Glass Sky (34 page)

I wonder what they’re saying in the White House tonight. Tania cringed at the memory of the terrifying trip through Washington, helpless in the back of the van. Tengri’s right. Something’s coming. Juarez has been playing this game a lot longer than I have. And she plays rough.

JIE LOST TWO consecutive rounds of rock-paper-scissors, so he was last through the airlock. He peeled off his stinking suit. Suit smell. Another thing I won’t miss. I’ll have to start making a list, in case I ever get nostalgic. The rest of the crew were already in the hive, settling in on the couches after a long day’s work. He walked past, naked, to the shower, his initial modesty long ago lost to practicality.

“Jie – oh, pardon me.” Tetabo Molari averted his eyes on the TV screen.

Jie covered himself and dashed to the bathroom door. “You could have warned me of guest!”

Sally giggled from the couch.

“He just called a second ago,” said Sharon.

Every time this guy calls, it’s bad news. But what can it be? The first five tile factories are running flawlessly. The shield assembly robots have arrived at L1. Jie hurried through the shower, pulled on clean clothes, and plopped down next to Sally.

“I have some bad news,” said Molari. I knew it. “Remember the legal agreement you all signed?”

“Yes, and we’re not happy,” said Sharon. “The logos on the suits are bad enough. But nobody told us you’d be running ads. Jie Burgers? Really?”

“I wish that was the worst of it.” Molari didn’t smile. “US government lawyers contacted me this morning. They claim that your endorsement of Pax Gaia is a violation of the promotional activities clause. From now on, you can’t contact any media without clearing your statements first.”

Jie was too surprised to react, but Sally leapt to her feet. “That’s outrageous,” she said. “You’re censoring us. How can you do that?”

“This isn’t me. I’m just the messenger.” Molari looked down. “But if you resist, they can cut your communications off completely.” He brought up a copy of the contract.

Wherein the party of the third acknowledges without prejudice that insofar as the party of the first has commercial interests where commercial interests are defined as in subsection 28 of article 17, the party of the third does hereby agree to waive…

Jie’s eyes glazed over. It continued for a whole page, a ponderous perversion of English, meaningless, except as a code between lawyers.

“My counsel has reviewed this,” said Molari. “They say it’s solid. You can talk to friends, as long as you watch what you say. But that’s it. I’m sorry.”

“Can we at least tell everyone that we’ve been muzzled?” asked Rajit.

“Only in generalities,” said Molari. “The contract has a self-referential confidentiality clause.”

Sharon squared her jaw. “I don’t get it,” she said. “This is just going to give us extra publicity when we get home. They can’t keep us off our Pax Gaia speaking tour.”

“They can and they have,” said Molari. “The government-appointed project manager is delaying your return until after the UN Climate Summit. He said they needed more time for safety checks.”

***

Tania and Ruth’s car stopped outside the Denver convention center’s front doors. Over Witty’s objections, Tania had chosen to unveil Pax Gaia’s specifics here, emphasizing her ties with the nearby UNBio campus. Despite the B-list location, an A-list mob of press and “350” shirted supporters had gathered on the sidewalk. The cheering started before Tania even opened the door. Somebody pressed a sign against the window. “We love you, Tania!”

Ruth laughed. “Are you going to sign autographs?”

“No way,” said Tania. “This isn’t about me.”

They stepped out into the crowd.

“Oh, oh,” said Ruth. Tania spotted it at the same time. Two gray-suited military types in wrap-around EyeSistants were moving to intercept them. They looked identical, right down to their haircuts and slightly over-muscled physiques. Tania saw her ripple of fear mirrored in Ruth’s expression. The men pushed out of the crowd, shouldering open a space.

“Good afternoon, Doctor Black,” said one of the men. “We’re your bodyguards.”

“Bodyguards?” asked Tania.

“Witty must have forgotten to tell us,” said Ruth.

“We work for President Juarez,” said the man. “The President ordered round-the-clock security.” He pulled out a badge. It looks official, though it could have come from a GBOP promo for all I know. Anybody with a material printer can make a 3D hologram. Tania touched it to her omni to verify the identity chip. Green.

“What the hell is this?” asked Tania. She hurried into the lobby, forcing the two men to trot behind her. “Why is the President giving us security?”

