ARC10

Chapter 3.4

This is his fault.

Who knows what I'm getting myself into all because I'm supposed to be sleeping with him at this exact minute.

Focus, Lorn. Focus on one thing at a time.

I gaze at the papers as I expose them to the room.

Warning Order

Operation Homecoming

I stare at the black scribbles for a few minutes, attempting to make sense of the words. They are as meaningless as rocks. Scanning down the table, I realize I'm not the only one who feels this way. Dean especially appears skeptical.

I turn the page and continue reading:

Situation

With the assistance of the Humans' Alliance via ten donated ships, transport the remaining human population to the habitable Planet NOHA (New Orbital Human Accommodations).

The strange woman clears her throat.

"I am Lieutenant General Pama Hayomo. I have summoned you for a mission critical for the survival of the human race."

As she paces between the tables, I notice in a darkened corner a separate table where many shadows enveloped in their own silence sit while our hands skitter about in the rustle of paper.

"This operation, if successful, will bring about a new era for humanity. Our planet, among the ruins of the war, has crumbled. We die hourly from disease, combat, and the psychological devastation from the thought of total annihilation." She picks the cuticle around her thumb. "Our President ignores the data in hopes the Human Hope Project will be the salvation he proposed. He fails us with his inactivity. The Humans' Alliance, formed of sympathetic races, have agreed to lead us to a habitable planet, mapped out on page nine of your packet."

I flip to page nine. A lonely planet takes center stage of an otherwise empty document.

Figure A. NOHA.

I shudder rapidly in my seat.

I'm ready. Let's go ASAP. When can we leave?

"As of now, our fleet of Earth ships is not capable of carrying the remaining population to this planet. We have sent out a request for help, and ten generous races have agreed to lead us."

Before the question can be fully articulated in my head, she continues with the answer.

"You are here as crowd control. The ten groups have agreed to navigate, but it is up to us to manage the human population on each ship. As of recent census data, we have discovered approximately twenty thousand humans left on the United Regions of Earth. That number continues to dwindle. We will be divided into groups of two thousand, so even if a few of the ships do not complete the journey, not all hope is lost. The human race will survive."

My fingers remain still. This is information I can process. A mission. Reliable orders that don't involve reproductive organs. Exactly what I need.

"If you agree to join, we will assign each of you to a partner. The vessel assignments will be based by a random draw. We have observed you for the last few months and have selected you according to mission requirements. You will not sign anything tonight except your complete silence. If you agree to your role, you must make your mark on page twenty three."

The terms are so simple, I might be signing an agreement to take up the compost to the Agriculture division. Or signing over an old pair of boots for a new set. There has to be more than just this. This is way too easy.