Winter World

by A. G. Riddle

  The problem is, we won’t. The crew of Sparta One will be stranded. This ship doesn’t have enough fuel to get to Ceres and back. If we do this, we are sealing our fate. We are trading our lives for theirs. If we do this, it will mean making this a one-way trip.

  Chapter 50

  James

  After I present my plan, a long silence stretches out. I scan the faces of my crewmates, looking for clues about which way they’re leaning. There are moments that test us, that reveal our true character. This is one of them.

  I know Emma well enough to know that she is for my plan. The crew of the Pax made the same sacrifice for her and me: their lives for ours. For us, it’s an easy decision.

  I know Oscar supports my plan, too. He would follow me anywhere, even to his own doom. I’ll have to do something about that someday, if there is a someday after this mission.

  For the rest of our crew, well, I’m not sure. The people on the Pax are strangers to them.

  But this crew surprises me. There is no discussion. One by one, around the bridge, they begin nodding their assent.

  “It’s a good plan,” Heinrich says.

  “I’ll start selecting medical supplies,” says Terrence. “I assume they should be distributed equally among the escape pods?”

  “We should coordinate with the Pax, select a specific rendezvous point,” adds Zoe. “Then we’ll know exactly how much fuel they need to get back to Earth.”

  As I expected, the Pax fights our plan. They insist all is well there. Finally, I send a message telling them that we are ejecting our escape pods and that they can either ignore the pods or use them. After a long pause, a simple message appears on the screen.

  PAX: Thank you. To the entire crew of Sparta One, thank you.

  They open up then and talk about their medical needs. I’m relieved that nothing is serious. Mostly old trauma wounds, the kind Emma got when the ISS was destroyed—some broken bones that have healed and scars from wounds sustained during the encounter with Beta. Everyone’s bone density is at a critical level. But that’s about it. The crew of the Pax is going to live.

  As for us… well, we’ll see.

  The Sparta One crew gathers on the bridge as the escape pods eject. No one says anything, but I feel that a bond has been forged between us, a shared sacrifice that can’t be undone. The ejected pods fly into the black of space, white wisps trailing in their wake, like the first shots fired in a final battle. I sense that’s precisely what they represent. If there was any doubt about this crew’s commitment, it’s gone now. There’s no turning back.

  Ten survey drones have returned. All carry the same result: nothing. They are telling me there is nothing out there on Ceres, just rocks and dust. I run the same diagnostic on each drone and download the telemetry each time. Every one of them has a technical malfunction. It happens at different times and at different places near Ceres—which confuses me. If there were something out there interfering with the drones, it would likely occur at roughly the same fixed position or distance each time. The data should be consistent. Or it could occur at several locations within a small region, if there were a roving enemy drone combating our survey drones. But these locations are too spread out.

  I can feel the crew’s doubt growing, like a storm on the horizon, gathering, the echo of thunder distant but present. For whatever reason, it doesn’t affect me. I am certain that there is something out there, waiting for us.

  We press on, into the darkness, barreling at maximum speed, the three nuclear warheads on our ship armed and ready. I feel like Ahab hunting the white whale. I am a man possessed.

  When I launched into space aboard the Pax, my life was empty. I didn’t know Emma. My brother was a stranger to me. I had no family, no friends. Only Oscar. Now I have something to lose. Something to live for. Something to fight for.

  My time in space has changed me. When I left Earth the first time, I was still the rebel scientist the world had cast out. I felt like an outsider, a renegade. Now I have become a leader. I’ve learned to read people, to try to understand them. That was my mistake before. I trudged ahead with my vision of the world, believing the world would follow me. But the truth is, true leadership requires understanding those you lead, making the best choices for them, and most of all, convincing them when they don’t realize what’s best for them. Leadership is about moments like this, when the people you’re charged with protecting have doubts, when the odds are against you.

  Every morning, the crew gathers on the bridge. Oscar and Emma strap in on each side of me and we sit around the table and everyone gives their departmental updates. The ship is operating at peak efficiency. So is the crew. Except for the elephant in the room.

  “As you know,” I begin, “we are still on course for Ceres. We have not ordered the other ships in the Spartan fleet to alter course. The fact that the survey drones have found nothing, changes nothing. Our enemy is advanced. Sufficiently advanced to alter our drones and hide itself. With that said, we should discuss the possibility that there is, in fact, nothing out there on Ceres. We need to prepare for that eventuality.”

  Heinrich surveys the rest of the crew before speaking.

  “It could be a trap.”

  He’s always to the point. I like that about him.

  “Yes,” I reply, “it could be. The entity, or harvester, or whatever is out there, could be manufacturing the solar cells elsewhere—deeper in the solar system, or from another asteroid in the belt. It could be sending the solar cells to Ceres and then toward the sun, making them look as though they were manufactured on Ceres. There could be a massive bomb or attack drones waiting for us at Ceres.”

  “We could split our fleet,” Heinrich says. “Send ships to all the viable asteroids and dwarf planets in the belt.”

