Mission Trip_Genesis and Exodus

by John Theo Jr.

  Rick said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen something so pretty in my entire life.”

  Josiah turned a dial on a control panel, and the shielding darkened to match the night sky. “Now, unless they are looking for a specific electronic signature, no one will notice the shielding.”

  Rick patted his boss on the shoulder. “Great job.”

  “Don’t let me take the credit.” He pointed to the metal ceiling. “Those formulas weren’t from me.”

  “What now?” Clarke asked.

  “We check for bugs for a couple days, then broadcast to the world a beacon with our lat-long as a meeting point. Anyone who professes a faith in Christ is allowed to come out with their families to this safe haven. I’ll hire boats or subs to pick up the people.”

  In the coming weeks, the world all but ignored the initial broadcast as a kook with a pirated radio channel telling Christians to flee to a haven in the middle of the ocean. That was until the first five thousand migrants left the US and Mexico in every type of boat imaginable.

  As they arrived, Josiah gave the groups the same speech. “You are welcome to stay as long as you would like. I plan on waiting out the wars in this safe haven, but to do this we will all need to keep this place working. I need my staff to catalogue your skills. No skill is unimportant, so please list everything.”

  He spoke to Clarke, who oversaw the assimilation. “Scientists, engineers, electricians, plumbers, cooks, and medical staff are paramount and will need to be catalogued first. I have a feeling we could be out here for a long time, so start finding young men and women who are interested in becoming apprentices to these people as well. The passing of one person could be devastating for that specific skill set they own.”

  The world took notice when the public found out playboy trillionaire Josiah Saunders was behind the cryptic broadcasts. First lawyers, then politicians, and finally the military tried to contact him to cease and desist his broadcasts. He ignored them all and continued the work given to him.

  One cold morning, Josiah stood outside on the oil rig overlooking the rough ocean. He knew satellites and ships were monitoring him from out of sight. Soon they would make a move. He needed a show of force and power, but in a defensive way to keep them at bay a little while longer.

  He spoke into a walkie-talkie. “Okay, Rick, activate the citadels.”

  Far below him, Rick moved a lever that changed everything. Loud noises echoed all around the rig that sounded like fingers being dragged along a giant chalkboard. The entire structure shook, and Josiah almost lost his footing. The rough ocean seemed to fight against what was trying to break the surface. Soon, multicolored crystal towers ascended from the depths of the sea like figures rising from a baptismal immersion. The structures were short and stout, less than fifty feet in height. All of them locked into place like a puzzle and appeared to float just above the surface of the water. The crystal tubes, towers, and platform filled in the gaps between the three oil platforms. The structures were empty, but would soon house the thousands of refugees that had been packed into the three oil rigs, along with any new refugees.

  It was like a glass garden shimmering in the sunlight, almost too bright to look at. Josiah had designed and built thousands of things in his career, but he had never associated the term beautiful with any of his inventions. This was beautiful in appearance, but also in its purpose.

  He changed the channel on the walkie-talkie to a station that read all. “Attention all citizens. If you look out any window you will see tubular and crystal structures rising up from the ocean. These are prefabricated for your housing. The utilities are in place but not active. Until such a time, you will have to continue to use public restrooms, showers, and water collection. I project about two weeks until everything is online. Until then, please see the team leaders for assigned housing.”

  Josiah tried to burn a mental picture of the glistening towers into his memory before he headed back inside.

  For the next month, boats poured in with refugees from North and South America. Some made the excursion from Europe in larger sailboats. In total there were 125,000 refugees. Patrol boats kept any further refugees from getting to the oil rig. At that point, Josiah agreed to a preplanned vid call from the United States. It was late on a Sunday night, and he was in the control room with only Clarke and Rick, whom he kept out of sight from the vid cast.

  Josiah activated the main vid screen. In front of him were the remaining United States Senators who had not been assassinated or imprisoned, about thirty-six. Sellouts, one and all. The newly assigned majority leader was an old, white man from California named Reid Jonas. All of them were in the UN chamber in New York, rather than the Senate chamber in Washington, D.C. Surrounding the group were dozens of UN soldiers in their light-blue uniforms.

  Reid Jonas stood and addressed Josiah via the vid screen. “Mr. Saunders, your broadcasts are nothing short of treason and a declaration of war. We cannot let you secede from the Union.”

  Union, the word made Josiah almost smile. “A union by imprisonment and death is not a union,” he said. “What you have is a treasonous pact that is anathema to the US Constitution. I am not seceding from anything, as this station is not part of the continental US. It’s a man-made, self-funded, refugee Atoll.” Up until that moment, Josiah had struggled to find a word to describe his floating sanctuary, but the term Atoll felt right.

  Reid made a proud face, like he was arguing with a child. “Give me a break.”

  “For a year I’ve watched as hundreds of thousands of dissenters have disappeared from US soil into FEMA re-education camps, never to be seen again.”

  “You have no proof of that,” Reid said. “It’s all fake news that has been debunked.”

  Josiah hit a button on a keyboard. A list appeared in the right-hand side of the vid cast, scrolling names. “This is a partial list of US citizens who no longer exist and whose social security numbers have been redacted. By the way, I’m pirating this broadcast for anyone to watch.”

