35
Oh, you know, just a typical Tuesday afternoon here in 2147, waiting for my buddy Mike to wake up. It takes a few hours for the bodies to thaw out.
I’m losing it. Really cracking up. The weight of what I’ve done and am about to do hits me all at once. This is crazy. The whole thing.
Sitting in the small airship conference room where my future self debriefed me a few hours ago, I rub my temples, trying to focus. I’m clean-shaven and showered, and this is the first moment that I’ve really had alone since Flight 305 crashed nearly a week ago. Against my will, my mind replays the events of that week. But mostly I think about my decisions, calls that at every turn meant the difference between life and death for my fellow passengers. The bodies in the large tent outside this ship, lined up on the rolling metal tables—they’re alive or dead because of me. At the crash site, by the lake, I could have focused more. Could have made a better plan. What if we had thrown the luggage in the overhead bins out first? Would the plane have sunk slower? Probably. Those precious seconds, minutes maybe, would have saved lives. How many? Two, three, half a dozen? Maybe we should have barricaded the belly section, keeping the water out. That would have added minutes. The whole thing went under fast after the water breached the bottom lip. I should have seen that—
The door swishes open, and Nicholas strides in. Now that my wounds are cleaned and my six days of scruff gone, we’re mirror images, in appearance if not in thought: his cheeriness strikes a sharp contrast to my anguish.
He sets a single white pill on the wood table and hands me a bottle of water. I glance from the pill to him, unable to hide my hesitation. He’s me, I’m sure of that—but I’ve also only known him for a few hours, and it’s been a weird, weird week.
“Stim tab,” he says. “It’ll clear your mind. Right now you’re replaying every moment since the crash, your decisions, pondering whether any of those metal tables could hold a living body instead of a dead one, if you’d just done something differently.”
I pick up the pill, scrutinize it one last time, and swallow it down. This feels like it could turn into a therapy session, and I’m not even remotely up for it. I attempt to change the subject. “I take it coffee’s out of style?”
“No, we love coffee around here; just can’t afford the beans.”
It’s a dumb joke, but I laugh anyway.
“Don’t worry,” Nicholas says, “I hold the all-time record for mental replay and what-if syndrome. I sat in a room slightly bigger than this one and stared at the Atlantic all day, every day, for over sixty years, regretting, plotting to set things right, seeing the faces of the people my actions killed, one in particular. We don’t have time for survivor’s guilt, Nick. You did the best you could. You’re innocent. At least you have that. I’m not. I got past it, and Oliver and I killed everyone we ever loved. Everybody else, for that matter.”
He waits for my response, but I just take another swig of water. What do you say to that? And what would that much guilt do to a person’s mind? How would it change him? Maybe in ways I can’t imagine.
“We get it from Dad, you know. The replay obsession. When he was in the moment, in the thick of negotiating an agreement or managing a diplomatic situation, he was as focused as a laser beam. Total blinders. After that he bounced around his study, pacing, talking on the phone with everyone who had been involved, going over every second.”
He’s right. I never thought about it before.
“How did you get over it?”
“I didn’t. I got past it. I made this deal with myself that I would focus only on making it right, and that in return, I would allow myself only a single reward for the rest of my life. I stopped allowing myself to think about what had happened. Told myself that every moment wallowing in my guilt was one moment stolen from making it right, from redeeming myself. Since that decision, I’ve focused only on the next step in bringing humanity back to Earth, on starting over. That was the key to my survival, pouring it all into that one goal. We’re close to that goal, Nick. When we destroy that quantum device in a few hours, we’ll be home free.” He walks to the door. “You ready? Mike and the others are almost awake.”
We agreed that I should be there when the passengers awoke. They were captured after Nicholas and Oliver drove the other faction from the crash site, so this would be a bit jarring for them. Given my role at the camp, Nicholas thinks they will respond to me, that seeing me first will put them at ease.
After our first talk, we strolled through the three-tent complex, leaning over the tables, surveying the faces, slightly obscured by the plastic sheets, selecting the passengers who would join us on the raid of Titan City as if we were at a farmer’s market picking out steaks for tonight’s barbecue. How about him, Nick? Sure, add him to the list. He looks strong, what do you think? So weird.
I came up with eight people, passengers who had received the vaccine and who I had seen perform under pressure at the crash site. Nicholas prodded me, insisting we needed more. We settled on eleven. Mike is among them, and so is one of the other strong swimmers from the lake, a half dozen people from the line that passed the bodies along, and three of the guys I sent on the scouting missions before the camp was invaded. I couldn’t bring myself to include Jillian; she’s been through so much, and this will be intense. Weapons training is on the agenda next.
