The Bridge

by Simon Winstanley

  Tristan gave the slightest of nods to Izzy and she stepped to one side, allowing Bradley to stand in front of the laptop.

  LEGACY

  Looking at the others around the table, Jim could see that Siva’s approach had made each of them alone in one way or another.

  Rachel Keele, the designer of Pico’s Deflector system, had been working on the island when the lunar detonation had occurred. Her whole family in New Orleans had failed to reach their designated survival bunker in time.

  Chandra Patil, Archive’s long-term astronomy adviser had managed to reach the safety of the island using a transport plane from Andersen Air Force Base. Ultimately though, there was no-one here for him; his only life partner had been his Archive work.

  Then there was Robert Wild. Always having a keen eye for spotting useful connections, his contribution to Archive was considerable. Over the years, he’d used his skills to spin distracting news stories, refine the ego-morph control program, and link communication technologies in ways that gave Archive better public surveillance. Perhaps ironically, Robert’s current isolation had stemmed from living in a world of suspicion that he’d helped to create.

  Jim himself, of course, was no stranger to loss. There had been no rhyme or reason, no heroic sacrifice; a simple aneurysm had taken Gwen in her sleep. In a way, her mundane departure had made it harder to deal with.

  She’d always been the one to soothe his conscience, telling him that their legacy would be to give mankind a better future. Now that voice was absent.

  Imagining something she always used to do, he straightened his shirt collar.

  “Shall we begin?” he addressed the others, “Mr. Wild?”

  “Webshot,” Robert smiled brightly.

  Jim found himself sitting as upright as the others; these days it was unusual to see Robert so animated. Still smiling, Robert drummed at the tabletop with his fingers and then continued.

  “Before the satellites got turned into confetti, we were sucking down a whole load of data from the World Wide Web, including…” he leaned forward, “some really juicy files, courtesy of General Napier’s leaked Archive data.”

  Robert carefully placed a piece of paper on the table. The words in the top left corner read ‘Cryo Unit.’

  “Fresh from the early eighties!” he laughed, “A shelved Archive project.”

  “Why was it shelved?” Jim frowned at the diagrams; Archive’s compartmentalisation had evidently kept this from him.

  “Although it worked fine for short durations,” Robert smoothed out the page, “it had a flaw.”

  “What kind of flaw?” said Rachel.

  “It killed the occupants,” he grinned.

  “Shit,” said Chandra then apologetically covered his mouth, “Sorry.”

  “The Cryo compound slowed their body functions,” Robert placed more pages onto the table, “which they expected. But after a few months in hibernation, electrical activity in the brain just quit.”

  “Because of the compound?” said Jim.

  “Because they were bored.”

  “What?”

  “OK, I’m exaggerating,” Robert smiled, “But it’s not far from the truth. Looking at the notes, they figured out the problem just before the project was mothballed. The subjects’ physical conditions were very well accounted for, but there was nothing to stimulate the brain’s neural pathways. They were literally bored to death.”

  Jim looked at the various diagrams, graphs and brain scan images.

  “OK, apart from this being an interesting piece of Archive trivia, was there a reason for showing us all of this?”

  Robert grinned widely.

  “What if we could fix the stimulation issue?”

  Jim thought he could see what Robert was driving at.

  “Robert,” he said, “Why would the ARC even need a hibernation program?”

  “Think long term. The food and resources we’d save,” he immediately replied, “Hell, think of the lifespan that you could have. Wouldn’t it make sense to give everyone here the best chance to survive anything that Siva throws at us?”

  Jim eyed him sceptically, suddenly aware that he was being presented to. He’d known Robert long enough to realise that this much preparation and forethought was not a casual conversation.

  “How long, Wild?” Jim leaned forward, “How long have you been working on this?”

  Robert’s smile widened slightly, “About four months.”

  Jim closed his eyes and nodded, “You’ve already solved it, haven’t you?”