  The senator’s face contorted into a combination of rage, embarrassment, and shock. He yelled to someone off camera. “This is supposed to be a closed channel and—”

  “You forget I know technology.” Josiah lifted his hands palm-up as if to say, what’s done is done.

  Reid slammed a fist down on a mahogany table. “You’re trying to provoke a response. You want death on your hands?”

  “I want you to leave us alone. There are enough problems in the world right now. We are not one of them. You want to go dominate the world, then have at it. We’re leaving. Everyone on the Atoll is here by their free will. You want to send an inspection team over to interview residents, then feel free. As long as they are unarmed.”

  “What you’ve done is treasonous. Under the Constitution—”

  “There hasn’t been a Constitution in decades,” Josiah’s voice rose. “You’ve used that document as toilet paper. And before you ask, I don’t recognize the UN.”

  Reid leaned into the camera. “You will stand down, and you will hand over this technology to the US government.”

  Josiah was surprised that he could still be surprised. In the end, it was the technology they wanted, not the people he housed. “Sorry, you’re not getting the tech.”

  “You leave us no choice.”

  Josiah knew the answer before he asked the question. “Please, just let us go in peace.”

  The senator laughed. A moment later the video screen went blank.

  Josiah spoke to Clarke and Rick. “Well, fellas, looks like we’re gonna have company.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  West Coast of New America 2077

  “More jets are approaching,” Nova said. “They are Chinese J-20 and J-31 models.”

  “Left over from UN days,” Landon mumbled. “Give me a number.”

  “Four, with two coming from the east. Alert. They have launched more rockets.”

  Landon pointed to Kyle, who knew exactly what he wa
nted. Kyle flipped a couple of switches in front of him. There was light thumping as small, ball-sized countermeasures popped out of random areas of the hull that were closest to the incoming rockets. Landon pulled on the collective, and the ship slowed and rose almost vertically. Multiple explosions rumbled beneath them, vibrating the ship.

  “Four more rockets launched, coming in from the west,” came Nova’s calm voice.

  Kyle picked up the fast-moving blips on the radar. Landon wrung the throttle on the collective, and Kyle slammed into the back of the seat.

  “Two additional rockets from east.”

  “Gonna need to launch the rest,” Landon said.

  Kyle flipped the rest of the board in front of him, and the ship lurched as dozens of countermeasures launched from all over the hull.

  The dots on the radar screen disappeared one at a time. All except for one.

  “Pop, we got a probl—”

  An explosion rocked the ship. Nova started to turn sideways in mid-flight, but Landon corrected the pitch and yaw.

  “Shield’s down to twenty percent,” Kyle said.

  “Nova?”

  “No structural damage. A few electrical circuits went offline, but I’ve rerouted.”

  “Can we outrun the jets?” Kyle asked.

  “On a straightaway, yes, but I need to get to an open space. They’re smaller and more maneuverable. Flight is off the table, so fighting is our only option.”

  Without being told, Kyle hit a button and the weapons systems controls slid down from a space near the windshield onto his lap. He locked on the six trailing planes that now took up a single formation behind him and launched four rockets. Unlike the trailing twentieth-century planes, Nova could launch weapons both fore and aft. The problem was she was a transport ship, built for a carrying people and supplies first. She could handle a fight if needed, but not a dogfight. Two of the trailing bogies disappeared from the radar, and the four remaining scattered.

  Kyle locked on two more and fired. Landon pitched, rolled, and banked hard left. He raced Nova down. Out of the starboard side of the windshield, Kyle saw the explosion of two more planes. Landon nodded as if to say good job. Kyle’s stomach churned, reminding him that he was in yet another life-or-death situation. Every waking moment since he was captured had been nearly without hope, but the veil of despondency had lifted. God answered his prayers by sending a rescuer. The man next to him with the graying hair was a giant in his eyes. A hardened warrior tempered with a soft heart.

  They were now over the Pacific, and Landon dropped down to fifty feet above the sea. The ship’s windshield self-tinted from the sun reflecting off the dark-blue sea. The two jets took a position about a mile above them. Two more rockets launched.

  “Pop, we got no more countermeasures.”

  “Nova, use your rear guns.”

  “Chances of success are—”

  “Shut up or I’ll unplug you,” Landon said, almost comically.

  The blips on the screen got closer. Landon clicked on the microphone. “Jane, hold on back there.”

  “We’re good,” came her soft voice.

  He glanced over at Kyle. “Hold on.”

  They both watched the screen, and just before the rockets hit he pulled back on the collective and the ship rose up. The rattling of machine guns sounded off the back of the ship as the rockets exploded. An alert flashed on the radar and controls.

  “We got a destroyer if we keep flying west.” Kyle said as Landon banked in a wide arc back toward land. “We’re heading straight at those two fighters.”

  “I know,” he said, turning the throttle. The ship lurched like an ancient locomotive too tired to run. “Nova, we still at twenty percent for shields?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Kyle, do what you can.”