  “It’s something I’ve entertained,” I respond. “But it carries a risk. Divided forces are easier to defeat. The bottom line is that we don’t know what we face out here. We get one chance to make our first strike. We need to strike with overwhelming force.”

  “You’re certain it’s Ceres?” Emma asks.

  “No. But I’m certain that Ceres is the most logical location.”

  “Why?” Emma asks softly.

  “Energy.”

  Everyone focuses on me.

  “I’ve developed a rubric for what the entity is. Everything it does is driven by energy. Perhaps the most inescapable fact of all of this is that our enemy didn’t expend the energy to annihilate us directly—though it probably can. It chose to kill us with minimal energy expenditure. In fact, I think its only goal here in our solar system is harvesting energy. It chose to freeze Earth because it was the most energy-efficient way to remove us from the equation.

  “We’ve seen the vectors of the solar cells, and they all track back to Ceres. The harvester could be manufacturing them elsewhere, theoretically. But to do so—to manufacture them elsewhere and send them to Ceres as a distraction—would waste energy. A lot of energy, compared to other ways in which it could combat our potential interference.”

  “So at this point, what exactly do you think is waiting for us out there?” Heinrich asks.

  “Exactly? I don’t know. But I know it will be war.”

  Chapter 51

  Emma

  The crew of Sparta One continues to impress me. Not only with their technical competence and professionalism, but with their heart and dedication. To my surprise, they don’t fight James’s plan. Like me, they are ready to follow his instincts.

  It’s decided: we are going to Ceres. The rest of the fleet will join us there. We’ll approach the dwarf planet together and attack quickly, hoping to seize the element of surprise. We’ll be there within ten hours.

  We’ve sent a high-speed comm brick back to Earth. In it, we’ve apprised NASA of our status and plan.

  Everyone on the ship is acutely aware of the countdown to reach Ceres. It’s like we’re rushing toward a cliff, driving a herd of animals, us in the middle, unabl
e to stop or to get out of the flow, the horizon looming.

  James must sense it too. He’s mandated six hours of sleep. Terrance has forbidden us from using sleep aids. He’s right: an emergency could arise, and we need clear heads.

  There’s only one thing that can help me sleep.

  I draw back the curtain on my sleep station and find James floating just outside my door.

  “Can’t sleep?” he whispers.

  “No.”

  “Want some company?”

  For those few hours, James and I hold each other, and talk—about everything—fearlessly, like two people at the end of their lives with nothing left to hide, nothing to protect. To me, this feels like the end of everything, that nothing will ever be the same after this.

  There’s only one subject James steps around: why he was sent to prison. It feels as though we’re frolicking in a field, completely free, but there’s a deep, dark hole in the middle. We both know it’s there, and neither of us goes near it. We are happy to play around the edges where it’s safe, where nothing can ruin the moment. As such, I don’t ask about what happened. I have asked myself if the secret could ever change how I feel about him. I’m not sure. It would have to be something… unthinkable, something so unlike James.

  The strongest friendships and the strongest relationships are forged in the hottest fires. My life with James has been a series of challenges. They have been agonizing physically and mentally, sometimes emotionally, and he has always been there for me. He has been the rock I can always depend on. I’m so glad I’m here with him. There’s nowhere else I want to be.

  Thirty minutes before we reach Ceres, the nine ships of the Spartan fleet move close enough to each other to maintain real-time communication via our comm patches.

  The survey drones we sent before were disguised as asteroids. Their exterior was coated with real rock. But I can’t help again wondering if the entity detected them. And if it did, then surely it knows we’re coming.

  On the bridge, the entire crew assembles and straps in to the central table, ready for the battle. Everyone is nervous. Except for Oscar. As usual, he’s placid and focused. I envy him. My heart is beating a thousand miles an hour. My palms are sweaty. Human history will make a turn today—here and now.

  The screen on the far wall is split into sections. There are seven black boxes, each with a blinking cursor showing open chat windows with the other ships of the Spartan fleet. The largest window is filled with a view of space. Ceres floats in the distance, a speck of gray against the black backdrop of space. It’s a pinprick at first, growing larger and brighter by the second, a dull light at the end of the train tunnel rushing toward us.

  In a matter of minutes, the image on the screen grows from the size of an eraser tip to a fist. Ceres is gray, not unlike our moon, with round craters dotting its surface. As it grows larger, I can make out glittering white specks. NASA first observed the white anomalies in 2015. Speculation has continued about them ever since then—the best hypotheses being that they are either ice or salt.

  The battle sequence has been carefully scripted, the maneuvers programmed into each ship’s navigation computer and all of the rest of its systems.

  I feel the thrusters fire.

  “Fleet formation is breaking,” Heinrich says. “We’re beginning our approach.”

  NASA named Sparta One’s computer Leonidas, after some warrior from a long time ago. The thing is, Leonidas is a mouthful, especially in an active battle situation. We settled on calling it Leo.

