by P. R. Adams
“You aren’t the only one pushing that point.” Kleigshoen fidgeted with a button on her jacket as she talked.
So much going on behind the curtains, Dana. You’re becoming just another spook. Is that really what you wanted when you joined the Bureau?
Kleigshoen glanced at Fontana as if for support. “The colonial governments—”
Rimes set his hands on the table, palms down, calm. “The colony worlds are businesses. They’ll realize it’s a smart business decision. Cut some trade deals. Emphasize how bad the metacorporations are as business partners.”
“The colonies already know what it’s like to deal with the metacorporations. There’s no love lost.”
Rimes rapped his knuckles on the table. “The UN has every reason to act quickly. The colonies will follow.”
“We know. That doesn’t mean we can—”
“Dana, you’re asking soldiers to make sacrifices. Governments are going to have to make some sacrifices, too.”
Kleigshoen closed her eyes and leaned her head into her hands, bunching her hair in her fingers. “What are you looking for? I’m telling you everyone’s in this together.”
Rimes stood suddenly. “That’s not enough. If we want to survive, we have to do more.”
“We’re doing what we can as fast as we can.” Kleigshoen stared at him unsteadily.
For the first time, he saw the anxiety and fatigue in her eyes and realized that, despite all Kleigshoen’s posturing about forward thinking, the Bureau hadn’t been ready for whatever the genies had done.
The conference room—already small—seemed to shrink in on them, as if the walls of a trap had suddenly closed.
If the Bureau wasn’t ready for this, what chance do we have?
9
3 June, 2167. Midway, GA.
* * *
MIDWAY PARK WAS a modest stretch of converted wetlands just east of Ocean Highway, about a half kilometer north of the Midway Museum. Stretching one hundred meters square, the park was mostly carpetgrass fighting a hopeless battle with a variety of weeds. Three circular mulch mounds, overgrown with bright seasonal flowers, occupied the park center. Even in a black T-shirt and green gym shorts, the heat was stifling for Rimes, the flower-scented air nearly unbreathable.
Like most sites in Midway, the park was a memorial, in this case for the hundreds of Rangers lost in the botched first days of the Iran invasion decades past. Aside from a giant pecan tree and a secluded elm, the park offered little shelter from the merciless sun. In June, the air was already thick with insects, and the park was largely abandoned in favor of private yards.
Jared ran across the grass, a shimmering blur of sky blue clothes and bronze skin. He squealed as if the hounds of hell were chasing him. His right hand clasped a dandelion so tight that its stem threatened to break. Seed parachutes released from the head rode his wake. He reached back for the parachutes, his little hands futilely clutching.
For a moment, Rimes forgot the smothering air and laughed as he reclined against a plastic park bench.
At his feet, Calvin scowled and turned his attention from his father to his brother, and then back. Molly’s hand was draped over Rimes’s knee as she watched the three of them with a serene smile. She brushed a strand of curly copper hair from her lips.
“You shouldn’t take so much pleasure from his frustration.” She adjusted her summer dress’s shoulder strap with a chuckle.
“It’ll get him ready for adulthood.” Rimes was only half-kidding. Molly’s smile faded and he regretted having said it. He took her hand and squeezed it gently. All this violence, everything on the verge of collapse—she’s on edge, and there’s nothing I can do to protect her and the boys from it. “They’ll have a better life.”
“More dreams?” Molly frowned.
“What’s life without dreams, baby? We can control their future. Set money aside for their education, ensure they avoid our mistakes, guide them in the right direction.”
Molly quietly snorted. Jared stumbled toward her to give her the crumpled dandelion stem; she caught him and kissed him. She placed the stem over an ear and thanked him, then watched him run off to pluck another from a small, nearby patch.
Her wry smile deepened. “For someone so bright, you can sometimes say the silliest things. What’s the right direction, Jack? You can see twenty years out? What about when they’re forty? What looks like a brilliant career path in ten years might be a dead-end in forty. Everything’s changing so fast. Too fast. I think we’re obsoleting ourselves.”
