16
Identity: Patricia Killiam
It took two full days for me to recover, and in that time a world already spinning out of control had taken a steep descent into chaos.
We were hardening Atopia for a now-inevitable collision with the storms and discussing the possibility of a full-scale evacuation. The rate of unexplained disappearances was spiking, and in the midst of all this, I received a ping that Rick’s wife had committed some kind of reality suicide.
It seemed she hadn’t actually been terminating the proxxids. It wasn’t hard to guess what had happened. Reality suicide was a new phenomenon, tied deeply into the way pssi interacted with our unconscious minds.
“I’m so sorry, Rick. Has there been any change?”
I’d requested this emergency meeting with Rick because my Command communication network had been shut off. No one on the Council was responding to me.
“It’s hard to tell,” he replied unsteadily. “I mean, she looks fine. She looks like she’s asleep. I wish.…”
“I don’t think blaming yourself is going to help,” I offered. “We cracked the security blankets covering the worlds she was in before this happened, but we don’t know the full story yet.”
Rick wiped his face with the back of one hand, staring down at the floor. We were sitting in my mahogany-walled office. Pictures of ancient, four-masted sailing ships lined the walls.
“We know enough of the story to know how we got here,” he said with a dead voice. Then his mood shifted. “This is your fault. You recommended using the proxxids.” He looked at me with dark eyes. “You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”
I recoiled. This was a combat soldier after all.
“I don’t think laying blame is constructive at this point.” I didn’t exactly recommend the proxxids.
“We’re all just lab rats to you, aren’t we?” he growled, venting his anger. “I know what you let people do with proxxids—I’ve looked into the whole thing—it’s disgusting. You disgust me.” His breathing was ragged. “You have no idea what you’re doing to people, do you?
“Rick, I’m sorry.…”
“Sorry isn’t good enough. The time for experimentation and best efforts is over.” He stood up.
“What does that mean?”
“Getting away from these storms. We’re taking control from here on. This is now a military matter.” He shook his head, avoiding my eyes, and flitted away without another word, disappearing from my office and back to Command. He didn’t even leave a polite splinter behind.
I was stunned.
The storms continued to defy phuturecasting, and we were running out of room to back away from them. It was obvious something was directing their development, but despite all our efforts—swarming the sea with smarticles, launching countless surveillance drones, and everything and anything else we could think to throw at the problem—we couldn’t even begin to stop the storms or understand what exactly was happening.
Usually, two storm systems of this magnitude in one oceanic basin tended to dissipate, one into the other, but these two were actually pumping each other up and expanding.
It was unlikely that we’d sustain core structural damage, even in a direct hit by either or both of them, but that was making the sorts of assumptions that trapped us here in the first place.
Now I understood why my communications had been cut off. Rick was formally taking control, declaring martial law, and putting all civil power in the hands of ADF Command.
“Marie, could you send me the latest reports?”
I reached down to smooth out a wrinkle in my skirt, trying to regain my composure. Marie looked up at me from some files she was studying.
“We’ve had something of a breakthrough,” she responded. “The high surface temperatures seem to be caused by migrations of dinoflagellate blooms. Someone out there has been planning this for a long time.”
She splintered me all the data sets before continuing. “Someone seeded the ocean surface with iron dust to grow bioengineered plankton, and they’re now directing huge swarms of the tiny creatures, sucking energy from one part of the ocean and into another.”
“Can we stop it? Can we find out who’s doing it?”
She shook her head. “We can see what’s happening, but nothing more than that so far.”
“Was Sintil8 able to find anything?”
“He was some help,” she replied with a nod. “What we’re looking at could be a new addition to the Weather Wars arsenal.”
Directed cyclone warfare would add a whole new chapter to the ongoing book of human conflict, but, of course, weather had always been a decisive factor in war.
Five hundred years before, the British victory over the Spanish Armada had less to do with the genius of Sir Francis Drake and more to do with a week of wind that pinned the Armada against the French side of the English Channel. The wind had held the Spanish in place, giving the British the opportunity to float fire ships into the hapless Spaniards, destroying the fleet before it even had a chance to attack.
The defeat of the Armada had halted a Habsburg land invasion by forces at that moment poised to cross over from the Netherlands. The direction of wind, for a few short days, dictated the outcome of the next five hundred years of global geopolitics, even the rise of America as a superpower. What we faced now was far more than simply a breeze blowing in the wrong direction.
“We can’t fire weapons at blooms of microorganisms, nor at hurricanes,” added Marie. “We’re just going to have to stay out of their way as much as possible. If you want more detail, you’re better off speaking with Jimmy.”
That was going to be difficult, given the state Rick was in.
“Or perhaps Bob?” I suggested, considering our possibilities for fresh insight. My Command communications were cut off, but there were a lot of other people who might be able to provide some additional input. “He has a lot of experience directing little creatures like you’re describing. Why don’t you talk with him?”
Marie nodded, but then paused.
“What?”
“It’s strange,” she replied. “Yes, we can see how they’re doing it, but the numbers don’t quite add up. Even with what we’ve discovered, they shouldn’t be able to direct weather as severe as this.”
I didn’t understand. “Could you be more precise?”
“It just doesn’t add up,” was all she could say, shaking her head.
“It sure doesn’t.”
Too many things remained unexplained, too many loose ends were accumulating, and Rick was right—we didn’t know what we were doing. I was going to have to stop this freight train, even if it meant risking everything.
“I’m going to try talking with Jimmy.”
I sent him an emergency ping on a personal channel, outside of the Command network. To my surprise, Jimmy accepted immediately, and my office faded away as my primary subjective was channeled into a private deprivation space surrounded by a heavy security blanket. His communication network was open to me, but Jimmy’s primary presence wasn’t there.
“Jimmy,” I called nervously into the void, “what can you tell me?”