“She’s concerned that you’re making yourself a target,” said the guard. “She doesn’t want to take the blame if something… happens… to you.” Menace tinged his voice.

Ruth yanked Tania’s arm. “Tania and I need to go to the toilet.” She dragged Tania down the hallway and into the women’s washroom. “I recognize one of them,” she hissed. “The taller one was watching the crowd outside Meaghan’s apartment.”

“Oh. Shit.” Tania looked towards the bathroom door. “Well, I guess that’s more proof of how high up those land deals go. Do you think Witty’s investigators drew attention to us?”

“I doubt it,” said Ruth. “Frank and Bruno are the best there are. But we’ll have to be careful. Those guys outside are clearly not bodyguards in any conventional sense.”

“Oh, you think?” said Tania. She looked at the door again. “What if he recognizes us from the street? That’ll link us to Meaghan.”

“He won’t recognize us,” said Ruth. “Not unless he has reason to do a really detailed study of the footage from his EyeSistant. There were lots of spectators, and we had bike helmets and sunglasses on.”

“The worst of both worlds,” said Tania. “We know enough about the land deals to put ourselves at risk, but have no evidence we can actually use.”

They left the bathroom, picking up their shadows at the doorway. Tania found herself staring at the guards. How can Ruth even tell them apart? They’re like carnivorous herd animals. Identical – to confuse their prey. She forced her eyes away. “Listen guys. I appreciate what the President is trying to do. But I don’t want you here.”

“I’m sorry, Doctor Black. A presidential protection order is compulsory. But we are bound to strict confidentiality.” He smirked. “We work for you.”

Sure you do.

A growing crowd of invited guests mingled in the lobby, snacking on vegetarian entrees and organic wine. A reporter spotted Tania and started towards them. A guard glided over to intercept.

“I don’t have time for this right now,” said Tania. She led Ruth up the carpeted stairs to the green room. The guards followed. Tania slammed the door in their faces and locked it. “This is going to make confidential meetings so much more interesting.”

Ruth picked up a tiny sandwich of colored leaves and cheese from the snack tray. “If these clowns are the best Juarez can do, we should count ourselves lucky.” She stretched, put her legs up on the couch, and let out a long yawn.

“Late night at the party?” asked Tania. She checked her hair. “You were getting along well with that lovely woman from Rainforest International.”

“How would you know?” laughed Ruth. “You and Gary didn’t waste any time heading out.”

Tania sighed contentedly. “I was asleep by midnight I’ll have you know. A lesson I learned in university. If I know how I’d like the evening to end, why wait until 3AM when we’re both drunk and tired?” She glanced at her omni. “Thirty minutes to show time.”

A message blinked red. Highest priority.

From the offices of Barnum, Binksworth, and Palmer: Cease and desist. You are in illegal possession of copyrighted images of Tian Jie, Sharon Steel, Rajit Pamir, and Sally Lui, henceforth referred to as “the astronauts.” We have obtained a court injunction…

“You’ve got to be kidding.” She showed the message to Ruth.

“Ignore it,” said Ruth.

Tania read the message again. “Fuck. I can’t ignore it. The last thing I want is to get tangled up with lawyers right now. I’ve got to rework the presentation.”  She tapped her omni to one of the green room screens. “Page one. Delete video.”

“Bodyguards, and a gag order,” said Ruth. “That’s two points for Juarez. I guess the game has started.”

“Shut up, please,” said Tania. “I have to concentrate.”

***

At 1 PM, Tania brought up the Pax Gaia web page on her omni. She took Ruth’s hand. “This is both of ours now,” she said. Together they tapped the “publish on web” option. Where will this end? It felt as if they’d just trundled a large boulder down a mountain cliff. I wish I’d had an extra year. There’s so much we could still improve.

She checked her hair one final time, then headed for the auditorium.

“Rule number one is that positive ideas stick better than negative ones,” Witty had stressed. “We need to bring people to our side by showing them what they’ll gain. We need to paint a picture of the world we will create.”

Tania stepped into a fog of camera light. I’m actually doing this. She launched into what would be the first of many speeches, mixing images of wildlife and natural areas with animations showing how wilderness would expand under Pax Gaia. She explained how job creation could ease pressure on ecosystems. How technology-based farming practices could produce more food on less land. And how the shield’s weather interventions would support these transitions by blunting nature’s extremes.

