Stunned, Swanson tries to imagine the reality described by the Administrator, but can’t. “Is this true?”
With a rather inappropriate smile, the Administrator says, “Very true. We’ve peeked into the virtual worlds to verify our hypothesis, and even there, where pejoratives are frowned upon, it is present. In one case, there is an ongoing fifty-year conflict between two groups of people based entirely upon the wearing of red or blue clothing.”
“No, that can’t be true.”
“Oh, I assure you, it’s true. Many of those in conflict are related to each other by blood, yet the wearing of the opposing color means automatic hate and conflict. It’s quite shocking.”
Suspicious, Swanson asks, “And you didn’t tweak the system to achieve this, did you?”
Her hand flutters toward her chest. The Administrator’s astonishment is quite real. “No. Only the Facilitators can do that, and we would never request such a thing!”
As difficult as it is to believe such a thing can happen naturally, Swanson believes Bravo’s denials. Administrators weren’t designed to be so deceiving. “Fine, but again, how does this relate to name-calling?”
“Well, such names were being generated by our troops in simulations. The problem was that it created negative feelings that carried over into real life after battle. Appearance-based problems, primarily. We were seeing divisions begin. So, we scoured all resources to find pejoratives that could be applied to any enemy that had no correlation back on the ship. We found several. Douchebag, asshole, and twat were the final winners. You see, those can be applied to anyone, regardless of appearance or anything else.”
“But they’re using them here. I myself witnessed the General using two of them toward a trooper.”
With another brilliant smile, the Administrator nods and says, “Yes! You see, by using them universally here, we diminish their power toward peers, yet they maintain power when used seriously toward a foe. It’s perfect!”
Swanson can only shake her head. It’s out of her wheelhouse, and the Administrators are built to find solutions like this, so accepting the practice seems wise. “Well, if you say so.”
The General glances toward the wall-screen and says, “We’re running a bit behind. The suit demo is next. Would you like to see it, Director?”
The truth is that Swanson is bone-tired and wants nothing more than a nap, but it’s equally true that decisions need to be made before she falls over. Time is of the essence. Pushing herself up from her chair takes effort, but she thinks she hides it well enough. “There’s no time like the present.”
Five
The large woman seems overjoyed to be in her suit. Her transparent faceplate reveals the big smile on her face even with her toggle bar in the way. The bar also explains the scars she’d seen on all Soldier Class personnel. Given that only her head has much in the way of movement inside the large combat suit, her mouth hitting the toggle bar during combat seems inevitable. Why didn’t they pad them?
The woman—named Tango-Mike-X-Ray—stomps her way into the center of the test range and slaps a metal fist against her chest. “The soldier is the suit! The suit is the soldier!”
When the General raises her hand to acknowledge the salutation, Tango sets to work. It’s impressive, of that there’s no doubt. With every twitch of her limbs, weapons rise or lower on her suit. Her array of weaponry impressive, her rate of fire is almost too rapid to comprehend. The metal suit makes the already large human seem monstrous. And her face is radiant as she fires at targets around the huge space. Her expression can only be defined as joy. Pure, unadulterated joy.
As the demonstration ends, the General says, “Tango, go hit the flight deck and get ready for the ball demo.”
With another salute, Tango leaves the range and the General turns to Swanson. “We have a surprise for you, Director Swanson. I wasn’t sure we’d get clearance for the display, but we managed to secure the flight path. Would you care to see a battle ball?”
Her eyebrows rising, Swanson smiles. This is one thing she’d very much like to see. Hearing about them over the centuries between sleeps was one thing, but witnessing one in action is an unexpected bonus.
“That would be delightful.”
The trek to the flight deck is a long one, but the others keep their steps short for her. Even so, Swanson can feel her heart beating in her ears with squishy, unhealthy thuds long before they arrive. Inside the control room and separated from the troopers arrayed below on the deck, Swanson focuses on breathing deeply and lowering her heart rate while the final launch preparations are made.
At long last, the final “green” is relayed, and the Captain presses a button with a shout, “Launch the ball!”
The floor of the flight deck begins to lower, and in that growing gap is the darkness of space, barely lit by a glow from the planet below. The gap widens until the curve of the Earth—such a perfect pearl of green and blue and white—is visible. Swanson sucks in a breath at the beauty of it.
Once the gap ceases widening and the flight deck jerks against the stops, the thousand troopers arrayed with such precision on the deck begin to rise. Tiny swirls of dust on the decks behind them show their propulsion units engaging. As one, they move out of the gap, a troop of metal angels in flight.
“The screen will show you close-ups, if you like,” the Captain says.
Swanson watches as the soldiers begin to join together and the battle ball quickly forms, each suit connecting to another in concentric layers. The last layer of suits rotates so the soldiers face outward, all their weapons and sensors shifting positions so they can protect the integrity of the ball.
“Aren’t they quite vulnerable during such a maneuver? Particularly when landing on a planet?” she asks.
