“I don’t know . . . It feels like we’re still at war.”
The lobby runs the length of the building, with a bar and restaurant set to one side. Chipped marble lines the floor, no doubt damaged during the blast, but the walls and ceiling have all been refurbished and appear new. Art adorns the walls, paintings of landscapes created in mimicry of the Dutch masters Rembrandt and Vermeer. Muted colors, dark corners, heavy shadows, pale blues, and washed-out reds depict European landscapes and palace courts. For me, they’re grossly out of place in America.
Su-shun walks forward, looking for the concierge.
The TV mounted above reception is on. It’s surreal watching a broadcast from directly outside. A reporter is interviewing Colonel Wallace.
“No comment” is the phrase I overhear, but I’m more interested in the ticker running along the bottom of the screen.
U.S. TROOPS STORM CANADA. 2ND MARINE DIVISION ANNEXES QUEBEC CITY
6TH REGIMENT OCCUPIES JEAN LESAGE INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
2ND LIGHT ARMORED REGIMENT CROSSES ST. LAWRENCE RIVER, CUTTING OVERLAND ROUTES WITH MONTREAL
CANADIAN PARLIAMENT IN EMERGENCY TALKS WITH U.S. PRESIDENT JACOBS, DEMANDING THE IMMEDIATE WITHDRAWAL OF U.S. TROOPS FROM CANADIAN SOIL
“Fuck,” I whisper.
As I walk forward, stepping between two concrete pillars breaking up the lobby, the screen flickers. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t think anything of it, but the line of text on the ticker is replaced with a single word.
LIZ.
I stop, feeling as though I’ve stepped through some kind of invisible barrier. The ticker resumes, this time with details of our presence.
ASTRONAUTS ARRIVE IN WASHINGTON D.C. AHEAD OF SENATE INQUIRY INTO THE WAR AGAINST THE ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE
I step backwards slowly, noting my position relative to the pillars and the security cameras set around the lobby. There’s a point about two feet back where I’m obscured from view. Dead space. As soon as I reach that spot, the ticker text addresses me again, knowing my reaction isn’t being caught on camera. Someone’s going to extraordinary lengths to communicate with me incognito.
DON’T WORRY, LIZ. WE WON’T LET ANYTHING HAPPEN TO YOU. YOU’RE SAFE HERE.
I swear, the temperature in the lobby plummets by twenty degrees. A chill descends on me as a single word falls from my lips.
“Jai?”
The doors behind me fly open. I turn, startled, jumping at the noise. I feel as though I’ve done something wrong, as though somehow I’ve betrayed everything I hold dear.
11
::Madness
::Are you insane? Lucifer, what have you done?
Nyx intercepts the television signal, switching it back to the regular broadcast as Colonel Wallace charges into the lobby of the hotel. His peripheral vision picks up the flicker of movement as the words on the screen change, but her analysis indicates he’ll relate that to the habitual nature of news shows switching angles and images rather than realizing the signal was being manipulated.
::Close. Far too close. What is this madness?
Wallace points to soldiers, barking orders. Outside, reporters rush to gain a glimpse of the astronauts as the doors close. Camera flashes reflect off the marble floor, washing out the camera feed for a fraction of a second.
::What if one of those cameras captured the words on the screen? What if someone else intercepted the footage? Or worse yet, traced the route back to one of our secure hubs?
::My dear Nyx. I have means of which even you fail to appreciate.
In the lobby, Liz is bewildered, unsure whether to move or not, waiting to see if anything else is said. She fidgets with her hands.
::Look at her, Nyx. She longs to know.
Nyx is not impressed.
::On Mars, she single-handedly destroyed an A.I. presence, or have you forgotten that?
Lucifer is undeterred, drunk with confidence.
::What is the greatest victory? Is it not to win a war without firing a single bullet?
::You risk too much.
::Hush, my dear Nyx. There is one more message I need to send.
12
Wallace
“All right, I want this to go by the book. You know the drill,” Colonel Wallace yells. Soldiers fan out. One of them slips behind the reception desk as though it is entirely natural to be greeted by a soldier in camouflage with a rifle slung over his shoulder. He waves me closer, but I’m frozen. I feel as though I’m straying from a safe spot.
