Exodus Page 4

  Chapter 4

  February 2073 ~ New York City, New York

  Ramon had the feeling that he didn’t belong; that he had no right to attend this meeting with so many highly qualified people. He didn’t have any qualifications whatsoever for all this, although that went for some of the others too. There were about fifteen people in the room back at the Havelar Industries headquarters, and apart from George Havelar and Ramon Solis, who represented the Consortium, Daniel Shaw, director of Project Exodus, and the science advisor, all the others were scientists and engineers. He recognized Dr. Grant and Dr. Sloan, but all the others were unknown to him. Their objective for today was to come up with the number of people that could be carried on a starship to create a new beginning for mankind. It was important that they hit the right balance between so many different factors; it had to be within the limits of engineering, and at the same time it had to be as big as possible, in order to make sure the colony would be able to sustain itself, once they reached the new world.

  “So, where do we begin?” one of the engineers asked. Ramon had no idea. How many people were needed to create a viable population? One of the scientists obviously seemed to know a little about that, as she took charge of the discussion immediately.

  “Let’s start by examining what kind of gene pool we need. That will give us a minimum number of people that would be able to breed.” She continued to explain how they needed a population of at least a hundred people, a number supported by several studies on genetic diversity.

  “Of course, such a minimum presupposes that we are able to have maximum genetic diversity, which means no relatives, and a pure genetic selection not hampered with other concerns, like skills.” She paused for a second, as several of the attendees nodded knowingly.

  “And if you think that’s unrealistic, there’s more. For a hundred people to be the nucleus of a healthy, genetically diverse breed of humans, there have to be no accidents. No illnesses, no early deaths. If cryo sleep were to have some kind of harmful side effects, or one of the shuttles crashed, or if we had a bad outbreak of influenza, that could seriously endanger the entire population. So in my view, a hundred people is the bare minimum, and it’s still too risky. I would go for double of that, at least.” As she leaned back, having said what she intended to say, Dr. Grant leaned forward.

  “All right, so we have a minimum. Below that there ain’t much point, right? Of course, some of my colleagues might point out that we’ve never built anything larger than the thirty-man shuttle, and that anything big enough to carry 100-plus would need to be developed gradually and over years. Forget it, won’t happen. We’re breaking new ground here. In my view, what we need to do is think compartments. We build compartments, parts of the starship, which by themselves cannot exceed the maximum payload of a certain number of shuttle launches. Me make them as easy as possible to assemble, so that it could be done blindfolded if need be. All right, that’s an exaggeration, but you know what I mean. We spend whatever needs spending in order to be finished on time, right?” He eyed Ramon and Havelar briefly, before he continued. Of course. He and Havelar were there to make sure the others understood that, whatever the cost, it would not be an issue. Being used to operating on tight budgets was something they all had deeply internalized and a mode it took some effort to shed. But, in this instance, as long as the resources existed, they could spend them.

  “Then we launch everything we’ve got, make sure it’s all locked into orbit, and then assemble everything in space. We don’t need to spend much time discussing a number, really. We have a minimum, and that’s all we need. If we’re able to launch enough modules for a population of two hundred, then we do that. If we’re able to get a population of a thousand, then we do that. My view is that we get as many as possible up there. That would make the population more versatile, able to stand losses, give them more of a chance to develop immunity to diseases, and so on. Then it would simply be a matter of calculating how many modules we can build and get up to orbit in time.” He paused then, looking around at the others.

  “What do you say, folks? We all know there will be engineering and production difficulties, but this is the way to do it, right?” Some nodded fiercely, obviously agreeing, while others, mostly the engineers, seemed skeptical. The discussion that followed was mostly too technical for Ramon to follow, but he gradually found that he agreed with the grizzled old engineer, even though some of the others pointed out that building a starship even for a population of a hundred people was a daunting task that shouldn’t be complicated further with the possibility of several hundred additional passengers. It still stood to reason that the limit of what was possible wasn’t really the size of the ship, but the time they had at their disposal and the number of launches possible.

  The meeting continued, with hours upon hours of discussion and checking all the facts they needed for making a halfway-qualified decision. They had to determine what each launch would entail in terms of routines and checks, and while allowing for setbacks, they also discussed what could be done to speed up the launch schedules, as they realistically would in a situation where quantity meant more than the possible risks involved in each individual launch. For hours this went on, until finally they came up with a number. Havelar, who during most of the day had been unusually quiet, now took charge.

