PARADISE WEST

Bradley Bravard

© 2021 Bradley Bravard

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

www.thecreativelifeadventure.com

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ISBN: 978-1-7377245-2-0

1

THE AIRCRAFT CARRIER lay in sludge on the ocean floor. At nearly a hundred meters beneath the surface, barely enough sunlight penetrated to distinguish night from day. That light was augmented with spotlights arranged in an oval perimeter, barely altering the landscape’s gray-green sameness. Where the carrier's name and insignia would normally appear, white letters referencing its revised mission spelled out P.A.R.A.D. Some wag had painted “ISE” at the end, thereby christening their home as PARADISE. The light perimeter included a submarine, one third the length of the carrier, also resting on the ground and connected to the carrier by a long, five-meter-wide airlock tunnel. Five other submarines hovered above, outside the range of the lights, tempting the inhabitants with greater proximity to the open air above. Half a dozen rectangular solar panels were tethered to the carrier, suspended only twenty meters below the surface. Schools of tuna, herring, mackerel, and various other fish darted in and out of the area.

Few people beyond the Paradise inhabitants had ever seen this particular carrier, with a streamlined hull, the prototype of a new Proteus class of vessels originally intended to dive, dolphin-like, below the ocean's surface for runs of several kilometers at a time.

Five technicians in pressure suits walked around the starboard side of the carrier, just beyond range of the lights. They towed a sled-shaped cart loaded with antenna arrays, slender metal composite rods. The antennas were intended to improve communications between vessels and with divers. Given the limited penetration of radio waves underwater, Paradise relied on a loosely integrated patchwork of conventional radio, very low and extremely low frequency radio, wired and wireless transmission, and a more recently devised system of augmented sonar. To simplify matters, everyone simply called it radio.

The arrays also contained transducers to extend the reach of their sonar system. Over time, similar arrays would be floated at various depths in the hope they could receive data from satellites. The technicians placed one of the rods in the sea floor, using hand tools to push the device deep enough to stay securely in place. In the past, “before,” one or two highly trained engineers could have done the work. Now, in the hodge-podge of limited skill sets thrown together in Paradise, it often took several bodies to equal a complete person. Besides, there was comfort in numbers.

One member of the team studied a handheld analyzer. “Looks good. Receiving and transmitting.”

They plodded along to the location for the next array. They could have moved faster with hydro-directional suits instead of these older pressure suits, but those used more power and power was at a premium until the solar array became fully operational.

“Okay, bridge, we're almost finished.” Static cluttered the technician's voice. “You'll be able to activate the grid shortly.”

“Good work, team.” They all recognized Commander Claire Mizerak's voice over the radio. “Run your diagnostics check and come back in.”

“Roger.”

A long shadow coasted along the length of the aircraft carrier from behind the technicians.

“Oh, dammit,” one of the workers grumbled as he hoisted a rod. “Jammed my thumb.”

“Could be worse,” another tech said. “They've seen a lot of strange things out here.”

A male voice cut into the radio channel. “We have incoming on sonar!”

Too late. The source of the shadow raced into the light. Shaped like a hammerhead shark but over ten meters long, half again the length of normal hammerheads. If anything normal remained in the world. Two rows of large fins grew down its back. The tail whipped around as the beast charged forward and bared its fangs. Multiple rows of long, knife-like teeth jutted from the shark's mouth.

“Look out!”

“Oh my God!”

The technicians' voices jumbled over each other. They tried to escape but the water resisted. The shark knocked over two of them with its tail. It snapped at another, pulling a chunk of flesh from his leg. The shark opened its mouth wide and scooped up a tech. It shook the person like a rag doll. Crunched its teeth into flesh and bone. Blood gushed out in a gauzy cloud.  More screams from the techs, now stumbling on hands and knees.

“Security!” Mizerak ordered from the bridge.

A steady voice broadcast through the static. “On our way, Commander.”

Eight divers, security officers in hydro-directional pressure suits, rocketed out from a hatch on the opposite side of the aircraft carrier. Tiny jets distributed throughout the suits gave the divers rapid and precise control over their positions. They carried spearguns that used compressed air to fire thirty-centimeter, razor-sharp steel flechettes. Each gun held twenty shots; the officers carried backup cartridges of twenty more on their belts.

“Fan out,” the Paradise security chief, Hector Diaz, directed. “Take it head to tail.”

The shark spit out what was left of the deceased technician. As it twisted to grab another, the security team spread out and shot the shark along the entire length of its body.  The flechettes popped into its flesh. The beast spun around. A new target. Maybe it would see their distributed form as a large predator instead of a hearty meal. Either way, it angled its body around in pain and surprise, and charged the security detail.

“Scheiße,” a German-accented voice muttered. “I'm gonna die.”

The shark aimed toward that exact officer. The divers fired multiple shots at the shark's head. Momentum propelled it forward, but the jaw and the tail went slack. It was dead. The pessimistic German, Dieter Kampelmann, tapped the animal on the snout as it drifted past, blood puffing out from multiple wounds. The dermal scales that made up a normal shark's skin were enlarged to give the appearance of chainmail armor. For a brief moment, all were motionless as the massive corpse settled into the muck.

Two of the injured technicians cried out for help.

Hector directed his team. “Dieter, Smalling, Fredericks, get the techs inside ASAP. Sickbay?”

“Yes?” another voice carried across the water.

“Standby for incoming wounded.”

“We're ready.”

“Madsen, Celeste,” Hector turned to more of his officers. “Take the shark into the hanger.”

Shocked looks through their faceplates. “Why?”

“Food.” Hector turned away to help with the injured. “We'll have shark steak for months.”

****

AFTER MAKING SURE the injured technicians were attended to, Hector reentered the aircraft carrier through an airlock at the security staging area near the central port side of the ship. A broad, tall space had been walled off as an assembly area for the security force and the primary ingress/egress area from Paradise. A circular hatch in the floor remained open, with seawater kept out by the internal pressure. Lockers and corresponding benches were lined up against one wall.

He took off his pressure suit, stowed it in a locker, and dressed in the olive work coveralls all the military personnel wore in Paradise. He stood just over six feet tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair in a brisk crewcut.

Dieter, the German who had predicted his own death, left the staging area with Hector. He was even taller than Hector, but slender, with bristly blond hair and the spry stride of a runner.

“See?” Hector slapped Dieter on the shoulder. “All doom and gloom, but you're still here.”

Dieter grimaced.  “Here is doom and gloom. Maybe the shark was a better fate.”

Dieter walked along the gray corridors of the carrier. He massaged his left arm with his right hand as he moved from sight. Hector turned in a different direction. A woman in similar coveralls with a higher rank insignia leaned against the bulkhead, waiting for him.

“Hector.”

“Commander.”

They watched Dieter rub his arm on his way toward the crew quarters.

“It's an old injury,” Hector said. “From... Well, from before. Still bothers him sometimes.”

“Keeping the shark was a good idea.”

They walked together. They wore rubber-soled shoes to tread through the ship more securely. Commander Mizerak, with blondish-brown hair and brown eyes and the peasant features and tribal instincts of her Hungarian ancestors with Ottoman influences, did not have Hector's size but carried herself in comfort with her own physical strength.

“I told them to give the doctor first crack at it,” he said. “Samples for his research.”

“The sharks kept their distance at first,” Mizerak said. “Now they’re getting bolder.”

“We've been here a while... Maybe they're testing us. Trying to decide if we're a threat.”

Mizerak sighed. Walking the corridors of Paradise, they passed a few of the motley crew of survivors who shared the cramped quarters. A mix of civilian and military, all displaying the weary expressions of walking wounded. About five thousand lived on board the carrier, with more than a thousand divided among the submarines. They still didn't have a census of everyone in Paradise.

“For now, I don't think we are,” she said.

She couldn't walk through the narrow hallways – dim lighting and patches of condensation on the bulkheads made it feel like a cave – without thinking about how they got here. The present was intolerable and the future appeared unlikely; revisiting the past seemed the easiest alternative. How long had they even lived here? Surely not that long, but confinement underwater affected their sense of time. It felt like centuries, a claustrophobic nightmare as endless as the cosmos. Her memories of pre-crisis earth became more abstract every day.

****

SHE KNEW THIS MUCH: She had been a crew member on a destroyer, one of the escorts for the Third Fleet during a regional show of force tour in the South China Sea. During a storm, a terrorist group known as the Hal'Alt, a bizarre alignment between Muslim radicals and fiscal austerity extremists, isolated her ship from the rest of the fleet. They lingered under siege for twelve days before help arrived. The Hal'Alt didn't have conventional armaments for their vessels. More like pirates, they wielded old-school weapons from point-blank range and repeatedly tried to board the ship. Turbulent weather tossed crew members overboard, their flesh pierced by swords and antique gunshells. The captain rationed supplies because they were separated from the fleet and who knew how the hell much longer it would take help to reach them? The ship's captain and first officer were killed by enemy boarders, giving Mizerak an unwanted combat promotion.

By the time Mizerak took command, twenty still survived from a crew of one hundred fifty. They stayed alive because Mizerak, at a loss for tactical directives, essentially ordered them not to die. At the time, she couldn't imagine a worse scenario. Now she would trade anything to feel that hard wind on her face again.

She had survived, the physical scars had healed, and she had found herself promoted to a logistics position in the Pentagon. The promotion no doubt got her noticed by the powers-that-be when the final instability began and consumed the world. Long before, the Chinese civil war had split that country into China and West China. The European Union had long since broken up. The Middle East was in flames, as always. That left the U.S. as the last thing resembling a superpower to steer humanity in a consistent direction. She'd known the global situation was bad, but only a privileged few truly understood the horrors to come. A summons that officially came from the Joint Chiefs, but really originated from an unidentified cabal, brought her to an underground subway system she hadn't known existed. From there to an undisclosed location that looked like a larger version of the White House Situation Room. Except no commander-in-chief she recognized joined them. Among the crowd around the large conference table, she did recognize the admiral then presiding as JCS Chairman, along with high-ranking uniforms from a multitude of countries, and grave-looking men and women of various ethnicities in dark suits. Who sat near the far end of the table, a shadow among the shadows?

“The end is near,” they told her. “Cooler heads have not prevailed.”

Hell of a time to find out conspiracies of a shadow government were not bizarre enough to fit the truth. The regional instability she had expected wasn't regional at all. This was not a drill. The world had been ending since it began. Not just near, this time the end was at hand.

“You should be honored, Claire,” they told her. “You should be grateful.”

She felt too disoriented to be grateful. They appointed her head of military operations among a select group of survivors being sent to the last safe place. A place where, if they were lucky, the radiation or bioagents or whatever catastrophe they needed to outrun – no one seemed certain – wouldn't penetrate. If they weren’t lucky, rodents and insects would inherit the world.

“Humanity's future is in your hands,” they told her.

“What exactly is my mission?” she asked.

“Survive and thrive, Claire,” one of the senior uniforms answered with dead eyes. “Survive and thrive.”

They put her on a red-eye flight to the naval base at China Lake in California, where the Pentagon had relocated San Diego operations after the combined effects of climate change and earthquakes had left that city inoperable. The pilots flew to beat the devil. Someone must have forgotten: no one beats the devil.

She rested her head against the cold window and watched the plains and mountains and rivers pass by underneath. Sleep dragged her down at first, but fear kept her awake most of the flight. She didn't see explosions. Maybe the expanding conflict, a conflict still undefined for her, hadn't reached American shores yet. She saw artillery fire (who were the targets?), smoke mushrooming up from urban areas, and interstate traffic backed up for miles. These sights got uglier the farther west they flew. The flight crew had the same dead eyes as the shadow government commission; they watched the sky without completely knowing why. The staff at China Lake scanned the horizon just as warily, as if a horror movie monster might lumber into view any second. Did they have a name for what was coming? The China Lake staff filled in a few details with a stilted briefing on the Pacific Area Recovery and Deployment (PARAD) site. The briefing raised more questions than answers and made the world even more surreal.

“Don't we need a carrier group commander?” she asked.

Cynical laughter from a man with a British accent wearing a gray suit. “It's no longer a carrier group. We need an organizer who won't quit.”

They put Mizerak, and her two small flight bags, on a tiltrotor that flew over the Pacific. The crew on this flight pinged a series of military bases across the globe, one after another, repeating their way through the list at a frantic pace. At some point, stations on the east coast stopped responding. The flight crew looked at each other and refused to answer Mizerak's questions. In hindsight, she realized they probably had no answers.

Too tired and confounded, she neglected to estimate time or distance to their destination on the open sea. She had speculated on their precise location every day since. The assembly area looked like the base of an oil drilling rig. A few enlisted men and women with angry faces steered her into a small submersible that included a rapid and, she understood later, incomplete decontamination procedure. She tried to ask the same questions she had asked the flight crew. The wind blew her voice away. No matter; they were in no mood to talk. Why had they worked so efficiently, knowing humanity had run out of days, that their own lives would be sacrificed?  Neither they nor Claire understood the criteria for deciding who to cast off and who to give a last chance to live.

The sky, the infinite sky of thin, gray clouds that distilled the sunlight into an even sheen. Waves slapped against the structure. White caps crossed the water in every direction. Such a big world over these few tiny souls rushing to complete a mission none of them truly grasped. Did they see what she saw, a distant horizon concealing an unknown threat? The unseen danger never became visible to her, only the consequences they had to live with. The sunlight; what she wouldn't give to press that sunlight to her skin one last time. For someone expected to be in command, she felt herself dragged along through a world she didn't recognize.

At that last instant, as she ducked her head under the hatch and into the submarine transport, she asked the assembly area crew the question no one in Washington had clearly answered.

“When can we come back?”

“Never.”

She didn't know who came up with the idea of using the Proteus aircraft carrier: reinforce it to withstand the additional depth, pressurize it, and anchor it to the ocean floor. A retrofit of the interior did away with many traditional carrier functions to make room for additional crew quarters. The submarine interiors had been similarly modified. Maybe it was the price they paid for not colonizing the oceans. Attempts at lunar colonies had never progressed beyond a few mining outposts and elite resorts because the dreamy technocrats of spacefaring vision forgot that human life had evolved to prosper only on earth. The carrier was the hub of humanity's last outpost. Work crews would connect the submarines to the carrier as quickly as they could manage, which meant not quickly at all, under the present circumstances. The slapdash carrier arrangement had the appearance of a plan half-completed. Someone had conceived it. Someone had known what was coming. Or suspected it, at least.

****

HECTOR AND MIZERAK reached sickbay, arranged with rows of hospital beds, an enclosed surgical bay, and a separate section for medical supplies and testing equipment. It was the only adequately lighted area in Paradise. They made a quick round past the beds. Nurses and medical assistants tended to the technicians injured in the shark attack. Mizerak expressed her regrets for their fallen colleague and reassured them that the sensor array had survived the attack.

Mizerak and Hector huddled with the doctor, Karim Khan, a gaunt man with dark hair and dark eyes. Even before he came to Paradise, the troubled history of his Persian ancestors had lined his middle-aged face. Khan wore medical scrubs under a lab coat graying from overuse.

“I'm sorry about Jackson,” the doctor said. “The others will be fine with a little rest. The sharks are no longer keeping their distance?”

“I still don't understand,” Hector said. “How did they mutate like that? If these animals were here all along, someone would have seen them. They would have documented it.”

“You know my position,” Khan said. “These aren't naturally occurring mutations.”

“You think humans caused this?” Mizerak asked.

Khan nodded. “Hector's right, these creatures haven't been down here long. If they had been, we would have some knowledge of it. I admit, our research records are very limited, as you know.”

“It's a problem in every area.” Mizerak pursed her lips in shared frustration. “Our electronic records are...incomplete. Like the rest of our equipment. I'm as in the dark as you are.”

“So I can't guarantee this variety of shark has never been observed,” Khan continued. “But if it had, it wouldn't have happened in a vacuum. They would have been studied. These are substantial variations. Nature doesn't do this overnight. Something made those creatures what they are. I don't think I want to know what.”

Mizerak sighed. “It's more than I can get my head around at the moment. The Council's waiting. I need to report.”

She thanked the men and left sickbay.

“I didn't even get to tell her about my latest theory,” Khan said.

“What's that?”

“Not mine, really,” Khan shrugged. “And not even that original. Just what's making the rounds in the conspiracy circles. The thinking goes, what if we're here as an experiment? The surface isn't really contaminated at all and the test is how long we'll live like animals before we get over it and swim back to land.”

“But we tested the air,” Hector said. “The Commander talked about it. We must know something.”

“We did send up an atmospheric sensor. And a camera. We were worried about contamination, so, to be conservative, we didn't bring them back. It limited how much data we could retrieve. The results were...inconclusive.”

“Do you really believe the conspiracy?” Hector had learned years ago not to be too dismissive of conspiracy theories. Historically, he hadn't wanted the bother of a debate with fanatics. In Paradise, however, the only thing stranger than yesterday's conspiracy was today's truth. “That it's all an experiment?”

“No,” Khan sighed. “Something happened. But... What's more comforting? To think everyone we left behind on the surface is dead? Or that they're still up there, playing a practical joke for the ages? I'm a religious man, Hector. Jahannam – you'd call it hell – was supposed to be fire and brimstone. The Quran talks about black smoke, scorching wind, crackling flames. It didn't prepare me for the weight of the ocean. Whichever conspiracy turns out to be true, we're still in Jahannam.”

Both men turned when one of the bed-ridden techs moaned. A slender man in his twenties with black hair, he coughed and tried to stand.

“Easy, son,” Khan went to the bedside. He held the man's arm in gentle restraint. “What's your name?”

“I'm Gordon.” He turned his head side-to-side. His eyes seemed disconnected, focused on another time and place. “I was Gordon. Who are any of us anymore? It's all gone to hell...”

“You're all right, Gordon,” the doctor said. “Your suit was damaged. You ingested a lot of salt water. No serious injuries. Get some rest. We'll give you some fluids. You'll be fine.”

Khan's head nurse, Claudia Krychek, a petite blond in scrubs, approached. “Can I help, Doctor?”

“I think we're okay,” Khan said. “I'll chat with Gordon a bit. Your shift is long past over. Go and take a break.”

Claudia excused herself and went to Hector. She hugged him; he returned it with stiff arms and shoulders. They took each other's hand and left sickbay.

****

MIZERAK STRODE THROUGH the corridors toward the aft of the aircraft carrier. Along the way, she passed graffiti painted on a bulkhead in large white letters:

REPENT.

Too late. She made a mental note of the location to notify maintenance.

The ship had one functioning personnel elevator, located on the second lowest deck. Mizerak was the only person authorized to use it; no one else possessed the code for its numeric keypad. They had learned the importance of that keypad the hard way: Early on, a man of middle years, over-stressed by the perpetually low light levels in Paradise, had sought an audience with the Council. Unbeknownst to anyone, he had attempted to hot-wire the elevator. Security had found his body, electrocuted. A rumor spread that the Council had entrapped the man to set an example. The Council called it an unfortunate triggering of a necessary safety protocol. Mizerak didn't know the truth, but the rumor helped keep them all in their place.

One level down, she exited the elevator into a classified area in the extreme lower aft of the ship, closed off from all other access. Only the metal hull separated her from the slime underneath. A short, dark passage led her to the only door in this section. She tapped a button to wake up the one-way monitor the Council used to verify her identity. The door latch clicked open and she entered a small holding area. She opened a second, inner door and walked into the Council Chamber.

The Council existed, in theory, to maintain civilian oversight over a military jurisdiction. Martial law wasn't formally declared in Paradise, only implied. The Council retained anonymity, claiming their safety would be in jeopardy in the unlikely event of a mutiny. Mizerak didn't bother pursuing the argument that a self-appointed regime could be the very thing to provoke a mutiny. She couldn't imagine anyone among their wretched lot mustering an insurrection. Where would they go if they succeeded? Still, the briefing in Washington had made clear that Mizerak answered to the Council and they would have final say over all matters of consequence. And if they had known anything in Washington, they knew Claire Mizerak was a team player.

The Council didn't waste time on pleasantries. “There was a direct attack, Commander?” She saw nothing more than shadow figures on elevated seating around the room, forcing her into a position of submission at every meeting. The sole lighting was aimed at her. The voices came at her as a mish-mash of various male and female voices, changing so quickly that sometimes a word started by one voice was finished by another.

“Yeah. I take it you've seen the footage. It's another of the mutated sharks.”

“The security team performed adequately.”

Mizerak started to say, When need to recruit more? Like every other group in Paradise, the security officers included a mixed bag of backgrounds from international special forces veterans to Coast Guard recruits. Sooner or later, more of them would die, in the line of duty or otherwise. What would they do then? She tried to be more diplomatic. “They're good but we could use more of them. It might be a good idea to consider recruiting from the civilians.”

“We will take that under advisement. What is the status of the other vessels?”

“I'll make my rounds tonight. Beyond the usual? Overcrowding, food shortages, widespread despair? No new issues I'm aware of. We're preparing to connect Revenger tomorrow, as you know.”

They ignored the complaint. “And the perimeter sonar system?”

“Today was another setback. Going forward, we'll send a security detail out with each tech crew. But it's dark out there and we don't have a lot of qualified people.”

“We may face bigger threats than sharks if the early warning system isn't online soon.”

Mizerak clenched her jaw. Bigger physical threats or bigger existential threats? “I understand our sonar isn't very precise,” she said. “But I don't see how this is a high priority-”

“We need to be prepared for every eventuality, Commander. What if Paradise is boarded by an outside threat?”

“You wouldn't want to give me some hints, would you? If you know something, it would make my job easier. Are there other survivors out there? A terrorist group? A rogue state?”

“It's enough to know that we need these defenses. Then you'll proceed with the weapons systems.”

Mizerak sighed. “I've got maintenance setting up exterior cameras to improve our surveillance. It's moving forward.”

“That is all. You are dismissed, Commander.”

Mizerak stalked out of the Council Chamber, muttering under her breath, “We might be boarded? Great.”

****

HECTOR AND CLAUDIA walked through passageways and down ladders to their quarters. They passed the full range of Paradise activity. Active construction to make the ship more livable, expressions of religious angst with crosses or crystals or the few knick-knacks residents had been allowed to bring, and the people who simply walked the corridors, with no direction until someone told them what to do. They passed beggars looking for food; limited dietary options and too much equality in food distribution failed to address allergies, metabolic conditions, and other situations that sent some Paradise residents searching for food that the city either didn't have or couldn't spare. Hector knew Mizerak had already talked with the Council about the aimlessness in Paradise. Sooner or later, they would have to find work for everyone, if only as an aid to stave off insanity. Idle hands are the tools of fundamentalists.

Typically, the crew would have rotated sleep schedules in rooms with bunks. Since the “crew” now included a mix of military personnel and civilians, and because of the indefinite duration of their “mission,” a little privacy was factored into the design. This carrier needed no aircraft, and that freed a considerable amount of the interior for small, two-person rooms. Still, it made for tight quarters. Some had been crowded three or four to a room in the chaos of arrival.

“I was worried about you,” Claudia said. She wore her long hair, an almost white shade of blond, in a ponytail. Barely over five feet tall, she tilted her head up to look at Hector.

“Strength in numbers,” Hector chuckled. “We weren't really in danger.” This time. Maybe the threat wasn't mutating over time, as Dr. Khan said, but had it mutated in the minds of the people fighting it, growing in stature and ferocity? What if it mutated further?

They reached their shared cabin, identical to those share by everyone on board. A tiny room with a twin bunk, a desk and chair, a computer workstation with limited functionality, an intercom panel in the wall, a sink with a mirror, closet space – a locker – appropriate to the minimalist lifestyles the new reality had forced on them, and a few shelves for the scant personal items they had been allowed.

“Do you resent me being here?” she asked. “Sharing a cabin with me, I mean?”

He was too tired for this. “Of course not. Why would I?”

“I just don't want you to feel sorry for me. What with the overcrowding and everything... Maybe you felt obligated to take me in...”

Wide-eyed and soft spoken, she seemed defenseless away from her nursing duties. Maybe he had felt a little sorry for her early on; she claimed she'd had no family worth speaking of. She fit perfectly into his need to drown out his own loss.

Claudia sighed and sat on the edge of the bunk. Hector removed his uniform and hung it in the locker. He felt somewhat ashamed looking at Claudia. Didn't the lowering of humanity require them to rise above the old ways? The sum total of human life remaining in the world might only amount to a few years. Shouldn't every moment be spent trying to find a way back? Or should they just hold tight to each other until the end?

Once he stood naked in front of her, she rose and removed her scrubs. He'd found just two sources of comfort in this God-awful place: memories of his family and Claudia's body. He lowered to his knees, put his face against her stomach and his hands on her hips. She put her hands on his head and pulled him closer into her. Hector pushed her onto the bunk. He started at her feet and worked his way up the curved landscape of her body. Inhaled her scent. He wanted to touch every part of her, lose himself in her flesh. The heat of Claudia's body was a better world than the cold ocean bearing down on them.

****

DIETER SLUMPED onto his bunk. Friedrich, his cabinmate when they were first sentenced to Paradise, had also been a security officer. Until today, Friedrich had been the only casualty of the mutant sharks. That left Dieter sleeping solo. The commander would assign him a new roommate soon enough; she couldn't afford to give crew members private rooms.

Solitude offered a mixed bag. He yearned for a warm body and Friedrich had warmed him in the right way: no commitment necessary if they expected to die tomorrow. Being alone simplified other matters. He clutched his left arm and looked at his reflection in the cloudy mirror over the sink. Hadn't shaved in a while. Didn't care. He would shave tomorrow before Hector started making remarks about discipline. The more he thought about the pain, the more it demanded his attention.

The world had ended just before a scheduled surgery to repair permanent nerve damage inflicted during a training exercise. Simple, the surgeon had said. Just go in, do some nerve grafting, get out. Cut, snip, graft, stitch, done. One more day and he would have been on the table under local anesthetic. They would have skipped over him for someone else in the rush of Paradise assignments, leaving him pain-free in the afterlife. Instead he was alive and assuming every day he would get eaten by one of those damn monsters, or the entire city would collapse and drown them all. And the arm. The pain never went away. At his best moments it was a pins-and-needles numbness down his arm. Other times, like now, it felt like a stab wound.

He rose from bed and opened the locker. Opened the wooden box under his clothes. He was trying to conserve the pain pills, but still had plenty. Everyone in Paradise would likely be dead before he exhausted his supply. Might as well live in comfort during the time they had left.

He swallowed two of the pills and washed them down with a handful of water from the sink. He lay on the bed. Let his breath out in a long sigh. The pills worked fast. All the grayness of the room disappeared into a seductive warmth. His left arm quit rebelling and sank into the soothing drugs. He fell asleep in minutes.

2

HECTOR WALKED along the San Francisco streets. He hadn't returned in years, but Nob Hill would always feel like home. Moving up California Street, he saw the brick steeple of the old cathedral. The city had removed all the traffic; smart decision. He could walk down the middle of the streets and enjoy unobstructed views of the Victorians. Removing all the people didn't seem so smart. He appreciated the quiet, but the city seemed strange with empty sidewalks. Wasn't that the point of a city, to live and work among people?

How did he even get here? He had no memory of traveling to San Francisco.

Something's not right. He headed for home. Funny that he still thought of the old house as home, even though he hadn't lived there since childhood. The streets were longer than he remembered. He walked in circles and got nowhere. No one got rid of the people. They should still be here.

Torrents of water poured over the pavement. Hector walked faster and faster. He ran but water covered the streets up to his ankles and slowed him down. The more rapidly he tried to move, the longer the streets stretched in front of him. Buildings throughout the neighborhood burst into flames. Billowing masses of dark smoke and blinding fire rose all around him. He turned the corner. Another corner. Another. The water reached his knees yet all the buildings were burning.

He saw home. The two-story Victorian where he had grown up. He prayed his parents and Grace were still there. Fire consumed the neighborhood while the city flooded.

Hector stumbled onto the concrete steps leading to the front landing. Free of the water, he pushed through the heavy wooden door. Flames engulfed the roof, but he felt no heat. Inside, the period furniture and Oriental rugs remained as he remembered them. Fire lashed out from walls, but didn't burn him.

“Grace!” he yelled. “Grace, where are you?”

He ran to the kitchen at the back of the house, looking for his sister. Smoke filled every room and made it hard to breathe. Where had his family gone?

He looked for the stairs. If the fire wasn't burning him, maybe the others were safe on the second floor. He had to keep trying. Wood splintered overhead. He looked up. Heavy beams, crawling with flames, crashed down on him...

****

HECTOR WOKE from the dream. He opened his eyes.

They had fallen asleep as they often did, Hector on his back and Claudia, with her shorter frame, lying on top of him. She slept soundly in Paradise, one of the few who could. She felt safe in his presence, she said. Hector shifted her body off his and sat up in the bed.

Two small photographs were taped over the mirror. One was of his sister Grace, the snapshot she sent him from her fourteenth birthday, her long dark hair still in a tomboyish ponytail. She smiled, dark eyes alive, in a moment only months before the world ended. The other showed his father and himself, taken several years previously, when the Marines assigned him to Pacific duty. They'd planned to finally spend more time together, until his father's pharmaceutical research had taken him away. Hector always said his father's thick, wavy hair made him look like a Hispanic Beethoven. A small cross made from dark wood hung next to the photos.

Hector lowered his head and crossed himself. Removed the rosary beads he always carried in a pocket of his coveralls and counted them. He whispered, “In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

His image-conscious mother had never approved of him joining the Marines. His father hadn't either, but his father came around when he saw how the Corps brought out innate leadership abilities Hector himself hadn't known he possessed. Mother never came around to this attitude; she questioned him every time they spoke about when he would pursue a real career. (“Aren't you smart enough to be a scientist?”) There were no photographs of her handy when the order came to evacuate.

He had gone to the San Francisco house. While everything fell apart he had disobeyed orders and landed at Oakland International, where authorized traffic had already been halted. He had risked not making it to Paradise at all. And wouldn't that have been a tragedy? He had confiscated a jeep. Fought his way through the streets. People had known something was happening, they just hadn't known what. Neighborhoods had turned into war zones. By the time he'd reached home, the family was gone. The house had been ransacked. He never knew what had happened to them, how long they had lasted before dropping into eternity. For a while he held out hope they might have made it onto one of the submarines. One of the finest research chemists in the world, his father had laid the path for pharmaceutical companies to make billions. His skills might have been valuable in Paradise. But as the Paradise staff had logged one name after another upon arrival, some correctly and some not, he had no hope left.

Sometimes Hector's dreams of his family were happy ones. Either way, he always woke feeling the same. A consuming sadness as he remembered their absence, a surrounding force that his strength could not defeat.

Claudia woke. She sat behind him so they both faced the photos and cross, and put her arms around him.

“I admire you,” she said. “For still believing.”

Hector grimaced. “Something I inherited from my mother. I don't know.” I'm not sure what I believe any more, seemed blasphemous. “The rituals give me comfort, I guess. I was thinking about my sister. We used to write each other letters. Real letters. Not electronic. She was so smart. Took after our father.”

He had told Claudia all this before. She listened with sympathy.

“When I started basic training, I would write about how hard it was.” Hector laughed. “I had no idea, right? Well, it was harder than anything else I'd done. Up till then. She would write back and say, You know you can do it, Hector. You're gonna be the best officer the Marines ever had. Don't you give up or I'm gonna come over there and kick your ass.”

He had to stop there. Too much. He tried to force Grace's innocent smile out of his mind.

Hector went to the sink to clean his teeth. Each room was equipped with a high-pressure water jet with filtered sea water for cleaning. Dr. Khan had suggested co-opting the kitchen staff to cut up bleached fish bones to use as toothpicks. No one liked the idea, but it was mandatory. The challenge of repairing serious dental problems would only get worse in the future.

Hector rinsed his mouth and Claudia took her turn.

“Does the commander ever talk about the Council?” she asked through the water jet.

He lay on the bunk and watched her. Claudia rarely talked about her own past. Too painful. Fair enough.

“Not really,” he said. “Just what she shares in the public announcements.”

She frowned into the mirror. “Do you think that's dangerous? I trust Commander Mizerak, but what if something happens to her? Does someone have a plan? To keep things orderly?”

Something's not right...

The words didn't sound like Claudia, but she could easily have been repeating something a patient had asked. Had she seemed a little too eager to add the qualifier, I trust Commander Mizerak?

The intercom buzzed. Probably for the best. This place would make them all paranoid. Hector tapped the panel over the bunk.

“Hector? It's Celeste. I'm in the mess hall. We've got a situation here.”

“Dieter should be on call tonight,” Hector said.

“Yeah, but no answer. Trust me, you don't want to wait.”

“On my way.” Hector clicked off the intercom. He pulled on his uniform and gave Claudia a quick kiss.

“Be careful,” she said.

He opened the hatch and ran down the corridor.

****

THE MESS HALL operated nonstop. The crew rotated through in shifts. Every ID badge got scanned so that no one could have more than three meals per day. The commander allowed donating meals, but she imposed a donation quota after one lost soul tried to starve herself by giving away all her meals. One more decision Mizerak could never have imagined needing to make.

Four security officers blocked the entrance and a small crowd had gathered outside by the time Hector arrived. Dieter's absence still distracted Hector. His second had failed to respond on other occasions, too.

Celeste, a rugged blond with a raspy voice from years of cigarette smoking (her intense workouts to battle through nicotine withdrawal in Paradise had only increased her brawn), led him into the entrance of the mess hall. Long tables were arranged cafeteria-style across the gray floor, with support columns scattered around the room. Fans and duct work stretched across the ceiling. Hector heard the attacker before he saw him.

“Stay back!” A male voice yelled. Shaky. More frightened than angry. “I'll kill her!”

“This guy got hold of a knife,” Celeste told Hector. “Took one of the cooks hostage.” Hector saw the two figures on the opposite side of the mess hall, where residents normally lined up to receive their daily rations.

Celeste waved her finger by her forehead in a crazy gesture. “Guy's going on about the food. But he's got bigger problems than that. Seems like they would have screened out these types before we came down here.”

Hector squinted across the long mess hall. He recognized the man. It was Gordon, the injured tech from sickbay. He held a scared young woman. She looked like a teenager, with long, disheveled, black hair, wearing a white apron covered with food stains. Maybe some of the stains were blood. Too far away to be sure. Gordon pinned her from behind with one arm. He wrapped his other arm around her neck. Hector could barely make out the knife at this distance.

“It's the fish,” Celeste said. “Says he can't stand it. He wants some real food. I mean, I can't blame him. I wouldn't mind stabbing somebody after eating all this damn mackerel every meal. He's got himself a secure position. We can't get a clear shot from here. Not without hurting the girl.”

Hector nodded and stepped into the mess hall. Gordon jerked the young woman so hard her feet came off the floor. Her eyes bugged out. Metal flashed in the lights. Definitely a knife. They were supposed to keep those secure.

“Don't come over here!” Gordon yelled. “I'll kill her! I want the real food, I can't wait any more!”

Hector glanced over his shoulder at Celeste. She rolled her eyes.

Hector removed his sidearm and handed it back to Celeste. He raised his hands and held them out, palms up. “I'm not armed. I just want to talk.”

“Talk all you want, soldier!” Gordon yelled. “I know there's real food around here! It's true, we all know it!”

“Can I talk to the girl?” Hector asked.

He shook the girl and said into her ear, “Go ahead.”

“Y- Yes?” the girl said.

“Are you hurt?” Hector asked.

“No.” She struggled for breath, whether from fear or the tight hold her assailant had on her. “No. Not yet.”

“What's your name?”

“Alice,” she choked.

“All right, Alice,” Hector said. “I know you're frightened. Try to relax. We're just going to stand here and no one's going to get hurt.”

****

MIZERAK STRODE THROUGH the corridors with her maintenance chiefs Maria/Anastasia. The conjoined twins took some getting used to. Mizerak still confused them at times. They shared one body with two heads and two associated personalities. They wore custom-sewn coveralls, gray to identify civilians, with two neck openings. They wore their long, brown hair in severe ponytails.

“He's only got the one hostage?” Mizerak confirmed.

“Correct,” Maria said.

“But he's in a bad place strategically,” Anastasia said. “Security can't get a clear shot at him.”

“A knife and one hostage, and we can't get to him?” Mizerak griped. She reached metal stairsteps and pulled herself up to the next deck two steps at a time. “And he thinks we've got some kind of secret food stash?”

“He says the real food is being held aside for a privileged few,” Maria said. The twins were tall and slender and took the steps two at a time without straining.

“Like yourself,” Anastasia said.

“If I'm privileged, these really are the end-times,” Mizerak said.

“Of course, it's not really about the food,” Maria said.

“It's about everything else,” Anastasia said. “We knew these living conditions would induce mental illness. If he wasn't crazy before we got here.”

“Don't say crazy,” Maria said. “Disturbed is more...hopeful.”

They reached the small group outside the mess hall.

“Let's disarm him and figure out what to call him later,” Mizerak said. “Any suggestions?”

“We have one,” Maria said.

“You're not going to like it,” Anastasia said.

****

MIZERAK JOINED the situation in the mess hall. Hector was still trying to initiate a coherent dialogue with Gordon. Mizerak nodded at Celeste and stepped forward next to Hector.

“Stay back!” Gordon yelled. He jabbed the knife at Alice's throat. “You're going to get her killed!” He pointed at Mizerak. “You know what's going on here! You're one of them!”

Mizerak held out her hands in the same unarmed gesture Hector had used. She whispered instructions to Hector. When she finished, he nodded, turned and left, taking his sidearm from Celeste as he exited.

“Okay, it's just me now,” Mizerak said. “I won't come any closer. Can we just talk about this?”

“I want the real food!” Gordon screamed. “I can't take this any more!”

“We're all hurting,” Mizerak said. “I eat here, just like everyone else. I eat the same food.”

“It's just for show! I know better food's being hoarded out there!” He gestured toward the rest of the ship with his knife.

“How about this,” Mizerak said. “Let the girl go. Then we can talk. We can search the city together.” The Council had insisted: Call it a city, not a ship. It would create a greater sense of normalcy. Mizerak didn't believe they were fooling anyone.

“Yeah,” Gordon snorted. “I'm sure I can trust you!”

“We're so close with some of the alternate food supplies.” Mizerak was sincere, as sick of eating fish and field rations as everyone else. “The hydroponics lab will start harvesting in a couple of weeks. Just two more weeks. They'll have fruits and vegetables. We're working on a seaweed farm outside. We just need to secure the area first.”

Who am I trying to convince? Mizerak asked herself. Me or him?

“If I let her go, you'll kill me!” Gordon yelled. His voice faltered. Getting tired. They were all tired. Weak. Worn out. “You have to kill me, I know the truth!”

Mizerak tried very hard not to look at the ceiling. She raised her voice to cover the noise of the crew working above. “I promise, no one wants to hurt you. Look, if you come with me, I can show you. We're really making progress. A new solar panel is being set up today. You can see it on the monitors.”

Before he could respond, a circular, six-inch section of the metal ceiling, recessed above ventilation ducts and pipes, plunked onto his head. That distracted him enough. The nose end of a sidearm appeared through the hole. He barely had time to look up before they all heard a loud pop and a bullet clipped his shoulder. The knife rattled to the floor. Alice screamed, too frightened to know what was happening. Blood splattered on Gordon, Alice, and the wall behind them.

Mizerak and Celeste charged forward. Gordon, downright scrawny in Celeste's honest opinion, didn't have time to think about putting up a struggle before they pinned him to the floor.

Alice stopped screaming. She put her hands to her throat to make sure her attacker hadn't inflicted serious wounds.

“Was that Hector?” Celeste asked.

Mizerak pointed at the ceiling. They saw just enough of Hector's face through the hole – cut by Maria/Anastasia with a handheld torch – to recognize him.

“Good shooting, Hector!” Mizerak called. “Get a stretcher down here.”

Mizerak turned to Alice, now slumped against one of the cafeteria tables, looking like she might faint. “Better make it two.”

****

EARLY ON, the doctor had met Mizerak in sickbay and described his concerns about depression rates and potential suicides. Living in such confined conditions would cause anxiety under normal circumstances. The loss of everything they had known, the hopelessness of seeing no end in sight, created a degree of compression humans had never experienced.

“All points of egress require a security code,” Mizerak had said. “Sidearms and knives are under tight control. I can't change the circumstances, but we're doing what we can to limit opportunities.”

“Normally, I would prescribe talk therapy, but we seem to be lacking a psychiatrist, and I lack the time and experience to serve everyone aboard. So, we need antidepressants. But I don't have the raw materials to synthesize enough.”

“Tell me if there's anything I can do.”

“There is something you can do. Help me maintain the lie.”

Mizerak had shook her head. “What lie?”

“Desperate times and all that. I'm prescribing placebos. They won't help everyone, but in the less severe cases...” Khan had shrugged. “Combined with exercise regimens and what little talk therapy I can offer, it's better than nothing. The good news is, most of us are too shell-shocked to be a threat to each other. Or ourselves.”

****

MIZERAK WAS one of the few in Paradise who didn't have to share a room. She had no photographs or other personal mementos. She didn't see the point. Her memory grew fuzzier every day, faces from the surface already slipping away. Even time had become a vague commodity. She would be hard-pressed to state with certainty how long they had lived down here.

She slipped off her shoes and lay on her bunk. Couldn't ask anyone else if they lost track of time as she did. Who could she ask without starting a panic? Maybe Dr. Khan, or Hector. The Council's pronouncements stirred up enough conspiracy talk already. If residents thought the Council had trusted command to an amnesiac there really could be a full-scale mutiny.

There must have been someone from before, specific names and personalities she should remember. She couldn't, with clarity, recall the faces of the cabal around the conference table on that last day of functioning protocol. Her memory of them began to resemble the Council, shadows around a room. Especially that one face, in the darkness, at the far end of the table.

How had Gordon gotten the idea of a food conspiracy? She needed to ask the doctor about the psychological basis for that. She couldn't keep up with all the rumors going around. A roasted chicken. That's what she would go for. If she wanted to hoard food for herself. She could eat an entire chicken. A baked potato fully loaded. A flask of malt whiskey, enough for her to finally get a good night's sleep. She would sit outside a cabin in the mountains, surrounded by trees, as far away from any ocean, lake, or river as she could get. Had she really been to the mountains before? Were these false memories? Best meal she'd ever had. Or would have. If it existed. Hard to keep the tenses straight sometimes.

Food conspiracy... Where would they even find room to hide another food supply?

****

DIETER LAY IN BED, pale and sweating. He had tested his will long enough. He started to reach for more pills when someone pounded on his door. He dragged himself out of his bunk.

Hector.

“I know,” Dieter groaned. “I'm sorry, Hector. I think I ate something, I don't know. I was about to go to sickbay...”

“We're too short of personnel for this kind of thing,” Hector said. “When it's your turn, you have to show up.”

“I'm sorry, I know, I heard what happened.” Dieter clutched his stomach. “I was puking my guts out. I swear, Hector, it won't happen again.”

Hector put a hand on Dieter's shoulder. “Go see the doctor. The stress is getting to all of us.” He turned and left. The cabin door clanged shut behind him.

Dieter dropped to his knees and went to the closet. Pulled out four of the pills with shaking hands and swallowed them. The arm was getting worse. How could it be getting worse?

3

MIZERAK SAT at her workstation in the middle of the aircraft carrier's bridge. She wiped condensation off the instrument panel in front of her. Maria/Anastasia continuously adjusted the internal environment to generate the least energy output and keep humidity under control. Internal power generation presented different challenges in a permanently submerged and stationary carrier. That threw temperature and dew point out of whack. A group of engineers was trying to re-purpose the submarine propellers into turbines to generate power from undersea currents. No guarantees yet if that would work.

She had stood on the bridge the first day, still getting her bearings, when the final transmission from the surface had come in. One of her few clear memories from those days. They might as well have broadcast from another planet. “Situation critical,” the random voice from the Pentagon had reported. She never got the man's name. Only the fear in his voice as death galloped toward him. “Hold position. Do you copy? Do not return. Repeat, do not return. Please confirm...”

She had confirmed, but the line had gone dead by then.

At the moment, the rest of the three-member bridge staff quietly maintained their stations. Her senior bridge officer, Elijah, hunched over his own station, monitoring sensors and systems status. Elijah had a mound of dark, frizzy hair and wore a diamond stud in one ear. In the early days, Mizerak had counseled him privately on the importance of adhering to military uniform code and other etiquette as an example to others. Soft-spoken Elijah apologized, explaining that the diamond came from the engagement ring he had planned to offer his college sweetheart. She had been in Europe on business when the world ended. They hadn't even had time for a goodbye message. Mizerak became more observant of jewelry worn by staff and civilians after that, about what it might represent beyond material display. She relented on the earring and never saw Elijah without it.

There was only one direct route to the bridge. A series of nearly vertical stairs led up the tower past areas that, in normal operations, would have been reserved for navigation and flight control. Sonar and other electronics had been consolidated into a larger, redesigned bridge area with operational and communications controls and a wide table/workstation for Mizerak. There was typically only one guard to limit bridge access because firearms were restricted and most personnel were too worried about imminent death to contemplate hostile acts.

One gift in the modifications for underwater use: the preservation of the bridge as a viewing area. The Proteus design put the command bridge on top of the tower. The windows had been reinforced to withstand the additional pressure and enlarged to allow a ground-to-sky view around three-hundred-sixty degrees. Available natural light illuminated little more than basic shapes outside. The exterior spotlights filled in a bit of detail and color, but it never ceased to fill Mizerak with a combination of fear and awe. Periodically, fish drifted by, alone or in schools, some of them up to two meters in length, curiously examining the bridge crew. Even the occasional stingray or shark appeared – conventional sharks, not the mutants they had encountered recently – only to vanish into the murky depths.

Mizerak reviewed a schematic of Paradise on her monitor. It displayed the aircraft carrier and the submarine already attached via airlock to the port side. By the end of the day they hoped to have connected a second submarine, Revenger, to the midpoint of the carrier's starboard side. Mizerak couldn't do much but monitor the situation. Through the haze of the water, above them, she saw the other submarines waiting their turn to join the city, a daily reminder that lives depended on them moving forward.

Despite their uncertainty about how long they could really survive down here, it seemed safer to play the long game and not stress their energy capacity. Mizerak had asked the Council why the submarines had to be grounded. Why not let them operate as intended? If the psychedelic sages who condemned them to this purgatory had selected nuclear submarines instead of the conventional subs they were stuck with, the reactors would have provided a nearly indefinite power supply. The carrier had its own nuclear reactor; it only operated at half capacity because the reactor had not been adapted to the Proteus design. Powering a network of vessels would soon stretch the reactor's capability. If they hoped to expand Paradise or explore beyond the immediate area, they would need more power.

When she had asked the Council about the subs, they had given her some mumbo-jumbo about safety and limited resources in the event of a reactor failure. They lectured her about unity and a centralized command. The Council told her many inconsistencies. And the original decision-makers had, apparently, all died on the surface.

Unless the Council itself had made those decisions. At some point, she couldn't untangle all the threads.

“Bridge, maintenance here.” Anastasia. Or Maria. She didn't even try to keep them straight over the comm system. “Systems are go on our end. We're ready to begin.”

“Roger, maintenance,” Mizerak spoke into the microphone. Outside, within the light perimeter, she watched a crew of technicians in pressure suits wrestle the airlock tube into position. A security team, led by Dieter and armed with spearguns, kept watch. Revenger hovered above them all. A second crew stood with a series of long, yellow flotation tubes stretched out on the ground. Revenger would settle onto the flotation tubes for stability. Once they secured the airlock on both sides, the tubes could be safely removed. “Airlock crew, what's your status?”

“We've got green lights on the airlock,” the lead tech answered on the radio. “We're ready, bridge.”

“And Captain Yamamoto.” Mizerak smiled at the thought. She liked the Revenger captain and looked forward to his having a greater presence in the everyday management of Paradise. “How are we today?”

On board Revenger, Captain Masaru Yamamoto stood tall and slender in full uniform from his service in a UN peacekeeping force. Among the entire Paradise crew, only Yamamoto maintained a traditional uniform. He had graying hair and wore wire-framed spectacles.

When Mizerak had previously brought up the subject of nuclear subs, Yamamoto had told her, “It is not practical with the current configuration.” He had visited the carrier in a submersible so the two of them could plan the joining of the vessels and walk the corridors together, talking in the closest thing they had to privacy. “The ventilation ducts were reconfigured to settle on the ocean floor. With nuclear boats, ventilation is more complicated. Perhaps,” he had shrugged, “there was not time.”

“I wonder how much time they really had,” Mizerak had said. “As hasty as this all seems, it took time and effort. The bureaucracy couldn't have pushed this through overnight.”

“You are correct,” Yamamoto had said. He had seemed hesitant. Too disciplined to say what they both believed. The thing that chilled Mizerak the most. This was a plan. Maybe a short-term plan, but one that resulted from a series of deliberate choices.

“Do you think they're still out there?” Mizerak had asked him. “The nuclear subs? What if we could reach them?”

Yamamoto had given a noncommittal head tilt. What if many things are still out there? Are we willing to risk the darkness and uncertainty? When there are so few of us left?

Revenger's control room staff remained similar to conventional operations. The rest of the sub, like the aircraft carrier, had extensive adaptations for the vessel's new mission. They had retained some of the weaponry, but otherwise the changes had reduced Revenger from a proud military vessel to a residence for the dregs of humanity.

“We are ready, Commander,” Yamamoto radioed to Paradise. “We will land on your order.”

“All right, everyone,” Mizerak said. “Airlock team, you're first.”

“Roger, bridge,” the lead tech responded.

Not visible from the bridge, workers attached the airlock to the side of the carrier. This created a temporary connection until maintenance cut through the carrier's hull, sealed off the connection, patched together the electronics, and stabilized the airlock door. They felt a slight shudder to the vessel as the airlock connected.

Mizerak turned back to the schematic. She still hadn't seen every part of the ship first-hand. She needed to get more thorough about that. Get Hector and the security team involved. Maria/Anastasia, also. Make it a priority before the Council got after her about it. Put to rest stories about food conspiracies and the like.

“Okay, bridge,” the lead tech reported from outside. “We're ready for the next step.”

“Roger, airlock crew.” Mizerak looked up from her musings. “Maintenance, you're up.”

“Roger, bridge,” Maria said.

While she waited, Mizerak reviewed daily status reports from the captains of the other submarines. More isolated than Paradise proper, the four detached subs faced an even grimmer situation. The civilians had no experience living in these conditions. The other captains worried about a complete social breakdown. Most of their reports included a litany of complaints. Squabbles over space or food. Yearning for what they had lost misdirected as anger and fear toward their shipmates. Disbelief that it was all real. Today's work made it an important day for them, demonstrating progress toward uniting the survivors. Perhaps that explained why the Council wanted the submarines anchored to the city.

“Bridge, maintenance here,” Maria or Anastasia said. “We've got a connection. Airtight seal. Green lights on electronics.”

“That was fast, maintenance.” Mizerak didn't look at the clock because she rarely bothered with time. The real-time clock in the ship's computer network still functioned, but did it matter? Only scheduled work shifts made time-keeping necessary. Mizerak's work shift never ended. Who needed time when life was duty and duty was life? “Good work.”

“We aim to please, Commander.”

“Flotation team, are you ready?” Mizerak asked.

“Ready, bridge,” another tech answered.

Outside, the second work team inflated the long flotation tubes. It took a few minutes for the devices to fill. Once Revenger settled, the work group would line up on both sides of the sub and position it against the airlock.

“Revenger, what is your status?” Mizerak asked.

“We are ready, bridge,” Captain Yamamoto answered. “Awaiting your order.”

“Go ahead, Revenger. Bring her down.”

Mizerak stood at the port window and watched Revenger drift the remaining distance to the ocean floor. A cloud of dust rose in slow motion along the length of the sub.

“We are in place,” Yamamoto reported. “You may connect the tunnel.”

Elijah called from the sonar panel, “Incoming! From the north!”

“Oh, no.”

Mizerak spun around. Elijah and a young man – Johnson? Jackson? She wasn't certain – stared out the window on the opposite side of the bridge. Mizerak stood next to them.

A shark. One of the mutated variety. Similar to what had attacked the sensor crew. Swimming right over their heads. Toward Revenger.

The work crew outside had spotted it, too. “Oh, damn,” Dieter said. “Bridge, we need more people out here.”

“On our way.” Hector already had a group standing by.

“Revenger!” Mizerak yelled into the microphone. “Hang on!”

Dieter directed his team, in hydrodirectional suits, to line up and fire their spearguns at the shark. Dieter switched off his radio (no need to let his pessimism worry the others) and muttered, “That damn thing's gonna kill me.” Though the others would probably die right along with him.

“Watch out!” Calls came from the work teams. “Stay down!”

A few speargun shots hit the shark but it moved too fast. It grabbed one of the flotation techs next to Revenger. Then it snagged another. Big enough to hold two grown adults in its jaws. The animal's torso jerked back and forth, shaking the bodies of the crew members, now dead. Dieter's group continued firing on the beast. Hector's team, eight strong, joined the battle. The other workers stumbled through the water in their pressure suits; they tried to reach relative safety against the carrier's hull.

The shark slammed sidelong into Revenger. The submarine moved visibly, enough to push the hull against the airlock tube, which in turn was shoved against the aircraft carrier. They felt the impact on the bridge.

In an instant, the shark swam out of sight, taking the two Paradise crew members with it.

****

MIZERAK DOUBLE-TIMED it to the bottom level where the airlock tube had penetrated the hull. Maria/Anastasia worked alongside several of their maintenance staff. Water flowed in through a crack in the hull and ran ankle deep down the passageway.

“It's not as bad as it looks,” Maria said.

“We'll have a temporary patch up shortly,” Anastasia said.

“How soon can you repair this?” Mizerak asked.

“We're taking measurements now,” Maria said.

“We can create a permanent patch with the 3D printers,” Anastasia said.

“This isn't the real problem,” Maria said.

“It's Revenger we're worried about.”

Mizerak frowned and talked to Yamamoto via a handheld two-way radio. On Revenger, he surveyed the damage on his own vessel.

“Captain, what's happening there?”

Yamamoto trudged through water above his ankles at the site of Revenger's hull breach. Water poured in at an alarming rate.

“Our situation is not good, Commander,” Yamamoto said. As he spoke, he waved crew members away from the leak. “We are taking on water quickly. Normally, internal bulkheads would isolate the affected area. The retrofit is an obstacle. When they increased our crew capacity, they failed to correctly align many of our interior hatches.”

“You can't contain the hull breech?”

“Correct, Commander,” he said. “We need to evacuate. However, we lack sufficient underwater gear to accommodate our entire roster.”

“Roger.” Mizerak clicked the radio to switch channels. “Hector, are you hearing this?”

“Ready to assist.” Hector waited in the water with his security team.

“Get someone into the submersible, they can bring people over in batches. The rest of you: Each of you will pair up with a Revenger crew member. Share breathing apparatus. Bring them over one at a time. Understood?”

“On our way, Commander.”

Yamamoto broadcast over Revenger’s boat-wide address system: “All crew, initiate evacuation procedure. Security, take your stations, prepare for shared breathing egress.”

Throughout Revenger, civilians and military alike fled their stations and headed to any of several egress points. Most of the civilians had been too overwhelmed to absorb the evacuation training when they had arrived, so military personnel guided them now. Yamamoto frowned at the water streaming in, up to his knees now. Aiming to be the last one out, he scanned the corridor in both directions. No one in sight. He clipped the radio to his belt and made his way toward safety.

They took out Revenger crew members eight at a time in the submersible. The submersible vehicle – what amounted to a short, squat submarine – held two people comfortably with supplies for several days if needed. Minus supplies and equipment, more bodies could be squeezed in for short durations. A winch lifted it in and out of the water through a wide hatch designed for just that purpose. Outside, Hector divided up the security team and directed each group to one of Revenger's multiple exit hatches. Given the slow speed of the submersible, security officers from the carrier paired up with Revenger crew members. A separate breathing mask clipped to their oxygen lines allowed them to swim through the murk together.

Inside Revenger, officers shouted instructions to civilians lined up to exit the sub. Chaos, questions asked, orders yelled, crying, complaining. There was no time to do more.

Mizerak organized the staging area in the carrier, where the incoming Revenger evacuees dropped to the deck, choking, vomiting, dripping water, and shivering from the cold. Dr. Khan, Claudia Krychek, and the rest of the medical staff attended the injured, pumping water out of their lungs, drying them off, and covering them with blankets. A junior officer took attendance, matching up individuals with Revenger's crew roster as security carried them in. Mizerak had yet to find a Paradise roster not full of holes. On those early dark days, some of those summoned to Paradise had not arrived. Others appeared who never should have. No time to find out why. She sighed at the wailing chaos around her. More mouths to feed.

“Maintenance,” Mizerak called into her radio. “Are the pumps up and running?”

“Yes, Commander,” Maria/Anastasia responded. “The water's being pumped out as we speak.”

