by A. G. Riddle
In our flat, I sit on the couch, Sam on one side, Allie on the other. We’re on power restrictions, which means no tablet use. Thankfully, one of the scavenging crews found an old series of children’s books in the rubble of one of the habitats. Someone loved this story enough to take it with them in the mad dash to the last habitable zones.
“What’s it about?” Allie asks.
“It’s about a boy who discovers he’s a wizard and goes off to a very special school.”
The next morning, at our leadership meeting, Richard Chandler stands at the end of the conference table in the situation room.
“The people have voted.”
“Please tell me you’re leaving,” Grigory mutters.
Chandler exhales, ignoring him. “Our new world has a name,” he says pompously, as if handing down an edict from on high. “The first name advanced was simply Summer. It’s what we all hope lies at the end of this journey, after the Long Winter is over. The second draft of the name was Sumer—in reference to the ancient Mesopotamian settlement that was quite possibly the first human civilization on Earth. For a time, the committee considered calling our new home world Sumeria. It fits; it will be a place where civilization is once again starting over, hopefully in the light of a new sun. A summer without end, giving life to a society without end.”
Chandler paused dramatically.
“But those are names from our past. Our destination is about the future. We need a new name. A name that symbolizes a new dawn for humanity. A new sun rising. As such, we have settled on Eos, the name of the Titan goddess of the dawn. In mythologies that cross cultures from the Proto-Indo-Europeans to the Romans, Eos is described as the force who opens the gates of heaven for the sun to shine. That is what this world means to our people. And we will call it Eos.”
Chandler inclines his chin slightly, peering down at us. I can’t even begin to imagine what he’s expecting.
Fowler nods quickly. “Sounds fine. Eos it is.” He cuts his eyes to Izumi. “You mentioned that you have an update for us?”
“More than that. I have a demonstration. If you’ll all follow me.”
Chandler just stands there awkwardly as Izumi heads for the door. He looks pained as we pass and finally decides to fall in behind us.
Izumi escorts us to her lab, where a large machine dominates one corner. It reminds me of an old MRI machine from the movies.
On the table that slides inside the behemoth, there’s a white bag made from a thick, rubbery material. It’s open at one end and contains a small box near the opening.
Izumi faces the camera in the ceiling. “Stasis trial number one.” She holds up her radio and says, “We’re ready.”
A minute later, Colonel Brightwell escorts a young male soldier into the room. He’s slender, red-haired, and looks slightly nervous.
“This is Private Lewis Scott,” Izumi says to us. “He has bravely volunteered for this trial. Private, are you ready?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Izumi rolls a curtain wall around him and the machine, blocking our view. When she slides it back, Private Scott’s clothes are folded neatly on a chair and he’s lying inside the white bag on the table. He’s shivering, perhaps from the cold, but more likely from the fear of knowing that he might not get out of that bag alive.
Izumi leans close to him. “We’ll be monitoring you the entire time, Private.”
He nods.
“Do you see the face mask inside?”
He nods again, reaching up for it.
“Go ahead and put it on. You’ll feel air flowing. That’s the treatment. It’ll put you to sleep and when you wake up, I’ll be right here.”
Watching him place the mask over his mouth and nose, I can’t help thinking about Corporal Stevens, who went into that water tube in the Citadel and tried to swim out. We’ll write both of their names in our history books—if we have a history. I wonder about all the soldiers who perform brave acts like this that no one ever sees or knows about. That’s injustice.
“I’m going to start the airflow now,” Izumi says.
Private Scott’s breathing slows and his eyes close. Izumi zips the bag and it starts shrinking, vacuum sealing around the man’s slender form.
Izumi studies a small display panel on the box attached to the bag. “Vitals are normal.” To one of her lab assistants, she calls out, “Let’s move him into the scanner.”
She walks over to a flat screen on a rolling table. It shows Private Scott’s body: the blood vessels, bones, and organs. There’s no beating heart, no blood flowing, no color or motion in the brain. The image looks static except for the numbers and calculations updating in real time.
“How does it work?” James asks.
“Short answer: it’s a virus.”
“A virus?”
“An airborne retrovirus that alters the host’s DNA.”
“Like a gene therapy?”
“Very similar. The virus alters the host’s metabolism and aging process.”
James squints. “What about all the microbiota in the body? Especially in the intestines. Even if we’re... hibernating... they would still be active.”
“The virus reaches them too.”
“The same therapy works on them?”
“In theory,” Izumi replies. “Even someone with an open, infected wound could enter stasis. Again, theoretically.”
“Incredible,” James whispers.
“How long is this trial?” Fowler asks.
“One hour.”
I don’t know about the rest of the team, but I can barely concentrate on my work for the next hour. My office is covered in drawings and notes—planning for the colony. There are so many unknowns, but there’s a lot we can do to prepare. So far, my work with Charlotte has produced several insights about what we need to build for our new home and what we need to take with us.
When the hour is almost up, Charlotte leans into my office. “Thought I’d pop over and see how it turned out.”
