by Sandi Gamble
He had no sooner completed his message than an overhead alarm began to sound in the speakers that were placed throughout the bunkers.
“Code Alert Red. Code Alert Red. Please proceed according to instruction…”
As the alarm sounded and was repeated, the quiet bunkers quickly came alive with activity. People moved quickly, but calmly, as they found their way to the most secure areas of the bunkers. Regular training and alarms had prepared the population for events such as this. When the alarms sounded for an actual event, the time spent in the secure areas was almost always limited to a few short hours – hardly enough time to worry about the next meal.
This time, it would be different.
Above the bunkers, at the earth’s surface, computers were adjusting the position and placement of the vast solar arrays which provided energy to the bunkers and oxygen.
While the increasing temperatures made habitation on the surface more difficult, the ability to efficiently harness solar energy had transformed subterranean life into something that more and more resembled what life had once been like on the surface albeit with significant differences. Comfort was never an issue. The bunkers were calibrated for temperature and humidity. Crops were planted in vast greenhouses. CO2 was removed via huge exhaust operations while oxygen produced by the plants was concentrated and pumped through the bunkers.
Meanwhile, the people moved calmly and efficiently from their home and work pods toward the more secure areas.
‘This is not a drill. Repeat, this is not a drill. Please move to your designated area with appropriate haste. This is not a drill’.
“Come along,” mothers urged their toddlers as they pushed and prodded them along the tiled hallways. Even though they had done this any number of times, there was something about this alarm which unnerved them. As they moved their children on, they looked up nervously at the speakers embedded in the high ceilings.
Although no one said so out loud, they had reason to be nervous. Regular drills were part of life in the bunker. Occasionally, a tremor would necessitate a section of the bunker to spend time in the safe areas. However, this was the first time in anyone’s memory that the message, ‘This is not a drill’ had been broadcast with such urgency.
It was clear that something of note was happening.
But what exactly? No one knew.
For most of the people in the bunker, the earth’s surface might just as well have been a distant planet. Most had never ventured above ground or even shown much interest in it. The bunker was a comfortable cocoon. Born after the great migration to the bunker, the vast majority of inhabitants never experienced the changing seasons or the way that day and night followed one another, making regular twenty-four hour periods, seven days a week. They did not know what it meant to see the leaves on a tree change color, or for the world to “come back to life” in the spring. They knew about life above ground only intellectually, through reading books or experiencing multi-media studies. They had never experienced “fresh air” to know what it smelled like.
They could, however, reasonably produce a chart of its chemical components.
Three-dimensional displays in school and holographic experiences were the closest they’d ever come to navigating a mountain pass or standing in the pounding surf as the waves broke against them.
The smell of flowers came from those raised in greenhouses. All flowers and plants, whether for consumption or research were genetically modified. The only samples of pure breeds of anything – plant or animal – were safely locked away in a number of redundant scientific labs where DNA structures and species’ stem cells were stored in the very unlikely event that they were needed. And to ensure that our race, the human race would never be lost to history, a second lab called the Doomsday Seed Vault was hidden away in the Arctic and contained not only the seeds of every known plant but also the DNA of many Arc residents and animals. Everything had been thought of.
The bunker was, for most people, both a real and figurative cocoon. It was a climate-controlled space where all needs were quickly and effortlessly attended to. A ski vacation was “taken” in one’s living room, before a huge screen. Experiential glasses and amusement park quality “skis” allowed each member to enjoy a very realistic experience of skiing – without traffic jams, lift lines, cold, cost, or the potential for broken bones. Indeed, the idea of a ski vacation requiring warm clothes was laughably retro! Some people were said to enjoy “nude” skiing vacations – without fear of the snow chilling their nether regions.
Indeed, for most of the inhabitants, the image of the bunker as a cocoon fell short. In truth, it was more analogous to a womb, safe and all providing. Only a few with youthful curiosity pushed through towards the surface and away from the restrictions of bunker life, away from the safety and the direction of the bunkers. For most of these, the strict educational and socialization program effectively rid them of their curiosity. For the small handful of those who the behavior modification did not prove successful, there were more dramatic methods. Ultimately, the extremely small number of people for whom such relentless curiosity could not be curbed became part of an exploratory elite.
As bunker scientists had come to acknowledge and appreciate, there were a very small number of traits and qualities that they simply could not control. Some were, of course, pathological. But there were others that had promise. Those that had the potential to benefit the community needed to be nurtured rather than blunted.
To acknowledge that there existed any variant that could not be fully manipulated and controlled was to acknowledge a reality rife with risk, but upon deep study and debate, it was determined that it was a risk that carried enough potential benefit to be considered worthwhile.
The vast majority of the students at the elite academies were individuals who were the progeny of the elite. However, there was a vital minority who had demonstrated such innate qualities. Only a very small percentage of the academies’ students were both children of the elite and holders of such innate qualities. But these individuals were the ones who were ultimately recognized to be vital to the bunkers’ survival.