Rimes slumped. “I know.” He looked around the park and wondered at a world where land could be reclaimed from rising oceans, but no thought could be given to preventing the oceans rising in the first place. “We screw up so often and we spend most of our time trying to fix our screw-ups. Can you imagine what we could do if we would actually plan ahead?”
“We’re doing what we can.” Molly patted his leg.
“We are. But all of that’s built around what you and I do. What about other folks? What’s ensuring they plan ahead?” Rimes watched Jared spin around as he chased more seed parachutes. “Putting everything on individuals…it’s lazy, it’s irresponsible. We could do everything right for Jared and Calvin and it could be for nothing. Everything around them could collapse.”
She stared at him for a moment. He felt his jaw muscles work as he ground his teeth. The anxiety rolled off of him, every bit as palpable as the heat. We can’t stay here. It’s toxic, dying, like Perditori said.
“Jack, what’s eating you? Is it that message you got last night?”
Rimes thought back to the message from Tymoshenko: assurances everything was fine, a slight misunderstanding, no risk anything would be traced back to Rimes. EEC was taking ‘measures’. Things on Earth were becoming too problematic.
Measures. Fleeing Earth. Wonderful. “No. That’s old business. It’s…resolved.”
“So what is it? Is it this hunt you’ve been talking about?”
He looked at her, but he couldn’t maintain eye contact for long. Guilt and uncertainty were gnawing at him, fraying his confidence. “This thing…it’s our only choice. We’ve seen what they can do. They’ve already killed so many people.”
“I know.”
He looked from Calvin to Jared. An image came to Rimes, the two of them dead, buried in the rubble of a smoking, burned out building.
I won’t let it happen. I’ll stop them.
He blinked the image away. “On one level, I know we’re feeding a cycle of violence doing this. I get that. On another level, though, I don’t see any indication the genies are willing to let this go. They can’t simply let us die out on our own. They have to wipe us out. They’ve said as much.”
Molly hugged him tight and shivered. She released her hold slightly, leaning back to gain his attention. “Michael called yesterday.”
Rimes closed his eyes. “Can we afford it?”
“We can.” She gave him a gentle, patient squeeze. “The university has offered them the chance to put Gina into an experimental therapy program. It sounds like some pretty advanced genetic modification therapy, but not advanced enough to release it to the public.”
“Experimental?” Rimes frowned. Gina was a good kid, probably his favorite niece, and she’d never been given a fair shot in life. Cri du chat syndrome wasn’t life-threatening, but it wasn’t ideal. Despite counseling and therapy, she was falling behind her peer group in most educational metrics. Without a cure, her future—and thus his brother’s—looked bleak. “Did they give an idea of the effectiveness and safety?”
“Greater than seventy-five percent. Those are good odds.”
“She’s just a kid.” Rimes took Molly’s hands into his and kissed them.
“Have you heard anything more on the Valdez?”
He released her hands. “They’re actually ahead of schedule now. I need to report tonight.”
Molly pulled away from him. He could see her working through the changes h
is early departure would force on her. They had only just started packing. Jared would miss a month of school prep unless their transport had instructors or at least recorded classes. She would need to conclude their legal matters—breaking the lease and the like.
Rimes leaned forward and kissed her. She’d done nothing but complain about the Fort Stewart assignment since their arrival, but now she was finding the most amazing things she would miss about it. “I can’t apologize much more, baby.”
She glared at him. There was no hint of underlying humor or understanding. “You think there’s some sort of quota, Jack? If there is, you’ve got a long way to go, and you’re running out of time.”
“This is what I do. It’s my career.” He looked down for a moment. I’m not being honest with myself. “The choices aren’t getting any better. You want me to get on at the penitentiary with Michael? He barely scrapes by. The pay may not be great, and the demands may be a real burden, but it’s a decent life.”