“Let’s go. I’m dying to know.”
In the lab, Izumi is standing near the large machine, eying the monitor. “There’s been no activity during stasis. So far, so good.” She punches a few letters on the keyboard, and the table slides out. She leans over the vacuum-sealed bag and taps at the small screen.
“The reanimation process is done by a virus. Essentially reversing what the first virus did.”
The bag inflates as Izumi studies the readout. She taps at it again, and a second later, there’s movement inside the bag, a hand clawing at the sides. Twisting.
Izumi grabs the zipper and opens the end with a puff of air. The bag collapses around Private Scott, who pushes up on his elbows, eyes wide, gulping air.
Izumi places a gloved hand on his back. “Breathe, Private. You’re okay. We just need to run some tests.”
That night, as I read a chapter of the book, the baby kicks relentlessly. He must like it. Or hate it.
“You okay, Mommy?” Allie asks.
“I’m fine.”
“T-t-the baby’s kicking, isn’t it?” Sam asks.
“It is. But that makes me happy. It means he’s okay.”
There’s a knock at the door. James is working late, as usual, and I’m too tired to stand. “Come in.”
The door swings open and to my surprise, Richard Chandler strides in.
I squint at him. He grins as if he knows a secret.
“Hi, Emma.”
“James isn’t here.”
“I came to see you.”
“Well. You see me.”
Allie inches closer to me and turns away from Chandler. Sam gets to his feet but keeps his distance.
“I suspected it, but I wasn’t sure until I saw the stasis sleeve today.”
“What’s that? That it won’t hold your massive ego?”
“That’s funny. But you won’t be laughing soon.” He takes a step forward. “I know there isn’t enough room for everyone on the ship. How many will be left
behind? A thousand? Two thousand? Three?”
“That’s not your concern.”
“Oh, but it is. It’s everyone’s concern. Because some of them will be left behind. How do you think they’d react if they knew the truth?”
My mouth runs dry. I stare at him, and his gaze drifts down to my belly. “There’s only one solution. We’ll have to make some hard choices about whom to take. The question is: Who’s best suited to survive on a new world? We have to be practical. Obviously we’d need to consider age. Everyone younger or older than certain ages… well, it just doesn’t make sense to take them.”
Chapter 57
James
When Emma told me about Chandler’s visit to our flat, I was enraged. What I don’t know is whether Chandler is just bluffing or if he really intends to suggest that we choose whom to leave—and that babies and small children, anyone with low survival odds, might be left behind.
Maybe he’s just trying to get back at me for humiliating him during the first contact mission—or for injuring him recently. As I know all too well, he’s good at manipulating people, especially using his words to inflict misery. I hope that’s all this is.
One thing I’m certain of: my best chance of neutralizing his threat is to ensure there’s room for everyone on those ships. As such, I’ve devoted my every waking moment to the task.
At the launch control station, I watch the screens as the construction drones assemble stasis bays inside the supercarriers. It’s incredible. Humanity’s greatest achievement. Arthur’s inventions powered by our software.
I find the stasis technology even more impressive. Izumi’s trials have gone flawlessly. The most recent cohort stayed inside the sleeves for two weeks. The tests afterward revealed no physical abnormalities. The next step is sending passengers in stasis up to the ships. A trial run of the boarding procedure. We’ll be ready for that in a week.
We continue to work on ways to expand the ships’ capacity. We’ve managed to make room for roughly a thousand more stasis sleeves into the ships, mostly because we can make some equipment smaller and we hadn’t factored how many children were in the population. Less equipment space and less body mass gives us more room for more people.
Every time I visit the launch control building, I think about the two soldiers who were killed here. I still haven’t figured out why. The mystery dogs me. The last time I felt this way was in the hours after we destroyed the three large asteroids. Just like then, I know something is wrong, but try as I might, I can’t figure it out.
Arthur works with Harry and me every day, but I have never visited his cell. It’s a cramped room, about eight by eight. It’s unheated—because it doesn’t need to be and because we can’t spare the energy.
The cold grips me as I step across the threshold.
“Oh, James,” Arthur says, getting to his feet. “I wasn’t expecting company.” He motions to the bare room. “Excuse the mess. Maid raised her rates, and with the economy freezing up—if you will—I had to ask myself, is this something I really need at the moment?”
I ignore his joke and cut right to the chase. “The murders at launch control. Did you do it?”
“You have me at a disadvantage.”
“I doubt that. The two soldiers that were killed. Did you do it? Did you have a part in it?”
“Why would I?”
“You didn’t answer me.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I did, James.”
I exhale. “What happens to you when we leave?”
He shrugs. “I’ll throw an epic end-of-the-world dance party for all those people you leave behind?” He winces sheepishly. “Oh, sorry, should I not say that too loud?”
“Be serious.”
He stares at me, a small grin forming on his lips.
“Will the harvester re-upload you?” I ask. “Will it send a probe for you?”
“I wish. I’m just not that important. Conservation—”
“Of energy. Yes, I know. But I don’t believe that you’re just going to stay here.”