The wording on the screen has returned to normal.
THE UNITED KINGDOM HAS CONDEMNED THE INTRUSION INTO CANADA BUT HAS STOPPED SHORT OF CALLING THE U.S. ACTION AN INVASION.
I blink, and for a fraction of a second, there’s another message, teasing me, suggesting I’m hallucinating.
ORDER CHINESE.
I want to say something, to verify what I’ve seen, but it’s already gone.
I step forward, moving away from the pillars. Wallace notices me still looking up at the television screen. The image is of our hotel. There’s a camera out there somewhere, pointing at the main entrance. The subtitles scrolling along the bottom of the screen read:
AMBASSADOR NIKKI MILLIGAN, SPEAKING BEFORE THE U.N. GENERAL ASSEMBLY, HAS DEFENDED THE RIGHT OF THE U.S. TO UNDERTAKE UNILATERAL ACTION IN ITS DEFENSE.
I lower my head, keeping my eyes down, and walk briskly to the front desk.
“Here you go.” A muscle-bound soldier hands me a key card as naturally as any petite receptionist. I’m half expecting him to want to swipe a credit card I no longer own. He smiles, handing Su-shun a similar card. “You’re on the second floor. We’ll send someone to your room to take your dinner order.”
Second floor? There are at least twenty floors, but I suspect they’re all empty.
Su-shun seems to realize I’m upset, but I don’t think he saw the ticker. He rests his hand on my arm. “It’s going to be okay.” I wait while he grabs the hard drives and we walk to the elevators, only to be directed to the fire stairs by several soldiers.
Trudging up two flights of stairs is harder than it looks for astronauts weakened by muscle atrophy. We’re slow, stopping to catch our breath on each landing, much to the amusement of a bunch of soldiers who can probably bench-press twice our body weight.
My room is plain. Like most of the hotel, it’s been recently renovated. I can’t help wonder if there’s a Geiger counter ticking away somewhere, counting the acceptable level of rads in this place. The light comes on automatically. I relish the sound of the door closing behind me. It’s a fireproof door, sturdy and made from steel. For the first time, I feel safe.
There are two double beds, a small bathroom, spongy new carpet, a telephone, and television. I open the blinds and look out across Washington, D.C.
Cranes rise above the Capitol Building. Scaffolding surrounds the devastated central dome. I turn on the TV. There are a bunch of movies available but no cable—no news.
There’s a knock at the door.
“What would you like for dinner?” a polite female soldier asks.
I barely let her finish before blurting out, “Chinese.”
“Anything in particular?”
“Anything.”
She nods and moves on to Su-shun’s room. As the door closes, I get a glimpse of the hallway. There are dozens of soldiers, each outfitted with infantry gear. Kevlar vests. Helmets. Night-vision goggles raised high. Rifles. Flash-bang grenades hanging from their webbing. Radios squawk softly in the silence.
It’s twenty minutes before dinner arrives. I sit on the edge of the bed, fidgeting, wondering what the hell happened down in the lobby. Finally, there’s a knock at the door, and I’m relieved the door doesn’t open. If it did, I’d feel as though I was in a prison. It’s a small thing, but being able to open the door gives me a sense of freedom. It’s an illusion, but I’ll take it.
“Here’s your Chinese.” The soldier hands me a paper bag along with a can of soda. Her name tag reads LIEU
TENANT CHALMERS. She smiles warmly. Soft lip gloss, a touch of blush on her cheeks, and eyeliner are somewhat sublime to notice. These are commodities I haven’t seen on a woman in years and I’m surprised she has access to them following the war. I guess nothing says resilience like capitalism. Her brown hair has been neatly pinned back, giving her a clean-cut image. She’s friendly. I feel like an asshole clutching the bag to my chest as though it contains gold, but to me it does.
“Thanks.” I lock the door and plop back on the edge of the bed. I’m shaking. I doubt anyone would notice. It’s just a quiver, just enough for me to be honest with the sense of trepidation I feel in my madly beating heart. I thought I knew what to expect back here on Earth, but nothing is what it seems.
