by David Coy
“Why?” John asked. “I don’t get it.”
“He’ll just think you’re nuts, won’t he?” Donna asked.
“Maybe. But it should make him maybe read the message closer, and we can—I don’t know—spell out the problem in the first letter of each sentence or some shit like that—it might work. If it’s bizarre enough, he might put two and two together.”
“I don’t know . . . ” Donna said. “Sounds like magical thinking to me.”
“It’s leaving a lot to chance,” John said. “He might never get it.”
“But he might,” Rachel came back. “It’s a shot.”
“Any message we send will take thirty Earth days to arrive,” John said. “And anything coming back this way will take thirty more days. Even if he gets the message and figures it out, we can’t expect help for at least sixty days.”
That sent them back into thought, more frustrated than ever.
“Look, this is bullshit,” John said. “We have to find another way.”
“What are we supposed to do?” Rachel asked. “Take the orbiter by force?”
The look on John’s face was unmistakable. Taking the orbiter by force was exactly what he meant.
“No,” Rachel said. “You’re not serious.”
“Why not? If we stumble around without being decisive, he could very easily kill us all. He’s got all the resources—all the power. It’s not like he’s some . . . some dock worker gone off his head. He’s in control of a multi-trillion dollar operation. He’s glued to the highest officials in the Commonwealth. He’s probably got half of them in his pocket. From where he sits, he owns the planet and everything on it. But he’s not God. He has limits. If we act as one, we could take the orbiter, hold Smith and his crew and make our report without worrying about it. It’s a better option.”
“Like a mutiny?” Donna asked.
“Just like a mutiny,” he said.
“I’m for it—hell I'm with ‘im!” she said with the same resolute strength that helped her survive the jungle. Her eye seemed to light the room.
“We don’t have the people or the weapons to . . . to do a mutiny,” Rachel said. “It would take more than the three of us to do it.”
“Then we’ll have to find people to help us," John persisted, seeing no other way to beat Ed Smith or to save their own lives.
The color was draining from Rachel’s face. She hadn’t bargained for any of this. It was one thing to tell on somebody. It was quite another to go to war with them.
“I don’t know a thing about this kind of thing. This is just . . . just better left to the police,” she said. “We have to . . . to find someone from the outside to help us, that’s all.”
John saw the fear in her eyes. He put his hand on her shoulder.
“There’s no one to help us. We have to get access to the transmitters and send our own message to the right people—a clear and unmistakable message with all the right signatures. Look, the sonofabitch can kill us at any time. He can starve us, poison us, cut us to ribbons with his defoliators or just shoot us outright. He can make up any story he likes; accidents, murder, some . . . some set-up of some kind . . . anything. If he thinks we’re standing in his way, he’ll do it. If he finds out Donna is alive, he’ll do it. If he finds out that you and I know Donna is alive, he’ll do it. He’ll kill the three of us. If we’re to survive this, we have to do it ourselves. That means getting control of the orbiter, at least until we can send our message.”
Rachel couldn’t face up to the idea of violence; of having to engage in it, of possibly shooting or hurting another person. “But how?” she asked.
“Force is how,” Donna put in.
Rachel snorted then rolled her eyes. “Sure. Just storm the orbiter and shoot everybody. That works! We don’t have guns or a plan or anything like that.”
“We don’t need a lot of weapons. All we have to do is be smart and have the will,” John said.
Rachel took a deep breath and put her head down on her arms, burying her face. She let out a deep, low groan of pure angst, barely audible.
Sure. That’s all. Just those two things.
“I’m scared,” she said into the table.
“We’re all scared,” Donna said. “But we have to do it.”
“I don’t have the will,” Rachel groaned.
It was Donna’s turn to put her hand on Rachel’s back. She patted it gently. “I’ve got enough will for all of us,” she said.
Rachel believed her, but it didn’t make Rachel feel any better. She rose up finally as if coming out of a nap, the print of her wrist red on her forehead. She squinted against the light.