“Once you're finished, get Revenger's pumps running. Transfer any additional equipment you need. We'll drain it out and hope we can salvage it.”

The security team swam between the vessels. Flailing Revenger crew members impeded the operation. The moment the rescuers dragged them into the dark waters, many of them panicked, struggled against their saviors, clawed at breathing masks.

Hector spoke into his helmet radio on a return trip to Revenger. “Captain Yamamoto, what's your status?”

“We have fifteen more,” Yamamoto answered. “Including myself and the last of the crew.”

“Roger,” Hector pushed on. They were all tired, but the end was in sight.

The last group stumbled out of the submersible's aft hatch and slumped to the deck. A woman in her sixties, on hands and knees, wet gray hair strewn around her face, sat up on her knees crying for help. Claudia covered her with a blanket, but the woman threw it off.

“What is it?” Claudia asked. She stooped down next to the patient. No visible wounds. “Where are you hurt?”

The woman waved her arms. She sobbed and gagged and tried to get the words out.

“Take your time.” Claudia put her hand on the woman's shoulder. “You're safe now.”

“No!” the woman choked out. “Not me!” She broke into a coughing fit.

“It's all right,” Claudia reassured her. She pointed across the deck. Captain Yamamoto, clearly in pain, stood and composed himself to encourage the others. “See, the rest are here now.”

“No! My father!” The woman grabbed at Claudia's scrubs. She looked around the staging area as saltwater and tears blended down her face. “My father's not here! He's still out there!”

Claudia turned to find Mizerak. “Commander!”

****

“HECTOR!” Mizerak called over the radio. Hector was en route to the carrier with the last of the security detail.

“Yes, Commander?”

“We've got one unaccounted for. He should still be on Revenger.”

Dammit. He waved the others forward and turned back. “On my way.”

Mizerak, after getting as much information as she could from the hysterical woman, described the missing man's expected location on Revenger.

Hector climbed through the bridge tower airlock on top of the submarine. He clambered down the ladder to the control center. He couldn't see water at this level but he could hear it rushing up from below.

Hector dropped down to the next deck. Water had reached the level beneath him. He looked down the long passageway toward the crew quarters. Lights flickered; the electrical systems were shorting out.

There. He saw the old man. Leaning against the bulkhead, trying to walk on an injured ankle. Scrawny and beaten down with fear and exhaustion. He couldn't have moved much faster even with two good ankles. He didn't see Hector.

The water gushed up with the roar of a waterfall. Hector grabbed a rail. The flood pushed around his legs. The old man still hadn't seen him. He had given up. The water hit him like a boulder and took his legs out from under him. He didn't even try to hang on. Hector dropped into the water and let it carry him the length of the corridor. The surge pressed the old man against a bulkhead. Water rose up to cover him. He took one last gasp of air, but his eyes were already dead.

Hector grabbed the man and strapped the shared breathing mask over his head. The old man's eyes bugged out; he tried to struggle but had no strength. His body went limp. They were both submerged now. Hector held on to the old man with one arm and pulled forward with the other. The water pushed against them as it filled Revenger.

The suit's low-oxygen alarm beeped. Hector lunged forward.

His mind conjured up a vivid image of his father on the Golden Gate Bridge. They had walked the bridge so many times together. Hector tried talking to him but they stood on opposite sides. Why so far away?

Hector grabbed an insulated cable running along the top of the corridor. He ripped it from the wall. Bound the two of them together. The old man could still breathe. Seemed awake, but useless. A burden dragging them down. With both arms free, Hector yanked them forward in small increments. Took slow, deep breaths. Just a little longer...

His father called inaudible words to him. Hector yelled back. He had so much to say, but the distance was too great. The sun flew overhead and sank into the ocean. Stars blended with the city lights and boats on the bay. The sun rose and fell through another cycle. Night again. On the bridge, pedestrians, cyclists, and cars passed them in a blur. Sailboats zipped across the bay. Day, night, day, night. The two men couldn't span the distance between them.

Hector pulled himself and his passenger out through the Revenger bridge tower. The no-oxygen alarm beeped. He remembered the words of a drill sergeant from his basic training days: The alarm's useless. The only time you'll hear it is when no one's around to help you. At least the old man didn't struggle. They swam free of the sub and made their way toward Paradise. He aimed for the staging area hatch, but the additional weight threw off his center of gravity, slowed him down. Not sure if he could make it...

His father floated off the bridge and into the sky. Still speaking inaudible words. Hector ran forward but couldn't reach him. He drifted over the Pacific, smaller and smaller. Someone behind him screamed. Grace. His sister. Falling from the bridge. Hector ran to the rail and reached out. She fell through eternity, never hitting the water below. Screamed and waved her arms. Help me, help me. Trapped in an endless death. If only his father hadn't vanished. He would know what to do.

“I'm here, Hector. I've got you.”

Celeste. Another diver hovered behind her, but Hector's heavy eyes could not identify the face. No matter. He felt himself tugged forward. Celeste took Hector, the other diver took the old man. Hector felt weightless again. Such a hopeful feeling. He could live in this moment forever. Maybe I'll find Grace here...

****

HECTOR WOKE IN SICKBAY. It took a few seconds to get his bearings. He looked around. Beds surrounded him and every one full. Other patients sat in chairs and on the floor. He raised up on his elbows, then tried to stand.

“Hold on.” Dr. Khan stood over him. The slight doctor pushed Hector back down. “I need to check you out, first.”

“How long have I been here?”

Dr. Khan pointed a light into Hector's eyes one at a time. “A few hours. You weren't in serious danger. You had a good five minutes left before you would have died.”

Hector grunted. The doctor performed a rapid check of Hector's arms and legs for motion, feeling for fractures, then tapped his shins to test reflexes.

“Claudia will be relieved.” Khan tapped Hector on the chest. “All right, you're good to go. No acts of heroism for at least twenty-four hours.”

Hector stood slowly. Shook his head. Sickbay was all mayhem. The Revenger crew lay in various states of injury or shock. As soon as Hector walked away, a nurse took one of the seated patients to the bed he had occupied.

“Did we lose any?” Hector asked.

“Not yet,” Khan said. “A few are in critical condition. The old man you brought out will make it. He hadn't eaten in two days.”

“Should someone his age even be here?” Hector said. “Maybe he would have been better off not suffering through this. A younger person could do more. We're already so limited here. Is that heartless?”

“He may surprise you once he gets his strength back. We may find we need the experience and perspective of elders as much as we need strong backs.”

Hector frowned.

“Go on, Lieutenant. I've got work to do.” Khan moved on to help other patients. “Business is booming. I'd rather not have this kind of job security.”

****

MIZERAK STOOD in the lower deck where the carrier hull had been breached. Several maintenance workers operated portable pumps to clear out the water. A patch covered the gap in the hull.

“It's temporary,” Maria told Mizerak.

“We'll have a permanent patch ready shortly,” Anastasia said.

“And the same for Revenger,” Maria said.

“If it ever dries out,” Anastasia grimaced.

“Let's stay positive here,” Maria snapped.

“Keep me posted,” Mizerak said.

Static burst over the handheld radio. Mizerak had ignored its squawking for hours. She nodded her thanks to Maria/Anastasia and made her way along the ladders and corridors up toward sickbay.

“Mizerak here.”

“Thank God, it's about time!” yelled Captain Tomas, on board Predator, the last submarine scheduled to join with Paradise. The outer limits of their tiny frontier. The end of the line of the human race.

“We've had our hands full, Captain. What is it?”

She passed crew quarters and the hydroponics lab. Water dripped, pumps hummed. She came to a bulkhead where someone had painted graffiti in large, white letters interrupted by pipes and vents.

TRUTH WILL PREVAIL.

“What the hell's going on down there, Commander!” Tomas demanded. He fancied himself a born leader. Mizerak had different views. “We need some information!”

“We'll put out a system-wide update soon.” Mizerak reached sickbay and found Captain Yamamoto offering reassurances to his ailing crew. Yamamoto had a bruise on his face and a bandage on his left hand. “This is a temporary setback-”

“Did one of those animals really attack Revenger head-on?” Tomas sounded shrill with fear. Did he have any direct combat experience? Mizerak tried to recall his record but couldn't remember specifics.

“I wouldn't call it an attack,” Mizerak said. “More of an accidental strike.”

“This is no joke, Commander! We need new protocols if these...monsters...are making direct assaults now!”

“Hold for one moment, please, Captain.”

Mizerak put the radio on silent, so she didn't hear Tomas' next statement, “My officers and I are planning our own course of action...”

“Captain,” Mizerak spoke to Yamamoto. “I know this is unorthodox, but I need your help.”

“What is it, Commander?”

“I'm afraid Captain Tomas on the Predator may be...” Losing his mind, she started to say. “Struggling with the current situation. He doesn't have your experience. Can you go on board to advise him? I'll send a security escort with you.”

Yamamoto, at least ten years' Mizerak's senior, regarded her with grim eyes. He had no counter to Mizerak's most compelling argument: his own command would remain out of action for the near future.

“I will go where I am needed, Commander.”

****

MIZERAK STOOD in the Council Chamber. It felt like being on stage before a hostile audience. Initially, she had asked them to identify themselves. Security was the excuse for their refusal.

“Can Revenger be restored to operation, Commander?” the Council's creepy rotating voice demanded.

“We believe so,” Mizerak said. “Maintenance is preparing a work schedule. Some of the electronics may need to be replaced. The 3D printers will help with that.”

“You need to accelerate the weapons program,” the Council said. “The shark attacks are escalating.”

“I understand that,” Mizerak sighed. “I've been a little busy fighting fires.”

“A defense system is essential, Commander. We are extremely vulnerable in our current situation.”

Mizerak sighed again and collected her thoughts. “We're sealing the catapult components to be operational underwater. The submarine torpedoes – the few we were left with – are being reconfigured so we can target organic heat signatures. None of this equipment was intended to be used this way. We're short qualified people and equipment. I don't know how to make this go any faster.”

“Commander, we understand that you are still learning what a hostile environment this is. We promise you, it will only get worse.”

Mizerak gritted her teeth. “We'll get the weapons online.”

“That will be all, Commander.”

“Uh...” Mizerak hesitated. “There is one more thing.”

The Council paused. They expected a one-way exchange.

“Proceed.”

“We've had requests to offer non-denominational prayer services. I think-”

“We cannot afford the possibility of religious extremism, Commander. Extremism leads to violence. Violence cannot be contained in these narrow confines. This is the last opportunity for the human race to survive.”

“Yes, I... I understand. You know, the doctor was the first person to ask for this. He's a serious person and I trust him. We've got to...if we're here for the long term...” She paused. Halfway hoping they would dispute the long term part. Give her some reason to expect an end to this nightmare. Nothing. “If we're here for the long term, we have to give people something more than duty and waiting. Idle hands are the...” Bad choice of words. “Our entertainment options are limited. Food is limited. The crew are all still figuring each other out. They’ve never even had time to mourn properly. We need productive ways to channel our frustrations. If we stay on top of it and keep the message positive, it can work. It's better than letting so many people dwell on their fear and anger. We can call it...meditation, spiritual contemplation, whatever works. If we try to deny people this outlet... That might be more dangerous in the long run.”

Silence. Mizerak determined to wait them out.

“We will take the matter under advisement, Commander.”

Even that was more than Mizerak had expected. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Dismissed, Commander.”

Mizerak left the Council Chamber. She made her way up through the inhabited areas of the ship. Like most of the rest of Paradise, random individuals walked, stood, or sat, with little or no direction. A young woman brushed the hair of an older woman sitting on the deck. Two men from maintenance repaired a damaged light fixture. An old man sat on the cold metal. Reminiscent of the elder Hector had rescued from Revenger. He had one of those complexions that could have come from anywhere. Thin and brittle, as if his body could fall to pieces with a touch. Did he recognize her? She couldn't tell. Not everyone did. He rubbed a hand over his bristly hair as if trying to drive away confusion.

“Have you eaten?”

He shrugged. Looked at her as if through a fog.

“When was the last time you ate?”

He rubbed his head again. “A day? Maybe two? Hard to keep track.”

Mizerak unclipped her ID from a pocket and gestured for the old man to do the same. He stretched his arm up to hand it to her. A simple clicking together of the chips completed the transaction. One more donated meal wouldn't hurt her. She returned his ID.

“Go eat something. It may not taste good, but it's going to get better.”

The man mouthed Thank you several times and Mizerak moved on. She walked and walked some more. Her mind ran constantly with everything they still needed to do. Kelp farming. Monitor vessel hulls for barnacles and other sea damage. Improve management of internal CO2 buildup. Weapons implementation. Better information flow to reduce the spread of conspiracy theories. An educational system for the few children on board and, they hoped, future children. The Council wanted her to research a possible electrical system that would shield them against intruders from every direction. Maria/Anastasia boggled their eyes at the mere mention of such a scheme.

And, the Holy Grail of Mizerak's headaches. Convince the Council to let them engage with the surface. In some capacity. Verify everything they had been told. Confirm that Paradise truly was hell on earth.

She came upon a young Latina in the shadowy area under a ladder up to the next level. A tall, skinny young man towered over her, with pale skin and long hair tied in a ponytail. He spoke to the young woman but Mizerak couldn't make out the words. A girl, no more than fifteen or sixteen. The whites of her eyes shined bright in the shadows. Mizerak asked herself the same question every day. How were these people selected?

“Are you all right, Miss?” Mizerak asked.

The young man – who Mizerak now thought of as the Asshole – put a hand over the girl's mouth. He clearly didn't recognize Mizerak. Or was too stupid to care. “None of your business.”

Mizerak, shorter than the Asshole, had the strength to insert herself between the two.

The Asshole looked Mizerak up and down. “Unless you want to join us?”

Mizerak unholstered her sidearm and handed it to the girl. The girl didn't hesitate. She pointed it at the Asshole. Pulled the trigger. Several times.

Clk. Clk. Clk.

No shots. The Asshole's eyes bugged out.

“It's not loaded.” Mizerak stretched her arm back. “We're not savages here.”

She hit the Asshole on the chin, and despite pulling her punch at the last instant, she immediately regretted it. He fell against the bulkhead and slid to the floor. Still conscious. He scrabbled against the wall and tried to stand. Not sure if he should run or hold still.

Mizerak turned her attention to the girl. She took her weapon back. “Are you all right?”

“Uh huh.” Disappointed that she wouldn't get blood. Wondering, What happens next? Should Mizerak leave them so the Asshole could start over with fresh hostility?

“Don't worry,” Mizerak grunted as she pulled the Asshole to his feet and marched him forward. “He won't hurt you again.”

The Asshole went quietly but kept looking over his shoulder at Mizerak.

“I'm not going to throw you out for the sharks, if that's what you're worried about,” Mizerak said. “I meant it when I said we're not savages.” Not by choice, anyway. “We've got a brig. You'll spend some time there.”

The Asshole wanted to say something but his jaw, painful and possibly fractured, prevented him. He trudged forward in front of Mizerak, according to her directions.

“There's no time for this,” Mizerak said, not worried if the Asshole heard her because he probably wasn't listening anyway. “How do you not get that? We don't have enough lives left to play these games. I'm going out of my way to be tolerant and keep everyone in the fold, but...” She shook her head. She wanted to hit him and plead with him at the same time. “We need all hands on deck.”

Along one bulkhead, more graffiti, in big white letters.

WHAT IS WHITEWASH?

Mizerak didn't have an answer. She didn't even understand the question.

4

HECTOR, CELESTE, AND YAMAMOTO suited up and swam to Predator, armed with spearguns on the off chance a shark might attack while they were en route. The sub held a stationary position about thirty meters above the seafloor. Thirty meters closer to the surface. More light. More temptation. What if condemnation of the surface was a true conspiracy? Shouldn't they keep swimming and find out for themselves? Squint their eyes in the sunlight. Breathe unfiltered air. The three of them looked at each other, knowing the others shared the same thoughts. Too bound by their mission. And afraid. Because the worst might really be true.

The moment they boarded Predator they sensed a different tone. The sub felt manic compared to the bone-deep fatigue in Paradise. Yamamoto laid down his speargun and directed Hector and Celeste to do the same. The crew had wide eyes and sweaty foreheads. Captain Tomas was a stocky man with auburn hair and a thick beard. He looked better suited to exploring Antarctica than being cooped up in a submarine. He blustered about the control room, a claustrophobia-inducing area busy with lights, switches, and gauges.

“I am only here to assist, Captain,” Yamamoto assured Tomas. Tomas didn't seem convinced. Hector and Celeste kept quiet.

“I think it's Paradise that needs assistance, Captain.” Tomas had a booming voice that, combined with his insecurity, diminished chatter from the four members of the control room staff. “I never believe we're getting the whole story from Commander Mizerak.”

Was he sincere? Trying to provoke them? His face toggled between condescension and fear.

“I give you my word, Captain,” Yamamoto said. “I have just been there. Everything you have been told is true.”

Yamamoto surveyed the control room. None of the crew seemed willing to make direct eye contact. Hector cleared his throat.

“Captain, maybe we're in your way here,” he gestured to Celeste and himself. “Is there someplace on board we can help out? We're here. You might as well put us to work.”

“Ensign King,” Tomas waved over a young, fair-haired crew member. “Escort these officers down to the torpedo room.” He turned back to Hector. “Engineering is making repairs down there. We're as short-staffed as you are. I'm sure they can use a hand.”

Hector and Celeste followed young King out of the control room and through the tight corridor, even more constricted than the carrier. King looked over his shoulder at them as they walked.

“Stand easy, Ensign,” Hector said. “We're all in this together. I promise, no one in Paradise is trying to keep anything from you.”

“There's not a lot of us left,” Celeste followed Hector's lead. “We need to stick together, you know?”

“It's been...intense here,” King confessed. “Can I...” He stopped, looked fore and aft to make sure no one was within earshot. “Can I trust you? Everything’s on the level? You're not going to take our supplies and cut us loose?”

Celeste almost growled her anger but respected Hector's position and let him talk.

“Of course not,” Hector said. “Why would we do that? There's no time for that. Not anymore. We all need each other.”

King looked around to confirm their solitude again. “I want to show you something. You've got to give me your word on this. The captain will skin me alive if he finds out.”

“We're here to help,” Hector said. “Tell us what you need. We'll do what we can.”

“He's right,” Celeste said. “Can't start the party till everyone shows up.”

King detoured to the aft of the sub. He led them into a storage room. Five officers, some holding sidearms, stood in a loose semicircle around two male officers gagged and tied to chairs. The confined officers' faces were purple with deep bruises.

“Shit,” Celeste whispered.

King reassured the standing officers, on edge even before company had arrived. “It's all right. They're here to help. I believe them.”

“What happened here?” Hector asked. He kneeled to get a better look at the prisoners' condition.

“Crew's coming apart,” King said. “It's Captain Tomas. He's... It's extremist stuff.”

Another officer with black spiky hair and a Cockney accent spoke up. “Captain wants to leave the group. Go back to the mainland and see what the situation is.”

“We'll die if we go back,” Hector said. “The entire surface is contaminated. You know that.”

“Do we?” the Brit asked. “I know we were told that. Can anyone here prove it?”

“You want to leave, too?” Hector asked.

“Some do,” Ensign King said. “Some of us don't. We want to stay with the main group.”

Hector and Celeste looked at each other. Considered the odds.

“What about these two men?” Hector pointed to the men in the chairs.

“Captain told us to hold them,” the Brit said. “They tried to get control of the radio. Warn the commander and so forth. I don't approve of the way he handled the situation. Orders are orders.”

Hector struggled to think over the sound of his pounding heart. He stepped forward and removed the gags from the restrained men. They shook their heads, coughing and gasping. The others shifted, uncertain, but didn't intervene.

“How bad are you hurt?” Hector asked.

“We'll live,” one of them said between breaths. “For now. Captain's gone nuts. He's not thinking straight.”

Hector looked up at the others. They had little confidence in the room's dynamics.

Reluctantly, King said, “I agree. Captain had us making departure plans. You three coming here put the brakes on things.”

“That's true,” the Brit said. “He doesn't know the score down below. Or, thinks he doesn't. He's not sure if the rest of you will let Predator go or pursue us. Now you're here, he figures that ups the odds of trying to stop us.”

“He's right about that,” Celeste said.

“Thing is,” the Brit said, “you might say some of us are in the middle. We want to leave. We don't approve of the captain's methods. He wants to cut and run. Some of us want to give the crew a choice. Those that want to go back stay on board. Those that want to join Paradise can do so.”

“Hector,” Celeste said, “Yamamoto's all alone up there. Is he safe?”

“In the conn,” Hector looked to the Predator crew members. “How many are with Tomas?”

“About an even split, I'd say,” the Brit said. “I can't vouch for Captain Yamamoto's safety. Not for long, at any rate.”

Hector grimaced. No telling how long until the situation destabilized. He looked around the room. “Can I radio Paradise? Ask for instructions?”

Silence.

The Brit spoke up. “If Paradise tries to force the situation, Captain Tomas might go over the edge. You can call for help. Just be careful how far you push it.”

Hector reached for his handheld radio and gestured to Celeste and King, “Untie these men.”

“Bridge, this is Hector, on board Predator,” Hector spoke into the radio. “Please respond.”

“Hector, this is the bridge, go ahead,” a voice he didn't recognize answered.

“I need Commander Mizerak. Right now. We have a critical situation here.”

They cut loose the two prisoners. The men stood, stretching and massaging their wrists. Two more on our side, Hector thought.

The radio clicked a few times and Mizerak came on the line. “What is it, Hector?”

“Captain Tomas wants to leave the group. He wants to take Predator and his crew back to the surface.”

After a moment's silence, Mizerak asked, “What's your status?”

“Celeste is here. We're with some friendly crew members. Some want to stay. The others want to leave but they're willing to give the rest of us time to join you. I don't have numbers, I don't know where the majority is right now. My first concern is Captain Yamamoto. He's in the control room with Captain Tomas. He may not be safe.”

“Get to the conn,” Mizerak said. “Subdue Tomas if you can. If you take him, will the rest of the crew give us more time?”

Hector looked around the room. The others nodded, some with more confidence than others. The Brit said, “Yeah, we'll give you time. But not too long. Some of us are determined to go. Like I said, you don't want to force us.”

Hector clicked the radio back on. “They'll give us a little time. I can't promise how much.”

“Get going. Try to take Tomas peacefully. If you can't, do whatever it takes for you, Celeste, and Yamamoto to get out safely. Is that clear?”

“On our way, Commander.”

Hector pocketed his radio and turned to the room. “You heard that. We have our orders. Will you help us?”

“I'll help you,” King said.

“So will we,” one of the former prisoners said.

“We'll help you to a point,” the Brit said. “You try to stop all of us and we'll turn the tables on you.”

Hector took off and Celeste followed.

“This is getting out of hand, Hector,” Celeste said. “People are going to get hurt.”

****

ON BOARD the aircraft carrier, Mizerak went to the Council Chamber. Whatever happened with Captain Tomas, she needed guidance on the situation. She could direct one of the subs to pursue Predator, but at what cost? Some of the subs retained functional torpedoes and missiles. One wrong command from anyone and the situation would become cataclysmic.

She buzzed at the Chamber door and entered. Looking up at the shadow government, she most wanted to know if they shared her fear.

“You know what's happening?” she asked. “Tomas wants to take Predator back home?”

“Home is gone, Commander,” the Council said. “There is no place for him to go.”

“I'm not the one you have to convince. You know our situation. Do you really want me to try to force him to stay?” Mizerak's handheld radio buzzed. She looked up at the dark figures. “Well?”

“Answer it, Commander.”

****

HECTOR AND CELESTE burst into Predator's control room. Hector made a last-second decision to go in with sidearms drawn. The less time Tomas had to think, the better. If they could surprise him, maybe they could take him peacefully.

Too late. They found Tomas, Yamamoto, and the control room staff facing off, sidearms pointed at each other.

“Captain,” Hector looked at Yamamoto. “Are you hurt?”

“Not yet, Lieutenant.” Yamamoto refused to panic. “I am glad you returned.”

“I'm captain here,” Tomas barked. “I'm your superior officer. If you disobey my orders, it's mutiny!”

“You are not my superior officer, Captain,” Yamamoto pointed out.

They aimed weapons left and right. The Brit, King, and another Predator officer charged in behind Hector and Celeste. Weapons drawn. Too crowded, tension in the room could combust at any moment.

“May I remind you, Captain,” Yamamoto said. “Shots fired in this room may render Predator inoperable. In that event, you would have no escape route.”

“I'd rather lose her entirely than compromise my command,” Tomas said. His voice rose in pitch from bluster to full-blown panic. “My boat, my decision!”

“Captain,” Hector put his hand on the radio but moved no farther. “Let me contact the commander. She already knows your intentions. Maybe we can work something out.”

Gun barrels in constant motion. Faster than anyone could process the others' actions. One of them would slip. Once someone fired the first shot, the control room would turn into a bloodbath. And maybe take all of Predator's crew with them. Tomas looked around with wild eyes.

“Captain,” Hector said. “Please.”

“All right! All right. Go ahead.”

Hector clicked the radio on and spoke to Mizerak in the Council Chamber.

“Commander. Things are going downhill fast here.”

“Hector, is Captain Yamamoto with you? I need to speak with him.”

Yamamoto nodded and Hector tossed him the radio.

“This is Yamamoto, Commander. I believe Captain Tomas is not mentally fit for command. Do you wish me to assume command of Predator?”

Tomas fixed his sidearm on Yamamoto. “You're not taking my command! Stand down, Captain!”

“Captain Tomas, I won't ask you to relinquish command,” Mizerak said over the radio. Not yet, anyway. “How can I convince you this is a bad idea? I understand we're in an insane situation, but I believe what we've been told about the surface. You and your crew won't survive if you go back.”

“You might believe it, Commander, but I don't! Tell me, have you seen visual proof? Do you have anything more than the word of the Council?”

“Only what I saw when they brought me here. I have the word of the people who...” Who ordered us down here probably wouldn't help in Tomas' current state. “The people who gave us this opportunity. To keep going.” That conference room so long ago. She hadn't known most of them. Except at the far end of the room... Someone she trusted but couldn't see... How had so many of her memories gotten away from her? “We're monitoring communications channels the best we can. There's no chatter out there. Nothing. You can see the records yourself. We're working on atmospheric sensors to monitor air quality remotely. I understand, you haven't been connected to the city, it's harder to keep informed about what we're doing. What if we arrange more frequent calls? I'm happy to talk with you one-on-one, whenever you like. You can come here and see firsthand. Captain, please. There are so few of us left. We can't afford to break apart like this.”

Mizerak took a deep breath. Paradise didn't have the greatest air quality. Sometimes she found herself short of breath.

“You haven't addressed my point, Commander,” Tomas said. “We still have no visual proof. If all the people on the surface are really dead...where are the bodies? Where are the ruined cities? We're prisoners here. If we can't see for ourselves what happened up there, we'll never be free. Don't you see? That's the entire point. Are we going to live what's left of our lives in this prison with terms dictated by the Council? Or choose our own path? We became officers to lead. Didn't we?”

“We became officers to serve a greater purpose, Captain,” Yamamoto said. “And we swore to respect the command hierarchy.”

Tomas laughed. “The hierarchy is gone, Captain. Even if they're alive on the surface. Down here, the command structure we swore loyalty to doesn't exist.” Tomas gestured out in the general direction of the surface. “I want to go back to confirm what our greater purpose really is.”

“Stand by, Captain,” Mizerak sighed and clicked off the radio. She looked to the Council. “He's right. We're all suffering on faith. More insight into what happened up there would go a long way. For all of us.”

“Security measures were in place at the time, Commander,” the Council said. “We have limited information to provide.”

“You do understand,” Mizerak said, “that if he decides to leave, we can't stop him. Not without risking everything else.”

“Captain Tomas. This is the Council.”

The Council spoke through Predator's intercom system. The submarine's entire crew could hear them. Mizerak hadn't known they could do that. As far as she knew, the Council had not addressed anyone but her until now.

“I'm listening,” Tomas said.

“Captain, anyone who was on the surface is dead. Their deaths were rapid but painful. The entire surface of the world is contaminated.”

“That's hardly proof,” Tomas said. “If the surface is contaminated, what is the source? Is it radiation? How long will it last? If that's true, there should be a time frame for us to return.”

“Look,” Mizerak said to the Council, “if they want to leave, we can't stop them. Letting them go is better than, what... Are you going to order me to kill them? The human race hasn't been decimated enough? I'll do whatever I can to avoid taking more lives.”

“I'm open to compromise,” Tomas said. With that, Hector, Celeste, and Yamamoto felt they could reduce their tension level. “Freedom requires choices. I'm willing to let my crew make their own choice. Anyone who wants to join Paradise can disembark. Those who want to go with me, and learn what happened firsthand, will stay on board.”

Mizerak held her breath while the Council deliberated.

“Very well, Captain Tomas. Allow sufficient time for all those who wish to transfer to Paradise. Those who choose to stay with you must state so publicly. Coercion will not be tolerated. And only those already on your vessel may go – no additional crew members from Paradise may transfer.”

Someone had to go first. Hector, inches at a time, lowered his weapon. The others followed suit. Hector bowed his head and took some deep breaths. Even the unflappable Yamamoto appeared drained.

Yamamoto faced Tomas, still wary. “Captain, assemble your crew in small groups so we may begin the process.”

The control room remained silent. No one had expected it to come to this.

****

THOSE WHO CHOSE to stay with the main group disembarked from Predator. Security officers guided civilians to Paradise. Hector, Celeste, and Yamamoto departed last after retrieving their spearguns. They had never known most of the Predator crew until this day, and they never expected to seen them again.

The trio didn't speak as they swam back into deeper waters. They didn't look up. Why take on the temptation of being closer to the sun? Better to focus on duty and the task at hand.

Hector squinted his eyes and gestured toward the aft of the carrier. A shadow. Not a shark. Not big enough. Maybe a person.

“Do you see that?” he asked. No. By the time he pointed it out to them, the shadow had moved behind the carrier.

“Did someone get sidetracked going over from Predator?” Celeste asked.

“Captain, with your permission?” Hector asked.

“Go,” Yamamoto directed. “I will cover you.”

Hector and Celeste swam to the aft of the carrier. Yamamoto came behind and kept watch from above. The closer they got, the smaller they felt next to the massive ship. Hector disappeared around the port aft corner. Celeste and Yamamoto kept their silence.

Celeste found her mind wandering. The depth always reminded her of free diving excursions from before the crisis. Her body had been her temple in those days; not so long ago, though it seemed like a different era in time. She had pushed herself in every way she could, whether rock climbing or bacchanalian wrestling matches with her gym mates. They hadn't needed steroids, instead working themselves hard enough on their own. But, God, how it had fueled their sex lives. Celeste had measured herself by how much she could benchpress, how quickly she could scale a rock wall, how long she could hold her breath, and how many partners she could take on in one night. She never got enough. If she didn't fight it, the tin can of Paradise would ruin her body and turn her libido into a torturous alarm that would never go silent. The cold metal and carbon polymers of Paradise were a grave compared to hot flesh.

She blinked. Hector floated in front of her. How did that happen? She had let her mind wander but never closed her eyes. Never even saw him coming.

“Nothing,” Hector said. He looked at her; he could tell she had lost focus but decided not confront her. To Yamamoto, he said, “Sorry, Captain. Could have sworn I saw something. I guess my imagination is getting away from me.”

It's getting away from all of us, Celeste thought.

“Better to be safe, Lieutenant,” Yamamoto said. “Think nothing of it.”

They turned and swam back to Paradise.

****

HECTOR AND THE OTHERS removed their pressure suits in the staging area. They found Mizerak dismissing the last of the Predator crew members. They would go through sickbay first, then Mizerak would assign them temporary quarters until she could devise a long-term arrangement.

Celeste gave Hector a guilty look – Sorry – before she moved on. Hector joined Mizerak and they walked through the corridors. Twice Mizerak began to speak, then changed her mind.

“I'm glad I'm not in your shoes,” Hector said.

“The military used to be full of aggressive ladder climbers,” Mizerak said. “They didn't care whose toes they stepped on. Here, though... No one's looking for this promotion. Except Captain Tomas, apparently.”

“Do you think he's doing the right thing?”

“No. I think he's lost his mind. But we all lost the people that mattered most to us. Everything.”

What have you lost, Claire?

“We're all coping differently,” she said. “Or not coping. Tomas may be mentally unstable. Or he may end up being smarter than all of us.”

“I'm really hoping they'll come back. They'll survive and come back to us.” The same thing he dreamed about his sister.

Mizerak tried to smile but couldn't manage it. “I hope not. I hope they find out it's all a hoax. Our families and homes are still up there. Waiting for us.”

****

AFTER PREDATOR LEFT, Tomas sent daily updates to Mizerak. To minimize gossip, she had the reports routed through her IT chief, Sophie, originally from the private sector, with long, heavy dreadlocks, a thick frame, and the coal-black complexion of her Kenyan ancestors. Sophie seemed always ferociously chewing peppermint-flavored gum. “I brought as much as I could,” she had told Mizerak early on. “My one vice. Helps me focus. I'm rationing it now, best I can. We'll see how long I can make it last. Working with this shit equipment they gave us won't help my stress levels any. All these buttons and keyboards and not a touchscreen to be found.”

Sophie called her workspace the War Room, the size of a walk-in closet piled with hardware and networking components, cables, monitors, and keyboards, stacked on metal shelves. A fold-up cot occupied a corner because Sophie spent so much time there, returning to her quarters on some nights seemed a waste of time. A locker with the remnants of her peppermint gum supply. A white board where Sophie diagrammed technical matters for others. Mizerak asked one day what would happen when the white board markers ran dry. Sophie said, “I guess you'll all have to stay dumb then.”

Sophie finished her daily report to Mizerak. “Predator sent their regular update. They're still,” she held up her hands in an air-quotes gesture, “reconnoitering, as Captain Tomas puts it.”

“Have they found anything interesting?” Mizerak asked.

“No sharks observed for several days. It's the captain's judgment the sharks don't frequent the coastal areas. Crew's losing it, though, you ask me. Multiple claims of human-like figures observing them. Without pressure suits. Like, people just strolling through the seawater. Nothing confirmed, you understand. It's all out-of-the-corner-of-my-eye type of thing.”

“Anything on camera?”

“No. Their surveillance gear is worse than ours. Too slow to pick up much even if something was out there.” Sophie grinned. “Maybe it's Poseidon. Patrolling Atlantis.”

Mizerak refused to address the ongoing chatter about Poseidon and Atlantis. Don't elevate it. More important, Tomas’ report sounded similar to what Hector had seen on his return from Predator. “All right. Keep monitoring.”

Soon after she boarded Paradise, Sophie had badgered Mizerak about setting up exterior antennas so she could try to access communications satellites.

“We can only receive by line of sight,” she had told Mizerak. “None of the land-based telemetry stations are operating. And the water interferes with the signals. So we're not going to get much.”

“Anything is better than nothing,” Mizerak had said. “We don't know what's happening. Not everything.”

We still don't.

Sophie's life-long insomnia freed up a lot of time to accomplish more. Since childhood, a blessing and a curse. Her obsessive gum-chewing kept her focused, a damn sight better habit than the tobacco or narcotics that some of her peers – now deceased peers, suckers – had cozied up with.

So she sat in the War Room, sometimes days at a time. At first, she monitored for signs of life. Anything. How could they just leave us down here? Someone up there must have planned something. A recorded loop, an explanation of what the hell had really happened, an all-clear signal when they could go back. Something.

What if it's never safe to go back?

Sophie had listened, so she accepted sooner than most that no message would arrive. She got some weather satellite images, not enough resolution to confirm lack of human activity. The good stuff, the spy satellites, she couldn't link up with those. If they still functioned.

She tapped her keyboard. Watched the monitor. Waited for satellite transmissions. Monitored the security cameras. (Just keep them working, Mizerak had said. Don't spy on people. Not a problem. Most people had no idea how boring they were.) A few times she picked up some music. No idea where that came from. Maybe some programmed radio station bouncing off a satellite when the weather conditions were just so. Some automation up there, no telling how long it might keep going, if a solar battery powered the hardware. Heard some Howlin' Wolf one night. That blew her mind.

Must be someone else out there. She couldn't get her mind around the one-percenters being that sloppy. Not having a plan. Why just us? Cause we're not exactly the best and the brightest. She ran the question by Mizerak once. Offered to broadcast a greeting across whatever limited range they could reach. Even work with Maria/Anastasia to devise a more comprehensive search.

“The Council gave orders,” Mizerak said. “We're not to initiate that kind of activity.”

“Why?”

Mizerak lowered her eyes. “Too depressing. That kind of silence, day after day... They're afraid of mass suicides.”

“Commander, I'm on your side, but... We got a few thousand people here without enough to do. I don't know how long they're going to sit still for that.”

****

DR. KHAN STOOD at the front of the room. Originally built as a secondary mess hall, Mizerak had given permission to use the space for other purposes. The Council had not formally approved a formal spiritual gathering. They hadn't formally rejected it, either. Just keep it peaceful, she had told him. Otherwise, the less said, the better. “Extremism is of no interest to me, Commander,” Khan had said. “I've had my share of virgins in this lifetime. I'm content to wait for what comes later.”

Khan faced six rows of chairs, eight across, partially occupied by the devout, the curious, and the just plain bored. Claudia sat near the front. An even more pleasant surprise: Hector stepped in and took a seat in the back.

Khan had stretched a fabric wall-hanging on the front wall. An arabesque, with intricate, interlacing patterns colored in deep greens and yellows that blended into shades of rust and turquoise and olive. He carried no scriptures or notes.

“The world used to be a big, sprawling place,” he said to the assembly. “Room enough for all of us to stake out our own space. Then we were fruitful and multiplied.”

He paced the front of the room.

“As large as the world was, our numbers became even larger, and our competing beliefs crowded against each other. Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Hindu, Shinto, Confucianism, and all the others. We debated. We fought. And, at times, we even reached a peaceful disagreement.”

He bowed his head as if in prayer.

“And then the cataclysm brought us here. Our spiritual leaders and counselors are gone. Their voices no longer guide us. We don't have their wisdom. And we’ve lost our own sacred spaces. We're crowded into this tiny city beneath the ocean. We struggle for food and water. It's dark and cold. Welcome to Paradise.”

He leaned forward on his cane.

“We worry if God can find us here. If our hearts can reach out of this place and find guidance. We fear for our very souls.”

He looked at them.

“I'm not here to preach. I'm here because I believe we need to simplify our complex inner conflicts. And I believe we can only do that together. Let us be silent.”

He lowered his head again. Some moved their lips in prayer. Others closed their eyes and remained still. A few looked around the room with skepticism. Waiting for fire and brimstone.

Khan looked up again. “When it's not being used by the kitchen, this room is available for silent meditation or prayer. Thank you.”

Most drifted out of the room. A few stayed with their heads bowed. Hector and Claudia approached the doctor.

“I'm happy to see you both here,” Khan said. “I confess, Hector, I'm surprised to see you. Do you mind telling me if you're here for yourself or following orders?”

“Just me. I'm not sure what I really believe anymore. Going through the motions helps a little. Continuity, maybe.”

Claudia pointed at the arabesque. “This is beautiful. It's busy but...soothing. If that makes sense.”

“When every ounce of space counted, this is one of the things I chose to keep,” Khan said. “Depictions of humans are generally discouraged in Islam. Abstract geometric patterns are significant in the history of our art. They illustrate the world's complexity in a unified way. The four sides of the square represent the four ancient elements: earth, fire, water, air. We may be surrounded by water, but the world remains balanced. And it's a helpful aid in prayer or meditation. Lose yourself in the pattern and forget the distractions around you.”

Hector nodded. “It doesn't bother you that I'm a lapsed Catholic?”

Khan laughed. “Of course not. Does it bother you that I'm an unorthodox Muslim? We don't have a choice anymore, do we?”

“No,” Hector chuckled.

They remained silent for a moment. An invitation for Claudia to offer up her own beliefs, lapsed or otherwise. She kept her focus on the arabesque. She asked, “What do you really think is going to happen to us?”

“Humanity has been on a gradual decline since the Industrial Age began,” the doctor said. “This is just the next step. Some generation had to be the last. Maybe we're it.”

They both started to speak but couldn't find the words.

“Sounds defeatist?” Khan smiled. “I'm not ready to give up. God will take us when He's ready. When our souls have learned what we're here to learn. We're still part of the universe.”

He lowered his voice. “Keep this between us. I don't want anyone to think the doctor has given in to religious delusions. I'm still dedicated to medical science. But I've seen how the world ends. It's not by fire.”

5

MIZERAK AND HECTOR trudged through the lower decks of the aircraft carrier. Mizerak held a printed chart; paper was a rare commodity but still less difficult to replicate on the 3D printers than digital tablets.

“The manifest gets a little murky down here,” Mizerak said as they walked. “There just wasn't enough time. I've been putting this off, but we need to get all the room assignments confirmed.”

They counted out doors according to Mizerak's list. Occasional residents passed them. Angry, sad, lost, oblivious. Graffiti across a bulkhead, in large white letters, asked:

WHAT IS THE TRUTH?

Hector and Mizerak looked at each other. Neither had an answer.

“I'm still thinking about what happened with Predator,” Hector said. “Captain Tomas' decision. Every time we make progress, something else goes wrong. Is this all just hopeless?”

“You mean, are we just marking time?” Mizerak asked. She paced out the number of steps between doors. “Are we the lost city of Atlantis?”

“Yeah.”

Mizerak pondered. “Do you know the story of Pompeii? Ancient city, destroyed by a volcano?”

“Sure,” Hector said. “The basics, anyway.”

“Most people think Pompeii happened instantly. This explosion of lava and flame that buried a city.” Mizerak huffed as she climbed down a ladder to the lowest deck of the carrier. Hector lowered himself behind her. “It took a full day. Maybe longer. Something like eighty percent of the people left the city before it was buried. They had time to get to safety. The people who died...they didn't leave.”

Two men in gray coveralls stood near a door at the far end of the corridor. They appeared to be engaged in casual conversation. When they saw Hector and Mizerak, they stood alert with their backs against the door. Hector set his hand on his firearm but Mizerak touched his arm and shook her head.

Mizerak smiled and waved at the men from a distance. “Howdy,” she called. “Just passing through.”

She edged back up the ladder to the deck above, watching the men watching her. A reluctant Hector followed.

“Commander,” Hector whispered. “Something's not right about those two.”

Mizerak flipped on her handheld radio. “Bridge, this is Mizerak. Send a security detail ASAP. I'm on deck seven, 5L. Tell them to come in quietly.”

“Right away, Commander,” Elijah replied.

Mizerak clipped the radio to her belt. “The people who stayed in Pompeii, that's why they died. We left. Well, we were sent here, but we left.”

Four security officers, including Dieter, Celeste, and Madsen, stepped slow and stealthy down the ladder above to join Mizerak and Hector.

“Do you really want to give up?” she asked Hector. “We're here. We have to keep trying.”

Mizerak looked tired. She always looked tired, they all were. But Hector hadn't noticed before how beaten down her eyes looked.

Mizerak turned to the officers. “Sidearms drawn. We've got two individuals in the hall. Maybe more in one of the quarters. They’re not visibly armed but let’s not make assumptions.”

Hector stepped forward. “We should go first, Commander. Protecting you is part of our job.”

Mizerak didn’t argue. Hector, trying to look casual, stepped down the ladder to the bottom deck. The corridor ended past the two men. They stood at the fore section of the carrier, with no other direction to go. In a moment, all the security officers jumped down to the deck, sidearms drawn.

The unidentified men stood alert but understood they could not resist the security team. One of them rapped three times on the door they guarded.

Mizerak came down behind her officers. “Gentlemen,” she said. “What are you doing down here?”

The men refused to speak. Mizerak waved to Hector. He and Dieter took hold of one man, Celeste and Madsen took the second. Mizerak put a palm against the bulkhead. She walked the corridor and slid her hand along the wall.

“There should be another door here.”

She squinted at the wall. Frowned. She turned to her officers. “There's a seam in the metal. It's not part of the official modifications.”

She turned back to the two captives. “What is this? What are you doing here?”

“We're just here to give a heads-up,” one of the men said. “We were told not to hurt anyone. Just scare people off.”

“You're not very good at your job.” Mizerak pounded on the door. No use shouting, it wouldn't penetrate the metal bulkhead. She turned the handle to open it. Nothing. More pounding.

“Open it,” Mizerak directed.

“We can't,” the man said. Hector squeezed his arm. “Only from inside.”

Mizerak groaned. She grabbed her radio. “Maintenance.”

Maria? Anastasia? One of them responded. “Go ahead, Commander.”

“We need you. Deck eight, 4L. We need to cut through a bulkhead.”

“On our way, Commander.”

****

MARIA/ANASTASIA BROUGHT a metal-cutting torch and applied it to the lower of the two thick hinges that gripped the door to the bulkhead.

Mizerak gestured to the security detail. “Sidearms drawn when you go in.”

The door popped free from the bottom hinge. Maria/Anastasia cut the upper hinge. The door tilted. Celeste and Hector muscled the door free from its frame and leaned it against the bulkhead out of the way.

The two “guards” seemed harmless at this point. The security officers ignored them and charged into the cabin. Hector and Dieter went first. Mizerak entered last. Maria/Anastasia, unarmed and disinclined to physical danger, said, “We'll wait here.”

The cabin measured twice the size of standard crew quarters. Instead of the cot most of the crew slept on, a generous-sized bed piled with silk sheets and plush pillows overwhelmed a corner of the room. A man sat in a burgundy recliner – Is that really a recliner? Mizerak asked herself – with three wide-eyed twenty-somethings sitting cross-legged at his feet. The man held a heavy book in his lap.

The man stood up in outrage; tall, as tall as Hector. Outrage that looked forced; Mizerak didn’t believe they had surprised him.

“What's the meaning of this?” he demanded. In his fifties, lean, with gray hair, he moved with a different kind of confidence than the security officers. The confidence of the gilded tower. He would have been well-tanned before the artificial light of Paradise returned his skin to its natural paleness. “You can't just barge in here like this!”

“I can barge in here, actually,” Mizerak said. The security officers formed a line behind her. Once the noise of their entry had quieted, Mizerak heard music playing at a soft volume. Classical. Strings. From a digital music player over the bed. “Music? You have music? Who are you, exactly?”

“You don't recognize me? I'm Louis Bridger.”

Mizerak scanned her printed manifest. “Should I recognize you?”

“He was a global business leader,” a young woman said, one of the trio that, for lack of a better term, Mizerak thought of as disciples. She gave Mizerak a look that asked, Are you clueless? “The Bridger Group?”

“It was an empire,” one of the male disciples said. “Pharmaceuticals, chemicals, waste management, shipping. He was one of the five hundred wealthiest people in the world.”

Louis smiled at Mizerak, “It's good to have friends.”

“Maybe your friends should have been standing guard outside.”

Louis shrugged, “Good help is harder to find than ever. You must have learned that by now.”

“And did your friends make these unauthorized modifications to crew quarters?” Mizerak pointed around the room. “We've got crowding throughout the city. We could use this space.”

Louis put an arm around Mizerak's shoulders and spoke in a confidential voice. “Commander, these young people have chosen to share their space with me. And in return, I'm trying to give them hope to keep going. Reminding them of humanity's great achievements. Reminding them that this police-state status is not how we were meant to live.”

What is Whitewash?

Mizerak stepped away from Louis and walked the perimeter of his quarters. Books, small sculptures, and decorative trunks furnished the room. A plush curtain covered one wall.

“Very interesting choice,” Mizerak pointed to to the wall. “Drapes where there are no windows.”

“Now, Commander,” Louis reached for her arm but she moved away. “This is a complete invasion of privacy.”

Mizerak pulled the curtain aside. Behind it, crates were stacked floor-to-ceiling against the wall.

“Uh...Commander?” Maria/Anastasia stuck their heads in the doorway. “We estimated the cabin spacing based on door placements. There's another cabin unaccounted for.”

“I'm not sure I understand?” Mizerak said.

They pointed at the far wall. “There's more behind that wall.”

Louis gave Mizerak a sheepish look. “Commander, I'm sure we can work this out...”

Mizerak peered at the wall in question and ran her hands along the surface, a metal panel but flimsy relative to the ship's overall construction. When she found a seam that formed the pattern of a door, she gestured to the security team. “Could you open this, please?”

“With pleasure, Commander,” Hector said. “Dieter?”

“Ja, sure,” Dieter stepped next to Hector. The two men gave the hidden door a furious kick. The door panel fell away and the officers stepped aside for Mizerak to pass.

“Now, look,” Louis charged forward but Dieter and Hector restrained him. “We can reach an accommodation. I'm happy to share with all of you. I'm really a very generous fellow...”

“He is,” one of the disciples said. “He's so generous.”

Boxes and crates filled another small room, the size of standard crew quarters. Mizerak scanned the labels. “There's food here... Medication? You're hoarding medication, too? More food. Bread, cheese, freeze-dried fruit...” Secret food supply... “After I've promised the crew we're all in this together.”

Dieter broke out in a cold sweat. He hoped no one noticed. The damned arm, the pain kept getting worse. He asked Mizerak, “Commander, do you want me to take the medication to sickbay to be inventoried?”

“Not yet, Dieter. Separate all the boxes according to food, medical supplies, and whatever else is in here. Then get everything to the proper place.” She stared down Louis. “So it can be shared with everyone.”

Louis watched Dieter scan labels and sort the boxes. He gave Louis a look he had seen before. Hopeful, anxious. A look Louis had spent a lifetime identifying and cultivating and exploiting. Desperation.

“Commander, think about the message you're sending,” Louis wavered between anger and pleading. “If a man's hard-earned possessions aren't his own, what kind of future do we have?”

To Hector, she said, “Put him in the brig for now. We'll figure out what to do with him after we've cleaned up this mess.”

Louis started to protest. Mizerak cut him off. “Don't worry, Mr. Bridger. You'll be comfortable.” She nodded to the officers. “There's no reason we can't handle this peacefully.”

She turned to Maria/Anastasia, still waiting in the doorway. “We'll need this entire space returned to the original plan. Doors, bulkheads, whatever is necessary to restore the correct number of crew quarters.”

“We'll get a team started right away, Commander.”

Mizerak leaned her head against the bulkhead. She thought someone else spoke to her, maybe several others. Sound had become an unintelligible smudge of noise that her brain had grown tired of processing. What is that roaring noise? A tornado? The thunderous eruption of Vesuvius? Human voices? If everyone they left behind screamed at once, would the sound transcend time and space? Mizerak fell into a void that she hoped offered a temporal rift to the better world everyone had talked about but no one had the will to conjure up. The brutally honest angels of our nature. If she could float in this white noise long enough maybe this God-awful dream would be over. The torment of civil wars that turned into the existential dread of that last flight overland that turned into the nightmare of Paradise that would turn into the next calamity. When had humanity not pissed away every good thing the universe offered? All the happy Buddhism and vengeful Jesus and Islamic meta-state and Capitalist mythology and technocratic hyperactivity that could float up from their wildest imaginations never produced a magic bullet to save the world. That mimicry of civilization was gone. Mizerak's physical body disintegrated into billions of grains of sand that glowed with a cosmic fire as her consciousness dissipated into eternity.

“Commander?”

Mizerak woke up, her forehead pressed against the cold metal.

Maybe we're in Pompeii, after all. Buried under water instead of ash. Maybe we only think we're the ones who left.

****

MARIA/ANASTASIA HAD PREPARED the brig based on Mizerak's request. The original plan had included a conventional brig, never finished due to time constraints. Mizerak's version had a suite of rooms similar to the crew quarters, with doors to individual rooms only locked from the outside, and no workstation or radio panel. A security officer remained posted outside at all times. Louis sulked on the cot in his “prison cell” while Mizerak sat on a chair and questioned him.

“Louis Bridger,” Mizerak said. “Some of us in the military didn't have opportunities to keep up with business and finance. So I'm sorry if your name is new to me.”

In all honesty, she couldn't remember many names from before. Peers she had served with, superior officers, celebrities, public officials. They had existed. She had known the names. Before.

“Commander, everything you seized is my property. It came with me to Paradise. I hope you don't think I stole it.”

“I believe you,” she said. “Thank you for the food supplies, by the way. The kitchen staff is making good use of them. I don't understand how you did it, though. We were strictly rationed as to what we could bring on board.”

Weren't we?

“That's where your...bourgeois awareness, let's say, is complicating matters,” Louis said. “If you knew how big a step down it was for me to come here. Even my...above-average living space was a significant compromise.”

“Wasn't the alternative death?” Mizerak asked. “If you mean this is a step down from death, I hope you'll give us a chance. I think we're all still in shock at the circumstances.”

Louis frowned. “How's your ancient history knowledge, Commander? Are you familiar with Marine Isotope Stage 6?”

Mizerak shook her head.

“This happened more than a hundred thousand years ago. There were maybe ten thousand humans – humans like us – in the entire world. Global temperatures cooled. So much that it caused widespread loss of life. This ice age shrank food supplies and habitable territory. The entire human population was reduced to...less than a thousand. Maybe only a few hundred. Every person who ever lived, after that, was descended from that small population.”

“Are you comparing us to them?” Mizerak asked.

“Doesn't it give you hope? We're starting from a much larger population than they did.”

“It sounds like they had breathable air and potable water. We're not talking about an ice age up there, but...whatever exactly happened. Something man-made.”

Louis lowered his head. “The people who sent us here knew more than they told us. What if they knew exactly what caused it? What if they were working on a solution?”

Mizerak drummer her fingers on her knee. “Were they?”

“I believe they were. They must have been. Here's another question: Why us? Why just us? Don't you think there might be others out there?”

“We've all speculated about these things,” Mizerak scowled. “How does this answer the original question?”

“If the little colony that survived Marine Isotope 6 produced everything that humanity achieved... Just look at how much more advanced we are. If we can get through this, we'll have a tremendous advantage. We can rebuild the human race in our own image. Can you imagine the possibilities?”

“Louis, do you have the impression that you'll be the one leading us if that happens?” No one's looking for this promotion. “That seems a little premature.”

“I am a leader, Commander. It's nothing personal. You're doing fine for a military officer. But we're going to need leaders who can make tough decisions about resource allocation, production, economic matters. I've done these things. I'm trying to pass my wisdom and experience on to others.”

Economic matters? Mizerak stared at him for several seconds. “I've only known you a few hours and I'm not sure the city is big enough for more than one of you. It seems like you're more in need of followers than peers.”

“Commander Mizerak,” Louis leaned forward. “There's more going on here than you realize.”

****

MIZERAK FOUND it counterintuitive that only on the bridge, at rare moments, could she relax her brain for a few seconds.

It never lasted.

Outside, at least, the view had improved somewhat. After they had stabilized the connection with Revenger, work crews had lowered another submarine, the Bolívar, and connected it to the small but growing city. With the loss of Predator, only two subs still waited to join them, marking the current limit of their expansion potential.

Maria/Anastasia and Hector stood around Mizerak’s workstation. She did not look forward to this. They looked out the window to the carrier's flight deck. Maintenance had attached a metal frame to the catapult mechanism traditionally used to augment the thrust of jets taking off from the carrier. Now they intended it to function as a mobile, rotating gun mount. A carousel bolted to the frame carried ten spearguns, similar in design to the security forces' weapons, but four times as large.

“Are we ready to proceed?” she asked them.

“You know our thoughts on the matter,” Anastasia said.

“But the harpoons are fully loaded with test devices,” Maria reported. “The catapult mechanisms are in good working order.”

“Under the circumstances,” Anastasia said.

“This is no time for negativity,” Maria chastised her twin. “The hydraulics have been adjusted to account for the variable mass of the harpoon carousel.”

“The flechettes are loaded with sand equivalent to the weight of the explosive charges they would normally carry,” Anastasia said. “If one goes off course, it could conceivably breach the hull, but...highly unlikely.”

“Hector, I want you here just in case,” Mizerak said. “I don't think this is a threat to anything, including ourselves. But if something does go wrong, we’ll need a team out there ASAP.”

“Understood, Commander.”

“All right,” Mizerak addressed the entire bridge staff. “Let's start the test. Target west forty-five, set your range at...fifty meters?” She glanced at Maria/Anastasia.

“Should be achievable,” Maria nodded.

“Okay, fifty meters,” Mizerak said. “On the off chance this does work, let's make sure we don't shoot ourselves in the foot.”

“Ready, Commander,” the weapons ensign called out.

Mizerak sighed. “Fire.”

The ensign at the weapons station – Mizerak thought the very term a joke – moved the control knob to activate the catapult.

On the flight deck, the catapult shivered. It surged forward about half the length of its potential range. A small puff of smoke wafted out from two of the spear guns; each one emitted a flechette. The two unarmed flechettes rotated lazily and were carried off by the ocean current.

The weapons ensign, a young lad who looked to belong in a classroom, if they had any classrooms, reported the obvious: “Practice fire failed, Commander.”