I asked Nicholas if I needed to wear a suit in the tent complex. He said the containment protocols were to prevent another mutation, but he figures there’s little risk of that. I think the guilt from the previous mutation and subsequent global pandemic has them a little paranoid, but I can’t say I blame them.
The first of the bodies are starting to awaken and Nicholas and I stand in one of the twenty labs Grayson and I saw earlier, waiting. Mike sits up on the metal table, rubs his sleepy eyes, and shakes his head. He’s still wearing his green Celtics T-shirt.
“Nick . . .” His voice comes out scratchy, sounding like it hurts to speak.
“Take it easy, Mike. We’ve got some catching up to do.”
It’s like a sci-fi summer camp. The eleven passengers and I sit in a makeshift training room inside the third tent, the twelve Titans and Nicholas by our sides, helping us learn the suits and orienting us to their technology.
The glass-tile-covered suits that make their wearers invisible are even stranger inside. A series of holographic images inside the helmet display everything from biometric data to infrared scans and video feeds from the other team members. Panels on the forearms of the suits control it all. The Titans can use their eyes, but according to them, that takes more practice time than we have.
After the suit orientation, the talk turns to the assault plan.
Nicholas stands before the group, a large screen behind him flashing images and schematics in sync with his words. I wonder if he controls the screen with some neural link, or if one of the other Titans is assisting. Just one more mystery.
It’s actually a pretty simple plan, but simple plans aren’t necessarily easy to execute.
We’ll suit up and drop into the Atlantic, a few miles from the dam. The suits were designed for total containment, to avoid another mutation in the event the Titans ventured from their stronghold in Gibraltar. The oxygen will last far longer than we need.
We’ll use backpack diver propulsion vehicles to reach the dam, entering Titan City through the massive water intakes in the power plant. Things get dangerous at that point, but assuming we survive, we’ll split up and fight our way up the dam, then into the five finger-shaped towers, searching for the quantum device.
Nicholas is fairly certain it will be in the middle, tallest tower, the one that houses the labs.
The screen changes to photos of Sabrina and Yul.
“Most of you have seen these two individuals, Sabrina Schr?der and Yul Tan. They have been deceived by members of the other Titan faction and are working against us. They will likely be close to the device and may be able to activate it on short notice. We can’t allow that to happen. If you encounter Schr?der or Tan, shoot them on sight. After we’ve neutralized the device, our priority will be preserving as many lives as possible.”
The words hang in the air for a moment as Sabrina and Yul’s enlarged faces stare out at us. From across the room Grayson’s eyes meet mine, a mix of concern and sympathy on his face. I feel the same. Yul and Sabrina lied to us, kept things from us, but I hope they don’t lose their lives in what’s to come. Grayson agrees. His father sits beside him, his Titan mentor. The time they spent training with the suit was the happiest I’ve ever seen him, though, to be fair, he’s been either drunk, hungover, ticked off, or somber for all six days I’ve known him. Maybe this really is a new chance for all of us.
Nicholas is wrapping up the briefing now, detailing the backup plan, which is even simpler: placing explosives in the power plant. If we think the other faction is on the verge of resetting the quantum bridge, Nicholas will detonate the charges, bringing down the dam and Titan City, destroying the device—ideally after we get out.
He calls for last questions and comments, and I stand facing the two dozen people in our assault force, half passengers, half Titans.
“There’s another person we need to look out for: Harper Lane. Many of you know her. She’s another passenger. Late twenties, early thirties. Slender. British. Blond hair. She was recovered along with Yul and Sabrina at Titan Hall, and we assume she’s in Titan City with them as well. She’s an innocent bystander here, a hostage, and we should do everything we can to save her. She may also have information that could help us find or disable the device. If anyone spots her, notify both Nicholas and me.”
The group breaks up, the eleven passengers and Grayson returning to their Titan mentors for more suit training. We’ve got another hour and a half before sunset, our launch time.
Before, at the crash site, everything happened so fast that I never had time to be nervous. That’s not the case here. With the briefing over, I wish the whole thing were happening right now.
Nicholas drifts over to me. “You good on the suit?”
“Yeah, think so.”
“The woman . . .”
“Harper.”
“Right, Harper. You seem very interested in recovering her.”
“She was with me from the start. Helped at the lake. She’s very brave. She’s done all she could to help the passengers.”
He grins. “So it’s all about her altruism.”
I just shrug.
“Remember who you’re talking to.”
“All right, you got me,” I mumble.
“We’ve got some time before we launch. I want to hear all about her, everything that’s happened since the crash. It will take your mind away from this.”