by A. G. Riddle
There’s also a sadness deep inside of James, a scar on his psyche left by his actions on Earth, a rift I hope the years ahead will heal.
He has spent most of his time on Eos working with his brother, Alex, doing manual labor. It’s a change for James—doing something low tech, working with his hands, digging in the dirt, putting together habitat parts. The two brothers laugh often, trading inside jokes that don’t make any sense to me.
Coming here was terrifying. I think the unknown always is. New beginnings are daunting. I think I, like most people, would rather endure a life that isn’t perfect than risk everything on change and the unknown. This new beginning has been good for James and his brother. Their time in Camp Seven healed the rift between them. Here on Eos, I sense that the rift is gone—that they left it behind on Earth. They are starting over.
We have taken to calling the barracks “habs,” and the small living quarters inside “flats.” Our family, including James, Sam, Allie, Carson, and me, have been assigned to hab six, flat fourteen. It has a set of bunk beds and a wide bed on the far wall for James and me. A cradle sits beside it, empty and waiting.
The habs are all set up now, the roads packed hard, the mess hall stocked with local provisions. We’ve settled on a lottery system to determine the order our families will be brought out of stasis.
In our flat, I sit on the edge of the bed staring at the number on the tablet: 251.
“It’ll be tomorrow or even the next day,” I complain to James.
“We’ll still be here.”
He takes the tablet from me and reaches into one of the crates. “I’ve got a surprise for you. Blast from the past.”
He pulls out a bag and dumps magnetic playing cards onto the bed.
“No way. Are these—”
“The same.”
At the beginning of the Long Winter, during the first contact mission, James and I were sent back to Earth in an escape pod. The voyage was long and monotonous. We worked as much as we could, and when we were too tired, we played gin rummy with these cards. When we were too tired for that, we watched old TV shows on the tablet—The X-Files and Star Trek, mostly.
He raises the tablet and opens the media player, displaying a list of TV shows. “What’s your fancy?”
“Cards.”
The cards were made for space. They’re heavy and clack as the magnets lock together, but they’re perfect. The sound and weight of them remind me of what we’ve been through together.
When we’re too tired to play anymore, we lie shoulder to shoulder in the bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of the hab: neighbors talking, people passing down the hallway, and banging in the distance—someone still working. There are shouts of joy and crying too—families reuniting. It’s a beautiful sound, one I thought I might never hear.
I take James’s hand in mine. Touching him, I see our life together flash through my mind: us holding each other in the Pax escape pod, enduring the Long Winter in the habitat we shared with Oscar in Camp Seven, fighting the grid at Ceres, lying in that cramped bunk in the Citadel after the asteroids fell, snuggling under the blanks with Allie and Sam in our bedsheet cubicle in CENTCOM, weathering the final days of the Solar War and the attack on Camp Nine. Each feels like a layer of our life, both him and me together, fighting impossible odds at every turn.
Here and now, this feels different. It’s not just because the sun is shining and this world is new and untouched. I feel, in a word, safe.
“What do you think their life is going to be like?” I whisper.
“Very different from ours.”
“Yeah.”
“In a lot of ways, they’ll have everything we did,” James says softly. “Joy. Disappointments. Heartbreak. Love. Triumphs. Sickness. Setbacks. Mistakes they learn from. Lessons they pass on to their children. It’ll be a different life, but they’ll feel all the things we have and will. It will be a very human life.”
“Except for the winter.”
“Right. They’ll never experience winter. Here, it will always be spring.”
The medical habitat is hot and sticky by the time we reach it, Izumi and her staff sweating through their clothes, the fans blowing their hair. It’s been an endless flow of people through this small habitat, waiting in line, their body heat adding to the sun overhead that never retreats.
Izumi has dark bags under her eyes. She looks as though she’s barely slept. She might be scared the crowd will lynch her if she stops for a few hours. Even though stasis has yet to fail on a single colonist, everyone is still worried that their loved ones won’t emerge unharmed.
I only realize how nervous I am when it’s our turn. Soldiers gently place the three sleeves on the table, and Izumi eyes me.
“Carson first, please.”
I hold my breath as she brings the infant out of the sleeve. His cry rings out in the room, silencing the soft discussions from the people in line behind us.
Almost involuntarily, I step forward, arms held out. I feel James’s hand on my shoulder, bracing me. Izumi holds up a hand and quickly presses a health analyzer to his shoulder. My eyes fill with tears as he cries louder. He’s shivering. Izumi swaddles him as the analyzer beeps. A smile spreads across her weary lined face as she hands the child to me.
“He’s fine, Emma.”
James holds me and I cradle our son to my chest. This is truly a miracle.
When Allie wakes, James pulls her into his arms. She rubs her eyes, squinting. Recognizing her father, she throws her arms around him and buries her head in his neck.
Sam is more stoic when he wakes, but James hugs him too. Both are looking around in shock, apparently too overwhelmed to say a word.