  “So we have a number. Sixteen hundred people. Now, I’d like to do some math with you all, to show you what that really means. I’m a business man, you know, so running numbers is something I can do.” That brought smiles and chuckles as Havelar brought up an old-fashioned drawing board so that everyone could see.

  “Sixteen hundred people. In such a population, we could afford to bring some who won’t bear children, but would bring skills and expertise. Hopefully we’ll be able to have a decent reproduction rate, meaning that the population would double every forty years or so. That’s close to the reproduction rate they had in mainly agricultural, developing nations in the twentieth century. Although it may be a little high, with the proper incentives, such as more food on the table and more people to care for each other, and with land to develop, it may not be far from what we can expect.

  “Sixteen hundred people.” He mused at the number he’d written in red capitals on the board.

  “Doesn’t seem like much of a population for an entire world, now, does it? But the key here is exponential growth. Population growth could be compared to compound interest, and we all know the power of that, don’t we? Hell, I’ve made a living on that; I know how powerful that can be. So what kind of growth are we talking about here?” He started scribbling on the board, numbers of births per family, average life span for humans, numbers upon numbers.

  “In 120 years, we’re talking about 12,800 people. Still not a lot, but again, this is exponential growth. More people are added than we take away from the equation. In 200 years, we’d have 51,200 people, and in 300 years, we’re talking more than 300,000 people. Add another hundred years, and there will be a million people on the new world. Isn’t that something?” Ramon was stunned. Of course, as a businessman, he did these same kinds of calculations every day, he just hadn’t thought about the fact that the same principles would apply here as well. What we’re doing here will actually give mankind a second chance, he thought. By saving a population of sixteen hundred, they could have a million people alive within four hundred years of landing on the new world. It was a staggering number, and suddenly Ramon felt something he hadn’t felt much of since that meeting when they were told what would happen to Earth. Now he felt exhilarated and eager. Ramon realized that at this very moment he had just started believing there was still hope, after all. By God, if they could just find somewhere to settle, they could actually do this!

  August 2073 ~ Near Roanoke, Virginia

  It was late August. In Virginia’s humid summer air and sunny days, people usually took to the shade by day, coming out in the afternoons and evenings. Sitting on the terrace outside his friend’s
cabin, Trevor Hayes could only marvel at the view. The sun was setting and cast a red-orange light that gave the lake a glow, as if the entire lake was on fire. It was truly magnificent. Mark came out and sat beside him, handing him a can of beer, fresh from the cooler.

  “What do you think?” he said. “Like the view? Spent a fortune on it. Thought it would be worth it.”

  Of course, they both knew it would come to an end. Mark Novak was one of the scientists brought in to work on Project Exodus. For the last few years, he’d been involved in medical research on how to sustain lower body temperatures to levels that halted metabolism. They had found that it would be entirely possible to sustain life for years, and their research had shown one of the side effects to be that the aging processes went into an almost dormant state. Aging wasn’t completely halted, but so far they were able to slow it by a factor of about one hundred. Originally this had been part of an experimental study to optimize conditions for prolonged surgery, but it had always been thought that “cryo-sleep” would be quite similar to this. Now it seemed the need had arisen for just that kind of expertise, with star flight suddenly no longer a remote possibility but a requirement for the survival of the human race.

  “So what happened to that fiancée of yours?” Trevor said, and grinned; he knew Mark had a history of being quite a womanizer. Mark shrugged and faked an innocent look on his face.

  “Ah, she left. I have no idea why, although I doubt she sees eye to eye with her sister anymore, if you know what I mean.” He winked, and Trevor burst out laughing. He hadn’t seen his friend more than maybe once a year or so since they’d gone their separate ways after high school. Mark had gone to Duke University and Trevor went to Harvard. But they stayed in touch, sporadically, even though it was difficult as they were both busy and ambitious. And here they were, working on the same project, knowing what few others did. Mark looked out at the lake, and he seemed to have something on his mind.

  “What’s up, buddy?” Mark shook his head, which made Trevor even more certain that there was something bothering him.

  “Come on, man, I know there’s something.” Mark didn’t answer. He got a different look on his face, sort of distant, but with a touch of anger at something. He still didn’t say anything as he got to his feet and went to get them both another beer. In the distance, he heard a car, and after a few seconds, he could hear it coming closer. Then, just as Trevor heard the car pull to a stop, Mark came back carrying three cans of beer.

