18
Identity: Patricia Killiam
Of all the illusions our minds used to support their ephemeral frameworks, time was the most contradictory: both incontrovertible and yet intangible. Time’s arrow was just a slide down entropy hill as the universe tended toward its finale of disorderly conduct. At the end of entropy was the end of change, and thus the end of time, and apparently, I was about to cease changing, too.
“I’m sorry, Patricia,” said my doctor. We were disembodied, floating in black space between millions of phosphorescent dots that raced to and fro, spreading out through the root systems of my basal ganglia.
The doctor and I were examining my brain.
“There’s nothing more we can do?”
“Not with the technology we have. I’m afraid things have taken a turn for the worse,” he explained. “There are some experimental treatments, but I can’t promise anything.”
Watching the dancing dots of light, I tried to fully make the leap of understanding that I was watching myself from inside myself.
The doctor was at a loss to explain what was happening, but I had a growing suspicion I knew what it could be. If I was right, I wasn’t sure I wanted to stop it.
“Please do what you can, doctor.” An illusion perhaps, but time still stubbornly seemed to end for those of us witnessing it in action. “I just need a little more time.”
“Don’t we all,” the doctor replied, watching the neon pulses of my nervous system race around us. “Don’t we all.”
Floating up at the edge of space, the two converging hurricanes swirled ominously in three dimensions below us. We had almost all of Command and Security watching the storms as we ran the simulations. They were building in intensity past Category 4, and like two enormous threshing wheels, they threatened to pin and crush Atopia against the coastline.
The way they were gaining strength, it was obvious we were going to end up taking some damage—the only question now was, how much? All the tourists had already been shipped off via the passenger cannon, but it would be impossible to get everyone off Atopia if the worst happened.
Strangely, none of the Atopians wanted to leave.
“We need to order an evacuation of the outer habitats,” I observed.
Everyone looked at me. Cut off from the Command, perhaps, but I was still a member of the Cognix Board of Directors. I had a right to be there.
“Moving at this speed, the kelp forests are already shearing off,” I added. “No matter which way this goes, we’re going to lose most of it.”
This had serious implications. The kelp forests were the foundation of our ecosystem, and turning to America for help if we ran out of food for our million-plus inhabitants wasn’t an option.
The last time California had sustained a direct hit was over a hundred years ago, when the hurricane of 1939 had slammed into Los Angeles. This time, it would be two at once, and at a far greater magnitude. On top of this, tropical storm John, thought to be dead weeks ago, had somehow regained strength and was reversing direction toward us.
“Whoever’s responsible is going to pay for this act of war,” Kesselring growled, pointing an accusing finger down at the storms below. “It has to be Terra Nova!”
“We don’t know that for certain,” I pointed out, but this was the wrong thing to say.
“Not for certain? Who else could it be?” raged Kesselring. “A bioengineered organism seeded across two oceans, quietly sucking up the sun’s energy and swimming about to pump up and guide these storm systems. Who else could pull this off ?”
“What’s more important right now is surviving,” said Jimmy, redirecting Kesselring’s focus. “We have detection systems to stop this from happening again, but right now we need to focus.”
As Jimmy spoke, Kesselring relaxed. “What’s the worst-case scenario?”
I was about to speak up, but Jimmy waved me off.
“Worst case is we’ll be run aground on the continental shelf, just south of Los Angeles. Major damage to the outer habitats, but the main structure is more than strong enough to withstand the storms.”
I shook my head. “The worst scenario is that these progress past Category 5 and crush us. No matter what, our data systems will go offline. The fusion core should remain stable, though, and I doubt we’d sink.”
“Should remain stable? Doubt we’ll sink?” Kesselring fumed. “So best case, we end up beached in American territorial waters?”
“Should we plan on delaying the release?” I asked carefully.
“No,” replied Jimmy, raising some eyebrows.
My question had been addressed to Kesselring.
“The world still sees us as in control,” Jimmy continued. “The public doesn’t perceive Atopia as being in any danger, even with these storms, so the pssi release schedule isn’t in any danger. If we begin delaying the release, we’ll open up a can of worms, and who knows what else Terra Nova has planned.”
“Exactly, we have no idea what whoever planned this has in store,” I argued. “We need to delay!”
“Let’s not go down that path yet,” Jimmy said calmly. “Give me six hours to assemble a special team. I can figure a path through this.”
“My vote is with Jim,” Granger chimed in, looking toward Kesselring.
Jimmy made eye contact with each of the assembled Council members one by one, earning a nod from each. The final nod he received was from Kesselring himself.