by A. G. Riddle
Against my will, I feel myself blushing again as I shake my head at his boasting.
The video was taken from a supply capsule we sent up to the ISS a few months ago, and Sam takes in every second of it, mesmerized.
“One of these days, we’re going to go up to that ship. Would you like to see it?”
Sam nods, excited, then his eyebrows knit together, eyes flush with fear, as if he’s just remembered something. His voice is shaky and quiet. “W-w-where’s my mom? And dad?”
James doesn’t bat an eye. “We’ll talk about that soon. As soon as we can, Sam. I promise you. Just like I promised you that we’d show you the videos of the spaceship. Do you believe me?”
Sam glances away.
James pulls up a cartoon on the tablet. “You know, when I was a kid, I loved this show. Space Labs.”
The intro starts playing, a spaceship buzzing through our solar system, past the Earth, Moon, Mars, and Venus. Two Labrador retrievers in space suits sit in the cockpit, pulling levers as the ship bounces around.
James holds the tablet between him and Sam and watches as the Labs set the ship down on a rocky planet and venture out, a human crewmember trailing behind them.
Sam is enthralled by the show, just as he was by the videos of the supercarriers. Gradually, perhaps even without realizing it, he snuggles in beside James and they watch together.
After two episodes, James grabs two more MREs. “Are you hungry?”
Sam nods.
“What’s it going to be? Sloppy joe or beef stew?”
Sam points to the sloppy joe and eats it a little more slowly as he watches the show.
“You know, Sam, when I was a kid, I didn’t talk much.”
Sam gazes up at James.
“It’s true. It was hard for me to talk. Some of the words just didn’t want to come out. I dreaded it, even. I stayed in my room and read and dreamed about all the things I wanted to build when I grew up. Machines that helped us and never judged us and didn’t care how a person talks or about anything else. But you know what?”
Sam’s eyes are glued to James.
“After a while, it just went away. That happens to a lot of people. Talking just gets easier. But you have to practice.” James pauses. “I want you to know that you can talk to us. About anything. We don’t care if it’s hard for you to speak sometimes. Or if it takes a while for the words to come out. We’re here to listen and help. Do you understand?”
Sam nods and by just a little bit, nestles closer to James as the next episode starts. Half an hour later, he’s snoring.
James ends the show and sets the tablet aside, but doesn’t move to get up. He stays snuggled in to Sam.
“So you’ve decided?” I ask, voice quiet. “We’re going to the ships? Leaving Earth?”
“I’ve been thinking about it. There are lots of problems with staying on Earth. The biggest is power. I can’t solve it.”
“But…” I whisper.
“But there are lots of problems with leaving too.”
“Such as?”
“In the short term? Convincing people to do it. In fact, I’m not even sure our team will go for it. Grigory won’t. He wants to stay and fight. I doubt Min will be in favor of leaving either. He’s risk-averse. Harry… he’s probably on board. Izumi and Charlotte, who knows? Fowler and Earls are also wild cards.”
“Then we have to convince them.”
“Yeah.” He glances down at Sam. “What do you think?”
“I think I love him.”
James smiles. “Yeah.”
A moment later, he says, voice just above a whisper, “It’s important to speak slowly to him.”
“Okay.”
“And use facial expressions and body language if you can. I asked him a lot of questions today, but we really want to get him to talk on his own. Comment on things and see if he adds something.”
“Got it.”
We lie there, minutes passing, both staring at the ceiling, Sam cuddled in between us.
“What happens next?”
“I think everyone from the Citadel needs a few more days, then we meet and decide what to do.”
“Where’s Arthur now?”
“Still locked up.”
“He went back into confinement?”
“The seven army rifles pointed at him were pretty convincing,” James says.
“Do you trust him?”
“No.”
“Think he’ll try to double-cross us?”
“I’m expecting it.”
The flap to our cubicle draws back and Harry leans in. “Hey, guys, the drones are about to reach Camp Four.” He sees Sam sleeping then, and lowers his voice. “Oh, sorry.” He does a double-take when he realizes the child isn’t Allie. Harry smiles tenderly and tips his head toward James, silently complimenting his friend on the act of kindness.
We alert Madison that she has another child to keep an eye on, and thankfully she doesn’t seem to mind. Across the way, I can hear children crying and arguing. In the Citadel, we told them it was all temporary, that we’d leave and go home. But there are no homes to go back to. Reality has caught up to the Band-Aid that was our empty promises. These kids can’t play outside, can’t go home and get their toys. Like their parents, a lot of their friends are simply gone, and will never return.
In the bunker’s situation room, a bank of screens on the far wall shows real-time data from the drones. Several of the team are already here, sitting at the long conference table: Colonel Earls, Izumi, Charlotte, and Min. James, Harry, and I take our seats as Fowler comes in, Grigory behind him, looking disheveled and sleepy. I know why Grigory hasn’t been sleeping well. I can’t imagine what he’s going through after losing Lina.