Ruth watched from the edge of the stage, just out of the cameras’ view. Applause thundered, and then it was over. She met Tania with a hug. “You were fantastic!”

Tania’s omni buzzed. She turned away from the two bodyguards lurking in the shadows. Witty was in his characteristic shorts, but his million-watt smile was missing. “Loved your speech, Tania,” he said. “But I’m afraid I’ve got some news. Do you want the bad, the worse, or the worst news first?”

Tania groaned. “That’s not the way it works. You’re supposed to offer me good news and bad news.”

“There is no good news,” said Witty.

“Fine,” said Tania. “Let me guess. The bad news is you got a cease and desist on the astronaut images.”

Witty shook his head. “I wasn’t even counting that as news.”

“Oh, shit,” said Tania. “So lay it on me. What’s the bad news?”

“The astronauts have been banned from speaking on my show,” said Witty. “Apparently since they are government contractors, their communications can be restricted.”

“Oh, shit,” said Tania. “I don’t even want to know what the worse news is.”

“Their return’s been delayed until after the UN Climate Summit,” said Witty. “So they won’t be able to help out on the media tour either.”

Tania felt the optimism that had surged during her speech draining away. “So I’ll do the show alone. The ratings won’t be as good. But we’ll still get in front of billions of people.”

“That’s the worst news,” said Witty glumly. “We can’t do the show either. The network is making me cancel your appearance.”

“What?” said Tania. “Can the network even do that?”

“Yeah. It’s called the Witty Show,” Ruth said angrily. “You’re Bill Witty. Tell them to fuck themselves.”

“The network has final control,” said Witty. “They normally only use it during elections. But somebody leaned on them. Hard.”

Tania reeled. “My appearance on your show is essential. It’s the only way we can reach enough people. Our whole publicity build is based on it.”

Witty shook his head. “It’s been a fun diversion, and I believe in what we’re doing. But I’m not going to sacrifice my career by going against the network. Night show hosts are more replaceable than you’d think. And they’ve muzzled us too well. Our chances of success are too slim.” His flawless face settled into a drooping puppy expression, as sad as his smile could be radiant.

“Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?” asked Tania. “You’re giving up on our planet’s future. Grow some balls.”

“Whoa, easy.” Ruth shot Tania a warning look. “Sorry, Bill, we’re obviously upset.”

“I’d like to continue helping,” Witty said. “I’ll stay on as an advisor.”

Tania clenched her teeth. “Help away,” she said. “How do we spread the word to 8 billion people without your pulpit?”

ENEWS: SEPTEMBER 7, 2050

PAKISTAN President Raza Talwar called India’s decision to divert water from dams in Jammu and Kashmir an act of war. “This is a humanitarian catastrophe,” he said at a morning press conference. “The Indus River was already low from glacial loss. Now we don’t even have drinking water.”

Indian Prime Minister Lana Gandhi defended the move. “The evidence shows that reckless sulfuring by the United States and China is already disrupting our monsoon. We are only protecting our citizens. Besides, the amount of water we are capturing is tiny. Pakistan’s government is using this opportunity to divert attention from their own poor water-management.”

The escalating rhetoric is a serious blow for UN Secretary General Khan Tengri, who has encouraged Pakistan and India to unite behind Pax Gaia, the five-day-old environmental plan from UNBio Director Tania Black. Pax Gaia contains provisions for feeding monsoon countries by reprioritizing food production. The dam closures are a clear vote of nonconfidence.

***

The video window on Jie’s scroll froze, and the image of his mother faded to black. “Your call has been terminated by an automated system for violating the terms of a legal agreement,” intoned the voice.

Jie threw up his hands. “I know, I know. The number will unblock in 24 hours. Stupid rén chā!”

“I guess we can’t say ‘environmental plan’ either.” Sally made a note on her scroll. “That’s twenty-one trigger terms so far. I hate censorship algorithms.”

Sharon looked up from her reading. “Aren’t you running out of people to call? You’ve been at it all day. I don’t think you’re going to figure a way past the censor software.”

“We got Witty’s receptionist,” said Jie.

“Once.” Sally consulted the page. “For eleven seconds. And after that, voicemail redirects stopped working.”