Molly looked away, miserable. “There are always other choices, Jack. The sacrifices you’re making…everyone has limits. I don’t think you should confuse your love and loyalty with a lack of options. There’s nothing wrong with being a great soldier.”
“You’ll like Plymouth. It’s one of the oldest colonies. They’re stable, almost completely self-sustaining. You three will fit in perfectly. They’re already starting on the compound. By the time you get there, they’ll have the first of the temporary buildings up. It’s going to be better than Earth. It’s safer.”
Molly shook her head slowly, exactly as she did when scolding the boys after a particularly foolish mistake. “We’ll be outsiders. You know the reputation the colonies have when it comes to outsiders, especially the older colonies. This is our home.”
Rimes looked away. Convincing a military spouse how good a transfer might be was an awkward sales job. It’s not like it would be a prison.
“This compound is going to represent a huge influx of money for them. No one is saying no to something like that. Outsiders or not, they’ll welcome you. New compound, new residents, new jobs—everybody wins.”
“Why are you so anxious to leave Earth? There are plenty of good things here still. You can’t just abandon your home because of some bad memories.”
“I’ve got my orders.” And you’re romanticizing this place, Molly. It’s dying, if not already dead. You know it, but if I bring it up, there goes any chance of keeping this civil.
Molly pulled Calvin to her. “He needs a change.” She looked at Rimes, anger mixing with sorrow.
Rimes called Jared over and they began walking for the house, trailing Molly and Calvin. After a moment, Rimes lifted Jared onto his shoulders.
It was nearly a klick to their modest home. Cramped, cheaply constructed, unable to fight off the summer heat—Rimes wouldn’t miss it. Eventually, neither would Molly. For now, though, it had taken on the proportions and luxuriant comfort of a mansion in her mind, and he was responsible for them leaving it behind.
Rimes laughed at the absurdity of the situation and marveled at how quickly they could lose perspective. They had two healthy children, put three meals a day on the table, and carried no debt. That put them into the ever-shrinking slice of the American middle class. It wasn’t a perfect life, but it was better than most had.
The genies won’t be content until there are no humans left, and here we are bickering over comfort. Is this how our species dies—quibbling over technicalities?
It hit him then—he’d already accepted the inevitability of their end.
Is that the genies work, or are things just that bad?
10
3 June, 2167. USS Valdez. Earth orbit.
* * *
“ATTENTION ON DECK!”
Rimes and Brigston snapped to attention, Rimes briskly, Brigston more casually. At Rimes’s side, Fontana did her best to stand erect.
While everyone else wore drab gray environmental flight suits, Captain Fripp was dressed in pressed Navy whites. Fripp took the room in with an icy blue stare. “At ease.” His voice was almost unintelligibly raspy.
“Welcome aboard. I’ve asked you here to familiarize you with the Valdez’s operations. Lieutenant Rimes, I want to be up front about this. I don’t agree with your assignment to my ship. I don’t appreciate being made a part of someone else’s attention-grabbing proof-of-concept. Your ERF may have a future, but it shouldn’t be on my back.”
Rimes felt his temper rise. “I’m sorry to hear that, Sir. I’ll do my best to change your mind about the Elite Response Force.”
Fripp’s jaw clenched for a moment. “I’d advise you keep your expectations realistic. The Marines have been a part of the Navy for quite some time. We like things the way they are. It works. If it isn’t broke, don’t fix it. Am I correct, Commander Brigston?”
“You are, Captain.” Brigston beamed. “And I wanted to say, it’s an honor serving aboard the Valdez.”
Fripp turned away. “It is. As my weapons system department head, I expect a great deal from you, Commander. It’s quite a change from the Broussard.”
Brigston flashed an embarrassed look at Rimes. “Of course, Sir.”
Fripp turned again to look at Rimes, then indicated a bookish-looking, relatively young man in Navy whites. “Commander Stafford’s my XO. He’ll help you put together a shift rotation and get you familiar with the Valdez. If you hope to fill the boots of my Marines, Lieutenant Rimes, you’ve got a lot of work ahead of you.”
