Ark (19 page)

38

T
he successful crew, the final eighty, were led by Gordo and his staff out of the hall into a smaller lecture theater. Gordo climbed up to the stage, where a podium with a blue seal on the front had been set up. A glass-walled compartment at the back held spectators. The candidates—no, the
crew,
Holle thought—sat in their rows, filling barely a quarter of the theater. There were so terribly few of them. And she estimated that no more than sixty percent wore the uniforms of the official Candidates.

Kelly and Wilson escorted Holle to a seat and sat to either side, making sure she stayed put. Kelly couldn’t conceal her exhilaration. Wilson was grim-faced, massive in his determination.

Holle couldn’t believe Mel wasn’t here, beside her. She felt as if she was on autopilot, unable to make decisions for herself, unable to imagine a future without Mel. She didn’t even know if she’d be allowed to see him again, unless she somehow busted out of this crew assignment.

Everybody around her shuffled to their feet. Glancing at the stage, she saw that President Peery was walking up to the podium.

Pat Peery was a short, stocky man, with a bald pate and a wide face; he wore a dark blue suit and lapel pins, a US flag to the left and his own patent whole-Earth pin to the right. He was followed onstage by a phalanx of dark-suited men and women, some of them surely security people, others maybe aides. Holle had never seen Peery in person before. He looked more like a comedian than a president, she thought, one of the stand-up comics whose improvised black humor about food shortages and eye-dees and epidemics was pumped out on the news channels in the small hours to distract insomniacs.

Peery spread his hands. “Please, sit down. I can imagine how you’re all feeling after the lottery business out there.” He patted his own belly. “Butterflies, right? I don’t want anyone fainting on me.”

His audience sat, and there was a tangible sense of relaxation, Holle thought, even a ripple of laughter.

Peery said, “Now, just nine years after my predecessor spoke to this project, we got our eighty, we got our crew. And before you prepare for your ascension I thought I should address you, and remind you of where you’ve come from, and where you’re going, and why.” He spread his hands. “These are extraordinarily difficult times for all of us. Well, you know that. You wouldn’t be riding an atom bomb to the stars otherwise. And it has been an extraordinarily difficult time to be President of this great country. You may not agree with every decision I’ve made while in office, every measure I’ve ordered. But I can assure you that every step I took was intended to ensure the survival of something of our nation beyond this dreadful historical terminus—survival of its heart and soul. And every step I took, I took in the eyes of God.

“That is as it should be. In a sense the whole trajectory of our nation’s history has been a kind of mission—I use the word in the best and bravest sense. I reversed President Vasquez’s policies regarding the secularization of the state. I may say I never tried to tamper with the Ark crew selection in that regard; things had gone too far. But you will know, if you have listened to my words at all over the last five years, that I have brought God back to the heart of our nation’s destiny.

“And in doing so, I believe, I have preserved your great project. I have argued in these final days that
you,
your Ark, are a pure and noble expression of the mission brought to this continent by our founders, an expression in an age of an ultimate crisis they could never have foreseen. That is how I have rallied the nation to support you. And I have also ordered the continuation of a second mission, a second Ark, a project to build a sanctuary on the Earth itself. No, I know you never heard of that before—
they
never heard of
you.
Such are the times we live in.

“And to ensure these great projects were protected and adequately supported, I have had to take measures that many of you would find unpalatable. Which
I
find unpalatable. I’ll pick out one example that has affected you directly, right here today in Gunnison.

“We brought you in here to the Zone early, without warning, so as not to allow the eye-dees and saboteurs and other crazies any chance to blow up the Ark or throw their babies over the fence, or otherwise disrupt the mission. We got you locked down before they knew what was happening.

“But here’s the blunt truth. In order to secure the loyalty of my generals, my senior military people, I had to grant their children places on the Ark. This wasn’t done arbitrarily; the kids had to satisfy basic standards of health, genetic diversity, competence and the rest. But now those men, those senior people, will be protecting their own children. They’ll do a job, believe me. But the process to which some of you have devoted your whole lives has been subverted at the very last minute. Maybe you hate me for this. I don’t blame you if you do. But if I had not, I don’t believe I could have guaranteed your security for the seven days left before you launch. I hope you understand, and will forgive me.

“Look, that’s enough from me. You have an enormous amount of work to do, and not very many hours left to do it in. Just remember that I, and all of your parents’ generation, have given you all we can to ensure your remarkable journey is successful. Some of us have blackened our very souls. Remember us, on Earth II.” He glanced at his watch, and at his aides. “I guess that’s it.” He walked away from the podium.

Everybody stood up.

As the President’s party left the stage, Edward Kenzie and Patrick Groundwater walked in from a side door. They hurried to the stage to join Gordo Alonzo, who was earnestly talking to Liu Zheng. Patrick looked around, scanning the audience anxiously, until he saw Holle, and he beckoned her urgently.