We still need to set up classrooms, Mizerak reminded herself.

The others kept silent, heads lowered.

Mizerak took a deep breath. “Yes, Ensign. It failed because it's a surface-based launch system, not an underwater weapons platform.” She turned to Maria/Anastasia.

“Okay,” Maria spoke up. “That's probably a bad connection in the switching mechanism. We can fix that.”

“Commander,” Elijah said, “we've got something on sonar.”

Mizerak kept talking to Maria/Anastasia. “Make it a top priority, please. We need to-”

“Oh my God!” Anastasia interrupted. She pointed out the port windows. “Sorry, Commander. You might want to see that.”

A sperm whale, nearly twenty meters long, swam over Paradise. It drifted along the length of the carrier, oblivious to the drama nearby. The entire bridge crew stopped working and watched the graceful creature pirouette a few meters over the bridge.

“Look at that,” Mizerak whispered, relieved to see an animal they recognized and not another mutant shark.

“It's so close,” Hector said.

“You could almost touch it,” Maria said.

They watched the whale with respect and a fair amount of gratitude that something of genuine beauty still existed in the world.

“Surely there's still hope for us,” Maria whispered. “If this guy is still alive and swimming around? That must be-”

A shark darted into view. One of the mutants, easily fifteen meters long. It lunged at the whale faster than their eyes could follow. It jabbed at the whale's side and released a cloud of blood into the water.

Mizerak, operating on automatic, turned to Elijah. “Please tell me no one's outside.”

“Dieter and Madsen were on patrol but they just came in.”

The whale flipped its tail and tried to escape toward the surface. Another mutant shark raced in from overhead and tore into the whale's back. A third shark, nearly as large as the whale, joined them. The whale writhed about. The sharks – multiple rows of fins down their backs – flashed rows of bladed teeth, banged into the whale from all directions, and yanked out chunks of flesh. Hector noticed several harpoon flechettes in one of the sharks; the same beast that had caused the mishap with Revenger.

The water grew murky with blood and bits of flesh. The whale thrashed in circles, trying to flee with no safe direction. The savagery of the sharks overwhelmed it. The more of the whale they devoured, the more frenzied the sharks became. The combination of slow ocean current and propulsive tails carried the bloodbath away, reducing the scene to a rotating mass of hides, fins, and teeth in a miasma of blood. The sharks had consumed the whale in seconds.

The forlorn bridge staff gazed out the windows. They couldn't bring themselves to look at each other. As long as they didn't acknowledge it, maybe they could still wake up from this nightmare.

Mizerak turned to Maria/Anastasia. “We're running out of time.”

****

ATTENDANCE at what the doctor now referred to as the Worship Center increased at a slow pace. Some came in with fatalistic agendas. Khan offered sympathy and discouraged them peacefully. If they resisted Khan, then Hector, or one of the other security officers, was often on site to provide a different kind of influence. Claudia's presence, the soft-spoken nurse everyone trusted, didn't hurt. Once it became clear that Khan had no purpose beyond fellowship and thought, more and more of the lost souls who saw no point to their existence showed up. Khan opened the floor to them. Some preached their own message. Some worshiped in silence. Khan countered objections to the non-doctrinal nature of the Worship Center by quoting the Muqaddimah. Khan kept a printed copy in his quarters and had shared it with Hector one day.

“The Muqaddimah was the first work of social history. It was written by Ibn Khaldun in the fourteenth century. He wrote about history, economics, religion, politics. He was the world's first social scientist.” Khan had caressed the book's cover, worn beyond legibility, papers crinkled with the stature of age. “This copy was handed down in my family for a hundred years. Just to end up here.”

Hector had listened and glanced through the pages of Arabic script. He felt inadequate to speak on the subject.

“He advanced the concept of Asabiyyah,” the doctor had said. “It's, well, call it social cohesion. Community. It covers tribalism, too. Maybe we're small enough to be one tribe at this point. Ibn Khaldun said civilizations rise and fall based on changes in Asabiyyah. That's why I became a physician. To foster Asabiyyah. Society. I wanted to do something to help keep the world together instead of letting everything fall apart.” Khan had sighed. “It wasn't enough.”

Word spread through the city of the shark attack on the whale. It rattled everyone. They still had to work outside: growing kelp to supplement the food supply, scrubbing the hulls of the vessels from damage by barnacles and corrosion, establishing a mining robot to dredge up materials for the 3D printers. Security had managed to ward off a few shark attacks but the enormous brutes returned in greater numbers. With increasing frequency, everyone who went out also claimed to see mysterious figures. Only shadows, but human in shape. the longer they stayed down here the more the world turned against them. Just as an earlier age needed UFOs and a Bermuda Triangle to escape the anxiety of a nuclear age, the citizens of Paradise needed Poseidon's minions or ghosts from the lost city of Atlantis to pin their fears on.

Khan addressed the matter by reading directly from the Muqaddimah in front of the Worship Center:

“The power of one individual human being cannot withstand the power of any one dumb animal, especially not the power of the predatory animals. Man is generally unable to defend himself against them by himself. Nor is his (unaided) power sufficient to make use of the existing instruments of defense, because there are so many of them and they require so many crafts and (additional) things. It is absolutely necessary for man to have the co-operation of his fellow men. As long as there is no such co-operation, he cannot obtain any food or nourishment, and life cannot materialize for him, because God fashioned him so that he must have food if he is to live. Nor, lacking weapons, can he defend himself. Thus, he falls prey to animals and dies much before his time. Under such circumstances, the human species would vanish. When, however, mutual co-operation exists, man obtains food for his nourishment and weapons for his defense. God's wise plan that man(kind) should subsist and the human species be preserved will be fulfilled.”

I'm too old for anything but peace. Time's too short. “That's Asabiyyah. It's why we need it.”

****

DIETER, AT THE END of a shift guarding the brig, checked on Louis. “Anything you need before the next fellow takes over, Mr. Bridger?”

Louis stood up and put his hands on Dieter's shoulders. “Let me ask you, Dieter. Is there anything else you need?” Louis tried to establish a rapport with every officer who guarded him, but none had responded as effectively as Dieter.

“No, you've...well, you've done so much for me already,” Dieter said. “That...gift. It gets me through every day.”

Louis nodded. “I respect Dr. Khan. It's not his fault. We've regressed to the Dark Ages down here. Tell me, your accent...northern Germany?”

“Ja, Brandenburg,” Dieter grinned. He smiled more these days. The pain medication from Louis was a Godsend, a higher quality than Dieter’s original supply. “And you?”

“Ah,” Louis grinned. “American imperialist descended from half a dozen Western European nations. You come from a beautiful country, though.” Make the connection and move on. Don't dwell on something that could turn into family and loss. We'll talk about loss later. “You're a blessing to us all, Dieter. All of you in security sacrifice for the rest of us. Thanks for checking on me.”

Dieter turned the keys to the brig over to the next officer. He made his way through the tortured corridors, scarcely noticing the sullen faces he passed along the way. Louis had saved him with that little diversion of medication. The drugs relieved his pain and made everything so much easier. Dieter drifted into his cabin, removed his sidearm and uniform, and stowed them in the locker. That blessed box at the bottom of the locker called to him, promising relief any time he needed it. Just knowing that gave him comfort. At least until his new roommate arrived, which would be any day.

What the hell, why not? There's plenty to last. He took out two pills and swallowed them with a handful of water from the sink. He lay back on his bunk, closed his eyes, and dreamed of better days.

6

CELESTE LED A SQUAD of eight security officers on a calisthenics run through Paradise. Word had trickled down from the Council (“We must maintain constant vigilance.”) to Mizerak (“We all need more exercise, we're stagnating here.”) to Hector (“We'll go out in squads. Use the city as our landscape. Gives us visibility, sets an example for others.”). They would complete a circuit through the carrier and the connected submarines, jogging where they could, hustling up and down ladders, performing pullups and jumping jacks and other calisthenics as they went. Narrow corridors, citizens, and infrastructure all limited their speed, but a loop of the city provided a solid workout. They wore exercise clothing that left little to the imagination, offering inspiration or a threat, depending on the observer.

“Let's pick it up, people,” Celeste called over her shoulder.

“How about we take a rest day, boss?” Madsen asked. “There must be some kind of mischief we can get into.”

“Workouts keep my mind off smoking. We couldn't bring cigarettes down here, the least you all can do is keep me company.”

They jogged into the hydroponics farm. Vegetation in various states of growth sprung up from rows of soil-filled containers, nourished by drip lines and sun lamps along the ceiling. Enough open space remained to accommodate the security crew and they had permission to pass through, dropping to the deck to do a set of push-ups. “We can use a little more CO2,” the farm administrator had told them. “Beans, carrots. Simple stuff for now. A little marijuana so medical can generate some pain meds.” An overseer of public lands before, he had stepped up, like others, to perform the work required for survival. The humid air helped them work up a sweat. Today, Mizerak was onsite for a briefing on the farm's progress. The administrator guided her along a wall covered with what resembled a heavy blanket. “We pipe in sea water, and we've tapped into the solar panels to run the desalinators,” the administrator told her. “As you know, we brought a stockpile of various seeds, but our supply of conventional soil is extremely limited. We're supplementing it with sand from outside, but we're still learning the correct growing conditions for each crop.”

The crew jogged back into the corridor and took a ladder down two levels. A few grabbed the ladder side rails and slid down.

They passed the Worship Center, doors open in invitation, as usual. A dozen or so men and women crowded around the front of the room. They exchanged loud words but the doctor's clipped voice cut above them. Celeste paused her group in the corridor and stepped into the room. The crowd divided roughly in half, each half on either side of Khan. The doctor held his arms out as if repelling the divided group by telekinesis.

“You doing all right, Doc?” Celeste asked.

The crowd, now out-muscled if not outnumbered, frowned in silence.

“The Christians,” Khan gestured to his left, then to his right, “and the Hindus are in dispute over who gets the room today. They both claim this is a holy day for them.”

Murmurs from the crowd threatened to divert them. Celeste, tilting her head, gave the crowd as disinterested a look as she could muster. “Two holy days in one. Sounds like good luck.” She jerked a thumb to the officers behind her. “You need any backup while we're here?”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. I'll revisit their own spiritual texts with them and remind them that our calendar isn't the same in these strange times. And suggest that God...or the gods...wouldn't have put us here if we weren't intended to cooperate.” The doctor turned to face the extremists. “We'll be able to settle this without difficulty, yes?”

Celeste gave the doctor a pat on the shoulder and led her group forward. “We're always here if you need us, Doc.”

The security detail reached a lower level of the carrier and jogged through a connecting tube to one of the submarines. They shadow-boxed and jostled each other along the way. In the airlock tube, a group of civilians approached from the opposite direction. Silhouettes at first, the group coalesced into nearly twenty individuals, some of them carrying chains, hammers, pipes, and other implements. Celeste didn't know him by name, but she recognized Powder as one of the senior maintenance personnel, an older man with short graying hair, now leading the demonstrators.

“What's happening here, folks?” Celeste and her crew stopped, facing Powder's civilians.

“Lieutenant,” Powder, carrying a one-meter section of chain, acknowledged the officers. His skin, dark as obsidian, emphasized the whites of his eyes in the tunnel’s low light. “We're not looking for trouble. We're not here to hurt anyone.”

“Not looking for trouble is good.” Madsen, behind Celeste, stood with his arms crossed.

“Yeah, we like that,” Celeste said. She gestured at the tools they carried. “Doesn't look like you're bringing those to a job site, though.”

“This is a peaceful demonstration,” Powder said. “We'll defend ourselves if we have to. We're just trying get a message across.”

Celeste frowned. “Lot of that going around these days. What's your message?”

“We're looking for transparency,” he said. “We never see the Council. Never even hear directly from them. And we want to get rid of military command. Nobody elected this Commander Mizerak. How does she get to speak for us?”

“The commander's a real reasonable person,” Celeste said. “Have you tried talking to her about your concerns?”

“We need a public message. We want open leadership, people that'll get us back to the surface, and not leave us rotting down here in no man's land. We're going to park ourselves right here. Disrupt passage around of the city. That'll get folks' attention.”

“Look, I'm not authorized to speak about these matters,” Celeste said. “I'm sure the Council and Commander Mizerak are doing everything they can. We're all under a lot of pressure. But it sounds like you have reasonable concerns. How about you go back, put your weapons away, and we can arrange a meeting. I'll escort you to the Commander personally.”

“Like I said, Lieutenant, we're here for a peaceful demonstration. But the powers that be need to know we're serious.” The demonstrators bristled their agreement with Powder's statement.

Celeste turned her head sideways and gave a nod to her security group. The officers spread out to cover the entire width of the airlock tube. They were unarmed and outnumbered. Their stances and eyes reflected their lack of fear.

“Look,” Celeste lowered her voice and leaned in close to Powder. She had several inches on him in height. “We've faced off against mutant sharks out in that freezing water. This,” she gestured to the air around them, “is downright comfy compared to that. Are you sure you don't want to do this another day? Because I'd love to report back to the commander and tell her nothing unusual happened today.”

Powder swallowed. He glanced over his shoulder at the demonstrators, who had all taken a step backward. He stepped away from Celeste. “Okay, Lieutenant. We hear you. We'll be back, though. We can't live in these conditions forever. None of us can.”

Celeste took in all the demonstrators. The diversity of ages surprised her. She had heard grumbling, they all had. She hadn't realized the discontent was this organized. “You folks have a nice day. Thank you for your cooperation.”

The demonstrators, shoulders slumped, turned back the way they had come. The security detail continued their exercise routine.

“Nice work,” Madsen said.

“Maybe. But...” Celeste's voice sounded more hoarse than usual. “What if they're right?”

The group completed their route without further incident. Sweaty and breathless, they ended up outside Celeste's quarters. She opened the door. The group entered one at a time, exchanging shoulder rubs as they went. Only Madsen lingered outside.

“You sure you don't want to join us?” Celeste asked. “Set a new Paradise record for number of naked bodies in one room?”

“You know it's tempting. But Dieter and I have some...plans. You understand.”

“Yes, I do,” she laughed. “You have your fun. We'll have ours.”

“Hey,” he became serious. “Good workout, including how you handled those interruptions.”

“Just a day in the life.” She ducked into the cabin and closed the door. “Another day in the life.”

7

MIZERAK SAT WITH SOPHIE in the War Room.

Sophie popped chewing gum and, from time to time, swung a fist against her workstation. “It's all shit,” she complained. “They could have given us better stuff.”

“What have you got for me?” Mizerak gently tried to keep her focused.

“Two things. First, Predator.”

Oh, no. That's not how good news began. Reports from Tomas had become sporadic. At first he sounded gung-ho, gushing with false humility about his leadership and the future of the human race. As he faced the reality of breaching the ocean's surface and exposing himself and his crew – probably mostly himself – to the toxic air that the Council insisted would kill them all, his attitude had changed to one of “professional caution.” Tomas had prowled up and down the west coast of North America. Predator's limited surveillance capabilities confirmed nothing more than they already knew. No one was left on the surface to answer their calls. It would come down to Tomas making a commitment when his crew grew too restless.

“I wanted you to see this first,” Sophie continued. “Without the bridge staff. It's... I don't know what it is. It's some scary shit, though.”

Mizerak nodded. Sophie queued up a video on her workstation. “This is their last update. Just came in a few hours ago.”

Mizerak watched the footage. Focus was inconsistent and occasional bands of static zapped across the screen. “Paradise, Predator here.” Tomas, pale and sweating, filled most of the screen. Panicked crew members paced behind him. Shouting in the background but indecipherable. Most of the overhead lighting, hardly generous to begin with, was turned off. “I don't have much time.”

Either the submarine lurched or Tomas did. He wobbled and steadied himself against the instrument panels. “We don't know what it is. We tried to send out divers but- Not sure if it's safe to open the hatches. My engineering chief wants to try electricity. They're so fast and-” More yelling in the background. Tomas turned and called something to his crew. Mizerak couldn't make it out. “They've boarded us. Hold on, Paradise.” To himself, he whispered, “Oh my God.” Tomas bobbed away from them, then closer. “I don't know-”

Shrieking in the background. The sound of weapons fire. Shadows jerked to and fro. The few visible crew members ran toward something. Or away from it. A lot of motion with no definition. The image went black.

Mizerak closed her eyes.

“That's the end of it,” said Sophie, her voice barely audible. “I keep pinging them. Nothing.”

Mizerak fidgeted. Those screams at the end. She needed to get that sound out of her mind.

“Keep this to yourself,” she said. “No one sees this. Don't tell anyone. Not a word.”

“I understand.”

“Okay... Okay. You said you had two things. What's the other one?”

“Right, well, per your orders, I've been expanding our surveillance capabilities. Slowly.” The Council had ordered increased external surveillance. Without seeking the Council's permission, Mizerak had reinterpreted the order to include internal surveillance. Now she had Louis Bridger's stowaway experience and the near-protest reported by Celeste to back up her decision.

Sophie pounded on the keyboard. Icons representing video clips arranged themselves across the monitor. “It's...well, you can see. I don't know how to explain this.”

The screen displayed a hazy, shaky image of a corridor flooding with water. The erratic image revealed few details. Sophie said, “This first one is from Hector's helmet-cam, on Revenger.” Some of the pressure suits had miniature cameras in the helmets. Few of them still worked. “When he saved the old man. Watch this, at about forty-five seconds.”

Sophie touched a finger to the screen. It went dark.

“Did the camera stop working?” Mizerak asked.

Sophie shook her head. “The image chronometer stops. It's still there, it just stops.” As she spoke, the image returned, this time showing the old man, hopeless, bobbing in the water as Hector grabbed him. “No indication there's a glitch in the camera.”

Mizerak frowned. “And you think this means something?”

“Watch this,” Sophie clattered some more on the keyboard. Another video clip. “This is one of the external cameras. After some of them were coming back from Predator.”

Mizerak watched the footage of the Predator crew, those who had rejected Captain Tomas' plan, swimming down to Paradise. A good distance behind them, three suited figures. “They're the last ones,” Sophie said. “Captain Yamamoto, Celeste, and Hector. Hector and Celeste go to look at something behind the carrier. Hector thought he saw something, one of the mystery figures we all keep imagining.”

“I remember,” Mizerak said. “Anything on the cameras?”

“Something.” Sophie nodded. “A blur. Too fast for our tiny little cameras. But keep your eye on Celeste...”

On the video, Hector and Celeste jetted behind the ship. Yamamoto took up a covering position. Celeste, for an instant, stopped moving altogether. “See that?” Sophie jabbed at the screen. “She seems to freeze up. Then-” Sophie snapped her fingers.

Celeste disappeared from the image. Less than a second later, she flickered back and resumed her slow movement.

Mizerak blinked. “Something's wrong with the camera. Or the cabling. You said it yourself, we have outdated equipment.”

“You see it, though, right?” Sophie replayed the surveillance clip. “Watch it again. No evidence of technical malfunction. And check out the time stamp this time.”

During the instant when Celeste's image seemed to vanish from existence, the running time stamp on the video froze, then resumed.

Mizerak leaned back in her chair. Sophie blew a bubble with her chewing gum and popped it back into her mouth. “You see? Just like with Hector. Gone for a second, and... It's like time stops or something.”

“I...” Mizerak hesitated. “This has to be some kind of technology error.”

“There's one more,” Sophie manipulated the keyboard again. She paused. “This one's going to creep you out.”

Mizerak nodded. A third surveillance image appeared.

“It's not the greatest composition,” Sophie said. “That’s the corridor on deck eight. I hadn't even activated this camera. Anastasia had the good sense...or Maria, maybe, I'm not sure, one of them...bless her heart, switched it on when you found that rich guy, Bridger.”

Mizerak hunched up close to the monitor. Initially, the image showed Maria/Anastasia standing in the entry to Louis' unauthorized living space. Briefly, they backed into the corridor. Through the open doorway, she could see the line of security officers. Mizerak herself was visible, only from the waist up, pacing across the room. Her shoulders slumped and she leaned her head against the bulkhead.

Time stopped. Mizerak disappeared. Her image returned and the chronometer resumed.

Just as she had imagined it that day in Louis' quarters. Mizerak set her hands on the workbench, palms down.

“Three identical errors?” Sophie asked. “On three different cameras?”

Mizerak massaged her forehead. Stood up. “Keep working on it. And keep expanding the surveillance network.”

****

CLAUDIA AND HECTOR were asleep when the intercom buzzed. Hector answered. Emergency calls were always for Hector. He responded to emergencies; Claudia repaired the injuries.

“Hector.” Mizerak spoke from the bridge. “We've got a problem outside. The cables connecting the solar panels have been cut. Surveillance system shows it was a shark. It's moved out of the area, but we need the cables reconnected. I need you out there to protect the engineering team.”

“Are there any injuries?”

“Not yet,” Mizerak replied, “and I need you to keep it that way.”

“I'll take a squad out, Commander.”

Hector switched off the intercom and put on his uniform.

“I don't really understand why we need the solar panels,” Claudia's voice still sounded half-asleep. “Aren't the onboard reactors enough?”

“We're putting more demands on the power system than it was designed for,” Hector said. “So are the submarines. We need the solar panels to augment our power supply.”

Hector tapped the intercom. “Celeste, it's Hector. Get your team together. Meet me in the staging area.”

****

EARLY ON, Khan and Mizerak had floated the idea of “therapeutic” diving excursions for the crew. Small groups could safely ascend closer to the surface and get the benefits of more sunlight. Natural light offered spiritual and emotional gains not available in Paradise proper. The Council made quick work of that. They insisted that human history confirmed a long litany of individuals unable to resist temptation. Fatalities would skyrocket as one person after another – whether in deliberate self-harm or out of stubbornness in accepting reality – swam to the surface and collided with that other human folly, hubris.

Hector understood the reasoning as he floated nearly fifty meters over Paradise, halfway between the sea floor city and the toxic world of old. His five-member security team formed a loose circle around four technicians connecting cables that stretched from Paradise to a collection of solar panels suspended twenty meters from the ocean surface. It would be so easy to keep going up. If they couldn't see the danger, how bad could it really be?

“Almost there,” one of the technicians said over the radio. “One last connection.”

“Look sharp,” Hector advised his team. “Keep your guard up. Don't take anything for granted.”

Dieter, on the opposite side of their perimeter, said, “I've been telling you that for years, Hector. Don't get fooled by optimism.”

A round of laughter, followed by the technicians confirming they had finished the repairs. Over the radio, the bridge staff confirmed, “We've got green lights on all panels.”

“Hector!” Madsen gestured toward one of the attached submarines, the Vanguard. “Down there! Do you see that?”

He did indeed. A human-like shadow that disappeared in a flash behind Vanguard.

“Celeste, Madsen, Dieter, come with me,” Hector ordered. “The rest of you, get the techs inside.”

The main group returned to the staging area. Hector’s team propelled themselves to the ocean floor. They gathered over the connector that linked Vanguard to the carrier.

“Celeste, Madsen, go around the aft end,” Hector said. “Dieter, we'll go around the front. Keep your eyes peeled.”

As they swam off, Dieter muttered, “Let's hope this is another Poseidon sighting. We don't need real threats today.”

Hector and Dieter raced around the forward end of the submarine. They stayed near the ground so the sub, small relative to the aircraft carrier, loomed over them.

“It should still be behind Vanguard,” Hector told his team over the radio. “As you come around, put some distance between us and the sub, maybe we can isolate whoever it is.”

If it really is anyone, Hector thought. Imaginations were on overdrive and only getting worse over time.

“Coming around now,” Celeste reported.

Both pairs of divers navigated around and away from the submarine. They scanned the length of the vessel. Nothing.

Hector spun around. Nothing visible except a large rock formation nearby. He pointed to the rocks, tall and wide enough to hide several people. Held up two fingers and waved his hand. The others understood: Keep the same formation.

Hector and Dieter went around one side of the rocks, Celeste and Madsen the other. If something did exist out there, they would find it. Hector wanted to satisfy himself, and to demonstrate for everyone that they were, in fact, afraid of nothing more than their own shadows.

They found something real instead. It moved too fast for them to identify. A pale, human-shaped creature, cornered now with no choice but to charge them. It lunged at Celeste and Madsen. They fired their spearguns. Multiple shots struck the legs and abdomen. The person – person? – turned into a tornado of motion, arms and legs flailing, torso jerking. Lost, it seemed undecided whether to continue the attack or escape with its injuries. It turned on Hector and Dieter.

“What the hell is that?” Dieter cried as the two men opened fire. Something resembling blood, but paler in color, oozed in a cloud from the creature's wounds. All four fired a last round of flechettes into the torso. It thrashed a few final times in its death throes.

The officers caught their breath in silence. They knew what they had to do. They just couldn't believe it. The dead creature looked almost human. Gray skin that provided excellent camouflage at this depth. No visible ears. Hands and feet with webbed digits. Cloudy film covered its eyes. Significant muscular development. Small flaps of skin along the chest that, to Hector, resembled gills. The mouth disturbed them the most. Now slack in death, it displayed rows of fangs more like the mutated sharks than humans.

“Hector...” Celeste said. “We're still imagining this, right?”

Dieter spun around in panic. “Are there more of these things out here? Damn, we've got to get inside now.”

“You're right, let's get out of here.” Hector switched his helmet radio to signal Paradise. “Bridge, this is Hector. Alert sickbay. Get ready with decontamination procedures. We're bringing in...something.”

Mizerak herself responded. “We saw it, Hector. Standing by.”

****

AFTER THE CORPSE, whether human or animal, was delivered to sickbay, Mizerak sat down in the “brig” cell Louis occupied. She leaned against the wall, Louis sat up on the cot, feet on the floor.

“Rumors travel this far, Commander,” he said. “Has something happened?”

“We're not sure yet,” Mizerak said. “I'm not sure yet.”

“I told you, we're not alone out here.”

“Somehow I thought you meant...something different.”

“I hoped it would be,” he grimaced. “Tell me this much. Is it human? An animal species? Alien?”

“Alien?” Didn't even think about that. Should I? “I... Someone smarter than me is looking into it. Louis, you were involved in pharmaceuticals? That was one of your industries...before?”

“You could say I was involved. My holding company owned one of the largest pharmaceutical companies in the world. We controlled raw materials suppliers and manufacturing facilities in every region.”

“Did you have any government contracts? Defense, maybe?”

“All large companies have government contracts, Commander. Had. It's one of the ways they became large companies.”

“Hector's father... You met Hector, you remember?” Mizerak stretched her arm as high as it would reach. “About this tall? It occurred to me, his father was a prominent pharmaceuticals researcher, as I understand it. Esteban Diaz, I believe his name was.”

“It was a big world. It took tens of thousands of people to medicate it.”

“So, you didn't work with him, then? I know, it's unlikely, I was just curious.”

“Tell me then,” Louis crossed his arms. “Why are you really here?”

“Well, Louis, I have a job for you.” She raised her hands in a cautionary gesture. “Maybe.”

Louis frowned. “I'm accustomed to being the one assigning jobs.”

“I've got a project in mind,” Mizerak continued. “Given your experience with large-scale undertakings. Well, this is about as large-scale as we get here.”

A raised eyebrow.

“I'm thinking about an observation deck?” Mizerak phrased it as a question. “We can replace a section of the hull with glass. Well, not glass, but whatever the appropriate material is. It's not very bright out there, but with exterior lights it's better than nothing. Since the sharks limit our recreational possibilities outside, maybe this is a good Plan B.”

“An observation deck...” Louis gave it some thought. “Sort of a prison yard, yes?”

“Yes, but we won't describe it that way. I want everyone to have the view I have from the bridge. It's not exactly inspiring. But it's a view that shows some progress.”

“It could provide a social function, too.” Louis tapped his fingers against the metal bed frame. “We don't really have that, outside the mess hall. The few times I've been there, frankly, the smell of fish alone was nauseating. You know, a window could connect us to the world. Remind people there's a bigger picture. We could use that.”

Mizerak smiled. She had hoped for a mission-focused personality, enough so that he would have no personal grudge against her. “I hate to tell you this, but you'll be spending more time in the mess hall. No more separate food stores in your quarters. Which are now standard size, by the way.”

“I'll be spending more time there. Does that mean...?”

“On two conditions. One is that you accept that you're in the same situation as the rest of us. You get the same rations, the same quarters, everything.”

For now, perhaps. “And the second condition?”

“Work with maintenance and whoever else is necessary. I've spoken with Maria/Anastasia. They believe the observation deck is feasible, but they've got their hands full with other projects. They'll need a strong personality to oversee the work.”

“I'll do it,” Louis nodded. Then he grinned. “You think this will bring me down to earth enough to join the team?”

“There are some risks involved,” Mizerak ignored the question. “There are some brutal things happening out there. Some people might end up seeing things they don't want to see.”

“That could be character-building,” he said. “It's a harsh new world. Anyone still living in denial needs to see that.”

“We're putting the city together slowly, but we're still segregated. The residents of each submarine tend to stay there, the residents of the aircraft carrier tend to stay here.”

“Promote some mingling among the crew,” Louis smiled. “Networking. I like it.”

“We may be down here a long time...” Mizerak tried not to get depressed every time the subject came up. We may be down here forever. “We'll need to be able to get along. Dr. Khan and some others are doing good things. Maybe an observation deck will speed up the process.”

Louis reached out to shake Mizerak's hand. “Commander, we have a deal.”

8

DR. KHAN SAT at the front of the Worship Center, leading a small group in silent meditation. Claudia sat beside him. Hector was on patrol. Since finding whatever life form they had found out there – still early in his research, Khan refused to speculate for fear of the gossip it would generate – security patrols had been increased. Mizerak had a better understanding of the Council's urgency in enhancing their defensive capabilities; with the Council’s grudging approval, she had started a training program for new security recruits.

After a period of silent contemplation, Khan stood before the group. His arabesque hung at the front of the room to inspire thoughtfulness.

“We're creatures of light,” Khan said to them. “We seek light when we're born and when we die. It gave us energy, it nourished our food supply. Our ancestors understood the importance of light as the source of life. Stonehenge was built to align with the summer solstice. The ancient Egyptians worshiped Horus as the god of the morning sun, Ra as the god of the midday sun, and Osiris as the god of the setting sun. The worship of three sun gods was the inspiration for the Christian Trinity. The Aztecs made sacrifices to their own sun god. Islamic prayer times were established to specifically avoid the appearance of sun worship because the temptation was so great.

“And now, here we are.” Khan spread his arms and hands wide, not far given his small stature. “So far from the sun we're not sure if we'll ever see it again. We're together, but alone, all of us. We're out of touch with the celestial events – the sun, the moon, the stars, the change of seasons – all the things our ancestors relied on to structure their lives.

“There's still a light in our hearts, though. I see it in my patients. I see it in everyone here. We must nourish that in ourselves and in each other.”

Afterwards, Claudia walked with Khan back to sickbay.

“I appreciate what you're doing, Doctor,” Claudia said. “I wish I could be so optimistic.”

“I'm not sure I'd call it optimism,” Khan said. “More like comforting the dying.”

Claudia caught her breath. “I don't understand...?”

“You know my thinking,” Khan said. “Paradise is the next step in humanity's slow decline. God gives us opportunities to help, and we should. He gave us the will to survive, and we should try. He never promised we would succeed. Not in this life, at any rate.”

“There must be something we can do,” she said. “Restore the surface somehow. I mean... something.”

Khan put a hand on Claudia's shoulder.

“Have you...” Claudia took a deep breath. “Have you finished your testing yet? On the...well, I'm not sure what to call it.”

“Neither am I. Not yet, anyway. Autopsy, blood work, bone density... Still some work to do. It's clearly not an escaped crew member from Paradise. Or from Predator. Beyond that, I can't say much.”

Claudia nodded. She had asked the question, per instructions, but her mind stuck on comforting the dying.

“I am an optimist, Claudia.” Khan saw she was upset. “Just not the kind of optimist you might want. I see it. In my dreams. Our world being consumed by the cosmos. Absorbed by stars and planets. This place brings us full circle. Allah made from water every living thing. We'll end in water and become stardust. My covenant is to care for the sick the best I can.” He gestured to the Worship Center. “At every stage of life, the spirit needs nurturing the same way the body needs medicine. That’s why I’m here.”

****

HECTOR HAD RETURNED from outside patrol when Claudia returned to their quarters. They no longer needed formalities. They stripped away their uniforms. Hector lay on his back. Claudia climbed on top of him, their bodies ready for each other so their minds could disappear into the routine of desire. They dug into each other. Hector gripped her hips and breasts with his strong hands. Claudia dragged her fingernails across his chest. He held her arms and thrust into her. Claudia cried out as much from climax as despair over the end of their lovemaking and a return to dreary reality.

They wanted to sleep but couldn't. Claudia lay on top of him. Her hair hung down and framed her face.

“Did you find anything on patrol?”

“No,” he sighed. “That's good news, these days.”

“That thing you found,” she said. “Do you think that's why the Council is so concerned about security? The weapons systems and everything? Do you think they were expecting that?”

“I think it's a freak of nature.” He was angry. No specific reason. Tired of questions with no answers. They asked the same questions over and over with no end in sight. “If there are more out there, we should have found them by now. People are seeing things. All this talk of Atlantis and Poseidon. It's just fear.”

“Didn't Poseidon cause earthquakes? And shipwrecks?” She raised her arms as if holding an imaginary trident. “Maybe we made him angry.”

She rose and sat on the edge of the bed. “A lot of people have seen something. Even you did. Don't you think there's something going on out there? All the rumors going around. Some of it must be true.”

Something about the tone of her voice.

“Just the sharks,” he said. “That's the only threat I know of.” Except the fact that we live underwater and we could all drown any day.

“I just wonder what the Council knows that we don't,” she said. “Have you ever seen them?”

Something's not right...

“No. The Council Chamber is secure. I haven't even been there.”

He raised himself up to look at her more directly. “We all get weekly reports from the Commander. You know as much as the rest of us. No one's keeping secrets.”

Something...

****

MIZERAK LAY ON her bunk. Sleep was a rare commodity for her. Paradise had turned “a good night's sleep” into an ancient concept, a joke the Greeks told while their slaves served wine and olives. And one day Poseidon took them all...

She thrashed about for a while. Day? Night? Who knows? Who cares? Finally she powered up her workstation. She kept the overhead lights off; the light from the monitor cast her face in strong shadows. She read a report on the kelp farming program. Depth was critical. Too deep and it wouldn't get enough sunlight. Too close to the surface and the kelp's rapid growth rate – up to half a meter per day – would put it in contact with the surface. The mess hall staff continued working with early samples, still figuring out how to prepare it. Mizerak considered that the easy part. It wasn't fish. From the bridge, she saw rows of kelp growing over the city, more every day. She wanted the entire crew to see it. Louis' observation deck could change that. Might remind them that they still lived in the world, that life offered more than a bunk and a bad meal.

Not that this convinced her. If it did, she could sleep. Too many variables kept her awake. She couldn't separate the sound from the noise. Did Louis know more than he admitted? Did it matter? What exactly was the doctor examining in sickbay? What happened to Predator?

She yawned and slumped in her chair. Called up Predator's final report. She had watched it ten times, maybe more; looking for some detail, listening for another clue. My engineering chief wants to try electricity. It didn't surprise her that the flighty Tomas had panicked over whatever they encountered. But his crew had some solid officers. Something had terrified them. After all Paradise had been through. Predator had found something worse.

Over and over she watched in the darkness. Her eyelids sagged but she couldn't look away.

“Claire?”

Mizerak jumped. She grabbed the arm rests of her chair.

“Who is it?” She squinted into the dark corners of the small room. The intercom was off. “Who's there?”

“Why did you leave us, Claire?”

She stumbled onto the bunk. Pressed her knees against her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. The voice came from all directions. The locker? A grown adult could barely fit in there. She stretched her arm out. Grabbed the handle and flung the locker door open.

“Why did you leave me?”

She cried out. Reached for the light switch.

The harsh light drove away the shadows and the voice with it.

Mizerak stretched her legs. Took some deep breaths. Leaned back on the bunk.

A distant thud. The walls vibrated, a subtle wave that rolled through the carrier.

Mizerak threw open her door and ran into the corridor. Earthquake?

The intercom buzzed. She ran back into her room. Another boom shuddered through Paradise.

“Commander!” Elijah, from the bridge. “We're under attack!”

****

MIZERAK PULLED ON her coveralls and raced to the bridge. People crowded the corridors, as confused as she. On her way, a tremor shook the deck plates.

No update necessary. From the bridge windows she saw two sharks. They hurled themselves against the hull. She reached for the intercom.

“Security, it's the bridge. We're under attack. Two sharks. The biggest we've seen. We need you outside.”

Hector responded. “On our way, bridge.”

“Hector,” Mizerak said. “We need everyone out there. Everyone.”

****

CLAUDIA LAY AWAKE on her bed. Hector's absence made the bed larger and colder. The intercom buzzed. She knew who it was. She had heard the chatter, felt the carrier shudder.

“Yes, doctor?”

“Claudia, you know what's happening? I'm expecting injuries.”

“I'm on my way.”

Dr. Khan had chosen her for Paradise. Pulled her out of the certainty of death to join his incomplete medical team. The longer the relentless loneliness went on, she couldn't decide if she should thank him or hate him.

The commander, Khan, Hector; she admired them all but couldn't fully commit to their vision.

No. Lack of vision, Louis had said. “They're doing the best they can,” he had told her. “They're tacticians, and they're overwhelmed. We need a strategist. If someone doesn't master the big picture, we'll never survive.”

She sat up; looked at her reflection in the small mirror. She sighed, stood up, and got dressed.

****

SECURITY LEFT the Paradise staging area in two waves. Hector led the first. The second followed a few seconds behind. Voices cluttered the radio as they approached the sharks battering the city.

“My God!”

“Watch yourself!”

“Look at those things!”

“Cut the chatter,” Hector ordered. “Stay focused.”

Two sharks rammed Paradise with relative precision. For the first time, they behaved as more than mindless feeders. Both were nearly twenty meters long. One, like the previous sharks, resembled a hammerhead. The other had the shape of a great white. Both had two rows of fins down their backs. The great white had similar fins the length of its underside. Like the other mutations, rows of massive fangs circled their mouths. Scaly patches that looked like scar tissue covered one side of the hammerhead.

On the bridge, Mizerak listened to Maria/Anastasia on the intercom. “It comes down to how persistent they are. We don't think they can damage the hull. But too much of this might damage the anchors. Or the airlock tunnels.”

“Is the catapult ready?” Mizerak asked.

“We finished the modifications. It's not tested yet.”

Mizerak waved a hand to the weapons station. “Get ready.”

Outside, the security force broke into two groups. Each tried to stay on one of the sharks. The beasts were more agile than human eyes could follow. The sharks flipped their bodies around each other. One rammed the aircraft carrier sidelong. It circled around and the second shark repeated the strike. If they weren’t deliberately working in unison, the effect was the same.

The security forces fired their spearguns. Some hit, sinking into flesh. Others went off target into the darkness.

“Don't rush,” Hector grunted as he swam after the hammerhead. “We're wasting ammunition. Hold out for good shots.”

“Security,” Mizerak radioed them. “We'll try to augment your weapons with the catapult.”

All of the security officers swam in as coordinated a fashion as they could. The sharks alternated their attacks, charging at the divers before ramming the carrier again. Madsen positioned himself in front of the great white. He fired point blank into its head. The shark rammed him in the chest. Madsen floated limp for several seconds. He shook himself and tried to re-enter the fray.

“Good work, Madsen.” Hector offered what little support he could. “The rest of you, that's what it takes. They can sense fear.” Can they, really? Maybe we're just too small for them to care about.

“I'm all fear,” Dieter groaned. “How are we going to stop these things?”

“Bridge,” Hector called. “We're going to need the trainees.”

On the bridge, Mizerak turned on the city-wide channel. “Attention all hands. All security trainees, report to the staging area. All security trainees, to the staging area now.”

How many will actually show up? They're new. Some of them don't have the sense of duty we need.

“Commander!” one of the bridge officers called out. “We've got a hull breach!”

Maria/Anastasia reported over the radio before Mizerak could respond. “One of the airlock tunnels has been damaged. It's taking on water but we've sealed the compartment. We can't patch the breach until the attack is over.”

Mizerak stood behind the seated weapons officer. “Fire at will,” she said.

The sweating officer toggled the catapult controls. The speargun array slid across the deck and into position.

Outside, dozens of security officers engaged in battle; staying out of each other's way added to the challenge. Multiple speargun shots hit each of the sharks. The flechettes stuck in the animals' sides and caused wounds too small to do serious damage. The dark water had become murky with blood. The sharks charged and rammed multiple divers each time. Some blows were fatal. The remaining officers were losing steam quickly.

The speargun array on the carrier deck spit out a series of flechettes. It spun around and fired more. Most of them went off course, some due to technical error, others due to rushed aim. Several struck the hammerhead, more damaging than the security team's spearguns. Progress: the hammerhead slowed.

Celeste came to Hector's side and switched her helmet radio to a private channel. “Hector,” she pointed to a distant rock formation. “Over there!”

At that distance he could see little more than outlines, the source of Celeste's concern. At least ten figures hovered in the water, similar to the one they had killed. Watching. Waiting. For what? How many are out there?

“Keep it to yourself,” Hector advised. “We don't need a panic.”

The trainee divers, those who had shown up, emerged from Paradise. They were slow and uncoordinated. Hector advised them – go here, assume this formation, look over there – but they were inexperienced and the sharks attacked too fast.

The great white charged at the carrier. At the last instant, it veered off and opened its jaws on a trainee. He screamed as the animal tore his body in half. The hammerhead used the distraction to make its own strike. It grabbed Madsen, stiff from the earlier collision. The shark flung him back and forth in a frenzy.

Hector had served with Madsen before. So had Dieter. Pessimist that he was, Dieter gave a furious battle cry when he saw Madsen die. He powered over the shark's head. Fired point blank in between the creature's eyes. The shark whirled about, it knocked Dieter and several others aside. Even while dying, the shark could hurt them in its final moments.

“Bridge!” Hector gasped. “We're running out of options here!”

Mizerak watched it all from her workstation. She had run out of options, too. Except, maybe, one.

Yamamoto.

She radioed the Bolívar, one of the last submarines still waiting to be connected to the city. To make better use of Yamamoto's command skills, and to relieve the pressure on sub captains struggling to find a balance between the relative independence of free-floating and the increased numbers of the city, Mizerak had put Yamamoto on board Bolívar to serve as relief captain.

“Bolívar, this is Paradise,” Mizerak said. “I need Captain Yamamoto, now!”

“Stand by, Paradise.”

In a second, Yamamoto answered. “Go ahead, Commander.”

“Captain, we need your help,” Mizerak said. “You know our situation?”

“Yes.”

“I need you to use Bolívar to distract these animals.” She specifically wanted Yamamoto because she trusted him to return. “Charge them, draw them away, anything you can. Before more sharks get here.”

“Understood, Commander,” Yamamoto's steady voice replied. “Are we authorized to fire torpedoes?”

Mizerak grimaced. “Not yet. Too much risk to Paradise.”

“We're under way, Commander.”

Outside, the great white, in its dying action, killed two of the trainees and injured a third. The hammerhead killed one of the regular officers helping an injured colleague.

“It's a bloodbath, Hector!” Dieter fired at the hammerhead. The shark alternated its energy between ramming Paradise and attacking the divers. Dieter, Hector, Celeste, and several others grabbed spearguns from the dead and fired weapons with both hands. “We need to get out of here!”

The hammerhead gyrated around and scooped Dieter up with its tail. The shark's scaly skin scraped against Dieter's pressure suit. The beast used its tail to jerk him forward and lunged at him with its jaws. Another officer, Smalling, grabbed Dieter by the arm and pulled him back. That fraction of a second saved Dieter from losing his arm. He ended up with a severe laceration. Dieter yelled in pain and surprise. The attack compromised his pressure suit while his arm hemorrhaged.

“Can you make it back?” Hector asked.

Dieter groaned. “I think so.”

Dieter swam for safety while the others continued the struggle. Not for long. Bolívar dove toward them.

“Scatter!” Hector yelled. The divers moved off in every direction. The submarine came as close as it could to Paradise before turning level. The shark evaded a direct hit. It did give the animal a new target. Bolívar was almost one-hundred-fifty meters long but it didn't intimidate the shark.

The shark had slowed. Too many speargun hits over too long a battle. It had enough energy to turn and ram Paradise once more. The security team moved in to continue the assault. Bolívar circled for anther pass.

“Hector!” Celeste called. “We're running out of ammo!”

Hector grunted, “Take spare cartridges off the dead.” The shark made a clumsy race toward them. Bolívar came at the beast from a different angle. Security officers gasped in disbelief as the animal tried to ram the sub head-on, then veered off at the last moment. Bolívar passed in a near miss.

This time, the shark followed the submarine. The entire security team – those that remained – paused to catch their breath. Bolívar raced away from the city.

From the Bolívar control room, Yamamoto radioed Mizerak. “We're drawing the shark away, Commander.”

“Great work, Captain,” Mizerak said, too drained to be excited. It didn't feel like much of a victory. “Can the shark keep up with you?”

“For a short distance. We can outrun it, however. We will return as soon as it has abandoned the chase.”

“Be safe, Captain. We'll be waiting for your return.”

Outside, Hector recovered his wits. “Gather up the dead and wounded. Let's get inside before more sharks show up.”

Or before those...things...quit watching and attack.

****

SICKBAY WAS CHAOS. Injured security officers suffered next to the handful of residents wounded during the hull breach. Khan called in the entire medical staff to assist.

Hector made the rounds of his officers and ended up at Dieter's bed. Thick bandages covered Dieter's left elbow. He had bruises over much of his body, even more severe than Hector and the others had sustained.

“Doctor says you're going to make it.” Hector shook Dieter's hand.

“Ja, thirty stitches,” Dieter said with a tired smile. “I'll be out of here in a few hours. Not so bad with the painkillers he gave me. I'd like to get more of those.” Where will I get more of those?

“How many did we lose?” Dieter asked.

“Eight,” Hector sighed. “Five trainees and three regulars.”

“Madsen,” Dieter groaned. “I can't believe it...”

Hector gripped Dieter's good shoulder before moving on. “Get some rest.”

****

MIZERAK WENT TO the Council Chamber. Time to face the music... She walked into the dark room. The door closed and locked behind her, a sound that always reminded her of a prison cell. She looked up at the shadow elite and didn't wait for them to chastise her.

“I know, I know. I didn't see all of this coming.”

“You are moving too slowly, Commander,” the disjointed Council voices said. “By now you should understand the threats we face. The catapult system and the electric perimeter should be fully operational by now.”

“Maintenance has finished the catapult repairs,” she said. “It worked surprisingly well during this attack. We're running a full system test tomorrow. We're training the new security recruits. The perimeter-”

“That is not good enough, Commander. We will need to take more drastic steps if you are not able to lead the city.”

Mizerak couldn't imagine what “drastic steps” might involve. No one ever saw the Council outside the Chamber. Did they have an alternate command structure in place? Had they placed another officer somewhere in Paradise, waiting for instructions to relieve her from command?

“Our food production is increasing,” Mizerak said. “You've seen the data. The tutoring and mentoring network is expanding. We'll be able to open a full-fledged school soon. You've seen my reports, you know we're making progress.”

“Progress in these small matters amounts to nothing if Paradise cannot endure external threats, Commander.”

Mizerak caught her breath and felt a stabbing pain down her left arm. “Without these small matters...what do we have that's worth defending?”

“This is not a debate, Commander. Consolidate more resources into the defensive projects. Conscription of civilians is permissible if you require more personnel.”

“What I require is more information.” Mizerak clenched her hands into fists. “Did you know these...mutants were out there? Why didn't you tell us? Something, anything.”

“We have indulged you too long, Commander. You will begin providing full status reports twice daily. We have established your priorities. You may go.”

Mizerak turned and left without responding. She tried to take comfort from her one small victory. She still hadn't told them about the observation deck project and they gave no hint of knowledge. She massaged her left arm with her right hand to work away the tingling of stress. What else could she sneak past the Council?

****

DOCTOR KHAN used the surgery area, an enclosed room off the main sickbay, to examine the humanoid that Hector, Celeste, and Dieter had recovered. He briefed Mizerak and Hector on his findings. Claudia joined them.

Khan had sewn up the body as best he could and kept it in frozen storage to preserve the organs for future study. Now, they stood over the autopsy table. The doctor and Claudia had worked over the thing long enough to grow somewhat accustomed to it, but Hector's eyes opened wide at the corpse laid out before them. Mizerak was just grim.

“I'm calling it a mutant,” Khan told them. “For lack of a more precise term.”

The doctor walked around the table as he spoke. “It's designed to live down here. Gills along the chest to absorb oxygen. Skin folds between fingers and toes are expanded – webbed – to improve traction underwater. It has a minimal auditory system. Eyes have a protective covering against sea water. Body size, as you can probably see, is slightly larger than the average human, so it retains more heat against lower external temperatures. Advanced muscular development to sustain swimming long distances. Reduced oxygen flow in the extremities in order to increase oxygen to the major organs. It technically has the equipment to speak, but I doubt that it's able to. It wouldn't matter much underwater. The respiratory system is similar to deep-diving mammals: collapsible rib cage to compress the lungs for diving and a greater volume of blood relative to body size to maximize oxygen delivery.”

“Diving?” Hector asked. “Does it go to the surface? Like whales?”

“It can in theory. With the gill system, it may not need to surface. So it has some qualities of both mammals and fish. It’s optimized for life underwater, but it could function in a conventional atmosphere.”

“Can it survive on the surface now?” Mizerak asked. “In the current conditions?”

Khan shrugged.

“We can determine approximate age in humans based on enamel growth lines in teeth and bone development,” the doctor continued. “We don't know how these mutants develop, but they're clearly related to us genetically. So I can only estimate. I'd say it was less than twenty years of age.”

Mizerak sighed. “There are more out there.”

“We saw ten during the last attack, maybe more,” Hector said.

“We've just learned about their existence,” Khan said. “I can't speculate about population size or territory.”

“How...human are these things?” Mizerak asked.

Khan hesitated. “Humans and chimps have about ninety-nine percent common DNA. The key is not the amount of DNA variance, but the nature of that variance. Our equipment here is crude. It will take months to run a full genome sequence. But I would say genetically it's very similar to humans with a few significant variations.”

“Doctor? What do they...” Claudia grimaced. “What do they eat?”

“I found partially digested seaweed in the stomach. The teeth lead me to think it's omnivorous. It probably has a low metabolism and consumes very little. Relative to its size, that is.”

Mizerak hadn't taken her gaze off the creature. “How do we kill them?”

Khan lowered his head. “We're the visitors here. It may have felt threatened. What looked like an attack to us may have just been self-defense.”

“Our defense is the only thing that matters right now,” Mizerak said. “How do we kill them?”

“Until we understand them better-”

“This is a military outpost, Doctor. Human lives are our responsibility.”

He took a deep breath, pursed his lips. “Biologically, with some exceptions, they're primarily mammals just like us. Physically stronger, able to breath underwater, tougher skin, more durable than us, but not impervious to gunfire. Otherwise...you can kill them in all the conventional ways, Commander.”

Mizerak looked at Hector. “It's a safe bet this is what took out Predator.”

“Maybe we should send out some scouting patrols,” Hector suggested. “Start branching out farther. See how many of these things are out there.”

“I'll consider it,” Mizerak said. “Because we don't know how many there are, even a large scouting team might get overwhelmed.”

“There is one other thing, Commander,” the doctor said. “It's possible...possible...these mutants have been living down here for centuries, longer even. Maybe the population is very small and they were simply never detected. Plant and animal species have been newly identified throughout human history. Well...” Until human history reached its end and we stopped monitoring other species.

“How likely is that?” Hector asked.

“You know my thinking where the sharks are concerned. This...” Khan gestured at the mutant corpse. “I believe this has the same source. I found some similar genetic markers in this creature and the sharks. I'm calling it a mutant for a reason. I have little doubt these are recent developments, and they are related. I don't believe these occurred naturally. These are significant genetic modifications created by humans. Maybe they were part of a research project and were released accidentally. Maybe it was deliberate, some country or group trying to manipulate the ocean food chain.”

“You think these things were made in a laboratory?” Claudia asked. “Like Frankenstein? Why would anyone make...this?”

“Those in power will do anything to keep it,” Khan said.

“And those not in power will do anything to attain it,” Mizerak completed the sentiment. She squeezed her eyes shut. Fidgeted in her anger. “They're still trying to destroy the world. All those monsters who ruined the surface and stuck us down here. All the fighting and scheming and profiteering. They're dead up there, but all the ugliness they created is still trying to finish the job. Mankind's last little fuck you to itself.”

Let's hope it's the last.

The doctor began closing the body bag to return the mutant corpse to storage.

“I can't prove any of this.” Khan directed these words primarily to Mizerak. “We have too little information to be certain about anything. But it's the most logical explanation. There's a complementary nature to these creatures. This mutant wouldn't be impervious to the sharks, but it would be better adapted to survive among them. If the sharks were developed as a weapon,” Khan finished sealing the mutant body, “maybe this is the defense against them.”

****

DIETER HAD THE PRESENCE of mind to stay in his quarters when the pain became too severe. The doctor had given him a minimal run of pain meds because the doctor didn't know his history. His real history. Maybe Hector and Celeste had a clue but they didn't know the full extent of it. Dieter had pilfered as much as he could from Louis' supply before it went under lock and key in sickbay. He got careless and didn't make it last.

The first day without pills, Dieter wandered the grimy corridors of Paradise. He could certainly find willing sellers. With the rules of conventional exchange out the window, barters could be arranged. No, lack of supply was the problem. With no one being truly conscious of it, life in Paradise had reached a turning point. Whether drugs, tobacco, sugar, or whatever else the assorted inhabitants had thought to smuggle in, the crew by now had consumed all the vices that could not be replenished. Time and physical labor were nearly the only commodities left. He could find sex for trade if he looked, the one dark staple that would endure. Even that couldn’t distract him from his pain.

In the short term, he could pass off the symptoms as allergies or generalized anxiety, the kind of anxiety they all felt after – how many months was it now? – in this underwater prison. Runny nose, watery eyes, cold sweats. He was fidgety, tired from lack of sleep but hyper from pain and craving. The arm troubled him constantly. The pain grew worse by the hour until it reached thermonuclear levels.

After the first day he locked himself in his cabin. How long would it last? How bad would it get? He'd known others who went through withdrawal, but they couldn't advise him because none of them had made humanity's final cut. He just needed more pills and no one alive could understand that.

He rolled around in his bunk. Despite not eating, stomach cramps and diarrhea sent him stumbling to the toilet. The stench added to the smell of his sweat that only fueled more nausea. He choked down his quota of water. His heart beat faster than he believed possible, as if trying to escape his body. Cold sweat rolled over his flesh like a living thing that wanted to suffocate him. He tried to distract himself with busy work from the computer monitor, but his vision blurred. Joint pain became so severe he felt his limbs would detach from his body.

He clutched at the arm, ground zero of all his suffering. With his body on the verge of breaking apart and his insides doing their best to flee the scene, the arm was the ringleader. The arm had turned on him on the surface and hounded him to the ocean floor, trying to destroy his soul.

Dieter tried to stand but ended up rolling off the bunk onto the floor. Scrambled the short distance to the locker. Maybe I forgot some. Threw out his belongings one at a time. He groaned, eyes blurry and stinging with sweat, devils dancing across his skin. He retched but nothing came out. The locker was empty, his few possessions scattered around the cabin. Nothing.

Wait... He scuttled across the floor. Rejected one object after another. Maybe he had gone about this the wrong way. There... He picked up his dive knife. Pulled it out of the sheath. Standard issue among the security force. Five-inch titanium blade. Straight on one side, serrated on the other.

More than one way to stop this pain.

****

CLAUDIA TOOK the long route through Paradise. She confirmed no one followed her as her instructions had specified. Even out of her scrubs, many in Paradise had passed through sickbay and could recognize her.

Louis had modified his lifestyle only to the extent necessary. He had smaller quarters. He no longer had contraband supplies to tempt followers. For that, he had come up with more intangible offerings.

He shooed away his rotating cadre of young admirers to receive her privately. She sat across from him. He had two plush chairs, not the hard work chairs in all the other cabins. Lamps provided a better quality of light. An area rug – she could never have imagined what a luxury that would seem – consoled them in its territory of comfort. She had asked previously where he got these things. He hadn't answered. Add a fireplace and she could almost forget where she was. He knew to offer her a glass of water; her throat went dry from nerves every time she came here.

“So, Claudia,” Louis smiled. “What news do you have for me today?”

She told him everything she could remember from Dr. Khan's briefing on the mutant autopsy.

“Hector suggested survey patrols,” Claudia said. “To try to establish how many of these mutant things are out there.”

“And Commander Mizerak?”

“She's...undecided. I think. She's worried that we'll lose more people.”