We’re all focused on the wall screen, which shows an aerial view of a snow-covered expanse of flat land. A massive round indentation lies ahead on the left. The impact crater. A smooth white bowl carved into the snowfield. Farther out, small lumps pock the otherwise flat ground, the remains of habitats, pieces of the homes sticking above the snow like limbs of a buried shrub.
“The drone is crossing the southern edge of the camp,” James says.
“Looks like the asteroid made landfall just outside of the camp, not dead center,” Fowler says.
“Correct,” James replies. “That’s both good news and bad.”
I wonder what he means by that. Before I can ask, Fowler says, “Any idea of the size?”
James picks up the tablet on the table and selects a still image from the drone telemetry and draws a line across the crater.
“I’d say this one is about ten percent the size of the crater at the Citadel.”
The lumps in the snow grow taller as the drone flies on. The habitats farthest from the impact craters obviously sustained the least amount of damage. Still, there are no heat signatures on the map.
Each camp in the Atlantic Union has greenhouses for food and warehouses for storage. Or used to. Some camps, like Seven, had specialized factories and warehouses. In each camp, the habitats are clustered together at the center, the warehouses and greenhouses on the periphery. I never knew why, but I’m assuming it was for some military reason, maybe spreading out the buildings in each camp served some purpose. The asteroid strike here at Camp Seven was large enough to take down all of our greenhouses and warehouses. But the impact was much smaller at Camp Four. Maybe some of their storage facilities survived.
James pulls up a city-planning document from the AtlanticNet. “The asteroid made a pretty direct hit on the main food warehouse on the southern edge of the camp. That’s the bad news.” He taps on the tablet, issuing commands to the drone. “I’m going to fly the perimeter now, see if any of the other facilities survived.”
The first warehouse on the horizon lies in a large rubble pile.
“There should be a greenhouse to the right,” James says. “It’s completely gone.”
A minute later, a warehouse emerges on the horizon. The walls are wa
rped and punctured in places, but it’s still standing.
“That’s warehouse four-one-two. It’s the second largest in Camp Four.”
“Please tell me it’s not filled with tires and car parts,” Harry says.
“We’re in luck,” James responds. “The AU inventory says it’s stocked with food, water, and excess habitat parts.”
“Jackpot,” Harry says jovially.
When the drone reaches the warehouse, the screen lights up with heat signatures. Survivors. Inside the warehouse.
James smiles wide. “It gets better. Drone estimates one hundred survivors inside.”
“Good work, James,” Fowler says. “How big is that warehouse?”
“AU records say it’s about a hundred thousand square feet.”
“Ten times the size of this bunker.”
“And,” James adds, “with working solar panels on the roof.”
Fowler nods. “If it’s structurally sound,” he glances at the ceiling, “or at least more structurally sound than this bunker, we need to start planning to move there.”
“I agree,” James says. “I’ll take a team. Wish we had a helo.”
“There was an army depot at Camp Four,” Colonel Earls says, “but it was close to the impact crater. It’s gone.”
“That’s probably the other reason the grid chose that strike point,” James says. “Takes out the food, weapons, and survival gear.”
“Are there depots in every camp?” Min asks.
“Yes,” Earls responds. “But most are pretty small. The camps out on the perimeter of the Union had the largest facilities. The logic was that in the event of an invasion, the battle lines would be there. There are more automated aerial defenses in the interior camps, but those don’t help us.”
“Hopefully we’ll find what we need when the scans of the other camps come in,” James says. “Food is still our biggest immediate concern. We’re continuing with the search of the debris here in Camp Seven, but we don’t have much more ground to cover.”
“How much food do we have left?” I ask. The memory of being dangerously hungry is still fresh in my mind. I’m not eager to relive it.
“Seven days. That’s assuming we don’t find any more food buried out there in the rubble.”
“How long will it take to reach Camp Four?” I ask.
James glances at Earls, who is more familiar with what kind of speed the trucks can make.
“It’s hard to say,” Earls says. “I’m assuming we’re talking about a convoy of trucks and troop carriers?”
James nods.
“They’re not exactly built for speed. Before, when the roads were hard-packed dirt, we could get to Camp Four in a few hours. Now, who knows? The roads are the main issue. They’re covered in snow and who knows what else. Could be debris under there. Mini craters from the asteroid ejecta falling back to Earth. Possibly abandoned vehicles.” Earls thinks for a moment. “We’ve attached plow blades to several of the trucks. They’ll clear the path, but we’ll probably have to go off road in places. Beneath the snow, the desert is likely to be sludge. The trucks could get stuck. We’ll include a track truck, just in case. The lead truck plowing the snow is going to have a heavy burden on its fuel cell. We’ll rotate out, but my guess is that the convoy will have to stop to recharge. The diminished solar output will further slow us down.”
“Best guess on travel time?” Fowler asks.
Earls blows out a breath, thinking. “Maybe thirty hours. I’m really not sure.”
“How do we proceed once we get there?” Fowler asks. The question hangs in the air like a jump ball. James glances at Earls, silently questioning whether this is a military operation that he would plan.
Earls holds a hand out to James. “Please.”
