see the USS Theodore Roosevelt. All the space stations were large enough and viewable with the simplest telescope, but this was more than an astronomy class: it was a celebration of one of their own.
The Andersons were uncomfortable with the attention vanity was not among their sins but Rev. Hang convinced them that this was not only about Ron but the hope and energy that Ron represented. In this sense, he wasn’t just their son but the son/big brother to everyone. Ron although not thrilled, had the option of switching off the radio.
Civilian radios could not be too powerful, so conversations were a series of brief intervals. There wasn’t even enough time for an uninterrupt
ed prayer. Plus, they could only see the ship for some 12 minutes. Still, they could see the Roosevelt long before they heard anything. When Ron came on, the little ones always squealed: “A voice from outer space!” And there was always a know-it-all ten-year-old who said, “It’s not outer space, he’s in low earth orbit, outer space begins...” “I can see him!” “Is he waving?” He would tell them what he and his friends were doing, what interesting piece of space debris he had found fortunately the little ones still hadn’t thought to ask why there was so much stuff up there, what Minnesota looked like from space, how bright the moon was, explaining why the moon didn’t have phases in space.
Finally, after an hour meaning two orbits, the congregation formed a circle and held hands to pray. If it was warm enough, they knelt. Some knelt anyway. “Heavenly Father,” Rev. Hang spoke, “Some say ‘The poor and the earth are crying out. O Lord, seize us with your power and light, help us protect all life, to prepare for a better future, for the coming of your Kingdom of justice, peace, love and beauty.’ Jesus Christ our savior told us ‘Blessed are those who hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they will be filled.’ We hunger, we thirst, but through your mercy our needs are of the soul, not the body. We pray for our brothers and sisters whose hunger and thirst are the immediate needs of their bodies, victims of a world turned against them. Our dear son Ronald tolls high above your Earth, doing your work to help protect and renew your beautiful creation. We pray you protect Ronald and his brothers and sisters. All glory to You. Amen.”
CHAPTER 48
Ruth sat before her video screen, trying to speak without using the words she wanted. Her conversation was with the Interior Minister. He was a colonel in full uniform but insisted on the fiction that he was a humble government servant, therefore should be addressed as “minister,” not “colonel.” Captain Jamal was sitting quietly to the side, outside of the range of the camera.