Newton's Ark (The Emulation Trilogy)

by D. A. Hill

  “So for God’s sake Harry, tell me how many can we save.”

  “Maybe half a million. Probably less.”

  “Oh my God,” the President said, hanging his head in his hands.

  Harry Branston knew it was time to speak to the President very frankly. For that it would be best if it was just him and his old friend. “Mr. President, if I may have a word...”

  Carlson nodded. Right now, the way he was feeling, the fewer people in the room the better. “Secretary Branston and I need the room,” the President said.

  —o—

  Harry Branston waited as the room cleared and he was alone with the President. He sat facing his friend, placed his hands on the President’s shoulders and looked him directly in the eye, a physical gesture that said pull yourself together. “Paul, I know this is a like a waking nightmare, but you have to act decisively. Right now. If this gets away from us there will be no pulling it back. The first few days and weeks are going to be critical. If panic sets in we’re done.”

  Paul Carlson understood what his friend was telling him. He did not want to believe it but he knew he had to. He reminded himself that he had asked for the responsibility of this office. “And the nation is going to take their lead from me, so I need to lead. Provide hope and inspiration.”

  “Exactly,” Harry Branston said, relieved that his friend seemed to understand and accept his burden.

  “So what do we do first?”

  “Our number one priority must be to make sure society and the economy continue to function. To put it bluntly, we need those people who aren’t going to survive to continue working. We need them to build the survival facilities—the arks—and grow the food for those who will.”

  “How the hell do you propose convincing them to do that Harry?”

  “There’s a number of measures we can take. Imposing martial law and taking direct government control over the economy amongst them—I will get you a detailed briefing on the specifics ASAP,” Branston replied. “Some may be motivated to make the ultimate sacrifice for the greater good, especially if they have a loved one they know will survive. But mostly we need to give people hope.”

  The President stared at Harry Branston. His sense of horror and the nagging pain in his gut grew as he realized what his friend was suggesting. “You mean false hope.”

  “If you want to call it that Mr. President, then yes, false hope.”

  “You are asking me to deceive the American people Harry. To keep the truth from them. And the rest of the world for that matter. I assume you’re proposing we don’t share what we know, even with our closest allies?”

  “Correct Mr. President. There’s simply too much risk of the truth about the asteroid reaching countries such as China whose best chances for survival involve acting against the direct interests of the United States.”

  “You’re asking a hell of a lot Harry. This would be the greatest cover-up in the history of the United States, to allow the American people to believe that this situation is much less serious than it is, and that even if the worst comes to pass we can save them when we know we can’t.”

  Harry Branston could see despair written all over his friend’s face. It was a perfectly rational response to the situation confronting the President, but the United States simply could not afford the luxury of its President surrendering to despair. “Mr. President, we keep the truth from the public all the time,” he said. “We tell ourselves it is for the greater good and sometimes we really mean it. Occasionally it is even true. Well this time it is for the greater good, in the most profound way possible.”

  The President’s face still betrayed his reservations. Harry Branston played his final card, quoting the President’s favorite historical leader. “When the British Empire faced extinction during the Second World War, Prime Minister Winston Churchill said this—It is no use saying, we are doing our best. You have got to succeed in doing what is necessary—America faces extinction Mr. President and it is up to us not just to do our best but rather to do what is necessary, no matter how distressing we might find it. Paul, time is our greatest enemy now, so I’m sorry to be blunt. If you can’t do what needs to be done, I respectfully suggest that you make way for someone who can. Before it is too late.”

  President Paul Carlson considered his friend’s words and managed a forced smile as he fought back the tears filling his eyes. “In ordinary circumstances that would have got you fired Harry, and probably tried for treason, old friend or not. But these aren’t really ordinary circumstances are they?”

  “I would say they are the most extra-ordinary circumstances, Mr. President.”

  The President took a deep breath. “Harry you’re right. I wish to God it wasn’t so, but I know you’re one hundred percent right.” Paul Carlson extended his hand. “So let’s get on with doing what is necessary,” he said as Harry Branston shook his hand, sealing their agreement.

  —o—

  After ten years as a political reporter Jenny Ryan knew it was not unusual to be called to a Presidential briefing without any advance notice of the subject. The White House expected to say come and have the press respond like a well trained Labrador anxious to please its master, which these days was a fair description of reality. Political reporting ran on access, especially for the average hack reporter. You did not want to do anything to give those people to whom you needed access a reason to cut you off; then you would have to actually work for your stories. So if the administration said come, you came and if they said jump, you jumped. It did strike her as unusual though that nothing had leaked out. When everything is classified there really are no secrets; even the most sensitive information was known to far too many people. Washington was a city full of insiders, people who all believed that need-to-know included them.

  “What do you think it is?” a well-known political blogger asked her as they waited. “I’m guessing another member of the Cabinet has been caught with his pants down,” he added, relishing the prospect of reporting a nice juicy sex scandal and the resulting boost in his online advertising revenues.

