by A. G. Riddle
“Performance at one hundred and seven percent projected levels,” Grigory says, a small smile crossing his lips. That’s the first time I’ve seen that happen in a long time. It’s certainly the first time he’s smiled since we found Lina. That feels like a lifetime ago now.
He taps on the keyboard as he mumbles, “Switching to fusion reactor.”
Earth keeps growing smaller on the screen. Suddenly, the dim light of the sun grows brighter, like a ray peeking around a black curtain. For the first time, I see the outline of the solar cells between Earth and the sun, choking off the life-giving solar rays.
“Output at ninety-seven percent of expected,” Grigory mutters, grimacing at the display. “This I will work on.”
“Overall,” Fowler says, “it’s a very impressive start, everyone. From the stasis sleeves to launch to ship operations. It’s incredible. Let’s bring her back, Grigory.”
The ship returns to the ISS, the AI using the thrusters to dock.
“I’m going to start the capsule re-entry,” Harry says.
The screen switches to the tug again, which zooms over to the ship, approaching the open loading bay door and the waiting capsule. It attaches and maneuvers out into space, diving toward the Earth. Then it releases the capsule, which hurls toward the ground, glowing red and orange as it enters the atmosphere.
We all exit the launch control station and stand out in the dim morning sun, the giant impact crater spreading out before us, a white bowl in a snow-covered wilderness.
I feel Emma’s hand slide into mine. I look over but she’s staring straight ahead. Min points and I gaze out and catch my first glimpse of the capsule floating back to Earth. The three parachutes are already deployed. Harry and I will have to run some tests on the capsule, but it looks good. In one piece. We don’t know the specifics of Eos’s atmosphere, so we’ve over-engineered the capsules, built them for the harshest re-entry conditions we might find.
When it touches down beyond the crater, Harry smiles. “Well, that’s it, folks. Join us next week for an all new episode—a double feature: ‘Sending food to the ISS and retrieving shrink-wrapped humans from space.’”
Two weeks later, at our morning briefing in the situation room, Chandler stands before us, a pained, almost mournful expression on his face. It’s fake. I remember it from all the TV interviews when he trashed me.
“I’ve done the math. I know you must have done it months ago. But let’s put that behind us. It’s time to face facts: we can’t take all of the survivors with us. It’s only a matter of time before people outside of this room figure that out as well. The camps from Atlanta and the Pac Alliance are overflowing with people. More arrive every day. I have a solution.”
When no one responds, Chandler continues.
“A fitness test. With two components: physical and mental. The physical test will be a full-spectrum health analyzer scan and a brief physical exam, just enough to catalog injuries. The mental portion will be conducted via tablet. We’ll use a standard aptitude test.” Chandler looks directly at me. “There will also be a verbal acuity component. If we’re to survive, it’s imperative that the colonists be able to speak clearly and quickly. On Eos, in hostile conditions, efficient communication may be the difference between life and death.”
My heart is pumping, anger swelling up inside me. I try to force myself to be calm. Thankfully, Fowler speaks before I get a chance.
“That’s a poor solution. The number of man hours to do the testing—and the power for the tablets—simply isn’t available.”
“What are you proposing? Tell me: how will you choose whom we take and whom we must leave on Earth to die?”
“A lottery.”
“A lottery? As in, what, the people randomly selected live and those who aren’t die?”
“It would be random, a computer program that generates numbers matched to a list of all colonists.”
“You would separate families?”
“No. If one family member is selected, the entire family goes. Their numbers are pulled from the lottery pool before the next number is selected.”
“I see. Am I to assume that all of you are exempt from the lottery?”
“Critical personnel will be exempt. People with knowledge about the ships will be included as well as those who will be essential once we reach Eos. That includes a base level of soldiers who may be needed to defend the colonists from any indigenous species we find on our new world.”
“So you’re exempting a lot of military personnel from the lottery. Will those be AU military only?”
“It will be military with relevant experience, who have demonstrated their abilities in the field.”
Chandler cocks his head. “Right. Tell me, Lawrence, how will it work? People aren’t just going to sit and watch their neighbors fly off into space and leave them.”
“The lottery will remain classified.”
“Classified. Bureaucratic speak for a secret you keep from the public.”
Fowler ignores him. “At boarding time, troops will go to the camps and start loading the colonists. They’ll make several trips.”
“And when the ships are full,” Chandler says, “they’ll just leave? Thousands of people will be packed and ready. Families huddled in their cubicles and flats waiting for their number to be called, to go to a new world. When will they give up? A day later? A week? When will they send someone to Camp Nine and launch control and find it empty? What will they do then?” Chandler’s eyes rake across us, and he seems to realize something. “Or is there an aspect of the grid’s deal you’re not telling me? Can we even leave them alive? Are you going to euthanize them? It would be quicker and less painful than leaving them in the cold. You are, aren’t you?”
Fowler grits his teeth. Chandler seems energized by the lack of response.
