“As decoherence approaches, the future becomes a sharp point, the sword upon which dreams die.”
~ excerpt from the writings of the rebel poet Loi Liling I1—2069
Day 206/365
Year 5 of Progress
(July 25, 2069)
Central Command
Third Continent
Prime Reality
Several years ago, when Mac had gotten into reading apocalypse literature, Sam had tried a few. Breann Zander’s Absent Bridge about a gear-fueled sorceress fighting genetically altered humans in the wastelands of the Outback had left her bored although the movie was good. What she had liked was Death by the Cottonwood by Myra Lejean.
The book opened in a dusty, dark city surrounded by a storm, and even if it was really the protagonist’s depression-driven nightmare, that’s all Sam could think of when she saw what was left of Birmingham. How had Lejean put it?
Shrouds of darkening clouds spun around the city, quickly coiling like the hangman’s noose around the dead man’s throat. Buildings rose sharply, cutting into the sky and making it bleed black rain. . .
Perhaps the author had been traveling through iterations when she wrote it. Or maybe she’d been a node and dreamt of it. Either way, the description was spine-tinglingly accurate.
Broken towers, the tombstones of a forgotten civilization, stretched skyward as an ugly brown cloud of pollution circled. In time, Sam had no doubt, the toxins would win. Everyone here was living in a toxic crypt of their own making.
Landon clucked his tongue. “Like the view?”
“My Birmingham is beautiful. Called the city of dreams.” The first Muslim-American president was raised there. Sanaa Mian quoted Martin Luther King Jr. more than the Constitution. She’d come and gone before Sam was old enough to pay attention, but even in the Commonwealth, Birmingham was known as The City of Dreams. “How can anyone be happy here?”
“You have a better option?”
She hesitated. Taking them all with her wasn’t feasible but abandoning them hurt. “Maybe.” Maybe she could work out a trade deal. Give this iteration samples of the pollution-absorbing algae and trees that had been developed in Mexico in 2058. Offhand, she didn’t remember the name of the inventor, only that he’d been born with a genetic disease and survived in such a way that there were at least three biopics about him.
“We’ll think of something.”
Landon sneered at her, at the landscape, at life in general.
Sam licked her lips. “You said there’s a door there?”
“Somewhere in the city,” Landon said with a nod. “Me and mine, we don’t go out there much. Not anymore. I used to have some contacts.” He shook his head with a closed-off expression. “Last few months, things have gone sour. No more convoys out. Not much communication. Used to be that when we raided the stores, someone came for us. Now they act like nothing happened.”
“Why?”
He shook his head. “Something about a decoherence, whatever that means. There were posters up last time I was there. Might be a social movement.”
“Who actually runs things?”
“Central Command.” Landon pointed to a distant peak of a tower. “That is 156 floors, goes nearly a mile underground, and the base is big.”
Sam looked at him in confusion.
Landon shrugged. “I’ve seen bits and pieces, but rumor says it takes all day to walk across.”
“Probably only if you walk slow. It’s, what, ten miles from here? Maybe a bit more?”
“Thirteen.”
“Right, so unless it’s lopsided, or this area touches the base, it’s not that big. It might be a couple of city blocks wide.” But it wasn’t likely if this Birmingham was like hers. Alabama had a complex underground water system. The limestone sometimes gave way, creating sinkholes. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine a densely populated building digging down to access the water, but they couldn’t get far if they wanted to keep the building standing.
A thought came to her. “What kind of security do they have?”
“See the clouds?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s the security. If the wind doesn’t get you, the air will. Nothing travels far unless they use the tunnels.”
“Which should mean the tunnels are heavily guarded.”
“By who?” Landon laughed. “Central Command doesn’t think about tunnels. They don’t go below the top levels unless there’s an emergency. The people, they’re starving. Everyone’s on rations. Everyone’s scared.”
She would be, too, if she were planning on staying in this hellscape. “How do you even function?”
“Like people.”
“This is . . . anarchy. There should be solutions.”
“Yeah, the little door to another world,” Landon said. “If you’re one of the elite, you can leave anytime you want, do anything you want, and come back here.”
Sam nodded. “Vacation in another reality. It’s not an original idea, but why not.” Somewhere in the murky depths of time, a young Emir must have been a very tortured individual. Only someone with an obsessive need for control would make a machine to change history. “All right, million-dollar-question time: Can you get me in?”
“Sure can,” Landon said with a smile. “I even have a way for you to get to the top.”
“Oh?”
He pulled a chunky square computer from the satchel tied to his thigh. “Here.” He pushed a series of buttons, and Sam’s face appeared.
It wasn’t exactly her face. The woman glaring at her was a good thirty pounds lighter, a bit paler, and had a thin white scar on her chin. “So she is here.”
“Yup. Commander Samantha Rose of Central Command. She’s a bit of a celebrity,” Landon admitted. “When the program first went into effect five years ago, she was on all the news feeds. Convinced people to move to the big cities. Said everyone was safer if they packed themselves together and took action for a better future.”
She could see a twisted version of herself saying that. Especially a young, idealistic version. “I’m just shooting from the hip here, but I’d guess she has government ties.”
“Her father is a bigwig in the world government. Lead orator or something like that. Not a voting member of the Council, but he has influence.”
“And he’s charismatic.” Was charismatic in her history—right up until he decided to start abusing painkillers. An old twinge of guilt stabbed her like a rusty knife jabbing an old scar. He’d made his choices. She’d made hers. The first time she’d gone to his rescue. The second, she realized he would let her drown to save himself, and so she’d let go.
Landon was watching her. “Problems?”
“Memories.”
“Nothing good?”
“Plenty of good ones, but that one was bad.” She sighed. “What’s your plan for getting Commander Rose out of the way?”
“Taser,” Landon said. “Ever heard of one?”
“Yup, I even know how to use it.”
“That’s the plan.”
“Tase her and stuff her in a closet?” Sam raised an eyebrow. “That’s not going to give me much time.”
He shrugged. “I’m going in with you. I can smuggle her out.”
Jane Doe’s broken face rose up in Sam’s memory. “What would you do with her?”
“Nothing worse than I did to you.” He frowned with a defensive curl of his lip. “I treated you just fine. You shouldn’t have any complaints. I fed you.”
“True.”
“Senturi was on Commander Rose’s team. If anyone can find him, she can.”
“And then you get to escape to this happily-ever-after he promised you.”
Landon had the good grace to look embarrassed. “I’m not saying it’s heaven, but it sounds a sight better than this. Sunshine. Fields with grass. You can’t tell me it’s better if I stay here.”
“No I can’t,” she said. “When do we leave?”
“Soon as the sun starts to set. It’s too hot during the day. But once it’s down, it’s just you, me, the dog, and lots of walking.”
Bosco wagged his tail with joy.