pass at the edge of the prairies, now hosted temperatures barely above freezing. Luckily, precipitation in the area was low enough in the winter that, by the late summer months, the roads became briefly passable once again.
He’d reached the eastern edge of what had once been the city of Calgary. The majority of the once-thriving metropolis had been bombed out during the war, the Chinese government hitting the city in an attempt to cut the Democratic Union off from its prime source of oil and gas. There was a tinge of irony in that strike, considering that Chinese firms actually owned most of the Athabasca oil fields that they were attempting to neutralize; however, the D.U. had nationalized the oil only months before the breakout of the war in an attempt to get China to capitulate and cease their attempts to develop strong A.I.
Calgary, despite the devastation wrought by the nuclear strikes and the years of nuclear winter that followed, refused to die. Indeed, with the strength of the sun having been reduced globally by the fallout in the upper atmosphere, severely negating solar reliability for power, the oil sands remained as an attractive source of energy. Using CO2 emissions to warm the planet seemed like a good idea, even to the scientists of the D.U. who had previously warned against them. It was now the era of geo-engineering, and warming the planet to combat the nuclear winter had seemingly taken the sin out of gasoline-powered engines and other fossil fuels.
As a result, Calgary remained a place of commerce in that new normal, populated by only the hardiest of individuals, especially those who were attracted by the chance to make a lot of money in a short period of time. Life in the city of just under 100,000 souls was nasty, brutish, and short. Something wicked that way went, and—as always seemed to be the way—thrived.
While he drove through the bombed out edges of the city, veering away from abandoned vehicles, most of which were nothing more than rotting metal husks, he continued to monitor his wife’s plight. His chest was tighter than it had ever been as he operated on the edge of insanity while trying desperately to stay on the road, simultaneously watching his wife struggle for every breath.
Indeed, Samantha could see nothing as she remained tilted backward on a table at a forty-five-degree angle, her face covered with a large blue cloth, soaked with water, a super soldier holding a nozzle by her face as he sprayed her with more. It had been thirty seconds since Samantha had last taken a breath, and Aldous held his breath along with her.
Finally, the soldier released the pressure on the hose trigger and removed the sopping wet rag from Samantha’s face.
She didn’t breathe immediately; she needed to prepare herself for the deep inhalation that was to come momentarily. The torture had caused her to lose her ability to regulate her breathing. When the breath did come, it hurt her throat and chest, but it was a good pain, and was followed quickly by many shorter, life saving, beautiful breaths.
Samantha’s eyes darted to the super soldier who was conducting the water-boarding, leaning on one hip, watching expressionless as she breathed. She suddenly recognized him. She hadn’t before because of his cybernetic eyes and his helmet, but as he removed his helmet and placed it on the ground, the hairline, albeit slightly thinner, was a dead giveaway. Quickly, the pattern of his chiseled jawline and his narrow nose, along with the thin line of his lips registered with her.
“
O’Brien seemed to sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as he grimaced. “That’s right.”
She smiled. She shouldn’t have—she knew it was no laughing matter—but she suddenly smiled widely. After all, was this not the very definition of absurd? A moment so ridiculous inserting itself into reality that the serious narrative to which all involved clung—this battle between Purists and post-humans—was suddenly interrupted, making it impossible to carry on with the facade. Indeed, she smiled, then laughed uncontrollably.
“You just won’t let it go,” O’Brien said, not sharing in the joke. Indeed, he seemed extraordinarily annoyed by the interruption of his serious business.
“If you’d just…” she began, unable to finish because of her laughter. “I’m sorry, O’Brien, but if you just read the book, you’d understand why I’m laughing. I mean…I mean it’s ridiculous! This coincidence! O’Brien in
O’Brien’s grimace tightened as he stepped forward, deciding to forgo the rest of Samantha’s scheduled breathing break and to continue with the water-boarding, tossing the sopping wet towel back onto her face, covering her mouth and nose. She screamed out under the towel in protest, but O’Brien squeezed the trigger on the nozzle of the hose, the jet of water silencing her instantly.
Aldous had just reached the densely populated center of the city and not a moment too soon. The sun, weak as it was, was beginning to threaten the flat prairie horizon line. As dilapidated as the makeshift city was, sunlight dramatically increased the effectiveness of facial recognition and he knew there were bound to be military cameras spattered across the ten blocks that made up the bulk of the habited zone. One camera would be all it would take—he needed to get out of the open—now.
He pulled the Jeep to the crumbling curb at the edge of the street and hopped out of the vehicle, his feet immediately becoming soaked by the frigid water that pooled ubiquitously on what was left of the pavement. He splashed through the water, jogging toward a large concrete building that appeared to have been built before the war. Although its outer shell had certainly seen better days, incased in ice that had clumps of debris frozen within it, likely from a rainstorm during the initial days of the fallout, the building seemed to have held up better than any other structure in the city. Aldous’s eyes fell on a makeshift street sign that bore the name of the street; a crude wooden plank with “7th Ave.” scrolled in silver spray paint.
Pulling the collar of his black jacket up and holding his hand over his mouth as though he were stifling a cough, he entered the building and was surprised by what he saw. The interior was clean, showing only minor damage as a sign that it had been through World War III. Aldous felt as though he’d stepped back in time—a time before the war, when the illusion that humans were a civil species still reigned. Concrete and glass, the interior was designed to be aesthetically pleasing and an escalator in the lobby stretched up to the third floor; amazingly, the old relic still worked.
Aldous stepped onto the escalator, keeping his hand over his mouth to confuse any facial recognition programs that might capture his image as he made his way up. It was still early in the morning, and the businesses within the complex weren’t likely to open for a couple more hours. When he reached the top floor, he walked toward the entrance to an optometrist’s office. He turned when he noticed something on the far wall, a rehabilitation clinic specializing in prosthetics for workers injured working in the oil fields. He sighed and put his back to the glass, letting his exhausted legs finally rest as he slid down to a seated position.
“Sam,” he said to his wife over his mind’s eye as she continued to be tortured, “hang on, darling. I’ll be there soon.”
20
Craig lifted off from the deck of the
“You’ll have to guide me, Craig,” the A.I. said. “I still have not established a link to your optics.”
“
“I’d advise against it,” the A.I. replied calmly. “First officer William Murdoch will attempt a port-around maneuver, but because he will try to reverse the engines, there will be a delay of thirty seconds, and the deceleration will cause the ship rudder to be far less effective.”
“Isn’t that exactly why we should help push the bow to the port?” Craig asked, baffled as he flew to the starboard side of the ship and prepared to generate a field that would nudge the ship to the port side.
“It would almost certainly fail. Although you might get the ship to turn more quickly, sparing the front of the starboard side from the collision, the aft side would likely connect, causing the same level of damage.”
The iceberg was only seconds away now, with
“Then I need an alternative!”
