They both looked up when they noticed someone new entering the CnC and approaching the central station. His green blazer was identical with those worn by Julian and Reya, marking him as another senior command member.
When he reached the station, Julian asked, “How’s it going, Aaron?”
The newcomer shook his head. “I’ve been arguing with freighter company heads for the past hour, trying to get their scheduled shipments up here. I needed my office, for a little quiet. Not that it helped, I think.”
Julian pursed his lips but did not reply. Aaron Hardy, his Chief of Operations, was unmatched for his ability to juggle resources and assignments on-the-fly. He was not so expert at dealing with people, though… and Julian doubted he’d put up much of a fight with any of the freighter lines who had reservations about flying through ash-filled skies. Not that he blamed them for arguing the point, or for that matter, Aaron for conceding it—it was downright hazardous down there. But every freight delivery they lost was going to put them tighter in a bind, and that was not something to look forward to.
Reya Luis looked up at Aaron—both Aaron and Julian were a head taller than she was—and said, “I doubt there’s much you could say to get them to fly through that.”
Aaron nodded in agreement. “A U.N. Coo is pretty much outranked by the GAA. They’re already recommending flight cancellations across the board.” He looked at Julian. “I may be able to convince more of them to switch to ballistic deliveries, at least for awhile, but I don’t know how well that will sit with them. How are things looking from here, Jules?”
“Lousy,” Julian replied honestly. “The caldera doesn’t show any signs of letting up.”
Aaron grimaced. “Resources are going to get tight. I’d recommend going to level four conservation restrictions before the day is out.”
“Before the hour is out,” Luis suggested.
Julian looked at them both. “Level four it is,” he agreed. “Reset the GLIS. In the meantime,” he added to Aaron, “see if there are any southern hemisphere vendors looking for some new opportunities. Before all the windows are closed on us.”
“Already put some feelers out,” Aaron smiled. He knew his job, no doubt about it. “Wishing on a star.”
“Well, we’ve got a few,” Julian said lightly. He gave the room a quick once-over, and seemed satisfied that there was not much else he could do at the moment. Then he turned and strode to a door with a small plaque that said, simply, “CEO.” The door slid open for him, and closed behind him.
Julian’s office was noticeably quieter, the moment the door closed, making him realize perhaps for the first time how uncharacteristically hectic it had been in CnC. He took the moment to draw in a deep, cleansing breath, and let it out, willing himself to relax… he was afraid he might not have many opportunities to do that in the immediate future. Then he crossed the office, circling around the executive-sized desk at the far end of the room.
As he sat down at the desk, various controls and screens embedded in the desk’s surface came to life, giving him overall information on the operations of Verdant, and the option of digging deeper into any of them. His hand drifted to one area of the desk, the controls for the viewscreen that filled the long wall directly in front of him. Ironically, that wall faced the outer skin of Verdant… but between the outer shell, the internal plumbing and wiring, and shielding, an actual window to the outside would have to be three meters thick to be usable… a viewscreen made much more sense, besides being inherently safer. He tapped out a sequence, and at once, the entire wall came alive with a crystal-clear view of Earth.
So clear and still was the image, that Julian could easily believe he was sitting before a wide window, staring directly down at Earth from an impossibly tall building… instead of from Verdant’s relative position, in geosynchronous orbit 36,000 km above Earth’s surface. From that distance, the entire sphere of the Earth was visible on the screen, its mostly blue-white atmosphere ably hiding the environmental damage that millennia of human habitation had wrought… and almost centered on the screen, the reddish cloud that was spreading over the North American landmass like a massive, lethal wound. The final blow that would undo the last century’s dedicated efforts of reconstruction and reclamation. The straw that would break the camel’s back.
And Verdant was helpless to watch… as were the other satellites, Tranquil, Fertile, and Qing. No, even worse than that: Verdant and the other satellites were not self-sufficient, and depended upon Earth for supplies and raw materials, by design; Earth was the anchor to which they were all tethered… and if Earth went down, the satellites would be dragged down with it.
They were all in trouble.
At that moment, there was a ping that seemed to emanate from the very air around him, the subtle but penetrating alert tone of the GLIS. Following the ping, one of the desktop screens began displaying text, a message that would be relayed throughout Verdant, which read:
All personnel and residents: By order of the CEO, due to the crisis on Earth caused by the Yellowstone Caldera, Verdant has been placed on Level 4 conservation restrictions until further notice.
Julian stared at the message for a moment. He had little confidence that the conservation restrictions would get any better, anytime soon. He silently prayed for them all.
2: President’s Arrival
Aerospace Force One slid carefully into the slip that was always reserved for it in Verdant’s private craft bay. Many of the monitoring systems that usually provided telemetry from incoming ships were dark, owing to the cloaks and classified feeds aboard the Presidential jet. Nonetheless, the dock monitors watched the ship as it eased into its slip, doing their job to at least visually confirm that there was nothing out-of-the-ordinary about their approach.