Holle ignored Kelly and the rest. She grabbed her bag and hurried down the steps, rushing to the stage. “Dad, oh, Dad—”

“Sweets.” Patrick grabbed her, hugging her close. He was hot, sweating, unshaven, as if he had been working through the night.

“I thought I wasn’t going to get to see you again.”

“Don’t be silly.” Patrick stepped back, smiling tiredly. “I just had to wait for the President. Quite a speech.”

Gordo grunted. “Same old horseshit from Pat Peery. It wasn’t about the project, he’s angling for the statues you’ll build to him on Earth II.” He shook his head. “Well, he’s a brutal operator. Including wrapping the whole thing up in a holy mission. What the times need, I guess.”

Holle didn’t care about Peery. “Dad. You know what happened—you know about Mel?”

“I’m sorry, sweets. You know there’s nothing I could do about that. You load in twenty outsiders at the last minute, you’re going to have to make space by dumping twenty insiders.”

“I won’t fly without Mel.”

Patrick cupped her cheek, as he had when she was very small. “Your whole life has led to this. You have to fly. Do it for me.”

“And besides,” Edward Kenzie murmured spitefully, “here you are. I don’t see you handing your token back to Gordo.”

Patrick turned on him. “You arsehole, Edward—”

Gordo said, “Can this wait until later? Holle, we got a kind of urgent situation on our hands we need your help with.”

Holle glared at him. “You’ll get no help from me.”

Gordo sighed and rubbed his face. “Jesus Christ—kids! Look, can you just pretend you’re still part of the fucking crew for another hour?”

Liu Zheng said, “Of all the Candidates, he will only speak to you.”

“Who?”

“Matt Weiss. He is waiting.”

Bewildered, she let herself be led away, while Kelly and the others stared after her.

39

M
att’s cell was basic, a cave in a concrete block of a building, the walls rough and unfinished. He had a chemical toilet, a sink, a cupboard with books, a bunk, a TV. But there were no windows, no natural light.

Matt was sitting on his bed when Gordo opened the door. Liu and Gordo followed Holle in; Patrick stayed outside.

Matt stood up, looking away as if embarrassed. He wore a coverall of some rough recycled material. “Wasn’t expecting you,” he said to Holle. “I know I said that I’d speak to you if you came, but—”

She forced a smile. “Wasn’t expecting to be here.” She still didn’t know what they wanted of her. She sat down on the bunk, and he sat beside her. Liu Zheng sat on the room’s only chair, a hard plastic upright, and Gordo leaned against the wall, arms folded.

“Sorry it stinks in here,” Matt said. “I shower every three days. But it’s poky, you know.”

“In a couple of weeks the whole Ark will probably stink just as bad.”

“Maybe. I’ll never know, will I? I bet you didn’t know they had a prison on the launch site.”

She shrugged. “I’m not surprised. The whole place is like a prison now, crawling with cops and soldiers and National Guard. They’ve kept you here since—”

“Since I confessed to killing Harry, yeah.”

“What about a trial?” She glanced up at Gordo.

Gordo said, “We’re kind of busy. Mounting trials isn’t a priority.”

“I don’t want a trial,” Matt said firmly. “What would be the point? It would make no difference to the outcome.”

Holle shrugged. “OK. But what now? I guess they’re going to move you away from here.” In this cell they were no more than four hundred meters from the base of the Orion stack.

Liu Zheng leaned forward. “That’s what we need to speak to you about, Matt. We need volunteers.”

“Volunteers?”

“Look—” Liu pointed up and out, in the vague direction of the Ark. “You understand that when the bird flies, everything within several hundred meters of the launchpad will be destroyed. The Zone will be smashed to the ground, and much of the wider Hinterland—”

“I know, I know. Nothing close in to the Orion will survive. So what?”

Gordo said, “But somebody needs to stay ‘close in.’ Right to the end, right to the moment when those cannon start spitting their thermonuclear shells down through the pusher plate.”

Liu Zheng sighed. “Matt, the Ark is an experimental machine. It is a sick joke that we will still be building it at the moment it flies. Well, it is true. Even now a slew of design modifications afflicts us. We will have no time to implement most of them, let alone test them. You know that launch control will be run out of a bunker at Pikes Peak. But remote command and support will not be enough. In the final hours, as we run down the countdown clock, we are expecting many failure modes to occur—some we can anticipate, surely many that we cannot.

“There will be a team,” Liu said. “A team who will stay right until the final minute, until it is too late to escape the blast zone—you must understand—a team who may find themselves crawling through the Orion fixing leaks even as the atomic bombs begin to fire.”

“A suicide squad,” Matt said slowly. “And you want me to be on it.”

Holle felt she could barely breathe. After a day of shocks, this was one development she had not foreseen.

