Glass Sky (18 page)

In the center of the dome, a ladder led up to the second floor. Jie followed Sally, letting his feet dangle and taking advantage of the low gravity to pull himself up climber style. They emerged in an exercise area filled with a variety of ancient resistance machines. It was separated from the workshop by a shoulder-height paper divider that stretched to the curved outer wall.

‹Welcome to your new office,› said Sally. ‹I hope you like it, because it’s all we’ve got.›

‹Definitely not as nice as Molari’s office,› said Jie, surveying it glumly. The workshop benches had been recycled from spacecraft panels. Tools and machinery were scattered on them, as if somebody had been working and had never come back. Jie had been finding reminders all over the station: a deck of playing cards sitting on a box; a dog-eared paper book.
Who used the workshop last? The person who slept in my bed? Is she out there, dead, next to Isabel?

Sally seemed to feel it too.

‹Let’s get your gear set up,› she said.

They went back into the exercise area and Sally folded back the floor panels around the ladder, widening the opening into the lower level. There was an attachment point in the ceiling, on which they hung a pulley and haul cord. They lowered the obsolete machinery downstairs, evicting the ghosts.

After they’d pulled up Jie’s boxes, Sally sighed and sat down on the edge of the gear pile.
I hate it when women do this. I’m sure I’m supposed to say something.
She shook her head and sighed again.

‹Were you and Isabel close?› Jie ventured.

‹No. That’s what’s bugging me. I don’t know about you, Jie, but Isabel’s death hasn’t hit me.› Sally thumped her chest. ‹Not here. I feel like I witnessed a car crash instead of a death in the family. Our training time was so short. I talked to you more at Xinjiang than all my
real
conversations with Isabel combined.›

Jie sat down next to her on a gleaming silver box.
Everything is so clean here. So sterile.

‹I have no idea what this
should
feel like,› said Jie. ‹I’ve never lost anyone, close or not. All I know is that I’m freaked out. I want to get home again. Watch Cheng grow up.›

‹You’re here for him, aren’t you?› asked Sally.

‹Want to see a picture he made?› asked Jie. He pulled out the small bundle of souvenirs he’d packed into his 10 kilogram personal allowance. He unrolled Cheng’s paintings and hung them on the whiteboard.

‹Awwww,› cooed Sally.

‹When Cheng was younger, our fridge was always covered in art.› Jie lined Cheng’s toy cars up on the top of one of the monitors. ‹I can’t tell you how many times I stepped on these over the years.›

‹You sound like a great dad.›

‹I’m not so sure,› said Jie. ‹I let my work steal most of his childhood. And just when I thought I would find a balance…› Jie shrugged and looked around the workshop. ‹And after this – no more.›

For the rest of the day Jie and Sally played the role of voice-controlled automatons as Earth-con’s engineers directed them in unpacking and assembling the gear. Just before dinner time they got the virtual-reality console crammed under the curved outer wall.

Jie looked gloomily at the results.
Not very homey.

“Hey Earthcon, how are Sharon and Rajit doing outside?” he asked.

“They just finished hooking up the Nanolab,” said Earthcon. “If you feel up to it, you are clear to connect into the system and try it out.”

Sally nudged him. ‹Are you going to try it?› She drew close to his ear, whispering. ‹You
know
you want to.› Jie’s skin tingled at her breath.

With trembling hands, Jie pulled on the VR goggles and slid his arms into the control gloves. Like a surgeon putting on his scrubs.
How many hours have I spent in machines like this over the years?

‹Connect to the nanolab,› he ordered. The goggles blackened.

> Connected.

Jie couldn’t help but grin.
There’s a real nanolab sitting just outside. Not just a simulator. And it’s slaved to my will! How cool is that?

‹Run full self-diagnostics.›

For five minutes messages scrolled; Molari’s engineers had instrumented the machine’s every millimeter.

> Diagnostics completed. 14714 out of 14714 tests succeeded.

The sound of cheering came from Earthcon.

‹Show reference grid,› said Jie.

Green gridlines appeared in the blackness, tracking Jie’s head movements.