The Captain gives her a little smile and says, “That’s where we come in. The ships are capable of orbital bombardment, of course, but they also provide covering fire for the balls. We’ll use short-range tracers for this, but you’ll be able to see how it works even so. Of course, the General is always in charge of her troops, I’m only responsible for the ship. We coordinate this type of activity beforehand.” With that, she gives commands and the show commences.
The battle ball begins to spin as it races toward the planet, and bright tracer fire illuminates the darkness around them. It’s beautiful.
The General’s face reflects the splendor. Her face smooths, her eyes brighten. Clearing her throat, she says, “We won’t land, so this will be a short trip. As per protocol, none of my troopers touch Earth soil. Of course, this isn’t our first choice for corrections operations on the Seed planets. We have the full range of options, from diplomacy using Administrators, to selective corrections using more tactical means. This, however, is what we’re truly capable of should the need arise. You see the methodology at work? We’ve incorporated all past directives, and I think we’ve done well.”
Swanson does see, and even more, she knows this last, long sleep was worth it. Technically, the Peace Force was ready two sleeps ago—which was almost four-hundred years ago in chronological time—but these additional generations of troopers have honed the Peace Force into a finely tuned machine.
They are perfect. It is time.
Swanson looks up at the General and does something no one has done for centuries. She holds out her hand. At first confused, the General’s eyes lose focus as she listens to her computer, then she smiles and holds out her own giant paw.
They shake and Swanson says, “You’ve done extraordinary work, and I’m proud to have met you. You will do good things, General. You will correct many wrongs. You have my full confidence.”
The General understands her meaning and takes a deep breath, eyes alight. “We will not fail you.”
Six
“Swanson, I have no wish to cause you discomfort, but I’m urgently needed on the surface at Director’s Hall,” Gray says with an uncharacteristic amount of expression. One might almost call it emotion … and not a g
ood one.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, quickening her pace toward the tiny ship.
Gray’s brows draw together ever so slightly, another sign of unease that the Director cannot ignore. “I’m not certain, Swanson, but there is an irregularity in the perimeter at the Hall. Several Healers and two Facilitators are missing and cannot be located.”
“Can’t be located? How is that possible?” she asks, now rushing despite the thudding in her ears.
Gray only shakes her head and that, more than anything, tells the Director that she needs to hurry and complete her business. An image rises unbidden in her mind of the freshly turned earth near the power receivers on that plain where humanity lives in digital splendor. Immediately, her mentor and his booming laugh resounds in her ears.
A dog with one last flea to shake off.
Once inside the ship, they barely strap in before the launch. Gray is silent for the most part, listening intently to her computer and silently mouthing words in response. Swanson sees for herself what the irregularity is as they approach the landing pad. A part of the wall that surrounds Director’s Hall—which is more like a park with buildings near the center—has collapsed into a large hole. The word sinkhole comes to mind, but Swanson knows it’s no natural hole.
Or maybe it is. Animals are a part of nature.
When they arrive, there are two additional Facilitators waiting for them, each wearing the same grave expression now etched into Gray’s face. They immediately arrange themselves to either side of Swanson as she exits, almost like guards.
Turning to Gray, who appears ready to bolt, she asks, “What’s wrong?”
For the first time, Gray appears hesitant to answer. “Director, we have not located the missing personnel, but…”
“But?”
“We have found traces of blood belonging to two of the personnel near the collapsed wall. DNA confirms it.”
Swanson closes her eyes for a moment, letting it all wash over her. For thousands of years, the various lines of Directors have made decisions. But each line had a different set of responsibilities, and her line was not in charge of humanity on Earth. That was the purview of a different line of Directors, a line that no longer existed. Once the human situation on Earth had been solved to their satisfaction, their line ended. That same end came for the Director line that handled the repopulation of Earth’s animal species. As it did for the line that handled the dismantling of human debris left behind.
And it would be the same for her, the last in the line of Peace Force Directors. The last Directors the Earth would ever produce. The very last decision maker there would ever be.
Perhaps those other lines should not have considered their work complete after all.
Gray seems impatient when Swanson opens her eyes again. Her arms are tense and her feet ready to move. Ignoring that, Swanson asks, “How do you keep animals away from the Dome and the Hall?”
Gray appears confused for a moment, then shakes her head. “Animals too interested in our facilities are terminated, of course. We sweep the area outside the walls almost daily.”
Looking down at her wrinkled hands, Swanson considers her next question carefully. “So, what you’re saying is that the only interaction that anything living on this planet has had with humanity is to be killed by humans?”
With an almost-shrug, Gray answers. “Of course. Why would we interact?”
“Do you kill them all? Every single one that you see?”
Gray shakes her head, “No, of course not. If they go away, then we don’t. We kill all that come near and don’t run. We do the same at the Dome.”
“So, any building or object that is built by humans means fear or death to all animals? Nothing else?”