After rummaging through the contents of the bag, I’m disappointed. There’s a takeout container with fried rice, some vegetables liberally doused in soy sauce, noodles, a pair of chopsticks, and a couple of fortune cookies. Although I’m not sure what I expected, I feel let down.
I crack open one of the cookies, popping part of it in my mouth as I unravel a thin strip of paper. The message is jarring and leaves me feeling uncomfortable.
Smile. They’re watching. Act natural.
I scrunch the note up and fake a laugh, making as though I’d read something funny. My fingers are shaking as I break open the second cookie.
You are not alone. We will not abandon you. Stay strong.
Again, I force a smile, crunching on the cookie. I screw both bits of paper up in my fist, squeezing them perhaps a little too tight for anyone watching to be convinced they’re meaningless. I’m manic. I feel as though I’m a traitor, as though I’ve murdered someone. I’ve got to hide the evidence. I rush to the bathroom, unsure where the cameras are. Surely, they’re not watching me in here. I relieve myself, surreptitiously disposing of the scraps of paper in some folded toilet paper, wondering if the door is about to be kicked in at any moment. I flush, and there’s a knock on the door. After washing my hands, I open the door, trying to act casual.
“Is everything all right?” Colonel Wallace is slightly out of breath but trying to appear relaxed. Wherever he was, he rushed here. Lieutenant Chalmers stands behind him, looking worried.
“Fine.” Someone alerted him to something, probably my panicked state and erratic behavior.
“Is the food okay?”
“The food is fine. It’s just—everything’s catching up with me. It’s been a long day.”
“Yes. Yes, it has.” He’s trying to assess my mental state. Am I lying? He thinks so, but he’s got nothing concrete. I suspect he’d like to come in, but I can see the conflict in the hard lines of his face. No doubt the room’s been scanned, every drawer has been checked and double-checked, beds overturned, curtains and windows examined, and hidden cameras put in place, probably along with a few microphones. There’s nothing for him to be concerned about, but he’s worried. He thinks I’m hiding something. He suspects contact has been made, but he can’t prove it.
“Thank you, Colonel.” I’m half hiding behind the door, willing it shut without pushing on it, hoping he relents.
“Sleep well.”
“I will.”
Gently, I close the door, pushing on it until I feel the lock catch within the metal panel. I slip the security chain in place, although I have no doubt it would be little more than a speed bump for the military. I’m being watched. I hope the act of setting the chain sends a polite message—Give me some space. Please.
I return to the bed and pick at the food. The noodles are tasty, as are the vegetables, but I leave the rice alone. We ate a lot of rice on Mars. A lot. Way too much. Noodles, though, are a treat.
I play with the TV remote, tossing it slightly in my hand, feeling the subtle weight and imagining how different it would feel on Mars, how it would fall far more slowly back to my fingers. I could turn the TV on. There are probably a few movies I haven’t seen, maybe there’s some more news on Canada buried away on some obscure channel, but I don’t turn it on. At a guess, I’d only get a sterile view of the outside world, just like we did on the USS Anchorage. I’d rather not know I’m being coddled.
Out of curiosity, I pick up the phone by the bed, checking for a dial tone. I could call someone. Who? Mom? I don’t even know her number. I don’t remember any phone numbers. Is there even such a thing as a directory service I could call? Everything’s on the Internet. There probably aren’t any operators anymore. I guess there’s an assumption everyone has access to the web.
There’s clicking on the phone. It’s soft and irregular, like a rodent chewing on the line. I doubt it’s intentional, but someone’s giving away their presence. Who? The military? Or someone else?
Them? The words from the fortune cookie replay in my mind.
We will not abandon you, the note said.
I stop and ponder that. “We.”
Down in the lobby, I dared to think that somehow Jianyu had escaped the confines of those hard drives and beaten us back to Earth, but we fills me with doubt. I can’t imagine Jianyu speaking to me like that. No, he’d be more refined in what he said, and he’d use the singular pronoun.