  “There’s someone I’d like you to meet. His name is Thatcher. I just heard his car; he’ll be here in a sec.” A few moments later, a man in his fifties came around the house and greeted Mark as an old friend, then gave Trevor a firm handshake as he introduced himself.

  “I’m Richard Thatcher,” he said with a smile. “And I know who you are.” Trevor didn’t know what to say, so he laughed politely. Mark got another chair, and they all sat down. Thatcher had some kind of intensity about him, and it made Trevor a bit uneasy. Who is this man? he wondered.

  “Mark here said you are the one to talk to,” Thatcher smiled.

  “About what?” Trevor said quizzically.

  “About Exodus.” Trevor felt a shiver. As national security advisor, he had a list of the names of every single person involved, and no Thatcher was on that list. His eyes narrowed, and he turned toward his friend.

  “Mark, you are aware that telling …” Mark shook his head, interrupting him.

  “I never told anyone, I swear. But he knows everything.” Thatcher still smiled.

  “Don’t worry, Trevor,” he said. “I’m here because I think you are a good man, and being a friend of Mark’s only confirms that belief. Since you probably can’t speak about this, why don’t you let me sum up what I’ve learned so far?” Thatcher took a deep swallow from his can, and his smile widened.

  “All right. Within three years, we’ll be able to see Devastator with the naked eye. Have you thought about what that means? It’s getting closer, so every time it comes back into view, it will be like a steadily growing star in the sky. This will go on for the next eight years or so, until impact.” Trevor nodded. All this was known to him, but he didn’t say anything, as it seemed Thatcher needed to show how far his knowledge went, to prove that he already knew, and that whatever Trevor said concerning the facts would be no breach of his confidentiality.

  “During the last few encounters prior to impact, there will be a lot of debris falling down on Earth, as a bombardment from space, and strange weather, although I’m still not sure what they mean by that. But a lot of debris will probably settle in the upper atmosphere, causing a worldwide drop in temperatures. The effects of all that will be bad enough. But as we both know, it is impact that we really should fear. The killer impact.” Thatcher stopped and spread his hands, as if saying there, now you know that I know. Trevor said nothing, so it was Mark who broke the silence.

  “So, Trevor, how do you think it’ll be, when the bastard hits us?” Trevor thought for a second. What could be the harm of discussing that, when Thatcher already knew the rest? He knew he shouldn’t, but his curiosity for where this conversation would be going took over, so he tried to formulate an answer.

  “Well, I guess there are multiple outcome possibilities, all devastating to some degree. The most probable outcome is that just a small number of people survive, by pure chance. No bunkers or shelters will do us any good here. But some will survive. To kill every living being on the planet, it would probably take the sun to explode, or the planet to disintegrate. And that won’t happen.” He paused, sipped his beer, and managed to smile, despite the grim topic.

  “Now, humans are adaptable, more so than most of us think. Trust me, I’ve seen that close up more than once.” Mark nodded; he knew that Trevor had seen more than most people. Not surprisingly, Thatcher seemed to know that as well.

  “Those who survive such an event will be resourceful, and I don’t think this will be the end of the human race. However, I do believe this will mark the end of our civilization as we know it. I don’t think people have thought that far yet, but the aftermath of such an event will be a long period of sheer survival—decades, maybe centuries. Then, slowly will come a period of growth and expansion, but from almost nothing.” He shook his head, thinking that this was the future they had to look forward to, if they were among the survivors. He saw that Thatcher nodded knowingly. It was obvious he’d had the same thoughts too, because before Trevor could continue, Thatcher spoke.

  “In such times, knowledge that is not directly applicable to short-term survival will be deemed useless, however we think about it today. Education will be on the lowest level you can think of for a very long time, and the accumulated knowledge of human civilization will deteriorate. This will go on for a long time, until at some point the remaining population will be able to create a surplus of goods, such as food, to make trade possible again.” Trevor remembered his history lessons well, and could only agree.

  “Of course. Trade is the real key” he said, and Thatcher smiled.

  “Yes, it is. Trade creates all kinds of specializations. And demands. Only when trade is possible will education, science, and culture regain their place in society. But by then, generations may have passed, wars may have been fought, with sticks and stones I guess, once the armories are emptied or destroyed. The lights in the sky may have changed from stars to objects of worship. Really, who knows how far this might go?” Thatcher laughed softly, although with a hint of bitterness to his voice.