  Kyle knew he meant line up the armaments. Kyle locked on the port jet and pressed the fire button. A small wisp of smoke appeared in front of the cockpit as a micro-rocket took off. It was the only armament capable of outracing the ship’s current speed. Seconds passed before there was an explosion off their port side. Landon pitched the ship to the right, and a tiny dot that was the last jet started to expand in front of them.

  “Pop, you’re heading right for that thing.”

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  Nova chimed in. “A warhead just launched from the destroyer behind us.”

  Landon didn’t flinch. The jet expanded as it came into view in the windshield.

  “Talk to me,” Landon said.

  Kyle manipulated the software and controls in front of him. “I can’t get a bead on it, Pop.” The jet expanded by the second until Kyle could see the pilot in the cockpit.

  “Switch to manual targeting,” Landon said.

  “I can’t get it!” Kyle shouted. “I can’t do it. Bank right. Bank right!”

  Landon didn’t respond. Kyle shut his eyes and felt the ship go perpendicular. He forced one eye back open in time to see Nova’s thick wing slice through the wing of the jet. There was a crunch, a shudder, and the sound of distant explosions. Through the aft camera, Kyle saw the jet spin off in a cloud of metal and fire. Landon righted the ship, acting like he had done that move a thousand times.

  “Impossible,” Kyle whispered.

  “Nova, damage?” Landon said, seeming unfazed by the encounter.

  “We lost the rest of shields, and sustained severe damage to the starboard wing and engine. I’ve taken the engine offline and initiated fire suppression.”

  Both Landon and Kyle glanced out the side of the windshield to see the mangled engine and wing. Smoke and small sparks came from the wreckage.

  “Where’s the other rocket? The one from the destroyer.”

  “Still incoming.”

  “Any countermeasures left?”

  “Negative.”

  Landon grunted as he pulled back on the collective, and the sluggish ship rose. He turned the throttle, and the one good engine fired with a roar that sounded like a panther’s scream. Kyle knew his father had war-gamed this scenario before. He would outrace the rocket into the stratosphere until it either ran out of fuel or could not follow into low orbit, but there was a problem.

  “Pop, you can’t go into low orbit with shields down and the starboard wing damaged.”

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  “You keep saying that.”

  “And have I been wrong yet?”

  Kyle was surprised his dad could still joke in this situation.

  “Nova, talk to me?”

  “With one engine we should reach low orbit within eight minutes.”

  “And the rocket?”

  “The rocket has enough fuel to follow, but we should outpace it until we reach low orbit, at which time it will fail to operate.”

  Landon nodded. “See, I know what I’m doing.”

  “However, Kyle is correct,” Nova said. “The loss of shields and wing compromise will lead to a systemic failure. Please advise.”

  “Activate the gravity controls and take over the com, Nova. Stay on this course.”

  A loud hum emanated from under them and the air seemed to crackle as the ship’s faux gravity started up. It wasn’t perfect, but allowed passengers to have a near-earth feeling when in orbit.

  “Kyle, you’re with me.” As they exited the cockpit, Landon said out loud, “Nova, give me a breakdown on that rocket.”

  Nova responded from various speakers as they moved down the ship’s hallway.

  “The S-300FM, also known as the 48N6 missile. It was introduced in the year 1990 and has a maximum target engagement speed of up to Mach eight point five.”

  “Do we need to go into orbit before the rocket dies out?”

  “Negative. Mesosphere minimum. However, under normal conditions I would recommend continuing on into the thermosphere to be safe.”

  “Then do it.”

  “We are not under normal conditions. This strain will more than likely cause a breach and
possible explosion onboard. We are leaking air as well.”

  “Odds?”

  Nova paused before replying. “Not good.”

  Landon laughed. “You’ve never said that before.”

  They reached the jump seats. Maria took one look at them and unbuckled herself and her son. Jane did the same and ran into Kyle’s arms. She kept kissing him on the mouth, neck, and check. Ripples of electricity ran through his body, emanating from the spots her lips touched. Landon cleared his throat, and Kyle forced himself to pull away.

  Landon pointed to the small door at the end of the galley. “Everyone into the escape pod.”

  “Why?” Maria asked, moving first with her son toward the door.

  “We can’t outrun an incoming rocket with just one engine, and we may or may not make it to a high enough altitude before it hits.” He glared at a control unit in the ceiling like it was Nova’s eyes. “Port your AI to the pod. I couldn’t stand to live without your sarcasm.”

  “Affirmative.”

  Landon shuffled in front of Maria and punched in a code to open the hatch. He held Rafael while Maria stepped into the eight-foot, round pod. A red, faux-leather couch ran around the interior. Harness belts hung down from the ceiling. He handed the boy to her and then held Jane’s hand while she stepped in. Kyle went next. Landon took one final look around the area. Kyle knew how many of his dad’s memories were tied with this ship.

  Nova spoke in a lower voice from the older speakers within the pod. “Landon, I have confirmed that we will not be able to outrace the rocket. It will hit in one minute.”

  He stepped in and shut the door, spinning the ancient, circular, steering wheel-sized latch. Everyone had buckled in.

  Landon spoke as he finished harnessing himself in. “Eject, Nova.”

  Nothing happened. He repeated, “Eject. Eject!”