“Okay. So what’s the plan?”
John inhaled deeply through his nose. “The first thing is to hide Donna. She can move in with me. I don’t have a roommate at the moment, and there’s no connection at all between me and her, so it should be pretty safe. You’ll have to hide. Hide good,” he said to Donna.
“You bet,” she said.
“Next we need to make some inquiries, Rachel and me.”
“What kind of inquiries?” Rachel asked, growing more and more unnerved.
“We have to get a layout of the orbiter for one thing . . . ” Rachel had turned toward the door that was out of sight for Donna and John. She wore a startled, worried look. John leaned out and traced her line of sight. Standing in the doorway was a young man. He was within easy earshot of the entire conversation.
“Hi, Joe,” Rachel said stiffly.
“Hi,” he said back.
John clammed up visibly, his hands went to his hips, and he turned away.
“What’s going on?” Rachel asked a little too loud.
“Not much,” Joe said.
“Ummm . . . how long have you been standing there?”
“Just got here,” he said easily.
Rachel folded her hands tight in front of her as if she were some kind of consultant. “How can I help you?”
“Uh, I was just wondering if you wanted me to continue to run the profiles on the soil samples or stop. I’ve done about a hundred with no hazard matches so far.”
“Yeah,” Rachel said.
“Yeah, yes; or yeah, no?”
“Yeah, yes. Continue. We wanna do ‘em all.”
“Okay,” he said and started to leave.
“Hey, hold on,” John said like a cop.
Devonshire started toward them. John, brushed past him, then closed and locked the door. Devonshire turned his head to follow John's movements. His head appeared to be rotating on a pole. John came back and escorted him by the elbow back to the bench. Devonshire tried to get away.
“Hey . . . ”
“Just relax. I’m not gonna hurt ya.”
“Yeah, just cool it,” Donna said with an amused look, “or I’ll give you a sedative the hard way.”
Rachel swallowed. This was getting serious. Their lives were at stake it was true, but until this very moment only in some distant, abstract sense. It wasn’t supposed to get real now—not this soon. John was still holding Devonshire by the elbow. Donna was staring at Devonshire’s face like some predatory bird ready to swoop and tear, and Rachel felt an unsettling dread in the space around her. It was as if they’d suddenly stepped into some dark and evil place whose walls were etched with the memories of innocence lost and the damp floor steeped in blood and pain. This was a clinic with cold steel tools and cutting machinery in every drawer; Donna knew how to use all of them. Damn! Rachel thought. What are they going to do?
“Hi,” John said to Devonshire.
“Hi,” he said back nervously.
“You didn’t hear a thing did you?”
“Hear what?”
“Just now. You know, while we were talking.”
“I didn’t hear anything.”
“You must have heard something,” Donna said as if to a small child.
“Nope.”
“You’re sure?” John asked.
“Yeah.
I’m sure.”
“You work with Rachel?” John asked.
“Yeah.”
“Biologist?”
“Yeah. Biologist.”
“Biologist what?”
“Apprentice, no grade. Why?”
“Just curious,” John said.
“What is this?” Joe asked with a frown.
“We just want to know what you heard, that’s all,” Donna said. “We were having a very secret conversation, you see.”
“Well, I didn’t hear any of your damned secrets. I don’t even care about your damned secrets.”
“Okay, okay,” Rachel said. “This is nuts. Get back to work Joe, and forget whatever it was you heard. It doesn’t concern you. Git.”
“I didn’t hear anything,” he complained.
“Good. Forget it,” Rachel repeated. “Go.”
“Fine,” he said with a huff. “I can’t get out of here fast enough. You people are crazy.”
“Okay, just go,” Donna said.
He strutted out, closing the clinic door behind him. They sat immobile until the door was closed. John walked over and locked it again.
“I guess we’re just a little paranoid,” Rachel said.