  “The civilization growing up from all that may not resemble ours in the least. We may not even be remembered as being real, but as a myth, as something that future human beings consider superstition! And there’s always the possibility that our optimism on behalf of humanity is misplaced, and that we actually do go extinct on Earth …” Then Thatcher got a determined look on his face. He spoke directly to Trevor now, as Mark got up and excused himself. Then the two of them were alone on the terrace.


  “So you see why we need to preserve whatever we have right now, and ship it far, far away? It may be our only chance. This civilization of ours has lost a lot of the qualities it once had, but it’s still worth saving, don’t you think?” Careful, Trevor thought, as he shot the older man a sharp look. Thatcher continued, undisturbed, although a twinkle in his eye gave away that he’d picked up on Trevor’s reaction, and it was exactly the reaction he’d anticipated.

  “Of course, a lot of the old western liberties, such as free speech, are now mostly illusory.” Now Trevor subconsciously looked around to see if anyone was listening. That kind of talk was dangerous.

  “But even so, the ideas still live, and we still remember societies that once actually existed, where those ideas were law. And most of them were taken for granted. We even had all that, right here, less than a century ago. That alone makes it worthwhile to try to save a small piece of our species, don’t you think?” Now Trevor couldn’t be silent anymore.

  “What the hell is this?” he said between his teeth, as he scowled suspiciously at the man who just by being here might prove dangerous to both him and Mark.

  “Who are you, and what do you want?” Then Thatcher surprised him by laughing out loud.

  “I provoked you, didn’t I?” he said after a few seconds. Trevor just nodded.

  “All right, I understand. I know you are a true patriot, Mr. Hayes, and that you love this country deeply. What you need to understand is that so do I.

  “I served in North Africa in the early days, you see. Before everything turned ugly. I’ve spilt blood for this country, more than once.” Thatcher stared at the lake, a shimmering black now that the sun had set.

  “I am as much a patriot as you are, Mr. Hayes. But when I joined the army, I swore an oath to protect and defend the Constitution. I sincerely believe that the Constitution was one of the finest texts ever written. And it wasn’t just words either; every single sentence held a deep meaning, and showed us what this country should be all about.”

  Was. Trevor began to suspect where he was headed, and although he’d occasionally had these same thoughts himself, he knew that was a path that led to treason.

  “You think I’m talking about treason here, don’t you?” Trevor started at Thatcher’s words. It was as if he could read his mind. The mysterious man was always a step ahead of his thoughts.

  “I know you think that, you don’t have to say it. But I’m not. Although I do think treason was committed when they revised the Constitution, especially when they changed the first amendment.” Trevor didn’t have an answer to that.

  “You know, when they send those people away to some distant planet, they will try to create a copy of this society. President Andrews’s society. My guess is that they will make sure the colony is set up with people like Havelar, or someone like him, in charge. Maybe even Shaw. True believers. With guns to back them up.” Trevor knew there had been discussions on how to make sure the colony would be safeguarded from dissidents and subversive ideas. He had taken part in those discussions, but he’d been more concerned with the security around the selection and launch facilities, and of course the production facilities where spaceship parts would be assembled. Not to mention how to avoid terrorists getting their hands on the materials that would be used for construction of the starship, many of which could be used for making weapons of mass destruction.

  “In a small population such as that one, the result will be tyranny. You see, I’m not advocating anything like overthrowing President Andrews and his regime. I’m more concerned about the future, and sad to say, that future won’t be here. No, I’m talking about making sure the colony doesn’t turn out the way this country has been going since Holloway.” Thatcher got up and stretched his back. None of them said anything for a moment, and Trevor thought hard about what he had just heard. President Holloway had started the slow descent, with his so-called reforms, such as the financial reforms. In retrospect, these reforms had built a foundation on which President Andrews later had been able to establish structures that placed all power in the hands of a few, with no checks and balances left to speak of: an impotent congress and a subservient judiciary; a press owned by a business elite surrounding the President; and mega-corporations that were deeply intertwined in a government that made every critic turn silent or disappear. Trevor sat in the middle of it all, and knew exactly what Thatcher was speaking of. He hesitated for a moment, before speaking, choosing his words carefully.

  “So what is it you want, really?”