Rajit looked up from the corner. “Maybe you should stop, before the adaptive AI cuts us off completely. I’d like to continue talking to my sister. Even if there are twenty-one topics I have to avoid.”

“You talk to your sister?” asked Sally. “When?”

“I’m an introvert, not a hermit,” said Rajit. “My sister teaches math at the University of Mumbai. We talk all the time, in my cabin.”

Jie leaned forward, directing his voice away from the ceiling microphones. “What about hacking the radio?” he murmured. “There must be receivers on Earth that could pick up a direct signal.”

Sharon thought for a moment. “Not a bad idea,” she whispered. “Does anybody know anything about radios?”

Silence. Rajit shook his head.

“Scratch that then,” said Sharon. “I’m sure the censorship software won’t allow us to research radio hacking.” She made a rude gesture at the camera. “I don’t mean you, Earthcon,” she said. “You’re still our friend.”

At least, we assume Earthcon is still friendly. Just like we assume that the microphones and cameras can’t hear low voices. But how can we be certain?

Jie closed his eyes. What else? What else? Six of the nine nanofactories were running now, and the last three were in transit from Earth. He’d just spent his whole rest day studying Pax Gaia’s beautiful plans for Beijing. The green belt would not only create a wilderness area, but it would clear up the dust storms that had plagued the city for decades. Why are so few people excited about this? After the initial burst of attention, Pax Gaia had slowly faded from the mainstream media. He could find Tania on TV and social networks of course, if he looked. But in digital back alleys, preaching to the converted. Never on the mainstream sites where fledgling ideas became truly viral.

The Climate Summit is in two weeks. The battle will be over before I get there. There has to be something I can do from here.

***

Cheng’s class, all in neat blue uniforms, worked in small groups at their touch tables under the helpful guidance of their teacher. A ponytailed black girl – obviously from the exceptional refugees program – squealed and pointed at the screen. ‹They’re here!›

Bedlam! Cheng ran to the camera. ‹Dad! Sally! Rajit! Sharon!›

“Hello everyone,” Sharon waved from the couch. “My name is Sharon Steel, and I lead the lunar team.” She elbowed Rajit, who was still in his book. “To celebrate career day, we’re going to watch the shield’s self-assembly startup with you today. Did everyone practice their English?”

“Yes,” cried a flurry of voices.

“Good,” said Sharon. “Can somebody tell me how we get Jie’s Nanoglass tiles from the moon to the assembly robots at L1?”

A flurry of hands rose. The teacher pointed to a boy in the back. “You shoot them with mass driver?”

“That’s right,” said Sharon. “We pack the tiles in metal payload shells, and then use a line of electromagnets to accelerate the shell so fast that it flies right out of the moon’s gravity.” She turned to Rajit. “Your question, Rajit.” She lowered her voice. “And no differential equations. Remember, they’re kids!”

“I thought you said they were gifted,” Rajit muttered. He turned to the students. “Does anyone know what the steering thrusters on the payloads shells are for?”

The class erupted. “For steer!” shouted several students.

“Why not just aim correctly to begin with?” asked Rajit.

“The moon vely fah away,” shouted another kid.

“Exactly!” said Rajit. “Our mass driver is on an orbiting, spinning moon, aiming at a two-meter wide receiver 1.5 million kilometers away. It’s like sinking a golf ball on a windy day by rolling it around the earth five times. So we make small course corrections as the payloads travel. Study your math. With an art degree, you can’t do any of this!”

The comment drew laughter from the adults and cheers from the students. Rajit looked surprised, as if trying to figure out what was funny. I’m never quite sure if he’s playing it up. The seam between his oddness and sense of humor was nearly invisible.

‹Look at your screens everyone,› said Sally. ‹The first tiles are arriving.›

Cheng’s distant classroom fell silent except for the inevitable fidgeting of ten-year-olds, and the video shrank into a window in the corner of the screen. The rest of the display gave way to an animated rendering of the shield’s recently completed core, generated from realtime telemetry data streaming back to Earth. Initially the image showed just a horizontal line with a disk at its center. As it zoomed closer, the line became a radial spoke, like a radio mast full of wires and supply lines, and the central disk resolved into an enormous ring of solar panels. The central disk collared a donut-shaped control hub about 20 meters across, which was where the two spokes originated.