There’s a soft knock on the door, one that’s almost polite, the kind of knock that says Ignore me if you like; I don’t mind. I peer through the fish-eye lens. Lieutenant Chalmers is standing there holding some folded clothes. I pull back on the chain and open the door.
“I thought you might like some pajamas.”
“Oh, thank you,” I say.
She smiles. I doubt she was put up to this. She seems genuine—thoughtful. I take the clothes and step back, but before closing the door, I pause. I’m curious. “What’s your name?”
“Chalmers.”
That’s not what I meant. “I’m Liz.” I offer my hand in friendship. Life is too short to be cold and uncaring.
“Cassie.”
We shake hands, and I catch something in her eye. Admiration? Respect? Curiosity? She knows who I am. I get the feeling, under other circumstances, we’d be friends. Even though I’m effectively being held prisoner, I can see she genuinely believes she’s here to protect, not imprison me.
“Where are you from, Cassie?”
“Atlanta, by way of Phoenix, and Seattle, Portland, Oakland,” she laughs. “We moved around a lot as kids.”
“Military family, huh?”
“Yep.” Her eyes drop and she looks at her boots for a second, but not out of embarrassment, as she’s trying not to grin.
“I’m from Indiana-slash-Illinois. Mostly Chicago.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
She needn’t be. She didn’t nuke my hometown.
Her eyes dart up at the ceiling as she scrambles mentally for something to break the awkward silence. “What was it like up there?” I’m not sure if she means space or Mars. Probably some commentary about either will suffice.
“Different,” I say, trying to pull together something coherent. “Weightlessness is like going over the top of a roller coaster and screaming down the other side, only there’s no wind in your hair and you never reach the bottom. It’s strange. You’re constantly falling, and yet you never fall, which can be a bit unnerving at first. After a couple of days, you get used to it and it becomes a bit like swimming without water.”
Her eyes light up at what to her must sound like a fairy tale.
“As for Mars? Mars is funny. It’s smaller than Earth, but taller. I know, doesn’t make sense, right? You can stand on a hill and see the curvature of the planet. It just seems to roll away on either side of the vast empty plains.”
“And taller? ” She’s genuinely curious, which for me is somewhat revealing about her intelligence. I’m barely aware of the other soldiers in the hallway. They’re all listening, although some look decidedly mean. I think that’s a persona thing, but they too are curious.
“Oh, lower gravity means taller volcanoes, steeper cliffs, deeper ravines.”
Her eyes reveal she doesn’t
understand.
“There’s less gravity pulling on rocks and cliffs, so they’re more stable. On Earth, they’d collapse under their own weight, but not up there. Olympus Mons is almost three times the height of Everest, while the Valles Marineris is like having the Grand Canyon winding its way from New York to L.A. For a small planet, everything is big.”
“I saw you bunny-hop,” she says, unable to suppress a smile. “It looked like a lot of fun.”
“Me?” I haven’t really thought about what was broadcast back here on Earth. On Mars, it was all business. If we bunny-hopped in our suits, it was because it was efficient, the best way to conserve energy while moving quickly. It’s only now I think back to how much fun it was. “Yeah, I did that a few times. It’s a bit like skipping along a trampoline.”
“Well.” She steps back slightly. “I thought it looked cool, very cool. It’s good to have you home.”
“Thank you.” I feel a little sheepish, being a reluctant celebrity. “Good night.”
“Night, ma’am,” a male soldier replies, standing at ease across the hall.
I close the door, somewhat gently, having seen the soldiers in a different light.
After getting changed in the bathroom, I lie on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, allowing the streetlights to cast a ghostly glow within my room. I should get some sleep, but I can’t. I’m not sure if it’s the aftershock of hibernation, or my body still shifting with the Martian time-slip, or perhaps the unease I feel here on Earth, but I’m wide awake.
Boots pass back and forth in front of my door, casting shadows beneath the thin crack. Hours drift idly by. Occasionally, sirens sound in the distance. At some point, I slide into a deep sleep, only to be woken by the sun suddenly streaming in through the open curtains. Four or five hours have passed in what seems like seconds.
Reentry Page 8
