“How will it affect her performance?” Hunter asked.
“With full tanks, she’ll be lighter, and the engines will burn cooler. You’ll see an overall improvement in performance.”
“The environmental activists from our day would love you guys,” Sif said.
“We didn’t have a choice once fossil fuels were no longer a viable option. We had to find another way, and we did. You’ll learn there have been a lot of changes regarding how we heat the complex, manufacture our food, produce electricity. It’s a different world, Commander.”
Sif noticed the major said heat the complex, as opposed to heat our homes. It was a subtle difference but made her wonder if the complex—this Phoenix place—was all there was.
“Ready to learn more about it?”
“You’re damn right I am.” Sif was beginning to feel somewhat more at ease, and it worried her. These people—Litsa’s Takers—seemed full of nefarious intent in Litsa’s stories, even more so after Talia’s bullet wound and the gunshot in the Dak. She and Hunter still had no idea what had happened to Litsa or the others, but being around technology—different in so many ways, more advanced, but still comfortably familiar—definitely took the edge off her nerves.
Hunter spent the next fifteen minutes telling the major the whole story—how they awakened from stasis, discovered the ship was heading back to Earth, and encountered what Lucas termed a Tipler cylinder. He summed up what they learned from the records in the Dak about how the Riy spread from continent to continent, and finally told the major what they saw from orbit, the overgrown cities and the huge swaths of blackened land stretching north and south from the equator.
The whole while, the major sat quietly, nodding every so often. Sif got the impression they were being recorded, which didn’t surprise her. It also made her wonder if their uniforms were outfitted to record their conversations as well. A microphone could be hidden in the nanofabric, embedded in the uniform itself, completely invisible. If so, the major and his superiors were well aware of their misgivings. She would mention it to Hunter—in writing—at the first opportunity. They were going to have to be careful what they said, at least until they knew more about these people.
“You’ve viewed portions of the globe that haven’t been seen in decades, Colonel,” the major said. “Our reach is pretty limited. The satellites that used to provide so much information are simply no longer accessible. Many have reentered, collided, shut down over the years. The eyes and ears in the skies you enjoyed are shuttered.”
“Once all the ground stations went dark, the orbits degraded,” Hunter said.
“Exactly. Unfortunately, satellite control is one thing we can’t do from the Phoenix Complex. At least, not yet.”
“This Phoenix Complex, Major, what exactly is it?” Hunter asked.
“It’s the last bastion of civilization, Colonel.” Major Murphy pressed a button on his chair, and to Sif’s disbelief, a slide show popped up on the monitor. Some things never change, she grumbled to herself. Death by PowerPoint is still alive and well.
“The Phoenix Complex was originally designed back in the 1950s as a location where government could continue to function after a nuclear war. It was a dual project by the American and Canadian governments, built in secrecy, with only the highest levels of both governments aware of its existence. Its location, by Hay River, was so remote that it would remain undamaged in the event of a global thermonuclear war.”
Sif held a pretty high security clearance but had never heard of this place. It didn’t surprise her, though, as she only knew what she had to know and nothing more. It was called compartmentalization, and it was a way to protect the big picture by allowing individuals access to only the puzzle pieces they were directly involved in.
“After the fall of the Soviet Union, the American and Canadian governments decided to close the facility—mothball it—and it was left abandoned until after the terrorist attacks of 2001.”
September 11, 2001. It was a date Sif remembered all too well. She was only a kid then but still knew the world was going to change. And not for the better. Her father was aboard Enterprise—on his way home—when the attacks happened. The Big E turned around, and her father went to war again. It struck her for a moment that such a pivotal moment in world history—one that she lived through—was ancient history to these people. It was an odd feeling.
“Over the next few years, the facility was reopened, expanded, and manned continuously by the American and Canadian militaries.”
Another slide.
“In 2009, the facility was once again shuttered, but this time, private funding kept it alive. The Phoenix Corporation, a bio-research firm at the time, decided to purchase portions of the complex . . .”
The Phoenix Corporation. She had heard that name before but couldn’t recall exactly where.
“. . . and along with DARPA—the American Defense Advanced Research Project Agency—turned the complex into the world’s most cutting-edge biological research facility.”
Sif was well acquainted with DARPA. Their core mission was weapons research, so if DARPA was involved with Phoenix, it was surely defense-related.
Another slide.
“In 2025, when the Riy infestation began, the Phoenix Complex was tasked with finding a way to stop the spread.”
“And apparently didn’t,” Hunter said.
“Not in time, no. By the time we’d figured out a way to slow it down, it was already too late. Society completely collapsed, and by that time, organizing any sort of government-sanctioned response was a lost cause. There weren’t any governments left. Phoenix, then, became a haven for the survivors. The world’s best scientific minds were brought to the complex, along with many of the most prominent business and political leaders, to provide a pool of people who—it was hoped—could one day rebuild the world from the ashes. Hence, Phoenix. Those of us who live and work in the complex now are the direct descendants of those survivors.”