Of course, none of this was on the minds of the people or the governing committees as the seismic monitors continued to show increased activity, and the population entered the safe areas of the bunker, a massive, global undersea earthquake rocked through the landmass on the ocean’s floor. The land surrounding the Pacific Rim, already reeling under the pressure that global warming imposed on its ability to stand, began to erode and crumble into the sea. This collapse set off a complementary chain of events. The initial seismic events undermined the landmasses surrounding the rim and gave rise to a tsunami that threatened land one hundred miles inland from the coast. Also, the collapse of land further raised the sea levels, creating an additional storm surge that flooded the remaining land two, three, even four hundred miles from the shore.
The aftershocks, nearly as strong as the initial quake, continued to destroy large chunks of land, decimating much of what still remained of North and South America.
The bunkers, designed to withstand a force equal to multiple nuclear warheads, found themselves challenged to withstand the force the quakes unleashed.
The bunkers, stable entities deep in the bowels of the earth, suddenly became living, writhing things. Hallways that were level to the micron buckled and torqued. People moved on all fours to avoid being thrown to the floor. In the safe rooms, people were thrown up and down. It was worse in the control and science room, where the technocrats and researchers monitoring the events of the quake were thrown about like rag dolls. Few, if any of the researchers were without injury. Even those belted to their desks were bloodied from hitting their heads on monitors or from being hit by flying objects. Others suffered more serious injury, some of them mortal. Bodies were left inert in the hallway. The strangeness – and horror – of the situation was forgotten in the chaos and determination to monitor events and minimize the damage.
Forester had been tossed to the ceiling and then dropped back to the floor, sustaining a serious concussion.
“Dr. Forester are you all right?” Marybeth, a young intern asked, kneeling alongside him.
He held his head in his hands. “Yes, yes,” he said. He tried to stand up, but he could not. He dropped back into a sitting position.
“Dr. Forester, you must rest,” she insisted. She looked around for assistance, but she could see that there was no one able to help. She quickly assessed whether he had any other injury, broken bones or serious bleeding. Thankfully, he did not.
“I can’t rest,” Dr. Forester insisted, but his voice was foggy. He tried to get to his feet but could only remain unsteady on one knee. “There’s no time. I must…” He pressed his hand against his head. The pain was blinding, but he had to work. His responsibilities were too important.
“Help me,” he said to Marybeth, not noticing that her own hair was matted with blood from a similar injury. “Please.”
She got him to his feet and to a desk with a functioning holographic display.
Everyone in the safe rooms felt the upheaval of being thrown about. Children cried for their mothers. Mothers clutched their children tightly, looking around anxiously for their husbands – all of whom were called up to their specific duties in the bunkers.
Ultimately, even though the arc was engineered to withstand such powerful forces, the bunker system was critically compromised. Above ground, solar panels were flung about like toys. Venting systems were crushed by shifting rock, and air vents were lost. Exhaust systems had been destroyed, and whole passageways had caved in.
The bunkers convulsed along with the earth. Ceilings could not be distinguished from floors as the bunkers twisted and turned with the seismic catastrophe. The numbers who perished were essentially uncountable. As with most “perfect” systems, when compromised they turned out to be worse than no system at all. The systems designed to sustain life transformed the bunkers into death chambers. Those who survived the initial quakes suffered horrifically in the days and weeks that followed, most perishing at the end of their suffering.
Only a small percentage managed to survive and, almost exclusively, their survival had more to do with luck than intelligence or design.
Meanwhile, the upheaval that caused so much damage to the bunkers also brought about fundamental change below the ocean. The seabed, roiled by the twisting and turning of the earth, pushed up from the bottom of the sea to the surface a new, large continental island mass.
And so it was, that Pulchra came into being; a new world had been born and was pure from any contaminants left behind by man. It would become a pristine and beautiful land, free of human habitation after the purge of 2025… but, I find I digress from the story I mean to tell...
On the first day of the Academy, Jace and I sat next to one another, anxious and nervous to begin, but just as anxious not to betray the jitters we felt. We were in a large auditorium in which every seat was filled with other sixteen-year-olds, each no doubt as anxious as we were. Of course, we did not know that then. As I glanced around, all I saw was resolute and determined faces on serious, prepared students.
“I don’t belong here,” I whispered to Jace.
“Shh. You most certainly do. You of all people are better prepared than all of us no doubt.”
I shook my head. I was about to say something when the auditorium was plunged into darkness and before us on a large screen, the image of the Military Academy’s Headmaster, Colonel Williams appeared before us.