The jet was similar to many medium-sized military jets on the outside, most notably its lack of viewports, its beam-ablative shielding, and its defensive laser turrets and missile ports. Its interior was, of course, classified, but no one would have been surprised at the level of creature comforts within, many of which had supposedly contributed to more than one executive or staff member’s achieving membership in the “100-mile high club.” (Interestingly, having sex on Verdant or the other satellites was never counted as membership in that club, as being on a habitation satellite was considered too much like being on Earth. But any spacecraft that had achieved high orbit or further qualified, and it was the rare ship that was not duly “christened” within a few flights.)
The jet finally touched against its moorings, and was captured by the docking mechanisms. The outer doors then began to close, and once sealed, the inner walls came down, bringing the craft fully inside the bay. Like all private bays, the reception areas were not open to the public, so there were no photographers or reporters waiting to catch a glimpse of the President the moment the jet’s hatch opened. It was large enough to accommodate the entire staff and crew, however, so it was often used as a waiting area while transportation was arranged to the Presidential Compound.
President Lambert finally stepped out of his mobile office. Though the last few hours had weighed heavily on him, he still had the ability common to most career politicians to hide his feelings and his fatigue when in public. He was a tall man, with broad shoulders that did not need assistance from padded suit shoulders, and a body kept in trim by an exercise regimen that had only recently begun to lose to the inevitable rigors of office. He was handsome in a rugged manner, with a studiously-high forehead, deep, sympathetic eyes, a mobile mouth and a strong chin. Just the sight of him was inspiring to many of his staffers, a trait that had in no small way contributed to his attainment of the highest office of the nation. In fact, he was easily as good-looking a male as his running-mate, Lena Carruthers, was a female; the only real difference between them was that he was actually capable of running a country, whereas Carruthers was more of a figurehead intended for photo-ops and PR, the usual jobs foisted on Vice-Presidents, and couldn’t run a county g
overnment without help.
Lambert headed for the exit hatch, never the first one out of the jet for security reasons, followed closely by Thompson. Along the way, he intercepted and spoke to one of the staffers: “Send Ceo Lenz our regards, and a request for me to meet him tomorrow morning.” The staffer moved off, and Lambert and Thompson stopped walking when they noted AF1’s pilot, Col. Emily Stearns, approaching them on an obvious intercept vector.
“Mister President,” Col. Stearns began without preamble when she was in proximity, “we have confirmations from the Global Aviation Administration that ground conditions are now considered severe over seventy-five percent of the U.S. mainland. Air traffic is considered difficult to impossible at this stage. We may be here for awhile.”
“Thank you, Colonel,” Lambert said. “Keep ‘er tuned up for a launch within two hours’ notice. Just in case things change for the better.”
“Certainly, Mr. President,” Stearns nodded smartly. “Mister Thompson,” she inclined her head at the Chief of Staff, before she turned and strode back towards the cockpit.
When she was out of sight, Lambert said softly, “Probably just turn out to be busy work on her part.”
Thompson said, “I could give her something else to do.”
“Didn’t you bring enough of your people with you?” Lambert fixed him with a significant but amused look. “Leave her alone.”
Thompson shrugged with his eyebrows, and followed Lambert out and into the reception area. Some of the rest of the staff were already there, as well as the ever-present security detail scattered throughout the area. Thompson surveyed the staff, especially the female members standing about the area. Many of them were wearing skirts… not a big deal on Earth, but generally considered to be a faux pas for a professional working on a satellite (too many catwalks, open balconies and unexpected low-gravity areas for propriety or modesty’s sake). Of course, they had all left in a hurry, and no one had had time to prepare a wardrobe. A few of the smarter staffers usually kept appropriate changes of clothing in their offices, and had had the presence of mind to bring them. Most of them had changed on the jet, and were now appropriately dressed for satellite duty. Thompson, who liked to take full advantage of the sexual opportunities that gravitated to men of his powerful position, mentally catalogued the rest of the staffers, as their now-unintentionally-risqué appearance would give him something to look forward to—and take full advantage of—later that day.
To one of those women in particular, he caught with an eye and motioned her over. The staffer walked over smartly, her skirt shifting back and forth with the cadence of her long legs. She moved close enough to Thompson for him to catch a whiff of her cologne, and said, “Yes, sir?”
“Gail, make yourself available for debriefing tonight,” Thompson said casually. “And put in a call for the President. See if Miss Vaughn is aboard.” Gail nodded and smiled knowingly, turned and started to walk away, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her. Thompson, looking past her at the other staffers, said, “Tell Meryl to join us at debriefing, too.” Gail’s expression barely shifted, but she proceeded away a bit more briskly when he finally released her shoulder.
While he had spoken to Gail, the first of the Presidential transports had arrived outside of the reception area. It was a tram car much like others in Verdant, but reserved for High House staff only and built a bit more heavily in deference to protecting the President. The secret service agents quickly checked the vehicle, and then signaled for the President and the Chief of Staff to enter. Lambert and Thompson climbed into the vehicle, and before the door closed, another of the male staffers stepped up to the vehicle. “I have the report on the present state of Verdant.” Thompson motioned him inside with them. Once he was inside, the door was closed, and the tram moved off for the Presidential Compound. Other trams pulled up to ferry the rest of the staff along with them.