“If so, it’s now obvious why you’re exempting the AU military from your plan. You need them to execute it. They’ll be going around collecting the colonists. Which is a bit strange. The AU is now the de facto sole world power. Yet it has less than seven percent of the total remaining population. That seven percent rules the rest now. The other camps are scavenging material, just like the AU. Working every day, assuming they’ll have a place on the ships. But not all of them will. They’ll die here. But none of us will—and neither will the AU military.”
Fowler rises. “This discussion is over. And so is this meeting.”
“Consider one thing,” Chandler calls out as the rest of us stand to leave. “The lottery is unfair.”
Fowler shakes his head as he moves to the door.
Chandler steps in front of him, blocking the exit. Earls steps forward. I shouldn’t, but I sort of hope this ends in violence. Unfortunately, Fowler holds a hand up, stopping Earls.
“The people elected me to be their voice,” Chandler says condescendingly. “You ignore me at your own peril.”
Fowler exhales slowly. “Well, I certainly don’t want to imperil myself, Richard, so say whatever you’ve got to say. But make it fast.”
“I think debating the fate of thousands of people deserves whatever time it takes,” Chandler snaps. “That’s fair—unlike your lottery. I’ll prove it. Your lottery will randomly choose between two men without regard to their ability. It chooses who lives and dies with no regard to what they offer the rest of humanity.”
Chandler pauses, seeming happy with the set-up.
“What if one man lost both of his legs in the asteroid strike? He was also hit in the head with shrapnel and has brain damage that severely limits his working capacity. His son is only three years old.” Chandler cuts his eyes at me and continues. “Three is far too young to do any meaningful work to help establish civilization on Eos. Oh, and I almost forgot: the boy has severe cerebral palsy and will likely never be able to contribute substantially to the colony. Like his father, he’ll need to be taken care of. The mother won’t be able to do it. She has terminal cancer. Inoperative, untreatable. She’ll die sh
ortly after we reach Eos.”
Chandler pauses again dramatically, like a lawyer making his closing statement.
“And let’s consider the other man. The one whose lottery number doesn’t come up. Whom we leave behind. He’s a Pac Alliance soldier. Strong. Smart. Fit. He wasn’t on the exempted list because he’s wearing the wrong uniform. He had the misfortune of being born in the wrong country. His son will be left on Earth to die as well. The boy is seventeen and just as strong as his father. His mother is healthy too. Hardworking. Via random chance, you would leave the second family and take the first. Why? What could possibly justify such a senseless act—one that endangers the future survival of everyone who reaches Eos?”
Chandler stares at us a long moment.
“I’ll tell you exactly why you would do that. For your own sake. It takes the burden off of you. You don’t have to choose who lives and who dies among these innocent people. The computer does it so you can sleep at night.”
“We’re done here,” Fowler says.
“These people are breaking their backs every day and they give you authority over them because they think you’ll do everything you can to ensure their survival. Your lottery doesn’t do that. It’s a betrayal. A luxury for your sake, at their expense. If you want all the power, Lawrence, you have to live with the responsibility of using it.”
Emma stands in our bedroom, shaking, as angry as I have ever seen her. So angry she seems to be struggling not to scream.
“Tell me we’re not going to let this happen.”
“We’re not.”
“How?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“He’s dangerous, James.”
“I know. I’m going to handle it.”
A knock at the door echoes through the flat. I step into the common room where Allie and Sam are playing. I crack the door and see Fowler and Earls standing in the corridor, both looking nervous. Fowler motions his head, and I step outside and follow them to a storage closet nearby.
When Earls closes the door, Fowler says, “Chandler. We need to handle him.”
“How?” I whisper.
“An accident,” Earls says. “We deliver a fatal head wound, then bring down the habitat ceiling. It’s believable.”
“To his allies?” I ask. “Probably not.”
“What can they do about it?” Earls replies.
“A lot.”
The three of us are silent for a long moment. I can’t believe I’m considering murdering someone. I’ve devoted my life to using science to help people. My work was dedicated to ending death—for everyone, creating eternal life. Can I take a life?
“Chandler is a problem,” I say quietly. “One we need to deal with. But he also has skills. Robotics engineering will be incredibly valuable when we reach Eos.”
Earls bunches his eyebrows. “We have you and Harry.”
“And we might be on a ship that doesn’t make it. Or arrives second.”
“It’s all moot,” Earls says. “He’s plotting something. That charade in the situation room is part of some plan, I can feel it.”
“We put him in stasis.”
Both men stare at me.
“We grab him tonight,” I continue, “put him in a sleeve, and launch him to the ship tomorrow morning. We’ll tell everyone that he volunteered for a stasis trial. His allies can’t disprove it. He’s out of our way here, and we can bring him back at a time of our choosing—if we need him.”
Fowler stares at the floor. “Okay. Do it.”
That night, I sleep fitfully, waking every few hours, glancing at the clock, checking my tablet for messages. Leaving it on at night is against power-ration regulations, but this situation demands an exception. Finally, I give up on sleep and go out to the common room.
I’m sitting on the couch, staring at my tablet, reviewing the data from the last capsule launch when I hear a knock at the door. I open it to find a young private standing outside, sweat gleaming on his forehead. He must have run here. “Sir. Secretary Earls would like you to join him in the sit room. ASAP, sir.”