We make our way out of the med habitat, past the line of waiting parents and family, out into the sunlit valley. Halfway to hab six, Carson stops crying. He’s staring out, eyes wide open at this new world.
James is carrying Allie with one arm, holding Sam’s hand with his other. Our oldest child is scanning the camp and the woods beyond with a mix of fascination and confusion.
“Where are we, Da?” Allie asks.
“We’re home.”
Epilogue
James
When Emma and the kids are asleep, I slip out of the flat, down the long corridor that runs the length of the hab, and out into the simulated night.
The kids had a lot of trouble adjusting to the constant sunshine and lack of night. Without sunset and darkness, it just didn’t feel right to them to have to come inside and go to bed.
I think the adults didn’t mind the light because we were working non-stop, setting up the camp so that we could get our families out of stasis. At the end of each work day, we were too tired to need the dark to sleep.
Our solution to create night here in Jericho City is crude but effective. We used the parachutes from the capsules to create a vast canopy that covers the habitats. Hard plastic poles hold the frame. At seven o’clock standard time, the canopy begins sliding up, gradually blotting out the sun.
In that darkness, I stroll the hard-packed streets, stopping just before the command post. I check my watch and settle in behind a vehicle, waiting. Right on time, Grigory strides out, his shift over.
When he’s out of sight, I slip into the command post. It looks a lot like the CP at Camp Nine—rows of desks and a wall full of screens. A lieutenant wearing the standard green Jericho Army uniform turns to me, looking surprised. “Sir, is everything all right?”
“Yes. I’m just stopping in to check out an ATV.”
He nods slowly, then glances down at his tablet. “I don’t have anything scheduled.”
“It’s just research. I’ll be out in the eastern jungle.”
“I’ll let the colonel know.”
“I wouldn’t.”
He studies me for a moment.
“Me taking a night stroll through the jungle is not worth waking the colonel for. But if I’m not back by the time the canopy retracts, probably wor
th sending someone to look for me.”
“Yes, sir.” He pauses. “Sir—”
I step toward the exit. “Gotta go. Clock’s ticking.”
Ahead, just beyond the canopy, lies the comm panel array, its white tiles sitting atop poles that reach above the blue-green grass. The sun partially blinds me the moment I clear the canopy. I squint and slow my pace, careful not to stumble in the grass.
At the panels, I plug my tablet into the control box and send my message. The symbols flash on the white tiles, then disappear.
Instinctively, I gaze up to the sky, at the Jericho passing over, glowing like a bright star streaking from horizon to horizon.
In the motor pool, I mount the ATV and drive slowly to the tree line. In the jungle, I gun it, zig-zagging through the winding trail. It’s as dark as Jericho City’s canopy in here—and colder. As I move east, it gets colder still.
The terrain turns from flatland to rolling hills. The massive trees stop at the base of the mountains. The red dwarf star shines softly here, as if it’s twilight at the terminator, the thin line that demarks the darkened far side and our little sliver of paradise.
The ATV’s tracks easily climb the mountain trail, which soon turns to snow. I can see the darkness ahead and the expanse of snow, completely in shadow except for the dim glow here at the edges.
My destination is an open, icy plain. When I reach it, I spot a capsule descending through the lower atmosphere, burning bright like a fireball falling from the sky.
I dismount the ATV as the capsule clears the atmosphere. The parachutes deploy shortly after, guiding it gently into the snow at the far side of the plain. Twenty feet from the capsule, the mouth of a cave looms, dark and jagged.
At the capsule, I connect my tablet, disable the explosive, and give the command for the capsule to open. The energy weapon Grigory created is in my pocket just in case I need it.
Arthur stands when the capsule’s doors swing apart. “Hey, I was on the phone,” he snaps with mock annoyance. “And it was long distance!”
The words jolt me. “You were in contact with the grid?”
“Who else has my number?”
“They’re in range? Are they coming here?”
“No. Relax. They’re just passing by. I told you, this star is a real dud. For us, anyway.”
“You didn’t re-upload yourself? I thought you couldn’t wait to leave.”
He lets his head fall back. “Well, you beeped in and I figured it was important.” He shrugs. “I’ll catch the next train out.”
“Right.” I let the word drag out, sarcasm dripping from it. “The truth is, you’re wondering if I found it.”
“What? Jimmy Hoffa? Out here?”
I motion to the cave. “Let’s go.”
“Oh. That cave.”
He marches toward it, his feet crunching in the ice, mine barely making a dent.
“This is a bad idea, James.” His voice is matter of fact—all the playfulness gone.
“To me, a bad idea is living on a planet you know killed your friends and not trying to figure out how it happened.”
“You assume they’re dead.”
“Are you saying they’re not?”
“Just pointing out your unproven suppositions.”
At the mouth of the cave, I activate the LED light on my cap. The white light beams across the jagged, uneven ice in the walls and floor.
“Who made this tunnel?” I ask.
“You already know.”
“Harry.”
