Ark

27

September 2039

When the Academy’s final evacuation was called, the Candidates were told to assemble in the hollowed-out shell of the old museum’s IMAX theater. When she got to the theater Holle looked around frantically. The theater was in chaos, mobbed by cops and air force troopers and Homeland drones. The theater’s terracing of seats was covered with people and their gear, hastily packed up. Mixed in with the drab military colors, the Candidates stood out, colorful as exotic birds.

She spotted Kelly standing close to the theater exit, bundles piled at her feet. Don Meisel was at her side in police body armor with a heavy automatic weapon cradled in his arms. Like Holle, Kelly wore a label on her chest numbered “B-6,” the number of the armored bus they were supposed to take out of Denver. Kelly had her baby, Dexter, just two months old, in a bright red papoose on her chest. Kelly bounced the little boy, murmuring to him, while his father glared around, tense, nervous. Parenthood had made the two of them seem older than their age, just twenty-one.

Holle shoved her way through the crowd, her own pack on her back and with the last of Kelly’s gear, baby clothes and diapers, in big canvas holdalls in her hands. When she got through she dropped the bags at Kelly’s feet. Everybody seemed to be yelling, and she had to shout to make herself heard. “I think I got everything this time.”

“Thanks, Holle, you’re a true friend.”

“It was hell getting through to here. Why did they switch the egress point to the IMAX?”

“No choice,” Don said. “There’s trouble at the main entrance. Too many people want a piece of you Candidates today. We couldn’t guarantee your security. So it had to be this way.”

That was not reassuring. The Academy was being cleared in the midst of the chaos of a city-wide evacuation. Mel was already gone, sent on ahead to the Candidates’ new facility at Gunnison. She wished he was here, so they could support each other like Kelly and Don. “The sooner we’re on that bus heading down the 285 the better.”

“Rog that,” said Don.

Kelly asked, “Have you heard any news about the warp test?”

“Not yet.” Amid the chaos of the abandonment of Denver, Project Nimrod continued its own dogged course. Today was the scheduled date of an unmanned test of the warp bubble technology. A speck of antimatter had been tucked into the nose of an Ares stick, the intention being to create a bubble in Earth orbit. The bubble would fly off at superluminal speeds, but not before being sighted by observers on the ground and by spaceborne instruments. A corner of Holle’s mind fretted over that crucial milestone, even if it was just a distraction from more immediate problems.

Edward Kenzie and Patrick Groundwater came bustling up. They both wore AxysCorp coveralls emblazoned with bus numbers, “B-6,” the same number as Kelly and Holle. “Thank God.” Patrick grabbed Holle’s arms and kissed her. She thought he looked more strained, more tired, grayer every time they got together. “Are you OK?”

“I’m fine. It’s just, it’s a workday and you’re not in a suit.” She forced a laugh. “It makes everything seem real.”

“Oh, it’s real, all right,” Edward Kenzie growled. “And getting more real every damn second.” He was plump, determined, and angry, Holle thought, angry at the encroaching flood, or angry at the swarming crowds who were causing such peril to his daughter and grandson, and his project. He was listening to an earpiece. “They’re loading our bus. The National Guard have kept this doorway clear. But they lost control of the main entrance and there’s some kind of pitched battle going on around the old school group entrance. You wouldn’t believe it, that it’s come to this.”

“That’s the flood for you,” Patrick said. “It reaches us all, in the end.”

The exit door was opening at last. It was a big heavy security gate that had replaced the old theater entrance. They picked up their gear and formed a shuffling line. Holle saw a glimmer of daylight for the first time that morning, and heard shouting.

She turned for one last glance back at the theater. A forest of cables and pulleys hung from the ceiling, from which the Candidates had been suspended during zero-gravity sims, assembling spacecraft components and squirting themselves this way and that with reaction pistols. She remembered how they had swooped like birds, laughing, while their tutors had watched, smiling, earthbound. Now she was leaving this haven, and would never play such games again. She turned away and walked out into the daylight.