Gordo said, “According to your aptitude tests, you were pretty good at math and physics and nuclear engineering, but you were one of the best hands-on mechanics in the Candidate corps. So here’s a chance, kid. A chance to do something for the project you devoted your life to.”

Liu Zheng reached out and grabbed his shoulder. “And I,” he said, “will be with you. I will lead. This is my project, after all.” He smiled. “It will be glorious. Think of the honor. Think of the spectacle as the bird flies, seared on your retinas—”

“Before my brain fries.”

Gordo said, “You get a full pardon. In writing from the President, if you want. We need you, kid. Holle needs you.”

Holle snapped, “That’s so manipulative. It’s a death sentence!”

Matt looked at her. “You’re flying?”

Both Gordo and Liu looked at Holle. Now she understood why they had brought her here. Miserably, she said, “Yes, Matt. Yes, I’m flying.”

Matt nodded. He reached out and shook Liu’s hand. “Give me a monkey wrench and I’m your man, boss.”

Holle could bear no more. She ran to the door, which opened to release her, and fell into the arms of her father.

When they took her out to the car she smelled burning. From all around the horizon, smoke was rising, black and ugly. It turned out that President Peery had ordered the firing of a trench, more than six kilometers long and filled with precious oil, that ringed the whole of the core Zone. The trench would be kept burning until the engines of the rising Ark obliterated it.

40

December 2041

T
he siren echoed in the corridors. Its pulse came every one and one-tenth seconds, Holle thought sleepily, to match the rhythm with which the thermonuclear charges would detonate beneath the pusher plate to shove the Ark, and herself, into space.

The siren.

She sat bolt upright. The duvet fell away from her bare upper body. A panel flashed brilliant red on her bedroom wall. The wall clock showed her it was a shade after 1800. She’d been asleep since noon, after pulling another thirty-six-hour shift in the sims. “On!”

The screen cleared to reveal Gordo’s face. “—is Pikes Peak control. Get your asses to the Ark, now. Launch has been pegged for 2000.” Flicker. “This is Pikes Peak control. Get your asses—”

She rolled out of bed and ran across the room to slap the panel.

“Gordo! It’s Holle.”

The recording broke up to reveal a live feed of Gordo Alonzo with his tie loosened, and frantic scenes in launch control in the background. Gordo kept his face rigid, his gaze unequivocally not straying over her bare body. “Good evening, Ms. Groundwater.”

“Gordo, what’s happening? The launch was set for 0800 tomorrow.”

“Not any more,” he said gruffly. “Morell says he can’t hold the line for more than another few hours.”

She was bewildered. “We’re not ready.”

“You’ll have to be.”

“There are still civilians here, in the Hilton. Mel’s here somewhere. My father—”

“They’ll have to get out of there.” He pressed a pad, out of her sight. “No, Argent, it’s not a fucking drill. Get your skinny ass to that pad now.” Another touch to the pad, and his hand hovered near his loosened tie. “Mr. President. Yes, sir, this is launch control at Pikes Peak. After the message from General Morell we accelerated the schedule. I’m confident we—yes, sir, I understand. If you’ll excuse me one second.” He glared, as if straight at Holle. “Any of you assholes on the crew listening to me talk to the President rather than getting your butts over to the ship are going to have a long time to regret it. Yes, sir, go ahead . . .”

“Off.” The screen blanked.

Stunned, she looked around. Half-anticipating something like this, she’d got her stuff ready. Her launch suit lay sprawled over a chair, a loose undergarment with sewn-in medical sensors and comms links, and a tough AxysCorp-fabric bright blue coverall, bulky with built-in anti-impact air bags and cooling system and snap-on interface for the waste system. And she’d half-packed the small pouch that would contain the only personal stuff she’d be allowed to take aboard the Ark, data sticks, Angels, hardcopy photographs—a lock of Mel’s hair.

She moved. She ran around picking up the last items from the bedroom and bathroom, her toothbrush, her case of sanitary towels.

She could hear shouts, revving vehicles, running footsteps, the continual blaring of the siren, and a pop that sounded like small-arms fire. Her hands were trembling as she pulled on the layers of the flight suit. She couldn’t believe this was happening, that the time had come, this final sundering. She longed to pee. She could pee on the Ark.

She hunted for her boots. Outside the window, red lights flared with that ominous atomic rhythm.

The exit chamber on the ground floor was a swarm of crew members, ground staff, military with weapons at the ready, ushering crew members to the armored buses waiting to take them to the Ark itself.

A glass wall had been erected down the center of the hall. For days nonessentials had been excluded from the crew areas in an attempt to keep the crew clear of bugs. Mel wasn’t here. But, among the handful of lovers, children and parents standing bereft on the far side of the barrier, Holle saw her father.

