The mountains had a bare, brown look. It hadn’t snowed here for years. As they passed through a tiny community called Florrisant, Gordo talked about a park of fossil beds nearby, full of petrified redwood thirty-five million years old. Now, he said, it held more people than fossils.
Then, at Wilkerson Pass, views of a high-elevation meadow called South Park opened up, and the road seemed to sail off into the air.
“God,” Gordo said suddenly, “ look at that view. You know, it’s just not reasonable that all this can be drowned beneath a mile of fucking seawater. I guess this is why I work so hard at Nimrod-trying to save something of it, the essence anyhow. Bobbing around on some crumbling raft just won’t be the same.”
Grace stared at him. The driver kept her eyes fixed firmly on the road, as if she hadn’t heard this outburst.
Gordo relaxed, and laughed at himself. “Sorry. Am I coming over like a tourist guide?”
She frowned. “I’m not sure what a tourist is.”
“OK. I’m told you used to be a princess.”
“My mother, in captivity, was raped by a Saudi prince. Does that count? If so I still am a princess. You used to be an astronaut.”
He nodded his bullet head. “I guess I still am, following your logic. Flew in space once, to ISS.”
“To what?”
“The space station.” He pointed up. “But after that my own career got fucked over by the flood. Well, grounded I may be, but I found something worthwhile to do here.”
“It’s got nothing to do with me. And I didn’t ask for it.”
“Maybe not. But we didn’t ask for you either. Look, there’s a selection process for newcomers to the project. Like Thandie said back in Cripple Creek, you’re actually a better candidate than your husband would have been, in terms of Nimrod’s criteria. You’ve shown independent survival skills. I saw that for myself. How old are you?”
“Twenty-six.”
“Well, if you make it you’ll be one of the oldest on the crew. Any religious affiliation?”
“Walker City had priests, rabbis, imams-”
“I didn’t ask about Walker City. I asked about you.”
“No. I’m not religious.”
“Good. The social engineers are trying to make the crew an entirely secular society. Lessens the chance of factionalization and conflict, they think. Well, we’ll see about that. And Thandie was right that the selectors currently like pregnant women, by the way. With a pregnant woman aboard you’re getting two sets of genes in one package. You’ll be an easier sell.”
“Lily Brooke planned it that way,” Grace said, the bitterness welling up again. She had figured all this out in the hours since Lily had delivered her into the hands of Gordo, had reevaluated everything that had happened to her over the last months and years on Ark Three. All of it had been the product of manipulation by Lily. “She set up my relationship with Hammond so Nathan would favor me. She even timed my pregnancy, I think, so I’d tick another box on your chart.”
“And she did this because-”
“Lily was in captivity with my mother. In Barcelona, Spain. I was born there, in some cellar, with my mother manacled to a radiator. Lily feels obligated to me because of that.”
“You’re not entirely grateful.”
“Lily just controls me. Who would want that?”
He waved a hand. “Well, none of that matters now. You’ll never see Lily again. Here you are, here’s the situation you face, however you got here. The only question is where you go from here.”
“And if I choose not to go along with your project?”
Gordo said bleakly, “Then you’ll have no place with us. You or your kid. We can’t feed you.”
3
They drove through one last town, Fairplay, where an open-air museum of old wooden structures from the mining camps had been colonized by refugees. Gordo said the museum had once been much more extensive, but wood to burn was precious.
Then they followed the signs for Hoosier Pass, driving along a well-maintained highway, and came at last into Alma. The place was overlooked by a broad peak called Mount Bross, on whose flanks sprawled a pine forest, much scarred by logging. The original town was little more than a handful of blocky buildings to either side of the road, clustered between rusting speed-limit signs. But newer, more extensive facilities had accreted around the old stock, blocks of glass and unpainted concrete.
The cars pulled off the road onto a dirt track, and stopped before one anonymous block. A slogan was neatly painted over a heavy steel door: “Genesis 11:6: NOW NOTHING WILL BE RESTRAINED FROM THEM, WHICH THEY HAVE IMAGINED TO DO.” Oddly, a child’s swing, metal and bright plastic, stood before the door.
Their driver got out and opened the door for Gordo, saluting him briskly.
Gordo had a cell phone clamped to his ear. “Hey, Holle? Glad I caught you. Would you mind coming out front? There’s somebody I want you to meet.” He put away the phone. “Doesn’t look like much, does it? But we retrieved a lot of facilities from the NASA sites in Houston. Control, comms, training centers. There’s even a small nuke reactor. We brought all this stuff all the way up to Alma, some little bitty miners’ town. And you know why? Because Alma, ten thousand, three hundred and sixty-one feet above the old sea level, is the highest incorporated municipality in the United States.”
The driver, a woman no older than Grace, said, “Actually, sir, that’s not quite true. My mother was born around here, and she said it lost out to Winter Park-”
Gordo waved that away. “All Winter Park has above Alma’s elevation are ski lifts, so the hell with that, Cooper.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Grace, at times government works in simple ways. The decision-makers wanted this facility to survive as long as possible, no matter how bad the flood gets. So where do you build? You go to the record books for the highest town in America, and that’s why a significant chunk of the single most expensive federal project since the decampment to Denver was unloaded on this little mountain town of two hundred souls. Look, I live over there-see the block in back of the Stone Church? Some of us pray in there, come Sundays.”
“ What facility? What is this place?”
The door opened. A young woman emerged, slim, not tall, pale, her red hair shaved short. She wore a lurid red and blue jumpsuit, with phones and other gadgets stuck in pockets. She was young, twenty-one, twenty-two. Blinking in the daylight she looked warily at Grace.
“Grace, this is Holle Groundwater, one of our most promising Candidates. Not that that’s saying much. Holle, meet Grace Gray-and Gray junior,” he said, clumsily pointing to Grace’s belly. “Here for selection. Maybe you could show her the ropes.”
“Sure.” Holle smiled at Grace, and offered a hand to shake. But Grace could see the smile was forced.
“You aren’t glad to see me,” Grace said bluntly.
Holle raised thin eyebrows over sea blue eyes. “It’s just we’ve got enough competition for places already, and there are only a few months left. The last thing we need is more applicants.” Her accent was soft, lilting, British maybe, unfamiliar to Grace. Then she grinned. “Of course that’s not your fault.”
“Places? Places on what?”
But there was no reply. Evidently secrecy was habitual. Holle was well fed, earnest, bright. Grace remembered how she had been at Holle’s age, still on the road, feet like leather and not a gram of fat on her body, everything she owned in a faded pack on her back.
Maybe Gordo sensed the tension between the women. He took off his cap and ran a hand over his grizzled scalp. “Listen, Grace. You’re going to need some way to prove your capabilities. Let me give you an assignment. Just now we have a crime we need solving here.”
“What kind of crime?”