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” Jenny responded flatly, not mentioning that what she was really thinking was the bigger the buildup, the bigger the letdown. She kept her thoughts to herself; it would not exactly be a career enhancing move to let it be widely known that she did not hang on every word from the White House.

  The Briefing Room quickly fell silent when Paul Carlson entered. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the President began in a sombre tone, leaning into the microphone in his peculiar manner. “I come to you today with troubling news. Approximately two weeks ago—we needed some time to confirm the data—the Copernicus Deep Space Telescope detected an asteroid known as 2045KC which may possibly collide with our planet approximately two and a half years from now.”

  The room erupted as nearly two hundred fifty reporters rose to their feet in a single wave. The President ignored the flailing arms and shouting. As the room settled he continued. “We must hope for the best—hope that the asteroid will miss the Earth—but plan for the worst. Unfortunately we do not have time to deflect or destroy the asteroid. 2045KC is sufficiently large that the debris ejected into the atmosphere by its impact would cause significant cooling of our climate, adversely affecting the food supply. Therefore we must put in place measures to ensure our survival should it remain on a collision course.”

  Again the room erupted, and once again the President ignored the clamor. “Earlier today I signed Executive Order 16291 authorizing the Secretaries of Defense and Homeland Security to take all necessary measures to deal with this emergency. Copies are being pushed to you now. These measures may seem extraordinary and harsh and inconsistent with our history of liberty and freedom. But they are necessary and I assure you temporary. In the words of a great American President, we have nothing to fear but fear itself. Panic will prevent us from preparing for and surviving this potential calamity. We cannot allow panic and fear mongering. Nor will we allow disorde
r and unrest. We must work together to survive. Secretary of Homeland Security Sandeep will take your questions on the specific steps to be taken. Thank you and God Bless America.”

  President Carlson stepped from the podium and quickly strode out of the Briefing Room, knowing any further comment from him would be counter-productive. He had not actually lied, but he knew his announcement was deeply deceptive. He just hoped that by shifting the focus to the Executive Order and its removal of the last traces of civil liberties, the details of the asteroid itself would be ignored.

  The room was briefly silent as every journalist pulled out a pad to read the Executive Order. Questions quickly started flowing to the Secretary of Homeland Security.

  “Mr. Secretary, by what authority is the President commandeering all food supplies?”

  “What about Posse Comitatus Mr. Secretary?”

  “Is the President suspending habeas corpus?”

  “Will the President seek Congressional authorization for these measures?”

  “Secretary Sandeep, have the governors been consulted on the mobilization of the National Guard?”

  And on and on in a similar vein. But the most vigorous questioning was reserved for the Secretary’s announcement that Americans would immediately be placed on restricted food rations. One idiot calling himself a journalist even asked if Twinkies would still be manufactured!

  Jenny Ryan wondered if her colleagues were really as stupid as they seemed, or simply lacked the courage to ask the real questions—what the hell did the President mean by possible collision course and how bad would the cooling be if this thing did hit the Earth? Was he soft-pedaling this to prevent panic? Were they all going to die? Or was it just a gigantic beat-up to justify further erosion of the few freedoms they had left? Did the administration even know or were they just guessing? Jenny Ryan would have to do some serious digging before she could even begin to answer those questions.

  —o—

  James Newton was on the phone to his lobbyists in Washington before the President’s press conference had finished. Newton owned and ran, in a very hands on way, one of the largest and most influential national security contractors in the United States. On top of that, he had been a long time supporter of Paul Carlson and a very generous donor to his Presidential campaign. Even so, it had taken him over a week to get a meeting with the Secretaries of Defense and Homeland Security. Normally he could get a meeting with a Cabinet member within a day, two at the most, and the President himself in less than a week. He did not resent the delay or take it as a personal snub—Newton was not one to waste energy on unproductive, petty emotions—but it did frustrate him. He was a man accustomed to making important things happen; he certainly was not going to sit on the sidelines while the world faced perhaps its greatest challenge ever. More importantly, he had a nagging sense of time being wasted in the face of impending doom.

  As he sat in his limousine on the short ride from Washington’s Reagan airport to the Pentagon, Newton reflected on how much he hated summer in DC, and winter in DC for that matter, but right now it was the summer he was cursing. Somehow air conditioning managed to make the air dry enough to irritate his eyes and sinuses but left it still humid enough for him to sweat uncomfortably in his suit. He would have much preferred a holo-conference with Branston and Sandeep from his office in Denver where even the summer climate was blissfully dry. But to senior government officials Washington was the center of the universe; as always they simply expected him to come to them. Even with his private jet he had to waste most of the day for a thirty minute meeting.

  This time, however, it suited James Newton to meet face to face. There were certain nuances that even the best holo-image did not communicate, nuances which he needed to see if he wanted to discover the truth. He knew Paul Carlson well enough to know that the man announcing the asteroid to the American people was not entirely at peace with himself. It was clear to him there was more to this situation than the administration had admitted.