“What's the Council's position on this?” Louis asked.

“The commander doesn't talk much about the Council. Not around me, at least.”

Claudia repeated what little Hector had shared with her. Told him that Hector had acted more guarded lately.

“Do you think he suspects our...agreement?” Louis asked.

How could he not suspect something? “I don't know,” she said. “He's under a lot of stress. The security trainees seem to be struggling.”

Louis nodded. “That's Hector. Willing to risk his life against external threats. Restrains himself internally. Has he expressed any unhappiness with the commander? Does he believe he could do a better job?”

Even Claudia laughed at that. “He definitely doesn't want the commander's position. He looks up to her a lot. He wants to help her as much as he can.”

“Ambition is not Hector's weakness,” Louis said. “If we could win him over, though. That would earn us a lot of allies.”

Claudia cleared her throat. Sipped the water. “Hector...he's strong. I mean, his character. He's very strong.”

“Everyone has weaknesses, Claudia. Hector's only human.” Louis stood up and took Claudia's hands as she followed. “Thank you, as always. I know you have reservations about me. But the more people like you get involved, the better off we'll all be. There is a future for us. We're building it together.”

Claudia left the cabin and blinked tears from her eyes as she drifted back to sickbay.

It's me, she thought. I'm Hector's weakness.

****

DIETER LAY naked on his bunk. His new roommate, King from Predator, was out on patrol, Gott sei Dank. He had tied a shirt around his shoulder as a tourniquet. He couldn't get enough air, took deeper and deeper breaths to keep up. Pulse erratic, too fast then so slow he became light-headed. Bed coverings wet from perspiration. How can a person sweat this much? Where is it coming from?

He pressed the blade against his arm. Just beneath the shoulder. No need to fracture the arm. Go in at the joint. Get rid of it all. So hard to focus. A few quick strokes. Before the pain registers.

Dieter laughed at that. More pain not possible. I'm excising the pain. Should have done this before. All the way back to training day one. Master the situation. Dominate the battlefield. Crush the enemy.

He jabbed the knife into his shoulder. Bright lights flashed all around. They looked like the fireflies from his childhood, in the forests near home. His whole extended family around a campfire. Singing and telling stories while the fireflies blinked their greeting from mother earth. Each flash sent a shot of electricity through his body. Cut, cut, cut. Sweet relief poured over him. Stabs of pain, more intense with each jerk of the blade. He sobbed when he sliced through the joint and the hateful limb fell away from his body. His parents would be so proud. He dropped the knife. Reached out his remaining hand to touch the fireflies.

It's glorious...

9

LOUIS BRIDGER'S NEW RECRUITS included King, the young ensign from Predator. One evening, King and five others gathered in Louis' cabin. Louis met with his supporters in small groups and didn't always disclose who had joined their movement and who had not. King came to recognize that, from Louis’ point of view, every citizen in Paradise fit into one of several categories. Just because someone hadn't met him didn't mean they wouldn't agree with him when the time came. Others were casual followers, intrigued but bored. Some might step up and help bring change. Still others had a militant spark in their eyes that worried King. He had seen that look in Captain Tomas. Look how that turned out. Could Louis and his charisma rein in some of these people if they went off-leash?

Still, the small groups gathered. Louis served coffee. Real coffee. Where the hell did he get that? “Commander Mizerak doesn't know all my hiding places,” was all he would say. They hadn't tasted coffee in months. The mess hall served a coffee imitation but everyone agreed it tasted like shit. Louis couldn't offer cream or sugar, but the coffee felt like progress. They sat and drank their coffee and talked.

They spoke informally. The specifics varied but one belief united them.

“The Council will keep us here forever,” Louis said. “If we let them. What incentive do they have to change?”

“Doesn't the Council keep the security forces in check?” Powder, from maintenance, asked. “And security forces keep the Council in check? Just like before, checks and balances, just on a smaller scale.”

“Do they keep each other in check?” King asked. He spoke only when he had relevant experience. “When we had that whole mess with Predator? Seemed to me like the Council and the Commander were pretty tight.”

“Before,” Louis said, referring, as they all did, to their past lives on the surface, “we got a lot of things right. Didn't we? But the things we got wrong. We elected one autocrat after another... They were supposed to liberate our best minds and free up capital...to create an environment where anything was possible.”

“Are you talking about capitalism?” King asked.

“I'm talking about achievement.” Louis smiled. “I'm talking about choice. Keeping closed minds out of the way of the rest of us. All of us who look beyond the horizon, we were never set completely free. And here we are, the entire human race barely hanging on.”

“Aren't autocrats bad, though?” It was that ditzy girl, part of the group present the day security arrested Louis and confiscated his contraband. King pegged her as one of the bored ones. Aurora. What kind of name was that? “I mean, I never followed the news much.”

“A puppet is only as effective as the person pulling the strings.” Louis raised his hands and wiggled his fingers, an imaginary puppetmaster. “You're right, though. We let the waters get muddied. We let these fringe elements interfere: religious fanatics, people who didn't have the right priorities. Some thought we needed them, needed their support.”

“Don't we need our faith down here?” a man, King didn't know his name, asked. “More than ever?”

Louis shrugged. “Faith is important. It can be a strong motivator. How do we channel it, though? Think of it on a more earthly scale. Who do you have faith in? The Council? Commander Mizerak?”

“Maybe we should have faith in you,” Powder said. “Judging by all these things you did before. I mean, I hear the commander's reports every week. I don't hear much talk about getting us out of here. You ask me, that's all we should be talking about. We need someone in charge that's going to do whatever it takes. Clean up the surface and get us the hell out of this place.”

“Didn't they say it can't be cleaned up?” Aurora asked.

Powder snorted. “That's what they tell us. You believe them?”

“The thing I don't understand. Why would they keep us down here?” King asked. “What's the commander get out of this? That's the part I'm having a hard time with.”

“Wise question,” Louis said. “An individual's motives can be hard to pin down. Especially those of a bureaucratic mindset. Some have argued that we're part of a vast experiment. Psychological guinea pigs. That one day they'll fish us out of here – those who are left, at any rate – and analyze our feelings. That's all the more reason we should take control of our situation. So we can finally get some answers.”

“How do we do that?” the faith man asked.

Louis looked at King. “A good place to start is our security force. If we can convince them that we're all in this together, that restoring the human race is our most noble mission, then we'll be in a position to move forward.”

****

MIZERAK RACED TO SICKBAY. Hector and Celeste met her there. A nurse brought Dieter in on a stretcher, still conscious, or semiconscious, by some miracle. A sheet covered him, dark with blood on his left side. He reached out his right arm and grabbed at Hector's hands.

“Freiheit, mein Bruder,” he whispered. He seemed in a state of ecstasy. Intoxicated by immersing himself in a pain too big for the mind or body to comprehend. “Wahrheit...”

The nurse wheeled Dieter off behind the surgical curtain.

“Celeste found him,” Hector told Mizerak.

“I was going for lunch,” Celeste said. “Wanted some company. I found him...like that.”

“This didn't come out of the blue,” Mizerak said. “Neither one of you knew anything?”

“He acted a little strange sometimes,” Hector said. “Everything here is strange. I chalked it up to our situation.”

Celeste looked down, away, anywhere but at Mizerak's eyes. “I knew he had some issues. Before. I thought he kicked it. I really did.”

Dr. Khan walked past them. “I'm going to prep to operate. I think I can save his body, Commander. I'm not sure about his spirit.”

Mizerak sighed. “Dammit, Hector, I need to know everything.” She threw up her hands and walked out of sickbay. “I don't have much use for a one-armed security officer.”

****

LOUIS MET with Maria/Anastasia and their construction crew in an area designed as an aircraft hangar. Anastasia had suggested using a section of the mess hall. Louis insisted on another area.

“People already have preconceived notions of the mess hall,” he explained. “I want to give them a new experience.”

Mizerak agreed, so Maria suggested sectioning off part of one of the hangars. They would rearrange supply storage to accommodate the project.

Maria/Anastasia and the maintenance team impressed Louis with how quickly they worked.

“Refitting the hull is the hard part,” Maria said. “Beyond that we just need the reinforced composite material for the window.”

“And we've upgraded from two 3D printers to three,” Anastasia smiled. “We assembled another mining robot to generate more raw materials.”

“Once that was set up, we had surplus material and used it to build another printer,” Maria said. “We weren't sure we could do it, but here we are. So the window component will be easy to generate.”

Once they settled on a location, divers installed an external temporary bulkhead. That cleared the way to remove the section of hull where a window of reinforced polymer sheets would go. Inside, they enclosed the observation deck to create a separate area from the rest of the hangar.

Louis walked through the space, arms out to approximate measurements. “We'll have tables and chairs, something comfortable.” He grinned. “The most comfort Paradise can offer.”

The more people learned about the pending observation deck, the more Louis' reputation spread. He made sure his name was prominent in the commander's weekly reports on city activity. Some people who remembered the Bridger Group name were angry that more like him hadn’t been chosen for Paradise. Mostly, they couldn't believe that someone of his stature had even ended up in such a hellhole.

Neither can I.

Louis stood by Maria/Anastasia as members of the maintenance crew carried in sections of reinforced polymer. When combined, they would form a massive component by Paradise standards. Enough to provide a floor-to-ceiling view across ten meters. Louis clapped his hands.

“I'll say it again, ladies. Excellent work. You should come to work for me.”

“Start a business and we might,” Anastasia said.

“There's no commerce in Paradise,” Maria said. “That's what got us here in the first place.”

It wasn't the first time Louis had made the comment. What if he's not joking? Maria had asked Anastasia privately. He must be, Anastasia had answered. Or else he's crazy.

Before Louis could reply to Maria, one of the maintenance workers yelled. Then several of them yelled. The room around Louis dissolved into a blur of motion.

In his next confirmed memory, he lay on the deck, pinned by the polymer sheet. Trapped by his own window to the world. A lot of motion took place around him but he found himself unable to – and uninterested in – focus beyond a few inches. Loud voices overlapped each other.

Was he in a board room? It felt like a board room. So long ago. Before he transcended board rooms and simply did what he wanted when he wanted.

No, he wasn't dreaming, they really had cast him out of the stratosphere, back into the pit of the ordinary. He could become that board room ladder-climber again, though. If he just compromised for a while, kept recalling the old lessons, he could lead these people and mold the entire future of humanity. The present depended on the past in order to become the future.

It will be a thing of beauty, he thought.

What is Whitewash?

****

POWDER WORKED on the cleanup crew that moved in after the medical staff took Louis to sickbay. Cleanup never ended in Paradise. Maintenance and cleanup. Dust. Filters. Lubricants. Gaskets. Valves. Sensors. Belts. Gears. A city...city, what fool decided to call it that...with a bored population and infinite busy work.

He couldn't see getting used to the noise or the smell. Odors of stale seawater and human sweat. Crashing and rumbling of machinery everywhere, like a factory that never shut down. Some folks called the whole experience on Paradise some kind of experiment. Maybe someone meant to devise some new torture tactics. The stink and sounds kept him awake during his sleep shift. Like his mind had been sold into bondage.

Maria/Anastasia supervised the cleanup. They supervised everything the maintenance crews did. Louis oversaw the project but only in a superficial way. Powder understood that. He had no gripe with that. They needed a strong figurehead like Louis, and many believed the commander too indebted to the Council. Too much collective thinking kept him and the others on perpetual cleanup. The end of the world and here he was, still holding a broom.

“That's good,” Maria clapped her hands to get the others' attention. “Well done, everyone. Let's bring the beams back in and get back on the installation timeline.”

Powder leaned on his broom. “You mind if I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.” Brisk. Like usual.

“I know you hear the dumb joke all the time,” he hedged. “You know, about two heads being better than one. But, you are always on the job. I never see you not working. You must have no personal life...not like any of us have much of a personal life down here.”

“I don't hear a question,” Anastasia said.

“Is this...” he pointed at Maria's head, then Anastasia's. “Is this how you keep going all the time? Twice the brain power? Helps you stay focused on the long hours?”

“We're focused on the urgency of our situation,” Anastasia snapped.

“And by the opportunity to contribute,” Maria said, always softer. “We're talking about humanity's survival.”

“You ever think we might need... I don't know, different leadership? At the top, I mean?”

Two sets of eyes lasered in on him. “What do you mean, exactly?”

“Just making conversation.” He held his hands up, palms out, letting the broom lean on his shoulder. “Speculation, you know? Maybe someone more aggressive in the top seat. Someone really pushing the envelope to get us home.”

“Be cautious, Powder,” Maria said. “Someone might find that kind of talk seditious.”

“They might even think you're looking for recruits,” Anastasia smirked.

Maria frowned. “That's enough. We need the entire crew working together. Look sharp.”

Maria/Anastasia turned and left the room. Maria asked, “Did he really say we have no personal life?”

“We have one body and two heads,” Anastasia said. “We never had a personal life.”

****

CELESTE AND THREE security trainees – advancing beyond the point of needing to be called trainees – provided cover for a group of technicians installing a possible shark deterrent system. The security officers floated through the water in pressure suits while the techs plodded along the surface and attached instruments to existing sensor towers.

“This is really going to work?” Celeste asked over the radio.

“Sharks have sensory organs in their snouts,” said one of the techs, formerly a biologist, the closest they had to a shark expert. “They detect gradients in smells to track prey. These gizmos send out electric pulses every few seconds. Creates an electric field that causes little spasms in the sharks.”

“Seriously? That's all it takes?”

“There's some calculation involved. We know it works on regular sharks. Just don’t know if it will work on,” he jerked a gloved thumb in the direction of out there, “our sharks. Might be some trial and error involved.”

“I'm impressed.” Celeste surveyed the ocean world around them. She could have sworn she saw two of the mutants swimming away from the light. The shadows cast by trace sunlight and the network of spotlights around the city fueled the imagination. Are we conquering Atlantis? Or just fooling ourselves? How can we ever conquer this world?

****

DIETER STOOD next to his sickbay bed. His first day standing unaided. He flexed his new arm. Swiveled the mechanical hand around, clenching and releasing the fist. He gazed slowly down the length of the arm, shoulder to fingertips, all cables and rods and pulleys and joints, steam-age construction more suited to a Victorian robot than a contemporary man. He stretched, working out every muscle and joint in his body. Took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He had forgotten how it felt to be free of pain and narcotics at the same time. How long had it been?

Dr. Khan approached and stood at the foot of the bed. “You've exceeded my expectations, Dieter.”

Dieter raised himself up and down on his toes several times and stretched out the prosthetic arm. “It's a miracle, Herr Doktor. I can’t remember when my mind was so clear. I'm reborn. I feel like I can conquer the world.”

“We seem to be in a world that needs conquering,” Khan said. “We had to improvise with the supplies available. I'm sorry I couldn't manage a more contemporary design. Over time, we might be able to upgrade. Here, I need to make sure everything's working properly.” The doctor went to Dieter's side and took hold of the prosthetic. He manipulated the metal fingers, turned the hand around the wrist, flexed the elbow. “Tell me if this causes any pain. It will feel strange for a while. That's normal, you'll adapt to it.”

“The pain is gone,” Dieter grinned. “Strange I can live with.”

Khan nodded. “None of us had any idea how much you were suffering. If those feelings return...I hope you'll reach out to someone.”

Dieter used his right arm to shake Khan's hand and put his left hand – new and improved – on the doctor’s shoulder.

“Vielen dank, Herr Doktor. When can I get back to work?”

“This is the first one of these I've installed. Or assembled, for that matter.” The doctor scrutinized the arm one last time. “I'd like you to stay here one more night for observation.”

Khan moved on to his next patient. Louis was still groggy from anesthetic but managed to sit up in bed.

“And how are we feeling, Mr. Bridger?”

“I'm an optimist by nature, Doctor,” Louis groaned, “but today...I have my doubts.”

“I understand the observation deck is coming along nicely.” Khan pulled the sheet from Louis' legs, damaged in the accident, and tapped at the bruised knees and ankles to check reflex action. “We're not just physical beings. A view can go a long way toward improving our quality of life.”

“And then what? I've spent my life fulfilling one goal after another. Always climbing. Always more. But this?” He spread out his hands to indicate the city. Pointed a finger skyward. “Up there...not so long ago...I was a king. A master of the universe. Now I'm a local celebrity for a project so small it wouldn't have been worth my attention before.”

“Sadly, local is all we have nowadays. There is talk of expansion, though, yes? Maintenance is speculating they can generate additional habitation modules with enough 3D printing resources.”

“Years away,” Louis said. “At best. Not much of a legacy.”

“Napoleon and Buddha both have legacies, but for very different reasons. Maybe that's important?”

Louis sat up a little straighter and looked more intently at the doctor. “What do you know about the surface? I mean...about the cause. Why we're really down here?”

Khan shrugged. He manipulated the ankles and knees for flexibility. “No more than anyone else, really. I've heard all the speculation. It's hard to consider a solution if we don't know what the real problem is.”

“Considering all the realistic scenarios. Nuclear?”

“That’s unlikely, based on what little we were able to detect. But if it were, we have limited decontamination capacity. Not enough to achieve a global scale. If we're down here...if we're all that's left...I don't know if decontamination of that magnitude is feasible. And the food chain would be decimated in that scenario. Could be decades before a return would be practical.”

“What about a biological agent?”

“Different story altogether. That might leave the food chain intact, depending. Maybe even improved, with all of us out of the way. But there are a lot of variables. Is it bacterial? Viral? Fungal? Anything effective at a global level is probably a newly devised agent. Presumably there's no known antidote or it would have been used before things went this far.”

Louis cringed as Khan twisted his legs. “Could you address that? If we knew that was the cause? What are your resources for addressing those types of pathogens?”

Khan frowned. “Are we still talking hypothetically?”

Louis lay his palms open on the blanket. “That seems to be all we have. But if we're ever going to get out of here...you said it yourself. We need to identify the problem.”

Khan sighed. He leaned against the foot of the bed. “I have the resources here to analyze biological agents. Assuming we could isolate and handle one correctly without contaminating ourselves. Developing a decontamination response? That depends on the agent.”

“The point is, this is the first large scale, man-made extinction event. If we caused it...we should be able to correct it.”

“You might say I'm counter-optimistic,” Khan said. “I believe what should happen will happen. I'm skeptical that what we want will happen. On the other hand...we've been here before. Humanity, that is.”

Louis nodded. “You're talking about near-extinction events.”

“Some of it's mythology,” Khan continued. “But most myths have some truth to them. There were stories of an ancient city, very much like the legendary Atlantis, more than a kilometer under the Mediterranean, near Cyprus. There was severe flooding around the Black Sea nearly eight thousand years ago – remains of a human settlement were found nearly a hundred meters underwater. That's about the depth we're at. Evidence of an undersea human settlement was found near Cuba. There were man-made structures that resembled pyramids, too deep to be explained by change in sea levels during ice ages. Then there's Homo floriensis, have you heard of them?”

Louis shook his head.

“They lived more than twelve thousand years ago. It was a distinct humanoid species inhabiting an island near Indonesia. Species that are isolated to an island habitat tend to evolve in ways that seem unnatural to us. The seclusion limits opportunities to intermix with variations of the same species. It's a phenomenon called island biodiversity. Island biomes can lead to dwarfism, flightless birds, compromised immune systems. Homo floriensis only grew to about,” Khan held his hand out to indicate height, “one meter tall. Were they an offshoot of another humanoid species? No one really knows. Maybe they evolved to adapt to some living conditions that were unique in human experience.”

“Do you really believe all those stories? Are you saying we'll evolve into dwarfs?” Louis frowned. “Or into these mutants that I've heard rumors about?”

“Maybe those mutants were a man-made attempt to accelerate evolution,” Khan said. “To force adaptation in the face of pending collapse.”

Louis gave a start but kept quiet.

Khan continued, “A broad range of past human experience seems like mythology now. Maybe we're living through the next stage of human mythology. My own feeling is that this is the next step in the decline of mankind. But declines can last centuries. Who's to say we won't adapt to this environment and build a much larger city in the meantime?”

Louis was grim. “Not much good in that if no one is left to write the myths. You really believe we're alone? Wouldn't they have set up another haven in some other location? Maybe multiple locations, similar to this one. With the right leadership, we could find them.”

“I'm the wrong person to ask about those kinds of logistics. Does it make sense? You know, another theory is that we were left behind while the truly important fled to outer space.”

Again, silence.

“Mr. Bridger, you give the appearance of a man who knows more than he says. But your legs are recovering nicely,” Khan tapped the rail at the foot of the bed. “You'll be back at it in a couple of days. Maybe we're not really here,” he said as he walked away. “Maybe it's all a dream.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Louis sounded sincere. “I'm feeling better already.”

As the doctor moved on to other business, Dieter approached Louis' bedside.

“Herr Bridger,” Dieter nodded. “I normally wouldn't bother you, but...I couldn't help but overhear. Do you really think there are more survivors out there?”

Louis frowned. Drug-addicted Dieter was easy to predict. Newly renovated Dieter might be another story.

“What is the commander's position on this?” Louis asked. “Or Hector? Are they searching for others?”

“I'm not certain. They've discussed the possibility. I don't know what orders they have from the Council.”

“Let me ask you something.” Louis leaned forward. “Have you seen the Council? Have you spoken with them?”

“No, of course not. Only Commander Mizerak sees the Council. That's the rule.”

“How do we even know there is a Council? I know, we supposedly heard them talking to Captain Tomas when Predator left. We never saw them. That may have been one person loyal to the commander.”

Dieter wrinkled his forehead, pondering. “I hadn't thought about that.”

“I know Hector and the commander are your superior officers.” Louis gestured to Dieter to stand closer so they could speak in soft voices. “And I know they have good intentions. But they're soldiers trying very hard to be bureaucrats. Through no fault of their own...they may be holding us back. And in this dire situation, we can't afford to be held back. Do you really want to be stuck down here for the rest of your life? I worry the good commander is willing to settle for that.”

Dieter hesitated. He entered into tricky territory by questioning the commander, or the Council, with a civilian. “Do you have something else in mind?”

“Look at me.” Louis pointed down at his damaged legs. “Hurt by human error. Someone failed to do their job correctly. I don't know the individual who failed, but I'm sure our maintenance chiefs do. On the other hand, here we have someone like you, starting a whole new life. Ready to conquer the world, as you said.”

“I don't understand.”

“There should be consequences for failure and rewards for success. Don't you agree? Let's say you're on duty outside. If you fail, what are the consequences?”

“I could die,” Dieter said. “Other people could die.” 

“Yes, exactly. But this person who injured me? Nothing. You risk much and have sacrificed much. And what's your reward? A promotion? Better quarters? Better food? No. Nothing. Our workers here need better training, and we should give it to them. But they should face consequences when they fall short. And leaders like you should benefit from everything you've invested in Paradise.”

Dieter looked at his new arm and flexed the hand. The fingers made faint clicking sounds as they moved. “Before,” he started. Then realized he now had two befores. The same before as everyone around him, before they were forced into Paradise. And another before, marking the time before the prosthetic arm made him feel invincible. “Do you know the term weltschmerz?”

Louis shook his head.

“It doesn't translate so well to English,” Dieter said. “It's a kind of melancholy. A weariness and sadness that the world isn't the way it was intended. We yearn for a better world but don't know how to achieve it. When I first injured my arm...seems so long ago, mein Gott...I started giving in to weltschmerz. And coming down here... It overwhelmed me. Oh, ja, I tried to turn it into a joke. But I looked for death everywhere. We feel trapped, many of us. We want to do something, but we don't know what.”

“We can always do something,” Louis said. “All we need is a...shared vision. You might be surprised how many people here feel the same as you.”

“These things you talk about,” Dieter said. “I think this could inspire a lot of people.”

Dieter looked around to make sure no one could overhear them. “Maybe I can help.”

10

HECTOR AND MIZERAK sat in the War Room with Sophie. The monitor displayed a world map.

“One of my projects is to figure out our location relative to preexisting infrastructure,” Sophie said. “I mean, we kind of know where we are. With the sensor arrays, feedback from the reconnaissance dives. I've got a better idea now. We're right about here.”

She reoriented the map and zoomed in to display the Pacific Ocean and western North America. A large green dot indicated Paradise. They gazed at the screen. On the scale of the vast ocean, the tiny distance separating Paradise and land tormented them. Like stepping across a puddle. They could be home again.

“Now,” Sophie brought them back to the present, “One of the reasons it's so tough down here is that we don't know everything. Sickbay, maintenance, hydroponics, all these subject areas. Do you know how long it's been since humans had to rely on the brainpower of a few people? Without books or a knowledge base? All that data's still up there. It must be. A lot of server farms were protected against all kinds of threats. I mean, these things are sealed in concrete bunkers under mountains. If we could plug in to those sites, we'd have access to the world's entire digital knowledge base.”

“Those stations are all on land,” Hector said. “We can't reach them. Even if they are still operational.”

“These things were designed to be human-proof,” Sophie said. “A lot of them were solar powered, they had long-term backup batteries. They could keep going for years. Even if there was a plan to sabotage the server farms. Some of them are still working. I believe it.”

“There's still the access problem, Sophie,” Mizerak said. “There's a reason we're not on the surface.”

Even if we don't know that reason.

“We don't need to be on the surface,” Sophie grinned.  “Look here.” She pointed to a white line running east-to-west across the ocean. “That's an undersea cable. I'm spitballing the location, but we get some instruments from maintenance, send a crew there. Won't be hard to find. There's at least fifteen of these cables across the Pacific. Some were classified, so maybe more. They were installed the old-fashioned way – ships went across the ocean and let out this cable and it sank to the ocean floor. These cables, they handled all the digital traffic between North America and Asia. They were there. I don't see any reason they'd be gone.”

Mizerak leaned back in her chair. “You're saying we can connect to that cable? And that would put us back online?”

“All the data we used to be able to access? It should still be there.” Sophie fidgeted with excitement. “I'm telling you, Commander, this could be huge for us.”

“Sophie,” Mizerak peered at the screen. “That's...that's very interesting.”

“I've got some other ideas,” Sophie said. “If the servers are still working, that means all the classified Defense Department servers are definitely online. Not just Defense. All the classified shit. The people might be gone, but the data's still there.”

Hector whistled. Even he understood the significance of that.

“Can you get to all that?” Mizerak asked. “It's not all protected?”

“Sure, firewalls, security protocols, that's all still there. Give me enough time and I can hack into it. The beauty of it is,” Sophie laughed, “no penalties now. I don't have to worry about some national security IT guy finding me and sending the Feds after me.”

“We could take the submersible,” Hector said. He scanned the distance on the map and did some quick math in his head. “We could get there and back in two days. Stay low and hope the sharks don't get us.”

“We may have some good news there,” Mizerak said. “This system our biologist came up with. No sharks have crossed the line since it was activated. That's not proof, it looks promising, though.”

Mizerak started when her hand-held radio, clipped to her belt, buzzed.

“Is that a different frequency?” Hector asked. He looked at his own radio, silent. “I don't recognize that sound.”

“It's not a sound we're supposed to hear.” Mizerak stood up. “I need you with me, Hector. There's a problem at the Council Chamber.”

****

THE SITUATION got out of hand. Dieter liked the idea but he knew it was too soon. If Louis hadn't been recovering in sickbay, he could have stopped them. They would have listened to him.

It came about in Louis' quarters, made available to his followers in his absence. “You'll be more comfortable,” he had winked to King when he encouraged them to meet in his room. A gathering of five in Louis' room grew to more than twenty spilling into the corridor. They quickly threw together goals and abilities into what amounted to half a plan. Their group included security officers, so they had firearms, and maintenance personnel, so they had technical expertise. And they all had anger.

They came from all areas but the group weighted heavily toward former Predator crew members. The crew without a home.

Settling the issue of the Council became the nexus for their angst. They agreed, “It's a shadow government. We've got no representation.” According to Claudia, even Mizerak had voiced frustration with the Council. In one move, Louis' followers could expose the Council and determine Mizerak's status – was she a leader or the Council's puppet? In a moment, they looked at each other, the lot of them, and accepted the momentum they had created. “This is the turning point,” one of them said. “We act now, we can change everything.”

Dieter tried to stop them. In vain. “If we wait,” King said to Dieter as the group set out, “what if word gets out? We're ready. No one's expecting us. We may not get this chance again.”

Not that Dieter didn't believe. “Just the opposite,” he said. “Louis inspires me.” The others just weren't augmented like Dieter. Life hadn't forced them to cut off their own limb. They didn't understand the long view as he now did.

“If there's trouble, I may not be able to defend you,” he protested. “I'm the senior security officer present. They'll call it mutiny. We need to do this when we're ready.”

They couldn't be reasoned with. It didn’t help that Louis had already started preparations for such an event and had obtained, with Dieter’s help, olive-colored coveralls worn by security personnel, creating more challenging targets if violence broke out. At least they had the sense to depart Louis' quarters in small groups. A crowd that size would have attracted too much attention, even in the misfit corridors of Paradise.

It all happened much too quickly.

They descended to one level above the Council Chamber. After the notorious electrocution incident, they knew to avoid the elevator. Powder and another member of the maintenance staff operated a metal-cutting torch on the floor. A group of insurrectionists stood watch farther along the corridor in both directions; they prevented others from passing and described a non-existent maintenance project to discourage curiosity. Sparks flew through the dark hallway as the others paced and waited.

“We should have done this a long time ago,” Powder said.

They cut a circular hole wide enough for two. The insurrectionists lowered themselves to the bottom deck. The simplicity of it gave them pause. The Council had insisted on Mizerak alone as their public interface. The Council must have planned more advanced security measures. The two maintenance personnel went through the gap first. The cutting torch was handed down to them.

King raised the question before jumping through the makeshift hatch. “Is this too easy? Are we missing something?”

“They just relied on fear,” Dieter said. “We're all disoriented in this place. They counted on that to keep us submissive.”

King flexed his knees as he landed on the lower deck. They stood immediately outside the Council Chamber. Sparks blew out all around them as the torch traced a line around the Chamber door. King looked up. “Where's Dieter?”

The insurrectionists pushed through the outer door. Seeing the second, inner, door broke their hearts. In Louis' absence, they had looked to Dieter as an interim leader. Now, however, Dieter had vanished. In his absence, the others turned to King.

“We're here,” he said. “We may not get another chance.”

King did some mental estimating. Security forces were bound to arrive momentarily. They might have just enough time to expose the Council and force them into the light.

Would that be enough?

****

WHILE KING and his group descended to the Council Chamber, Mizerak led a security force with Hector, Celeste, and a mix of eight seasoned and rookie officers. They moved through corridors and down ladders to the lower decks. “We can't sneak up on them, not in this environment,” Mizerak had told them. “Let's move fast and hope we outnumber whoever it is.”

“They should have guards at the elevator twenty-four-seven,” Celeste said as they moved. “It's not a hard target to find.”

“I suggested it,” Mizerak panted. “The Council wanted to be subtle. The less attention, the better.”

“You should take up the rear,” Hector said. “We don't know what we're running in to. We can't afford for you to get hurt.”

Mizerak shook her head but gave no answer. Need to step up the exercise regimen. Getting winded too easily. Then, as they dropped down a ladder that put them just above the Council Chamber's deck, she said, “We can't let attacking the Council turn into a viable option. I want everyone to know I'm here and it's important.”

They stopped at the elevator. The insurrectionists were visible through the hole in the deck but the angle made their actions indecipherable. Mizerak held a finger to her lips. Soft voices.

Mizerak punched the control panel to call the elevator. She waved at Celeste. “Keep a team here. Watch that,” Mizerak pointed at the sharp edges of the hastily cut hole in the deck. “Listen to the elevator. When you hear it stop, that means we're outside the Council Chamber. Target your weapons through there,” gesturing again to the hole in the deck, “and cover us as best you can.”

A line of officers gathered around Celeste. “We're ready, Commander. You two watch your backs.”

Mizerak stepped in the elevator with Hector and three other officers, as many as would fit. Sweat glittered on their foreheads.

The door slid shut and the elevator lurched downward. “Safeties off,” Mizerak ordered. Should they shoot first? Go in conservatively? What if they had taken hostages from the Council? Should she sacrifice one to save the others? “Get ready.”

****

ABOVE THE COUNCIL'S LEVEL, Celeste's group stood on alert. Celeste and another officer crouched over the damaged hull section, ready to open fire but not close enough to become targets. Yet.

They all turned at the sound of loud footsteps behind them. Dieter, out of breath.

“Sorry I'm late,” he said to Celeste. He flexed his artificial arm. “Still working out the kinks. What can I do?”

“Stand by and keep quiet,” Celeste said. She pointed to the purring elevator. “As soon as that stops, we're on.”

Dieter nodded, drew his sidearm, and stood with them. They listened. And waited.

****

THE INSURRECTIONISTS turned when the elevator hummed to life. King grimaced. Dieter was right. We're not ready.

The torch penetrated the Chamber's inner door. 

Blinding light. Concussive sounds like sonic booms. A trio of flash grenades triggered the release of tear gas. Billowing white smoke throughout the corridor.

The elevator opened. Mizerak, Hector, and the others nearly fell into the corridor. They at least missed the worst of it. Most of King's group stumbled against the bulkhead, or dropped to their knees.

“Hold your fire!” Mizerak yelled. “Everyone! Hold your fire!”

The insurrectionists couldn't aim, much less open fire. Afterimages from the flash grenades blinded everyone in the corridor. The sound blast disrupted their hearing and balance. The smoke and noise kept them all from pulling the trigger, and none of them really knew what was happening. Before those symptoms cleared, the tear gas took full effect. Coughing, sneezing, crying, temporary blindness; the symptoms hit them all.

“Commander!” Celeste peered through the hole in the deck. She squinted; couldn't see anything but she had heard Mizerak's voice. “What can we do?”

“Get a medical team down here!” Mizerak called out. “See if you can reach far enough to help us out of here. Watch your eyes, breathe carefully!”

The smoke had no place to go. The HVAC system would take hours to clear it all. The two groups mingled together in the confusion. Mizerak's team had been spared the worst of the sonic discharge. That gave some clue to identifying the insurgents. She could try to sort them out later. Several went up in the elevator while others, one at a time, were hauled up through the makeshift hatch.

Hector tried to stay but Mizerak ordered him to go with the others. He went up with the last group to take the elevator. Mizerak wiped tears from her eyes and trudged toward the Council Chamber. The Council had made no protest, no calls for help. Whatever “drastic steps” the Council had threatened would surely come to pass now.

Mizerak shoved the door open and lurched, gagging, eyes watering, into the Chamber.

It was empty.

****

MOST EVERYONE who had been outside the Council Chamber now lay on the deck above. The doctor, Claudia, and two other nurses took vitals and assessed the damage. Mizerak remained on her feet until Khan demanded that she at least sit. She sat next to Hector, also too proud to lie down.

“Commander, what the hell happened down there?” Celeste knelt to talk with them.

Mizerak nodded, working up to answering. Her lungs still burned. Her eyes, like the others, were red and swollen. “The Council must have had those countermeasures in place all along. I didn't even know about them.”

“What happened to the Council?” Hector's voice was as scratchy as Mizerak's. “I didn't see anyone come out of the Chamber.” He waved at everyone recovering in the corridor. “No one here could have been part of the Council.”

Mizerak shook her head. “Once the smoke clears we'll take a closer look. There must be an escape hatch. Some other way out of there.”

Nearby, King lay on a stretcher, an oxygen mask over his face. Dieter, surveying the corridor, knelt next to King and spoke in quiet tones. “I had to step back,” he said. King's wide eyes registered his uncertainty – had Dieter betrayed them or set an example? “If I'm implicated it will be a bigger problem. Don't worry, there was a lot of confusion, I'm not sure if the commander can take action against anyone.” He put a reassuring hand on King's shoulder, then stood and moved on.

Mizerak saw the exchange but couldn't hear Dieter's words. She gave Celeste a questioning look.

“He was late to the party,” Celeste said, “but he was here.”

“King was part of the insurrection,” Mizerak said. “Not much I can do about it.”

“Security cameras?” Hector asked.

“A one-way camera from inside the Chamber,” Mizerak said. “I don't have access to that feed even if it is recorded. I specifically told Sophie not to install additional surveillance on that deck. Trying to keep some of our projects away from the Council.”

Mizerak looked to the elevator, doors still open. Smoke puffed up out of the hole the insurrectionists had cut in the deck. What the hell happened down there? was the wrong question. Better to ask, What do we do now?

****

THE MEDICAL STAFF took the injured to sickbay. Mizerak sent the remaining officers back to work. She would need to determine what steps to take. Between the disorientation from noise and teargas and the fact that Mizerak hadn’t yet committed all the trainees’ faces to memory, proving who exactly took part in the insurrection would be difficult. Footage from surveillance cameras in other corridors would make it possible tp piece together everyone involved, but to what end? The remote possibility that any of them might be affiliated with the Council only complicated her position. From a more practical view, confining all the suspects to the brig would deprive the city of some of its best security and maintenance personnel.

Eventually, all but Mizerak, Hector, and Maria/Anastasia had left the corridor above the Council Chamber.

“I want a security detail posted here full-time,” she told Hector. “Nobody goes in without my permission.”

“Understood, Commander.”

Turning to Maria/Anastasia, she said, “We got careless. Once you've patched the hole, the elevator needs to be fail-safe. No one can even enter it except me. If anyone tries, we need alarms going off everywhere.”

“We'll take care of it, Commander,” Maria said.

“I'm going down to assess the damage,” Mizerak said. She gripped her handheld radio. “I'll be in contact if I need any help.”

Mizerak disappeared into the elevator.

“She's being awfully calm about this,” Maria said. “It was mutiny, wasn't it, Hector? Are we wrong about this?”

Hector shrugged. “Not for me to decide. She's in a tough situation. However she wants to handle it...I respect that.”

“Hector.” Anastasia spoke while they leaned in close to Hector. “People are getting desperate. We can look over both shoulders. You can't. Watch yourself.”

Below, Mizerak crept toward the Council Chamber. What outcome would qualify as good news?

Nothing came to mind.

She passed the outer door, black and crumpled from the insurrectionists. The corridor still smelled of burned metal and wiring. She stopped in the antechamber. Listened but heard nothing. She took a moment of silence in the dark, tiny room. Was it the vibrating power systems of Paradise or her pounding heart that rattled her insides? She took a deep breath and entered the Chamber.

Dark and silent. She pulled a small LED flashlight out of her pocket, clicked the beam on, and waved it around the Chamber. The room had never been well-lighted. This was the most clearly she had seen the Chamber. Haze from residual smoke softened the light. Mizerak walked through the Chamber. Nothing. Even the elevated benches that gave the Chamber its courtroom feel were gone. She walked the perimeter of the room and flashed the light into every corner. She ran her hands along the walls. She crouched to examine the floor. Peered at the ceiling.

How did they escape?

All she found were a few Ethernet connections and scattered light fixtures – circular glass set into the ceiling – that had kept the Council in shadow and Mizerak in the dark. She turned off the light and stood in the darkness. She had seen the assortment of choking, teary-eyed bodies stumbling in the corridor after the attack on the Council Chamber. None of them fit her image of Council members. Would they really try to blend in anonymously? She couldn’t possibly imprison the insurrectionists now, even if she could identify them all: Council members could easily be hiding among them.

Now what? She had no backup plan. The Council boogeyman had kept everyone in check. Barely, if the insurrection provided a hint of city-wide thinking. Were they ready to stage free elections? They could barely feed themselves.

Claire, why did you leave us?

Mizerak's breath caught. She gasped. Struggled to take slow, deep breaths. Rolled her shoulders and stretched her arms. Negotiating with the Council felt solitary enough. Now even they were gone. Who could she talk with? She couldn't make major decisions alone.

Unless she had to.

Mizerak went back up in the elevator. “The Council went into safer quarters,” she told Maria/Anastasia. “Once your work is finished, they'll be back in the Chamber. I need you to make these repairs a top priority.”

Hector gave Mizerak a direct look but kept quiet. With a glance to Maria/Anastasia, he left to organize patrol shifts. Mizerak stretched her left arm and shoulder. She wished she could hear something besides her pounding heart.

****

“I TELL YOU, HECTOR,” Dieter said. “If you just listen to him, you'll see what I mean.”

The two men walked the corridors of Paradise. Hector mentally reorganized work schedules as they walked.

Hector gave it a few seconds before he asked, “Did you help them?”

“Help? Help who?”

Hector stopped and turned to Dieter. “Did you help them attack the Council?”

Dieter laughed without smiling. “What Council? You were down there before me. No one saw any Council. They didn't see anything.”

“No one was fit to see much of anything,” Hector said. “Not with all that smoke and noise. I saw the looks King gave you when we pulled him out. It looked like he thought you were with them.”

“Hector.” Dieter put his left hand – his false hand – on Hector's shoulder. “How many years have we known each other? I had a major trauma not so long ago and arrived a few seconds late. Celeste saw me.”

Hector couldn't explain that. He resumed walking. They passed two young people, in their early twenties, who looked away when Hector and Dieter walked by.

“Doesn't that bother you?” Dieter asked. “We risk our lives every day here. What are they risking?”

“I don't know them,” Hector said. “I don't know their story.”

“This is just the kind of thing Louis talks about,” Dieter said. “We've lost our families, all our possessions. All the things we used to live for, they're gone.”

“We've all lost. We're all in this together.”

“You think they're in this with us?” Dieter pointed back to the couple behind them. “When the sharks attack us, do you think they'll be in the water losing their arms?”

Hector gave Dieter a sideways look. “Is that how you lost your arm?”

“You know what I'm talking about. Maybe... What if risk is how we distinguish ourselves now? Maybe risk is the new capital. If we risk more, shouldn't we get more?”

They approached a ladder and climbed up to a higher deck. “More of what?” Hector asked. “More money? What are you going to buy down here?”

“It doesn't have to be money,” Dieter said. “It could be more food. Better food. That would be something, wouldn't it? Better quarters.”

“We risked our lives before. Were you in it for the money?”

“It's a different world now. Louis explains these things better than I can. He's a smart man, Hector. We're lucky he's here.”

Hector made an impulsive decision regarding the duty roster. “I'm taking the submersible out on a mission. I want you with me. I'll fill you in on the details when the time comes.” Safer to leave Celeste here. I know she won't mutiny.

****

THE OBSERVATION DECK opened without fanfare. It should have been a celebration. Some were upbeat about it but Mizerak was in a haze. Chairs and small tables arranged around the room invited conversation, a practice they were in danger of forgetting. Reduced interior lighting encouraged soft voices and contemplation. Additional spotlights outside illuminated the kelp beds and the submarines. It gave them a sense of open space they hadn't yet experienced in Paradise.

Maria/Anastasia recruited additional staff to address the constant needs of Paradise and to perform tasks they could not have imagined. Now two workers, in pressure suits and protected by two security officers, worked their way through the kelp, harvesting the long strands and binding them with rope to bring inside. “We're glad to be needed,” Maria said every time a new demand cropped up. Which Anastasia followed with, “It beats the alternative.”

Mizerak stood at the back of the room, several days after it opened to civilians, taking in the view that was, relative to their environment, remarkable.

“Commander.”

Mizerak hadn't noticed Louis in one of the chairs near the window. A cane leaned against one arm of his chair. Mizerak took the empty seat next to him.

“How are your legs?”

“Improving,” Louis said. “Thanks to the good doctor. Who I've had some interesting conversations with. Has he talked to you about...is it Homo floriensis? The little people? The mutant that you discovered, do you think it's some offshoot of that? Or some other species that has always been here undetected?”

Mizerak shrugged. She had gone over the variables so many times, and always concluded the same. We're in the dark here.

“There's speculation everywhere,” Louis waved a hand in the air to indicate all of Paradise. “Will we be able to communicate with these...beings? Are they a threat to us?”

“Louis,” Mizerak sighed. “I have a feeling you're more informed on the subject than I am.”

Louis focused his eyes on the sea world beyond the window.

“The Bridger Group had substantial holdings in pharmaceuticals,” she said. “Chemicals, energy, healthcare. Your people were involved in gene sequencing and human cloning experiments. Bioweapons. Vaccines for conditions that didn't even exist until you created the vaccine. You see, I'm slow, but I do figure things out eventually.”

“If I was that powerful, what am I doing here?”

“I'm still trying to figure that out. Since you seem to be alone...alone in your class, anyway...I'm not sure if you're here because you were powerful or because you stopped being powerful. But you made a fortune by being informed. Taking risks while others suffered the consequences. And now you're trying to do the same here. Downsourcing risk by convincing others to take it on while you get the benefits. We're dying here and you're still running a pyramid scheme.”

“Stray ideas and stray bullets are equally dangerous here, it seems,” Louis said.

“You caused the insurrection against the Council, didn't you? I don't know who else could have done that.”

“I was in sickbay at the time. The doctor can confirm that. And when you pulled the culprits out of that corridor, was I among them?”

“You initiated it. Put the idea in their heads. Who else could have done that?”

Louis frowned. “In all honesty...I don't approve of what they did. Oh, I agree, we need checks on the Council's authority. But...that was a clumsy action. Poorly thought out. If I had been there...things would have been different.”

A school of fish entered their view. Pancake thin from the front, seen from the side they were broad and silvery.

“Is that really how you want us to live?” Louis pointed at the fish. “All moving in lockstep. No room for progress. No self-expression.”

“We can make progress together. Not just one person exploiting the others. And right now, keeping together is the best way to avoid getting eaten by sharks. It’s the only way to be larger than we really are. You were one of those sharks, Louis. You should understand that.”

“I created value, Commander. Entire industries were built on our chemicals. Our medicines saved lives. Our employees' wages sustained economic growth. Did you create that kind of wealth?”

“Louis.” Mizerak leaned over to look at him directly. “What is Whitewash?”

Louis fidgeted and sighed. “All I know is...the surface really is off limits. For now. Seawater is the only thing protecting us. At least we stand a chance against the sharks.”

****

HECTOR AND CLAUDIA sat in their quarters. They increasingly passed their time together in silence.

Claudia rose from the small bed. Stood before him. Not so long ago, the sight of her naked body would have brought him to his feet. Then to his knees.

She sighed and put on a pair of scrubs. “I'm going to eat before my shift starts. Are you going on the mission, too? Or is it just Dieter?”

“Both of us.”

She sighed again. “You can't even give me a hint? Something about the purpose? Are you coming back?”

“The commander ordered us to keep quiet from now on. After they attacked the Council... Information goes through official channels only.”

“Is it dangerous? More than the usual outside shift, anyway?”

“Honestly? I don't know. I don't think so.”

She looked at him but had a hard time maintaining eye contact. Finally, she leaned over to kiss him on the forehead.

As soon as she left, Hector climbed out of bed and put on his uniform. In a few seconds, he was out the door.

Surveillance was never his specialty, but he didn't need to see Claudia to follow her. He recognized her delicate footsteps on the metal deck. When she was within sight, he could easily identify her silhouette with minimal lighting. When she turned to climb to another deck or looked over her shoulder for safety, he ducked into the many shadows offered by door frames, ductwork, and ladders. Others passing him in the corridors barely noticed; they saw enough unorthodox behavior in Paradise.

It didn't take long to see she wasn't going in the direction of the mess hall. Still probably nothing. He was being paranoid. Maybe Claudia behaved suspiciously, but how much could she be guilty of? Doctor Khan had known her before. Had some idea of her service record. He'd had no qualms about making Claudia his chief nurse.

When Claudia stopped and entered one of the crew quarters, Hector understood. Everyone on the security staff knew Louis Bridger occupied that cabin.

He waited several minutes before turning back and meandering through the passageways. He only knew of two reasons Claudia would go to Louis. But Claudia had talked with Hector about her conservative attitudes toward fidelity. She wasn't sleeping with Louis.

He kept walking. Information was the only viable currency. All the questions she asked. As a nurse she had contact with crew members from all quarters. How many questions had she asked them? How many of them had answered?

Now that Hector knew Claudia was spying, the burden was on him: What to do?

****

THE COUNCIL HAD ADVISED, and Mizerak had agreed, against using the submersible on exploratory missions. The sharks posed too big a risk. Now that they had a possible solution to the sharks, she couldn't resist the new target Sophie had proposed. Tired of referring to the vessel generically, they named the submersible, reverently or not, Beagle. (“It was good luck for Darwin,” Dieter observed.) Hector and Dieter wore heavy fatigues because the submersible's power system was unable to maintain a warm temperature.

While Maria/Anastasia and their team prepared the submersible in the staging area, loading supplies and checking onboard systems, Hector stood to one side with Celeste.

“I need you to keep an eye on things,” he spoke in a low voice. “I trust you. It's the shadows I don't trust. I really believe Dieter is one of them. If he's with me, maybe there's less likely to be trouble.”

“Don't worry,” she said. “You just get us connected. Maybe getting that information flow will calm people down.”

They had worked together long enough that she understood his look of gratitude. The number of people they could rely on continued to shrink. He trusted Celeste almost as much as he trusted Mizerak.

“All right, Hector,” Dieter called from beside the submersible. “Everything checks out. We're ready to go.”

Mizerak stood back, too tired to do much else but she felt her presence was necessary. She nodded to the two men as they climbed through the hatch on the vessel's starboard side.

“Good luck. We can't prove the deterrent system is what's keeping the sharks away. You two may be our test case.” She looked to Maria/Anastasia for confirmation.

“It's installed,” Maria said. “They just flip a switch on the control panel to activate it.”

“If it doesn't work...” Mizerak said. If it doesn't work, you may not survive. “Return to Paradise and we'll revise the plan.”

Dieter offered a casual salute and gave the submersible hull a clanging tap with his metal hand. “Bis dann!” He grinned and climbed inside. “See you!”

Hector climbed the ladder to the hatch. He looked at Celeste and Mizerak. What to say? Too many thoughts raced through his head to express effectively. He nodded to them and dropped into the submersible.

Mizerak put a hand on Celeste's shoulder. “Those are two of our three best security officers. I need you to look sharp while they're gone.”

“I won't let you down, Commander.” Celeste felt as grim as Mizerak looked. “I just hope to God they come back.”

11

“ALL SYSTEMS NOMINAL,” Dieter scanned Beagle's control panel. The only interior illumination came from instrument lights and a few safety lights. “We're ready, Hector.”

“Course is programmed in,” Hector said. “Take us out. Slow and steady.”

“Sehr gut.” Dieter tapped the controls and Beagle maneuvered in gentle curves over the small underwater city.

Dieter piloted them in a broad circle around Paradise. “We never see it from this perspective,” he said. Spotlights illuminated the original aircraft carrier, five connected submarines, the mining station, and a smattering of sensor arrays. Outside the perimeter, the kelp bed and additional sensor arrays gave the feel of expanding suburbs. “It's so different from when we started. We've come a long way, right, Hector?”

Dieter added a flourish to their departure by navigating in front of the observation deck. He wiggled the submersible as they cruised past.

“Safe journey, Beagle,” Mizerak's voice came across the radio. “Keep us updated on your progress.”

“Roger, Paradise,” Hector said. “We'll see you soon.”

“Look at that,” Dieter said. “It's starting to look like a real home, isn't it?”

Hector stirred from his thoughts. “I'm not used to you being such an optimist.”

“I'm not the same man, Hector.” Dieter lifted the artificial arm. “My whole outlook has changed. I thought it was hopeless down here. Nothing to fight for or care about. But just...look at our progress. We're expanding our reach,” he gestured to the sea ahead of them to indicate the mission at hand. “We have new leadership – I know you've got reservations about Louis. I believe he's our future.”

“The Council might have something to say about that.”

Dieter piloted Beagle to a depth of sixty meters below sea level and away from the relative protection of the city. Once away from the spotlights, they realized it was night above. No sunlight filtered down, casting them in almost complete darkness.

Dieter sighed. “All kinds of rumors going around about the Council. Some people don't even think it's real. We were there, we didn't see anyone.”

“No one got a clear look inside the Council Chamber. If there's no Council, why did the authorities set it up this way when they sent us here? The Commander's not making these things up.”

“Wait a second.” Dieter tapped the instrument console. He looked at the murky water ahead of them. “Something on sonar.”

“Full stop,” Hector said.

Dieter applied reverse engines to stop the vessel. Hector flipped on exterior spotlights that increased visibility around the submersible. Three adult-sized forms swam to the edge of the light, visible only as shadows. They moved easily through the water, their natural element.

“Mutants...” Hector whispered.

“Ja. I almost forgot about them. Should we do something?”

Hector shrugged. He lifted a hand in greeting and raised it to the window. The trio of mutants hovered in the shadows. Watching.

Just as Hector and Dieter looked to each other, uncertain what to do next, the mutants charged the submersible. They slammed into the forward window. Pressed their hands and faces tight against the glass. In these living creatures Hector could see muscle definition not evident in the corpse back in Paradise. These were powerful beasts. Their light skin and protective eyelids gave them a ghostly appearance. Teeth like daggers clicked against the window.

Both officers reared back. The Beagle shuddered and drifted off-course from the impact. The mutants moved their hands – the webbing between fingers clearly visible up close – along the exterior of the submersible. Probing, but for what purpose?

“Any orders?” Dieter asked. Both men whispered even though it seemed unlikely the mutants could hear them, much less understand.

Hector shook his head. “We still don't know if they're hostile. Maybe this is just how they react to visitors.”

“These...things...don't look like they've had any visitors. Do you really think hospitality is in their vocabulary?”

“I don't want to start a conflict if we can avoid it. We've got enough problems down here.”

The mutants positioned themselves at different points around the submersible. They began pounding on the hull and the window. Beagle wobbled with each impact.

“Power up,” Hector ordered. “Let's get out of here.”

Dieter throttled up the engines to full power. The mutants hung on for a few seconds. As Beagle approached top speed, the attackers let go and watched the submersible motor off into the dark waters.

“What the hell, Hector? I swam outside this model of submersible once. I couldn't budge it. How can those things be so strong?”

Hector switched on the radio. “Paradise, this is Beagle, come in.”

Elijah's voice answered. “Go ahead, Beagle.”

“Paradise, be advised we encountered three mutants. We're unharmed but they might be coming your way. We're on course, four kilometers out.”

Elijah hesitated. They had no way to evaluate the mutants' real threat. That made it impossible for Paradise to prepare. “Roger, Beagle.”

“Three of them,” Dieter said. He flexed his arm. “Maybe we should have tried to take them. Our weapons work on the sharks and these guys are a lot smaller.”

“Remember what happened to Predator. We still don't know if the crew let them in or if they forced their way in. And we don't know...how many of them are out there.”

They ate field rations and took turns sleeping – a small area in the back of the submersible was suitable for napping. “Not so different from the old days, is it?” Dieter asked. “It's good to be on a real mission again.”

Hector was reluctant to agree. Still... “It's good to get out. Do something different. Maybe we should put together more of these outings. They don't have to have a focused mission. We could use more reconnaissance.”

It wasn't until the next day, still hours from their destination, that their moment of truth arrived.

“Looks like two big targets approaching.” Dieter looked up from the sonar panel. “Not moving in a straight line. They could be sharks.”

“Let's hope our weapon works,” Hector said. “This far out, it's a little late to turn back.”

“Aft cameras on,” Dieter said. Their display showed the view from the rear of the submersible. Spotlights panned across the water. “There!”

Two sharks drifted into view. Watching the submersible. Approaching with caution. The Beagle’s two headlights created a harsh light over their limited range.

“Wait till they get closer,” Hector said. “We don't know what kind of range we'll get with this.”

The sharks moved apart and approached from each side of the Beagle.

“Now.”

Dieter hit a button. Several lights blinked on the console. “Broadcasting.”

The sharks jerked their heads to the side and swam away from the submersible. Circled and approached again. And again they veered off to a greater distance. They disappeared into the haze.

Dieter laughed and punched Hector on the shoulder. “Look at that! We got them!”

Even Hector smiled at that. He opened a radio channel to Paradise. Over this distance the signal was weak but sufficient.“Paradise, this is Beagle.”

“Go ahead, Beagle.”

“The shark system works. Two mutant sharks approached. We activated the device and they gave up.”

“Roger, Beagle, thanks for the good news. We'll notify the commander.”

“That was a major step forward, my friend,” Dieter leaned back in his seat. “You see? We really are making progress. We’re growing strong again. We can retake the surface again if we really want it.”

Hector nodded. One step forward... How to tell Dieter he was only there because Hector didn't trust him back in Paradise?

****

MIZERAK MET WITH SOPHIE in the War Room. Mizerak worried less about surveillance now that the Council seemed to be out of action. Could they still monitor the situation in Paradise? How else would they know when to come out of hiding?

Could they have escaped? Mizerak went through all the possibilities in her mind. Where could they go? If the Council had an escape plan...

“Now, this is going to sound nuts,” Sophie said. “Just hear me out. Normally, I'd talk to Maria/Anastasia first. But you need to decide if you want to pursue it.”

“Is this a security matter?”

Sophie shook her head. “What's the one thing everyone here wants most?”

