by Ryan Tang
Plenty was flat, and too many people were standing on one side, causing it to tilt like a see-saw.
In between the random arguments, wild theories, and frantic outcries, a new message appeared on the screen. The messenger had taken the time to bold and highlight her post, and it was in all capital letters.
Oh no.
Oh no.
As the paragraph slid up the screen, Alex's eyes tracked it with the same accuracy she had when aiming at enemy Paragons. Even then, she only finished the message in the nick of time before it was gone. There were just too many others pushing it aside.
"I NEED HELP! SOMEONE PLEASE READ THIS! I LIVE IN BLOCK SEVEN. I'M IN APARTMENT THREE ON THE FOURTH FLOOR OF THE NORTH BUILDING. MY MOM WAS SERIOUSLY INJURED DURING THE QUAKE. SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME! SHE IS BLEEDING ALL OVER THE FLOOR I NEED HELP RIGHT AWAY!"
Alex lived in Block Seven.
It was on the other side of the colony and about as far as possible from any health center.
Jared leaned in behind her.
"What was that? What did that say? I only got to Block Seven."
"Someone is injured!"
Alex recited the message back out to them.
Surely Jared and his father could do something. They were high-ranking executives at Southern Robotics. They had their own private Paragon.
As soon as she finished, Jared sprinted out the door without another word. His father wavered for a moment. Then he shouted and ran after his son.
"No! Jared! Wait! Not yet!"
The message was long gone, but the words echoed endlessly in Alex's mind.
PLEASE HELP ME!
MY MOM IS SERIOUSLY INJURED!
SHE IS BLEEDING ALL OVER THE FLOOR!
I NEED HELP RIGHT AWAY!
Alex let out a shaky breath, half a gasp and half a sob.
The monitor chimed again and again as more and more messages arrived. Alex stared at the screen, unable to look away.
The words burned through her eyes. She couldn't feel anything. She couldn't feel the chair she was sitting in. Her legs and feet turned into wormy jelly.
The screen was all there was.
Many of the new messages were pleas, bolded, highlighted, and written all in capital letters just like the one from before.
Most came from Block 7 and the neighboring Blocks, 5, 6, and 8. That must have been where the quake was at its worst. Jared's palace-like home was built on Block 1, one of the farthest blocks from the seeming epicenter. It'd been bad enough here. What in the world had happened on the other side of the colony?
The same numbers kept coming up over and over again.
Block 5.
Block 7.
Block 8.
All were far away from medical centers. And soon, even the cries for help were overwhelmed by new messages, messages that copied the same techniques. Shifting bright colors. Highlighted and in bold.
"STOP COMPLAINING. EVERYONE IS WORRIED ABOUT THE QUAKES."
"STOP TYPING. LET THE PEOPLE WITH EMERGENCIES SPEAK FIRST."
"SHUT THE HELL UP."
"HELP! HELP! EMERGENCY ON BLOCK FIVE. MY ENTIRE HOME COLLAPSED."
"CAN SOMEBODY TELL ME WHAT IS GOING ON. DON'T TYPE UNLESS YOU KNOW WHAT IS HAPPENING. NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR STUPID EMERGENCY!!!!!"
Tears suddenly began down her face.
Alex let out raspy gasp after raspy gasp as she fought just to breathe.
The world twisted endlessly around her.
There was so much pain and worry.
Why wasn't anybody helping them?
Where was Southern Robotics?
Where was the Governor's office?
"SHUT THE HELL UP."
"NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR EMERGENCY."
Why were people acting like this?
People were dying!
Countless messages scrolled by, pleading for people to stop pushing away the emergency requests.
"Don't type anything! We need to keep the emergencies on the screen!"
"Stop! Stop! Let the people who need it most type!"
There were far more kind messages than cruel ones, but all of them had the same effect. The emergencies whirled by over and over again, lost forever in the endless noise.
Alex stumbled out of the pod, hoping to find some escape from the endless barrage of messages, but it was no use. As soon as she stepped out, she saw that her tablet was ringing so hard it looked like it was going to shake itself apart.
There were messages from library colleagues, from friends she knew from the café in the library square, and from her students and their parents.
They were asking her if she knew what was going on.
The most recent message was an exceptionally formal note from Alice's dad.
"Hi, Alex. This is Alice's dad. My daughter holds you in very high esteem. She says she's already sent you a message, but I wanted to send one as well. Our whole family is very worried about the quakes and I know that you have extensively studied the history of Old Earth. I was wondering if you could provide any insight. What can we do to secure our home, ensure our safety, etc.?"
Countless others followed it. Her students were pleading with her for help. There was a message from her landlord, Noah. Her own home – a tiny cube on Block 7 which she loved despite its size because it sat in the shadow of the Spire – had been completely destroyed.
Alex just gaped until she saw the message beneath it.
Laura's house had fallen, and she wanted to know what to do.
The tablet slipped through Alex's numb fingers, bouncing as it hit the treacherous ground.
Houses were falling.
People were dying.
Alex tried to imagine herself in the cockpit of a Paragon, going back to the peaceful state of her battle-mind. She needed to be calm. She needed to think and see a way through this.
