We were closely allied with America, of course, but the United States had enough trouble taking care of its shrinking sphere of influence. I should know—I spent my earlier career in the thick of the first Weather War battles.
What had begun with China diverting water from rivers flowing out of the Himalayas had quickly turned the roof of the world into a global hot spot. After damming nearly all of the water flowing out of the mountains, China’s double-punch of seeding clouds to drop their rain before reaching India was what had really tipped the bucket. The combination had driven crop failures, mass starvations, and a nasty confrontation between the newly muscular superpowers.
While the initial conflict was long over, regional wars over a growing variety of resource depletions had continued to expand and engulf most of Asia and Africa. Of course, the world teetering on the brink of destruction was nothing new.
And now I was in the center of the cyber-universe.
Proudly, I looked around at the Command staff. They were really starting to come together as a team. Just then, I received a ping from Patricia Killiam asking for a quick chat.
The air began to shimmer in an empty space beside me, and her image slowly materialized. She was lighting up a cigarette and smiling at me, dressed in a dark business suit, old-school style, her hair done up in a tight gray bun. Relaxed, but never slouching.
I liked Patricia.
“Finished playtime yet, Rick?” she asked, shifting her hips from one side to the other and taking a drag from her smoke. She took a quick glance at the dissipating blaze on the main display, raising her eyebrows.
It was the first time we’d tested the slingshots, and they’d more than lived up to expectations.
I checked some last-second details. “That about does it.”
“Good, because you scared the heck out of what wildlife I’ve managed to nurture on this tin can,” she admonished cheerfully and took a puff from her smoke. “And the tourists want to go back in the water—not that you didn’t put on a good show. That was quite the shock-and-awe campaign.”
“You gotta wake up the neighbors from time to time,” I laughed.
We’d purposely decided not to pssi-block anything in order to measure emotional responses during the test. I’d talked to Dr. Granger about getting the best bang for the buck out of our weapons exercises to impress upon the rest of the world how they’d better not mess with us.
“That’s your job, Rick, to help scare the world into respecting us. My job is to help scare the world into saving itself,” she said without a trace of humor. “Good work.”
“Did you see that thunderstorm coming in? We’ve been tracking that depression for weeks, but we can’t avoid them all. Anyway, it’ll water your plants up top.”
She smiled. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off?”
I’d returned to fiddling with the slingshot control systems, but this got my attention. I looked up at her.
“Actually,” I said slowly, “that would be great. You wouldn’t mind?” Cindy, my wife, was having a hard time adjusting to us coming to Atopia. We could use the time together to re-connect. “So you really think that whole sim kid thing might be a good idea?”
Patricia hesitated. “Yes, if you’re careful.”
“Maybe I’ll speak to her about it then. I’ll see you later.” I smiled at her as she thanked me again and walked off, fading away without another word.
Patricia was one of the founding fathers, so to speak, of Atopia. After the mess the rest of the world had become, the best and brightest of the world had emigrated to build the new New World, the Bensalem group of seasteads in the Pacific Ocean, of which Atopia was the crown jewel. Atopia was supposed to be—was marketed as—this shining beacon of libertarian ideals. She was, by far, the largest in a collection of platforms in the oceans off California, a kind of new Silicon Valley that would solve the world’s problems with technological wizardry.
Come to the offshore colonies, they said, for the security, fresh air, good food, the sun, the sea, and first dibs on the latest and greatest in cyber-gadgets. Come to escape the crowding, the pollution, the strife and conflict—and that, brother, was the truth. So the rich came here and to other places like this while the rest of humanity watched us needily and greedily.
It was my job to protect them—the rich folks of Atopia, of course, not the rest of humanity.
I laughed to myself. Tough guy, huh? Who was I kidding? I was a washed-up basket case who could barely manage a night of sleep without waking up in a terrified sweat half of the time. The only reason I was here was to try to revive my relationship with my wife. Without Cindy, I would be off in some seedy corner of the world acting out a kind of “heart of darkness” finale to my life in a psychotic blaze of glory.
Maybe that was a little dramatic.
I’d probably be off soaking my sorrows in a bottle while desk jockeying in Washington. That sounded a little more likely. I smiled and began to run through the slingshot shutdown checklist, but then paused, feeling that old guilt begin to bleed out around the edges of my life.
“Want me to pick up some flowers for her from Vince?” asked Echo.
He always knew what I was thinking, especially when I was thinking about her.
“Please,” I responded without looking away from what I was doing. Noticing a breach report from Jimmy, I added, “And could you look into what made that UAV malfunction? The damn thing circled back and burned up in the blaze.”
Echo nodded and silently walked off to fetch the flowers. He was good at taking orders.
The excitement of the slingshot test hadn’t yet faded, and I walked briskly home. The flowers Echo had gotten from Vince were perfect.
“Hi, sweetie! I’m home!”
I proudly held the bouquet in front of me as I walked through the door. I’d snuck along the corridors with them, trying to avoid the prying eyes and bad graces of our neighbors. They would see real flowers as wasteful.
Cindy looked at the flowers less than enthusiastically.
She hadn’t even bothered to shower today and sat in a dreary heap on the couch, bags under her eyes, watching a dimstim projection. A large head floated in the middle of our living room, contorting itself in the middle of a joke while a laugh track droned in the background. Cindy wasn’t smiling, though, her face dully reflecting the light from the display.
It was going to be another one of those nights.
“You didn’t need to buy flowers,” she complained. “What are the neighbors going to think?”
“Sorry, sweetie.” I was always sorry.
Walking in, I saw it was Dr. Hal Granger’s EmoShow floating in the display space in the middle of the room.
“Could we turn off Dr. Emo, please?” I asked more edgily than I intended. “I get enough of him during the day.”
I felt stupid standing there with the flowers.
“Sure. He’s all that gets me through the days here, but no problem.” Hal’s head disappeared from the middle of the room and cast the place into a sullen silence.
With a great sigh, she glanced at me and declared, “I guess I’ll get a vase or something,” before swinging herself laboriously off the couch to walk into the kitchen.
“How was your day?” I said brightly, trying to restart the conversation.
She rummaged around in some drawers in the kitchen. “It was fine,” she replied, lightening up a bit. “But this place is so depressing. I feel like I can’t get any air. This apartment is so… subterranean.”