“Youngsters,” he began, using the term almost as a pejorative, “welcome.” Never had a “welcome” sounded less welcoming! He cleared his throat as if that was the final comforting word we would hear from him. “You are here because you represent the best and the brightest of your cohort. While it is true that every one of your peers will attend an education program, few will be confronted and challenged, yes challenged, with the level of learning and training that you will have.
“We have learned over many generations that children, or ‘young adults’ as you no doubt preferred to be called, need support when it comes to disciplining their thoughts and actions.
“In short, children are reckless with their thinking and their actions. Anthropologists tell us that there was a time when such recklessness was permissible, even lauded.” He made a face as if he had bitten into something very sour. “But we are long past such societal foolishness.
“You are here, in this Academy, because Military Academies are perfect environments to discipline thoughts and actions. Here, you will learn to be brave, to be smart, and to be ready…”
I glanced sidelong at Jace. Ready for what? I wondered.
“Idleness in thought or action only leads to trouble,” Colonel Williams continued, his voice dry and harsh. “Here, you will be on a non-stop learning curve, morning and night, seven days a week, four seasons a year, keeping your minds focused and sharp. Otherwise,” he went on, his voice taking on a cautionary tone, “it is very possible that you will fall by the wayside. And that is something none of us can abide.”
He went on to present the psychological, developmental and societal statistics which demonstrated clearly that age sixteen was the exact time when the academy could be most successful; sixteen, the most important formative year before one became an adult.
“Lose the sixteenth year, and you lose the adult,” he intoned.
Studies had shown definitively that between the ages of sixteen and twenty-one the final developmental aspects of learning and personality become set. To the extent that if society controls those years, society controls the adult. Perhaps more importantly, the studies made clear that if you teach a young adult to learn during those years, he or she will be able to continue to learn until they are eighty and beyond.
Lifelong learning is a direct function of the actions taken during those five formative years.
Initially, the research had been dismissed. For decades and decades, there had been the presumption that it was during the earliest years that such formative learning took place. Society had devoted incredible resources to early childhood education and training and only saw marginal positive results. Rather than question the assumption for too long, the response to these weak results was to throw more resources at early childhood concerns. Only when creative thinkers who were willing to quantify research results were able to be heard above the “common knowledge” was there a sea change.
As a result, the entire structure of education shifted.
Every significant aspect of personal and communal development come to focus during those years. Teamwork, a sense of community, responsibility… all took hold. Teach a young adult to care about others during those years, and the individual will have a sense of group responsibility and community for the rest of their lives.
For most of human history, lack of real appreciation of the vital importance of this period in a person’s life allowed peer group pressure to exert the greatest control over the forming adult.
That was no longer acceptable.
As Headmaster, Colonel Williams continued, “Peer pressure weighs down on all of you at this time in your lives. Look around you. What these people think about you really matters to you. Unfortunately, they are no more capable of benefitting you than you are of benefitting yourself. So,” he went on, his fingers forming a pyramid in front of his angular features and steel blue eyes, “we do not intend to allow your peers to determine your thoughts.”
“And how do your peers exert their influence? Passively and actively. Through gestures, facial expression, advice and, of course, bullying. As our social scientists have taught us, peers tend to bully each other into some form of social order.”
“It is only natural. However, we do not intend to allow the bullying that comes naturally to you at this age – a function of insecurity, you should know – to impact negatively on others. You are all born with incredible potential. Our goal is to make sure you realiz
e that potential – whatever it may be.”
“It is unacceptable to us, to you and to our society that you do or be anything less.”
I sensed a number of students in the auditorium fidgeting in their seats. At sixteen, none of us wanted to be told that in essence, our freedom was not our own; that it belonged to an institution, even one as exalted as the Military Academy. So we heard the Headmaster’s words about bullying with mixed feelings. No one liked bullying. We all had learned of the damage bullying did. But we also understood that it had been declared illegal years ago and few, if any of us, had ever felt the bite of its harshness. The penalty for bullying was harsh, and one feared not just by individuals but families as well. For it was incumbent upon families to teach their children not to be bullies.
Unlike the many years of human existence when young people were made to feel responsible for their actions, now, until the sixteenth year, it was the family that was responsible for nearly every aspect of a child’s development and behavior. Parents, not school, served as the primary source of direction and education. Although many of us did attend instruction, education – of any kind – was not compulsory. Even though I did benefit from some formal lessons, my own early years were spent in the company of my mother, who guided me in my understanding of the world – a task and responsibility that she took great pleasure and seriousness in pursuing.
Once a woman had a child it was considered her responsibility to care for, raise and educate that child until their 16th year. She left all else behind until then. The father played an integral role in a child’s life also, using his spare time to impart wisdom, historical events and the moral code to which the child would conform. These roles were considered the highest priority for any family, and it was gladly embraced by both parents.
My education did not begin with letters or books but with the world itself. From when I was still in the sling that my mother carried me in, she would take me out to explore the world. For it was the world itself that was the greatest classroom that could be imagined.