The screen blinked off, and the major slid it back against the cabin wall, securing it into place.
“And what about the people who were left behind?” Sif asked, referring to Litsa and her people, and wondered how many more like her were out there, fighting to survive. “Were they just abandoned, left to fend for themselves?”
“Hard choices were made, Commander. The world was dying, and the leaders at the time had to save who they could. Judge them if you like, but I suggest you reserve your judgment until you see the Phoenix Complex. The Riy infestation knocked us back quite a few years, but we’re fighting hard to get mankind back to where it used to be.”
“Infestation? Is that what you people call what happened?” To Sif, infestation seemed like such a cold, scientific term for what had ravaged their world.
“That’s what it was, Commander. The Riy are simply a new form of life that was able to flourish without any environmental constraints to hold back its growth. Think of it like introducing an animal to an environment where it has no natural predators. In its natural setting, predators would keep the growth at bay, ensure a balance was maintained, but in a new environment, where there are no natural predators, the animal can reproduce at will.”
“Like the zebra mussel,” Hunter said.
“The what?” Sif asked.
“A species of mussel native to the Black and Caspian Seas,” Hunter explained. “Once it was introduced to North America, it spread like wildfire because there were no natural predators. They poisoned entire lakes to get rid of the things.”
The major nodded. “Yes, it was like that. Except the environment for the Riy wasn’t limited to a specific region. It was the entire planet.”
“We saw huge blackened areas,” Hunter said, “all by the equator, spreading north and south.”
“The Riy flourish in the sunlight, Colonel. They rapidly adapted following the Chernobyl release. Quite remarkable, really, since no fungal growth up to that point demonstrated an ability to synthesize sunlight, mu
ch like plants do. And once it did, the spread was, to use your words, Colonel, like wildfire.”
“How do you kill them?” Sif asked.
“Killing the Riy, as you saw from orbit, is problematic, Commander. It’s a global problem. We’re limited in what we can do.”
“But you can kill it.”
“Like I mentioned before, we can control the spread, yes.”
Sif decided it was time to press him about Litsa and the others. “Are you going to tell us what happened to the people in the cave with us?” She didn’t like how he looked away, his eyes betraying the fact that he was receiving instructions over his earpiece.
“Come on, Major, it’s a simple question. Why are you being so evasive?”
“I apologize if I seem evasive, Commander, but I can guarantee you, I’m not.”
“They call you the Takers. Did you know that? We heard stories about how you people fly in, kidnap whole families, and take them to God knows where.” She could feel Hunter’s gaze burrowing into the side of her head, but she didn’t care.
“I know it might seem that way, especially to the indigenous peoples, but I can explain. There’s a reason why we do what we do.”
Sif sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “I’m all ears, Major.”
“As I said earlier, the Phoenix Complex is the last bastion for humanity. We have a responsibility to all those outside our walls, too. We’re not trying to hurt these people, Commander. We’re trying to save them.”
“Your tactics seem oddly out of place, though,” Hunter stated coldly. “If you’re trying to save them, why the kidnappings in the middle of the night? The gas? The guns?”
Sif watched as the major dropped his eyes and shook his head. “This is going to be hard for you to understand.”
Sif spoke next. “I understand that you don’t save a teenage girl by shooting her in the leg and leaving her for dead. You don’t snatch away entire villages in the dead of night and kill those who fight back, and call yourselves saviors.” She stared coldly into his eyes, but he didn’t look away.
When he spoke, his voice was low, quiet. “This isn’t your world anymore, Commander.” He shifted his glance to Hunter. “Nor yours, Colonel. You can sit there and judge us all you wish, but you have to come to grips with the fact that the planet you once knew underwent an extinction-level event. Almost all the population—gone. Hardly anyone survived. Those who did—the ones who made it to the Phoenix Complex in time, and those left out in the open—weren’t necessarily the lucky ones. We all fought to survive, every person who was left.”
Sif shook her head. “That doesn’t explain your methods, Major.”
“You two are looking at this world through a filter that doesn’t take into account everything that has happened over the last two centuries. Like I said, this isn’t your world anymore. Everything that happened shaped who we are now. We may not seem compassionate or caring, but we are.”
Sif sat back in her chair. The soft leather didn’t seem as comforting as it did a short time ago.
The major continued.
“Would you think less of us if we decided, as a people who were more than able to survive on our own within the Phoenix Complex, to simply abandon those who were left to roam the wilderness?”
Sif opened her mouth to speak, but the major cut her off.
“No, I’ll answer it for you, Commander. You would. And you’d be correct. We’ve made the choice to put our own lives at risk every time we go out there to bring some of the indigenous people back to the complex. As Litsa told you, the Riy are moving northward, and we’re trying to get as many of Litsa’s people, and others like her, out of their path.”
“And once you remove them? What then?” Sif asked.
“We quarantine them, treat those who might be carrying any diseases, and relocate them. There are encampments in the Northern Territories where they’re able to make new homes.”
“Why not let them live with you?” Hunter asked.
