The Complete Atopia Chronicles

21





Identity: Patricia Killiam



THE WINDS WHIPPED and howled, churning the surface of the ocean into a frothing maelstrom. Gigantic waves surged and crested under the driving storms. Two massive Category 5 hurricanes colliding was a once in a mega-annum event, and Atopia was stuck like a seed about to be crushed between these two grinding wheels.

Suddenly, bright pinpoints of light appeared flashing through the sheets of dark, whipping rain. Then more pinpoints of light flared and began illuminating the heaving seas below. The pinpoints rapidly multiplied, glittering and then flashing into a sheet of superheated plasma that vaporized the rain, sending plumes of vapor rocketing up through the atmosphere.

We were all in Command, watching this on a projection in the middle of the room.

“The slingshots weren’t designed to be used this way,” explained Jimmy while we watched the growing inferno begin to notch a tiny gap between the two colliding monsters.

“Usually they only keep up with sustained operation for a few minutes to take out incoming kinetic threats, but we’ve made some modifications to sink away the heat. We should be able to operate them continuously for at least a few hours, maybe more, but enough to get the job done.”

The view point on the projection swept away and upwards, zooming backwards into space until we could see most of the colliding hurricane systems, with Atopia highlighted on the seas between them.

Jimmy accelerated the simulation speed, and we watched as a narrow gap between the storm systems appeared and Atopia was sucked through it.

“We’ll use the slingshots to blaze a super-high pressure system through the middle of the two colliding storm systems,” Jimmy explained, pointing to the projection.

“Then we’ll drive Atopia at maximum speed straight into it. The relative vacuum we create will literally suck us through behind it as we burn a path forward with the slingshots.”

Jimmy smiled, and the highlighted pinpoint of Atopia popped through to the other side of the storms in the simulation.

A singular, loud clapping punctuated the mesmerized room. It was Kesselring, beaming at Jimmy. Soon, everyone began to join in.

“Jimmy, son, you’ve saved us!” Mr. Kesselring cried out. “Brilliant, simply brilliant!”

Despite my own developing plans to derail the launch timing, relief that we would escape destruction in the storms almost overwhelmed me. I couldn’t help but join in the clapping. It was brilliant, and it looked like it would work.

“It will be a bumpy ride through,” added Jimmy, “but not too bad.”

He shook his head, waving away our applause. It was nothing, no problem, he seemed to be telling us.

Kesselring leaned over to me confidentially and noted, “Patricia, absolutely excellent work in bringing Jimmy onto the Command team.”

“Thanks,” I replied, nodding, but my clapping trailed off as I looked towards Rick. He was joining in as well, but with a completely vacant expression.

“Looks like it will work,” I added to Kesselring, “but I need to get back to something urgently.”

Kesselring shrugged and kept clapping loudly.

§

I collapsed my main subjective away from Command. Marie had already filled up a glass of scotch for me as I moved to sit down behind my desk and put my feet up.

“Through the storms we go,” said Marie gravely.

I took the drink from her. Instead of sitting, I decided instead to keep standing, and began pacing in tight circles in front of my desk like a caged tiger.

Marie brought up the phutureworlds we had been working on for so many years now, their projections floating in my display spaces, staggered from the most critical to least, filling my eyes with death and destruction as they faded into the distance. She was bringing them up to make a point.

“None of this makes any sense,” I complained, still pacing and taking a sip from my scotch.

My understanding of warfare was academic. Open warfare was, in essence, an information-gathering exercise. From a game theory point of view, attack and defense were designed to resolve the capabilities of opponents until both sides converged on the same accurate assessments.

I’d openly shared almost all information regarding Atopia with the world to avert such a conflict—‘almost’ being the operative word. Perhaps by sharing what I’d been hiding, I could negotiate a peace with Terra Nova, but it was hard to shake the feeling of being a traitor to my own cause.

Even then, it was hard to imagine Terra Nova being so desperate to slow us down as to purposely direct Category 5 hurricanes into the densely populated West Coast. Even a weakened America would be sure to retaliate, with great prejudice, after the damage these storms would cause. Terra Nova would be ensuring its own downfall.

Once upon a time, before Kesselring had approached me for the Atopia project, I had helped build the foundations for Terra Nova as well, and I now remained perhaps the last person on earth who could fix whatever was going on.

“Are you ready?” asked Marie. “This may be our only chance.”

“You’re right,” I replied. With all the attention focused on the emergency at hand, a window of opportunity had opened up for us to talk with the Terra Novans directly and in secret; a chance to perhaps strike a grand bargain. “So everything is set up?”

“They’re waiting,” Marie replied, and then waited, looking at me. Seconds ticked by.

“Okay, let’s do this.”

We exploded upwards out of my office, squeezing through a tight communication channel in the perimeter, and then dispersed, clipping and mixing our sensory packets around the globe to re–materialize in a large, warmly lit room with wooden walls that arched gracefully in vertical panels that intertwined and spiraled together to form the ceiling.