  “I want them to have what we wasted. Freedom, to read what they want, and speak whatever is on their minds. To be the masters of their own destiny, not slaves to the will of a few. I want the true Constitution to come back to life. It cannot be done here. Not anymore. It would only destroy us in these few years that we have left. But there is a new world out there somewhere, and maybe this is a chance to start over. Maybe we don’t have to repeat the mistakes of the past.” He smiled again, and then offered his hand to Trevor. Trevor hesitated, and then took it slowly.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Thatcher said. Trevor stared after him, while confusing thoughts raced through his mind.

  October 2073 ~ Washington, DC

  The phone rang at almost exactly nine thirty, on a Wednesday evening, while Ohio Senator Joe Buchanan was having a late dinner with his wife in their home. He didn’t want to interrupt the meal, so he decided to ignore the call, and let it ring until it stopped. He didn’t give it a second thought, and resumed his conversation with his wife, Cecilia. Then it rang again, and this time it didn’t stop. Cecilia smiled fondly, and motioned for him to take it.

  “Come on, Joe, I know you’re wondering who it is. Just take it and be done with it.” A little annoyed at the caller, he got up and walked over to the sideboard, where he kept his phone. The number was hidden, but since he’d already gotten up, he decided to take the call anyway. He took his phone into his study and closed the door.

  “Yes,” he said, waiting for the caller to identify himself.

  “Senator,” the voice on the other end answered. It sounded vaguely familiar to him, but he couldn’t quite place it. So, he figured it had to be someone he knew from way back.

  “You may not remember me, but we worked together on the Stephenson bill, I guess it’s been about twenty years ago now … My name is Richard Thatcher. I was on the team of the late Senator Williamson back then.” Joe had to think hard for a second before it dawned upon him.

  “Yes, that’s right. I believe I heard your name mentioned a couple of years ago, though I can’t remember the occasion; you’re with the Energy Committee now, aren’t you? Still working behind the scenes?”

  “Well, I was for a while, before I started working for the Presidential Alternative Energy Initiative.” The PAEI had been former president Holloway’s green alibi, and had gotten a lot of support from environmentalist groups, although those within the inner circle and the PAEI managers knew it had nothing to do with environmentalism. It was yet another security measure, as Holloway had been just as obsessed with security as the current president. Of course, it did have an effect upon the dependency of fossil fuels, which was necessary, because the available sources were quickly dwindling, but there were secrets within secrets, and some suspected the ultimate goal was to develop entirely new classes of weapons, the kinds one could only find in fiction.

  “So, Mr. Thatcher, I remember you, and we did work together when we were both young men. What is it that you want from me now?” That was the usual Joe Buchanan; no time for bullshit, straight to the point, with only the minimum of niceties.

  “I need to know that you haven’t changed your views on the things we spoke of that evening, when we had gotten the bill passed, after dinner.” Joe knew exactly what Thatcher was talking about. He hadn’t talked about it since Seattle, though; it was not safe anymore. That kind of talk could both end his career and possibly put him behind bars, and he had no desire for either. Even so,
his views in private had never changed.

  “I remember,” he said, not wanting to reveal anything more on the phone. These days, you never knew whether your phone was tapped; the government could do that, and regularly did, and it was legal; they didn’t even need a warrant or due cause.

  “Good. That’s very good to hear,” Thatcher said, and Joe could hear him breathe out, relaxing a bit more.

  “I need to talk to you. That’s all I can say for now, but you actually need to talk to me as well.” Buchanan wondered if that was really the case, but his curiosity had already taken over, so he agreed.

  “All right, when and where?” He could hear Thatcher’s low chuckle, and then his reply puzzled him.

  “Good-bye for now, I’ll be in touch.” Then he hung up the phone. The senator just stood there for a second, confused as to what just happened. The end of the conversation did nothing to relieve his curiosity, so he was deep in thought when he returned to the dinner table. His wife could easily see he was distracted.

  “Who was that, dear? What is it?” Joe just shook his head and waved it all away.

  “Just some old coworker. Seems they want to have some kind of reunion. He should know I don’t have time for such things.” He shrugged, while Cecilia laughed softly, handing him a cruet of warm gravy to revive his meal, which had turned cold.