“We only have the means to support a limited number of people within the complex, Colonel. We can’t take them all in.”
“It’s your methods I still don’t understand, Major. Why the raids?”
“If you didn’t notice, Colonel, they’re not exactly a peace-loving people.”
That statement immediately sent the blood to Sif’s face. Litsa admitted her people lived by a strict set of rules, but they did so out of necessity. “They can’t afford to be ‘peace-loving,’ Major. They’re trying to survive.”
“We did try to talk to them, Commander, in the beginning. The first village we visited, we lost twenty-seven people. Massacred. We could’ve quit our relocation efforts right then and there, but we didn’t. We’ve lost many more people since, and yet it remains one of our most important priorities.” He shifted his gaze to Hunter. “The Phoenix Complex is the only hope for the human race, Colonel. You’ll realize that—the both of you,” he said, cutting his eyes to Sif, “as soon you’re able to see it for yourselves.”
Sif took a deep breath. The major’s story seemed reasonable enough. She surely didn’t condone the manner in which they were relocating people but could see how it might be the only way. She and Hunter heard one side of the story from Litsa, and now heard it from one of Litsa’s Takers, a man who was charged with relocating as much of the surviving human race as possible before the Riy added them to their hives. The truth, she figured, lay somewhere in the middle. And it would start with knowing exactly what happened to Litsa and the others.
“Major, I want to know what happened in the cave. There were three of Litsa’s people inside before you . . . sedated us: two men—no, two boys,” she corrected herself, “and a young girl with a gunshot wound to her leg.”
“Every person in the cave is accounted for, including your Litsa. They should be leaving Ellsworth in the next few days after they finish their quarantine period and will be brought to Phoenix for relocation. We’ll fly them up here on one of the C-130s you saw on the ramp.”
“And the gunshots we heard?” Hunter asked.
“Warning shots. Your Litsa wasn’t very happy to see us.” He was smiling, but Sif saw no emotion in it.
“I want to see her when she arrives,” Sif said.
“That might be difficult due to the number of people they’re arriving with, and the safety protocols we have to follow, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“No, Major,” Sif said. “No excuses. I want to see her. And the others.”
He nodded. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do what I can.”
Sif felt the jet begin to descend at the same time the major cocked his head, as if listening to a message from the cockpit.
“We’re twenty minutes out,” he said. “President Carlisle has requested an audience with you as soon as we arrive, if you’re both up to it.”
“Absolutely,” Sif said. “It’s not every day one gets to meet a president.”
“And it’s not every day a president gets to meet two astronauts from the twenty-first century, either. He’s looking forward to showing you the complex and welcoming you to our family.”
Sif saw him reach up to his earbud.
“Oh, and one more thing. Lucas Hoover knows you’re alive—they informed him a little while ago. You’ll be able to speak to him during the next communication window.”
“How’s he doing up there?” Hunter asked.
“He said he’s lonely and can’t wait to come down. Now I have to ask you to please strap in for landing.”
Chapter 40
Resolute
Lucas was overjoyed to learn Sif and Hunter were alive. He had resigned himself to the probability that he might be the only one of the crew to survive, until he received the transmission.
They called themselves the North American Alliance and were transmitting from a location in Canada, or what used to be called Canada. They picked up one of Liv’s automatic hails, which, luckily, he had never instructed her to stop
sending. They knew exactly what Resolute was, and who they were. Surprisingly, they also knew almost every detail of their mission, including what they were carrying in each of the ship’s sections and the types of experiments they were to perform on the Martian surface. Every detail of their mission was still held in their databases, along with the story of their disappearance.
After the president announced that Resolute was missing, and the crew presumed dead, there was a national day of mourning, flags were placed at half-staff for a whole week, and memorial services for each of them were held in their hometowns. NASA even dedicated a bronze plaque in their memory, which the president himself unveiled outside mission control in Houston.
Everyone thought them dead.
Lucas felt sorry for his family—especially his siblings—who must’ve taken the news very hard. Not to mention Hunter’s family, who also would have been crushed. Sif’s parents were both deceased, but everyone who knew her surely suffered the loss just as painfully.
When he first spoke to the Alliance people, they had no idea Sif and Hunter had attempted a landing. Lucas provided the landing coordinates. Their last transmission stated Sif and Hunter were in good health, Beagle was damaged but repairable, and his two fellow astronauts were on their way to meet the president of the North American Alliance.
Lucas wasn’t able to get many details from the Alliance people as to what awaited him down below. Each communications opportunity seemed to pass by much too quickly. He still didn’t know what exactly had happened to their world and hoped Sif and Hunter could fill him in when he was able to speak to them. The Alliance seemed very interested in something Resolute was carrying, though. They wanted to know if the flyer was operational—Lucas told them it was, at least as far as he knew—and they also asked a series of questions about one of their experimental rigs, a genetically modified sample of Bacillus subtilis, a bacterium they brought with them to study on the surface of Mars. They wanted to know the size of the culture, whether it survived the trip, and if it was possible to send the sample down on one of the cargo landers.
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