  “Nearly,” he said, “The trick will be providing mental stimulation that’s tailored to each individual… and I believe I’ve got some equipment here from the old Archive days that might be able to help with that.”

  Jim could see why Robert had waited so long before bringing the matter to his attention, “You want me to unlock the calibration room.”

  “It’s gotta be worth a shot.”

  He considered the request. He could almost hear Gwen reminding him of his duty to give mankind a better future.

  “OK,” he agreed and looked Robert in the eyes, “I want daily reports. Do not make this common knowledge yet.”

  “Don’t make what common knowledge?” Robert winked and appeared to zip his mouth closed.

  Jim found himself shaking his head, but stopped short of rolling his eyes. In a way, Wild’s old exuberance had lifted his mood slightly.

  “Dr. Patil?” he turned to Chandra, “Please can we have your report?”

  “Of course,” he gathered his notes, “As you all know, without the satellite network to get astrometrics, I’m having to do a certain amount of guesswork. I’m basing the analysis on an inverse-square debris spread, factoring in our position in Earth-Sun orbit. Obliquity is ch-”

  Robert forced a cough, “Any chance we can just get the headlines, Chandra?”

  “OK,” he flicked through several pages, “I believe the recent Heavy Rain incident was due to disturbances in the lunar debris field.”

  “Disturbances?” Rachel leaned forward, “From what?”

  “The Perseids,” Chandra replied then looked in Jim’s direction, almost seeking permission to continue. Apparently headlines alone wouldn’t be enough.

  “Go ahead,” he gave him a nod.

  “Each year,” said Chandra, “the Earth’s orbit around the Sun coincides with the remnants of an old comet ‘Swift-Tuttle’.”

  “OK, I remember that one,” Robert sat back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head, “For a few weeks every summer you’d get a meteor shower. Pretty sure I used it to cover up one of your DCP tests?”

  “Indeed,” Chandra tapped at his notes, “Normally the Perseids are harmless.”

  “But?” Rachel noted the change in direction.

  “But now the Earth and surrounding lunar debris are presenting a much larger target as we make our way around the Sun. I believe some of the smaller moon fragments are being perturbed into collision trajectories.”

  “Damn,” Rachel began sifting through her paperwork, “You think fragment impacts are going to happen more often?”

  Chandra just nodded.

  “General,” Rachel found a page in her notes, “Pico’s Deflector system has enough reserves for nine more intercepts, but that’s based on a wide protection perimeter. If we were to reduce the minimum acceptable radius, we could allow some strikes to occur in the the surrounding ocean and save the Deflectors for closer calls.”

  “Dr. Patil?” he redirected the suggestion.

  “I’ve seen the margin of error, I wouldn’t recommend it,” Chandra rubbed at his chin, “That said, we may not have a choice here. We should at least re-examine the calculations.”

  “OK,” Jim agreed, “Work together and give me a full report within the hour.”

  POWER

  Bradley knew that unless he made himself useful to the crew of the Iseult, he would never gain their confidence. His offer of bringing some Archive knowled
ge to the proceedings had been accepted, but he still had a way to go before proving himself.

  The fact that the armed man had recognised the drone’s configuration gave him something to work with: he was clearly connected to Archive somehow.

  He pushed the spacebar on the laptop and spoke to him.

  “Son,” he tried to remain confident, “This is Archive Executive Pittman, ident alpha echo fifty-seven dash one.”

  A look of recognition passed over the man’s face and his arm snapped to a salute, “Callahan, D., Sir.”

  “At ease,” Bradley reassured him, “Now, mind telling me what operation you’re running?”

  “Trilithon, Sir,” he replied, “I got left behind.”

  Bradley didn’t recognise the name, but that in itself wasn’t important. He just had to convince the others that he knew it. He took his hand off the keyboard.

  “Tactical unit,” he told them.

  Marcus leaned in and adjusted the contrast of the image.

