New Title 1

by Jordan, Steven Lyle

  At any rate, Kris didn’t think she’d get any more from Calvin, and could tell he was looking for a polite reason to break off and get home. “Well, I’ll see if I can speak to Dr. Silver about it. Thanks for your time, Dr. Rios.”

  “No problem,” Calvin said as Kris angled away from him, leaving him alone to proceed home. Within two minutes, he had all but forgotten the conversation.

  ~

  By the time Calvin reached his flat, his headache was mercifully almost gone, but it had been replaced by a fatigue that threatened to buckle his legs before he made it in the door. Maria heard the door open, and looked around the corner from the kitchen. “Cal, honey,” she said as she came out to greet him, “Erin just called, her friend Frieda’s invited her—” Her voice faded as she neared Calvin, and saw how tired he was. “Cal, you look exhausted! Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, just tired,” Calvin said, allowing her to steer him into a nearby chair. His knees finally gave way as he folded into the chair, and he landed in the seat with an alarming thump.

  “I’ll get you a drink,” Maria said at once, giving him a last look to make sure he was all right, then rushing into the kitchen to get a glass and pour him a brandy. “What have you been doing?”

  “Researching Ceo Lenz’s force field idea,” Calvin replied, almost sheepishly. He had told her about the project, and even Maria had thought it was crazy… and she didn’t know a thing about physics. “Next thing, he’ll have you trying to grow a black hole in a pot,” she’d said, a reference to a line from a popular video program.

  To her credit, however, she did not give Calvin a “told-you-so” look when she handed him the snifter. She simply smiled sympathetically, and said, “Had no luck?”

  “Worse,” Calvin said. “I almost had my brain melted by well-meaning engineers intent on proving how crazy the idea is.” He took a draught from the snifter, almost draining it in one gulp. Maria noted it, and went back to the kitchen to get the bottle. “A few of them kept suggesting brute-force lasers would be better… but then they’d turn around and say, ‘On the other hand, aiming is a problem, and it’s even easier to deflect a laser.’ I don’t know… if there’s something to this stuff, I don’t see what.” He took another draught, draining the snifter, and when he brought it down, Maria was there, pouring more brandy into it.

  “Drink,” she directed. Calvin grinned, and took another sip. “You’ve had a long day,” she said. “But you’re home now. Relax. Dinner’s almost ready.” Maria smiled, and headed back to the kitchen.

  Calvin leaned back in the chair and tried to let the tension drain out of his shoulders. After a moment, he started to take another sip from the snifter. Then he remembered something Maria had been about to say. “Hey, did you say Erin—”

  Calvin stopped when he looked up. Maria had returned to his side without his realizing it. “You were looking in the wrong place, I think,” she said. Calvin frowned, not understanding. “You’re looking for something outside of the raw data… something intuitive,” she explained. “I know how you think, Cal. The last thing you should have done was to go see a bunch of scientists.”

  Then she turned, and returned to the kitchen. After a moment, Calvin raised his snifter to her.

  The brandies finally helped to relax Calvin, and to remove the last of his headache, making dinner much more pleasant than his day had been. He and Maria talked about nothing in general, Calvin making a point of allowing his mind to drift into the mundane areas of everyday life, and temporarily forget his assignment… or, at least, to put it in the back of his mind for awhile.

  After dinner, they decided to watch some video programming. Calvin let Maria choose, and she found a program providing tips for home food-gardening in a compact satellite environment, a popular pastime amongst satellite residents. They discussed various points of the program as it ran, comparing the vegetable gardens on the program with their own home garden, considering new layouts and tending techniques, and possibly trying new vegetables they had never before tried to garden. It was a nice, light, relaxing way to pass an hour, and left them both in a good mood.