‹Eject 100 by 100 silicon scaffold.›

Nothing.

‹Is it working?› Sally’s voice filtered in from a faraway world.

‹Hang on a second,› said Jie. ‹Eject 100 by 100 silicon scaffold,› he repeated. Still nothing.
‹History.›

> 17:02 - Scaffold release.

> 17:03 - Scaffold release

Jie waved his fingers to zoom out. Nothing. ‹Reset system and repeat commands.› He waited, foot tapping. Again, nothing. Jie pulled his arms free of the gloves and took off the goggles.

Sally’s eyes tightened with concern. ‹What’s wrong? Can you fix it?›

‹I’m the operator, not the mechanic,› said Jie. ‹This is clearly a hardware problem. I can no more fix this than a surgeon can fix his cutting robots.›

‹It’s probably something minor,› said Sally.

‹I hope so,› said Jie. But he didn’t believe it for a moment. Fourteen thousand diagnostics should detect any conceivable error. Which left only inconceivable errors. He placed the goggles carefully on the stand. ‹Dog testicles. This mouse dropping could ruin the whole pot of porridge.›

ENEWS: APRIL 15, 2050

GULF State Governors are calling on the UN Climate Council to temporarily resume sulfuring after recent UNBio simulations warned of potential category six hurricanes this summer. According to Florida Governor Gary Blunt, “Shield research is stalled. And even if it gets back on schedule, it’ll take eighteen months to build. Given the potentially catastrophic effects of current global temperatures, climate intervention is essential.”

The Indian Army responded with this statement: “We will consider sulfuring an act of war and will take whatever measures are necessary to ensure our nation’s food security.” But Indian Prime Minister Lana Gandhi distanced herself from the remarks. “These rogue elements in the military do not represent Indian government policy.” India has been a nuclear power since the 20th century with an estimated 100 warheads.

***

“Come in!” Tania yelled.
Where’s my hat? It was in my hand two minutes ago. The kitchen?

Ruth appeared in the doorway, already in hiking gear. “Wow, Tania, you’re looking
much
sexier! Nice teeth.”

Tania showed off her smile. “They’re temporary. The dentist is growing new ones, but it’ll take a month before they’re ready to transplant.” She spotted her hat on the couch. “Did you decide where we’re going?”

“Roosevelt National Forest,” said Ruth. “There’s still too much snow in the back ranges.” She inspected Tania’s boots. “Waterproof. Good. It’ll be muddy.”

“April Rockies camping.” Tania hoisted her backpack. “We’re going to freeze. You know that, right? You’ll be squatting over the stove tonight to keep your ass warm.”

“If you ask nicely, we can zip our sleeping bags together.”

Tania laughed. “You sound like my ex.”

Their car was parked in the delivery lane. They’d had to rent it for the full weekend, since the software to extend the Colorado transport grid to the mountains wouldn’t go live until summer. If then. Roadsoft and the State of Colorado were suing each other, so more delays weren’t out of the question.

They climbed in and turned the seats to face each other. “Roosevelt National Forest,” said Tania. The car came silently to life and hummed out of its parking spot.

Ruth’s face tightened with concern. “I hope you’ll forgive me,” she said, “but I called Steve at the refugee camp. He told me what happened. Have you had a chance to talk about it with anyone? It must have been terrible, to be so powerless. How are you holding out?”

Tania’s skin crawled, as if the rough hands were still inside her clothing. “No offense, Ruth… I can’t…”

“It’s all right,” said Ruth. She smiled sympathetically. “How’s work going then?”

Tengri’s voice:
there’s a pace to diplomacy. I can’t have you running amok.
“I don’t want to talk about that either.”

Ruth stared out of the window. They were gliding up a broad street walled by vibrant trees. Cyclists outnumbered cars three to one. “Well, this conversation’s going to be a
lot
of fun. I know. Let’s talk about television. Watch any good shows lately?”

Chengdu, Guatemala City, Seattle, Boulder. Every time I reboot my life, it gets harder to make new friends.