Rimes gave Stafford a curt nod. Stafford returned it.
Don’t let the old bastard get to you. It’ll be over before we launch if you do. “Thank you, Sir.”
“Miss Fontana.” Fripp pursed his lips. “You’ll be working with Lieutenant Kim out of the Intelligence Center. We…appreciate the Bureau offering us a resource, but I expect you will respect our protocols and procedures?”
Fontana stared at him with an unsettling gaze. “Based on your profile, the Bureau anticipated you would have problems adjusting to change, Captain, so I’ve been reviewing Navy documentation for the past week. I wouldn’t want any discomfort on your part if there’s something I could do to prevent it.”
Fripp’s lips twitched at the corners. “Excellent.” He looked at Stafford and released a barely audible sigh. “Then we’ll show you around your new home.”
The tour dragged on for an eternity. Rimes stayed focused on opportunities to learn about capabilities or key personnel and ignored Fripp’s pedantic posturing.
Shortly after midnight, they were released to their quarters. Rimes sleepily stripped down to his undergarments and crawled onto the top bunk. He breathed in the cool, dry air.
Molly would be facing days of stressful meetings with movers and military personnel, out-processing the family from Fort Stewart, all in the brutal Georgia summer. He felt a pang of guilt.
No. I don’t have the luxury right now. Six hours to sleep then we’re back on the bridge. Molly’s strong. She’ll survive it.
Survival. Strength. Conflict. Are those Kwon’s thoughts, or mine?
Rimes listened for the whispers, the quiet sensations that told him Kwon was hovering in the background.
It was silent, but Kwon’s presence was still there. He’s curious about something. Is it Fontana? Can she sense him? Can she sense what I’ve become?
4 June, 2167. USS Valdez. Earth orbit.
* * *
RIMES RUBBED the sleep from his eyes and took another sip of coffee as he stared at the starboard bridge station, flipping through the list of inbound ships.
Fripp’s voice rose as he argued over the communication system with the rest of the task force’s commanders.
A flick of a finger brought up the task force’s composition: the Fitzpatrick, an American Newell-class frigate; the Queen Katherine and Munich frigates from the British and German space navies, respectively; the Qingdao, Wuhan, and Zhanjiang, three Chinese scout vessels; the Tabar, an Indian signal ship; and the H
yuga, a Japanese medical ship. They were docked close together—too close for Rimes’s comfort—in the orbital shipyard.
“You seem to be comfortable with all this.” Fontana’s voice was a whisper at Rimes’s back.
Rimes nearly jumped and turned to look at her, fighting the urge to immediately turn away from the disturbing sight of her eyes—too ghostly gray-blue, too symmetrical, too broad-set. They’re not amber. “I’m just going with the flow.”
“I know.” Fontana looked at her outfit—the same gray jumpsuit Rimes wore, minus insignia—exasperated. Nerves were doing a number on her already pale face, giving her a drained, sickly pallor.
Rimes took another sip of coffee and focused his attention on Fripp. One of the Valdez’s headsets danced on his perfectly coiffed hair as he shouted a string of obscenities at the communication system. He was a small man, thin, with graying, straw-colored hair. By appearance and station, he should have been subdued, calm, even forgettable, but he was an energetic maelstrom that could not be ignored.
Rimes turned back to the console he’d been examining before. “This is going to be a challenge for all of us.”
Fontana followed Rimes’s eyes from Fripp to the console and smiled, covering her mouth self-consciously. “I’m doing what I can to fit in, but it doesn’t feel right.”
Doesn’t feel right? That says it all. Rimes winced at the thought. He was trying not to see her as alien, but he was failing. He turned to look at her again. “Agent Fontana, can I be honest with you?”
Fontana smiled. “You already are.”
“Are you…reading my mind?”
“No. I may not be able to read your mind very well, but I’d have to be pretty blind to miss the body language. Are we going to be able to work together?” Fontana’s smile tightened, became forced.