  His suspicions were confirmed by his inability to contact anyone who might have any connection to the Copernicus Deep Space Telescope, and the absence from the internet of any information not only about this asteroid but about asteroid strikes in general. Basically anything that would be useful in verifying the administration’s statements. Newton had people with the expertise to find a few traces—broken hyperlinks to deleted pages, the occasional sentences ending with the word and, indicating a phrase had been deleted, and even some cached pages on mirrored sites that had not been deleted—but given how hard it was to remove information from the internet once it was out there, and how fast they had moved, it was an amazing job. Only the government had the resources and expertise to do that. Whatever they were hiding, he knew it must be big.

  Fortunately he had an expensive and somewhat eccentric attachment to books; not electronic books but what he thought of as the real thing—dead-tree books as most people disparagingly called them—books printed with ink on paper. James Newton maintained what was probably the country’s most extensive private library of physical publications. His library was no substitute for having all the world’s information available through a simple voice search, but with a little work he was able to find enough information to give him confidence that his concerns were not misplaced.

  —o—

  “James, welcome to Washington. We don’t see you here enough,” Secretary Branston said as his staff rushed about serving coffee and pastries. “How can we help you?”

  James Newton noted that high government officials had not yet put themselves on restricted rations. He declined the food on principle but accepted coffee as he leaned back into an expensive and ridiculously oversized leather chair. It was not terribly practical for sitting but it played its part in allowing Branston’s office to communicate to all who entered that he was a man of great importance. Newton had known Harry Branston for many years. He respected his intelligence and leadership capability, but he did not particularly like him. Not only was Branston an unashamed elitist who thoroughly enjoyed the privileges of office, he was arrogant and egotistical. “Well Mr. Secretary, you know I wouldn’t trouble you with a meeting if it wasn’t vitally important.”

  “No trouble at all,” Branston replied disingenuously.

  Easy for him to say, Newton thought, he didn’t even have to leave his office. “I want to personally offer the resources of the Newton Group to help the administration in preparing to deal with the asteroid. Including my own personal assistance. Anything I can do…”

  “Well we certainly do appreciate your offer James,” Branston said in a tone which indicated the opposite.

  Branston’s condescension did not surprise Newton; the government could commandeer the Newton Group’s resources any time it liked and lifetime Washington insiders like Harry Branston always undervalued the practical experience of a man like James Newton. Fortunately Newton had enough influence with the President that Branston could not just openly ignore him.

  Newton waited until Branston’s assistants left the room. “Secretary Branston, Secretary Sandeep, let me get to the point. I fully understand why the President might choose to downplay the seriousness of the threat from the asteroid, but I have reason to believe the situation is a whole lot more troubling than the administration is publicly admitting.” Newton did not expect either man to respond with the truth, but he hoped their reactions to his provocative statement would tell him what he needed to know.

  “James, are you suggesting that the administration is misleading the American people?” Secretary Sandeep asked.

  Sandeep’s defensiveness told Newton his analysis was correct. Now all he needed to do was draw out the details. “Mr. Secretary, please be assured I meant no offense, nor to imply any criticism. I believe the administration is acting in the best interests of the American people. My assumption in this case is that means keeping certain information on a need-to-know basis.”

  “And what information would that be?”<
br />
  To hide the fact he was still guessing, even if it was a well-informed guess, James Newton responded with an air of confidence, hoping they would be less likely to stonewall if they believed he already knew their secret. “That 2045KC is certain to hit the Earth and that the impact will be catastrophic—what scientists call an extinction level event.”

  James watched Branston and Sandeep’s faces carefully. Bingo. They both tried to put on their best poker faces but Newton could still read their surprise. The people responsible for the cover-up would have assured them that the government had covered all its tracks; he guessed that the last thing they expected then was for anyone to have figured this out.

  “Where did you come by this information James?” Branston asked, not even attempting to deny his allegations.

  “Simple logical deduction, Mr. Secretary,” he replied. “Plus some old fashioned research in my library; you may recall that I maintain an extensive collection of physical books. That is very helpful when the information you need suspiciously disappears from the internet.” He added the last bit just to let them know their cover-up was not as thorough as they might have thought and had in fact only served to reinforce his suspicions. “But that is not important Mr. Secretary. What matters now is what the administration is planning to do and how I can help.”

  Harry Branston looked at Sandeep questioningly. Rajev Sandeep returned the look. “James, if you don’t mind, Secretary Sandeep and I would like to confer privately for a moment.”

  “Of course, Mr. Secretary,” Newton replied as he stood and followed Branston’s assistant to the outer office.

  —o—

  “I’m sorry Ms. Ryan,” the holo-image of the woman said. “Dr. Chen has taken an indefinite sabbatical.”