Tania scowled at the neat Boulder houses: manicured lawns, fruit trees lit with blossoms. They passed a strip mall, the parking lot converted into a thriving amusement park complete with a duck pond. “It’s so unfair,” she said. “Those poor people in that camp.”

“Steve told me you tried to save an old woman. Said you had a soft heart.”

“I didn’t have the courage
to triage her. She died. And maybe others did too, because she was taking up space in the hospital.” Emotions tore loose, overwhelming Tania’s mental walls like a storm surge. “Sorry. Sorry… I…”

“I’m a friend.” Ruth handed her a tissue. “You can cry in front of me. Just don’t do it on camera. Boogers look gross on TV.”

Tania gave a snotty giggle. “Are you ever serious?”

“I’m dead serious. Have you ever seen a booger on TV? They’re all shiny.” Ruth snorted at her own joke.

“I don’t know how Steve does it,” said Tania. “His work is so futile. Like he’s bandaging gunshot victims instead of getting rid of the gunman.”

“We’ll, he’s doing more than the UN,” said Ruth. “Steve’s a good guy with very limited resources. The UN have no excuse. The last time they showed leadership was when they created the Climate Council. But now? Is anyone working on CO2 cuts? Or a vision for how the shield will be shared? There’s no longterm thinking at all. Their plan seems to be ‘let the US and China build the shield and hope it works out.’”

“Let’s save that discussion for later,” said Tania. “I don’t feel like boogering again.”

***

At the edge of Boulder they accelerated onto the freeway, streaking north, past grassy foothills dotted with clumps of desert wildflowers. The road wound into the mountains, rising through elevation biomes until, after 40 minutes, the car pulled off onto a deserted gravel pad surrounded by aspens. A red sign at the trailhead said CLOSED DUE TO SNOW.

“I thought you checked the satellite photos?” said Tania.

“I did,” protested Ruth. “The lake was clear. Honest.” She kicked the gravel. “I should have checked the trail too I guess. Shit. I was really looking forward to this. Although – there’s no snow here.” She looked at Tania hopefully, pushing out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout.

“You know how this ends, right?”

Ruth nodded. “We’ll run into snow.”

“But we’ll convince ourselves that it’s only for a short distance,” said Tania cheerily.

“And we’ll post-hole in freezing slush the rest of the way to our campsite,” finished Ruth. “Which will fortunately be free of snow. Since I checked.”

Tania opened the trunk and shouldered her backpack. “Let’s do it then. No whining.”

The trail wound through grassy meadows blazing with blue and yellow flowers. A few sickly survivors marked the last battle line of the pines, but most of the old forest was dead, black telephone poles stripped naked by fire. To Tania, it seemed as if the flowers were already celebrating their victory, their days in the shadows over.

They walked steeply uphill for an hour, becoming more hopeful that the closed sign might have been wrong, but as they broke out of the trees into more open ground patches of snow appeared. The trail ahead vanished into winter. “Crap,” said Ruth.

“Maybe it’ll be better on the other side of the pass,” said Tania, with more hope than conviction.

Ruth pulled off her backpack and sat down. “Lunch? Before the post-holing in slush part?” An enormous sandwich appeared out of her top compartment. Tania fished out her bag of convenience store granola bars.

“It’s nice to be out here,” said Tania. “The UNBio preserves are depressing me right now. I’m trying to harvest the worst ones while there’s still some biodiversity worth collecting. It’s horrible. Like I’m cutting off my own fingers.”

“I’m glad you gave up on visiting them all,” said Ruth. “But shouldn’t you delegate the preserve harvesting too? If nobody in the UN is working on it, then you need to be the one making longterm shield plans.”

Tania groaned.

“Oh,” said Ruth. “Did I just touch on something? Can you share?”

“I was thinking exactly the same thing,” said Tania. “So I told Tengri I was going to start work on just such a plan and asked him for funding. Tengri forbade it. Told me it was outside my mandate. Said there’s a pace to diplomacy.”

“Hmmmm,” Ruth said through her sandwich. “What would you,” she sucked up a bit of lettuce that was making an attempt to escape the bread, “do with a shield plan if you had it?”

“Present an outline at the July UN Climate Summit,” said Tania. “Work on attracting supporters.” She crunched her stale granola bar.