I pull some clothes on and hurry down the dark, quiet corridors. Fowler and Earls are standing by the conference table when I arrive. Brightwell closes the door behind me.
“Chandler’s gone,” Fowler says.
“He took his tablet and some clothes from his habitat,” Earls says. “He checked one of the ATVs out of the motor pool.”
“Did he log a destination?” I ask.
“Launch control,” Earls replies.
“Have you contacted them—”
“They haven’t seen him, James. He should have arrived hours ago.”
“Find him. We have to find him. Quickly.”
Chapter 58
Emma
The cold seems to seep in through the walls now, through the thick blankets covering me, Allie, and Sam. It goes right through my thermal underwear, all the way down to my bones, a chill I can’t defend against.
The cold isn’t the only thing closing in.
Every day, the rations are smaller. Each meal I feel a little hungrier after I’ve finished. We overestimated how much time we have here on Earth. The good news is that we’re ahead of schedule with the ships and stasis. It’s a good thing. We wouldn’t have made it otherwise.
On the couch in our flat, I hold the final volume in the seven-book series, reading to Allie and Sam and their four cousins. They’re all crowded around me, snuggled into the blankets. In a way it’s kind of nice—the kids together, quiet, listening instead of staring into their tablets.
A contraction grips me, and I have to stop reading and focus on my breathing. They’ve been coming for the last few days. A few at a time, always passing. And this one does as well.
My sister Madison sits cross-legged on the floor, knitting.
“Another one?” she asks quietly.
“Yeah,” I breathe.
Allie takes my hand. “Mom, you okay?”
“I’m fine, sweetie.”
Abby takes the book from my hand and begins reading. We’ve been alternating chapters.
In this crowded warehouse, I feel as though the cold is pressing against me from the outside and my unborn child is pressing from the inside. I’m caught in the middle, between two forces of nature that won’t stop, one I’m fighting against, the other I’m fighting to protect.
I wish James were here. For the last week, he’s worked non-stop, a man possessed. I know why: Chandler. No one has seen or heard from him. No one knows where he is.
Based on the changes here at the warehouse, I know what they suspect. The building is guarded around the clock now. During the day, only a few teams go out scavenging. It’s not hard to guess why: they’re scared if they sent most of our people out, as we’ve been doing for months, that the isolated groups would be attacked—picked off one by one.
Instead, the army and scavenging teams have focused on fortifying the warehouse and plant. They’ve buried boxes in the snow in telescoping circles. Land mines. They’re preparing for battle.
Chandler knows our work is complete on the ships. He simply needs this manufacturing plant and its printers to produce the remaining launch capsules.
My greatest fear is for my child. My due date is twelve days away. I don’t want to give birth here. Izumi’s infirmary is geared toward research, not treatment. The facility at CENTCOM is still the safest place for me to deliver. James and I had planned to travel there in four days. We can’t now. Not until the threat is gone.
Madison holds up her creation: a child’s knit sweater. It’s made of thick, maroon yarn with a large golden ‘S’ embroidered on the front. The colors match the house of the boy wizard in the story.
She grins at me. “This would be easier if I knew the full initials.”
We’re still debating the name. It’s making Madison more nervous than either James or me.
Another contraction begins. I close my eyes and breathe in and out. This time, the tightening d
oesn’t fade away. It grows stronger, insistent. Pain pushes into my pelvis and back. These contractions are different.
The baby’s coming.
I can feel it.
I’m panting now. “Madison.”
She drops the sweater, studies me for a moment, then stands. “I’ll get Izumi. Sam, go get James. Hurry.”
As the door opens, a voice calls out in the corridor, seeming to come from everywhere at once, loud, the words clear, booming in the common room.
It’s Richard Chandler’s voice.
Chapter 59
James
In the lab I share with Grigory, Min, and Harry, I stand before the wall screen, hands held out. “Just hear me out, guys.”
I tap my pointer and advance to my diagram, which shows the ISS merged with the Jericho. “If we take the newest ISS modules, including Unity, Harmony, and Tranquility, and wrap them with parts of the capsules—”
Grigory throws his hands up. “We’ve been over this. It’s too little too late.”
I press on as if he hadn’t spoken. “We could get at least a hundred more stasis sleeves in. Maybe more.”
“I think we’re better off just expanding the ships from scratch,” Harry says. “But the issue is—”
The door flies open, and Colonel Brightwell leans in. “James, we’ve got company.”
I fall in behind her, Grigory, Min, and Harry close on our heels, all jogging to the control room that serves as the army’s command post here in warehouse 903. Rows of desks are arrayed around a wall of screens, similar to our operations room at launch control. Soldiers in winter fatigues are typing furiously on keyboards, occasionally speaking into their headsets.
A night vision scene covers the main screen, showing a column of troop carriers plowing through the snow, seemingly with no end. They’re heading for us. They’re not AU military. They’re vehicles from Atlanta, brought here by the survivors.