  The program afterward was a documentary, about the many pastimes and distractions enjoyed by twentieth-century Americans and Europeans. The twentieth century had represented the pinnacle of recreational variety, the direct result of the conspicuous consumption and unbalanced credit-based affluence that had begun to draw to a close by the early twenty-first century. As documentaries went, it could be painful to watch: At one point, the viewer would be treated to behaviors that seemed to be the height of irresponsibility, almost comic in its presentation, such as jumping off of bridges and cliffs with an elastic cable tied to one’s ankles; and the next, would be a pastime, essentially harmless in itself, but lost due to the ravages of environmental damage, like the recreational use of all-terrain vehicles, that one could only feel a sad nostalgia for.

  And throughout it all, were vintage scenes of idyllic outdoor vistas, blue skies, swimmable beaches, open fields, and vast forests… the twentieth-century world that was so rapidly disappearing beneath them. The narrator did not bother to point out the differences between the green world of the twentieth century, and the warming-ravaged lands of the modern era… he didn’t need to. No modern viewer could help but look at all that natural landscape, and want to cry at how much of it had been lost.

  But Maria was different than most viewers. As the scenes progressed, she became more animated, her eyes shining brightly. “Oh, Cal, look at that park! We really should visit that sometime!”

  “Didn’t they say that was Shenandoah National Park?” Calvin said, too emotionally tired to do anything except respond automatically. “It looks nothing like that now… coal mining has ruined the ecosystems there.”

  And Maria would become quiet… until another place was highlighted. “Oh, the Grand Banks were beautiful! Have they changed much since then?”

  “Unfortunately, they’re all submerged now. Some of those houses were designed to float during floods… the ones that are left are permanent houseboats now.”

  And so it went:

  “Oranges can’t grow there anymore. Too hot.”

  “Very few salmon that aren’t farm-raised now. The bears don’t have much to catch during spawning season.”

  “The Saharan sandstorms supposedly reach all the way to Maine, when the winds are right…”

  “What else is there to watch?” Maria said abruptly.

  Calvin suddenly realized where their conversation had been heading, and he was immediately sorry. He knew his wife still held out hope to see the best of Earth again, the lands documented in those old travelogues, the majestic vistas and vibrant parks. And despite the fact that those parks and vistas largely no longer existed (because, for all her love of all things Earthly-natural, she seemed somehow to be wholly ignorant of what was and was not in existence on Earth anymore), she was adamant that, if you went down there and just looked, you could still find the pristine beaches, the quiet forests, the lovely sunsets. But his unthinking, offhand comments were bringing her down.

  Maria found an old movie… and despite the fact that it appeared to be well into the narrative, she seemed to be happy to watch it. Calvin made no protest, even when he realized the movie starred Cary Grant… not one of his favorite actors… seemed to take place aboard a submarine, not one of his favorite means of transportation… and centered around a bunch of female nurses rather transparently forced into such close quarters with the men on the submarine, resulting in the predictable sexist gags that you’d expect out of a twentieth-century American movie, not one of his favorite periods.

  He wished he could think of something to say to Maria, to placate her—but they had done that dance before, and he knew she saw right through him when he tried to encourage her belief that there was still something down there to see. So he stayed silent, and settled in to watch.

  ~

  “Does it at least look different? Has it maybe changed
color, or something?”

  Goldie regarded Hunter with long-suffering weariness, as the tug she was piloting approached the same coordinates that they had flown out to that same morning. At those coordinates waited the beach-ball-sized package that they had deployed that morning, and which they had been ordered to pick up. “Looks the same to me,” Goldie said calmly. After a moment, she looked again at her screen. “Hold on.”

  Hunter, up to that point doing his best not to look bored, uncrossed his arms and looked hopefully at the monitors. “What?”

  “The access panel lettering,” Goldie said, peering at one long-distance camera. “Look: All the words are reversed.”

  Hunter squinted for perhaps three seconds at the camera monitor, before realizing what was going on. Slowly, he leaned back in his chair, gave Goldie a sour look, and intoned, “Very funny.” Goldie just grinned to herself, as she brought the tug into a parking orbit before the payload.