Alex scrabbled against her uncooperative brain, growing more and more frantic when she realized the usual comforting stillness wasn't returning.
Her eyes opened, and the tears poured out even faster.
She had a simulator pod right in front of her, and there was nothing she could do.
What was the point of imagining herself inside?
It was just a simulation.
She wasn't a Paragon pilot, and she wasn't a good librarian either.
The Disasters were returning, but as a scholar of Old Earth history, she had no idea what to do.
She looked at Laura's message again.
What to do?
How in the world could Alex tell her what to do?
CHAPTER 9: THE PEACEFUL ENGINEER, PART 2
JARED SPRINTED ACROSS the hallway and down the stairs, his feet pounding against the cracked floor.
His father shouted after him.
"Jared! Wait! The machine's not ready yet!"
It hurt, but Jared ignored him and kept on running.
His dad was being his usual cautious self, but deep down, they both knew this was why they'd rescued the Peacetime model.
The chandelier hanging above the main entrance had fallen and shattered to pieces at the base of the staircase.
The words pounded in his head.
"My mom was hurt in the quake! I need help! She doesn't have a lot of time!"
If it were Jared's mom, there wouldn't even be a question. His dad would be leading the charge himself. Just because it was some person on the screen didn't make that any different.
And his Paragon could save her.
It could fly there faster than any transport. The large but gentle hands would clear away the rubble. Jared had seen the most recent test results. After his dad's improvements, the machine was even better than his original design.
This was the perfect time for him to do what was right. Plenty didn't need a war Paragon. It needed a Paragon of Peace.
He gathered his strength and then leaped from the third step. He crashed hard onto the ground at the other side, jolting his feet. He frantically windmilled his arms to
recover his balance. Jared let out a ragged sigh of relief as he regained his footing. He'd only cleared the shattered glass by inches.
The footsteps dropped to a sudden halt behind him. Jared stumbled for only a moment before returning to a breakneck run.
"Jared! Listen!"
He ignored his father and kept on running.
Before long, Jared was panting with every step. In the last few years, he'd spent far too much time working in the design room and not nearly enough time exercising. A stitch formed in his gut. His legs began to cramp.
He pushed himself forward, running past the sleek white walls he'd always secretly loathed.
He never said anything to his dad, but he hated how much their home looked like Southern Robotics headquarters.
It made him feel like he could never rest.
Countless imitations of Old Earth artifacts lay in shattered piles on the floor, but Jared didn't bother looking through what had survived and what was broken. The decorations didn't matter. His father never cared about them anyway. He only bought them to keep up appearances.
The ground shook again, and a piece of pottery smashed loudly to the floor. Jared leaped back, shielding his eyes from the shards. If there were going to be more quakes, it was best to be rid of them.
He shook his head.
More quakes.
It was a terrifying thought.
He clambered through one last awkward circular door, and then his Paragon stood before him.
His father had repainted the machine to match his colors in the simulator. The Peacetime model glowed back at him, a bright yellow, red, and blue that somehow looked more beautiful than Eternium.
The base color of the machine was the pleasant yellow of a sunny day. Blue was used for the cockpit, joints, and sprawling hands and feet. Red was used for the highlights, from the large V-shaped communications antenna to the carefully painted edges of the shoulder armor, gauntlets, and cockpit. Jared could tell from the imperfections - the multiple brush strokes so smooth out the sides or the bits where specks of bronze shone through - that the machine had been painted by hand. The awkward shape wouldn't fit into any of Stock's coloring machines. His father must have hung on from the edge of the bridge or hovered around it on his transport.
Compared to his beautifully rendered Ladybug from the simulator, the Peacetime model looked like it could be downed with a single well-placed shot. But when it came to speed and utility, his machine was just as good as the Paragons of old.
No matter what Stock said, his machine was a true Paragon.
He didn't need to rally troops or stop a bullet. He just had to save the injured woman in Block Seven.
Tonight, his machine would rival its legendary ancestors.
Jared clambered up the moving rungs to get into the cockpit as quickly as possible. He blurted out the words as soon as he sat in the chair.
"A boy pursues his greatest desire."
Yellow light flooded the cockpit. Now that he was forced to practice on the pod for hours a day, the words usually came out rote and workmanlike.
But this time, it was like he was a boy again.
The ancient words hung in the air.
Then his father's face flew onto the screen. Stymied by the fallen chandelier, he was dialing in from his tablet.
"Jared. It's too dangerous outside. You can't go out."
"The woman needs me."
He looked at his father in the eye.
"She's going to die!"
He stammered.
His mom jammed her head onto the screen too.
"You don't know that for sure. And besides, other people can help her. Professionals!"
"There are no medical centers near Block 7."
"Yes, but there's the roving ambulances. And Southern Robotics's private Security Force!"
"Dad. We know what people say about the health services department!"
Southern Robotics had a contract with the Waters administration to provide medical services to the blocks without hospitals or health centers. He had friends who worked on those divisions. They were great people, but the health department was woefully understaffed and outfitted with horrendous equipment. The roving ambulances were pathetically slow, even slower than the massive air buses that took assembly-line operators to work.