  “What is it?” said Izzy.

  “I don’t…” Marcus frowned, “He said he got left behind, but… I think there’s somebody else back there.”

  Bradley resumed the conversation.

  “Trilithon, OK,” he said, “And who authorised that?”

  “General Napier, Sir.”

  Bradley released the spacebar.

  It seemed that everywhere he went, Napier’s death found a way to bring itself to light. He’d avoided detection at the USV and he had no intention of being discovered now. Before he could open his mouth, Marcus spoke.

  “Napier’s that guy I was telling you about!” he animatedly explained to Tristan, “The one who took down the firewall!”

  Bradley spotted an opportunity, “The damn Archive traitor?”

  “Do you know this General Napier?” asked Tristan.

  Bradley realised he’d have to be careful how he replied; he’d need to find out what Marcus already knew.

  “I knew him, way back,” he frowned, then turned to Marcus, “I’m just thinkin’, this firewall thing? Don’t s’pose you got your hands on any of that Archive stuff that Napier leaked?”

  Marcus looked between him and Izzy.

  “Yeah, but I had to ditch it all back in Paris,” he shook his head, “Somethin’ ain’t right here. I need to see what’s going on behind him. Keep him talking.”

  “OK,” Bradley obliged him, pushing the spacebar again, “Callahan, so I can check who you are, I want you to tell me something.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Did you get your instructions directly from Napier himself?”

  “No, Sir,” the man replied, “Trilithon was an automated protocol.”

  Bradley’s mind raced. Automated protocols meant a data trail and the possibility that the phone’s snapshots had been discovered. The soldier in the window was a possible threat.

  “Very good, son,” he let go of the spacebar, “The son of a bitch is lying.”

  Marcus must have navigated to the security page, because the drone’s lights came on. Although it made little difference to the foreground, the background became more visible. There were two people on the floor; an unconscious young woman and an older man who was tending to her. Both appeared to have bleeding cuts on their faces.

  “Tris,” Marcus was saying, “That guy on the floor, I… I know him from someplace, but…”

  “Callahan,” Bradley resumed talking, “Who are them folks back there?”

  “Some Exordi Nova scumbags, Sir,” he then stood slightly more proudly, “They escaped during Trilithon but I tracked them down.”

  “And how d’you know they’re Novas?” said Bradley.

  “Cos they’ve been leaving their symbols behind on every floor.”

  “You tracked them?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Bradley kept his eye on the upper right of the laptop’s screen; there was an opportunity here to strengthen his own position.

  “Now, Callahan,” he began, “I’m sure you ain’t one of them Nova-lovers, but…”

  Callahan began to look slightly awkward at the slur and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

  “Tris!” Marcus suddenly turned away from the laptop, “That guy on the floor, I remember him! He’s the one who helped me and -”

  “Do you want me to neutralise them for you now, Sir?”

  Callahan reached for his machine-gun and Bradley seized his one chance to remove the potential Napier leak. Marcus had left the laptop settings open on the drone’s security page. The bar chart in the upper right was only registering ten percent, but it would be enough. Bradley swiftly reached out and held down the button marked ‘Administer’.

  Immediately, the drone’s stun baton activated and sent out a bolt of electricity. It connected with Callahan, sending his whole body into rigid spasm. His back arched as the electricity drained through him, but Bradley continued to hold down the button.

  “No!” he heard a shout, then someone twisted his hand off the keyboard and pushed him aside.

  He turned just in time to see the unconscious man falling down the outside of The Shard. About halfway down, the man’s head impacted a protruding girder, sending the body into a bloody spin before it disappeared into the rusting metalwork around the base of the building.

  Before stunned expressions could become accusations, he pointed at the laptop screen.

  “Y’all saw it!” he shouted and looked at Marcus, “The bastard was going for his gun!”

  “They’re leaving!” Izzy pointed at the screen.

  Marcus barged past him.