A familiar payload shell drifted into the frame. ‹That’s one of our tile payloads,› Sally narrated. ‹It left the mass driver a week ago. In the next two years, there’ll be a million more, although the shield will start being useful well before it’s completed.›

Magnets pulled the shell into the control hub’s docking cradle. A burst of laser light pierced the shell, and trillions of Nanoglass tiles flowed into the tile storage tank. Then magnets nudged the empty shell into the vaporizer, where it would be recycled into the raw materials that would extend the skeleton of the shield.

Tiles started flowing through the spokes, past the solar panels, towards the sprayers mounted 2 kilometers away. As the view zoomed out again, it became clear that the entire structure was spinning, the spokes sweeping enormous circles through the void.

‹Who’s been on a merry-go-round?› Sally asked the class. Most of the hands went up. ‹Remember how the merry-go-round pulls you outwards? Well, the shield uses the same idea. All the parts are designed to rotate, which keeps them stretched into shape. The shield is all physics: circles, and forces, and angular momentum. Another reason to study math.›

The Nanoglass tiles reached the sprayers, which charged them, then ejected them through a billion microscopic jets. Magnetic forces snapped the tiles together; molecular hooks on their edges bonded and solidified the structure. At inconceivable speed, a sheet of material 200 meters wide by a few atoms thick emerged behind the rotating spokes. An arc started to form, invisible to any observer, but rendered in glimmering blue on the animation. Five hundred meters done. Then a kilometer. This is live data! This is actually happening!

When the sprayers had completed half a circle, each met the point where the other one had started. The sprayers turned off, leaving the first completed ring of Nanoglass.

‹It worked!› Jie shouted. The ring of Nanoglass, 12 kilometers in circumference, spun slowly, exquisitely balanced between the earth’s and sun’s competing gravities. The students cheered, high-pitched young voices shrieking with excitement. Cheng bounced in front of the camera, clapping hands with his classmates.

Jie lost sight of the screen as Sally leapt to hug him. ‹What does it feel like?› Her eyes were wide with amazement. ‹You invented this!›

‹I invented Nanoglass,› said Jie. He blinked away his joy. ‹What the shield engineers have done with it is beyond my imagining. Look at the machine they’ve created.›

Even as they celebrated, the spokes ratcheted out, preparing to lay another ring as soon as more payloads arrived. A swarm of tiny Haier Construction Spiders skated across the completed sheet of Nanoglass, laying out the radial control wires that would soon aim the sunlight passing through each section.

“Oh, oh,” said Sally. A silence fell over the room. The spiders had stopped moving.

“Hackers!” piped up one of the kids. “Terrorists finded a security hole.” That caused a rush of excitement in the class.

“Communications with the shield are encrypted,” Sharon assured them. “The only way to take control of the shield would be to go to L1 and reset the control hub computers by hand. I think we’d know if somebody was there.”

“Aliens!” suggested another kid.

Much to the students’ disappointment, the alien theory also proved wrong. The spiders started moving again less than a minute later. After a few more questions, Sharon disconnected them from Cheng’s class.

“We’ve done it,” she said. “Now we hook up the last nanofactories, and wait until Earthcon lets us go home.”

Jie sank into the couch. Home. What will it feel like to hug Cheng? Will Cheng even tolerate a hug? And to smell a flower. To taste the ocean. To feel wind on my face. He tried to picture trees, but saw only the empty gray moonscape. If I stayed here long enough, would I stop dreaming in color?

“Are you excited to go back, Sharon?” Jie asked.

Sharon jerked, as if he’d caught her deep in thought. “I am,” she said quietly. “It was different last time. We were so full of optimism then. At the high water mark of human exploration, ready to venture out into the solar system. To Mars. To the stars even. But we forgot about getting our own planet in order. I don’t imagine I’ll be back here again.”

“Is it hard to return to Earth gravity?” asked Jie.

“You get used to it,” said Sharon. She pushed with her hands, easily bobbing 50 centimeters above the couch before falling back in slow motion. “But you’ll never stop dreaming of this.”

Sally poked Jie in the ribs. “It won’t be as bad for you Jie. You’ve gotten so skinny you’ll barely feel Earth’s gravity.”

“The nearest fried rice balls are a half million kilometers away,” said Jie. “It cuts down on my snacking.”