The roving ambulances received a lot of positive press, but everyone inside the company knew what the Director thought about them. The health services department received only hand-me-downs. An assignment there effectively ended your career.
"What did we rescue this machine for? What did we build it for if it wasn't for this?"
His heart pounded as he stared at the time on his tablet. It ticked on and on. He had to get going soon.
Jared began the systems check. As always, his father's work was perfect. All systems were cleared to launch.
He was going to launch no matter what. But part of him insisted he couldn't leave without his parent's approval. He jabbed at the controls for emphasis.
"This is why we were at Southern Robotics! It was to help people!"
The hangar gate cracked open. The night sky glimmered brightly around him, filled with shining stars.
The words echoed again in his head. In his mind, it was a young child, a young child completely terrified at the ground opening up beneath them and swallowing up their mother.
"My mom was hurt in the quake! I need help! She doesn't have a lot of time!"
"We have to help her. It's what this machine was built for!"
Jared stared at the screen.
He suddenly remembered a night long ago when he was just a boy. He'd accidentally snapped the arm off his model Paragon. His dad glued the pieces back together for him. Then his mom had laughed and said Jared would create a real Paragon one day.
A strange look crossed his parents' faces, and he instinctively knew they'd suddenly remembered the exact same thing.
They smiled and nodded.
"Go."
The gate opened, and for the first time in hundreds of years, a true Paragon flew through Plenty's skies.
____
It looked a lot better outside than what he'd initially imagined.
The abrupt shaking had felt like the end of the world.
The constant terror on the Forums only compounded his fear.
But all in all, Block 1 had seen minimal damage.
There were a handful of cracks, but not a single home had fallen. The only damage came from Joe Worth's house. The eccentric engineer had built his house in a sort of abstract tower structure, a whole bunch of irregular shapes all stacked upon each other. The entire building looked rickety even when the ground was standing still. Even then the quake failed to shake his house down. Only a few pieces had crashed onto the ground. Joe was outside right now in a crane, cursing loudly as he tried to piece his home back together.
Jared thrust the controls as far ahead as he could, flying to Block 7 at maximum speed.
The skies were shockingly empty.
He would have thought that there would at least be emergency responders or machines from the Southern Robotics security force.
And where were the private machines?
The Disasters had returned.
Why was he the only one responding?
What was going on?
He carefully scanned for hints of destruction as he zoomed past Block 3, but that area seemed mostly fine as well.
It was only after moving by Block 4 that he realized the truth.
The quakes hadn't been centered around his home.
He saw crumpled homes and raging fires. Maintenance pipes had ruptured through the ground. Water spewed high into the sky, and thick black smoke coiled through the air.
One particularly creative man had redirected a broken pipe to send the gushing water flowing back to the rows of burning homes.
The few who owned food generators had pulled them out of their homes to use them as hydrants. Jared wouldn't want to eat meat fr
om the old and broken-down machines, but all of them could still create water. Most people were just carrying buckets out of their houses, running outside and hoisting it onto his walls, then dashing back in.
People noticed him and yelled.
They leaped up and down, desperately calling for help.
Jared hesitated for a moment. Then he flew on.
He thought it might be worse further down.
He'd try to come back later, but it seemed like they had things more or less under control.
They screamed after him.
"Come back! Come back!"
"Help! My house is on fire!"
Now that he'd seen what'd happened, the empty skies terrified him even more.
Why wasn't anyone there to help?
He couldn't even see the giant mobile ambulances.
The damage as he flew on was worse than he ever could have imagined.
On Block 6, every single home had crumpled to the ground, and one in three had burnt down to cinders. Residents had flooded onto the streets.
The first man who saw him shrieked and pointed. Then he hastily elbowed his neighbor. Both of them leaped up and down with furious desperation. The frantic call rose and rose as more and more people saw his machine. It coalesced into a single multi-pitched wail, so loud and despairing that he couldn't hear the words.
Once Jared heard it, it was impossible to fly on.
As he descended, Jared fired open the Forums to see if he could ask anyone to help out at Block 7.
But the entire discussion was gone. Instead, the screen was blocked off by a single long message someone had pinned across the page.
Jared stared in complete bewilderment.
His confusion only mounted with each word he read.
"I hate to be the bad guy here, but it's time for some cold hard facts. The colony was built for a population of no more than fifty thousand. Now we have over a million people here! Why would anybody think this was going to last? Open your eyes! It's been right in front of you sheep this entire time but nobody wanted to deal with it. We have a serious overpopulation problem and all these useless bodies are starting to take their toll. Think about an old building. If too many people stand on the roof, it'll eventually break! That's what's happening to Plenty right now.
It's about time we start thinking about who actually deserves to be here. Every day on my way to work I see over a dozen homeless people lying around, not working, and weighing down the colony. It was fun while it lasted but we can't let people sit around doing absolutely nothing all day any longer. It's nothing personal. They could just get good jobs at Southern Robotics helping us get to Earth but they're just too damn lazy and selfish.