  “Naut-vee-four-three,” came the voice over their com. “Request fine coordinate check on payload. Report any differences from delivery coordinates, please.”

  “Yeah,” Goldie said distractedly, flipping a few switches on her panel. After a few moments’ examination of the incoming data, Goldie keyed the com. “We detect drift of point-eight-six centimeters from deployment point, on a bearing of one-eighteen true by sixty-three.” Even Hunter nodded in approval: That small amount of drift was impressive.

  “Roger that, Naut-vee-four-three. Capture payload and return to dock.”

  “Understood,” Goldie replied, and brought the tug closer to the payload. Hunter brought a hand forward and keyed up the controls for the capturing arm, surprising Goldie with the fact that he was making any effort on this assignment at all.

  Hunter caught her look, and shrugged. “Hey, the sooner we grab it, the sooner we get out of this tin can. Besides, this is turning out to be the high point of my day.” After a moment, the arm captured the payload, and the console filled with manipulating data. “Looks like no changes from this morning,” Hunter commented. “Did it do anything at all out here?”

  “Just drifted, I guess,” Goldie shrugged.

  ~

  Shay Vaughn regarded Gaston Lambert in the low light of his bedroom, trying not to look overly concerned, nor overly critical. Their sex had been short and uninspired that evening, despite Shay’s best efforts to encourage him—not to say that it was not enjoyable, but certainly not memorable—and now, Lambert didn’t seem to be able to sleep. She knew better than to question the sex at such a moment… unfortunately, she really wasn’t sure what to say about the thing she knew weighed so heavily on his mind.

  Finally, trying to be as matter-of-fact as she could, Shay said: “I understand Walter Gordon caught an HST to Panama. They’re expecting a break in the ash layer, long enough for a transport to get through. He expects to be in Verdant tomorrow.” Lambert did not reply, or even acknowledge that he’d heard her. “Then you two,” Shay continued, “can start planning on a strategy to influence Lenz—”

  “Don’t tell me my job,” Lambert said quietly but firmly.

  “Sorry,” Shay said, running a hand across his temple. “I just wanted—”

  “I know what you want,” Lambert cut her off again. “We both know who you work for… and it’s not me.” He said it matter-of-factly, with no trace of bitterness or rancor. Finally he turned to face her, his eyes hidden by the gloom, but Shay was positive he could see her clearly. “But it’s pointless. There’s nothing Gordon can say to change facts. There’s nothing that’s going to make this problem go away. There’s nothing that will make a larger population sustainable on this satellite… nothing we have to give, anyway. And any increase would be miniscule compared to America’s population. Therefore, there’s nothing I can do here that will ultimately help America.

  “And, God help me, I’m not even sure how much I care anymore,” he added. He rolled back onto his side, his eyes open (Shay could see them now) and staring up at the ceiling. “My presidency is already a foregone conclusion. I can continue to issue orders from up here, but the people have already concluded that I am a failed leader, ineffectual when it really counted.”

  “No,” Shay said, stroking his forehead, wanting to say that she didn’t believe it was true, that he was being too hard on himself. But she didn’t continue… because, ultimately, she knew he was right. No matter the truth, the people had surely condemned him by now for not being able to somehow stop the outflow of lava and ash, with his bare hands if necessary, and save their asses. It was horribly unfair… but it was also a fact. People actually were that simple in understanding and that unforgiving of their leaders.

  “At this point,” Lambert continued, “I just want to cut my losses and back out while I still can. America will scorn me… I might as well preserve myself.” He paused, and took a series of deep breaths. “And the fact that I’m even thinking like this… makes me sick.”

  ~

  Enu Thompson responded to the tone of his personal phone by looking at the aide in bed next to him. After a quick glance, she dutifully handed him the phone, then slid out of bed and padded across the room. Enu watched her naked backside, and waited until she had closed the door on the bathroom, leaving him alone, before he responded. “Thompson.”