“Bad idea,” said Ruth. She held up her hand to silence Tania’s protest while she took another bite of her sandwich. “I have a degree in this, remember? A shield plan is essential. It’s the highest impact thing you could be doing. But you have to time it. The best time to offer somebody a lifejacket is when the ship is in a storm. If you give it to them on a sunny day, they’ll complain about the color and leave it next to the buffet table.”

“Well, your strategy is academic anyway,” said Tania. “Since Tengri won’t pay for it.”

“Then don’t rely on Tengri,” said Ruth. “Here.” She handed Tania the other half of her sandwich. “Watching you eat that packaged crap is ruining my appetite.”

They finished their lunches and continued uphill. The snow was deeper than it looked, with a firm crust that held their weight for four or five steps before plunging them into waist deep powder. “Exactly as planned,” groaned Ruth. “Adventures like these are always better in the recollection.” They waded onwards, the top of the pass never getting closer. Tania’s heart felt ready to burst from exertion.

And then, after a few more switchbacks, the ground leveled off to a barren sweep of wind-whipped gravel. Tania hunched into the gale, whooping with relief. A kilometer away, down a slope flayed dry by the prevailing winds, an emerald blue lake reflected the afternoon sun.

They bounded down together, the painful uphill struggle forgotten, and set up Ruth’s dome tent in a meadow psychedelic with wildflowers. The sun fell, taking the warmth with it, and they scurried into their sleeping bags, side by side on their stomachs. Tania snapped together her camp stove in the vestibule and dropped the sweet and sour tofu into a pot. She turtled into her bag.

“Did you ever figure out what those surveyors were doing in Ethiopia?” asked Ruth. When Tania didn’t answer Ruth took her hand. “Sorry. We don’t have to talk about Africa.”

You were going to trust her, remember?

“Talking helps,” said Tania. “I found documents in the jeep. My omni made a mess of the language, but Steve translated them. The land is being sold.” She stirred the pot angrily. “Bastards. Dividing the preserve even as they’re taking UNBio money to protect it.”

“What’s their motivation?” asked Ruth. “Didn’t you say it’s worthless desert?”

“Yeah, it’s weird.”

“Could I see the documents?” asked Ruth. “I’m good at figuring out puzzles.”

“Be my guest,” said Tania. “I’ll send them when we get back in town.”

They lay, listening to the stove’s hiss, watching the flame dance. Burning carbon. Although Tania had bought biofuel, she still felt a twinge of guilt, like when she put an aluminum can in the airport garbage because she couldn’t find a recycler.

Ruth eyed the bubbling pot hungrily.

“So Ruth, what’s your role in Green Army?”
Like she’ll tell me.

But Ruth surprised her.

“I started as a consultant,” she said. “I joined the inner circle three years ago. I run messaging. That’s why I was in New York. We want to keep the environment in the public eye as something we still have control over. I wasn’t expecting the protest to get so rough though.”

Images of violence mixed together: black-clad policemen shocking protesters in the New York rain. Army boots kicking Tania in the Ethiopian sand. She pulled the sleeping bag tighter. “Why the brutality?”

“The government doesn’t like competition,” said Ruth. “Political power is swapped between elites. It’s a closed game. Outsiders aren’t welcome.”

“You don’t think it’s because you’re terrorists?”
Shit. That’s a bit blunter than I intended.

Ruth laughed. “The term is monkey-wrenching, not terrorism. You should try it some time. Blowing up a coal plant is incredibly cathartic. I don’t have your faith in the political system.”

“You overestimate my faith in the political system.”

“Then why are you blindly following its rules?” asked Ruth. “Are you still making a difference?”

Tania evaded the question by scooping dinner into two bowls. For a few minutes the tent was filled with the sound of chewing and blowing on spoons.

Ruth dug around in her pack and pulled out a plastic bottle of almond liqueur and two small glasses. “Bedtime entertainment?”

“Oh, yes!”

Ruth filled a glass, but held it just out of Tania’s reach. “You haven’t answered my question yet. Are you still making a difference?”