Gray is incredulous at Swanson’s questioning. “That’s the point. They should fear us and our facilities. They will stay away. This is ours, not theirs.”
Looking around at the sterile walkway leading to the equally sterile Director’s Hall, Swanson feels as if she’s truly seeing it for the first time. Perhaps the last time as well.
Gray doesn’t understand, and she can’t be made to understand, Swanson sees. For thousands of years there have been only Directors, Facilitators, and Healers. They have been the quiet remnants of humanity, leaving the world beyond their small facilities to bloom again. What Gray can’t seem to understand is that they’ve made themselves the enemy of every living thing on the planet. Animals might not talk, but they have instincts. Like kill or be killed.
In trying to move on to the next stage of evolution, humans have made yet another grave error. There will be no next stage after this one.
To the other two Facilitators, she says, “We’re going to the Decision Room.” Gray is left open-mouthed in the hallway as Swanson leads the way.
The thudding in her ears grows painful as they walk the halls, and a tingling begins in her fingertips. How appropriate that my body should fail me now, Swanson thinks with a grim smile.
The Decision Room is spare but appropriately designed. The octagonal structure represents the eight lines of Directors. All but one of those walls is now dark. On the remaining wall glows the never-fading symbol of the Peace Force. Swanson examines it again, savoring this moment, because she knows—it’s the last moment for humanity on this planet.
The symbol shows two planets, one below the other. On top is the Earth and below, a planet shaded in darkness, in the shadow of Earth. Between them stretches a hand encased in a gauntlet and carrying a sword. It is only now that she realizes it looks less like peace and more like the Earth sending someone to skewer another planet. She hopes it won’t turn out that way in the end, despite the recordings Gray showed her.
They’ve made so many mistakes. She wishes with all her being that, in making her decision, this will be the one time that humans make the right call. She hopes she is one Director who makes her final decision wisely. Then at least the humans that have spread amongst the stars will have a chance to avoid extinction, if only they can rein in their own barbarism. Here on Earth … well … it’s too late for us, she thinks. But for those out there amongst the stars? Maybe.
Swanson places her trembling hand on the Decision Key.
“Peace Force Director. Welcome. What do you require?”
“I’d like to ask a question.”
“Proceed Director.”
“If I believe that another line of Directors has made an error, can you decant new Directors for that line and reopen their decision matrix?”
Though she half-expects the answer, she still sighs when the computer confirms her fears. “No. The Directors are the final decision makers. They cannot be gainsaid. Once the final decision is made, it cannot be undone.”
Swanson looks back at the two facilitators at the entrance. They seem so incredibly uninterested in the question she just asked. They’re not even asking themselves why she would ask such a question. They weren’t designed to, of course.
Again and again, humanity makes such bad decisions. Even when we try to do right, we do it wrong, she muses. She examines her mind for the truth. Is she making the right decision now? Is the Peace Force ready? The image of that planet and the mutilated little girl who would become a Voice on a planet far away flits through her mind. It’s a painful image.
Even at this moment, there are Seed ships replicating, orbiting new worlds that will come to life under their long care. There are new crews being decanted in a line of flawed ships. Right now, they are eager to do good, to create yet another chance for humanity to live and grow without strife … and like the others, they will have those hopes dashed. Chaos and evil will ensue. It seems programmed in to the very DNA of humanity. And yet, she still has hope.
Director Swanson knows she can’t save humans on Earth. Those decisions have been made. Their consequences are already evident as the Earth shakes the fleas of humanity from her back. She can save the others … maybe. It’s worth the risk.
“I’m ready,” she says
, looking up again at that beautiful and contradictory Peace Force symbol on the wall.
“Do you wish to make a final decision?”
“Yes,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
“What is your decision?”
Squeezing her eyes shut and taking one last, deep breath, she gathers her courage. Mustering up some final bit of energy, she says in a voice both loud and clear, “Launch the Peace Force!”
Her death comes so quickly, she never feels it.
Epilogue
Swanson wakes to applause. Her first thought is that she feels wonderful and when she lifts her hand, her second is that she’s young again. Sitting up on the couch, she’s faced with a crowd of vibrant, healthy people, all of them smiling and laughing.
“I’m here!” she gasps.
A man she would recognize anywhere steps out of the crowd. No longer old and lined with age, he’s still got that booming laugh she knows so well. “You are! Congratulations! Welcome to Eternicity. The Final Director has finally joined us. Our labors are at an end!”
She takes an experimental breath and feels the air coursing through clear lungs undamaged by repeated cryo-sleeps over a thousand years of time. Her hands feel her face and find no lines or wrinkles. It’s true. She’s in the partition, the one part of the Virtual that Directors can inhabit. Unlike the rest of the virtual worlds, the inhabitants of this world were once physical and understand they are no longer living flesh. That means they can’t live with the others, but it also means their world is endless and boundless, without death or aging or restriction. An Eternal City—Eternicity.
Bridge Across the Stars: A Sci-Fi Bridge Original Anthology Page 5