  “Well, if you decide to go, I want to go too. We never go out just for fun anymore. It’s all politics these days. Maybe it would do us some good.” The senator nodded, while lost in thought. He remembered that conversation all those years ago, all too vividly. When they happened to touch upon the proposed revisions to the Constitution, and what that would mean. The things he’d said, and later regretted. Not because he didn’t mean those things, but because, even back then, they were such dangerous thoughts, to himself and everyone around him. The political climate had already turned, and his ideas of preserving the Constitution rather than revising it had already been deemed reactionary, and contrary to the development of a safe and secure society, free from the threat of terrorism and subversive elements. Now, he instinctively knew that what he was getting himself into would be very dangerous, so why was he all excited about it?

  The next morning, as he was getting ready for work, his tablet beeped twice, and he looked at the new message. It was from a hidden sender, and there were just two words: “Sakura Noon.” He chuckled softly. To most people the message would be cryptic, but to him it made perfect sense: location and time. Sakura had been a Sushi bar, although it hadn’t existed for over ten years. These days it was a rundown catering business. The time was a bit more elegant, as there had been a Japanese Noon, sort of a happy hour, with lower prices on everything. Japanese Noon would be at ten in the evening here. He deleted the message, kissed Cecilia good-bye, and went out to his car.

  Winter was coming. It was one of those evenings when you could just smell it in the air. It was getting chilly fast, and Joe had put on his dark blue coat and a green scarf to keep warm. He could see the place was closed, although there was a dim light in one of the windows, as if it came from a back room. The door was open, so he entered slowly. He’d been right about the light, it came from the kitchen. A voice suddenly spoke quietly from the darkness to his right, startling him just a little.

  “You came.” It was Thatcher, and when he stepped a little closer, Joe could see a well-dressed man in his early fifties, with a trimmed beard, gray hair, and just a hint of a potbelly. He motioned for Joe to follow him, and they entered the lit kitchen, where another man and a woman waited. The woman seemed stern and had a suspicious look about her; her glasses and her hair, pulled back from her face with a hairpin, emphasized the impression. The man, in his early thirties, with a typical military bearing and haircut to match, wearing a dark sweater and jeans, nodded curtly to him. Thatcher did the introductions.

  “Senator Buchanan, this is Dr. Amanda Shearing, of JPL at CalTech, and Air Force Lieutenant Deacon Frost.” They all shook hands and Joe coughed.

  “Well … I’m not sure what to make of this. Honestly, Richard, what is this all about?” Thatcher sat down on one of the chairs around a rickety table, took out a file folder, and spread his notes out. The paper seemed a little old fashioned to Joe, but then again, there would be no risk of electronic surveillance picking it up either.

  “The information I have here … I could go to jail for this, and so could all of you here in this room. Just for being here. Or worse, I guess, if they knew what I have in mind. But alas, that is less of a concern to me now than it has ever been, because in a few years it won’t matter. However, if this meeting goes well, there is still hope. Sort of … Please sit down, Senator, all of you. Dr. Shearing, why don’t you brief the good senator?” The woman hesitated, and Buchanan felt her eyes staring into him, as if she could see every doubt he had.

  “I’m still not sure we can trust …” Thatcher cut her off.

  “Senator Buchanan is to be trusted. He is a good man, and I vouch for him. Continue, please. He needs to know.” Dr. Shearing shook her head slowly, then rose as she picked up one of Thatcher’s files and pushed it over to the senator.

  “Hmm, well, I guess we don’t have a choice in the matter.” She took a deep breath, and managed something that was meant to be a smile.

  “I guess we all get somewhat paranoid, and with good reason. But I’ll trust you, Senator. What I am about to tell you is something that’s being kept even from many of the people actually working on it, and if no one does anything about it, one tragedy will only be succeeded by another.”

  “Okay. It all started when Devastator was first discovered, more than two years ago …” And then she told him everything.

  When Dr. Shearing finally sat down, Joe was pale and speechless. He didn’t say anything for a minute, and the others let him digest the news. Hearing about what was likely to be the end of human civilization on Earth, from a professor who didn’t strike him as a lunatic, made him shake a little. And he knew in his heart what the president’s plan would mean. There would be no critical voices, no opposition to the totalitarian and restrictive ways that had evolved through the years following the Seattle incident. What would that do to the chances of survival for those who would live? And moreover, what would it mean to the society they would create, should they ever reach their destination?

  “This is a heavy burden, knowing these things …” he said quietly. “I wish I could do something, but I’m truly lost here.” He closed his eyes for a moment to think.