Arthur stares straight forward. “That would be my guess.” After a pause, he adds, “How did you find it?”
“We need metal as raw material for the three-D printers, so I built a rover with a metal detector to search for the elements we need. I tried searching in the mountains, but the detector had a lot of trouble with false signals. It was pretty easy to find loose metal buried out here in the ice.”
At that moment, a breakthrough occurs to me. “That’s how Harry found it too, isn’t it? He built a rover and sent it out here looking for metal. I bet he was looking for asteroids that had made landfall in the snow. He was going to use the metals from the asteroids as media for the 3-D printers—just like I intended to do.”
When Arthur doesn’t reply, I motion ahead, and he begins trudging through the icy cavern.
“I’m telling you, this is a bad idea,” he says lightly. “You should go home, James. Forget about this.”
“I can’t.”
“If only you could. Your fear is driving you. The terror that something bad is going to happen to your people and your loved ones.”
“That sounds like the secret to humanity’s survival. I’m on the right track.”
“Yes and no.”
“Meaning?”
“Time will tell.”
I shake my head, sick of the half-answers. Up ahead, the object looms. The black metal ball protrudes from the snow, glittering in the beam of the headlamp, looking so alien and otherworldly.
“Do you know what this is?”
His gaze pans lazily away from the object at the end of the tunnel. “Yes.”
“What is it?”
He shakes his head. “A relic.”
“Of what?”
“Of secrets that shouldn’t be found.” He focuses on me. “I mean it. There are things buried on Eos that should remain buried.”
When I glance away from him, I see it for the first time: the symbol, carved into the ice. It’s the same symbol we found at the Carthage camp on the comm panels. But here it’s slightly different. One of the lines is carved deeper, the circle at the endpoint larger.
“The map,” I whisper, stepping closer. “What is this, Arthur?”
“We call it the Eye of the Grid.”
“It’s a map. Isn’t it?”
He simply shakes his head, acting conflicted.
“Where does it lead?”
I pause, waiting.
“Answer me.”
“I can’t, James.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re asking the wrong question.”
With the tablet, I take a picture of the symbol, and then Arthur and I trudge out of the cavern, back to the icy plain. The sky cracks with thunder and lightning streaks the sky in a thousand branches, like nothing I’ve ever seen. The bolts seem to split the sky open. Green and yellow clouds spread out and shift in the wind, reminding me of the aurora borealis.
A gust barrels through the plain, almost knocking me over. Arthur barely flinches. Snow falls in its wake, in waves that grow stronger, the flakes instantly taking root in the ice.
Arthur glances at the strange clouds in the sky. “Go home, James.”
“Why?”
“The storms of Eos are returning.”
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The Lost Colony
A preview of the final book in the Long Winter Trilogy
Chapter 1
Emma
The rolling thunder awakens me.
I lie in the bottom bunk, listening in the darkness. The narrow mattress is just big enough for James and me, but he’s gone again tonight. He has been for most of the last six months.
“Mom,” Allie whispers from the lower bunk on the opposite wall.
“It’s okay, sweetie. It’s just a storm.”
The thumping in the distance grows louder. The walls of the habitat vibrate.
I’m sure of it then: this isn’t a storm. They’ve returned.
I push up and pull my insulated coveralls on. The material blocks the infrared heat from my body, hiding me from preda
tors. We used the 3D printers to create the suits, and they’ve saved dozens of lives in the last few months.
Sam climbs down from the top bunk as Allie swings her feet over the side of the lower bunk.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“To work.”
“Mom—” Allie starts.
“Stay quiet, you’ll wake your brother.”
It’s too late. In the bassinet, Carson rolls back and forth, breaking free from the tight swaddle wrapped around his tiny body. He yawns and a yell follows. That noise could draw the predators. That would be deadly. For all of us.
I grab Sam’s shoulders. “Get a bottle from the canteen. Give it to Carson and keep him quiet.”
He shakes his head. “I’m coming with you.”
“Do as I say, Sam.”
“Where’s Dad?” Allie whines.
“Be quiet—both of you. Now go, Sam. Hurry.”
He scowls as he marches out of the door. Allie stares up, lip quivering.
I lift Carson out of the bassinet and hand him to her. “I’ll be back soon.”
Across the hall, a door opens and my sister, Madison, sticks her head out. “Everything okay?”
The pounding beyond the barracks is growing louder by the second.
“Sure,” I lie. “Just try to keep quiet.”
Sam is racing down the corridor, bottle in hand, as I pass. I pause just long enough to hug him and whisper, “Thank you.”
Outside the barracks, the air is warm and musky. Its always feels damp here on Eos, like the most humid day I ever experienced on Earth. The recent rains have made it even worse, as if the air itself is slowly turning to water.
Overhead, a canopy made of parachute material blocks out the sun that never sets on this valley. We did it to create night, to help keep our circadian rhythm. A few months ago, we insulated the canopy to hide our body heat. That has saved us time and again.