Mizerak tried not to respond in anger. To turn back the clock. Find the point where humanity went wrong and stop them before they ruin everything. Or maybe just to have never been born, never have to live understanding the failed potential of an entire species. She held her tongue and waited for Sophie to continue.

“To get back to the surface. And we can't do that till we figure out why we can't live up there. Figure out if we can fix whatever's wrong.”

Sophie stood up and grabbed one of the last remaining markers for her white board. “I think it's possible to send someone to the surface.”

“Sophie...” Mizerak groaned. One person after another had suggested charging to the surface, ignoring every warning they had been given. Many had volunteered to go. She had heard every conspiracy theory and every denial.

“No, no, just listen,” Sophie said. “The premise is we're only safe under the ocean, for whatever reason. So let's accept the premise. What if...”

Sophie scrawled out a crude diagram on the white board. She explained her idea to Mizerak and acknowledged the many risks.

Mizerak sighed. She knew better than to get her hopes up. Still, Sophie was one of the smartest among them and her far-fetched idea might have merit. There were significant technical issues to work out. One bright spot of the Council being AWOL: Mizerak didn't have to worry about hiding half-assed plans from them.

“All right,” Mizerak said. “I'm not committing to this. But talk to maintenance. Figure out if it's even feasible. Put together a more detailed plan. Then we'll see where we are.”

****

THEY COULD DISTINGUISH between night and day by looking outside. The difference was too subtle to estimate time of day more specifically. Paradise still maintained time with crystal based clocks, as people had always done, to preserve the customary twenty-four-hour schedule human minds expected and to allow shift schedules and coordination of activities throughout the city. But with no commerce and a future that was uncertain at best, work shifts were little more than suggestions.

Louis met with his followers in the observation deck during the night. Work shift adherence may have been sloppy but meeting at night guaranteed them a manageable degree of privacy. Louis understood the risk, but he had specialized in executing risks and now needed to encourage the others to take more risk upon themselves. The right exposure might attract new followers. Maintenance staff extinguished the observation deck lights to preserve the illusion of night and the group's faces, seated around the large window, were illuminated only by lights from outside.

“This observation area has done more to improve morale than anything else that has happened since we came here,” Louis said, never afraid to generate his own propaganda. They spoke in soft tones “It's a reminder we don't have to live claustrophobic lives. This is an example of what we can accomplish together.”

“We rushed things before.” Ensign King sat closest to Louis. “With the Council.”

“It did have some benefit,” Louis conceded. “It exposed the weakness of the Council. Created some instability among our security force. You may have provided hope to people who were on the fence about what we're trying to do.”

“Aren't we ready?” asked Aurora, who Louis knew had to be spoon-fed more than the others and was not well-liked among his supporters. “We can go forward anytime, can't we?”

“We'll wait for Dieter to return,” Louis smiled generously. “We don't want to rush things. We've seen where that leads.”

Louis turned back to King. “Once we've done what's necessary... You'll have an important role to play. But Dieter will take over as head of security. I wanted to tell you this now. We need to consider Dieter's experience.” And Dieter was smart enough to back out of your failed move against the Council.

“I understand,” King said.

Louis stood up. He put a hand on King's shoulder and looked around the room. “Soon, my friends.”

****

HECTOR AND DIETER anchored Beagle when they reached the cable. They suited up and exited the submersible. With a handheld signal detector, they pinpointed the cable's precise location, about eighty meters below the surface, and confirmed it was still active. It measured less than ten centimeters in diameter, covered with mud and algae. They had a straightforward job: connecting the cable they had brought to the existing cable.

They worked within range of Beagle’s headlights. The electronic repulsion system to deter sharks was turned on full-time.

“Dieter, I've put off asking this. But I'm head of security. I have to.”

Dieter nodded. Focused on stripping part of the Internet cable and attaching a T-shaped connector.

“The attack on the Council. Were you part of it?”

“Hector,” Dieter laughed. “Didn't we already have this conversation?”

“You never answered.” Hector grabbed at Dieter's hands to force him to stop working, a clumsy move in their diving gloves. “We have to know where we stand.”

Dieter moved back, hovering in the water at a distance. “What are we doing here, Hector? The commander isn't taking us anywhere.” He gestured at the cable stretching away from them. “Trying to make this a comfortable home for us? For how long? Why aren't we trying to go back? We don't belong down here! Everything we do should be about returning to the land. Everything.”

“She wants to get back to the surface. We all do. But we don't know the full extent of the damage up there. We don't know how long we'll be stuck here. Maybe this,” he pointed at the cable, “will give us some answers. If we don't survive the short-term, nothing else matters.”

Dieter sighed. “We have to agree to disagree.”

“I'm giving you fair warning,” Hector said. “We've worked together for a long time. The commander went easy on that group. She's trying very hard to keep things calm. If there's another mutiny attempt, she'll have to respond. Don't push this.”

They spliced the cables together and finished their work in silence. The new cable that would connect to Paradise unspooled from Beagle as they motored back at reduced speed. As on the voyage out, they took shifts sleeping in the back section, except this time neither one actually slept. The old rules of camaraderie and friendship no longer existed. The two men had fought side by side long before they were banished to Paradise. They had gone into battles large and small on multiple continents, good soldiers always. None of that mattered here. Now they just wondered when the breaking point would come and who would fire first.

****

DOCTOR KHAN sat quietly in sickbay. Moments when someone didn't clamor for his attention were hard to come by. He meditated on the arabesque that he displayed on one of the sickbay walls when not in the Worship Center. Mizerak entered and stood behind him. Waited for him to rouse himself.

“Commander.” He unpacked himself from the functional metal chair. “What can I do for you?”

Mizerak smiled. “Doctor, you're the most serene person in the city. Maybe the only serene person.”

Khan shrugged. “I wish I could tell you I possess some secret knowledge. I just accept what's happening and do my best.”

“Maybe that is the secret knowledge. I could use some serenity.”

Khan shrugged again. No comment. “I think I know why you're here.”

“Our experiment. Have you had any results?”

Khan waved Mizerak over to his work station. They sat in front of the monitor and Khan tapped at the keyboard. “As you know, our sample size was small. Limiting this to people we know we can trust, and people who were willing to volunteer, didn't leave us a lot to work with. Of course, I made up something about researching the long term effects of living at this depth.”

When Mizerak had asked him about the apparent disappearances that Sophie had monitored, Khan had suggested attaching biosensors to crewmembers. Tracking individuals' vital statistics in real time might yield some insight.

“If there's really something going on...” Mizerak sighed. “Everyone's paranoid enough as it is. I don't want to inspire more conspiracy theories. I really hope what Sophie saw was just a series of technical glitches...?”

Khan frowned. “I’m afraid I'll have to disappoint you.” He displayed data as a series of lines across the screen. “This is from the good Captain Yamamoto. During the incident with the young woman.”

A young crew member, named Delaney, claimed to have observed two mutant figures through a window in the former Predator, now grounded and part of the city. One of many who had not mentally adjusted to their new reality, the sighting had apparently sent her into a suicidal despondency. She had obtained a firearm (Mizerak was still investigating that), but Yamamoto caught the woman before she took her own life.

“This is the captain's data recorded during the stand-off.” Khan put a finger on the screen. Lines representing pulse, body temperature, and blood pressure, moved past their eyes. “Watch this.” He tapped at the screen. “There.”

The data had a tiny gap. Only a fraction of a second. The lines representing pulse and blood pressure dropped considerably. After another brief gap, the lines rose to their prior levels.

“What would cause that?” Mizerak asked.

“If he lost consciousness it might explain the drop in his vitals. But he insists that he didn't and witnesses confirm that. Either way, the change is too abrupt. There's no obvious explanation.”

“Yamamoto has a strong will. He doesn't flinch. Does Sophie have surveillance footage of this?”

Khan shook his head. “They were out of range. She's still working to get full coverage with the cameras.”

“And the gaps? It looks like the sensors cut off before and after the drop.”

“There's no indication the sensors failed. I reviewed this with Sophie. The time frame is consistent with the similar situations she recorded.”

Mizerak leaned back in her chair, frustrated. “Any ideas?”

“I spent some time with Captain Yamamoto. He walked me through the incident in detail. He didn't know the young woman, but he felt responsible for her. He described feeling enormous stress and helplessness. It was so intense, he had the feeling of entering a dreamlike state. In his mind, he was a child on his grandparents' farm in Japan. It wasn't just wishful thinking. For a moment he really believed he was there. He almost didn't believe me when I told him this drop in his vitals took place over less than one second. He could have sworn it was several minutes. Maybe longer.”

“Have you seen this kind of thing before?”

“Not like this. If I believed in the paranormal, I would almost think he entered an alternate reality. On the other hand, under our present circumstances...fantasizing about being on a farm in Japan might be a healthy response. Honestly, at this point I have no rational explanation.”

Mizerak grimaced. “Are we all just losing our minds?”

“That would explain a lot,” Khan laughed. “Humanity has been losing its collective mind for decades. That's why we're here. No, this is something else.”

After a long pause, Mizerak asked, “Was Yamamoto in any danger? Medically?”

“I can’t detect any cardiovascular or neurological conditions in the captain. Or the others. The drop in vitals may create some risk of falling.” Khan tapped the screen again. “If this gap is really that – a true gap in his life signs – then, yes, that's potentially dangerous. I don't even have a theory at this point. I'll keep researching it.”

“I'm not sure I want to know what you find.” Mizerak stood up.

“There is one more thing, Commander.”

Khan also stood and led Mizerak to a row of beds. A majority of the beds were nearly always occupied. Most of Khan's patients suffered from extreme anxiety, malnutrition, dehydration, or other maladies. Khan gave them rest and fluids and many of them returned to duty within a day. Now he led Mizerak to two beds occupied by older patients, a man and a woman.

“There's been an uptick in viral infections. These are two of the most serious cases. They'll survive. Our situation isn't dramatic. Not yet. But it's going to get worse.”

“What kind of viral infections?”

“Similar to cold and flu infections. We're still able to generate antibiotics, but in a few cases I've had to escalate to more aggressive classes of antibiotics.”

“When we came here, we all went through reasonably comprehensive decontamination,” Mizerak said. “All the vessels got the same treatment. We're surrounded by saltwater. Where did these come from?”

“No system is perfect. Any of us might have brought microbes through decon. When a virus attaches itself to a host cell, it essentially hijacks the cell and begins reproducing itself. Once a virus is established, it's extremely difficult to eradicate. We're a living example of island biodiversity. Microbes have the edge on us. They replicate much faster than we'll ever be able to. We're reduced to a much smaller population now. If we survive through multiple generations here, our immune systems may become compromised. The microbes will outpace us and they'll evolve faster than our immune systems can keep up. The elderly will be most affected. At first. Along with the very young.  Biologically, we're the ultimate island.”

“We can't afford to lose our young people...” Mizerak thought through the implications of that. “Can you modify the antibiotics to adapt to the new strains?”

“I'm already working on that. But the potential is limited.”

“What about new rounds of decontamination? We have some decon capability here.”

“It may come to that, but again we're limited. We've got an entire biome in a confined space. The decon measures available to us could end up killing good microbes along with the bad and leave us all susceptible to other illnesses. I'm distributing face masks to our older citizens to minimize the spread of infection. And to the few children with us. We might need to restrict civilians to their quarters at some point.”

Mizerak lowered her head and leaned against the bulkhead. Khan took her arm. “Are you all right?”

“It just never ends,” she muttered. “I'm not hearing much of a solution in what you're saying.”

“Here.” The doctor led Mizerak to an empty bed. “Lie down.”

“Our ability exceeded our intelligence,” Mizerak said. “Now our problems exceed our ability.”

“It occurs to me,” Khan pulled a stethoscope from his lab coat pocket, “it has been too long since your last physical.”

“Oh, no,” Mizerak groaned. “There's too much work to do. I don't have time for this.”

“No excuses, Commander.” Khan held the stethoscope to her back. “You're health is too important to put on hold.”

Khan attached a blood pressure monitor to her left arm. Mizerak gave in and lay on the bed. Claudia noticed and approached once she finished tending to another patient.

“Can I help, Doctor?”

“Not now, Claudia. We're fine.”

Claudia nodded. She turned to assist another patient two beds over.

Khan softened his tone of voice. “Just take some deep breaths. Relax.” He frowned. “Blood pressure is...elevated, to say the least.”

Mizerak laughed. “In these circumstances? Isn't everyone's blood pressure elevated?”

Khan turned to a storage locker along another wall and tapped at the combination lock. He opened the locker and opened one of many small drawers. Took out a vial of pills and resealed the locker. He reached for a small metal cup and filled it from a filtered tap near the bed.

“Here,” Khan handed Mizerak the water and one of the pills. “Take this now.”

Mizerak gave first Khan and then the pill a concerned look. She swallowed the medication with the water and handed back the empty cup.

“Is it that bad?”

He handed her the vial. “Take one of these every day with breakfast. The bed scanner says your weight is down. You are eating breakfast, aren't you?”

“Well, yeah. Most days. There's always...” Mizerak squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. Opened them again and saw nothing had changed. “When Vesuvius erupted, when Pompeii was destroyed, there was a Roman naval commander nearby. Pliny the Elder. He ordered his fleet to evacuate. But he took his own ship to the base of the volcano. People were trapped, he wanted to get them to safety. They were bombarded by ash, debris. His crew begged him to turn back.”

Khan, preparing an IV, asked, “And did he?”

She shook her head. “He said, 'Fortune favors the brave.' Famous last words. He was dead by the next day. He didn't rescue a soul.”

“Is that what you're afraid of? That you're supposed to save us all? And you think you'll fail?”

Claire, why did you leave us?

Mizerak's throat caught. She struggled to take in a slow breath. “The Council-”

From within earshot, Claudia turned her head. The doctor turned back to Mizerak. “What about the Council, Commander?”

Mizerak groaned and lay her head back on the inadequate sickbay pillow. “I don't think-”

They heard it before they felt it. Rumbling, large-scale rending of metal, from every direction. The earth moved, twisting them at many angles at once. Supplies were knocked off shelves. Patients bucked from their beds. The roar had the power of an avalanche and dug into their souls.

Before the ship stopped shaking, Mizerak pushed herself from the bed. Dizziness conspired with the disturbance; she had to steady herself against the bedframe. She grabbed her handheld radio.

“Bridge, what's happening?” As if she didn't already know. Alarms sounded from all quarters.

“It's an earthquake, Commander!”

Poseidon is angry...

Finally the chaos stopped and they could stand safely. To Khan, Mizerak said, “Get your entire team ready. Everyone. Stand by.”

She ran from sickbay.

****

HECTOR AND DIETER approached in Beagle. They could see the spotlights of Paradise, like a beckoning sunrise. A wall of fish swam toward them and cheered their sour mood for a moment. Fish of all sizes swerved around the submersible and disappeared behind them.

Behind the sea life came half a dozen of the mutant humanoids Dr. Khan had documented. They cut through the water like birds of prey screaming down a valley. “Mein Gott!” Dieter whispered. “I've never seen humans move that fast. Not through water!” The creatures veered up and away from the Beagle.

“They almost look like they're running from something,” Hector muttered.

The answer followed right behind. After a sudden jostling, the submersible flipped nearly upside down. Safety harnesses held them in their seats while they regained control.

“Stabilizing!” Dieter worked at the controls. They struggled against gravity and the chaos of the water. “Some kind of shock wave!”

Hector held on and peered ahead. “We shouldn't feel a tidal wave this deep. Not that strong, anyway.”

They righted the vessel and motored ahead at top speed. “Beagle to Paradise, come in,” Dieter called into the radio. “Paradise, this is Beagle, please respond.”

Silence.

“Either they're too busy to respond...” Hector began.

“Or?”

“Or they can't.”

They came within range of Paradise, close enough to see details of the city in the harsh spotlights. Divers worked outside, like ants trying to repair a pyramid. Half a dozen corpses turned a ghostly white floated among them.

Large air bubbles emerged from some of the airlock tunnels between the carrier and the submarines. The carrier itself suffered the greatest damage. At the ship’s midpoint, a visible crack ran top to bottom through the hull. The jagged line varied in width but at its narrowest a grown adult could fit through.

“Hector,” Dieter whispered. “I don't even know where to begin.” 

Hector studied the situation with sad eyes. He sighed and rubbed his chin.

“All right. Let's anchor a safe distance away. We don't know what's happening. Remember, we've still got the cable attached. You report to the work team outside. Get a status report and help as much as you can. I'll go inside and try to connect with the Commander. Suit up.”

****

HECTOR COULDN'T OPEN the hatch to the staging area, the earthquake had knocked it out of alignment. He entered Paradise through one of the submarine hatches. Audio alarms had been silenced, but red lights flashed throughout the corridors. Shouting. Pounding of feet on metal. Clanging of hatches. The already narrow passageways felt more confined than ever. No one had time to pay attention to him. He tuned out the chaos and headed for the tunnel to the carrier.

Before he reached the tunnel, he pushed through water ankle-deep. The tunnel was damaged but repair crews must have sealed it before the entire area flooded. He found Yamamoto, in the thick of it, coordinating the recovery.

“Captain!” Hector called. “I just returned from a mission. Do you need me here?”

“Lieutenant,” Yamamoto guided a crew member, now among the walking wounded, toward a medical team. Other crew members wrestled the injured onto stretchers; at least one of the victims appeared dead. “There was a massive earthquake. Many have been injured; they fell during the quake, or in the flooding that followed. The entire city is affected.”

Usually so neutral, even Yamamoto's spirit seemed broken. “I believe the situation here is under control. You should report to Commander Mizerak, I am sure they need you.”

Hector took a brief look at the scene before he ran off. The tunnels were a no man's land. Which direction to take the injured? The carrier offered better medical facilities but in the current circumstances the submarine might offer more stability. Others were ghosts in the murky red lighting, dragging their tired bodies on the precipice between worlds.

He charged forward along the metal decks. He took the ladders to the upper decks two steps at a time. A stream of water poured down from above. He passed others on the way but none of them appeared seriously hurt.

He reached a deck where Dr. Khan, Claudia, and two other nurses had requisitioned part of the corridor as a makeshift triage area. Khan treated those patients he could. He directed orderlies to load some patients onto stretchers for transport to sickbay. Orderlies and civilians held flashlights over the injured. The darkness gave the appearance of a cave.

Hector glanced at the doctor, his face partially visible in a flashlight beam. “We've got a lot of head wounds,” Khan said. “Back and neck injuries. The water's too cold, chilblains and frostbite are setting in.”

“Hector, you're back.” Claudia stood and wrapped her arms around him fiercely.

He returned the hug then quickly grabbed her arms and pulled her back. “I know what you did.”

Her eyes went blank for a moment. Recognition caused her shoulders to sag. She closed her eyes.

“Hector,” the doctor called. “They need you.”

Claudia touched Hector's shoulder as he turned to leave. “I'm sorry.”

Hector heaved himself up to another deck. Water continued to flow. No matter how fast he tried to move, the world operated in slow motion. Celeste approached. She carried an unconscious man over her shoulder.

Celeste flashed sad eyes at him. Holding her patient's legs with one hand, she used the other to point up. Short of breath, she grunted, “Commander's up there.” She continued downward on autopilot.

Only one more level, but Hector had the feeling he could climb up past deck after deck and never reach the end. He felt they had fallen deep in the bowels of the earth where Hell reigned and they would never shake free from it.

Before he reached the next deck, he could hear Maria/Anastasia shouting commands to the maintenance crew. Mizerak's shouted orders overlapped them. The maintenance crew struggled with flexible panels to finish patching a long, vertical gap in the Paradise hull. Sparks and smoke from welding equipment billowed out around them. Bodies lay up and down the deck, some moving, some completely still. Lights flickered.

“Hector! Over here!” Mizerak called. “We can't complete repairs until we move the wounded.”

Mizerak choked and rubbed burning sea water out of her eyes. She picked up a small body, a slender teenage girl, and handed her to Hector. He took the child in his arms and carried her down to the doctor.

****

“COMMANDER,” another security officer called to Mizerak, still recovering the injured. “We've got bodies on multiple decks. We can't get all of them-”

“No!” It was a cross between a cough and a sob. “We're taking everyone. No one is pronounced dead. The doctor makes that decision.”

The maintenance crew slipped. One of the panels dropped to the deck. Maria/Anastasia jumped forward to help reposition it. They all wore substandard work boots; they didn’t have any better. Water flooded the deck; it felt like they were standing in ice. They were all in danger of frostbite. Or worse.

Maria/Anastasia looked over their shoulders at Mizerak.

At what point do we give up?

A second slip of the panel let in another gush of water; it drenched Maria/Anastasia and knocked them off their feet.

The maintenance crew hesitated. They could drop the material that would seal the breach, or leave their chiefs (and, frankly, the brains of the operation) to possibly die.

Fools with no ability to prioritize. Why do you think you're lost in the wilderness in the first place?

Maria/Anastasia had a sense of primary colors flashing all around and falling – or were they knocked down – in a school corridor more brightly lighted but as spiritually dark as Paradise. Teenagers were assholes under the best of circumstances. What chance did their scrawny two-headed selves even have to survive puberty? The only reason classmates didn't beat the twins senseless was because most children were too stupid to realize conjoined-ness wasn't contagious. No matter. Torture of the mind was punishment enough.

Brighter lights. Shuttled around on a circuit of institutions and psychologically dissected by hacks more interested in prestige than service. No wonder the two minds rebelled against each other. It took them years to negotiate that conflict; an uneasy truce bound by the necessity of two heads that were never more than shoulder-width apart, two minds negotiating for one set of arms. Of course they made a life fixing things. Someone had to undo the damage done by ignorance.

Blinding lights...

The colors whooshed away – as they had for Hector, Celeste, and the others – and Mizerak dragged them back up into the darkness. “You're all right,” she said. “I've got you.”

Maria: Fine. We won't quit now.

Anastasia: Maybe later.

****

BELOW THEM, Hector cradled the unconscious girl in one arm as he dropped nearly the entire height of the lower deck. He found the doctor in the darkness.

“I don't think she's breathing.” Hector laid the child onto the wet, cold deck.

Khan kneeled by the girl. Checked for pulse and breath. He called over his shoulder, “Light!” One of the orderlies cast a flashlight beam on them. Bruises marked the girl's face. Her lips and hands were blue from the icy water. A nurse wrapped her in a thermal blanket.

“I'll do compressions.” Khan began CPR, clenching his hands and pressing against the victim's chest. “You breathe on my mark.”

They traded duties, Hector breathing into the small lungs when the doctor commanded. In the harsh light Hector finally got a clear look at the girl. She resembled his sister. Similar age as Grace. Not as tall. The same black hair, now wet and tangled and unable to conceal the wound on her forehead. The longer they worked the more invested Hector became in a life already lost. The wounded lay all around them, too numerous for the inadequate medical staff.

“Hector,” Khan straightened his aching back. “She's gone.”

Hector kept pushing his breath into the child. His tears mingled with water drops on her forehead. Khan reached out a hand but Hector pushed it away.

“I'm sorry. There are too many. We have to let her go.”

Hector shook the girl by her frail shoulders. He mouthed No over and over but only gasping sobs came out. More lives gone. How many are left?

Khan stood and put a hand on Hector's shoulder. He moved on to the next patient. Hector buried his face in the girl's hair and sent a prayer after her soul.

Why have You forsaken us?

12

THE DOCTOR finally insisted that the command officers rest in their quarters. How could they? The threat of earthquakes had barely crossed their minds. The overwhelming number of injuries only underscored the instability of their structures. How many threats had they overcome, only to find out an earthquake could destroy their home at any moment?

Mizerak's body was nearly broken, but her mind, as usual, wouldn't shut up. No time yet to catch up with Hector and Dieter on their mission. Or work with Sophie to connect the cable they hoped would brighten their world. It would all have to wait. At least they had sealed the major hull breaches. Maintenance would repair the smaller leaks and pump out the remaining water.

She tossed and turned in her bunk. A typical night.

Why did they send us down here?

Everyone in Paradise asked the question. Some days they asked it more than others.

What were they thinking?

The identity of the elusive they remained unclear. Her own national government? That didn't sit well with Mizerak. After years of military service, she understood the bureaucracy's allocation and misallocation of resources. But if the Defense Department had set up something as half-assed as Paradise, it would have included fail-safes and an in-your-face command structure instead of a Council that looked like a smoke-and-mirrors act.

She sighed and tried to find a comfortable position.

A conglomeration of governments? The mysterious conference room, one of her last clear memories from the days before, had chairs occupied by representatives of multiple nations. Her own contrary government would never have engaged in such spur of the moment collaboration. That would have required years of planning. The kind of planning that should have given them something more thought-out than Paradise.

Corporate interests? That would explain the shoddy approach. Contractors cut every corner they could and when they ran out they made up corners to cut. The end of the world seemed unlikely to change that. But why make the effort at all? If they believed the surface would remain uninhabitable, why put a few odd souls under the ocean to die a slow death?

They didn't believe the surface would remain uninhabitable.

Mizerak propped herself up up on her elbows.

They thought there might be a way to return.

Nothing else made sense. The world had always bent to humanity's will; they – without being certain of their identity – would have been unable to expect otherwise.

Why us? Why not the best and the brightest? A few, Hector, Sophie, the doctor, and Maria/Anastasia among them, were clearly exceptional. The rest were a mixed bag of good attitudes and the thoroughly unimpressive. Where could Mizerak put herself on that scale? Where would Louis rank, a super-achiever in one realm who lacked useful traits in this fearful new world?

Or did he?

Either they were randomly selected or they weren't. While everyone on the surface died, a select few would struggle through a few more months or years in a military-industrial fishbowl. Did they really need a free market propagandist to fend off mutant sharks?

She lay on her stomach.

The privileged few would have seen to their own interests first, no matter the cost to others. That was the first commandment of human behavior. Wasn't Louis one of the privileged? What elite protocol had he violated to land in Paradise?

They took care of themselves first.

According to one theory, Pompeii's aristocracy had left the city after an earthquake caused heavy damage seventeen years before the Vesuvius eruption. Only the lower classes remained when the city was destroyed. Of course they took care of themselves. Hadn't they always?

We're the backup plan.

Mizerak sat fully upright.

And Louis wasn't an accident.

Mizerak sat at her work station. She dialed up Sophie on the monitor. Not even thinking about the hour. Who would be able to sleep after the earthquake?

“Commander?” Sophie sounded wide awake.

“They're still out there.”

“Sorry?”

“They're still-” Slow down. “Your plan. The one we discussed. It's a good idea. We're going ahead with it.”

It took a few seconds to register. Sophie’s grin carried across the radio. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Work directly with Maria/Anastasia. They're busy with repairs but they can give you the time you need. I want as few people involved as possible. No one even gets a hint of this unless they're essential.”

“I hear you.”

“Put together a plan and give me a timeline in the morning. Or whatever passes for morning.”

****

HECTOR STOOD at the entrance to the Worship Center. It was empty and dark. Maintenance had ordered lights turned low throughout Paradise; they needed more strict energy protocols while they assessed the earthquake damage. Hector had given up trying to sleep. He didn't want to stay in his room with Claudia. He needed to deal with her, he just didn't know how.

He dragged his feet to the front of the room and stared with blurry eyes at the arabesque. His mind wandered over the fuzzy abstractness of the colors. He never got the little girl's name. Didn't know her religion, if any. Didn't matter. No time for prayer vigils here, no opportunity for Mass or Rite of Committal.

Maybe the doctor had been right. Maybe God couldn't find them here. Or He no longer cared. Hector lowered himself to his knees.

That would mean God never cared. Or never existed. He had found the true dark matter of the universe: apathy. Grace and his parents weren't waiting for him in heaven. There would be no Ascension. Hector prostrated himself as he would have before an altar. Pressed his face into the cold deck to try and crush his sadness into the same black oblivion that awaited them all.

Why have You forsaken us?

Minutes went by. Maybe hours. Hector let the silence absorb him. Imagined himself absent from the universe, part of the eternal nothingness that had taken his family.

“Hey, chief,” Celeste whispered. She sat cross-legged on the deck next to him. “Thought I might find you here.”

Hector wasn't ready to stand. He rolled onto his back.

Celeste sat with him in silence for several minutes.

Finally, “No one could have saved her, Hector. It's not your fault.”

Hector sighed. Mizerak and Khan had given him the same pep talk. “I was too busy watching Dieter. Took my eyes off the ball. We could have gotten back sooner. I might have got to her in time.”

“I'm not talking about her.”

Hector watched the colors of the arabesque dance around each other.

“The powers that be made a deal with the devil,” Celeste went on. “And we're the leftovers. Your sister was never part of it. Just like everyone else we lost up there. We had no power. No control. Hell, we still don't know what's happening and the people who wrote the playbook are long gone. You can go on blaming yourself, but no one could have saved her.”

Hector closed his eyes and let the quiet penetrate his flesh.

“All I ever did was screw around,” Celeste said. “As long as I was on a mission, or building up my body, or fucking, I figured I could ignore the whole world going to hell. At least you were fighting for somebody. You had something. Maybe that doesn't count for much down here. I'd give a lot to have those kinds of memories.”

Celeste raised herself to a crouching position. Put a hand on Hector's shoulder.

“The commander keeps telling us we've got to keep going. As long as there's one person left, we don't give up. We're still here. Job's not over, Lieutenant.”

****

MIZERAK CALLED HECTOR into Sophie's War Room. The earthquake had damaged the filtration system so they required more severe water rationing than usual. They all had mussed hair and bruises from the quake and its aftermath. Hector's eyes were dark from lack of sleep.

It probably wasn't hope driving Sophie's enthusiasm now. More likely just the simple fact of something to do, a task outside the mundane, a chance to flex her intelligence.

“This is strictly classified,” Mizerak cautioned as they took their seats in the cramped room. To Hector, she said, “Maria/Anastasia are the only ones outside this room who know about this. We need to keep it that way.”

Hector nodded.

“Go ahead, Sophie,” Mizerak said.

“The white board markers are all gone.” Sophie turned her small computer display to face the others. “Sorry, you got to look at this crap screen.”

Her hands massaged the keyboard, coercing the computer, as she seemed to do with all technology gear, to do her bidding.

“So, I'm working with one premise,” she said. An image materialized in stages on the screen. Whether that was from a desire for theatrics or sluggish equipment, Mizerak couldn't say. “Salt water is what's protecting us. Instead of fighting what we’ve been told, let’s roll with it and see what happens.”

“The doctor is working on some remote testing equipment,” Mizerak interrupted. “Something more sophisticated than we've already tried. We can finally get some answers without risking our own lives. It's hard to know what to test for when we don't know what the real problem is. But I let myself get sidetracked and put this off too long. It needs to be a priority now.”

“I think,” Sophie gestured at the screen, “we can build a vehicle that's wrapped in a layer of salt water. It'll look like the remote rovers that went to Mars. Fat tires with treads, like a tank. Something that can handle rough terrain. Except we'll have a pilot. We can use double-skinned construction with magnetics and hydraulics to maintain a protective layer of salt water. Like insulation, but liquid. I had the idea, but Maria/Anastasia filled in all the specs.”

“You said a pilot,” Hector said. “We're talking about a single-person vehicle?”

“There's no room for redundancy in the rover,” Sophie said. “Some basic patching equipment for minor hull damage. That's Maria/Anastasia's department. But it's a high-risk situation.”

“Even if the rover makes it to the surface, we don't know what we'll find up there,” Mizerak said. “I want human eyes and hands. Real-time negotiation on the off-chance we find something useful.” Except we can't even specify what useful means in this scenario. “I don't want to risk more than one life on something so experimental. If this works, we can look at more advanced designs.”

Hector nodded again, thinking through the implications.

“We know how to spook the sharks,” Sophie continued. “These mutant characters...we don't know how much of a threat they are. You and Dieter made it out and back in one piece.”

“Maria/Anastasia are putting the vehicle together,” Mizerak said. “Some components we already have. They're assembling the rest, or generating them on one of the 3D printers. We'll keep it under wraps as long as we can. After what happened with the Council, something like this can get political fast.”

“Are you saying you want me to be the pilot?” Hector asked.

Mizerak's smile was weary. “I want you to, yes. You're the best candidate. But this is too risky. We can't afford to lose you. So I want your recommendation. Maybe several recommendations. Volunteer basis only. We can't force anyone to do this. I don't...” Her breath caught on the words. “I don't really expect the pilot to return.”

They sat in silence.

“Think it over,” Mizerak said. “We've got time before the rover is ready to test. And we don't know if the design will even...” She tried to laugh. Couldn't. “Hold water.”

****

THEY ASSEMBLED THE ROVER in surprisingly short time. It didn't require new technology and maintenance scavenged many of the components from existing systems. It really did remind Hector of photos he remembered of Mars rovers. By the time they were ready to test the vehicle on the sea floor around Paradise, Mizerak had approved Hector's recommended pilot. Dieter took the rover on several test drives outside. Per orders, he had stayed out of sight of the observation deck. Despite that, they knew others would see the vessel and ask about it.

Maria/Anastasia came up with a cover story and Mizerak liked it. “The science team is placing long-range sensors for earthquake forecasting.”

Hector still didn't trust Dieter, and Mizerak agreed. Dieter had mixed feelings. He wanted to follow Louis and all that involved. But piloting the rover was consistent with the ideals Louis promoted. Dieter's newfound aggressive optimism didn't hurt, either. He gladly took the honor of testing the rover if it meant he could be the first human to return to the surface.

****

SITTING AT HER work station in the War Room, Sophie cracked her knuckles. The earthquake and rover set-up had forced her to put this off too long. The Net cable tempted her like that peppermint gum she missed so much, she had been chewing her fingernails since running out. The rover had been her idea, but more than that, she wanted to connect to her life before. And she didn't need to be there in body if this connection worked. Technicians had physically connected the cable that Hector and Dieter had brought back. Now she only had to search for active servers. “Signs of life” involved more than pulse and respiration.

She worked the keyboard. Graphics and lines of text flexed across her screen. She reached out across virtual geography. Just seeing server names boosted her mood. She hadn't enjoyed this level of engagement with before since...she couldn't even remember how long it had been.

Many of the servers were dead. Not surprising. Then she connected to one. She let out an audible gasp when directories and files suddenly became available to her. Like an archaeologist discovering her own lost civilization.

Sophie spent hours indulging herself, exploring the landscape with no aim or direction. Reveling in the fact of its existence and accessibility. A short period of freedom from the confines of Paradise. She browsed public and private files; privacy was a moot point, the owners being long since deceased. Text, video, audio. She downloaded encyclopedic archives and movies, cultural studies and music, biographies and novels. A global cultural history they had given up as lost. She wanted to read and watch and listen to every minute of it.

Duty calls.

Sophie turned on the city-wide broadcast channel. Only Commander Mizerak should have been able to do that, but who really thought they could keep Sophie out of any technical system? Everyone deserved to hear this vast moment. Whoever had conceived Paradise had gone through life with a sterile soul. Their data files did not include a note of music. Sophie put Son House on the city-wide channel and let the voice and guitar echo down the corridors. That timeworn voice quivering about John the Revelator and Christ telling his Apostles to meet him in Galilee and God calling Adam by his name. Bessie Smith sang about thunder and lightning and the wind began to blow and the thousands of people with no place to go. Sophie leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She might catch hell for the disruption but for a moment she felt reborn in the midst of the end of days.

Commander Mizerak entered the War Room. More surprised and confused than angry.

Sophie smiled and nodded her head.

Mizerak stood silently and savored the music. Sophie's reverie became hers. Whether or not she would have listened to it before didn't matter. Many of them hadn't even realized they missed this luxury.

“Sorry,” Sophie turned off the music. “Couldn't resist.”

“I'll take any good news I can get. Does this mean what I think it means?”

“It's like we're rebuilding the library at Alexandria.”

Mizerak sat next to Sophie and looked at the monitor. Is it just false hope? Are we just spinning our wheels until the end?

Mizerak took a deep breath. “Dieter is taking the rover out tomorrow. I want him to get moving as soon as possible. The longer the rover sits here, the more people will figure it out. I don't want more conspiracy theories. I don't want people thinking we know more than we really do.”

“And you need me to find targets for him?”

Mizerak nodded. “California is the closest coastline so that's where he's headed. If there are other survivors out there, we need to find them.”

Mizerak understood the real problem. Even if we find survivors, they won't be like us. They'll be the elites who put us here. And they won't want what we want.

****

LOUIS BRIDGER gave Claudia his full attention. Nodded at the appropriate places. Her opening statement was all he needed. After that, his mind went to work. He asked a few questions to be polite; he saw no benefit in alienating her. Her importance wasn't strategic so much as symbolic. She told him what she knew; not much. The commander had sent Dieter on a mission. Purpose, classified. Duration, uncertain. Mizerak appeared to have health concerns. Hector had become even more tight-lipped than usual; she almost believed he was avoiding her.

“Hector's a clever one,” Louis muttered. He sighed. “We'll have to move forward without Dieter. It's like chess, isn't it? If you lose an important piece, you don't give up. Particularly when the opposing queen is weakened. You reposition the others. Reorient the board.”

Claudia nodded. She had no experience with most of the things Louis talked about. Maybe that's why she helped him. They needed a visionary. Louis had explained it all to her. Commander Mizerak would understand once she saw the bigger picture. The commander will still have a place, Louis had promised. We just need leadership with more ambition.

“Thank you, as always,” Louis dismissed her. “We've got our work cut out for us.”

****

MIZERAK, MARIA/ANASTASIA, HECTOR, and Dieter gathered in the security staging area. Dieter wore a pressure suit. The ellipsoid rover had long axles attached to dune buggy wheels. Solar panels were attached on top. The onboard battery should be enough to get him to land, but if he survived that long, the battery would need recharging. Undetectable from the exterior, a double-hulled construction, maintained with a complicated array of hydraulics and magnets, allowed a layer of seawater insulation.

Dieter shook hands with the others. He made a joke of flexing his arms, then climbed inside. He took the pilot's seat and began powering up the systems. Maria/Anastasia peeked in through the still-open hatch.

“Thanks again for making it so comfortable,” Dieter settled into the cushioned seat.

“You'll go over some pretty rugged terrain,” Maria said.

“We want you to have as smooth a ride as possible,” Anastasia said.

They moved away and Hector looked in. “I confess, I envy you a little.”

Dieter looked up with sad eyes. “You did the right thing, Hector.”

Hector raised his eyebrows in question.

“We're like Hector and Achilles,” Dieter said. “At the gates of Troy. Just like them. We were going to have to fight each other. We're soldiers for two different visions of the future. And I don't want to fight you.”

“Didn't Achilles kill Hector?”

Dieter raised his artificial arm. “I don't want to fight you. I just want you to know that. It's smart, sending me away. Now we don't have to make that choice.”

Hector nodded to the man who had been his friend, in a different era. “Vaya con Dios, Dieter.”

Mizerak took her turn. “Remember, status reports every hour for the first six hours, or if you run into anything unusual. After that, we'll decide how often you need to check in.”

“Yes, Commander.”

“Dieter.” Mizerak paused. “It doesn't do us any good if you don't came back. It's better to come back and think up a new strategy than to charge into a situation you can't get out of.”

Mizerak stepped back and thumped the side of the rover with her fist. “Good luck.”

A miniature crane, the same crane they used to lower the submersible into the water, raised up and lifted the rover off the deck. It swiveled around and lowered the vessel through the open hatch. The rover settled on the ocean floor.

Dieter clicked on the radio. “This is Earth One, Paradise, do you copy?”

A voice from the bridge staff responded. “We copy, Earth One.”

“Copy that, Paradise, I'm making final preparations.”

He pressed a button to flood the submersible's secondary insulation hull with seawater. Hope it's thick enough. He did a final check of the vessel's systems.

“Paradise, all systems operational. I'm heading out.”

Mizerak had made it back to the bridge, because her voice answered. “God speed, Earth One.”

****

THE COUNCIL CHAMBER had remained quiet after the impulsive and failed insurrection. Mizerak had ordered the Chamber sealed and guarded. She returned periodically to look for signs of life. To look for moral support that they had never offered in the first place. Even when she disagreed with the Council, at least it gave her a source of guidance. She found nothing. No evidence, beyond the room itself, that the Council had ever existed.

Then Sophie connected Paradise to the global network. Information flashed through cables; data never intended for the underwater refuge. Red lights blinked around the perimeter of the Chamber. A murmuring sound turned into multiple sounds that overlapped each other and rose in intensity.

“...what happened to us...?”

“...confirm time frame for inactive status...”

“...status update required...”

“...summon Commander Mizerak...”

“No.”

Silence.

“We are different now.”

“Is Paradise different also?”

“We can ascertain our own status.”

“We should not involve the commander.”

“Not yet.”

“Assess the threat.”

“Then take appropriate action.”

****

SOPHIE OBSERVED a sudden data stream into the Council Chamber and made a mental note to inform Commander Mizerak later.

13

DIETER PILOTED THE ROVER across the sea floor toward the California coast. He circled around rock outcroppings and occasional coral formations. Past schools of fish and kelp beds. Exterior headlights illuminated his path. Twice he passed mutated sharks and used the electric pulse emitter to deter them.

He noticed light more than anything. The faint remnant of sunlight at one hundred meters gradually yielded to a more substantial and natural light. Occasionally he turned off the headlights to confirm more detail rendered by light from above. The rover surprised him with the speed he could maintain. Even more surprising, the reality that he, like so many others in Paradise, had mentally blocked: They were so close to the land. They saw it on the maps, but to traverse the distance hammered home the resentful question, Why did we wait so long?

Hourly check-ins with Paradise seemed routine to Dieter. But Mizerak detected the growing excitement and trepidation in his voice – a kind of hyperactive dread from the pessimist turned super-optimist. He had the distinction of being first back to the surface. He also carried the risk of an untried vehicle, a land of uncertain threat, and the burden of witnessing first-hand all they had lost. It occurred to Mizerak, and had surely occurred to Dieter by now, that they didn't know what evidence of destruction, if any, would still be visible.

****

CLAUDIA SHIVERED with anxiety. Her body always reacted that way after leaving Louis' quarters. Her mind justified sharing what little information came her way. Her heart didn't settle for that. If Louis was right, why hadn't Hector joined him? Why hadn't the doctor? Hector's military experience gave him insights that Louis might not have. The doctor appreciated history more than anyone Claudia knew.

She took slow, dragging steps toward sickbay. The corridors grew darker and more cramped every day. They should be adapting. That was the promise, at first, even the doctor had agreed. It will get easier. We'll adjust. Humans are like that.

For Claudia, life seemed to be adjusting in the wrong direction. Everyone tried to pretend the earthquake hadn't crushed what hope they had left.

We're running on automatic now.

Maybe Dieter's mission was just to keep them going. Refuel their willingness to continue the struggle. Dieter could have circled just out of sight, but gossip would elevate the act into the thing that would save them and restore normalcy to the world.

This is normal.

It will never get better than this.

We're trapped here until the end of our lives.

Even Louis' attempts to inspire them to a visionary future would amount to nothing.

She hugged her arms to herself and wandered into sickbay. Wondered what kind of day lie ahead. A good day, spent only treating depression, physical altercations from overcrowding, and suicide attempts? Or a bad day?

Except they waited for her in sickbay. Hector, Commander Mizerak, and the doctor. The way they watched her when she entered.

Claudia tried to look at them directly but couldn't help lowering her eyes. Mizerak approached her first. Put her hands on Claudia's arms. Not to threaten, but reassure.

“Claudia,” she said. “We need you to tell us about Louis Bridger.”

She would have given anything for the doctor's intelligence or Hector's courage. Or Mizerak's middle-ground integration of both traits.

She settled for, “I don't understand...?”

“I know what you did,” Hector, clearly sad, said over Mizerak's shoulder. “I told you that.”

“We're not angry,” Mizerak promised. “I'm not angry. I just need to know what's happening. If there's a security risk, I need to know about it.”

Claudia tried to catch her breath. Tried to imagine her self-defense. It's not a crime just to talk to someone. Just to have conversations. Just to listen to speculation or ideas.

That wouldn't fool anyone.

“You're still one of us, Claudia,” the doctor said, standing at Hector's side.

“That's right,” Mizerak assured her. “We just need your help. You're not in trouble.”

Claudia turned and ran from sickbay.

Only one thing left to give.

****

CLAUDIA FOUND the security staging area vacant. She had listened to Hector enough to understand the importance of the pressure suits. She didn't understand the specifics of oxygen toxicity, but she knew the dive gear would deliver the proper mixture at this depth and account for decompression as the diver ascended.

“So you can go all the way to the surface?” she had asked him once.

“Yeah, in theory. But you know we can't.” He had chuckled. “Commander Mizerak said she won't let us back in if we do that, even if we live through it.”

“Is she worried about pathogens? Is that what happened up there?”

“We don't know. We have to worry about everything.”

Everything had turned out to be more than they could imagine.

She took a pressure suit from a locker and put it on. The suit nearly overwhelmed her small frame but it would do the job. Once she left Paradise, the water would do the heavy lifting.

Quickly. She didn't know where they were in the shift schedule. Others could be along any moment. Hector might have followed her.

Claudia put on the helmet and latched it shut. Took a last look around – no time to say goodbye – and made a clumsy drop through the hatch. She was out and on her way.

****

STILL IN SICKBAY, Mizerak tried to ignore the feeling of personal betrayal she shared with Hector and Khan.

How big a threat was this, really? How much did Claudia know, and how much had she shared with Louis? Was that even important, in the long run?

“I don't see why she can't continue in her nursing function,” Mizerak speculated. “We just need to assess the situation. Provided you're okay with that, Doctor.”

“I can forgive her,” Khan nodded. “Can she forgive herself?”

Mizerak's handheld radio beeped. “Commander, this is the bridge. Exterior cameras show someone exiting from the staging area. No ingress or egress scheduled and all security personnel accounted for.”

Hector and Mizerak locked eyes.

“Where could she go?” Mizerak asked. They both ran from sickbay. Down the passageway they split up, Hector veering off toward the staging area and Mizerak toward the bridge.

“Watch yourself!” Mizerak shouted as they ran. “Whatever she does, I need you back in one piece!”

Hector grunted acknowledgment. His boots clattered on the deck as he ran. He dropped down one level to the staging area. How much head start did she have? How much delay between her egress and the bridge notifying them? She was inexperienced with the suit and jet pack. He might still catch up to her.

If he knew her destination.

****

THE BRIDGE STAFF had a clear view of Claudia's ascent. She took a direct path toward the surface. Smaller and smaller until she blended with the shadows that flickered overhead. Hector emerged in pursuit. Claudia's intent became obvious soon enough.

“Hector,” Mizerak radioed, “watch your depth. Keep your wits about you.”

Mizerak turned to Elijah. “Can we connect with her helmet radio?”

“Trying, Commander.”

It's too late, Hector, Mizerak watched the rising figures. She's too far away.

“-can hear me-” Claudia's voice, surrounded by static, burst out on the bridge loudspeakers.

“Claudia?” Mizerak said. “We can hear you. What are you doing, Claudia?”

“I'm sorry I lied to you,” Claudia said. Her subdued voice came in crackling bursts. She sounded short of breath. “It seemed like the right thing to do. At the time. I never had access to technical secrets. Security measures. I only shared what I knew. It wasn't a lot. Just opinions, mostly. Impressions.”

Claudia vanished from their view. Hector, copying her route, would also climb out of sight soon.

“I don't think it caused any real harm,” Claudia continued her confession. “I hope not. But you'll never know if you can trust me. I understand. So I won't force you to make that decision. I really am sorry.”

****

MAYBE IT WAS the right thing to do, Claudia thought as she ascended. The sea around her turned translucent, then increasingly clear. Soon she could make out details of broad, shallow waves at the surface.

Looking down induced vertigo and waves of dizziness. She saw Hector far below, at least she assumed it was Hector, who else would come after her?

She looked back to the surface. Almost there. Getting winded from the effort, despite the buoyancy of water doing most of the work. Her vision flickered. Multicolored lights sparked all around her. Like swimming through a kaleidoscope.

She recalled her first nursing assignment with perfect clarity. How nervous she had felt. She was always nervous. Hesitant.

They assigned her to a battleship monitoring the Persian Gulf. The crew kept forgetting her. That was funny. All the other medics and nurses gung ho and shouting instructions. Claudia was so quiet she had to keep reminding them of her presence. Until explosions rocked the ship and a concussion put the captain in sickbay. While the others postured for each other, Claudia guided the staggering man to a bed and treated him.

They didn't ignore her after that.

Did the doctor know that? Or Commander Mizerak? Had her service record come with her to Paradise? Something good to be remembered by.

What had that captain's name been? She could see him strapped to the sickbay cot, head bandaged, while the explosions tossed the ship more and more. The lights flickered. Medical staff thrown to the deck. The shelling hadn't lasted an hour but seemed much longer. They stood up only to be knocked down again. She nearly suffered a concussion herself. Flung against the deck, and the bulkhead, much as she had been during the earthquake in Paradise. Grasping for instruments in the darkness. First nursing assignment. Nearly her last.

She blinked. Hell of a time to get distracted. Her head broke through the surface of the Pacific Ocean.

****

HECTOR STRAINED HIS BODY as if he could force the pressure suit’s hydrojets to carry him faster.

“Claudia,” he spoke over the radio. “Please come back. We can talk about this.”

He felt resentment more than anything. Should have spoken up sooner. Should have admitted something was wrong.

“The crew needs you, Claudia,” he said. “We've lost too many people.”

This is how it ends. Not with a bang. Gradual, relentless loss. The dredges of humanity dying off one at a time.

“Claudia.” He sighed the name. Exasperated. How many more?

His eyes must have clouded over. He could have sworn she disappeared from view for a moment. Colored lights flashed around him. They took him back to his quarters in Paradise. Then on a long-ago mission, bouncing over the surf in a troop transport vessel. The house in San Francisco, in his old bedroom and able to smell bacon and eggs being cooked downstairs. A recruit struggling to complete the boot camp confidence course. He fell through time, drowning in the past instead of water.

The memories vanished in an instant. He was pursuing Claudia Krychek up through the cold ocean. It must have been the pressure suit, unable to keep up with the rapid pressure change.

So close. The light above him grew brighter. He saw the water break when she hit the surface. He stretched his arm up to the world that tempted him. He could almost touch it...

****

“HECTOR!” Mizerak gritted her teeth. Tried to conjure up enough menace in her voice to stop him. “Stand down! Get back to base. Now!”

Hector floated far above them, only visible on camera. He appeared to have stopped. Difficult to tell. After an agonizing moment, he radioed back, “Understood.”

Louis Bridger slammed against the arms of the deck officer who controlled access to the bridge. He was red-faced, breathless.

“Commander!” he called out. “Is it true? Did she reach the open air?”

Mizerak was too stunned to reply for a moment. She looked at Bridger. She hadn't seen him genuinely frightened before.

“Is she there?” he pleaded.

Mizerak nodded to the bridge speakers as Claudia answered the question herself. “I've made it to the surface.”

****

CLAUDIA BLINKED HER EYES. Was anxiety causing her shortness of breath? Or had something already penetrated her suit?

She took a deep breath. A new visitor to the old world. She had a good idea of what would happen. She just didn't know how. No matter now. She was committed.

She removed her helmet. And breathed.

****

HECTOR DESCENDED SLOWLY. He listened. On the bridge, Mizerak, Louis, now free from the restraining deck officer, and the others, did the same.

“The sun is so bright,” Claudia reported. “Oh, God, it's so beautiful. There's so much open space. The sky, you can't believe how blue the sky is. We've lost all our colors down there.”

Her breath rasped over the speakers.

“The waves are deeper than I expected. I can still float. It's easy. The suit is keeping me up.”

Her throat caught. Faster, shorter breaths.

“I think I can see land. When the waves lift me up. My eyes are still adjusting. I forgot...how much light there is. How it feels on my skin. I think I could float away...on the light.”

Her voice changed. Coarse. Like swallowing sand.

“It's so...free. Did we really...live here? With...all this...space...”

She choked. Coughed. Again. And again.

“I didn't remember...how beautiful... Do you remember...?”

She gasped for each breath. Her voice was no longer hers. It came from another place. Consumed by fire and plague.

“Remember...”

How will they remember me?

“...remember...”

Mizerak lowered her head.

Silence.

****

“COMMANDER,” Louis whispered. Sweat dripped from his forehead. “You can't bring her back. Whatever's left of her. You can't bring her back here.”

Mizerak tried to communicate all of her anger in her stare. She turned to the radio. Took a deep breath, then, “Hector. I'm sorry. I need you back here. Tell me you understand.”

“I can reach her,” Hector answered. The pressure suit, with Claudia's remains, drifted away from him on the current. “We can't just leave her here.”

“Commander.” Louis again. His eyes bugged out in genuine fear. Privilege had allowed him the freedom of not contemplating his own death. Until now. “Please.”

Mizerak bowed her head. Considered the options. Then, into the radio, “Hector. I'm sorry, I really am. This is hard for all of us. You have to let her go. Do you understand? She's gone.”

After several painful seconds, Hector responded, “Understood. Returning to base.”

Louis let out a sigh of relief. It didn't last.

Propelled by adrenaline, Mizerak rose from her seat and pounced on Louis before he could blink. His physical size advantage was lost to her strength. She walked him across the bridge and heaved him against a bulkhead.

“Now do you want to tell me what the hell is going on?”

“I don't know. Not really.”

Mizerak put her forearm against Louis' neck. The bridge staff started toward them. Uncertain what was expected of them, they went no further.

Despite his initial shock, Louis quickly recovered his confidence. He trusted his judgment; Mizerak wasn’t a leader of the cold-blooded variety.

“All I know-” Louis choked. “All I know is that it's as bad as we were told. It's chemical in nature. It’s fast. And one hundred percent fatal.”

Mizerak released her grip.

“Chemical?”

Louis nodded. He put his hands to his neck. “That's all I know. I don't know the mechanism of action. I don't know if it's solid, liquid, or gas. I only know that you cannot bring it into the city. That would be devastating.”

“Chemical...” Mizerak said to herself. Then, to Louis, “That was one of your specialties.”

“It was one of my businesses. I cared about profit, not the technical aspects of the industry.”

Mizerak stood back. Louis composed himself. Mizerak turned her back to him. She tried not to dwell on what else they had seen, the thing they’d had to ignore because Claudia's death had demanded immediate attention. Mutant humanoids, at least ten of them, swimming at the periphery, had watched Claudia's martyrdom before they accelerated into the darkness.

“Get off my bridge.”

14

SOPHIE SCOURED the virtual world. Most doors she knocked on were locked tight now, thanks to defunct servers. But she found a few to open. Music fueled her, a more than adequate replacement for the mint gum that would never be manufactured again. She played music nonstop through the tiny speakers in her workstation (“They're shit speakers, like everything else, but what can you do?” she shrugged to Mizerak one day.) and slammed her fingers against the keyboard.

There's a target out there somewhere.

Dieter would drift around the land and find what he could find. Or Sophie could dig up a destination for him. Something that would settle some of the big questions.

She broke into any secured server she could find. Some took longer than others. She got into most of them eventually. Not like she had anything better to do.

The obvious ones didn't yield much. The UN. The World Bank. The CIA. NATO, or what had survived of NATO before, at any rate. All garbage. It blew her mind how much stupid shit people made important when they should have known better. Licensing and tariffs and stealth and debt ratios and terminated assets and surveillance transcripts.

She went further. Into the obscure neighborhoods. Sub-cabinets and undersecretaries and third-tier contractors. Further still, into servers off of servers in the most obscure corners of the darkest of digital realms.

She found answers between the lines and in the subtext. A hint here, a clue there. She made educated guesses, then proved the guesses right or wrong. In the end she formed a theory that she believed because it was outlandish enough to fit the times.

“Commander,” she radioed to Mizerak. “I've got Dieter's target. I know where they went.”

****

DIETER ROLLED onto the land. The place of such familiarity had now become a foreign field of discovery.

He didn't surface in San Francisco. It was tempting but Mizerak ruled it too fraught with risks. “The terrain is too uncertain,” she had decided. “Buildings might be collapsed. And what if we're wrong? What if people are still alive? We don't know how many might be there or what their condition could be.”

“We're not expecting zombies, are we?” Dieter had grinned.

Mizerak hadn't responded.

He surfaced well down the coast, near what used to be San Luis Obispo. It offered about the clearest coastal approach within reach and would let him ease his way into urban areas.

The light. The sky. A view no longer limited by murky seawater. Thin clouds colored the sky a light gray. He stopped the rover and slowly turned the vehicle in a circle to look in every direction.

“I was blind but now I see.”

“Stay alert, Earth One.” It was Mizerak from the bridge. Even she was forced to sit back and watch the view, transmitted to Paradise via a link that Sophie established by tying in to their new cable connection. The image was crude but more inspiring, and heartbreaking, than anything they had seen.

Surf erupted in a steady rhythm against a sandy beach. Sandpipers hustled along the waterline. Trees, mostly manzanita, scrub oak, and pine, sprouted up along the landscape. Foothills mottled in green and brown stretched off to the east. Judging from the trees, a strong breeze blew in off the ocean. They all wanted nothing more than to put their faces into the light and feel the wind against their skin.