“Well, I think after we make contact, we should send some food back on one of the troop carriers. Assuming the last warehouse inventory taken is correct, these folks have a lot more than we do, and we’ve likely got some things they need—medicine for one. Beyond that, I think we should probably keep going to the next camp. We’ll have new data from the drones by the time we reach Camp Four. There could even be another camp in even better shape. I want to keep moving and making contact with the other camps quickly.”
“You’re going?” The question slips out before I can even think about it. After being trapped in the Citadel without James, I’m in no hurry to see him leave.
He doesn’t make eye contact with me. “Yes. I want to see first-hand what we have to work with in those warehouses. It could mean the difference between survival and extinction.” James looks over at Grigory. “You up for it?”
“Sure,” he replies quietly.
James probably wants him on the team because he’s scared to leave Grigory with Arthur. But I think he’s also trying to help his friend, to keep Grigory busy, his thoughts off Lina.
“I’ll send six of my best with you,” Earls says. “There was also an infantry officer among the survivors, Captain Brightwell. I think you’ve met.”
“We have,” James replies.
“She has a lot more combat experience than me or any of my troops. I’d recommend her for the mission.”
“Be glad to have her along,” James says before turning to Izumi. “They’ll probably also need medical assistance.”
“Of course. Things are pretty stable here.”
“Want me to tag along?” Harry asks. “Happy to.”
“Thanks, but I think you’d better stay here and keep inventorying the wreckage. We need to know what we have left to work with here as well. Odds are robotics is going to be a large part of what comes next. Whatever that is. We can’t afford to lose both of us.”
Harry studies James a moment. “In that case, if we’re going to lose one of us, I think I’m the better candidate.”
James shakes his head. “You spent more time down in the Citadel. You need to focus on getting back to a hundred percent. I’ve been well fed here in the CENTCOM bunker. And I’m one of the most recognized people in the world. I think I’m a good representative.”
“To negotiate,” Min says.
“Yes. I’m not sure what we’ll find out there, but I think it’s safe to say that possession is now the new rule of law. I fully expect this reunion to be more of a negotiation.”
“You mentioned medicine before,” Min says. “What if they don’t need any? Then what do we have to offer? Camp Seven is probably in the worst shape—if Camp Four is any indication of the others.”
I know the answer. The other camps will likely have more people, more food, and more living space. But we have something they all need: a way off this planet. We also have possibly the only people in the world who can pull it off. But the team hasn’t discussed that decision yet.
James, to his credit, is cautious here in front of the group. “We’ll have to see what they want.”
The team spends the rest of the afternoon planning the expedition. By nightfall, the soldiers have loaded the caravan with supplies. They’ll leave at first light, and I sense that James is a little nervous about it. I wonder if what happened to Oscar has made him more cautious. There’s no telling what tricks the grid might have left waiting out there. I’m glad he’s cautious. That fear could help keep him alive.
We decide to let Allie spend the night with Madison, David, and her cousins, leaving James, Sam, and me in our cubicle.
James and Sam stay up late watching Space Labs, James occasionally commenting on things happening on the show, encouraging Sam to speak. But he remains silent. That’s going to take some time.
Finally, James turns the show off.
“Sorry, Sam. Time for bed. Big day tomorrow.” James peers down at him. “Emma and I would like it if you slept here tonight. Would that be okay?”
Sam nods and beds down between us, curling into James. After a few moments, I hear him crying. James puts a hand on his back. “It’s okay, Sam. Everything is going to be okay. I promise.”
Chapt
er 33
James
We leave at first light, and that light is a dim, hazy burning on the horizon, a sun being slowly shrouded, its life-giving radiation fading each day.
Seven Atlantic Union armored troop carriers comprise our convoy, big, lumbering vehicles that carve their way through the snow-packed streets, throwing ice off on each side, leaving deep ruts in their wake.
In the cab of the last vehicle, Grigory and I ride in silence, him stewing as he drives, me studying the supercarrier schematics. Transforming it into an interstellar ship in fourteen months… can it be done? Even with Arthur’s help? I’m not convinced. And I’ve got to convince everyone else. Starting with Grigory.
We don’t even stop to eat, only for routine bathroom breaks and to let the power cells recharge. As Earls predicted, it’s slow going on these ruined roads. Well beyond Camp Seven, the road is littered with random bits of debris and rocks. We drive all day, until the white expanse of ice and snow swallows the hazy yellow-brown sun.
We’d keep going if we could, but the energy cells are nearly sapped. We’ve left just enough power for the space heaters that will keep us warm tonight. The trucks’ engines won’t run again until sunrise.
Grigory and I bed down in the back of the troop carrier on thick blankets, both looking weary, both anxious to reach the warehouse.
This seems like as good a moment as any to make my case to him.
“The way I see it, we—what’s left of the human race—have two choices. Go underground or leave Earth.”
“Or fight,” Grigory says.
“With what? The orbital satellite network is down. I’m assuming the Centurion drones are too—probably taken out by the asteroids. The Centurions are programmed to move into Earth orbit if comms are lost with the orbital network and make direct contact. If they were out there, we would have made contact from CENTCOM. There was no response when we pinged them. They’re gone.”