  On the screen, Bradley saw that the man was trying to help the young woman to her feet.

  Marcus frantically accessed the controls and hit the spacebar, “Hey… Stop!”

  The man glanced at the drone but ignored the request.

  “Listen,” Marcus continued, “I know you! I wanna help but you gotta stop!”

  The man slowed and talked to the camera, but it seemed the drone was too far away from them to pick up the sound. Marcus moved his fingers over the keys and, a moment later, Bradley saw the camera change perspective. The drone moved inside the building, something which only caused the people to back away.

  “I’m not gonna hurt you, don’t go,” Marcus begged, “I can’t remember your name, but you helped me once. You… you gave me your shopping trolley!”

  The man and woman stopped in their tracks. At the same moment, the laptop bleeped and a symbol on the screen flashed; the drone’s power was almost depleted.

  “I wanna return the favour,” said Marcus, “We’ve got a sub. We can get you to safety. You just need to get down here!”

  “She’s hurt,” the man spoke.

  “Marcus,” Izzy prompted him, “there’s a med kit tied to the drone.”

  “Hey, listen!” Marcus leaned closer to the screen, “There’s a load of -”

  The screen suddenly went dark, then displayed two words: ‘Signal Loss.’

  Marcus immediately rounded on Bradley.

  “You stupid son of a bitch!” he grabbed him, “You drained all the power!”

  Bradley could feel the sheer rage of the man. The powerful anger was only held in check by one tenuous thread; the crew still needed his Archive codes. Within a few seconds, the others intervened to separate them.

  “Your friends up there,” Bradley pulled his shirt straight, “If I hadn’t stopped the gunman, he’d have killed them. They’re alive ’cos of me!”

  A thunderous noise echoed around them.

  In the grey skies above, the clouds illuminated but the light didn’t dissipate. It grew stronger. Like a steam train billowing a dense line of smoke, a bright lunar fragment emerged from the cloud and sliced through to the ground.

  Bradley felt his whole perspective shift.

  He’d discussed this sort of event countless times with other members of Archive, but he had never imagined he might experience it firsthand. This wasn’t just something that happene
d to the faceless masses. This was now something that was happening to him.

  Reaching him from the distance, the booming sound of the fragment’s impact arrived, echoing and reflecting off the building’s glass. The reason for the surrounding desolation now became more obvious; the destruction was continuing every day.

  “Secondary fragments,” said Tristan, “It’s happening sooner than I thought.”

  “What!?” Bradley spat, now desperately trying to grasp what was going on.

  “Impacts,” Tristan looked upward, “Collisions with the lunar debris that-”

  “Now you listen the fuck up, science boy!” Bradley shouted over him, “You’re gettin’ us outta here right now!”

  “No!” Tristan pointed at the building, “We wait for them.”

  “They were injured,” said Izzy.

  Marcus looked up at the building.

  “I owe him,” he said, “And we don’t have time to wait. We’ll have to go and get them.”

  Bradley stared in sheer dumbstruck horror at what was being proposed. Despite his shouted objections, they continued to ignore him. He’d lost all power over them.

  “How would you even find them?” said Izzy, “There must be a hundred floors!”

  Tristan appeared to consider the various factors then looked directly at Marcus, “The gunman said they were Exordi Nova, right?”

  “Yeah, well that’s bullsh-”

  “I know,” Tristan cut in, “but he said he tracked them by the symbols they left behind.”

  “And?”

  “Marcus, you’re not going to like this,” he said, “But I think we have to follow the circles.”

  SAFEGUARD

  Jim had hoped that the docking request signal had come from the Sea-Bass. However, when the transmission had identified the vessel as the Britannia, it was no less a cause for celebration.

  He walked to the small porthole and peered out. The length of the vessel meant that most of it escaped the illumination of the underwater beams of light, but he could see the rounded nosecone and the embedded Glaucus airlock design that connected it to the ARC.