She ran to him. She dropped her bag and pressed her hands against the glass; he matched hers with his. “Dad—oh, Dad. I want to smash this glass.”

He forced a smile. “That wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“I tried to get them to pass you through for the last night. I was going to cook you paella.”

“I’ll cook it myself in your honor, don’t you worry. Anyhow I’ll be speaking to you on the comms links; you won’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Mel isn’t here. He said he’d be here.”

“It’s hard for him, sweets. I’ll talk to him. I’ll make sure he’s fine.”

Somebody was blowing a whistle, the last boarding call for the buses.

“Dad—”

“I’ll tell you one last thing, love, I never told you before. Your mother and I listened to Thandie Jones telling the IPCC in New York how the world was going to end. You were conceived after that. Conceived in hope. But I never told you why we called you Holle. On Orkney my grandmother told me old Norse stories . . . You’re named for the old Norse goddess of the afterlife—Holle, Hel, Hulda. Holle is the goddess of transformation.” He was crying now. “I always hoped you would fulfill that promise somehow. And now here you are, a part of the afterlife of the whole world.”

This was more than she could bear. “These are the days of miracle and wonder, aren’t they, Dad?”

He stepped back deliberately. “Don’t cry, baby.” His voice was muffled.

Kelly Kenzie ran up and grabbed her arm. “You still here? Come
on,
damn it, that fucking bus is going
now.
”

Holle let herself be pulled away. When she looked back, Patrick had deliberately lost himself in the crowd.

They crowded onto the armored bus. It rolled away before Holle had a chance to sit down, before the door was properly closed. Everybody was stumbling around, dragging their bags, their suits half zipped up; this was nothing like the orderly embarkation they had rehearsed.

Holle got to a seat, but it was too small for her, padded up as she was in her layered suit. Bad design, she thought. Make a note for the integration oversight committee. But this bus would be vaporized in a couple of hours, poorly designed seats and all. She felt a hysterical giggle bubble up. She looked out of the window. Brown, greasy smoke from the oil fire in the moat rose into the air, as it had for six days now.

A dull roar reached a crescendo that crashed down, making them all duck. Two fighter jets screamed across the sky, their lights bright, burning up a bit more of the nation’s dwindling store of aviation fuel. She wondered what threat they had been sent aloft to face.

The bus lurched to a stop. The driver opened the doors, and stood up and waved her arms. “Out! Out! Move it!” She was a middle-aged woman in an NBC coverall, for nuclear-biological-chemical protection. Holle understood her urgency; if the driver didn’t get her bus turned around and out of the blast zone, she wouldn’t survive the launch, NBC suit or not.

Holle got off the bus, clutching her bag. The Ark towered above her, gleaming in a bath of light cast by the powerful floods at its feet. Tanker trucks were pulled up at the ship’s base, their hoses snaking into the superstructure, while far above her head valves vented white vapor.

There was no time for reflection. Kelly hurried ahead, and Holle followed, clutching her bag.

They got to the foot of the boarding ramp, where ground crew and military, all in NBC suits, checked their boarding tokens and rushed them through retinal checks. One last security check, the last of all. Kelly and Holle got through and joined the line leading up the sloping ramp into the maw of the ship.

And then it struck Holle. “Hey,” she said, panting. “I just took my foot off the Earth for the last time.”

Kelly was striding hard, working the big, deep stairs like an athlete in training. “You need to focus, Groundwater.”

Holle hurried after her. “These moments are unique. I don’t believe this is happening this way.”

“You’ve got years to believe it. Come
on.
”

The line slowed as they neared the hatch, some twenty meters above ground level. People jostled as they tried to board. From this vantage Holle could see further out, across the Zone with its frantic activity to the rising curtain of ugly oil smoke, and the terrain beyond. The lights of Gunnison were bright in the dark of a December evening, and plumes of smoke and dust rose up across the wider Hinterland. Over the hiss of the Ark’s giant valves she heard the popping of small-arms fire, the crump of heavier munitions, and, she thought, distant screams. The Ark was the center of a war zone. It was impossible to believe that everything she saw from up here was going to be destroyed as soon as the Ark’s extraordinary engine fired up. But beyond the human sprawl the Rockies rose up, huge and impassive, dark against the sky. They would withstand even the launch of an Orion. She wondered if Earth II would have mountains.

She was approaching the hatch. She took one last deep breath of the air of Earth, but it tasted of gasoline, and the ammonium of the piston coolant, and the harsh metal tang of the Ark’s multiple hulls.

And now she heard shouting from down below. She glanced back. The security barrier at the base of the ramp was failing. Some of the military seemed to have mutinied, and were fighting with cops and ground crew, trying to get on board the ship themselves. Everything was dissolving, she thought.

More planes roared over, impossibly low. She ducked, and hurried inside the ship.