“Do you trust him?” John asked Rachel.
“Not much. Enough, I suppose. He’s harmless.”
“Nothing and nobody’s harmless on this planet,” John said knowingly.
“Innocuous, then. He’s innocuous. How’s that?” Rachel said, a little miffed.
“Same thing,” John said with a steely tone.
Rachel just sighed. This was getting ridiculous.
“Let’s forget it,” Donna said.
“Fine,” Rachel said.
“Fine,” John said.
They sat silently, fiddling, tapping and staring. No one had to say it; it was just too obvious. What were they but a shuttle pilot, a nurse, and a biologist? Commonwealth contractors who started and ended their lives in debt and who flourished or perished at the pleasure of those who held their contracts. They were so knowledgeable in their respective fields that there was no more to teach them. They were the end product, the final result, of a training process that used up their lives from childhood far into adulthood—just so they might have value to the ones in power. It had always been so. Collectively, they could fly most light and medium weight aircraft and repair them if need be, or diagnose and treat nearly any physical malady that didn’t require major surgery. They could even classify the life forms of an entire planet.
But, in the area of revolt, insurrection or mutiny, they had no idea what to do. So they sat, and stared and tapped and worried.
“Rachel’s goofy apprentice has already eyeballed me. No telling who he’ll tell,” Donna finally said. ”We’d better get me hidden.”
“That’s a good place to start,” John said.
21
Joan flopped and turned, resting her face finally an inch or two from Bill’s back. The heat from it radiated onto her face. It was hotter than usual; too hot to sleep in the same bed with another body. She got up and took her pillow with her. The spare bedroom would be a little cooler. Mike was back in his own shelter, and all that cool space was going to waste.
She flopped down on the bed and sprawled. An hour later she was still tossing and turning, wide awake.
I shouldn’t have hit him. Goddamn it.
She was making breakfast when Bill came into the kitchen, his hair wet and skin shiny from the shower and razor. “What happened to you last night?” he asked.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Sorry.”
“Yeah.”
“Too hot, huh?”
She poured him a cup of coffee. “That’s part of it,” she said.
“What’s the other part?”
“You know.”
“The kid?”
“The kid. Eddie Silk, Bill. His name is Eddie Silk.”
“His name’s bug food now,” he said and ducked into his coffee.
She looked daggers at him and drew a deep breath. “That’s ugly. That was an ugly, ugly thing to say.”
“He was a bad egg, Joan—a little crook. He got what’s coming to him. Stop worrying about him. We’ve got enough to worry about. If you have to worry about somebody, worry about the nurse. Any word on her?”
What was the use? It was Bill she was talking to. “No. Not yet. Somebody said they were going shelter to shelter asking about her. Then I heard she’d been shipped back and that there was another one on the way. I thought I’d call security and see if they had any information. I’d like to get this rash looked at.”
“She’s probably dead. Took a hike and got bitten by something.” ”That’s optimistic.”
“Well, you know me.”
She put his breakfast down in front of him and handed him a fork.
“Eddie could still be alive, you know.”
“Not likely.”
“They didn’t find his body.”
“They won’t either. There’s nothing left to find. He’s dead. He died. No one can survive in the green, you know that.”
“They didn’t try very hard to find him.”
“They did what they could.”
“Yeah, sure. Bunch of incompetent assholes.”
He swallowed quick so he could talk.
“Will you let it go?” he glared.
“That’s easy for you. You didn’t drive him away.”
“He drove himself away, dammit!”
Bill got up and dumped his coffee into the sink. Joan planted her chin in her hand and half watched him. She knew that look on his face, all tight and steely. She didn’t want it to end like this, but she knew the pattern.
“Don’t you want breakfast?” she asked.
“No. I’ll grab something on the shuttle. Sometimes they have donuts.”
That was a lie, and she knew it. But if he didn’t want to stay, she had no way to change his mind. It didn’t matter what the reason was. Bill was Bill.
