The temperature rose and the lid was triggered. It opened with a sigh. Donald reached in and lifted it the rest of the way. He half expected a hand to shoot out and snatch his wrist but there was just a man lying inside, still and steaming. Just a man, pathetic and naked, a tube running into his arm, another between his legs. Muscles sagged. Pale flesh gathered in folds of wrinkles. Hair clung in wisps. Donald took Thurman’s hands and placed them together. He looped the cord around Thurman’s wrists, threaded it between his hands and around the loops of cord, then cinched a knot to draw the loops tight. Donald stood back and watched his wrinkled eyelids for any sign of life.
Thurman’s lips moved. They parted and seemed to take a first, experimental gasp. It was like watching the dead become reanimated, and Donald appreciated for the first time the miracle of these machines. He coughed into his fist as Thurman stirred. The old man’s eyes fluttered open, melted frost tracking from their corners, lending him a degree of false humanity. Wrinkled hands came up to wipe away the crust and Donald knew what that felt like, lids that wouldn’t fully part, that felt as though they’d grown together. A grunt spilled out as Thurman struggled with the cord. He came to more fully and saw that all was not right.
‘Be still,’ Donald told him. He placed a hand on the old man’s forehead, could feel the chill still in his flesh. ‘Easy.’
‘Anna—’ Thurman whispered. He licked his lips, and Donald realised he hadn’t even brought water, hadn’t brought the bitter drink. There was no doubting what he was there to do.
‘Can you hear me?’ he asked.
Thurman’s eyelids fluttered open again; his pupils dilated. He seemed to focus on Donald’s face, eyes flicking back and forth in stunted recognition.
‘Son… ?’ His voice was hoarse.
‘Lie still,’ Donald told him, even as Thurman turned to the side and coughed into his bound hands. He peered at the cord knotted around his wrists, his expression confused. Donald turned and checked the door in the distance. ‘I need you to listen to me.’
‘What’s going on here?’ Thurman gripped the edge of the pod and tried to pull himself upright. Donald fished into his pocket for the pistol. Thurman gaped at the black steel as the barrel was levelled on him. His awareness thawed in an instant. He remained perfectly still, only his eyes moving as he met Donald’s gaze. ‘What year is it?’ he asked.
‘Another two hundred years before you kill us all,’ Donald said. The barrel trembled with hatred. He wrapped his other hand around the grip and took half a step back. Thurman was weak and bound but Donald was taking no chances. The old man was like a coiled snake on a cold morning. Donald couldn’t help but think of what he would be capable of as the day warmed.
Thurman licked his lips and studied Donald. Curls of steam rose from the old man’s shoulders. ‘Anna told you,’ he finally said.
Donald had a sadistic urge to tell him that Anna was dead. He felt a prideful twinge and wanted to insist that he’d figured it out for himself. He simply nodded instead.
‘You have to know this is the only way,’ Thurman whispered.
‘There are a thousand ways,’ Donald said. He moved the gun to his other hand and dried his sweaty palm on his overalls.
Thurman glanced at the gun, then searched the room beyond Donald for help. After a pause, he settled back against the pod. Steam rose from within the unit, but Donald could see him begin to shiver against the cold.
‘I used to think you were trying to live for ever,’ Donald said.
Thurman laughed. He inspected the knotted cord once more, looked at the needle and tube hanging from his arm. ‘Just long enough.’
‘Long enough for what? To whittle humanity down to nothing? To let one of these silos go free and then sit here and kill the rest?’
Thurman nodded. He pulled his feet closer and hugged his shins. He looked so thin and fragile without his overalls on, without his proud shoulders thrown back.
‘You saved all these people just to kill most of them. And us as well.’
Thurman whispered a reply.
‘Louder,’ Donald said.
The old man mimed taking a drink. Donald showed him the gun. It was all he had. Thurman tapped his chest and tried to speak again, and Donald took a wary step closer. ‘Tell me why,’ Donald said. ‘I’m the one in charge here. Me. Tell me or I swear I’ll let everyone out of their silos right now.’
Thurman’s eyes became slits. ‘Fool,’ he hissed. ‘They’ll kill each other.’
His voice was barely audible. Donald could hear all the cryopods around them humming. He stepped even closer, more confident with each passing moment that this was the right thing to do.
‘I know what you think they’ll do to one another,’ Donald said. ‘I know about this great cleanse, this reset.’ He jabbed the gun at Thurman’s chest. ‘I know you see these silos as starships taking people to a better world. I’ve read every note and memo and file you have access to. But this is what I want to hear from you before you die—’
Donald felt his legs wobble. A coughing fit seized him. He fumbled for his cloth but pink spittle struck the silver pod before he could cover his mouth. Thurman watched. Donald steadied himself, tried to remember what he’d been saying.
‘I want to know why all the heartache,’ Donald said, his voice scratchy, his throat on fire. ‘All the miserable lives coming and going, the people down here you plan on killing, on never waking. Your own daughter…’ He searched Thurman’s face for some reaction. ‘Why not freeze us for a thousand years and wake us when it’s done? I know now what I helped you build. I want to know why we couldn’t sleep through it all. If you wanted a better place for us, why not take us there? Why the suffering?’
Thurman remained perfectly still.
‘Tell me why,’ Donald said. His voice cracked but he pretended to be okay. He lifted the barrel, which had drooped.
‘Because no one can know,’ Thurman finally said. ‘It has to die with us.’
‘What has to die?’
Thurman licked his lips. ‘Knowledge. The things we left out of the Legacy. The ability to end it all with the flip of a switch.’
Donald laughed. ‘You think we won’t discover them again? The means to destroy ourselves?’
Thurman shrugged his naked shoulders. The steam rising from them had dissipated. ‘Eventually. Which is a longer time than right now.’
Donald waved his gun at the pods all around him. ‘And so all this goes as well. We’re supposed to choose one tribe, one of your starships to land, and everything else is shut down. That’s the pact you made?’
Thurman nodded.
‘Well, someone broke your pact,’ Donald said. ‘Someone put me here in your place. I’m the shepherd now.’
Thurman’s eyes widened. His gaze travelled from the gun to the badge clipped on Donald’s collar. Clattering teeth were silenced by the clenching and unclenching of his jaw. ‘No,’ he said.
‘I never asked for this job,’ Donald said, more to himself than to Thurman. He steadied the barrel. ‘For any of these jobs.’
‘Me neither,’ Thurman replied, and Donald was again reminded of those prisoners and those guards. This could be him in that pod. It could be anyone standing there with that gun. It was the system.