On closer inspection, the walls weren’t paneled, but were actually living tree trunks that grew perfectly and tightly together. The place glowed with a light that seemed to emanate from nowhere, and I was seated beside Marie at a large stone table.

Across from us sat the Elders of Terra Nova. In the middle of them sat my old student, Mohesha. She nodded at me, smiling, and I smiled back. I felt some of my distrust begin to melt away.

The senior Terra Novan Elder, Tyrel, began to speak.

“Patricia, it is with great respect and gratitude that we accept you here in our lodge today,” said Tyrel. “We know you are here at great personal risk.”

It hardly mattered anymore, my days were numbered, was what I wanted to say. At this point I just wanted things to be right, to do the right thing.

“I am also honored,” I replied, nodding deeply. “I come here today to negotiate a peace.”

Tyrel watched me without emotion.

“We have great respect for you, Patricia, you are the mother of all of this,” he said, sweeping his hand around the table, “of all Terra Nova, and more, of all synthetic intelligences and worlds.”

“Thank you, but I’m not here to collect praise.”

“You have been used, deceived, and you have even deceived yourself!” cut in my old student Mohesha. Her dark, African features glowed in the soft lighting.

“I’m not here out of desperation,” I explained. “We are beating this trap you have set for us. I am here simply because I want the same things as you.”

Silence.

“Even if we wanted to, and we do, we could not help you,” replied Tyrel.

“But you must see the same things I do,” I continued. “You must see the destruction coming. I know we’ve been hiding some of the details. But the pssi program is the only solution.”

Tyrel and the rest of the Elders watched me sadly.

“Chasing happiness by giving people anything they want has never been the path to fulfillment,” said one of the other Elders after a pause. “Satisfying every material and sensual pleasure will not lead to peace.”

“But surely you have seen what I have seen!” I shouted, slapping the table. “You have to stop what you are doing. It will only lead to your own destruction!”

Dead silence. Absolutely no reaction.

“I am going to expose what we’ve been hiding, after we escape this trap of yours, I will go to the media,” I explained. “I’ve been planning it through Sintil8. It will slow the release and we can collaborate.”

“We know about Sintil8,” replied Tyrel sadly, “we know what you’ve been planning with him.”

“Well what do you want then? Is it money you want?” I demanded. “A share of the profits?”

“How far you have fallen,” said Tyrel sadly after a moment, shaking his head. Tears came to his eyes. “You cannot stop anymore what you have created.”

“Is all this just about stopping the pssi program so you can position yourselves better?” I asked incredulously.

“Mother, this is not just about the pssi program, not the program by itself,” replied Tyrel, wiping away his tears. “By itself, we would have been happy to evolve together in a symbiotic coexistence under your dominance, but you have unwittingly unleashed a terrible evil into the world that will consume it. We need to destroy Atopia to stop it.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, bewildered. Then a light winked on. “So you admit that you have created these storms to destroy us?”

My mind raced. Had Sintil8 double-crossed me, had I made a fatal mistake in bringing him so close to me? Was he the monster I had unleashed? How had Terra Nova managed to jump so far ahead technologically to be able to control weather like this? How could they possibly think they could get away with destroying us for their own gain?

“Yes, we created these storms, as you say,” Tyrel admitted quietly, “but we cannot explain why. As secure as the steps you took to come here, there is still a connection back through you, and we still don’t have the full picture. We think the key is contained in William McIntyre’s body.”

“Willy?” I asked, remembering the report on Bob’s friend now. I became even more bewildered. “Did you have something to do with Willy’s body disappearing? Why?”

“It was through Wallace that we first understood the potential magnitude of the danger,” admitted Tyrel, “but it was Sintil8 who helped Wallace to disappear from Atopia, using the access keys you granted. Wallace was acting to protect William.”

Things had begun to spin into nonsense. So, Sintil8 had been involved in the disappearances.

“We have no time for this,” I objected furiously, sensing time running out. “We need to make a deal now. You’ve seen the same phutures I have, there is no other solution. We will escape this trap you’ve set, and I want you to be on my side when we do, to help with what I need to get done, to help save yourselves!”

“We have seen the phutures,” agreed Tyrel, “but you didn’t take into account one scenario.”

“And what is that?” I asked impatiently. We’d played out billions of phutures.

“The destruction of Atopia.”

That stopped me in my tracks. It was true—all of our phutures had included Atopia as a component of the solution set. With a sudden lurch, I could feel my own pride and sense of destiny having perhaps blinded me.

“Look,” I said after a moment of reflection, “that may be true, but we’re escaping your trap. I need to make a deal with you now.”

More silence.

“This is a trap of your own making,” replied Tyrel slowly, “and yes, you may escape these storms.”

I nodded, waiting for him to finish.

“But, by my word, before the sun rises tomorrow morning, Atopia will be wiped from the face of this world.”