He started to clear the table. “You can save this stuff for
tomorrow,” he said. “It’s still good.”
“Leave that. You’ll be late,” she said gently.
He rolled up his sleeves and picked his lunch box off the counter. She sensed him hesitate at the back door; but before she could say anything, she heard the door open then close after him.
She sat a moment longer, thinking about Eddie. He’d been gone nearly five long Verde days. Unless he was either very lucky or very tough, he was most certainly dead. When it happened, she’d thought surely he’d come back later that day, or maybe the next day at the latest after spending a horrible night out in the green. She knew now that it was probable he’d never made it through that first night alive.
I shouldn’t have hit him.
She slapped a lunch together and headed out the door. By the time she got to the truck, the early morning heat had evaporated some of her guilty thoughts . She got behind the wheel with a sigh and drove off.
* * *
The crew was milling around or perched on containers like monkeys waiting for the day’s orders. The first minute was the worst when she’d have to walk past them and answer the question sometimes voiced, sometimes not.
“Any word about Eddie?” they would ask.
“No,” she’d say flatly. “I’ll call security again and see.”
Then they would form up into a loose line behind her as she opened the door. They’d trickle in and go over yesterday’s status and today’s task list. She'd give them instructions about what to put where, and the day could begin. They wouldn’t mention Eddie again that day.
She poured herself a cup of coffee and checked the day’s incoming shipments, trying to put the thoughts of Eddie to rest one last time. She had to look at the manifest twice to make sure she was reading it right.
More connectors, fasteners and assembly tools by the containers full—but nothing to use them on. They now had enough connectors to string
together fifty linear kilometers of raised dock—and no dock modules. She hadn’t seen an order for anything bigger than a handlift in weeks. No walls, floors, pipe or machinery; just little pieces, high counts of little shit. Where was the big stuff; all the things that made a mining operation possible? They should have had millions of meters of pipe of every gauge, pumps, heavy equipment in pieces ready to assemble, trucks, loaders. Where was it? They had ratchets and Bennet clamps by the thousands, screws by the literal billions, assembly tools of every description by the hundreds of thousands. It was if they were gearing up to build a city, not a mining operation. But where were the things to build. They could have equipped ten thousand riggers with the stuff on hand, but the riggers would have had to stand around with their thumbs up their butts because there was nothing to put together.
Today’s deliveries looked like more of the same. Something was out of whack.
She cut the crew loose with the order, “Just like yesterday. Get moving.” Then she turned to the news, just to bury herself in something unrelated to where she was. It wasn’t something she made a habit of. She didn’t like Earth news. It was usually very depressing, and thirty days old to boot. Besides, you didn’t have to read the shitty details of the news to get the gist of it. It got read daily by somebody, and they’d always pass the important stuff along. She scrolled through the headlines and almost switched it off but was too late. The little headline at the bottom of the last page was there in front of her eyes before she could react:
“DGSS Predicts Second Great Collapse."
She felt a cold knot form in her midsection. She didn’t want to, but she read the entire article. By the time she was done, the knot was colder and tighter than when she started, and her heart was beating in her ears. It was like a long forgotten and frightening history lesson had been taught to her once more.
Every child knew the history of The Great Collapse of 2344, because it was a pivotal event of the millennium.
The Great Collapse was the final black and tumbling tile at the end of a chain of trigger events that had built up over hundreds of years. Unchecked human growth and excessive demands on the Earth’s resources lead inexorably to a cataclysmic collapse of the social order that lasted thirty years. The Small Wars were the worst. Collectives of gangs in district upon district fought over the Earth’s bones with tribal ferocity. There were so many armies, large and small; that it was said there was a general on every block. During that thirty-year period, the Earth’s population dropped from five hundred billion to less than one billion, although no one really knew the actual number of survivors. The Great Collapse was also called the Apocalypse, from the ancient Judeo-Christian text.