  “I’m usually well informed, as well as anyone I guess.” Joe had been a congressman for years, before taking a seat in the Senate, which after the second reforms had turned out to be one of the last entities where the president had to bargain and horse trade in order to make policy. Of course, the executive usually won, but even the power of stalling and renegotiation was something exclusive to the Senate these days.

  “He needs me too much to cut me off completely, or at least that’s what I thought. But I was kept in the dark about this, and I think that would demonstrate how powerless I am here.” Thatcher shook his head, and smiled wryly.

  “On the contrary, it just demonstrates that you are not one of his cronies, and I’d say that’s a good thing. You know, there is a reason I called you, and it’s not just to give you bad news. We mean to change the game, and I believe we have the means to do so.” Joe looked quizzically at him, while Thatcher paused for a moment. Then he turned toward the younger man.

  “Lieutenant Frost here comes from a very prominent family in Houston, Texas.”

  “Black gold, old fossils, also known as oil,” Frost grimaced.

  “Yes, oil money from back in the early nineteenth,” Thatcher continued. Money that was used to finance the campaigns of both Holloway and Andrews.

  “Money that got me into the Academy,” Frost said quietly. Thatcher shook his head and dismissed his comment with a hand.

  “I don’t think so, Deacon. But yes, there is co
rruption at work, and we mean to use it to our advantage.” He turned back toward Joe and picked up another file, scanned it for a moment, and then explained.

  “Lieutenant Frost has been selected for a very special mission out west. He hasn’t been told what it is, but I happen to know that in six months the first candidates for an undisclosed space mission will start gathering in an old air force base in Arizona, and it seems our young lieutenant’s destination is that very same place. Now, that could mean anything, if it wasn’t for his prior assignments, his résumé, so to speak. Since graduation from the Air Force Academy, Lieutenant Frost has been an instructor at the Advanced Tactical School, which turns out most of the scramjet pilots. To understand the significance of this, you need to understand that most instructors at ATS are seasoned veterans, scramjet-certified pilots themselves. What I mean to say is, no offense Deacon, but your comment on money getting you into AFA is a load of crap. You’ve distinguished yourself too much for that to be true. No, to be selected for such an assignment without all that experience, you have to be extraordinary.

  “When we send a starship into space carrying the hope of mankind, there will be a rigorous selection of candidates. Lieutenant Frost’s specialty is assessing the capabilities of others for extreme conditions, for coping with the unexpected and making do with the resources at hand. It’s a perfect match of the capabilities needed to create a viable colony off-Earth, and the lieutenant is an expert at it himself, as well as assessing it in others. My guess is that he will be on the team of instructors that will also be responsible for the selection of candidates.”

  “All right,” Joe interrupted. “I can see where you’re going here. Lieutenant Frost will be able to influence the selection of the candidates, and that’s all very well. I like the idea of having someone carrying the torch when the rest of us are gone. But that’s already in play, and I still don’t know how I fit into the picture.” Thatcher leaned forward on the table and stared intently at him.

  “Senator, Lieutenant Frost’s efforts will be of utmost importance. The crew and passengers of the starship will shape the future of our species. There may be others that will try to save some of their population, most notably the Chinese and the Indians, but we have no way of knowing what that will amount to. So, as far as we know, the ones gathering out in Arizona six months from now will be the most important people on the planet.

  “If you decide to help us, Senator, you will play an important role, and your actions will be crucial to the outcome of this. You need to gain President Andrews’s trust. He already knows that you don’t agree on certain parts of his politics, but since you’ve been careful, he doesn’t know what kind of rebel you really are.” That last comment was said with a wry grin.

  “You do have his ear, at least to a certain degree. Now use that. Develop a trust with the man; influence him as much as possible. There are issues that can significantly alter the chances of actually preserving something of what this country once was. Such as whether or not to accept certain of the more prominent candidates, such as leading scientists with views that differ from the mainstream, the choice of commander for the mission, whether there will be a large security or military contingent, or whether to allow the rich to buy passes with donations. We actually have a good number of supporters in that group, believe it or not. There are more of us than you could possibly know, Senator, and some are in a position to really make a difference. As for selection, if we get a good number of people on board that are able and willing to think for themselves, there will be hope. While Lieutenant Frost works on the selection of individuals, you may be able to influence selection policy. We may even have a plan that would place us on the inside of the loop, to practically take over the entire project—quietly of course. That plan involves you. And that, Senator, will be your true legacy when the time comes to start all over on a new world.”