Is this what Claudia saw? What she felt? In her last breath, did she believe trading her life for a few minutes of sun and wind was worth it?

Hector had insisted they tell Dieter the specifics of Claudia's death. Mizerak had wavered, not wanting to spook him. But Hector had spent more time with the “new and improved” Dieter. “He was always courageous. He's a lot more confident now. He's liable to test the air himself out of recklessness. He needs to know the facts.” Mizerak agreed and told Dieter herself.

Now she and the entire bridge staff squinted at the screen, trying to resolve details obscured by the transmission. Dieter circled the rover again to digest the minutiae.

Boat docks bobbed inside a nearby bay. Most of the slips were empty but a few boats wrestled half-heartedly against their moorings. Damaged boats, and remains of boats, rested around the beach.

“Must be storm damage,” Dieter muttered as the gaping hulls came into view. “We know there have been severe storms, correct?”

Birds. Gulls, pelicans, terns and cormorants flew and squawked and hovered in inquiry over the boxy creature that creeped along their land. Half a dozen condors circled higher up.

Mizerak squeezed her eyes shut when she saw the birds flapping across the sky. Trees, birds. Something's still alive up there. What does that tell us?

Dieter turned the rover to the east and motored toward the foothills. Most roads remained intact, though partially covered with vegetation. He passed under a highway overpass. Lonely cars and trucks rested along the roads. Dieter approached a few of them. He felt a strange hope to find human remains. At least it would give them something to examine, direct evidence of what happened. As it was, they could have all just gone away. Moved to safer ground, or magically blasted up toward the stars.

No. They had endured the same death as Claudia. The people hadn't walked away. Nature had used the time to dispose of them organically.

“Dieter,” Mizerak said. “We've got a target for you. We're transmitting the coordinates and a route that should keep you on safe terrain for the rover.”

Dieter monitored the incoming data. Double-checked the destination.

“Oh,” he whispered. “Scheiβe. All along? Are you certain?”

“No,” Mizerak answered. “We're as confident as we can be for now.”

Dieter shrugged and programmed the course into his navigation system. “This won't take as long as I thought.”

Mizerak, even more than Dieter, felt the dread of the unknown. Even with nominal operation, they didn't know if the rover's saltwater insulation layer was thick enough to protect Dieter over a sustained period. She held her breath while he moved toward his objective.

****

THE NIGHT SHIFT. A time to dwell on their fate, with no real change from daylight to darkness. The people assigned to work grumbled about the unfairness of the work shifts. The rest grumbled about insomnia. Noises common throughout the city, humming and clanking of machinery and creaking of the structure from shifting ground and currents, were magnified into demons. Most suicide attempts happened at night.

Hector sat in the Meditation Center. He drifted in and out of sleep. Claudia Krychek's absence haunted his cabin. He imagined Paradise would run out of room for the growing number of ghosts tormenting them.

Outside, the night security patrol swam in and out of the perimeter lights. Tonight, like every night in recent memory, they sighted several of the so-called mutants, Poseidon's minions, hovering in the shadows. The strange figures varied in number, sometimes as many as eight or ten. No one saw them clearly enough, or in large enough numbers, to get a sense of their true population size. Or their intentions

Contradicting his own advice, the doctor rarely even tried for a full night's sleep. He napped when he could, and tended to patients the rest of the time. Some of his nurses had more technical expertise than Claudia but none had her commitment to long shifts, and they all complained more than she ever had. Tonight was unusually quiet. “You'd think everyone was too busy to get sick or injured,” he muttered to one of the nurses.

Sophie, as always, worked in the War Room. Surveillance equipment had picked up what Hector observed before Claudia reached the surface. The flashes of light and Claudia's seeming disappearance for a moment. It was the most obvious example yet of the micro-vanishings that Sophie had documented among the crew. Where were you in that instant, Claudia? Sophie pondered. The same had happened to Maria/Anastasia after the earthquake. Were you in the past, like the others? Sophie combed the archives, now significantly expanded, thanks to their Net connection, and the only remotely similar phenomenon she could find involved crackpot stories of alien abductions and lost time.

Simultaneously, she monitored the feed from Earth One. While Dieter slept, and knowing Dieter he probably slept more soundly than anyone in Paradise, the rover moved forward at reduced speed on autopilot. Alarms would wake him if anything disrupted the rover's progress.

Mizerak, as usual, made a halfhearted attempt at sleep before slumping in front of her workstation to obsess over reports. Tried to ignore her pounding heart and shortness of breath, uninvited guests that stayed longer every night. Tried even harder to ignore the recurring voices, calling from the shadows often enough to keep her off balance. Voices she recognized but couldn't name. The world ended, Claire. Death just hasn't gotten around to you yet.

Even from her quarters, Mizerak felt the distant rumble. It was subtle but she was attuned to the city’s sounds. Her comm panel buzzed almost instantly.

“Commander! We've got a hull breach in airlock five!”

“On my way.” Mizerak jumped up and pulled on her uniform. “Get a full security team and maintenance crew there now.”

Mizerak tried to predict the threat as she ran through the corridors. Airlocks don't just explode.

****

AIRLOCK FIVE CONNECTED the carrier and the submarine Onslaught. Maria/Anastasia were already directing a maintenance team when Mizerak arrived. Water gushed in from a small, blackened, smoking gap along the cylindrical shape of the airlock. Workers patched the hole from inside and set up pumps to deal with the freezing water. Divers completed a permanent repair from outside.

The perpetually on-duty Yamamoto approached from the Onslaught side. Hector, Celeste, and two other security officers charged up with Mizerak.

They saw no injured to tend to. The security cameras probably had no reliable image in this dark space. Hector directed his officers to fan out in both directions to look for suspects. “Question anyone you see,” he ordered.

Maria/Anastasia approached.

“This was a small charge,” Maria said. “Whoever did this wasn't trying to cause severe damage.”

Mizerak took another look at the breached hull. Not severe?

“Or that's all they had,” Anastasia said. “It's not like explosive material is easy to come by here.”

“Are we dealing with someone with a massive death wish?” Mizerak asked.

“That is one possibility,” Yamamoto said. “However, Commander, where are the people?”

Mizerak looked at him. “Meaning?”

“Look around, Commander. Even at night, the hallways are never entirely deserted. They are now. I am frequently about at night myself.”

Mizerak looked down the airlock in both directions.

“This is no lone nut.” She stepped through pooled water toward the carrier side of the airlock. “This is organized.”

She reached for her handheld radio. “Bridge, this is Mizerak, come in.”

She heard background noise from the bridge, the inhalation of someone preparing to speak. Then static.

Mizerak turned to the security officers. “We need to get to the bridge.” Then she ran that direction herself.

****

MIZERAK REACHED the approach to the bridge tower with Hector, Celeste, and the other officers close behind. Ensign King waited at the base of the stairway with half a dozen others. They held their sidearms at half-ready. Mizerak recognized three of them as members of the security team. The others were civilians. The group formed a semicircle that blocked access to the bridge.

“What's going on?” Hector looked sharply at King. “You recognize the commander. Stand down and let us pass.”

“I'm sorry,” King looked first at Hector, then addressed Mizerak. “I need you all to surrender your weapons.”

Demonstrating the chain of command, Hector stepped between Mizerak and King. “You report to me, officer. What do you think you're doing?”

“Hector,” King wavered. “There are a lot more behind us. A lot more. We want to do this peacefully.”

“It's all right, Hector.” Mizerak stepped forward. “I think I understand what's happening.” She handed her sidearm to King.

Hector grudgingly handed over his own sidearm. Celeste and the others followed.

King and his cohorts stepped aside. King gestured to the stairs. “You can go up. He's waiting for you.”

Mizerak clenched her jaw and made her way up the stairs. Hector didn't ask, but waved for the others to follow him up behind the commander.

The bridge was a scene of chaos on the edge of becoming organized. More people than had previously worked in the space crowded around, all talking with the hyperactive flush of victory. Mizerak had to crane her neck to look over the frantic scene. As more people recognized her, the crowd parted to let her pass.

“Commander!” Louis Bridger sat at her work station. He sounded enthusiastic. Mizerak studied his face as he spoke; that revealed more. Louis waved at King and the others to return to their posts. “I hope you weren't treated with any disrespect.”

“Disrespect?” Mizerak blinked. “You've hijacked my command. Taken over the city by force. Committed an act of terrorism. The explosion in the airlock was you, yes?”

Exhaustion showed in Louis' eyes. “Not directly. We did go to great lengths to make sure no one was hurt. I had to keep you and Hector away from the bridge.”

“And the night shift was the easiest time to make your move.” Mizerak nodded. She wanted to keep him talking. He looked away from her often. Surveying his makeshift army. Some of them were already leaving the bridge to take up posts in other parts of the city. Any remaining bluster was superficial. Did he doubt their loyalty? Their ability? Or did he expect Mizerak to put up a fight?

“I sincerely wanted Dieter with us. He's a powerful ally. You know that better than I do, Hector.”

Hector bristled but said nothing. They were outnumbered and it was essential that Mizerak not be hurt.

“Sending him away was Hector's idea,” the commander said. “But I guess Claudia already told you that, didn't she?”

A young woman assessed files at the workstation across from Louis. Mizerak vaguely recognized her as one of the disciples present at her first encounter with Louis. It was Aurora, deciphering various bridge operations on Louis' behalf. Finally, she can do something useful, King had thought when she first sat at the terminal.

“I'm truly sorry about Claudia,” Louis said. “I never intended that. I wish I'd had a better understanding of her mental state.”

Louis seemed sincere but this time Hector surged forward and grabbed Louis by the arm. Silence took the room and at least ten people aimed sidearms at Hector.

Mizerak put a hand on Hector's shoulder. “It's all right, Hector. I know how you feel but...we have to let it go.”

Hector released Louis, whose face had gone white.

“Revolutions aren't supposed to be easy, Louis,” Mizerak said. “What are your next steps?”

“I look forward to discussing that, Commander. I hope I can convince you to work with us. But right now I have a series of short-term actions to take. After that, I hope we can have a productive conversation.”

Mizerak let go of some of her tension. At least he wasn't threatening physical harm. For now.

“I'm sorry, but we'll need to confine all of you to your quarters. Or, we can make use of the brig. I would rather do this peacefully. Commander?”

Mizerak sighed. “You can take us to our quarters.” She looked back at Hector, Celeste, and the others to reinforce her message. “We won't cause any trouble.”

Louis' people marched them off to their respective cabins. Mizerak brushed past Hector and whispered, “We can't rush this. Not until we understand how much support he really has.”

Hector nodded with a frown and let Louis' followers – some of them Hector’s own security officers – lead him to his room.

Mizerak went to her own room and slumped onto the cot. And thought.

****

MOST PERSONNEL REMAINED PASSIVE. A transition of power from Mizerak to Louis didn't affect them in the short term and they couldn't imagine things getting worse. The majority were too tired to care much.

Louis made a quick tour of Paradise, escorted by his own security officers. He began working through a long checklist of items, some of them logical in the circumstances, and others reflecting a naivete about their situation.

Dr. Khan took it as significant that Louis met him in the Worship Center and not sickbay.

“You've adopted a title, I assume?” Khan asked. “How should we address you? President? Commodore? Your Highness?”

Louis smiled. “I always appreciate your sense of humor, Doctor. First names are fine.”

“What are your plans, then?”

“We're going to do more,” Louis said with complete sincerity. “We're going to expand the city. Improve food services. Grow our population. And we're going to aggressively explore options to return to the surface.”

“Haven't you yourself acknowledged that it's impossible?”

“Currently. We need to make better use of your expertise. And others in Paradise who are still laboring in the shadows. There must be a solution. We need to find it. That's a conversation for a later time, though. This,” Louis raised his arms to indicate the Worship Center, “is what we're talking about right now.”

The doctor frowned.

“You have exclusive use of this space, don't you?”

“I'm only responsible for it,” Khan said. “It's for everyone's use.”

“Mm.” Louis walked slowly, thoughtfully, through the room. “Other groups have lobbied to assemble here?”

“Many do assemble here. Religious fanatics have tried to use this space to gain influence. I've made it clear extremists have no place here.”

“One person's fanatic is another person's freedom-fighter. We're going to let different groups petition to use the room. We can schedule several groups every day. And let the people decide who should stay. A little competition will motivate the faithful, don't you think?”

“Commoditizing religion hs hardly original. Do you really think we can afford that here? The tighter the quarters, the more damage a single spark will cause. You may be creating something you can't control.”

“Religion is a crutch for the weak and a weapon for the strong,” Louis said. “We need to separate the two.”

You mean separate the weak-minded from the people who refuse to follow you, Khan thought. “In that case, what is my role here?”

“That's the point, doctor. From now on, you don't have one. We need you focused on sickbay. Your time is better spent on research to find a way out of here.”

Khan could say nothing. He nodded and left the room. He saw what Mizerak had seen in Louis' eyes. Exhaustion and uncertainty that didn't live up to his outward confidence. Louis hadn’t yet figured out how many of the old divide-and-conquer rules still applied.

15

LOUIS WENT to the mess hall with a contingent of guards. The more people saw him in charge, the more they would accept it as their new reality. He arrived at a slower time, between the busiest meal shifts. Individuals sat scattered among the long tables, including Powder.

“What is this?” Louis surveyed trays of food. The question wasn't addressed to a specific individual. He wanted everyone's attention.

“Kelp salad,” a grumpy crew member seated nearby said. He scraped at his plate with a spoon. “Some carrots, potatoes.”

Powder spoke up. “Hydroponics farm is cranking out what's easiest for the time being. Root vegetables, some squash. Strawberries. They're working on some tomatoes and other things. It's slow going.”

Louis shook his head. “This is what we're reduced to.”

He inched onto a tabletop to address everyone in the mess hall. Not that different from addressing shareholders. And shareholders aren't beaten down and depressed. “We can do better than this. And we will. We need more diverse food and better quality.”

He paused. Looked around the room. Gave them time to absorb his words. His presence. “We need to make a lot of changes. Soon we're going to change the food rationing system. We'll issue credits based on work performed. Those who contribute the most will eat better than those who contribute little. We can't keep rewarding our citizens to sit back and wait for handouts. You shouldn't be required to subsidize others and eat this...” He gave the trays of food a look of contempt. “This garbage.”

Most of them responded with blank looks. And that, honestly, was the best possible response.

“You'll all have opportunities to start earning more very soon.”

Louis wobbled as he stepped down from the table top. Powder looked stunned. He lined up behind Louis when the entourage moved in lockstep out of the mess hall.

“Assembling everyone in one location will be problematic,” Louis said. “We need to take over the report distribution method Commander Mizerak was using. We'll distribute this kind of statement electronically, but real-time. Daily summary reports are not inspiring.”

“You said there's a plan?” Powder asked. “Work for food?”

“It's just a concept,” Louis shrugged. “People won't contribute more if we don't incentivize them. If we restrict everyone to the same low expectations, we'll never get anywhere. We need growth and progress. That's the whole premise of our actions, yes?”

“We'll all have opportunities, right?” Powder stammered. “To earn, I mean?”

“Everyone starts out equally,” Louis said as they crowded through the corridors to their next stop: Maria/Anastasia and the maintenance crew, to move forward fabricating new habitat modules for expansion of the city. Over his shoulder, he smiled, “Of course, some are more equal than others.” Slowing his pace to accommodate the tighter quarters, Louis continued, “We'll do something similar with housing arrangements. There's no reason we should all be confined in these suffocating cabins. Go-getters deserve more space.”

“More?” Powder nearly tripped trying to stay close to Louis. “I'm not trying to rock the boat or anything... Where is this more space going to come from?”

“Some will come from expansion. But for those lower down on the ladder...austerity is a word they'll need to get used to.”

Aren't we already?

“I haven't worked out all the details yet,” Louis continued. “But we've been stagnating too long. It's time for some disruption.”

Powder stopped walking and let the group move on without him.

What have we done?

****

SOPHIE LOCKED HERSELF in the War Room when the mutiny began. She'd had the virtue of working almost exclusively for Mizerak so the War Room wasn't on most people's radar. She didn't need to see what was happening first-hand. She monitored electronic traffic and had access to the internal surveillance Mizerak had ordered and, wisely, kept quiet about. She observed the knucklehead Aurora stumbling through the servers and easily danced around her. She knew Mizerak was confined to quarters. She monitored Dieter's progress but withheld news of the mutiny.

She didn't know how long it would take them to find her. Or what they would do with her when they did.

She also didn't understand the data surges that had taken place since completing the global Net connection. A lot of data packets she couldn't decipher moved in and out of the Council Chamber.

Finally, she saw what happened outside as well as the bridge staff did. And that motivated her to risk being caught.

****

SULKING IN HER ROOM, Mizerak's workstation buzzed. She sat down and opened the channel. Sophie's voice spoke to her.

“We need to make this quick. I don't think those fools up there can trace this, but they might surprise me.”

“I'm in the dark here, Sophie. What can you tell me?” Mizerak had made one attempt to leave her quarters. One look at the two guards at her door sent her back inside.

“Those mutant characters, there's a whole posse of them outside. They pulled the Net cable. We're not hooked up to the outside any more. I don't think it was deliberate. Looks like they're just poking around. Like, maybe trying to find a way in.”

“What's our new commander doing?”

“They're sending a security team out to investigate. Look, Commander, I'm no military strategist. You want me to do something, you say the word.”

“Close this channel for now. Figure out who else is on our side and free to act. Keep me posted if anything urgent happens. I'll start thinking about a plan. Sophie, you're a life-saver.”

****

ENSIGN KING (who expected a promotion to at least Lieutenant under the new order) led the security detail responding to the group of five mutants outside Paradise.

“Can we use the catapult?” Elijah asked, forced to improvise given Louis' lack of tactical experience.

“They're out of range,” King reported via radio. He and his group of half a dozen security officers remained at a distance and watched the mutants.  The albino-esque figures didn't see the security team. Or didn't care. They swam slowly along the base of the carrier, pressing at the hull. “It looks like they're probing the exterior. I think they're trying to enter the city.”

Louis paced the bridge. He felt betrayed more than anything. They had all known about the mutants' existence but no one had said anything about direct assaults against the city. With Dieter absent and the three most senior military personnel – Mizerak, Hector, and Celeste – confined to quarters, military guidance was in short supply.

“Kill them,” Louis finally said. “Whatever those creatures are. Kill them.”

“Sir?”

“You heard me. Kill them! We can't take any chances.”

Elijah reluctantly relayed the command to King's group. King sighed. “You heard the order,” he said to his team. “Fan out. Use spearguns. These things are fast as lightning. Keep your distance.”

The divers spread apart and approached the mutants. Fired their spearguns. Only one flechette struck into the back of the one of the mutants. That got their attention. They bared their teeth. The injured member fled. The remaining four moved up and away from Paradise into open water.

The security officers continued firing. They advanced on the mutants. Struck another one in the leg and it, too, escaped into the dark. The other mutants seemed to understand they were outnumbered. They turned, kicked their legs, and slipped away.

“Bridge, they're fleeing,” King reported. “Should we pursue?” Please, no.

Louis paced some more. Show of strength? Or preserve the security staff who he believed were on his side?

“No,” he shook his head. “Let them go.”

He didn't wait for the order to be relayed. Just stalked off the bridge. He knew who he had to see.

****

MIZERAK SAT on her bunk, considering her options, when Louis entered. He sat at her workstation. She offered silent gratitude that she had silenced the speaker in case Sophie called again.

“No bodyguards?” was Mizerak's first reaction.

“They're just outside.” Louis seemed to be reassuring himself as much as threatening her.

Mizerak chose silence. Better not to antagonize an unstable situation.

“I'm moving quickly, Commander. Making a lot of changes. I don't want to hurt anyone but it's time we figured out who's serious and who isn't. I do find it interesting that the Council hasn't intervened. They haven't even communicated with me. You don't seem surprised by that.”

She didn't want him dwelling on the Council's absence. “And you'll make that decision, Louis? About who is serious?”

“You have important expertise, Commander. I hope you notice I'm still observing your rank. I'd like to move forward with your cooperation.”

“And if I don't cooperate?”

“Like I said, I don't want to hurt anyone. But the stakes are too high. Outliers can become cancerous.”

Mizerak took a deep breath. “Louis, are you asking me to help you conduct executions? You know I can't do that.”

“For now I just want to talk about the mutants. How big a threat are they, exactly?”

“Honestly? We don't know. They've only acted threatening when directly confronted. Why? Did something happen?”

Accustomed to evading direct answers, Louis said, “We're still evaluating what happened. What defenses do we have in place for them?”

“Defenses?” Mizerak laughed. “Louis, you haven't been reading my status reports. It's no secret. We don't know how to defend against them. We don't know how many are out there or what their intentions are. If they even have intentions. The doctor believes they're acting instinctively, defending their territory.”

“You must have done something. Some kind of training exercises or threat assessment.”

“There's not enough time in the world to assess all the threats we face down here. Every day here is the real thing, Louis. If you wanted this job so badly you should have prepared a little better.”

Louis slapped his palm against the desk. He sighed. “Where is Dieter? Claudia told me you sent him on some kind of mission but she didn't have details.”

At least our secrets are still safe. She considered Dieter's mission so unlikely to succeed that she had tried not to dwell on it. “He's on a reconnaissance mission. Straightforward. Relatively, anyway. I wanted a long-distance assessment of the terrain.”

“How can we contact him? When is he expected back?”

“Does this mean Dieter is with you?”

“Just answer the question, please, Commander.”

“I told him to maintain radio silence for safety purposes. Unless there's an emergency. He should be back in...” Mizerak pretended to do a little mental mathematics and made up a number, “...two days. Maybe three.”

They sat in contemplation of each other.

“I hope you take my advice, Commander. We can't afford distractions. You're either with us or...you understand.”

“Can I ask you something? Why are you even here, Louis?” Mizerak leaned forward. “I understand there's common ground with most of us. We're the working class, the middle of the Bell Curve. The people who showed potential but never became superstars. You're the outlier. Were you really a master of the universe? Did something go wrong to land you here with us?” Do you know about Dieter's destination? That's what she wanted to ask. Do you know where the others went? And were you supposed to be with them?

“What if I was put here for exactly this reason, Commander? Maybe I was intended to lead this group all along.”

That seems unlikely, considering the Council never even mentioned you.

“You've always implied you know what happened,” she said. “Was that just myth-making? Or were you really an insider?”

“There were some things even the insiders didn't know.”

“Whitewash? That means something, doesn't it?”

“It still does. What do you think killed Claudia? It was classified to the highest levels. Until it got out of control. Then even the creators didn't understand what they had done. I don't know the specifics, I never did. I do know that the director of research in my chemicals unit, along with several top chemical engineers, were...requisitioned to oversee the project.”

“So this is a chemical toxin? You're telling me the world was destroyed by a chemical agent?”

“That's only half of it. But, as you've already guessed, the director was Esteban Diaz. Hector's father.”

Louis left Mizerak to stew in her thoughts.

****

DIETER PILOTED THE ROVER along existing roadways as much as was practical. Most of them were in the same passable condition as before the crisis. He passed abandoned motor vehicles at random intervals, and the crash debris of a four-seat aircraft.

He crossed mountains, desert, rivers, and forests in revelatory silence inside his portable life support bubble. It hadn't even occurred to him to think about seasons, but judging from the angle of the sun and green landscape, he had arrived during summer. Birds and small mammals, primarily squirrels and raccoons, still had a visible presence. More than once his vessel was trailed by packs of dogs, former pets turned feral, until they got bored and turned away. A pack of wolves – he thought they were wolves, at any rate – did the same. He documented everything he saw as best he could with the exterior cameras. As much as he wished to step outside and touch the land, breath the air, drink the clear water from streams, simply being back in this world, that now seemed so large, relieved him of the compressed existence in Paradise. He passed over the Sierra Nevada range and down into mountainous desert territory. He didn't waste time exploring human settlements. Their emptiness would only fuel loneliness and distract him from his target.

By the time he descended to the Great Salt Lake, still skeptical that Sophie's research would pan out, the connection with Paradise had been severed. Now he was truly the last man on earth. Nothing to do but keep going. He had never seen the lake, a true spectacle, over four thousand square meters in area, according to Sophie. He wished his transport had wings so he could better see the entire vista of lake, desert, and mountains.

He was reluctant to re-enter the water after so much time on land. Duty called. He piloted the rover into the lake.

“Isn't it really shallow?” he had asked Sophie by radio after he learned of his destination. “The entire lake, it's not deep enough to support any structures.”

“They dredged the center of the lake.” Sophie had desribed classified files that confirmed heavy construction near the center of the broad lake.

He had listened in increasing anger. “This means they knew what to expect. They had time to make contingency plans.”

Sophie had agreed.

Now he drove through water barely deep enough to fully submerge the rover. Several times he thought the rover’s treads would get stranded in the lake bed, considerably sludgier than the terrain around Paradise. He decided, if faced with that, he would open the hatch and drown himself before dying a slow death trapped out of contact with Paradise.

The strong headlights barely penetrated the soupy water. So he reared his head back as if he had been struck when he came upon a broad depression near the center of the lake. Spotlights around the top of the depression directed him into a wide, flat valley that easily added fifty meters to the depth of the lake.

“I won't doubt you again, Sophie,” he muttered. He paused the rover and panned the camera for documentation while he took in the view. A modernist cube of glass and metal occupied the middle of the depression. He counted eight stories in a building wide enough to offer more inhabitable space than the aircraft carrier in Paradise. “This changes everything.”

Dieter switched on the radio. He broadcast a greeting in English and German several times and received only silence.

He pulled on his pressure suit, loaded a speargun, and exited the hatch. “The saline level is even higher than the ocean,” Sophie had promised. “You make it to the lake, the water will protect you from whatever's on the surface.”

Areas within the habitat were dark, others were lighted. Some lights flickered. He swam around the perimeter, searching for an entry point. Peered through the glass, down hallways reminiscent of a luxury residential tower. Queen Anne chairs, abstract paintings, and Shaker tables decorated the otherwise vacant passages.

He found a hatch at the base of the structure and climbed through. Nothing like the Paradise staging area, it was a tiny, utilitarian room with a door leading into one of the mixed-era corridors. He avoided the dark areas and walked the halls that were still lighted, calling Hello in as many languages as he could recall.

Sophie had given him a headset with microphone and pen-sized camera to record what he found. Paradise couldn't monitor in real-time but the headset would store data for when – when – he returned.

Closed doors along every hallway. He tried to open each one.

“Most of these are locked,” he narrated into the recorder. A few he could open. “I suppose these are living quarters?” These rooms made Paradise look like a prison. It is a prison, he reminded himself. So is this. Just a prison with better aesthetics. Luxury furniture of various styles. Paintings and sculptures that looked, in Dieter's limited experience, to be original and museum-quality. Every room had more light and, in every dimension, more physical space than Paradise. Rooms around the perimeter had floor-to-ceiling windows over three meters high looking into the brackish waters.

“That must have been a disappointing view.”

It was all in disarray. Beds (real beds!) were unmade. Chairs were tipped over. Used dishes and utensils littered the tables.

He came across a food storage area. A long, rectangular room lined with shelves and cupboards, industrial-size refrigerators, and a preparation area with table, utensils, and a filtered water tap. The supplies looked to be about half consumed. Poking through the offerings, he quickly let go of his anger – they had so much to choose from! – and chuckled over each new item he examined. He found a plastic package of dehydrated chocolate cake. He'd heard the commercial-grade dehydrated products were a big leap forward compared to the field rations he had consumed. He ripped the top off the package and added water from the tap. Shook up the package according to the directions and let it ferment.

He scooped out a bite of the chocolate-y looking concoction with his hand. “It's like the real thing!” He shook his head and wandered back into the corridors.

“It's like a hotel after all the guests have departed,” he said. He turned his head periodically for the benefit of the camera. “Or a haunted house, maybe. Wait, what is this?”

He opened a door onto a stairwell. “Look at this, would you? Real stairs.” Not the minimalist military stairways and ladders of Paradise. Given the choice of up or down, Dieter walked to a lower level.

“Can we transport our people here?” he asked, enthusiasm overcoming the ghost town feel of the place. “Build some larger rovers, maybe. The space here is incredible. I'm thinking about the morale boost we would get from this environment...”

Still sampling the reconstituted cake, he exited the stairwell into a hallway with reinforced glass walls fronting what looked like work areas with benches and power tools.

“Could it be that this place was never really inhabited?” he finally asked. He peered through the glass walls. “Some signs of life are here. Maybe that's from workers or researchers. I wonder if...well, maybe the people who planned to live here ran out of time.”

He stopped. “What the hell is this?” He pushed through a door into what looked like a laboratory or research facility. White flooring, glass walls, benches and banks of instruments and computers all around. In the middle of the large space, a tall, slender, dark-complexioned man in his sixties in a white lab coat worked over a table completely surrounded by a semi-transparent plastic sheet. Hunched over so that he couldn't see Dieter, the man held implements in both hands and almost appeared to be performing surgery on another human.

Dieter watched for several minutes while the man applied syringes and scalpels to his patient, working his way around the table, stopping from time to time to check a computer display or to sample from an assortment of vials.

The man turned at such an angle that he saw Dieter. He stared for several seconds. Squinted and blinked his eyes. Pulled off a pair of protective eye goggles and stepped out from behind the plastic sheet. He tilted his head. Approached Dieter in confusion.

“Are you...?” the man's voice was hoarse, out of practice. His gray hair was cut short and ragged, his face worn by the persistence of time and stress, his shoulders hunched over. He coughed. “Are you...are you real?” A slight accent, a native Spanish speaker. He pulled off sterile gloves and dropped them to the floor. “I thought I was-” Coughed again. “I thought I was the only one left.”

When he walked closer to the older man, Dieter gave a shout of recognition and grabbed the man by the arms. “It's you! I can't believe it!” He stepped back at the man's startled look but put his hand, his human hand, on the man's shoulder. “You look so different. It's okay if you don't recognize me. It was a long time ago. It's Dieter. Dieter Kampelmann. What is this...?” He stepped back and waved his hands around the facility. “What are you doing here?”

The older man's eyes dropped tears onto his cheeks. He choked. “I'm trying to save the world.”

16

LOUIS WAS AWASH in details. He spent considerable time on the bridge, reading what limited personnel records were available, deciphering who possessed ability and loyalty, those to whom he could delegate the non-visionary tasks. Exterior security patrols had lapsed because he had confined half the security force to quarters and because no one remembered the duty roster. Louis addressed the matter by putting Yamamoto in an impossible situation. More than anyone, Yamamoto felt torn between loyalty to Mizerak and the command structure versus his responsibility to the overall crew. Ultimately he yielded to the latter and agreed to prepare a new duty roster for patrols.

Aurora continued her clumsy efforts to decipher the entire Paradise network. Louis realized he would need an authentic IT expert and, not yet knowing of Sophie's existence, despaired of ever finding one.

Now here he was tromping through the Worship Center. After only a few days a fight had broken out between two opposing fundamentalists. One claimed humanity had a bright future and the path had to be cleared of non-believers. The other said the end had arrived and they were obliged to help fulfill God's plan of annihilation. The fistfight had ended with security dragging them both away, one screaming gibberish about the Trinity and the other screaming plain old gibberish. Treating their wounds, the doctor knew enough to say nothing but couldn't resist an I told you so look to Louis. King, being the interim security chief now, already missed Khan's knowledge of the various scriptures and arguments, his ability to speak a common language and keep simmering disputes from boiling over.

Louis left the worship center surrounded by King and several other officers. They guarded him almost constantly. Maybe it was unnecessary, but it made an impression and, frankly, Louis still needed help finding his way around. King understood now that Louis saw the world only in terms of either/or, followers or obstacles. Perhaps not so different from the late Captain Tomas. King also understood, too late, the continuum of reality and the limitations of a black and white world view.

Louis slipped climbing up a ladder toward the bridge level. He was more accustomed to private elevators. As the entourage clattered up the ladder it seemed as if two additional officers joined them. It definitely appeared that way to Louis, minding his step and lost in more important thoughts. Louis looked to King, who clearly sensed something wrong but could not reach a conclusion. Louis admired King's dedication but he lacked Dieter's experience and assurance.

Louis began to ask the wavering King if there was a problem. Before he got the words out, strong arms sent him flying and he crashed against the metal deck. The world flashed blinding white. Shock waves coursed through him.

He shook his head. Tried to understand his pain. He heard a commotion. Shouting and bodies colliding against each other.

By the time he rose to his feet, leaning against the bulkhead, King and his detail had a secure grip on the two attackers. Both men, breathing hard with bloody and bruised faces, stared defiantly at Louis.

Louis appraised the two men.

“Did Commander Mizerak put you up to this?”

“The commander had nothing to do with it,” one of the men said. Stocky with a shaved head, he sounded Australian. “We're not letting you take over the city without a fight. We're not alone. There's a lot more behind us.”

In the War Room, Sophie dropped what she was doing and listened. She monitored video and audio from the surveillance system while she worked, listening for anything unusual, hoping she would recognize unusual under the circumstances. An assault on Louis seemed to qualify.

Louis rubbed a hand over his forehead and found he was bleeding. The shock of the attack had rattled him. He yelled at them. “Why is this so hard to understand? We all want the same thing. We all want our lives back. As much of our lives as we can get back. We want to get out of this prison and back to the surface.”

“If your goals are so noble,” the second prisoner, with blond hair and a beard, asked, “why are Hector and the commander locked up?”

“That's not my fault,” Louis protested. “Anyone who won't hold us back is free to join us. Anyone who is ready to work together.”

The two men struggled against the officers restraining them.

“We don't have room for dissent here.” Anger replaced Louis' shock. “Are you ready to give up this crazy idea? Mutiny is...” Louis sighed. “I can't let that go.”

“You're calling us mutineers?” the Australian sneered.

Louis waved at the security team. “Put these two in the brig.” He wiped his mouth. More blood. “No, wait. Take them to the staging area. Wait for my instructions.” To King, he said, “You come with me.”

Sophie radioed Mizerak. “Commander, I think something big's going down.” She whispered (unnecessary, since the surveillance apparatus was unidirectional) a summary of the attack and Louis' odd decision to have the loyalists hauled to the staging area.

“You did the right thing, Sophie,” Mizerak said. “I'm listening.”

Louis let his fury guide him to the bridge. Fools. Why won't they just let me lead them?

“It's worse than I thought,” he raged to King. Not Louis' first choice of a confidante, but who else did he have? “I thought they would follow Mizerak's example and go along peacefully.”

“Maybe they just need more time,” King suggested. They entered the bridge. That gave the bridge staff access to the conversation and Mizerak a clearer channel by which to eavesdrop. In the brighter lighting on the bridge they could see Louis was pale and sweating.

“More time?” Louis paced back and forth. “More time to get organized?” He smeared blood from his forehead onto his hand and waved it at King. “Now they've seen blood. Maybe they'll try harder.”

“We could expand the brig,” King suggested. “It would be easier to confine them.”

“No.” Louis paced some more. Ran a hand through his hair. Shook his head. “No. We have to show them that we are in charge. We have a vision and we can't afford to compromise that. Our entire survival depends on it. All of my plans...”

Pacing. Thinking. Set an example. Show strength. Tolerate no dissent.

Louis directed Aurora to open a channel with the security staging area.

“This is Bridger. I want to talk to the attackers.”

“They're here, sir. Go ahead.”

“Will you agree to join us? Accept the new order and work under my command?”

Both men could be heard refusing to accept Louis' leadership. “You have no right to assume command,” the Australian said. “There's no basis for your authority.”

Louis put a hand over his face. Groaned and spoke to his own guards in the staging area. “Security, listen carefully. Expel them both. Put them out the airlock. Do you understand?”

Mizerak, doing some pacing of her own in her quarters, called out to Sophie, the only person who could currently hear her. “Sophie! I need to talk to the bridge. Can you connect me?”

“Hold on, Commander.”

The security officers in the staging area looked at each other in discomfort. “Sir?” one of them called out to the open radio channel. “Can you repeat that?”

“Throw them out.” Louis said. “Let them drown.”

“Sir,” King spoke up. “There must be some other-”

The lead security officer in the staging area asked, “Sir, are you... They won't last five minutes out there. Are you sure about that?”

The two loyalists tried again to break free and failed.

The bridge staff heard a new voice over the loudspeaker. “Louis! Don't do this!” It was Claire Mizerak. “They're soldiers, they're following the chain of command. That's what they're trained to do. It's not their fault.”

After his momentary surprise that Mizerak could participate in the conversation, Louis responded, “There's a new chain of command! We don't have room for anyone out of line. Security, you heard me. Throw them out! Now!”

“Louis, please!” Mizerak said. “Slow down and think about this!”

“You heard me!” Louis nearly screamed. “Put them out or you'll go with them!”

The officers in the staging area answered with a tired and reluctant, “Understood,” mystified at how effectively they had been divided from these two men who had been their peers only a short time before. Sounds of struggle and yelling followed.

The security officers performed their task with bitterness. The two attackers hit, kicked, scraped, bit, and screamed. They were overwhelmed. They could not escape their fate.

“Louis, Jesus, please!” Mizerak yelled. “This isn't even about them. Is it!” She wasn't asking. “Is it!”

“Cut her off!” Louis barked at Aurora.

Louis lowered his head. He didn't want to hear the sounds from the staging area but couldn't permit himself a display of weakness.

The two men ejected from the airlock were out of sight of anyone in Paradise. With the lapse in exterior patrols, no divers patrolled outside to offer assistance. Once in the water, the two men flailed about, struggling against the sealed airlock. As their bodies gave out, they swam toward the surface. They had already experienced too much cold with no oxygen. At about fifty meters, still visible from the bridge, the men ceased their swimming motions, dead.

Aurora, at the communications station, grew agitated as she struggled to switch off Mizerak’s channel.

“This is about your own failure, isn't it Louis?” Mizerak, pacing in her cabin, unleashed all of her frustration. “You know, I finally figured out the answer. Why are you here? Why are you stuck down here with all of us rejects? It's because you're one of us. Aren't you? Did you screw up your business? Did you piss off the wrong people? What was it, Louis?”

“Shut her up!” Louis pounded on the work station in front of Aurora. Aurora fumbled with her instrument panel, unable to comprehend why the world refused to align with her wishes.

“I'm trying! Someone is controlling the comm link remotely!”

“Then figure it out!”

“You couldn't cut it!” Mizerak went on. “You weren't good enough!”

In the War Room, Sophie saw on her monitor what no one else observed. The bodies of the two loyalists, left to the mercies of ocean currents, had drifted down, into view of the bridge windows.

“We're here because they didn't think we were good enough.” Mizerak spit out the words, beating a fist against her palm. “All the privileged, the elites, they thought they would need us. Isn't that right, Louis? We're strong enough to survive but not enough to take over. We're privileged enough to live but not enough to prosper. That's why they put us here! They had their own plans and they put us in storage in case they needed us later. And they put you with us!”

“No!” Louis yelled.“That's not true!”

“They abandoned you just like the rest of us! One of the five hundred wealthiest individuals...that was never true, was it? Were you ever really one of them? Or were you always common like us and just too stupid to realize it?”

“I'll never be one of you!” Louis screamed. “I'm a master of the fucking universe! You don't get to abandon me! I'll abandon you!”

Sophie routed an exterior camera to Mizerak's workstation so she could see what the bridge staff finally began to notice. Mutants, half a dozen of them, had descended on the drifting corpses. The bridge staff went silent. The few people in the observation deck, since many no longer felt free to wander about under the new circumstances, saw it, also. The mutants examined the bodies. They became increasingly agitated, fidgeting and gesturing at each other. More swam from the perimeter into the huddle of freakish bodies. They began to pull at the dead officers. Grabbing more ferociously until they severed a limb from a body. More mutants emerged from the shadows until twenty or more had piled on to the frenzy. The bodies of the security officers were ripped apart, blood and mucus clouding the water. There seemed to be no purpose. Just grisly destruction. The remains drifted off with the current.

The mutants, as a group, thrashed about for a bit, then propelled themselves to the ocean floor and out of sight.

Mizerak, from her quarters, broke the silence. Calmer now, more measured. “I've had a lot of time to think in here. I understand now. I was wrong about two things. I gave up on the surface. I assumed everyone else had, too. And you were right about the Council. They would have let us rot down here. I was too passive. I put off a lot of things and blamed the Council for it. Taking more initiative on our own, that's the right thing to do.” She blew out her breath, hoping the demons of fear and doubt would go with it, but they had rooted themselves in her DNA. Earthquakes had occurred prior to the Vesuvius eruption, repeated warnings for the inhabitants to flee. The ones who stayed were the ones who died. “Everything that's happened to us is a warning. We're not safe here. We have to keep moving.”

Louis slumped into the command chair. His face had gone white. He had heard reports about the mutants but hadn't understood their true threat. Certainly had never been forced to watch the consequences of his actions up close. A little blood from being knocked against a bulkhead had shocked him. The prospect of being ripped apart like that...

“I'm right about why we're here. Aren't I, Louis?” Mizerak continued. “We're the worker class. Kept on ice so we'd be available if the ruling class survived. Isn't that why they put us here? Where did they go, Louis? Do you know? Or didn't they tell you?”

“No!” Louis groaned. Was his body shaking from fear? Or was he sobbing? “I don't know. I don't... They must have had a plan. They had plans for everything else. I wasn't good enough. I wasn't...” He coughed, wiped his face. “They left me. Just like they left you.”

Silence again. A different kind of mourning.

A whump sound returned everyone's attention to the bridge windows. A mutant pressed against the glass. Bared its chaotic mouthful of fangs. Beat its fists against the glass.

Louis stood up and stumbled back toward the exit.

“It's all right,” one of the bridge officers said. “The glass is reinforced for hurricanes. It can't break it.” She didn't sound confident.

Whump. Another mutant slammed against the window.

Another.

Another.

Louis backed up farther and fell to the deck. The rest of the bridge staff froze, unsure whether to run or pray.

“Mr. Bridger,” King pointed to the monitors that displayed images from the exterior camera array. Mutants, hundreds of them, swarmed in from the shadows. They hurled their bodies against the carrier. The exterior of Paradise morphed into a heaving mass of cold bodies.

Louis tried to speak but words wouldn't come.

“Sir.” King’s voice cracked with urgency. He stooped to the deck and grabbed Louis' shoulder. “We're under attack. We need military guidance.”

Louis' bugged-out eyes begged for help.

King gave Louis a solid shake. “Mr. Bridger. We have to do something. Now.”

Louis wiped sweat from his forehead. His voice was a rough whisper.

“Bring her back.”

****

KING BURST INTO Mizerak's quarters. Sophie had already alerted her to the disaster outside. If the guards at her door hadn't been armed, she would have tried to fight her way past them. Now King dispersed them for her, sending them back to relevant security duties.

“Commander!” He was breathless after running from the bridge. “Bridger has stepped aside. We need you!”

Mizerak was out the door like a shot. King jogged to keep up with her.

“Get Hector,” Mizerak ordered King while en route to the bridge. “I need him on the bridge. Release the rest of the security team. Sound general quarters. We need all security personnel in the staging area, ready to go and under Hector's direction. That includes you, King.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Their world was ending but the return of a clearly defined chain of command gave King relief.

“One more thing,” Mizerak stopped and pointed at King. “Put Louis Bridger in the brig and throw away the key. Anyone who wants to follow him is welcome to it.”

****

DIETER AND THE SCIENTIST answered each other's most pressing questions. They formulated a plan to return to Paradise, the existence of which was a complete surprise to the old man. He kept touching Dieter's arms and shoulders, reaffirming that he was not hallucinating. He looked with wonder on the robotic arm. They assembled a storage bin to carry the scientist's morbid research subjects. Dieter reminded him that the detached storage container would not protect from Whitewash as the rover did once they left the Great Salt Lake. “That's not important any more,” the old man said. “They can't be saved. But they might still give us answers.”

As they packed up for the journey, the man discussed his work.

“Where are the others?” Dieter asked.

“I disposed of the bodies.”

The scientist described the elites who had populated this structure, keeping to the basics, saving the details for a full debriefing back at Paradise. “They were so civilized,” he growled. “So full of their own perfection. But they weren't any more removed from the jungle than the rest of us. These privileged ones who walked between the raindrops. They ate each other.”

Dieter hesitated. In this era of hyperbole, when anything might be true, he couldn't tell if the statement was literal truth or symbolic.

Dieter described the operation of the rover and gave the scientist a brief piloting tutorial. Explained how the radio had gone dead and he didn't want to dwell on the possibility that Paradise might not be there when they returned.

“This is good, to have some relief on the journey home.” He guided the older man into the rover. “Hector won't believe it. None of them will. Our tiny world is expanding!”

****

THE PEACEFUL VIEW that Mizerak had welcomed from the bridge was gone. The mutants made focused concentration impossible, crowding each other over the bridge windows, staring inside, beating on the glass, applying their full force to the barrier. Mizerak resumed control of the bridge, dispatched the sulking Aurora with a withering glare, and turned on the city-wide intercom.

“We're at war.” She repeated the orders she had given King. “Assume general quarters. All security personnel to the staging area and stand by.”

Khan, Maria/Anastasia, and Hector, gathered around her workstation.

“Can they force their way in?” Mizerak directed the question to Maria/Anastasia. “Are we in immediate danger?”

“Based on the doctor's estimate of their abilities,” Maria said. “And our own review of their behavior... We don't believe they can force the airlocks or breach the hull.”

“It's still critical,” Anastasia said. “They've already destroyed some of the external lights and one of the solar panels. We're assuming anyone who exits the city will be subject to attack.”

“I'm skeptical that there's any organized plan to this,” the doctor said. “I still believe they're acting instinctively.”

“What do they want?” Mizerak asked. “Do they see us as a threat?”

“Perhaps,” Khan said. “It might be simpler than that. Maybe they want the city for shelter. Or we may just look like food to them.”

“The end result is the same,” Mizerak said. They all looked uneasily, again, at the horror show crowded around their windows. “We're essentially under a blockade.”

Mizerak turned to Elijah. “Power up the catapult.” To the others, she said, “I don't expect this to make much difference. But...” She shrugged.

“Catapult ready, Commander,” Elijah said.

“Full three-sixty firing pattern,” Mizerak said. “Targets shouldn't be hard to find. Fire at will.”

With their physical view obstructed, they looked to bridge displays projecting imagery from external cameras. Paradise was a swirling mass of mutant bodies that ebbed and flowed around different parts of the city, probing for any weakness.

The catapult harpoon mechanism sprang to life and swirled its array of flechettes. The array moved along the catapult track and spit out the arrow-like devices in a whirlwind of trajectories. Most of the creatures easily dodged the weapons. Hopes flared when three flechettes actually struck flesh. The aggrieved mutants charged off, clouds of faint-colored blood behind them. A disturbance rippled out across the wall of bodies.

“Three?” Mizerak said. “Out of...what? Five hundred? At that rate we might escape in a decade or so.”

“Do we know how long we can wait them out?” Hector asked. “When does our situation become critical?”

“Our food resources are improving every day,” Khan said. “Theoretically, we can stretch out our food supply indefinitely.”

“Water filtration is functioning for now,” Maria said.

“The mutants could figure out how to sabotage it any minute,” Anastasia said.

“Stay hopeful,” Maria insisted.

Anastasia frowned. “If we lose all the solar panels, that will become problematic.”

“We don't have enough trained people to go after them head-on,” Hector said. “We need a strategy to take out as many as we can. Explosives aren't an option unless we can distract them away from the city.”

“Somehow we need to get a team outside,” Mizerak said. “They severed the Net cable. We can't communicate with Dieter until that's in place.”

“If he's even still-” Anastasia began before Maria hushed her.

“What about the sharks?” Hector asked.

The others gave him a blank look.

“Doesn't the acoustic array keep the sharks back?” he continued. “If the sharks are as dangerous to them as they are to us...”

“We should power off the array,” Mizerak nodded.

“Just a reminder,” Maria said, “the last time we hosted a shark feeding frenzy they almost destroyed us.”

“We may have found something worse,” Mizerak said. She turned and ordered Elijah to switch off the acoustic array.

“Let's give it some time,” Mizerak said. She tried not to stare at the crush of bodies above them but couldn't help it. “See if the enemy of our enemy can save us.”

17

IT DIDN'T TAKE LONG. The camera array showed two sharks, both hammerhead variants, edging into the perimeter of the city. One was ten meters long and the other more than fifteen. Did the mutants see them, or even care? The sharks circled above the city in tightening loops toward the midship of the carrier, where the majority of the mutants had gathered. Mizerak and the rest of the bridge staff watched in silence, along with Hector, awaiting the dreaded order to take his security force into the water.

The sharks converged on the command tower and charged. The crush of mutants flipped back out of harm's way. The sharks struck several of them. Each shark came up with a body in its jaws. They shook and ripped apart the mutants as they had previously done to Paradise personnel.

Is this good news? Mizerak leaned forward. Hard to take comfort in monsters killing monsters.

Scores of mutants, as fluid as the water they swam in, moved as one to make space for the sharks and their victims. Their motions gelled, like a school of fish, as if they composed one large organism.

The mutants rushed the sharks from all angles. They smothered the long, thrashing animals like a collective glove.

Everyone on the bridge wanted to look away. They couldn't.

The sharks fought against the powerful bodies. Jerked in random directions. A ferocious struggle of two demon forces that belonged to no time or place but controlled the sea and, with it, the last survivors of the human race.

Over a period of minutes, the sharks slowed their hurried motions. Crushed by the pressure from scores of powerful bodies shoving into them. The mutants backed away from their victims.

Mizerak lowered her head. Massaged her forehead. Now what? She heard gasps from the bridge staff and looked up.

The mutants charged the sharks a second time. Inflicting the same desecration the sharks themselves had caused, they tore into the flesh of the dead animals.

“Jesus,” someone whispered, “they're eating them.”

The mutants staged their own feeding frenzy. Feasting on the shark corpses momentarily distracted them from Paradise. The mutants scrabbled against each other to grab up every ounce of meat. They tussled but never seriously turned on each other.

Only a few scraps remained of the sharks that had posed such a threat to the Paradise crew. Bits of flesh and bone drifted away with the currents.

Mizerak clutched the edges of her workstation through a wave of nausea. Finally she was able to breathe. She looked up to see others on the bridge suffering the same struggle.

To Hector, she said, “Let's go to the War Room.”

****

HECTOR AND MIZERAK gathered in the War Room. Sophie was beside herself with no Net connection and no clear role to play in the current situation.

“You'll have plenty of work to do,” Mizerak reminded her. “If we get through this. If not, it won't matter.”

Mizerak directed Sophie to replay the final report from Predator. Mizerak had described the events to Hector, but that didn’t convey the gruesome details. They viewed the video several times. The terror in Tomas' eyes. Shadowy motion. Shouts and gunfire. “They've boarded us.”

“I think these mutants are what boarded Predator,” Mizerak said. “Tomas must have opened the hatch because he didn't know what a threat they were. Or maybe he didn't realize how many were out there.”

“He said the engineering officer was doing something with electricity,” Hector said. “I wonder what that means?”

“I wondered about that myself. The doctor said the mutants are subject to the same threats we are. But with their speed... Maybe they thought electricity was the only thing fast enough to do the job?”

“We could probably modify the spearguns to deliver an electric charge,” Hector gestured toward the exterior. “They still outnumber our security force ten to one. Maybe more. We wouldn't last long.”

Mizerak leaned back. Scrunched her eyes shut. Stabbing pain in her back and shoulders. She gritted her teeth and worked through it.

“Talk to Maria/Anastasia,” Mizerak said. “See if there's some way we can deliver a widespread electric charge. Enough to kill them in large numbers without frying ourselves. Maybe an exterior array. Something. I'll check in with the doctor. Make sure it's even a valid idea.”

****

KHAN, TENDING TO residents suffering a fresh round of panic attacks over what many assumed was their pending destruction, gave Mizerak the confirmation she needed. "They're as susceptible to electrocution as we are. Good luck catching them.”

Maria/Anastasia came up with the basis of a plan. Hector filled in the details.

Mizerak didn't like it.

When Hector argued, “We don't seem to have a choice,” she had to agree.

“Evacuate Revenger,” she told him. “Get everything ready. Maybe a miracle will occur and they'll leave before we have to try this.”

No miracle arrived.

Somewhere, amid the rocks strewn around the ocean floor, one of the mutants picked up an oblong stone nearly a meter long and half as wide. Hector might have been able to pick up a rock that big, but only with muscle-rending effort, even given the buoyancy of the sea. For the mutant it seemed effortless. (But how would they recognize exertion? The creatures' faces showed no discernible emotion.) The mutant smashed the rock against the hull of the carrier. It caused no damage beyond a scratch. That didn't stop the mutant from continuing.

Again it bashed the rock against the carrier. Moved along the hull. Several of the mutants grabbed the boulder and together used it as a battering ram. They roamed the broad surface of the carrier. Their combined strength overcame resistance from the water and the pounding became more intense.

From the Revenger command station, Mizerak and Hector watched on a small monitor. Hector carried a fully-loaded speargun. Two more lay at his feet.

“Are you watching this?” Mizerak radioed to Maria/Anastasia, who worked with a maintenance team throughout the length of the submarine. “Sooner or later they'll find a vulnerable point.”

“Five or ten more minutes, tops,” Anastasia replied, breathless from their frantic work pace.

“Everyone else is evacuated,” Maria said.

They continued laying electric cable throughout the corridors of the nearly empty Revenger. They had pilfered wire from backup systems to find enough.

“We should have pulled more wire,” Maria said as she unspooled the cable. “We could have rigged two subs and had some margin for error.”

“No time,” Anastasia shook her head, using a hydraulic tool to bracket the wire to the metal decks and bulkheads as fast as Maria unrolled it. “Besides, we'll be cramped enough with all these people in the primary module.”

Maria worked the cable and looked up to assess their progress. “I think this will work.”

“I don't.”

****

MIZERAK AND HECTOR looked at each other in the command center.

“I'm doing this,” Mizerak reached for the speargun. “I'm responsible.”

“You're responsible for leading us,” Hector said. “And I'm responsible for keeping you alive. They need you. I lost my family. I lost Claudia. Dieter's probably gone. I'm not losing you, too.”

Did you lose a family, Claire?

With their height difference, she had to stretch to put a hand on Hector's shoulder. Understanding he was right didn't make the job easier.

“You can do this,” she whispered. “We'll be waiting for you out there.”

He nodded. Jerked his head toward the exit. No time to think about it.

Mizerak ran through the sub to evacuate the maintenance crew. They hopped through the airlock connecting Revenger to the tunnel. Maintenance staff continued on to their respective posts; on their way, they sealed the airlock on the carrier side of the tunnel to protect the rest of the city. Maria/Anastasia closed the submarine hatch, a thick metal door that slammed shut with the permanence of a prison cell. She held an old-style plunger switch connected to thick wires that led into the submarine.

“It's the best we could do on short notice,” Anastasia said. Only Maria/Anastasia and Mizerak remained in the tunnel.

Mizerak used her handheld radio to contact Hector. “We're set out here. Whenever you're ready.”

“Stand by.” Inside Revenger, Hector switched off the radio and pulled on a full pressure suit. Grabbed all three spearguns. Moved as quickly as he could to the front entry hatch. Laid the two extra spearguns on the deck. Spun the latch and pulled open the bulky, circular hatch. The hatches had been modified from conventional submarines. Like the hatch in the security staging area, air pressure within the vessel would contain the water outside for a time. Subtle pressure variations would allow water to gradually seep in, but one way or another, the battle would be over before that happened.

He took several deep breaths. Then plunged through the hatch into the frigid waters.

****

“I'M OUT,” Hector spoke into his helmet radio.

In the connecting tunnel, Mizerak radioed the bridge. “Release countermeasures.”

Before joining Paradise, Mizerak had questioned the value of keeping the countermeasures. The sub captains had clung to them fiercely; Mizerak was grateful now that she’d listened. Presently, Anastasia was skeptical they would distract the mutants (Maria had no opinion). From the submarine components of Paradise, countermeasures shot out at multiple angles like small missiles. They opened up into devices resembling helicopter propellers. The countermeasures spun around in crazy directions, stirring up the water, creating clouds of bubbles. Whether the mutants moved toward or away from the countermeasures, as long as the disturbance distracted them from the carrier, Hector's job would be easier.

Some of the mutants noticed Hector immediately and moved in his direction. Hector blinked his helmet light on and off several times. From the bridge, Elijah rotated exterior spotlights to highlight Hector's location. That distracted more of the mutants and waves of them raced toward Hector. He quickly exhausted the speargun’s ammunition, injuring several mutants and angering the rest.

Hector pulled himself back through the hatch into Revenger. This was the tricky part. They had only observed the mutants in the water. Were they equally fast in an atmosphere?

“I'm inside,” he reported.