As they moved through subsurface railways, heading for the open air beyond the bays, the staffer took an electronic tablet from his breast pocket, a government-issue model with a brushed nickel case. He brought his tablet up and waited for a sign that the President and Thompson were ready for his report, then began: “Just as we were arriving, Verdant CnC declared Level four conservation restrictions satellite-wide. That’s basically minor rationing of water and staples, and temporary shutdown or cutbacks in select energy use. The number of already-cancelled freight deliveries means they are going to have to shut down at least three full manufacturing plants, and sections of a few others, possibly for the duration of the crisis. U.N. reports of their stores suggest they can go without supplies from Earth for at least a month, then they’ll have to go to Level three restrictions. All senior personnel are aboard, and they are not listing a shortage of required personnel in any area.”
“How are the people taking the news?” Lambert asked.
“A few grumbles,” the staffer replied. “No one likes even Level four restrictions. You’ll hear some howling when they go to three, but mostly from the upper-level executives.”
After a moment, Lambert nodded, and the staffer lowered his tablet. Lambert glanced at Thompson. “Along with everything else, as long as the satellites can’t get raw stocks, we’ll be losing the goods they ship down. That’s an extra hit on our economy.”
“We might want to keep that in mind, if we need leverage for anything,” Thompson agreed. “We might need to stay here for awhile. And given the conditions of things on the ground, we can expect to be involved in some serious negotiations in the near future.” He glanced over to the staffer, who was poised ready to bring his tablet back up if needed. Thompson shook his head, and the staffer lowered the tablet.
Meanwhile, Lambert was nodding. “The immigration restrictions,” he intoned. “This is going to qualify as a crisis mode. It will be impossible for the U.N. to deny us the right to negotiate higher quotas for the satellites. We’ll need them as sanctuaries for as much of the ground population as we can get up here.”
“Sir,” the staffer interjected, his hand flashing over the touchscreen of his tablet, “the U.N. has remained firm on the sovereign status of the satellites and their quotas during the past four challenges, and all of the satellites have documentation that proves they are either at, or slightly above, sustainable capacity right now.”
“Optimal capacity, obviously,” Lambert said to the staffer. “But optimal is a best-case scenario, Harley. They can accommodate more people if they have to.” The staffer, who knew better than to contradict the President, nodded silently.
At that moment, the tram exited the sublevel railways, and they could see the open area of the satellite through the tram’s thick transparent roof. The three of them glanced quickly upward to take it in, and only the staffer, Harley, brought his glance back down to the President after only a few seconds.
Verdant was a massive cylindrical superstructure, enclosing a collection of cylinders within cylinders, twenty in all, each one a level, known as a “floor,” housing apartments, offices, greenspaces, gardens and public areas. Most floors rotated independently at a high-enough rate to generate the equivalent of a standard Earth gravity: Notable exceptions were Floor 3, dedicated to hospital functions, which rotated at a slower pace to create an approximation of lunar gravity to aid physical recuperation; and portions of the science and research floors, which either rotated at various rates, or not at all, to provide different levels of gravity as required by the researchers. Only the outer floor, Floor 20, and the central column, Floor Zero, extended the length of the satellite—from the “north” to the “south” poles—the rest of the floors extending from each pole, or from only one of the poles, and ending in terraces that overlooked or underhung other floors in a staggered but attractive pattern. This allowed the outer floor, and certain areas of the inner floors, to enjoy an open “sky” that extended, in some places, all the way to that floor’s opposite wall, and included the added visual sight of balconies rotating at various rates, each one above s
lightly faster than the one below. Many of the floors had high-enough “skies” to allow the formation of hills and pastures, mainly on the south end of the satellite, encompassing wooded areas, parks, even lakes and streams. Others provided park areas in the living spaces, where the lowest ceiling of any one floor was still a respectable four meters in height.
All of the satellites had essentially been built this way, even Qing, the Chinese satellite, with minor variations between them. The satellites had been commissioned by the U.N. when concerns about the consequences of global warming, and mankind’s inability to reverse the process, originally forced the world to consider the radical idea of moving humanity off of the planet almost altogether. It was proposed that small numbers of humans, taking advantage of automation, could continue to live on the ground and provide needed raw materials to the satellites, allowing the bulk of the population to live in relative safety in multiple orbital oases… basically, removing humans from the environment they were so good at ruining, and which threatened someday to retaliate and overwhelm them.
However, budgetary limitations scaled back the project severely, leaving only three satellites built by the charter, the third co-funded by the remaining oil barons of the Mid-East, and a fourth by China exclusively. Most of the human population still lived on the ground, and the overriding proportion of them wished fervently that they could live on the satellites instead.
“Look at that,” Lambert said, prompting Harley to look upward again. “Look at all the open, relatively unused space in here. They made every effort to create these fancy greenspaces and luxurious high ceilings, but there’s room for plenty more living space in those unused areas! They could double the population here, with just some creative redesigning.”
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