  “Leo,” James says, “broadcast message fleet-wide: Good hunting, everyone.”

  He turns to Heinrich and says, “dispatch the comm brick to Earth noting the time of contact.”

  A second later, Heinrich looks up. “Brick is away.”

  Ceres grows larger on the viewscreen. It slips from the center of the image and slowly moves toward the bottom.

  I feel myself breathing harder. I look around the bridge. Everyone seems on edge. Except for James and Oscar. Their eyes are fixed on the screen, only breaking their stares to glance down at their tablets and check system status and the drones that are following us.

  Each nation in the alliance built three ships. Eight of the nine ships of the Spartan fleet are nearly identical—nothing more than battleships. They’re loaded to the hilt with ordnance—nuclear warheads and four rail guns apiece, two pointed ahead, two pointed behind.

  The ninth ship, our ship, is different. It was built by the Atlantic Union, and where the others have nuclear warheads in their primary bay, we have a drone lab. Sparta One was designed to be the brains of the mission. Even so, we do have three nuclear warheads aboard, and ten attack drones following us, their ordnance unarmed, their exterior clad in rock.

  On the Pax, when we first engaged the solar cell, we tried to talk. Not this time.

  When we reach Ceres, our forces will separate. The eight battleships will round the planet concurrently, equally spaced. They will be like a net, not letting anything past. Even if we’re successful, it’s imperative that nothing of our enemy escapes.

  As soon as the battleships round the dwarf planet, they’ll go active with their scanners and fire specialized incendiary rounds that will illuminate the surface of Ceres. Visual contact will be important.

  Sparta One will hang back, but only slightly. We’ll round Ceres three seconds after the battleships. Doesn’t sound like much time, but it’s important in the order of battle. The incendiary rounds will have illuminated the surface of Ceres by the time we come around. We’ll have a clear view of whatever is out there, and we’ll issue orders to the rest of the fleet and to our attack drones following behind us.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” James says, “it’s been an honor.”

  Ten seconds later, we get our first view of what awaits.

  Chapter 52

  James

  Ceres glows white from the incendiary blasts, so bright I can’t even see the surface. I squint at the screen, unable to tear my eyes away, afraid of what I’ll see.

  The flashes fade. Sparta One has come around the dwarf planet so the sun is behind Ceres, lighting its edges like the top of a fuse burning. I’m staring at the dark side of Ceres, now lit by the incendiary devices the fleet has sent to its surface. It’s gray and rocky, like a rougher version of Earth’s moon. And in the center is the white whale I’ve been hunting, the evil device that has killed billions of my people, mercilessly, from afar, as though we were simply a pest in the way.

  The creature, if it is alive, is massive. Beyond massive. A dozen arms radiate from its center, like a spider’s legs stretching over the rocky landscape. Each leg has smaller fingers jutting out from the sides, like hairs from a limb. I have never been so in awe as I am right now.

  A mechanical spider is clamped to the surface of Ceres.

  Based on what I see, I believe my theory was right: this is a harvester. Its arms must gather the material it needs and transport that material to its center, its central manufacturing plant, where the solar cells are constructed and launched toward the sun. It pumps the cells out, like an assembly line, building its solar array cell by cell.

  Across the surface of Ceres are a series of ruts, like someone took an ice cream scoop and carved line after line out of the rocky planet. I bet the gullies are where the harvester’s arms were before, gouging out raw material, refining it, using what it needed for the solar cells. It must be able to crawl across the surface.

  Streaks of light emanate from the other eight ships. Nuclear weapons on their way to the harvester.

  “Fleet is firing at center mass,” Heinrich calls out.

  “No!” I shout. “Leo, issue new fleet order: fire on the radial arms. Evasive maneuvers, all ships.”

  The ship’s computer beeps, confirming it has heard and executed the order.

  Sparta One shifts sharply to the side, the evasive maneuver causing the entire crew to grab on to the table.

  “Leo,” I say, my voice steadier
than I expected, “instruct attack drones to commence their run. Target will be given as they approach.”

  Leo beeps. On the screen, a countdown to the attack drones’ arrival begins.

  On the surface of Ceres, the harvester’s arms lift out of the deep valleys they’ve carved, and they rotate, showing their undersides to us. Each one possesses thousands of small holes and hundreds of larger ones, like the arms of an octopus. My guess is that these openings take in material. That guess is confirmed when those openings belch raw material, small and large chunks, at all nine ships of the fleet. It’s literally hurling rocks at us.

  “Leo, fleet command: rail guns!” I shout. “Target the points where the arms meet the center. Sever them.”

  As soon as the order leaves my mouth, the ship rocks.

  I expected a battle in space to be silent or nearly silent. That’s true in theory, but not in practice—not if your ship gets hit. That’s loud. The rocks tear into Sparta One like buckshot through a soda can. The sound is deafening. The smaller rocks reach us first. The larger ones will follow, and they’ll be even more deadly.

  “Helmets!” I yell.

  Everyone pulls on their suit helmets, except for Oscar.