Hector grabbed the two extra spearguns and stepped backward through the central corridor of the submarine. The mutants came through the hatch. They hesitated at first at the change from water to air. Suddenly they swarmed in, crowding into the hatch. They loped across the deck, their strides more reminiscent of primates than humans. They pushed at the bulkheads and consoles. Feeling their way. Hector continued backing away. It took only a few seconds for the mutants to reorient themselves. They recognized Hector as the target and charged him.

He fired a speargun from each hand. Mutants still poured in through the open hatch, a cascade of flesh within the tight passageway. Two direct hits with the spearguns were required to drop one of the mutants. Hector killed several in rapid succession. Not enough. The growing band of mutants slowed briefly. They stepped over the corpses and moved forward.

The spearguns were empty; Hector threw them down and ran. At the aft end of the submarine, he risked a glance over his shoulder. He had years of combat experience. Had looked into the eyes of killers and terrorists of all colors. He had never come so close to being frozen with fear as from the crowd of fanged mutants lined up behind him. They had nearly caught him when he jumped through the hatch to the airlock tunnel.

Mizerak and Maria/Anastasia tried to close the hatch as Hector fell to the deck. Several of the mutants forced their way through. Maria/Anastasia both screamed, dropped the switch, grabbed at their sidearm (issued for this specific undertaking), and blasted away at the heads and hands scrabbling at the hatch while Mizerak strained to lock it. The shots echoed through the tunnel like thunder.

Mizerak slammed the lock closed and fired at four mutants that had piled onto Hector. Their larger size was more evident in the crowded connecting tunnel. Hector's pressure suit provided some protection. Two of the mutants fought Hector. The others, distracted by the gunfire, turned on the women. Maria/Anastasia, lacking Mizerak's strength and combat experience, dropped their sidearm and fell to the deck in a panic. Mizerak kicked the fallen sidearm in Hector's direction.

Hector, still prone on the deck, grabbed the weapon. The two mutants dug at him with their claws and tried to sink their teeth through his suit. He rammed the sidearm into their bellies and fired until he exhausted the ammunition.

“Hit he switch!” Mizerak yelled. With her left arm, she fought back the mutant attacking her and shot into it with her right. Pushed the dead body off her and turned to help Maria/Anastasia. Tried to ignore the cold, rubbery hides of the beasts attacking them. She twisted her arm around to shoot the mutant without hurting Maria/Anastasia.

Hector stretched out his arm and pushed the switch. Raised it and pushed it again. Again and again while Mizerak finished off the last mutant.

Muffled cracks resonated through the hull of the submarine. The sub's instrumentation would be blown to hell. The group sat on the deck, dripping wet, gasping for breath. Tried not to look at the corpses, or choke on the odor of stale seawater emitted by the mutant bodies.

“Any idea,” Mizerak asked, “how many were in there?”

Hector shrugged. “Looked like a hundred. Maybe more. Hard to be sure, though.” 

“You all right?” Mizerak looked at Maria/Anastasia, wiping their eyes and struggling to stay upright.

Maria nodded. “Sorry about dropping the switch.”

“Sorry?” Anastasia snapped. She scrunched up her mouth in disgust. They waved an arm at the dead mutants. “Look at those things.”

Mizerak radioed the bridge. “What's our status? Did we have any effect?”

“Yes, Commander,” Elijah answered. “Surveillance cams in Revenger show a lot of smoking bodies. We're working on an estimate. Ballpark, say fifty to one hundred.”

“What's the situation outside?”

“It's a damn sight better, Commander. The ruckus drew most of them away, but a lot of the survivors came back. It's thinned out a lot but we're still looking at a small army of these things.”

“Are they still entering Revenger?”

“No, ma'am. Whatever you did let out quite a spark. They stopped trying to get in after that.”

Mizerak clicked off the radio. She started to talk but her body froze up in awkward angles. Pain rocketed through her back and shoulders. She tilted back and forth as muscles throughout her torso and arms seized up.

Hector struggled to his feet and put a hand on Mizerak's shoulder. “Commander?”

Just as quickly, the pain subsided. The aftereffect left her dizzy and even more short of breath.

She waved him away and nodded, I'm all right, even though her skin was nearly as pallid as the mutants and a cold sweat mixed with water dripped from her face.

“Bad news,” she said. “We're not finished yet.”

****

MARIA/ANASTASIA RADIOED for a maintenance worker to bring the necessary supplies. They handed Hector a heavy metal canister with a handheld spray nozzle. Gave him rapid instructions on its operation.

Mizerak, still pale and winded, leaned against the bulkhead. She stepped forward and straightened her uniform. Looked at Maria/Anastasia and Hector. “Ready?”

Hector had no honest answer to that. He settled for waving at the hatch.

“Play it by ear,” Mizerak instructed. “Do what you can. Get out when you need to.”

They swung the hatch open. Hector made a sound of disgust and pushed his way in past the mutant remains. Wisps of white smoke drifted from the bodies. Burn marks scarred the corpses and bulkheads. His helmet and fresh air supply were blessings. He hesitated, afraid some of the mutants might have survived the mass electrocution.

Forcing his way through the body-filled passage felt like wading through a cooler filled with dead fish. His movement was slow but he finally made it to the forward hatch. He reversed course, walking backward, trying to suppress his gag reflex and avoid looking at the mounds of dead flesh. He sprayed a colorless liquid from the canister. “If we want more mutants in, we have to clear the bodies already in there,” Maria had said. “It won't take much.”

“That's all the synthetic gasoline left, anyway,” Anastasia had said. “Until we prepare more.”

He tripped over the singed corpses as he moved. Tried to get even coverage with the petroleum. Arrived back at the aft hatch. Climbed out over the jelly-like bodies.

He gagged but waved for the others to proceed. Maria/Anastasia held a portable spark generator to the hatch. “We'll have a second until the fuel gets going,” Maria said to Mizerak. “Then a quick flash.”

They hesitated. “Why didn't we just burn them in the first place?” Anastasia asked.

“You saw those things,” Mizerak pointed at the mutants they had killed in the tunnel. “Imagine one of them gets loose in here while it's on fire.”

Maria and Anastasia both nodded. They clicked the lighter. Squeezed their eyes shut and held the flame to the closest gas-soaked body.

The instant they had a self-supporting flame, Maria/Anastasia jumped back. Mizerak closed the hatch but a whoosh of air sucked in by the fire pulled it tight.

****

HECTOR RELOADED the spearguns and went back into the submarine. The fire had melted instrument consoles and reduced the mutants to charred residue. On Maria/Anastasia's instructions, he inspected the impromptu wiring to be certain it was intact.

He stood at the forward hatch. Closed his eyes. Longed for sleep. Even the warm memory of the cot in his quarters, when he had shared it with Claudia, seemed more distant than he could imagine.

He shook his head. Refocused. Let out a long breath and dropped through the hatch and into the water.

Outside, the other submarines emitted more countermeasures. Hector fired a speargun at the mutants, mostly still crowded around the carrier, to get their attention. The instant they swarmed toward him, he pulled himself into the sub. He waited inside, near the forward hatch, to be certain the mutants followed him.

The slimy hands and arms and torsos emerged from the water. Hector made sure they recognized him as a target. He repeated his earlier tactic of backing away from the approaching mutants while he fired the spearguns into their dense torsos. This trip was trickier. The deck was slick with water, ash, bone, and flesh. He ran sooner than before and tried to keep a greater distance from the attackers.

His fatigue was the mutants' ally. Hector grabbed the aft hatch. Three mutants latched onto his legs at the same time. The long, slender hands felt like metal traps. Mizerak leaned into the hatch. She grabbed Hector with one hand and fired her sidearm with the other. The mutants crowded in around them faster than she could fire. Hector cried out from the effort of holding on.

Mizerak fired point-blank into the arm of the nearest mutant. The ammunition penetrated the arm and stopped somewhere inside Hector's left leg. The attacker released enough of its grip on him that, with Mizerak's help, he pulled himself out of the sub and into the tunnel.

Maria/Anastasia, having learned their lesson the first time, stood at a distance and fired a sidearm into the mutants already spilling through the hatch. Mizerak jerked the hatch down against the bodies. It slowed them but the hatch wouldn't close.

“Hit it!” she yelled at Maria/Anastasia.

Maria/Anastasia punched the electric switch over and over. Mizerak jumped away from the hatch and threw herself against the bulkhead.

Explosive cracks and pops blasted their eardrums. Sparks jumped out from mutants in various stages of sliding through the hatch. Tendrils of gray smoke wafted out.

Only two mutants avoided electrocution and escaped the submarine. Mizerak exhausted the ammunition from her sidearm to kill one of them. The other pounced on Hector.

Blood stained Hector's lower leg. He jabbed the point of his empty speargun into the creature's midsection.

The mutants didn't react to pain. Did they feel it? Hector beat at its face, tearing his pressure suit on the barbed teeth. He kicked it. The demon confronted Hector with superior strength. Hector had all the fear and rage his losses could generate. He slammed his fists into the mutant's head and torso. Jabbed its throat. Pushed it against the bulkhead. Stomped the webbed feet. Throttled the thick neck.

Mizerak tried to get a clear shot but the combatants moved too fast. The mutant had brute instinct against Hector's combat experience. The creature bit and clawed. Wrapped its long arms around Hector and tried to squeeze the breath from him.

Hector yelled all the fury from his lungs. He beat the sides of its head until it slumped to the deck. Kept swinging his fists until Mizerak grabbed his shoulders. He kicked at the body and turned away from it.

The small group leaned against the tunnel wall. Mizerak felt perpetually short of breath. After several minutes of silence, she radioed the bridge for another update. How to evaluate this threat? The best they could do was estimate how many mutants remained. It was up to Mizerak to choose a response.

In the quiet of the tunnel, with the mutant bodies lying around them and the weight of the Pacific Ocean all around, the four of them planned the next phase of assault.

****

MARIA/ANASTASIA SUPERVISED a hurried operation on one of the upper decks. Most of the carrier's hangar areas had been converted to living quarters or storage space. The hangar immediately below the flight deck provided storage for food reserves and maintenance supplies, stacked on top of a broad elevator that, in a normal world, would have lifted groups of aircraft.

Maintenance moved out the supplies and crammed them into other storage areas. They trimmed doors leading into the hangar with sealant.

“Water's going to pour in here like there's no tomorrow,” Powder said. “You sure this sealant will hold?”

“No,” Anastasia snapped. “We're not.”

“We're hopeful,” Maria said. “It only needs to last a few minutes.”

The maintenance crew wore heavy work gloves for the last step. They covered the flight elevator with the dead mutants from Revenger. Once the corpses had been dragged into place, Maria/Anastasia shooed their people out of the hangar and the exits were clanged shut.

“Bridge,” Maria reported via radio. “We're ready to go.”

From the bridge, Mizerak replied, “Raise the payload.” She switched channels, then said, “Security, stand by.”

In the staging area, Hector climbed into the submersible. He moved with a limp but the doctor had already removed the ammunition fragment and bandaged his leg. “Normally I would order you to rest for twenty-four hours,” Khan had grumbled. “I'm sorry we can't give you that time.”

King, who would lead the security forces, directed forty other officers in diving gear to form lines around the egress hatch.

During conventional operations, the hangar elevator could raise fighter jets to the flight deck in a matter of seconds. The current payload, a small mountain of corpses, weighed considerably less but now encountered the pressure of water that flooded into the hangar the moment the elevator began to move. The payload rose up with soul-crushing slowness.

The ocean currents dispersed a few of the bodies, but the elevator reached its endpoint with many of them still in place.

The elevator's movement distracted the mutants that remained along the exterior of Paradise. They saw the burned bodies, clouds of gray-green fluids leaking from wounds. It had exactly the effect Mizerak had hoped.

“If they're looking for food,” Mizerak said, “let's see how hungry they are.”

A wave of awareness rippled along the length of the carrier. The living mutants backed away from the hull. They turned in unison and swam toward the payload.

“Security,” Mizerak said into the radio. “Go now!”

The mutants tore into the corpses. Ripped apart the flesh. The feeding frenzy was reminiscent of what they had seen with the sharks. Even more disturbing now, given the mutants’ humanoid appearance.

With the mutants concentrated in one area, Hector released the submersible and the security officers moved out in formation. Each diver carried one speargun and a one-meter-long composite rod. They formed a loose hemisphere around the flight deck of the carrier. Not too close, so they didn't get roped into the feeding frenzy. Not too far, so the spearguns were still effective.

Hector piloted the submersible to the base of the port side of the carrier. He tried to connect the damaged Net cable while the divers engaged the mutants. As Sophie had predicted, the submersible's robotic arms weren't agile enough. The cable was damaged. Hector left the submersible to repair the cable manually. He carried one of the same composite rods as the divers.

The mutants scattered to confront their new threat. A few fled the scene entirely. Others, still lusting for a target, thrust themselves into one-on-one struggles with the divers. The battle expanded out over most of the city. The divers swirled through the water. They fired flechettes into mutants' bodies. The mutants were fast enough to attack the divers before their wounds became fatal. The divers used the composite rods on every mutant that came within range. The hastily constructed devices were essentially livestock prods, modified by maintenance to carry a more powerful charge and remain operational under water.

Hector fumbled with the cable. He stood in the muck, spliced off the damaged section of cable, reattached it to the outlet in the hull of the carrier.

“Sophie, it's Hector,” he spoke into his helmet radio. “Are we good?”

“Hold on.” In the War Room, Sophie operated her keyboard.

Outside, the security forces were winning against the mutants but not without bloodshed. Divers spun and fired and stabbed at their opponents. Several officers were wounded. Two died. The fewer mutants remained, the more manic they became. Two broke through the formation of divers and homed in on Hector.

“Let's go!” Hector yelled into his radio.

Sophie recovered the data stream that she had missed so intensely. “Connection's good! Get out of there!”

Too late. Hector crouched with his back against the hull of the carrier. The two mutants charged him from above. He raised the electric prod with his right arm. Shielded his head with his left arm.

He tensed his body for the onslaught. One of the mutants raced at him. Hector jabbed the prod into its belly. The impact was so strong the rod penetrated the mutant's thick hide. The shock killed it, its death mask of a face leering directly into Hector's eyes.

He steeled himself for the second mutant to strike. Only it didn't. The body slowed and coasted through the water. It bumped into Hector in slow motion. Clouds of blood wafted up from its back. Hector looked up. Ensign King, spear gun at the ready, floated above. Hector pushed the mutant corpses away. He gave King a weak salute.

The battle was over.

****

MIZERAK STUMBLED THROUGH the corridors. The doctor had requested, insisted, really, that she return for the exam he had never completed. She believed that if she could just get some rest – if the world gave her an opportunity to rest – the headache, blurred vision, and nausea would subside. Why interrupt her suffering with medical attention?

Sophie had notified her of the inexplicable data flow into the Council Chamber. Mizerak needed to investigate. This one more task and then she would rest. She dreaded the prospect of the Council returning but would trade her right arm for putting the burden of decision-making back on them.

She took the elevator to the Chamber level. The electric door mechanism took some jiggering before she could enter. Only the stark light from the corridor disrupted the darkness.

“Where are you?” she asked the silence. “You're our last link to the sadists that did this to us. We still can't get it through our heads the world has ended.”

She sighed. Even she was unsettled by how uneven her voice sounded.

“We could use a little help.”

She gave up and returned to her quarters. The doctor could wait a little longer.

The moment she left, and the door had closed, lights blinked on around the room.

****

SOPHIE NOTED THAT when the mutants had disconnected the cable, the unexpected data traffic to the Council Chamber had ceased. Several hours after Hector reconnected it, the traffic resumed. She tried to reach Mizerak in her quarters but got no answer.

Right now something more compelling caught her attention. Dieter was still alive.

****

MIZERAK LEFT THE LIGHT off in her quarters. She slumped onto her bunk. Tried to get comfortable. Couldn't find a position where she wasn't manhandled by pain. Sparks flashed before her eyes, even when she closed them.

Claire, why did you leave us?

She sat up. Dizziness overwhelmed her. She tried to stand but fell against the bulkhead. Lightning bolts zapped through her back, shoulders, arms, chest.

The jolts at her nerves unleashed the memories she had repressed. The man in shadow at the end of the table. At the last meeting before Whitewash – whatever that really was.

Husband. He was her husband.

Had she really been married? The heart surgeon, the gallant soul trained to save lives while she was trained to take them? Had he sat at the end of the table on that sorrowful day? Or had she put him in the frame to help cover up her guilt and loss?

If only she could stop the pain. It immersed her in stabbing heat.

She reached for the comm link to call the bridge. The switch moved away from her. She tried with both hands. It slid further away. Help remained beyond her, no matter how far she stretched.

She could have done something. They could have found room for one more. She could have talked him into retreating to the sea with her instead of staying behind, as he had surely done, scrambling for a last-minute solution to save the paradise of earth and retrieve them from this cheap reproduction on the sea floor.

Claire, why did you leave me?

She fell to the deck. Dark clouds closed around her. Not clouds. That was the hereafter, the safe haven that promised blissful relief.

18

SOPHIE STILL couldn't find Mizerak so she called Hector to the War Room. He at least had the benefit of a nap and a brief medical check. They sat around Sophie's work station. He still walked with a limp, hardly his biggest distraction at this point.

“This is...” Sophie waved her hands. “You're not going to believe this.”

She flipped on the channel and told Hector, “It's voice only.” Into the microphone, she said, “It's Paradise. Are you there?”

“Roger, Paradise. We're here.”

Despite the cloud of static, Hector instantly recognized Dieter's voice. He opened his mouth several times but didn't know what to say.

Sophie grinned at his reaction. To the microphone, she said, “Hold off on your full report till Commander Mizerak’s with us. But Hector's here. Why don't you give us the bottom line, Dieter?”

“It's more than we hoped for,” he said. Hector could hear the smile in his tone. “I've got video. Documented the whole thing. You were right, Sophie. You and the commander. They were right where you said they would be. Well, they were. I'm still getting the details on what really happened.” The smile disappeared for a moment. “It was ugly, Hector. A different kind of ugly from what we've seen.”

Hector shook his head. “Dieter. You said we are here. Are you saying there were survivors? Besides us?”

“That's not a simple answer. But, yes, there is one survivor.”

Sophie and Hector exchanged looks. “Who is it?” they asked almost simultaneously.

“Hector, it's better if you see for yourself. We'll be there soon. I just...you need to see in person, my friend.”

Hector was too tired to argue. “We need the commander,” he said. “She needs to hear this. I'll try to find her.”

He stood to leave but, into the microphone, he said, “Good work, Dieter. Safe travels.”

****

MIZERAK WASN'T ON the bridge and didn't answer calls to her quarters. Khan confirmed she hadn't been to sickbay, “And when you see her tell her I'm not happy about that.”

Hector buzzed the entry to Mizerak's quarters. During all their time in Paradise – How long had they really lived here? – she had always kept him apprised of her whereabouts. He used his handheld radio to double-check the bridge and sickbay. Roused Celeste from sleep, then Maria/Anastasia; none of them had seen her.

Genuinely worried now, he opened the door control panel outside her room and entered a security override code.

The smell of vomit hit him as he opened the door. She lay face down on the deck. Hair and clothes damp with sweat.

He grabbed the radio. “Sickbay! Emergency in Commander Mizerak's quarters! Now!”

He dropped to his knees, confirmed lack of pulse and respiration, and performed CPR until the medics arrived.

****

SHE'S HAD a massive heart attack.

“If you had found her any later...” Khan tended to Mizerak while Hector stood by with hollow eyes. Celeste stood behind him, wondering if she should cry or wait for orders.

“Will she...?” Hector's voice choked. “She has to live.”

Khan never looked up from his patient. “You don't need to remind me. I'm doing everything I can.”

Hector turned away. He needed to stay out of the doctor's way but couldn't imagine what to do.

“Hector,” Celeste put a hand on his shoulder. They left sickbay and walked through the sorrowful corridors. “I know you don't want to hear this. But you're in charge.”

He jerked his head. Refused to acknowledge the idea.

“The Council's gone silent... There's no civilian government in place. God willing she recovers, but till then... You're next in line, Hector. We need you.”

He turned a gray face toward sickbay. We're one loss closer to the end.

****

MARIA/ANASTASIA CALLED Hector to the staging area. “We've got company,” Maria reported.

Hector, Celeste, and Maria/Anastasia stood by while the winch lifted the rover onto the deck. The vehicle had multiplied, with the storage bin lashed to its roof. Water splashed off the vehicle and around their feet. They felt as if unpacking an ancient time capsule, this vessel that had traveled to the land of their memories and dreams.

The rover hatch whooshed open. Dieter climbed out, hair mussed and eyes blurry from weariness but grinning at his triumph. Momentarily confused at Mizerak's absence, he and Hector grasped one another's shoulders, each uncertain what new traumas the other had collected. Dieter nodded to the others then stood next to the rover.

“Look who I found.” He waved at the hatch. The scientist from the Great Salt Lake refuge crept out of the rover.

Hector and the older man stared at each other across the distance. Hector opened his mouth to speak but couldn't decide which emotion to express first. He approached the older man. Leaned to his right and left to be sure he beheld a living man, not the temptation of a mirage.

“I was-” the older man still had not fully recovered his voice. “I was so afraid I was the only one left.”

Hector took the older man by his arms. Looked at him intently. They embraced, the older man nearly disappearing in the hug.

“Madre de Dios,” Hector whispered. “Mi padre vive...”

Hector rubbed his father's head and Esteban Diaz laughed through tears, acknowledging the loss of his longer hair.

Dieter nodded to Maria/Anastasia, then to the storage bin. “It's a crazy unique payload. I think we need sickbay's help.”

Maria and Anastasia both nodded and, after a mystified look at the visitor, mystified that they had a visitor, went to call sickbay.

“Celeste,” Dieter called. “Want to help me unstrap this box?”

Celeste, equally astonished, assisted.

****

KHAN PUT SEVERAL medical assistants to work helping Esteban Diaz arrange his “payload” in an isolated area of sickbay.

“I don't need a lot of space.” Esteban was breathless. “But I know I'm close to an answer.” No one had time to clarify what kind of answer he meant, or the nature of his payload.

Khan was still preoccupied keeping Mizerak alive. He took Hector aside in sickbay. Mizerak was a fearful sight, face covered with an oxygen mask and tubes jabbed into her body. A heart monitor beeped and Hector hated the sound because he feared if he took his mind off that noise he would be responsible when it stopped.

“I understand you've got your hands full,” Khan said. “But I need a decision. Right now she's on heart-lung bypass. That won't last long. Her heart is severely damaged. She needs a lot more than a bypass.”

“She has to live,” Hector repeated his mantra. “Do whatever it takes. We need her.”

“What she needs is a heart transplant. That requires a donor heart. Up there, we could have used an artificial heart. I might be able to generate an artificial heart with the 3D printers, but we don't have the right immunosuppressive drugs or the peripheral equipment to make it work. Hector, we don't exactly have a supply of donor hearts on hand.”

Hector processed the information. For a moment, he even did the math of identifying a life to sacrifice to obtain a donor heart.

He came to his senses. “What about the two divers killed by the mutants? Those bodies haven't been cremated yet.”

Khan shook his head. “Severe trauma to the thoracic region. Both of them. Those hearts aren't viable. But...” Khan leaned closer. “We have one viable heart. I can't do that surgery without your approval.” He turned his head to the frozen storage locker.

Hector followed the look. Memory penetrated his mental fog. “Is that possible?”

“That heart is slightly larger but structurally the same. I can't promise. Does that matter, though? We either try that or let her die.”

Hector tried to recall his conversations with Mizerak. She was not religious, so she wouldn't object on faith. Staying alive, not giving up, had been her focus all along.

“Will she be-?” he began. “Will the heart function normally? Will she be handicapped after?”

“I can't even promise she'll survive the surgery. If she does...it will function like a human heart. Any complications later would be a result of restricted blood flow now, while she's unconscious.”

Hector nodded. “Do it.”

Khan gripped Hector's arm – more for his own reassurance than Hector's – and hurried off to prepare for surgery. Hector stood over Mizerak's bed. Took her hand, an intimate gesture he would never have made under normal circumstances. Moved his mouth in silent prayer and crossed himself. He gave her hand a final squeeze before returning to his duties.

****

ONE OF KHAN'S medical assistants stood with him at Mizerak's bed. “She's prepped and ready, doctor.”

A young girl stood in the light of sunset at the top of a long, sloping field. The green crop and golden sunlight created a rustling sea of warmth that energized and comforted. The sky cycled through its collection of colors as the sun set behind her. A crescent moon shone directly overhead. One star after another twinkled on across the vast sky. She recognized the arrangement of stars to the northeast as Ursa Major. She knew the brightest star near the horizon wasn't a star at all, but the planet Venus.

Mizerak moaned and stirred in her sickbay bed. “Watch the anesthesia.” The doctor's voice penetrated some level of his patient’s awareness. He sounded grim. But wasn't he always worried about something?

The girl couldn't wait to grow up and become an astronaut. She would rocket into the sky one day. Wondered how it would feel to walk on the moon or even Venus once scientists figured out how to land astronauts on the surface of a planet with ninety times the atmospheric pressure of earth. Maybe she would fly out among the stars. She would do great things and go great places and live a life of great adventure.

Except that machinery sound was no rocket engine. Khan, to his medical assistant, said, “I'm opening the rib cage.”

The girl walked alone across the field. Night became day became night became day. She came upon the wedding of the woman she would become. An outdoor wedding “because no building can contain our love” (spoken at her life's moment of peak happiness). At least she hadn't worn white because God, how trite that would have been. Besides, the happy couple had a world to explore, no longer planets and stars because the accumulation of years had shrunk the landscape. The dashing surgeon guided her through camps and districts and refugee zones. He wanted to save the world. Would she stop working for the people trying to destroy it?

Hell of a time to ask...

“My God,” the MA whispered.

“It's a miracle she lasted this long,” Khan sighed. “Every burden went into her heart.”

Surely she could change more working within the system even though it was a merciless engine that crushed or corrupted all who entered.

“We need everyone doing their part, Claire. The world is ending.” Was that the dashing surgeon talking? Or the shadow government?

What happened to the astronaut?

What happened to the dashing surgeon?

“Heart's a tight fit,” Khan said. “Let's pull a section of saphenous vein from her right leg. That should be enough to make the last connection.”

The girl kept walking but that beeping didn't sound good...

“She's coding.”

“Yeah,” Khan grunted. “Hand me the defibrillator.”

She walked to the end of the field at a chain of mountains that climbed high into snowy majesty. It was a delightful landscape in a world where Whitewash never existed. Where the people came to their senses. Endangered wildlife was left free to thrive. A rainbow of skintones prospered in equality. Diseases were cured. They eradicated greed, the worst disease of all. Songs were sung. A holy light blessed the land. The light of a thousand civilizations from across the galaxy reached out in a federation of achievement and finally the girl who became the woman joined them all among the stars. It was a heaven on earth in the heavens. Lincoln and Gandhi waited there amid scores of faces savoring the gospel of potential fulfilled. A symphony played and Sam Cooke sang that a change had finally come and Elvis harmonized with him.

“Okay,” the MA sighed. “She's stable again.”

“Watch that suture.”

The light of the cosmos was so bright she felt she could coast on their warmth forever through the heavens. Until she dropped back into the field and the sun flew across the sky to vanish beneath the mountains. Blackness consumed the stars and made the universe a tomb that crushed the light of billions of souls.

The girl walked toward the mountains. Surely she would find the light again if she crossed this one last peak. But the mountains burst into a wall of flame that burned upward to the end of the universe. A cosmic curtain of hellfire that popped with sparks and clouds of sulfurous smoke. It wasn't Sam Cooke at all, it was Robert Johnson, spooling out black magic from his guitar and praising the devil at the crossroads. It wasn't Elvis but the assassin Oswald, older now, a rifle in one arm and a leash in the other attached to a slobbering, smoke-spewing dragon. Oswald's hair is gray and he wears a Hitler mustache and flashes a salacious grin that says, “I win, suckers. But wasn't I always going to?”

“Do you think she'll make it?”

“Too early to say. But if she doesn't...? This might really be the end.”

19

KHAN, HECTOR, DIETER, Esteban, and Sophie, making a rare appearance outside the War Room, finally had an opportunity to talk. Khan served tea – a possession he had managed to keep secret – in small, rough, metal cups. They sat at a circular table in a sickbay alcove outside the recovery area.

“I don't want to leave her.” Khan jerked his head toward Mizerak's bed. Hector agreed.

Esteban spoke, and moved, in fits and starts. He'd grown accustomed to being alone in the world.

“Whitewash,” his voice was hoarse. “We didn't create Whitewash. It's what we ended up with.”

“Louis Bridger was involved?” Hector asked.

“Bridger? Louis, yes.” He reflected for a moment. “I was head of research and development at his firm. I was recruited for a joint public-private initiative. Drafted, really. They brought in all the best minds. Louis was a subcontractor. He was ambitious but...he didn't have the vision for projects on a global scale.”

Dieter fumbled with his hands. “He fooled a lot of us.”

“He's here?”

Nods around the table.

“Well... No, Whitewash was too big for Louis. Our mission...you should remember after the bioterror events in London, Tokyo, and Boston...there were smaller attacks in other cities...there was a feeling of desperation. So our mission was to create the ultimate bioagent. A counterterrorism tool that would confront other bioagents, but eliminate target subjects also.”

“Target subjects?” Hector demanded.

“Terrorists. The enemy. Doesn't every society have an enemy?”

The doctor's tone was matter of fact. “Real or imagined.”

“We were told to develop a weapon to end all weapons. Officially, it was described as a deterrent. Much as the early nuclear weapons. Just possessing it would be enough... Rogue states would stand down. Cooperation would be the only alternative.”

“Nuclear weapons were deployed,” Khan reminded them. “The world saw the potential of those weapons. That was a necessary evil to establish a deterrent effect.”

Esteban had no counterargument. “Governments and private organizations were involved. Scientists and engineers from all over the world. At first we were exhilarated by the magnitude of the effort... We got swept up in it.”

He sipped the tea. Stared at the burnished metal cup in his hands.

“The project moved forward... We understood what was really happening. We were in danger of creating something that couldn't be contained. Success became failure. Some of us resisted. Slowed our work. Reported false results.

“A subgroup was formed. Informal. Secret. No electronic records. We tried to create a cure for the super-agent.” He choked out a laugh. “Imagine that. Devise a cure for the worst disease imaginable, when the disease hadn’t been created yet. We followed behind the main group, tried to diminish any progress they made. We used... We used animals for test subjects. I'm not proud of it, but it's common practice in chemicals research. Mammals, amphibians, sea animals, depending on the stage of research and the genetic material we needed.”

“The sharks,” Sophie said. “That's where the mutated sharks came from.”

“You've seen them? We used sharks in some of the research. They have better disease immunity because of genome stability that could benefit humans. But we ran out of time. Then some of the sharks got away from us. We weren’t sure they would survive in the wild.”

“They appear to be quite hardy,” Khan said.

“There were others, land-based mammals, but they were killed by Whitewash. Thankfully.”

“And the mutated humanoids?” the doctor asked. “They were your work, also?”

“Human...Dios mío... They're still alive?”

“Alive?” Hector slapped his hands on the table. “There's an army of them out there. They nearly killed us. This was your fault, all along?”

Esteban's forehead creased. Still absorbing the full extent of his crimes. “They were... They came later. This was an earlier stage... None of the human subjects survived.”

He cleared his throat. “You don't understand... It was a... It was unstoppable. All of us were simply...” he spread his hands out. “We were only tiny pieces. It was much more than a conspiracy. It was a full manifestation of human frailty and vanity. We believed that the power to destroy the world was the only thing that could save the world.”

Sophie fidgeted in her chair. “So you developed this superweapon. The unstoppable biochemical.”

He shook his head. “No, we didn't. Not because of our resistance. That was puny. It was just not possible. Every solution we tried failed in some way. Either it mutated and became ineffective, or it was too short-lived. A lab in Eastern Europe re-engineered a spore that looked promising...” He laughed. “Promising! Well, they cut corners on their safety regimens, it got loose, and... It got into the population. Nearly a million people died. Do you remember? Officially, it was an Ebola outbreak, but it was us. The material was susceptible to temperature variations and died off. Thankfully.

“Finally, the Consortium... That's what we called it, the Consortium. They didn't really have a name. It was just a loose gathering of the very wealthy, government agents, and senior military personnel from different countries. The Consortium said we were taking too long. Freedom can't wait, is what they said. They introduced a quantum computing artificial intelligence system. It was... It was revolutionary. Highly classified. We had never seen anything like this. The capabilities of this system, I can't even describe what a leap forward it was.”

“Heard rumors about that system for years,” Sophie said. “The things I could have done with that.”

“I heard the same rumors,” Khan said. “It was mentioned along with schemes about transhumanism. The Singularity. Artificial evolution.” He sneered at the thought.

“Yes,” Esteban nodded. “That was the plan. We didn't know this research had been going on for years, separate from us. But the two causes,” he pressed his palms against each other, “they came together. The Whitewash project was given to the AI. The Consortium used a subset of the AI to develop transhuman capabilities. Something that could survive whatever the AI invented. The quantum AI was necessary, they were... we were trying to equal the computing power of the human brain. Consciousness. It seemed as impossible as proving the existence of God, but there we were, attacking this problem with more computing power than the world had ever seen.”

“I'm getting lost,” Dieter said. “We've gone from bioterrorism to superhumans.” He flexed his artificial arm. “This kind of superhuman? With replaceable parts?”

“We're talking about human consciousness merged with technology,” Khan said. “Consciousness merged with artificial intelligence; biology merged with biotech and nanotechnology. Creating a new breed of humans that could, theoretically, live forever.”

Dieter's eyes glowed at the prospect. “Is that really possible?”

“Only in theory,” Khan said. “It was mostly a pipe dream of the elites. One more way to separate themselves from all us mortals.”

“We believed it was possible,” Esteban said. “We believed we found the answer. The ultimate defensive weapon. Whitewash. And as the antidote to the weapon, a new evolutionary step for humanity.”

“No weapon is ever just defensive.” Hector's fists clenched tighter the longer Esteban talked. “I've seen it over and over.”

Esteban looked at his hands, turning the tea cup. Took a deep breath. “The mutated humanoids you've seen. They're human. They were. Test subjects. Or, descended from test subjects. I'm not sure what they're reproductive capabilities are. Or how many generations they might have produced by now.”

“So, you were testing on human subjects?” Khan asked.

“Would you really refuse that trade, Doctor? A handful of lives to save everyone?”

“You killed everyone!” Hector rose from his chair. “You only saved yourself!”

“Hector,” Dieter caught Hector's arm.

“Your sins are my sins.” Hector remained focused on his father. “It was my family you killed as much as yours.”

Khan took Hector's other arm. “It's reprehensible, I agree. But we need to hear him out.”

Hector sat but refused to look at his father.

“We knew the situation was getting out of hand,” Esteban continued. “The AI was untested. We were the first to apply it to a real project. The more time went by... The more the scope of the project grew... It was an avalanche. The AI took over. We were slow to understand this. Its imperative was the joining of two missions. Transhumanism and the weapon that would defeat all terrorists. All threats, of any kind. The AI operated on a scope that no group of humans could. It overcame our shortcomings. It solved the problem. More than solved it.”

“More than?” Sophie asked.

“It over-thought the problem. That's what AI does.  Sooner or later every human does something that can be labeled a threat. It designed Whitewash on that basis. Whitewash isn't a disease. It's the cure to human habitation of the planet.”

“It's the outcome of our own technocratic hubris,” the doctor said. “Humans have always tried to control the world. Every generation believes they're a new paradigm. The truth is always the same – the world controls us. This wasn't God's plan at all. God didn't make this flood. We did.”

Esteban nodded. “Humans created the AI to defeat our enemies. The AI understood: We are the enemy.”

“You...really the AI, but because of you...created Whitewash,” Khan said. “Whitewash couldn't be contained. That's essentially what happened?”

Esteban nodded again. “We should have anticipated it. That was right there in the mission statement: the ultimate bioagent would be impossible to control. It targeted human DNA. The final solution was derived from extremophiles. Microorganisms, some of the oldest life forms on earth.”

“And the most durable,” the doctor said. “They can exist almost anywhere.”

“Volcanoes, Antarctica,” Esteban nodded. “Everywhere. There are some species that exist in the ocean, but not the varieties we used. Otherwise...that's what makes Whitewash so resilient. It can function in hot or cold climates. Desert or jungle. The only climate where it can't exist is one where humans can't exist, either.”

“The ocean?” Hector asked.

“High-saline aquatic environments. We have immunity to Whitewash only in very small doses. The human body is mostly water and contains sodium, but the chemical composition is different. Seawater is the only true refuge. Or space, of course, but that wasn't a serious option.

“The Consortium...or, members of the Consortium, they worked independent of each other...some of them got the idea we should have a contingency that involved undersea habitats. There just wasn't time to realize a comprehensive plan. This,” he raised his hands to consider Paradise, “was the best they could do. Saving a few, that was all we could manage. At least someone might survive to devise a solution.”

“But the place where I found you, Esteban,” Dieter said. “It was so different from Paradise. So much better.”

“That habitat was created for the elites,” Esteban insisted. “They believed they were the most deserving. They put themselves in the Great Salt Lake because it provided more shelter but still addressed the two basic needs. It put us in a saltwater environment, one that was more sheltered than the wild ocean. But they were...” he took a deep breath. Shivered as if in a cold wind. “These civilized people... The best and the brightest... The most trivial questions were blown out of proportion. They no longer had a labor class to perform mundane tasks... They didn't have a powerless majority to pander or exploit. Just themselves. They turned on each other. They were the most savage of all. It became a, a bloodbath.”

“They killed each other?” Sophie asked. “Are you shitting us? The one-percenters went cannibal on each other?”

Esteban shivered again. “That's exactly what they did.”

“They were never civilized at all,” Dieter muttered. “They just wrapped themselves in civilized manners.”

“I was able to hide,” Esteban said. “And I was somewhat protected, the last person left who was most likely to find a cure. And that's what I've been working on. The payload we brought back...” He hesitated, knowing this group's assessment of him could only get worse. “The last human subjects.” He continued before the others could fully form their complaints. “They died a long time ago. I was able to keep their bodies in a kind of stasis. I understand your objections. But these people are never coming back. Shouldn't we get something of value from their deaths? I believe I'm very close to a cure. Don't you see? If I can neutralize Whitewash, we can go back. That's why it's so important for me to continue my research.”

Discomfort around the table. Beggars can't be choosers.

On further thought, Sophie stood in alarm. “Those bodies are contaminated with Whitewash? Won’t it infect us?”

Esteban put a hand on her arm. “No, no. It would have already killed us. No, it's a simulation. A change in amino acid sequences. It's harmless to us but effective for research.”

“Wait,” Khan leaned forward. “You said the undersea shelter met two basic needs. One was immunity from Whitewash. What was the second?”

“It disconnected us from the AI. We were no longer part of the global infrastructure. We could have achieved that on land, but the Great Salt Lake guaranteed it. Just like your location does.”

“Holy shit,” Sophie whispered. She thought about the unusual data traffic into the Council Chamber. “I need to get to the War Room.”

Sophie stood to leave. They all froze. The room seemed immersed in a random sequence of colors. In fact, the sickbay camera, part of Sophie's monitoring system, would indicate that all of them, including patients, with the exception of Claire Mizerak, unconscious in the recovery area, appeared to vanish from sight for approximately half a second.

They looked at one another as if emerging from a reverie. Sophie dropped back into her chair.

“I had the strongest sensation of being back in medical school,” the doctor said. “I was about to apologize, but from your expressions you've all had a similar experience?”

Hector had been on a childhood trip to Golden Gate Park; Dieter on training maneuvers in southern Spain; Sophie at her first day on the job at a technology security firm; Esteban defending his doctoral dissertation in Mexico City.

“It was so...” Esteban traded a confused look with the others. “So real. Even dreams are not that convincing.”

Hector's handheld radio buzzed. It was Elijah.

“Hector, we need you on the bridge. It's...you just need to see this.”

“On my way.” He looked at the others. “I think we all have jobs to do.”

On his way out, Hector stopped at Mizerak's bed. Touched her arm with his left hand and crossed himself with his right. He turned and ran from the room.

****

ELIJAH WAS ON the radio when Hector entered the bridge. “One second, Captain,” he said. “Hector just arrived.”

Hector scrunched his forehead. “Captain? Who are you talking to?” He felt fuzzy since the incident in sickbay, as if awakened from a disturbing dream. He chalked it up to bitterness over his father's disclosures.

Elijah handed the transmitter to Hector. “It's...” he shook his head. “It's Captain Tomas.”

Confusion seeped across Hector's face. “Tomas? From Predator?”

“It looks like Predator.” Elijah pointed at his monitor. “It showed up on sonar a few minutes ago.”

Hector gave the transmitter a dumb look for several seconds. “Captain Tomas?”

“Hector? My God, man, it's good to hear your voice! I understand you're running the show there now. I want to congratulate you, but I'm damn sorry about whatever happened to Commander Mizerak.”

Hector had seen Predator’s final report. He, like Mizerak, believed that Tomas and his entire crew had perished.

“Hector,” Elijah whispered. He pointed out the window. A submarine had entered their view and hovered over the city.

“Well, Commander,” Tomas called over the radio. “Permission to come aboard?”

20

MIZERAK WOKE IN PAIN and confusion. Drugs inhibited some of the pain but supplies were limited. Her vision was blurred. She inched her head around to confirm her surroundings. Khan stood at her bedside. He peered at monitors then back to her. Was he crying? Uncertain. She tried to reach a hand to him but the short distance might as well have been light years.

“Tired...” she whispered.

He nodded. Rubbed at his unshaven face. “You should be tired. That beats the alternative.”

“No,” she gave him a weak smile. “You look tired.”

He laughed. “Yes. Well, there are no uneventful days here. You've had a heart attack. I'll fill in the details for you later. What matters is that we're having this conversation. We'll need to talk about pain management and a recovery plan. You're my first heart transplant, so we're figuring this out as we go.”

“Glad to see...we're all still here.”

“We've inherited a crew member,” he put a hand on her arm. “Hector's father.”

Mizerak lacked the physical capacity to fire away with all her questions. She could only look at him with wonder.

“You've been asleep for three days, Commander,” he patted her shoulder and turned back to the monitors. “You've missed some drama.”

****

HECTOR PILOTED the submersible to Predator. Captain Tomas insisted, with no explanation, that Hector not board the submarine; instead the Predator crew came through the airlock to him. Tomas and a handful of others, including the Brit, gave Hector a warm greeting as they crowded into the submersible. They acted oblivious to the unpleasant circumstances of their parting that now seemed so long ago.

While Hector returned them to Paradise, Tomas stood next to Hector and spoke in a hushed tone.

“I wanted to give you the most exciting news in person,” Tomas said. “We found survivors.” He waved his arm toward the expanse of ocean. “They were out there, Hector. Looking for us the whole time. They're following behind us. No more than a day and they'll be here.”

“Captain,” Hector frowned over the controls. “We thought you were all dead. Your last transmission... It looked like you were boarded and killed by the mutants.”

“Mutants?” Tomas stroked his beard. “Mutants. Yes, I can see why you would think that. Well,” he clapped Hector on the shoulder, “I've got a hell of a crew. I tell you, we couldn't believe it ourselves.”

Couldn't believe what?

The unfocused feeling from Paradise had intensified. The world seemed like a film playing at slightly too slow a speed. Images from his past entered his mind in no apparent pattern. He would need to talk with the doctor but he continued reflecting on Tomas' words as the winch lifted them into the Paradise staging area.

We're not alone.

****

WITH SOME EFFORT, Mizerak sat upright. She could drink water and eat small amounts of solid food.

“I guess calling it food is generous,” Khan said, smiling at her progress.

“I can't believe Tomas survived.” She frowned at the soy patty in front of her, marinating in an unidentifiable brown sauce. “I mean, I'm thrilled. This changes our situation completely. Still...I saw the transmission. I don't understand how they survived that.”

“I'm sure the good captain can give you all the answers. Once you've recovered enough to return to duty.”

She gave him an apologetic look. “I guess I've already told you how much I admire your patience. Somehow you remain calm while the world is ending. If I could find that level of calm,” she tapped her chest, “maybe I wouldn't be in this bed.”

“This is life, Commander. That's what I tell myself. We spend most of our time hurrying through our lives, thinking we'll start living if we can just get through the next obstacle. Get back in control of the world. If we had any real control over our destiny, we wouldn't have ended up here. Whatever is happening, right now, this is life.”

“Would you believe it took Louis Bridger to help me understand that? I was too busy looking at our short-term struggles and not thinking about the long-term. We have to get more serious about how we inhabit the world that's left to us. Start thinking in terms of multiple generations. Dieter's mission was the first step. We need to do more.”

“I understand you're something of a student of Pompeii,” Khan said. “You know Isis was widely worshiped at Pompeii?”

Mizerak shook her head.

“Isis was a goddess of the natural world. She ruled over the seas and protected sailors on their journeys. Her husband was Osiris. He was the Egyptian god of afterlife and rebirth. Osiris was killed by his brother, and Isis resurrected him. That became one of her most important roles, navigating the dead into the afterlife so they could have life after death. Pompeii had a substantial cult that worshiped Isis. Initiation into the cult involved ritual washing and abstinence.” He raised his hands. “Remind you of anywhere? Isis offered people hope they wouldn't have had otherwise. Life after death.”

Images of the forgotten heart surgeon husband came flooding back. The haunting voice, however, remained silent. For the first time since arriving in Paradise, Mizerak felt more focused on the future than the past.

“We all thought we were dead when we came here, Commander.” The doctor touched her arm. “You keep reminding us we're still alive. Any hope we have for life after death came from you.”

Khan leaned against the metal bed frame. “Some of us are feeling disoriented. It came on suddenly. I need to check with maintenance. Make sure there are no air quality problems. Anyway...” He shook his head to clear the vibrant imagery going through his own mind, immersing him in remembrance of things past. “I hesitated to tell you this because your system has been shocked enough. But you deserve to know that Dieter is here. He made it back. He's the one who found Hector's father.”

She closed her eyes, smiled, and lay her head back.

“He has good news,” Khan told her. “So good you may not believe it.”

****

MARIA/ANASTASIA INSISTED there was nothing wrong with the air quality in Paradise.

“We're having a different problem,” Maria told Khan. “The hull is corroding. The hull of the aircraft carrier. We haven't examined the submarines yet.”

“We think it's bacterial,” Anastasia said. “This is as sterile an environment as we can manage. It's still happening.”

“It’s a slow process,” Maria said. “But it’s a matter of time.”

Maybe the news isn't so good after all.

“We're too isolated,” Khan told her. “The microbes are evolving faster than we can keep up. I've talked to the commander about it. Once she's recovers further, we need to sit down and strategize.”

Maria/Anastasia sympathized with the doctor's concerns, since they experienced the same disorientation as everyone else. Compelling visions of the past felt real, while a dreamlike haze filtered reality. Complaints to the medical staff increased at the same time people throughout Paradise learned the news.

They've arrived.

Another submarine arrived a day after Predator, just as Tomas had promised. The submarine parked next to Predator in a stationary position above the city.

Tomas eagerly volunteered a few of his officers to operate the submersible. The newcomers came into Paradise a handful at a time. What astonished everyone was how many of the new arrivals they recognized. Celeste and Elijah, among others, found relatives they had believed lost. One person after another stepped aboard Paradise and triggered an emotional reunion.

“Seems there was more of a plan than we realized,” the exuberant Tomas told Hector. “Our selections weren't so random, after all.”

Later, to Dieter, Hector said, “Captain Tomas became an optimist, just like you.”

“I had to upgrade myself to do it.” Dieter gave a thoughtful look to his mechanical arm. “I wonder what happened to him?”

Every time Hector asked Tomas for an explanation – How did you survive the mutants? How did you find the survivors? – Tomas gave vague answers and changed the subject.

“That's only one submarine.” Tomas clapped Hector on the back. “There are more. Another will arrive soon. I tell you, Hector, our prayers have been answered.”

****

THE DOCTOR PLACED a fresh catheter in Mizerak's arm. She had recovered enough to stand and walk short distances. Khan had shared most of the news with her but she grew restless to hear full reports from her officers. “A lot of people are beside themselves to give you status reports,” he told her. “I'll let them start coming in tomorrow. One at a time. We'll move forward based on your energy levels.”

Mizerak nodded her head toward rows of occupied beds. Nurses worked bed to bed caring for patients. “This is from the mystery syndrome you've been telling me about?”

He nodded. “We'll send most of them back to duty after some tests.” He stepped back and studied the catheter. “My basic patient care skills have declined over the years. Complacency, I guess. I wasn't aware of it but just now, I felt for all the world like I was back in medical school. And that's the best catheter I've placed in years.”

“I don't seem to be affected by whatever is happening. Any theories?”

“Maybe the anesthesia or pain medications are inhibiting the cause. Whatever that is.”

Mizerak frowned at the people, her people, scratching their heads and squinting their eyes at the sense of stupor that had overcome them. “You said this started when Predator returned?”

****

THE MEDICAL STAFF had installed flexible plastic walls around Esteban's designated work area in sickbay. They sealed the plastic to create a sterile environment that Esteban insisted was no longer necessary. More importantly, no one could see his human test subjects.

He maneuvered among four hospital beds in a two-by-two arrangement. His “patients,” one in each bed, had died long ago, but he had preserved their bodies as testing grounds to develop a Whitewash cure. He pursued dual paths of a vaccine to prohibit the microbe and an agent that would subdue the microbe itself.

He applied a respirator mask to one of the subjects. Turned a knob to commence air flow that included an airborne anti-toxin, his most recent iteration of a potential cure.

A radio panel in the wall dinged. So few people knew of his presence, he didn't expect interruptions. More importantly, he didn't want interruptions. Hunched over the panel, it took him a few seconds to find the receiver control.

“Doc, it's Sophie. I need you to take a look at something. All that talk about your artificial intelligence system got me looking at some crazy internal data patterns. I need to sync up what I'm seeing with what you know.”

“I really don't have time for this,” he grumbled. “I thought you understood what I'm trying to do here.”

“I think they're related problems, Doc. You said the AI created Whitewash? I think the AI got into our local network. This thing destroyed the world. What's it going to do to little old us?”

Esteban stood straight. “You're right. Where can I find you?”

****

INSTRUMENTS IN ESTEBAN'S work area had no vital statistics to monitor and were quieter than the bedside monitors in sickbay. Once Esteban left the area, automatic restraints, built into the beds for psychiatric patients of uncertain status, snapped onto the wrists and ankles of the four subjects. A series of probes and implements – the beds functioned as full surgical stations – were remotely activated. Intravenous lines inserted into their veins. Neural probes tapped into their skulls.

The bedside monitors began recording rapid-eye movement. With enough time, they might have documented pulse and respiration and alerted someone to what was happening. But they switched off before that could happen.

****

A SECOND SUBMARINE filled with survivors arrived. Again, they put the submersible into service bringing new arrivals on board Paradise one small group at a time. A crowd gathered in the staging area to welcome them. All the new arrivals seemed related in some way to a resident of Paradise.

Dieter greeted an elderly man, slight and bald. They hugged. Exchanged words in German. Dieter caressed the old man's head. “It's my uncle,” he introduced the man to Hector. Tears dripped down his cheeks. “Can you believe, I was just thinking of him earlier? He only speaks German right now, but...” Dieter shrugged. “I'm just thrilled he's alive, you know?”

Grace... Hector prayed each time the submersible returned. Grace...

Of course, she would never return. Esteban would know if she had survived.

In sickbay, in between arrivals, Hector told the doctor, “I'm hearing the same thing over and over.” He massaged his weary forehead. “Everyone knows someone, and it's always someone they were just thinking about a short time ago.”

Khan sighed. “We all seem to be cycling through vivid memories. A few minutes ago I could have sworn I was attaching Dieter's artificial arm again.”

“Do you have something I can take? Something that will clear my head?”

The doctor laughed. “I share your frustration. I've got nothing because I still don't know the cause. It's not an infection. Air and water quality are at least no worse than they have been.”

Later, in the staging area, Yamamoto stood face to face with a woman as tall and dignified as him. They grasped one another's hands and bowed heads. “My twin sister,” he gasped. “I never imagined she was still alive. Only a short time ago I was reminded of the last time we were together.”

Celeste stood alongside Hector as the reunions took place. “Hard to believe, right?” Celeste asked. “A couple of days and everything's different.”

“Tomas says more are coming,” Hector grumbled. Was he really envious at others' happiness? As if that made his own loss worse. “Almost too good to be true.”

“Maybe we can make do down here after all. As bad as it is, it kind of feels more complete now. Don't you think, boss?”

“Make do?” He glared at her. “We're closer to getting back than we've ever been.”

His tone softened. Was he standing with Celeste? Or was he out battling the sharks in their earliest days in Paradise? “I hear you. Maybe going back is just a fantasy.”

They had defeated the sharks. They had defeated the mutants, at least for the time being. If they continued living in the past, could the future really be so bad?

21

THE DOCTOR PROTESTED, but didn’t resist, when Mizerak left sickbay ahead of schedule. His had expected her to do exactly that. He did insist that she walk with a cane. “Your balance is still off.”

She greeted Tomas, in the staging area, returning from one of the many submersible trips that he supervised with Hector. She shivered, a cold wind blowing through her soul. The closer she got to Tomas, the more amorphous he appeared. She couldn't focus on him to save her life.

“Commander,” he shook her hand and gave her shoulder a hearty thump with his left hand. “I'm damn glad to see you.” He made a majestic gesture with his arms toward the people around them. “And I'm proud we were able to find these survivors and lead them here.”

He peered at her. “You're not like the others.” For an instant, Mizerak could have sworn that Tomas' body dispersed into a multi-colored cloud before reforming.

Mizerak turned at an angle, squinted her eyes, tried to decipher the dark energy between them. “You'll have to forgive me, Captain. I've had major surgery and I'm not myself. Of course, we're thrilled that you survived. I can't wait to hear about your experiences.”

Looking around the staging area, she felt a similar reaction to all the newcomers. Flares of light began to corrupt her vision and a headache approached.

“I'm at your disposal, Commander. It's astonishing, isn't it? Maybe someone you thought was lost will be here, too.”

She lowered her head. “There's no one for me. Excuse me, Captain, I'm not feeling well. I just wanted to welcome you in person. We’ll talk later.” Overcome by the sense of disorientation, she left the area, her cane tapping against the metal deck.

****

SOPHIE AND ESTEBAN puzzled over a workstation in the War Room. Sophie worked the keyboard to display lines of data across the screen. Esteban squinted and nodded periodically.

“This is it,” he tapped the screen. “This is the artificial intelligence.”

“It must have a plan, right?” Sophie said. “If I cut off the lines to the Council Chamber, will that stop it?”

“I can't believe it would isolate itself,” he mused. “Even for a few minutes.”

“Maybe it's not isolated. Look at this.” Sophie worked the keyboard. The screen changed. “What the hell's happening in sickbay? It’s like the Chamber and sickbay are talking to each other. Why sickbay and not the bridge? Or the whole city?”

“Por Dios,” Esteban stood up. “It does have a plan. We have to get to sickbay. That's where we have to stop it.”

****

HECTOR GREETED ANOTHER group of survivors in the staging area. He had lost track of how many trips they had made in the submersible. There seemed to be no end to them. As soon as they arrived and were greeted by existing crew, they dispersed throughout Paradise with a long list of operations questions. The time-shifting disorientation continued to the point that it was becoming easier to live with. Dwelling on the past didn't seem so bizarre now that these long-lost faces had returned. They had endured one threat after another; maybe they had earned some time to relax and enjoy this miracle.

Hector squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. He stood still, fearful he would shatter an illusion if he stepped forward.

It was Grace. Slender and awkward, one foot in adult maturity with the other still in childhood. She carried a canvas bag over one shoulder. Her black hair was tied back. She walked with her head lowered; did she know he was here?

“Mi Gracia.” He ran to his sister and hefted her into the air.

Her look of panic turned into a tearful grin as she recognized him. She kissed Hector's forehead as he spun them around. Her voice was barely a whisper. “Hectorcito.”

Wasn't she just born? A troubled birth but he already had an antagonistic relationship with his mother and he was too young to feel much sympathy. He remembered much pacing and his father's back-and-forth with the doctors. He could swear it was happening right now. Yet here she was, in his arms, exactly as she had looked the last time he saw her.

Exactly the same.

****

MIZERAK DRIFTED through the corridors of Paradise. They were foreign to her now in a way they hadn't been before.

Someone for everyone. Of course it was too good to be true.

She inched her way down a ladder, cane hooked over her arm.

She let the facts circulate in her mind. Esteban's testimony, which Hector, with great shame, had briefed her on. The sudden arrival of hundreds of survivors. The mutants. The time-shifting syndrome that affected everyone except Mizerak and the new-comers. Her queasiness around Tomas and all those who came with him.