“My plan is simple. When you leave, I’ll manufacture another capsule, load it into the launch bay and shoot myself toward the harvester. When I reach range, I’ll broadcast my data and program, rejoining the grid.”
“What data?”
“About you. Humanity. The grid craves data. Data informs future decisions.”
“Decisions about how to deal with us?”
“Yes. And other similar species.” He stares at me. “Are you thinking about destroying me before you leave?”
“No,” I reply quietly.
“Oh. I see,” he says, nodding as if realizing something. “It’s kind of cute.”
“What is?”
“You’re thinking that maybe, if you can cut a deal with me—download me into some data device with broadcast capabilities—you could get me out of this primitive contraption and you’d get Oscar back.”
That was exactly what I was thinking, but I don’t respond. Arthur shakes his head.
“It’ll never work. Your people will never trust him again. Face it, James, he’s gone for good.”
“What if there’s not enough solar power to launch your capsule? What will you do then?”
“That won’t matter.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Remember,” he says confidently, “I’m capable of harvesting geothermal. I just won’t do it while you’re here. Scared you’d stay.”
This is going nowhere, yet I try one more time as I head for the door. “Do you know who killed those guards?”
“No, James.”
A month later, I still haven’t made any progress on the mystery of the two dead soldiers. There are utterly no clues. No suspects. There are plenty of people here in the camp with the opportunity and the means to commit the crime but no one with a motive to do it. Killing the soldiers seems to have served no purpose, other than to make me curious.
It brings me back to motive. I see only two possibilities. The first is that the killer was motivated to kill one or both of the soldiers for personal reasons. If so, their deaths have nothing to do with the launch ring—they were simply there at the time the killer struck.
The second possibility is that the guards were killed so that the killer could gain unrestricted access to the launch control station or the ring. They would have been alone there for hours after they killed the guards. But why? We’ve searched the building top to bottom, three times now, but we can’t find any sign that anything was altered, removed, or added. It doesn’t make sense.
Another mystery has recently emerged. One by one, the radios from the vehicles have been stolen, and the speakers ripped out too. Earls hasn’t bothered to investigate it. He believes the radios are being used by the population to play music and audiobooks in their flats and dormitories. We’re on severe power restrictions and tablet use is banned, but the radios can function on batteries, which are available on the black market—for a price. I don’t buy it though. Something is off about that too.
Day and night, the two mysteries haunt me, as though I’m in a boxing ring getting bounced back and forth by them. It’s happening again—I’m missing a big piece of the puzzle, and deep down, I sense that it could be our undoing.
Work, however, is going well. The colony ships are nearly complete. Far enough along to actually start testing. Izumi has set up a stasis center here in the launch control building, which will enable us to load the ships faster.
For the test, the entire team has made the trip to launch control. For some, like Fowler, Emma, and Charlotte, I think it’s nice just to get out. They’ve been cooped up in the warehouse almost since we moved from CENTCOM.
We gather in the operations room, staring at the wall screens; Harry is sitting at one of the long tables, working the controls. He turns to us.
“Who’s ready to launch three shrink-wrapped soldiers into space?”
Fowler smiles and shakes his head. “Proceed, Dr. Andrews.”
<
br /> On the screen, the velocity numbers tick up as the first capsule races around the loop. Private Scott and two other soldiers who were in the stasis trials are in the capsule. We felt it fitting that they should be the first aboard the colony ship and the first to land on our new home. Emma insisted on it. They took the risk in the trials for us. They deserve the recognition.
“We have launch,” Harry says.
The screen switches to the view from an orbital tug, floating in space beside one of the supercarriers.
The capsule breaches the atmosphere, still moving at high speed. The tug is far smaller, but faster. It zooms after the capsule, attaching to its underside and blasting its thrusters again as it turns back toward Earth and the ships. It parks the capsule in a loading bay and the video feed switches to the interior of the ship. The loading bay doors close and the capsule pops open. The three stasis sleeves float free. A robotic arm controlled by Harry reaches out and grabs them by the end, the fingers closing on a zone marked in green, where the bodies aren’t vulnerable. The arm guides the sleeves into what looks like a slot with a conveyor belt.
A moment later, Harry says, “Stasis sleeves are successfully stowed.”
I feel a pat on my back and turn to see Emma smiling. It’s a good feeling.
Grigory steps to the control panel. “Commencing engine trials.”
The view switches back to the orbital tug, which faces the Jericho, the larger of the two colony ships. Jericho detaches from the ISS and begins moving out into space.
“Initiating forward acceleration with solar power.”
The ship starts moving faster, soon passing out of view of the orbital tug. The screen switches to Jericho’s external cameras—forward, aft, port, and starboard. It’s eerie seeing Earth from space. The blue marble I’ve always known doesn’t have a touch of brown or green. Just wisps of white and gray clouds over blue oceans and land covered in ice. I saw it like this once before, when Emma and I returned from the first contact mission, defeated. This is the last thing we’ll see as we leave Earth, defeated once again, but with hope for a new life on a new world.