  “It’s Kris. I need some information.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I’ve discovered there’s an experimental project of some sort going on. Coo Hardy is heading it, and Dr. Silver is supervising it. But they’re keeping it very quiet, even keeping the details from others in the command chain.” Kris paused to let that sink in. “Is there any possibility that they’re working in cooperation with anyone in our offices? Maybe doing something under the table?”

  “If they were,” Enu countered, “do you think I could tell you?”

  “You might,” Kris replied, “if it would make it easier for me to accomplish my job of infiltrating CnC.”

  Enu considered for a moment before he replied: “We don’t have them working on anything for us. Do anything you can to find out what it is, and especially if it could help or hinder us.”

  There was a pause at the other end, as Kris weighed his answer. “That’s all I need,” she said finally. “Thank you. Good night.”

  “Night.” Enu closed the connection, and waited. After a moment, the bathroom door opened, and the aide walked back into the bedroom and slid back under the covers.

  She kissed Enu passionately, and when she pulled back, she asked, “Problems?”

  “Yeah,” Enu replied coldly. “Everybody asks me too many questions.”

  ~

  Hunter and Goldie watched as the spherical payload was lowered carefully onto a wheeled platform held in place by a technician from the science section. Another man from the science section, Lin Sen Chiu, stood nearby with a pad that he was apparently using to gather data from the payload, even as it was being transferred to the cart.

  Chiu seemed to be nodding a lot, which finally prompted a reaction from Hunter. “Hey, doc, what did that thing do, anyway? Anything at all? I mean, what is it?”

  Chiu regarded Hunter calmly as he asked his questions. Finally, he replied, “It’s just designed to take scientific measurements. And that’s what it did.”

  Hunter shook his head. “We’re this close to going to war with the planet Earth. And you guys are measuring the solar winds.”

  Chiu shrugged. “Among other things. We won’t be needing your services any more today. Thank you both.”

  Hunter took the hint. “Well, I guess we’ve been dismissed! C’mon, Goldie, I’m ready for a drink.” Goldie did not respond, other than to fall in step beside Hunter and past Chiu.

  Chiu watched in silence as Hunter and Goldie walked away, Hunter throwing one last snide glance his way, before they disappeared among the gear and scaffolding of the bay. Then Chiu turned to a second technician standing by, handing him the tablet. “That goes straight to Dr. Silver, right now. Ok
ay, let’s go secure this.”

  14: Inspiration

  11Aug2229

  “I hope you weren’t too bored watching Operation: Petticoat last night.” Maria called out her comment from her dressing table, just loud enough for Calvin to hear from the bathroom.

  “Oh. Is that what that was?” he replied politely. “Yeah, it was okay.” In fact, it hadn’t been… Calvin just didn’t like submarine programs. And it wasn’t simply a claustrophobia issue: Submarines of the twentieth century represented some of Man’s first attempts to create fully isolated environments for long-term occupation; and whenever he saw them in a movie or other program, he was always reminded of how they were always a few inches away from disaster, from a suffocating leak, or a hull-crushing pressure; and how helpless the crew generally was to be rescued (oh, sure, in the movies, they were always rescued… but it was so obviously melodramatic, and miraculous, and unlikely, that he was always painfully aware of what the real outcome of most of those accidents were). Subs were the original life-support deathtraps, and it simply creeped Calvin out whenever he saw one.

  Of course, he recognized the irony of his situation, living in a structure not much different from a submarine, surrounded by an outer environment even more hazardous than the deeps of the ocean… but larger by many orders of magnitude, and 300 years more sophisticated besides. And it didn’t hurt that he didn’t need to duck his head wherever he walked through a hatch, either…

  Calvin finished shaving, and rinsed his face clean, absently watching the last drops of his shaving foam drip into the water in the sink as he contemplated his day. He was tempted to simply throw up his hands and go to Ceo Lenz, tell him that the force field idea was a hare-brained bust, and retreat to his office for the duration of the crisis. He wished there was another way, but he simply couldn’t see it.