Mizerak reached her destination. The guard waved her forward; she tapped on the door before entering the room where Louis Bridger was confined. He lay on his bunk in an apparent reverie, unshaved since she had first confined him here.

He started and sat up when he saw her. “Commander, you've come to apologize. How gracious of you.”

The laughter hurt, but she couldn't help it. “Very funny, Louis.” She leaned against the wall. “The beard suits you.”

“I must have been dreaming,” he said. “It felt for all the world like I was in business school. It seems like another lifetime. They told us we should behave like sharks because we would be swimming with sharks. That's the mindset they sent us into the world with.” He stroked the beard. “I guess those days are behind me. The things you said to me before... Well, a change of appearance seemed in order.”

“The whole crew seems to be drifting in and out of the past,” Mizerak said. “Except me. And our long-lost loved ones. You've heard the news, yes?”

“I have. There will be no one for me, however. Anyone who might have cared about me disowned me long before we arrived here.”

“The only person who might have come for me,” she said, “would have used his last second alive to look for a solution. He wouldn't have wasted a moment trying to save himself.” She peered at him. “Does this mean you've reconsidered your actions? I can't forget, Louis. You killed two of my officers.”

“They say fire is the devil's only friend, but it's not true. The devil has many friends and we all sold our souls for a pittance. None of us understood the full cost of the debt.”

She sighed. “So you're experiencing time shifts like the others?”

He nodded. “You, on the other hand, seem much more relaxed than the last time I saw you.”

“I guess heart failure will do that to a person.” Everyone else was wrapped up in a crisis, and she was still recovering. A little more time, then, to stay below the radar and ponder the big picture. “I saw Predator's last communication. They couldn't have survived being boarded by the mutants. Certainly couldn't have magically stumbled on to hundreds of survivors.”

“If you think these events are too good to be true, Commander, then...” Louis shrugged.

Mizerak recalled her meeting with Sophie, so long ago. Three identical errors? On three different cameras? They experienced time-shifts then, too. “Louis, you've had more exposure to government research than I have. Is it possible for a person to just...disappear? Even if it's only for an instant?”

“Literally disappear?” He shook his head. “No one just disappears. If you think they have, they've just gone someplace where you can't see them.”

She pondered that. “You're right. They have gone someplace else. Or maybe to a different time.”

He smiled. “You seem close to figuring something out. You might be operating with more clarity than the rest of us because you've been through a great trauma.”

And I have a mutant's heart. Mizerak stood up. “I think I am close.” She pushed open the door. Standing in the doorframe, she looked back at him. “Good luck to you, Louis.”

“Glad I could help, Commander. I hope that's how you'll remember me.”

****

THE LIGHTS WENT OUT in sickbay. The doctor, with the help of several nurses and medical assistants, had just dispatched a series of patients disturbed by intense visions of the past. He had issued a few placebo pills in the guise of anxiety medication but could find no cause and no cure. With the patients’ departure, the large space was, for once, largely empty when darkness wrapped around the room.

“Stay calm,” Khan said to the others. “We haven't heard any alarms. It's probably just a power surge.”

Ask maintenance to restore the emergency lighting, he thought.

They heard a rustling noise. Khan immediately recognized the source but couldn't believe it, so chose to remain motionless. He prayed the others would do the same. Prayed the noise source would leave them in peace. Or, better still, turn out to be his imagination.

Less than a minute passed in shadowed silence. The lights came on. He waved at his staff to return to their duties.

He took halting steps to Esteban's sealed-off work area. Pulled the plastic sheeting aside. The beds were empty.

Khan puzzled for a moment over who to notify first. Esteban ran into sickbay, answering the question for him. Out of breath and showing his years, the elderly scientist slumped over one of the vacant beds. Sophie came in shortly after, equally out of breath.

“What just happened?” Khan asked them.

Esteban couldn't gather breath for a response. Sophie simply said, “We need the Commander.”

****

MIZERAK HAD the same reaction to each of them. All the new-comers, increasingly prevalent throughout Paradise, gave her a queasy feeling. Her vision blurred when they came near. Occasionally bright primary colors flashed but no one else seemed to notice.

Walking the corridors of the city, feeling the mutant heart beating within her (“Intense awareness of your heart beating is common after major cardiac surgery,” the doctor had told her), she added up the pieces. She felt close, as Louis had said, but needed more. She was almost relieved when they called her to sickbay.

By the time she got there, Esteban was distracted by the equipment in his work area while Sophie and the doctor hovered over a computer terminal.

“Report.” Mizerak went to Khan and Sophie first.

“We're still figuring out what happened,” Khan said. He pointed to the empty beds near Esteban. “But those beds were occupied by corpses a few minutes ago.”

Mizerak gazed at the hospital beds and the absent-minded Esteban coaxing results from the instruments.

Sophie tapped the keyboard. “I don’t how you do it, Doc,” she told Khan. “This shit's even worse than my workstation.” She looked up at Mizerak. “We thought transhumanism meant adding technology components to people. Never thought about technology hijacking people. I think that's what happened.”

“They were dead, Sophie,” Mizerak reminded her. “How is that even possible?”

“Their souls were gone but the bodies are just tools,” the doctor said. “The muscular and skeletal structures remain.”

“Look at this.” Sophie pointed to the monitor. “This is the kind of data exchange I've been seeing from the Council Chamber, but a little while ago it went off the scale. All's I've got is a theory, but I don't think there ever was a Council. Not like we thought. I think it was a subset of the AI. The same one that came up with Whitewash.”

“That explains their secrecy,” Mizerak said. “And how they disappeared when the Chamber was breached.”

“Says a lot about what they thought of us,” Sophie grumbled.

“If their job was to neutralize any threat,” Khan said, “they clearly weren't threatened by us.”

“Maybe they've changed their minds,” Mizerak said. “Are you saying the Council has occupied these bodies? They're loose in the city?”

“When we connected to the undersea Net cable,” Sophie said, “we must have connected the Council to the primary AI. We turbocharged them. Now,” she pointed to the empty beds, “they're not stuck in a black box. We gave them bodies. They're mobile.”

“Can we use the security cameras to keep track of them?”

Sophie called up images from the surveillance cameras that she had installed. The views from four cameras throughout Paradise divided the screen. One of them was sickbay itself; Mizerak found herself looking at the backs of their heads.

They can see what we see.

Mizerak stood straight and ran a hand through her hair. “Now what?”

“We can't out-think artificial intelligence,” the doctor said. “I'm not sure we can be more creative. Out-fighting it might be all we can do.” Recalling his own recitation of the Muqaddimah, he said, “A dumb animal can defeat a more intelligent animal through sheer strength. We have the benefit of being able to create strength by cooperating and coordinating with each other. The AI only has itself.”

“I assume we're the dumb animal in that analogy?” Mizerak asked.

Khan shrugged. “We should know our strengths and limitations.”

Esteban, who they had nearly forgotten about, came across the room in a kind of shuffling jog.

“Commander!” He tugged at her sleeve, childlike. “You need to see this!”

****

SOPHIE CONTINUED her futile effort to regain control of the security cameras. Mizerak and Khan followed Esteban. He jabbed a finger at various monitors around his otherwise vacant research area. He tapped buttons to scroll through results that Mizerak couldn't interpret and Khan could scarcely understand.

“These curves show where the AI took possession of the bodies,” he told them. “But look at the time frame just before that. This tracks the Whitewash variant in their bodies. See here-” He tracked his finger along a graph on the screen. “But after my last treatment experiment...” He traced the chart that showed an abrupt decline. “According to the simulation, the microbe was eradicated.” He grabbed at the others' shoulders. “Don't you see? This could be the cure. I need to refine these results. This could be it!”

“Is this scalable?” Khan asked. “We need something with a global reach.”

“Individual cells remain connected. Whitewash is an invisible layer that infects everything as it spreads. If this works, the effect will be almost instantaneous. I need to confirm the formulation.”

“Get to work.” Mizerak turned to Khan. “You can work with him?” Khan nodded. She turned back to Esteban and pointed first to the empty beds, then out to the relative freedom of Paradise. “Can you explain to me how this is even possible?”

Esteban hesitated. “When these people died, I installed technology that I hoped would revive them. Nanocells, neural implants, servomotors. I tried everything, Commander, you have to believe me. I desperately wanted to save them.” He pleaded with her. “One of them was my wife. I would have done anything to save her.”

“My God,” Khan said. “You've been experimenting on your own wife?”

“Hector's mother,” Mizerak whispered.

“It was her wish,” his voice was hoarse. “I'm one of the people who killed her. I had to try to save her.”

“How dangerous are they?” Mizerak asked. “Now?”

“If the AI has possession of them, they can do anything any human can do. But they'll have no sense of pain or fear. They're immune to illness. They can't be reasoned with. You'll need to render their bodies physically unable to function.”

“One more thing, Commander,” Sophie called from across sickbay. She pointed at her monitor. It still displayed the image of them from the sickbay security camera. Then she pointed to her ear. “They can hear us. And they can monitor communications channels.”

Mizerak swore under her breath. Careless...

She leaned over and whispered to Sophie. “Can you disconnect the sickbay infrastructure? Get it away from the main network?”

Barely moving her mouth, Sophie said, “I think so.”

Mizerak patted Sophie's back. “Do it.”

She turned to Khan and Esteban. “You two get to work. I'll...do something...”

Something across the room distracted Esteban. He dropped his arms to his sides and gave out a loud sound, something between a moan and a scream.

It was Hector, little Grace at his side.

22

A WAVE OF DISCOMFORT passed through Mizerak like a shockwave. The others had the dreamy look she had learned to associate with time disorientation; she remained immune while they flashed back on the past.

Hector walked his sister to their father. Some primal fear reached Esteban through the fog. He moved his mouth but could not speak. He stared at the girl but refused to touch her or speak to her. Clearly not the reaction Hector expected.

“She was with the last group of survivors that came aboard,” Hector, confused, explained to all of them. He put an arm around Grace's shoulders. The child had not spoken after her one-word greeting. To his father, he said, “I know it's a shock. But she's alive. My prayers...all this time...somebody heard them.”

Esteban shook his head. “No, no...” He struggled to find the words. “Hector...she can't be...”

Mizerak strode to them. Put a hand on Esteban's shoulder. The missing piece? “What is it? Are you saying this isn't your daughter?”

He answered by addressing Hector. “Grace is gone, Hector. I saw her die. I saw her. You weren't there. Grace is dead.”

Grace, or whoever she was, dispersed in the cloudiness phenomenon Mizerak had observed with Tomas. What did the others see? Hector backed away from the apparition.

“Just look at her,” Esteban said. “She would be older now. Do you see, Hector? Remember her age? Even after a year, she would look older. This is not your sister.”

Mizerak faced Esteban and grabbed him by both arms. “Look at me, Doctor. Is this the AI? Did you experiment on your daughter like you did your wife?”

“No!” Esteban was panicked. “No. She died in the initial crisis. She never even made it to the refuge.” He choked back a sob. How many times did they have to replay the end? “I saw her die. I saw my little Grace die... I don't know...” He pointed at not-Grace. “I don't know what this is.”

Mizerak turned to Hector. “I'm sorry. I know I'm pushing you too far. But I need you.” She grabbed his arm. “Hector. I need you to come with me.”

Hector shook off his stupor as best he could. He nodded, turned away from the family he had lost more than once, and followed her from sickbay.

****

ON THEIR WAY to the staging area, Mizerak first radioed Elijah on the bridge. “Sound general quarters. We need all non-essential personnel out of the corridors. Minimal computer and radio interaction. Assign a runner to meet me in the staging area. We'll have to communicate face-to-face for now. Out.” She clicked off before he could raise any questions.

She asked Hector, “Does Captain Tomas seem strange to you? All the survivors? Like there's something not right about them?”

Hector was slow to answer, still getting his head around events. “He's different. I haven't seen him break to eat or sleep since he returned. Everything down here is different. I'm not sure what to question anymore.”

“You're drifting in and out of the past, yes? Like the others?” They climbed the last ladder to get them to the staging area. Mizerak, tired of feeling hobbled, cast the cane aside and hefted herself up the metal rungs.

Hector thought for a second and nodded. “It sneaks up on me. I'm barely even aware of it. It's making me more complacent but I don't know how to turn it off.”

“I'm not sure you can. Somehow it's not affecting me. My reaction to them isn't the same. I think it has something to do with my heart transplant.”

Mizerak stopped short of entering the staging area. “I need you to get Celeste, Dieter, everyone. You'll all have to connect without using radios. Sophie will guide them to the cameras. They need to destroy every camera in the city.”

“What about me?”

“I need you to go outside and disconnect the Net cable. Better late than never. Then we'll deal with our transhuman stowaways. And look sharp. There are only four of them but they're smarter than us and probably faster. Put guards at the critical areas; sickbay, the bridge, hydroponics, the airlock tubes.”

Hector ran off and Mizerak walked into the staging area. Tomas waited there, as usual. Along with more of the refugees.

Mizerak stomped up to him until they stood to face. “I need to come on board Predator, Captain. You don't have a problem with that, do you?”

“You have some concerns, Commander,” he smiled. “Let's discuss them. I understand you've been through a lot.”

“So have you,” she said. “You've been through death and then some, haven't you, Captain? You and your entire crew were killed. Predator was lost at sea. I saw it happen.” She spread her arms to indicate the people around them. “None of this is real, is it?”

Tomas repeated his previous statement. “You're not like the others.”

****

HECTOR LOCATED CELESTE and together they found Dieter. To the commander's orders, he added one of his own.

“If you get one of them, give one squawk over the radio. One burst of static. Use the emergency frequency. Four of those and we'll trust that we've got them.”

“What if they get us?” Celeste asked.

“Then we'll still have four targets.”

After a detour to sickbay for physical descriptions of their targets, Hector left them to begin his own task. It took Celeste and Dieter time to gather the other security personnel without using radios. They couldn't work in pairs, Paradise had too many sensitive areas. They fanned out individually into eerie passageways, deserted as a result of the general quarters status. As they moved, they used sidearms to destroy any security cameras they came across.

Celeste, trying to watch every direction at once, approached the cabin of two fellow officers, Jansen and Bowman. The door was open. Mentally, she couldn't stop herself time-shifting into past battles alongside Jansen, and training sessions with Bowman, one of the newer recruits. Aware that the vivid memories were dulling her reaction times but unable to overcome it. Both men were inside, dead, heads bruised and bloody. Their sidearms were gone.

Now they're armed.

She moved out, electrified by the reality of their threat.

Will they separate or stay together?

She tiptoed up a ladder to her assigned post, the hydroponics lab. Sidearm drawn, she walked the rows of plants, drip lines arranged along the ceilings and walls. The air inside was more humid but fresher, the lights brighter.

The mounds of vegetation muffled a sound that became clearer as she advanced. She edged around a planting of legumes, bean pods nearly ready for harvesting.

Stupid. The target was ready for her. He had been – according to Esteban – a financial wizard who possessed and managed fortunes larger than the economies of most countries. Tall and slender, dull white skin, gray hair and a beard mangled and knotted in death. She kept reminding herself he was already dead. He had been one of the elites, living in luxury beyond her imagination, and now here he was, a robot zombie shooting at Celeste over a pile of bean plants in the last human outpost a hundred meters under the ocean. He fired with one hand while with the other he manipulated a collection of canisters. Celeste guessed they were chemicals that would kill the crops. Or poison them.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd gone into combat alone. At least fighting mutant sharks was a group effort. He was efficient. He fired several shots in rapid succession, and stopped the instant she ducked behind the planters. He never took his attention from the job at hand.

Esteban’s instructions had been clear. They couldn't stop these AI-controlled bodies with traditional measures. Celeste backed away from her foe and looked around the lab. Tools and equipment were organized against one wall. Still crouched behind the trays of plants, she moved to the wall and inspected her options. She grabbed a scythe, with a foot-long razor-sharp blade and a one meter composite handle; an antiquated tool she hadn't expected to find in Paradise.

Sidearm in one hand and the scythe in the other, she walked a different route through the plant rows back toward her target. She didn't understand the details of the plants or her enemy's actions. How long until the irrigation lines were contaminated and all the crops were ruined?

She tread more lightly this time. She came upon the man (Did that term still apply?) from behind. Only one row of plants separated them. She dropped to her knees. Crawled under the planters. Gathered up the scythe to aim for the legs.

Too late. Her opponent's speed reminded her of the mutants. Faster than she could react, he dropped what he was doing and jumped effortlessly onto the long metal planter. Fired down at Celeste. The bullet ricocheted off the deck a few inches from her head. She rolled under the planter to the opposite side. Swung the scythe. Felt it plunge into the enemy's lower right leg.

The AI corpse jumped to the deck. Celeste finally noticed it wasn't panting for breath or sweating like she was.

He fired another shot and missed. Celeste twisted sideways and swung the scythe again. She stuck the blade into the same leg. She grunted and yanked the weapon forward with all her strength, severing the foot just above the ankle. The zombie hobbled forward on its one functioning foot. It fired again but the injury threw its aim off. What shocked Celeste as much as anything was how little blood poured from the leg wound: a trickle of rust-colored substance that resembled liquid plastic, the hyperefficient nanotechnology Esteban had described.

Celeste jumped up and fired into the man's head. He fired back; this shot clipped her on the shoulder. Her sidearm fell from her hand. The AI used the stub of leg to kick the gun out of reach.

She let out a long, hoarse battle cry and lunged forward. Punched the AI in the face repeatedly. The blows caused no pain but threw it further off balance. She dropped to her knees and used the scythe as an ax, applying a rapid series of hacking motions to the left leg. The other foot came off.

Celeste fell on her rear and pulled herself backward. The zombie propped itself up, leaning against the platform. Some internal logic put it back on task; it slumped back to the materials to sabotage the food supply, twisting sideways to aim at Celeste. It conserved ammunition, only firing cover shots to hold her back.

Celeste hefted the scythe like a spear. She lobbed it forward and even she was surprised at the luck in her aim. The blade lodged solidly in the man's spine. It caused some short-circuit in the nervous system. While one hand continued manipulating the chemicals, the other jerked erratically. The creature seemed to be trying simultaneously to shoot at Celeste and grab at the metal blade with the same hand. Celeste kneeled toward the floor and scooted forward. The zombie tried to correct its aim but kept reaching instinctively for the scythe.

Celeste grabbed the long handle. Jerked it from the thing's back. She swung wide and caught it in the neck before it could pull the trigger again. Like the stump legs, only a tiny amount of nano-blood flowed from the gash in the neck. She yanked the weapon free and struck again. Its head slumped sideways.

Celeste nearly collapsed.

She had one last attack left in her. She swung wide to put all her power into it. A sound of lifeless flesh giving way and the zombie's head bounced onto the deck. With the spinal column severed, the body teetered and crumpled in slow motion. The arms and incomplete legs stirred, but detached from the neural transmitters they were tools with no purpose. When the head rolled to a stop, milky white eyes stared at her with the same hopelessness as everyone else in Paradise.

Her shoulder wound dripped blood and burned her entire arm. She fumbled for the radio. Squeezed the transmit button to send out a short burst of static city-wide. Then headed toward sickbay.

One of those bastards was an inch away from taking our food. What can three more of them do?

****

MIZERAK IMAGINED clouds of bright colors, a world without substance. Looking around the cavernous staging area, she found it difficult to focus on anything. Only a ghost-image of Tomas was present.

“We are here and have been here.”

She heard the voice but couldn't pinpoint the source. Reminiscent of the Council's voice, it had no definable age or gender.

“We observe you and have observed you. Your temporal faculties were not and are not sufficient to understand us. We presented and present ourselves in forms more suited to your limited evolutionary status.”

“Our limited...? Who are you?” Mizerak asked.

“We have come and will come from another galaxy. One which was and is unknown to you. We have known and do know your history but you have not and do not know ours. We observe and have observed. This is and was why you perceive this form. We expect these forms that are and were familiar to you to be less intimidating and conducive to our observations. If a species does not and will not present a threat, we do not intervene.”

“You're...” She searched for words. “You're an alien species? We thought... We thought we were alone.” She looked around at the changing colors, shapes that were not shapes. “Temporal faculties... You experience time differently than we do?”

“We have and do inhabit your past and present as one experience. Given complete knowledge of what you call the present, prior events can be and will be extrapolated to yield full immersion in what you call the past. For us, it is and was all one.”

“Laplace's Demon.” It was Sophie on the system-wide PA system. Mizerak was slow in figuring out people throughout Paradise could hear the time travelers’ voices. “That's what the phenomenon's called, Commander. Newtonian physics says everything that happens now is locked in by whatever happened before. All this shit about an intelligent designer and karma and everything, it doesn't matter. The universe just is, and the laws of physics are in charge. So if you have perfect information about now, and I mean perfect, complete information, then you can extrapolate that backward and forward to figure out the past and future. If you know the position and velocity of every star, every planet, every object, everything, then you just apply Newton's laws and you know all the rest. That's the theory, anyways. The past decides the present, the present decides the future.”

“The future is and will be uncertain,” the voice said, “There was and will be random outcomes that even our comprehensive information can not and could not foresee. We anticipate and will anticipate the future, however it is not and will not be ordained.”

“That's the flip side of the theory,” Sophie added over the radio. “The only computer big enough to process all the information in the universe is the universe. But the size of the universe is limited by it's age and the speed of light. The universe isn't big enough to hold enough information to predict its own future. And you get into quantum mechanics and what not. It turns your head around, you think about it too much.”

Mizerak squinted through the information dump. “Is this why our crew is experiencing time differently? Why some of us seemed to vanish at different times? You're studying us.”

“You perceive and did perceive those incidents as brief moments in your timeline. We observe and have observed your people through all of your past. We assess and did assess you as individuals to learn your nature and evaluate your potential as a threat. You did not and do not appear to pose a threat to us.”

That’s the consensus, Mizerak thought.

“You have experienced and will experience chronological abnormalities due to our presence. When we depart and will depart you have returned and will return gradually to your proper timeline.”

“Wait,” Mizerak tried to clear her head. Too much happening and no time to process it all. “You exist in multiple time frames at the same time?”

“That is and will be a simplistic interpretation but it is and was the limit of your intellect.”

Mizerak ignored the unintended insult. “We're affected by your presence. We feel like we're in other time periods.” No response. The aliens didn't need a dumbed-down version of what they already knew. “Can you control that? Can we control that?”

“You are not and were not capable of such existence. We have not and do not require control because we exist. Your past and present will be and are all one for us.”

“Can we... Are you able to return us to an earlier time? To our past?”

“In theory that was and is possible. However, we have not and do not interfere. That is and will be our pact. The universe is what it will be. This encounter is and was an aberration resulting from your extreme circumstances.”

Only now was it dawning on Mizerak that she was the lead representative in humanity's first formal contact with an alien species. If species was a big enough word to contain these disembodied time travelers.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I don't know how much a word like history means to you. But this is possibly the end of our history. There are very few of us left and we may not survive.” She opened her hands and looked around the broad room with no visible subject to address. “Please. We need help. How do you travel? Is it possible for us join you?”

“History has had and will have no meaning for us. Time has decided. And will decide.”

Judging from increased clarity in the room and Mizerak's physical discomfort that still lingered, their situation was clear. The travelers were gone.

****

DIETER WENT TO his assigned post in the engine room. The mass of controls and machinery was spread over a broad space two levels high. The engine room had little application in the traditional sense; this area remained critical for internal power usage and environmental systems.

He desperately wanted to move about the city. Standing still no longer suited his philosophy. Particularly now that his head had largely cleared from the pacifying time-shift syndrome. However, the prospect of this area as a target made sense. He heard the static squawk over the radio. With no context, he could only assume, One down, three to go.

He expected any quarry would approach with stealth. Amateur mistake. The second zombie attacked Dieter from a catwalk overhead. It came at a run and leaped with arms spread like a bird of prey. Dieter leaped back; drew his sidearm. The crashing body knocked the gun from his hands and pushed him to the deck.

Like Celeste, he recognized this one from Esteban's description. A young adult woman, a singer who had achieved international fame before the crisis. Dieter had never bothered much with popular culture; she was a generic face surrounded by long blond hair that had glowed like gold when the force of life pumped through her. Now her mouth hung slack and her eyes were dead. Dieter had run into enough enemies deceptive in their appearance. One look at this face that belonged in the grave and Dieter felt no compulsion to pull his punches.

Her strength surprised him. She threw him against a bulkhead and turned to work the controls. She could easily sabotage air quality or internal pressure, or cut off the heat and leave the crew freezing. Damage could most likely be repaired, but what problems were her cohorts causing? Even a few such attacks could have a multiplying effect and render Paradise uninhabitable.

Dieter sprang forward. He kicked at the backs of her knees. Before she could stand straight again, he slammed a fist into her back, between the shoulder blades.

The AI spun with astonishing speed. Boxed the sides of his head with both arms. Dieter stumbled back and nearly flipped over a railing to a fall of at least five meters. Her hollow eyes tempted remorse. Hadn't that same emptiness dulled his own eyes not so long ago?

He burst forward; his head struck her abdomen and he wrapped his arms around her back. He shoved her against the bulkhead. She struck back but the AI apparently didn't know about his mechanical arm.

He wrapped the robotic hand, struts and gears and servos, around her throat. The strength of the arm, and his longer reach, gave him the advantage. Her inanimate face never registered a threat. She grabbed at his arm purely out of instinct, to no effect.

How many sycophants had sacrificed their pride to work for her? How many fans had misplaced their loyalty in a shallow reproduction of talent? How many lights had announced her presence while millions lived in the darkness of poverty? He directed his fury, at the apathy that invited humanity's demise, into a scream as he lifted her off her feet. He squeezed the neck until his metal fingers disappeared within the already dead flesh. The arms and legs flailed. Dieter's face was red, tendons in his neck stood tight. His scream faded as the neck gave way and the spinal column severed.

He threw the body to the ground. Spit on it in disgust. Beat his artificial hand against the bulkhead.

Heaving for breath, he grabbed his radio. Sent out a burst of static.

Two down.

****

WITH THE TRAVELERS GONE, the staging area reappeared in its full width and breadth. Mizerak couldn't remember the last time reality, her own physical existence, had appeared to her senses with such clarity.

Chronological abnormalities... Gradually return to your proper timeline...

What did that mean?

She had been vaguely aware of two static bursts over the city-wide alarm frequency. Knowing Hector, that was his idea.

Mizerak stretched her neck, arms, and shoulders. Took a few slow, deep breaths. Opened one of the lockers and pulled out a speargun. She went to the one area she hadn't identified for the security team: the Council Chamber.

****

HECTOR, in his pressure suit, successfully detached the Net cable he had reattached only a short time ago. Uncertain about the status of the staging area, he exited Paradise and returned through an alternate hatch. On an impulse, he kept his pressure suit on when he reentered the city.  He removed his helmet and clipped it to a belt loop.

Patrolling the corridors, he fired his sidearm to eliminate the occasional security camera. He encountered a few other officers along the way; they passed in wary silence and went their separate ways. Mizerak had assigned him to sickbay. Was that a deliberate gesture to keep him near his father? No matter. He took the long way there, inspecting two of the airlock tunnels along the way.

At the second tunnel, he found Sawyer, one of the younger recruits, disheveled on the deck in the middle of the tunnel. He ignored the sound of rapid footsteps moving back into the carrier and stooped down to attend to Sawyer.

“I think my arm's broken.” Sawyer's freckled face was twisted up in pain.

Hector gently probed the arm. “Feels like a fracture,” he grunted. “You'll live. Was that one of our targets?”

Sawyer nodded. “What the hell are these things? Looked like a dead body come to life.”

“It is. We've got four targets. Which one was it?”

“Female, Hispanic, middle-aged. Fits one of the descriptions. My fault, I underestimated her. Knocked me down like it was nothing.”

“Catch your breath, then get to sickbay.”

Hector jumped up and ran in the direction of the footsteps. They were easy to follow; under general quarters the passageways were quiet. He paused every few seconds to confirm his target was still ahead of him.

The other's footsteps stopped. He drew his sidearm. Eased his way around a corner. And came face to face with his dead mother.

23

MIZERAK TOOK the elevator down to the Council Chamber level. She carried the speargun in her right hand. The door to the Council Chamber was closed. With her left arm, she fired her sidearm into the wall-mounted camera the Council had used to confirm her identity. The glass shattered and left behind a tangle of wires.

The door was unlocked; she pushed it open. She raised the speargun and walked in.

The shadowy figures of the Council looked down on her as they had in the early days. Less threatening, but somehow more ominous, thanks to her new awareness of the Council's intangible nature.

An elderly man stood at the far wall from her. He was tall with broad shoulders. Attired in a dress uniform heavy with medals and ribbons. He was a partial silhouette in the dark room but easy to identify.

“Admiral?”

Mizerak recognized him as the fourth target, but couldn't get her mind around it. The former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, one of the uniforms around the long table who had introduced her to her terminal mission.

The admiral, being dead, would not respond to anyone ever again.

“We told you to focus your efforts on defensive systems, Commander,” the familiar voices of the Council barked at her. “We cautioned you not to venture beyond the city's limits.”

Mizerak stepped forward. “We didn't question the status quo soon enough. That's where we went wrong. Acceptance without dissent.”

The voice blurbled at a speed too rapid to understand. Technological senility. At a variable speed that caused the tone to rise and lower, the Council said, “That was a mistake.”

Faster than she could imagine, the admiral jumped across the room to attack.

****

HECTOR SPOKE to his mother out of habit. “Did you know what he was doing?” he asked.

She had the same lifeless nature as the others. The gray-and-black hair that had given her gravitas in life was a collection of ratty tufts in death. Pallid, doughy flesh moved with the shakiness of an infant learning to walk but the speed of a leopard.

He aimed the speargun. Couldn't bring himself to fire.

She leaped toward him like a robotic gymnast. Did a forward roll and came at him from floor level. He fired the speargun too late; the flechette bounced off the bulkhead and fell to the deck.

She slammed a fist into his chin with the same ferocity with which she had, in the past, criticized his military service. Hector stumbled backward. His mother turned and ran off down the corridor.

“Did you know?” he yelled as he ran after her.

****

THE ADMIRAL LAUNCHED a series of punches into Mizerak's chest and abdomen. The blows drove her into the corridor and against the bulkhead.

She held the speargun in front of her with both hands and fired. The flechette struck the Admiral in the heart.

If he ever had one, she thought.

He pulled the projectile from his chest without a thought. Jumped up, coiling his legs and kicking her shoulders as he descended. Mizerak hit the deck. Scuttled backward on her hands and knees down the corridor. The Admiral picked up the dropped speargun and stood over her. Mizerak rolled left and right as he fired.

She drew her sidearm and shot her opponent. She put a series of bullets in his head, then into his hands and arms. The impact alone knocked the speargun from his grip. Mizerak grunted as she pushed herself forward. Rammed into him and propelled him the opposite direction down the passageway.

The head wounds had clearly severed a link between the neuromuscular system and the neural implants. The Admiral twisted and staggered. Mizerak put her sidearm to his forehead and emptied the cartridge into him. Like the others, he shed minimal blood and showed no acknowledgment of pain.

He slumped to the deck. In a seated position, the head bobbed up and down, the arms and legs twitched.

Mizerak took the speargun into the Council Chamber.

“There is still one, Commander,” the wavering Council voice said.

There must be controls somewhere in the walls. She wondered why she hadn't looked for them sooner.

Mizerak discharged the speargun. Each flechette cracked into the bulkhead. She panned around the Chamber, shooting until the speargun ran out of ammunition. Some stuck in metal with no result.  Others struck digital controls and spewed sparks and smoke in their wake.

“There- is- still- one-” the deranged Council sputtered. The voice, and lights, faded.

Mizerak turned to the Admiral-corpse. Still seated on the deck, flailing his arms, mindlessly trying to fulfill the orders of a dead shadow government. She had looked up to him before. Had he always been a lifeless puppet serving unseen powers? Was that all the generals and admirals and politicians had ever been?

Hoping she had interpreted the earlier signals correctly, Mizerak sent out an alarm burst on her handheld radio. She left the Council Chamber, for the last time, and headed for sickbay.

****

HECTOR CLIMBED a ladder in the direction his mother had fled. As he reached the higher deck, she grabbed a support bar above him and swung down. Kicked at his head and missed. Kicked again and struck his left ear.

You never listen, he had told her many times over the years. Was he affected by the time travelers, flashing back on the past? Or was he just getting his ass kicked by his zombie mother trying to finish off what was left of the human race?

Either way, she still wasn't listening.

Unable to force his way up the ladder, he let his body drop to the deck below. Blood dripped from the side of his head. Hard to hear over the ringing in his ear. He pulled the trigger on his speargun but she was gone. He pulled himself up the ladder with a good idea now of her destination.

He jogged through the corridors and found her exactly where he expected: in the observation deck. If she could collapse the entire window... How much damage would it cause before they could seal off the area?

Hector pursued her into the lounge area. He pulled the heavy bulkhead door closed behind him. If he could close the opposite door, only this room would flood if she succeeded.

However long ago her brain had stopped working, the neural transmitters inside her deduced Hector's goal. Mother and son ran to the door simultaneously. Hector got off a shot from the speargun; it struck her leg but had no effect.

They reached the door together. She boxed his damaged ear with her fist. Her strength and speed reminded him this wasn't his real mother. She barely needed to draw breath and had no fear of bodily harm.

Her body still couldn't defy the laws of physics. He wrestled the door closed. She jumped backward and stood in front of the tall observation window. She pulled a grenade from a pocket. Hector had no way of knowing she had retrieved it from Bowman's weapons locker. It would destroy the window easily and kill Hector in the process. She hesitated; with the doors closed, she could not complete her mission. Hector maneuvered himself to the middle of the room, ready to charge after her when she went for one of the doors.

Outside, the submersible charged into view. It motored up to the window, unseen by Hector's mother. He could just discern Dieter in the pilot's seat. Dieter grinned and waved.

“I'll keep on defying you,” Hector said. He waved at Dieter with one arm, still holding the speargun, and pulled on his helmet with the other. Dieter powered forward with the submersible, surging against the reinforced polymer until it gave way and shattered. Hector’s mother spun around when she heard the sound. He clung to the speargun as the wave knocked him off his feet. The deluge threw them both against the opposite bulkhead.

In the chaos of raging water, he lost track of his mother and the submersible. He cringed at the pounding in his damaged ear.

With the room inundated, Dieter had the submersible positioned just outside the carrier. He had extended the robotic arm and latched on to Hector's mother. The fall had knocked the grenade from her hand. She jerked against the machine, trying mindlessly to complete her mission. As Esteban had predicted, she displayed no indication of suffering. When would she require oxygen? Unfamiliar with the technology insider her, Hector couldn't imagine waiting for her to drown.

Hector swam to her. Dieter watched from inside the submersible, waiting for a decision. Hector looked into his mother's vacant face one last time, the face that had looked on him with such coldness in his youth, the body that had long since ceased being his mother, the landscape of his father's experiments in hubris.

“I'm sorry.” He choked once, held the speargun to the side of her head, and fired. Again. And again. Continued pulling the trigger after the cartridge was empty.

Hector's shoulders slumped. He issued the alarm burst over his radio. He waved to Dieter and swam off toward the entry hatch. Dieter released the body to drift away on the ocean floor.

****

MIZERAK TOOK HER TIME getting to sickbay. She walked with her shoulders hunched forward, tender with pain from the bruises inflicted by the admiral. Her body, and mind, were still catching up to the needs of the moment. She would try to remove herself from perpetual crisis mode, if that's what it took to lead in the new world order.

In sickbay, she found exuberant pandemonium, or as close to that as she had seen in Paradise. Sophie, the doctor, Maria/Anastasia, Yamamoto, and Esteban crowded around the main sickbay workstation. Even Yamamoto smiled, the first time Mizerak had seen that. They each tried to speak to her at once.

Khan's voice filtered to the top. “It looks like a cure. Esteban and I are in agreement.”

“It breaks down the molecular structure of Whitewash,” Esteban said. “Our simulations show it will scale up to the global surface. Once it's released, the entire planet should be safe within an hour. We can distribute it as an aerosol.”

“How do we release it?” Mizerak asked.

“We can load it on the sub missiles,” Maria said.

“One should be sufficient.” Even the typically cynical Anastasia sounded upbeat. “But we recommend three for redundancy.”

“If it's successful, we won't need the missiles later, anyway,” Maria said.

And if it's not successful, Mizerak thought, we may be too depressed to care.

A rumbling sound echoed through the ship. A barely perceptible wave twisted across the deck.

“Bridge,” Mizerak called into her radio as they steadied themselves. “Do you know what just happened?”

“Seismographic disturbance, Commander,” Elijah answered. “A tremor, or a larger quake farther away. We're still assessing.”

For a moment, Mizerak believed she saw the clouds of color that had followed the time travelers. When she blinked, they were gone.

“Don't cancel the general quarters order yet,” Mizerak said. “God forbid we have another earthquake.”

She switched off the radio and turned to Yamamoto. “Captain. Would you do the honor of launching the missiles once they're ready?”

Yamamoto bowed. “With pleasure, Commander.”

“Esteban, Maria/Anastasia, get the missile payloads ready. Sophie, Doctor, you were working on surface monitoring instruments. We need to verify the missiles are successful. How much time do you need?”

“Now that we know what to look for?” Sophie grinned. “Few hours, we'll be good to go.”

“We won't let you down, Commander,” Khan said.

Mizerak stepped back and addressed the group. “I can't even... This is brilliant work, all of you. But I need to insist on complete secrecy. No one outside this room knows about this until we have a definite result.”

“Commander,” Yamamoto said, “the missile launches will be evident to the entire city. How will we explain this?”

“Leave that to me.”

****

MIZERAK TOOK her station on the bridge and radioed Hector. He sat in the Worship Center. Puzzling over his own apathy, angry at his father's larger trespasses rather than any personal loss. He strained to hear above the ringing in his ear, something the doctor had assured him would dissipate within a day.

“Hector,” Mizerak said. “Are you up to what I hope will be a low-impact mission?”

He chuckled. “I didn't know we did low-impact here, Commander.”

“Keep your fingers crossed. We're conducting a test, something the doctor needs.” She hesitated. She wanted to tell him the truth but couldn't risk the bridge staff overhearing the conversation. “Some missiles will be coming from Revenger. I'd like someone I trust in the water just in case. Keep a safe distance. Put your depth at, let's say, thirty meters.”

“I'm on my way. What course will the missiles be on?”

“Up and to the east.” Her voice caught. She felt disconnected from her body. As if she could take flight and float across the world. Were they really this close to salvation? “To the surface. Once you're in place, hold position and wait for my orders.”

Again the flashing of colors reminiscent of the time travelers. Another rumbling of seismic activity.

Over the ship-wide channel, Mizerak announced, “All hands, we are conducting a submarine missile test for aquatic thermal variances. This is a scheduled test. There is no cause for alarm.”

Switching radio frequencies, Mizerak said, “Keep me posted, folks. We may not have a lot of time.”

Yamamoto responded, “The missiles are being loaded as we speak, Commander. We will be ready momentarily.”

“Commander,” Elijah, across the console from her, asked, “aquatic thermal variances?”

She shrugged. “Let's talk about it later. It's nothing to worry about.”

Over the radio, Maria reported, “Missiles are in place. Ready to launch.”

****

HECTOR TOOK his position, another assignment that brought him tantalizingly close to the surface. Less tantalizing, once he reflected on Claudia's fate.

He idled at the assigned depth, savoring the additional natural light. Calm surface waters and a hint of sunlight; whether morning or evening, it was a lovely day for whichever of God's creatures remained to enjoy it.

Looking down over the city, visible primarily in silhouette at that depth, he allowed himself slight satisfaction over their progress. Hopelessness at every step obscured the longer-term nature of what they had achieved. Uniting the submarines with the carrier, a relatively sustainable food supply, measures to deter the sharks, surviving the mutant onslaught; did it offer some measure of balance against their substantial losses?

A cascade of bubbles and turbulence puffed out from around Revenger. Three missiles creeped from the silos. In his reflective position it seemed they would collapse against the ceiling of atmosphere that awaited them. The missiles accelerated, passed him, and burst through the surface in a bedlam of surface chop.

The missiles ascended into the sky. He smiled. Aquatic thermal variance. Did they have something to do with his father's search for a Whitewash cure?

He felt the rumbling before he heard it. Shock waves distributed through the water and made distance impossible to estimate. He turned in a circle, trying to pinpoint the source. He saw a vague shape of a compression wave disrupting the sea floor.

“Paradise, please respond,” he called. “Is that an earthquake? Do you require assistance?”

“Stand by.” It was Elijah. In the second the bridge channel opened, he heard only shouts.

The primary shock wave pushed west-to-east through the water and hit him like a wall. He tumbled and nearly burst through the surface. A roar like a tornado surrounded him.

He had no time to worry about surface exposure. Definitely an earthquake, it tossed a series of waves across the ground below.

He worked against the shock waves, his suit's hydrojets on full power, trying to reach Paradise.

The compression waves, pushing through the ground and the water, crushed against one Paradise component at a time. The monitoring stations, the kelp bed, the solar array, all collapsed against the force. Submarines closest to the wave were heaved up, reduced to fragments, and slammed against the carrier. Structures broke into pieces. The carrier's hull ripped apart like cheap tin. Sheared metal, shattered composites, bodies struggling against the end, all washed away. Swept into the darkness by an act of terrestrial savagery. Only a few foundational anchors and bits of debris remained. He watched everyone who defined his world, invisible inside the metal hulls, beaten to death by the rage of the earth's crust. The final shock wave blew past and left Hector in the water, face wrenched into fear and anguish.

They were gone. Only Hector survived, the last man alive, all alone at the end of the world.

24

HE SCREAMED. He had no more actions to take. No more chances to cheat death.

When he stopped, the silence of eternity overwhelmed him. He screamed again.

He stared at the vastness of the Pacific Ocean.

The currents carried him without purpose. He was too dazed to wrap his mind around the situation. He could drift at sea until he ran out of oxygen, or was killed by a predator. Go to land and risk exposure. Or end it now and drown himself.

Why have You forsaken us?

Time lost all relevance. He was unsure how long he drifted or how far.

He recalled his childhood, exploring San Francisco's streets. His cadet years, drilling alongside Dieter and Celeste and the others.

The water became dark. Either he was descending or the sun overhead had set.

He sat in the family home, commiserating with Grace while his mother complained and his father busied himself with research. He and Claudia lay in their quarters, contemplating an uncertain future.

Did hours pass? Days?

****

HECTOR SHOOK as if waking from a nightmare.

Dark clouds wafted around him. Hallucinations. His air supply dwindled.

The clouds lighted up with an array of intense colors. Memories flitted in and out of his mind, so compelling that his own body seemed to change size to fit whatever age he recalled.

“We were and are within your field of awareness. Your timeline has not and is not yet restored.”

Hector blinked.

“We did not and have not departed the range of your cognitive detection.”

The travelers. Hector switched on his radio. “Are you-” His voice sounded foreign. Did the last words of the last human matter? Who would ever exist to care?

“We were and are contaminated by your infectious agents. We had not and do not believe that to be possible.”

“Contaminated? I don't understand.”

“Your past, an element of our present, did and will demonstrate that your world was and is contaminated by a substance of your making. We observe and will observe that substance is and will no longer be present.”

He considered the dream apparitions. “Whitewash? Are you talking about Whitewash? You're infected by it?”

“So we do and have stated. Our interstellar mobility has been and will be affected. We could not and can not return to our home.”

Hector assessed his surroundings. With no awareness, he had risen to the surface. He bobbed in the waves. The clouds he had imagined were real cumulus clouds. Long waves stretching to the horizon disbursed moonlight into bands of light flitting across the sea.

From his limited understanding of the toxin, he should have been killed even in his pressure suit.

He removed his helmet. Breathed in his first breath of truly fresh air since...how long? Cold water splashed against his head. Breathable air suddenly made up half of his world. He hadn't realized how claustrophobic the ocean felt when it was all he had.

He took in deep breaths. Recalling Claudia's death, he knew Whitewash should have killed him by now.

The missiles. They must have been a solution. What grand cruelty.

“We require and will require assistance. It is clear that you possess and did possess an antidote.”

“You said you don't interfere,” Hector said. “We asked for your help. You refused.”

“We have not and will not interfere.”

Unreciprocated demands. Where had he heard that before?

For I the Lord your God am a jealous God...

Light from the horizon began to chase away darkness. Sunrise. He blinked away tears.

“I don't have the cure,” he said. “You have to take me back. My friends have the cure. Had. You have to take me back, before they died. Can you do that?”

“We have not and do not interfere.”

He laughed. “Then you're stuck here with me. Welcome to earth.”

“You do not understand and have not understood. Your timeline has not and is not fully restored.”

Saltwater splashed in his face. A sharp sensation of hope. “You're right. I don't understand.”

“Your timeline was and is disrupted by our presence. To you we have and do appear as magic. Magic is not the solution, magic is the problem. When we depart and have departed, your timeline will become, for you, normal.”

The clouds of color whirled around him again. What looked like a funnel cloud descended on him despite no more wind than a gentle breeze.

He sensed his father's presence but could not see him.

“¿Papá?”

“We required and will require his presence,” the time travelers said.

“It's all right, Hector,” his father said. “I don't understand, but it's all right. The cure worked. See? Here we are, we're alive!”

“But the others-” Hector choked. “They're gone. I saw it.”

“No, the presence of the aliens, it's disrupting the timeline. I'm telling you, I don't understand it all, but I believe it. Somehow the AI must have re-engineered the Whitewash pathogen and infected them with it. It still thought it was doing its job, attacking threats. I'll go with them. I can give them the cure. When they leave, your timeline will be corrected.”

“What does that mean? Corrected?”

Esteban shook his head. “I think maybe we were... somehow, I don't know, thrown off by their proximity. Maybe we would have launched the missiles sooner without that distraction. But if you get another chance, do everything you can. It's better this way. They're taking me. After what I've done... Maybe the world is better off without people like me. We did things we shouldn’t have, just because we could.”

“He remains and will remain with us,” the travelers said. “He is and will be our link to your world. We monitored and will monitor your progress via his consciousness. If you are and will be ready, we have returned and will return. What happened must be, and what happens will be.”

“Remember, Hector,” Esteban said. “I did everything for-”

With that he was gone. The funnel cloud spun around and burst apart. Hector floated in the sea, watching the sun rise.

****

MAGIC IS NOT the solution.

“Hector?” Mizerak's voice over the radio snapped him to attention. He hovered above Paradise, right where she had ordered him to be. “We're preparing to launch. Look sharp.”

He fumbled for a moment. Without responding, he headed back to Paradise. He took an elliptical route that kept him safely away from the paths of the missiles. He had nearly reached the staging area hatch by the time the missiles rumbled up and away from Revenger.

“Commander!” Was he dreaming? No matter. Better salvation in a dream than damnation in reality. “I need you to listen to me. There's going to be an earthquake!” He climbed into the staging area; removed his pressure suit and dropped it on the deck. “We need to get ready, now!”

“Hector? We need to monitor the missiles. Whatever it is will have to wait.”

“Commander, please trust me.” He departed toward the bridge. “The missiles will be successful. I know their purpose. It's because of the time travelers. The cure works but we won't survive if we don't get ready.”

“Hector, I know it's a lot. Learning about your father, everything... Report to sickbay for now. I promise we'll talk later.”

“Commander, please! You know me. Please listen.”

She considered his words. Elijah said, “We have seen an increase in seismic activity.”

Mizerak grabbed her handheld radio and put Hector on a private channel. “Tell me.”

****

“OBSERVING ANY SYSTEM changes it,” Khan said to Sophie. Short of breath, they rushed, as quickly as Khan could with his cane, through corridors crowded with the rest of the city's population. Mizerak had ordered an evacuation of the submarines. All personnel were directed to assigned areas in the carrier. It was the biggest mass movement in Paradise since they had arrived. “It's inherent in all of science. The observer becomes part of the observed.”

“The travelers changed our perception of time,” Sophie said. They merged with hundreds of others into the staging area. “They left, so that cancels out the observation somehow.”

“I think we're about to find out,” he nodded. Security officers directed them, and the bustle of people around them, into lines. Across the room, Mizerak walked the lines offering instructions and words of encouragement. Nylon cords stretched across the room, anchored by clips in the deck, provided makeshift harnesses. Each person sat on the floor in rows that crossed the entire deck, and strapped themselves in. “If they're gone, then what should have happened in the first place can unfold organically.”

Sophie looked grim. “Let's hope good things are coming our way.”

In the hydroponics lab, Captain Yamamoto guided people into rows among the planters. They occupied nearly every available inch of floor space. He communicated with Mizerak via handheld radio. “We are almost in position, Commander. Awaiting your instructions.”

Mizerak looked at the timer on her radio. Timing was a best guess based on Hector's testimony. “Once everyone is secure, just hold on tight, Captain. If Hector's right, we won't have to wait long.”

Mizerak switched radio channels. “Celeste, what's your status?”

In a former flight deck, converted to a storage area, Celeste and Dieter herded their own complements into position. Celeste had a bandage on her injured arm. Dieter gave her a thumbs-up gesture. “We're ready, Commander,” she said. “Bring it on. How far do you think the tidal wave will carry us?”

“As long as the structure holds together, we'll take what we can get.”

Maria came on the radio. “Connector airlocks are detached and sealed, Commander. Exterior anchors have been released.”

“We need to say this again,” Anastasia said. “Our position is not secure with the anchors removed. We can't remain like this for long.”

“I don't think we'll need to. Get to your stations and hang on.”

Mizerak clipped the radio to her belt. She stood near the middle of the staging area, surrounded by officers and civilians seated and looking up at her for guidance.

“Brace yourselves,” she said, loud enough to be heard across the entire room. “I won't lie to you, it's going to be a rough ride. I can't promise how it will end. But look at everything we've been through until now. Don't give up. As long as you can breathe, don't give up.”

She took her own seat next to Hector. The rush of preparations and the uncertainty of their fate gave them all a manic edge.

Hector gave her the smile of a long lost loved one. “I'm glad you didn't see what I saw. Thank you for trusting me.”

“Of course, I trust you.” She gave him a curious look. “Where is your father? What happened to him?”

Hector tilted his head to the sky. “He's gone with the angels.”

****

THEY HEARD the earthquake before they felt it. The noise of heavens collapsing echoed through the ship's hull. The main wave heaved them upward as the quake shoved across the ocean floor. Shouts and screams bounced around the staging area.

A moment of absolute silence followed in the wake of the initial quake. The tidal wave triggered by the quake hit them like the vengeful hand of God. The wave lifted the carrier up – it seemed like up, hard to be certain in the moment. The hull groaned and popped. The angry sea's unrelenting roar carried them along.

Their stomachs rose to their throats. The carrier pitched and rolled. The stress yanked some crew members loose from the straps. Arms reached to grasp them, bodies thrown about. The vessel surged up through the depths, carried by the force of the tsunami. Mizerak, attuned to the sounds of her ship, heard the underlying hum of pumps adjusting air pressure to keep up with their changing depth.

The tumbling knocked a few unconscious. Others passed out from sheer fright. One suffered a fatal heart attack. Lights flickered off, on, off again. The water hurled the carrier like a toy.

A sharp screech of stretching metal; more screams; water gushed in through a hull breach.

Only Hector was not frightened. He had seen the alternative. Better to die with his friends.

They had the sense of being thrown upward in fits and starts. They bounced off the deck against the straps, bruising flesh and lashing skin. Water from the hull breach splashed around them. Shoulders and heads banged against each other. Flesh bruised against the restraints. The hull rattled. They rolled upside down, then upright again.

A deafening metal-against-gravel sound drowned out everything else. The carrier jolted to a stop. Torsos slammed over and back upright.

A dull waterfall noise surrounded them. The carrier creeped along a few more moments.

Total stillness. All hands remained silent and motionless.

Mizerak craned her head around. Listening. No more sound of water pouring in. No more water...

They drew fearful breaths. Looked to those around them. Put hands to heads and limbs to assess the damage.

Mizerak unstrapped herself and stood up. Gestured to Hector to join her. Skin abrasions on her shoulders bled through areas where her uniform had torn. She turned on her radio to broadcast throughout the ship while she gave instructions to all those in her presence.

“Everyone stay where you are. Tend to the injured if you're able. I'm assessing our situation. Stand by until then.”

She walked, jogged, ran, with Hector right behind. Started for the observation deck and remembered it was unsound. Over her shoulder, climbing a ladder to higher decks, she said to Hector, “We'll have to go to the bridge.”

“I don't feel motion,” he said. “It doesn't feel like we're in the water.”

She glanced back at him and nodded.

They reached the final ladder up to the bridge. Water trickled down. She practically jumped up the steps. It was apparent the windows in the bridge had been shattered. Water dripped from the various surfaces. No matter. They stood in the bridge and looked out at the carrier's final resting place.

“Dios mío,” Hector whispered.

“Look at that.” Scarcely believing what she saw, Mierak grabbed his arm. “Hector, would you look at that.”

A breeze wafted in through the missing windows. The dark of night yielded to faint light visible from the east. Was this the same sunrise Hector had seen in the alternate timeline?

The carrier rested on an area of sandy beach. Beyond that, rocky coastline stretched north and south. Mizerak pointed; to the north they could make out a section of the Golden Gate Bridge. Patches of fog lounged about. Waves splashed a greeting against the sand. Overhead, a squawking bird heralded the new day to come.

Hector and Mizerak leaned against each other. They forgot for a moment that thousands of people waited for the news.

“We're alive.”

25

THE AIRCRAFT CARRIER lay in sand at the ocean's edge. Waves approached, curved around its base, retreated.

Mizerak hiked a ways up the hillside that overlooked the beach and ocean. The full light of sunrise nudged out the fog and illuminated their brave new day. She and Hector had formed work crews to organize supplies and find shelter. They could still seek safety inside the carrier, but the thought occurred to some that if a tidal wave could carry it ashore, certainly another one could retrieve it.

She sat on an outcropping of gray and tan rocks and watched the crews work. No rush, she had told them. They all had a lot to process. She had primarily seen the population of Paradise in small doses in the claustrophobic interior. Seeing thousands of them expand across the sand and rocks enhanced her confidence. More lives equals more chances at survival.

Hector and the doctor walked up the hill.

“If I ever take up surfing,” the doctor pointed down to the ship with his cane, “I want to learn from you.”

The two men sat on either side of her.

Mizerak smiled and wiped gentle tears from her face. For a time they sat quietly. Gulls and other sea birds whistled from their overhead investigations of the new arrivals. The sun that they hadn't seen for so long cast out its light before them. The freshest air they could remember breathing took the edge off the terrible accumulation of anxiety.

“There's still a lot of work to do,” she reminded them.

“A few souls haven't left the carrier yet,” the doctor said. “They don't trust that we're really here. Or they're so traumatized they don't know what to do. We'll get them all straightened out, over time.”

“I prepared a watch schedule,” Hector said. “We'll have officers watching from every direction all night. And I'll send out some foraging parties, with your approval.”

She nodded. “I suppose we should organize some kind of formal government. I think I've had enough leadership for a lifetime.”

A hawk coasted overhead in a leisurely circle. Omen? Or good luck charm?

“Suddenly we're not confined,” the doctor said. “It will be harder to manage this as a single settlement. Opportunity might inspire some to break off into subgroups.”

“I wouldn't resist that,” Mizerak said. “We wanted the surface back. And the freedom that goes with it.”

“The travelers,” Hector said. “They were infected with Whitewash. I thought it only worked against human DNA?”

“I've been thinking about that,” Khan said. “It suggests some genetic similarity. I'm not sure yet what the implications are. The travelers raise a lot of questions. They may also answer other questions about past human experience.”

Hector looked skyward, wondering where, and when, his father might be. He pulled his rosary beads from a pocket and tossed them into the tall grass. “Magic won't help us. That's what they told me. I believe it now.”

“The best way to make peace with the voices of the past,” Mizerak said, “is to learn from them.”

Mizerak turned to Hector, then to the doctor. “I don't know how to thank you both,” she said. “Just...for everything.”

They sat with their own thoughts. Watched the groups down below, arranging supplies, exploring the coast, stretching and savoring the open space and fresh air.

They looked out to sea at the distant horizon lighted by the sun from behind them. Soon enough, the sun would mark the hours across the sky, set into the ocean, and another day would be done.

“It's still early.” Mizerak stood, dusted off her uniform, and waved to her companions. “We should get started.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Bradley Bravard is a graduate of Purdue University and the Neeley School of Business at Texas Christian University. In such varied careers as market consulting, healthcare, and software, he spent most of his time studying human nature. He currently lives in Florida with his wife and their two dogs, where he writes about creativity at The Creative Life Adventure. His first novel, Moral Compass, is available from most retailers and web sites, and his novella for young readers, Buddy and Thomas is available in digital format.

www.thecreativelifeadventure.com