ARC10

Chapter 20.2

This room is as lifeless as the other near-ground training rooms. Its massive rafters shoulder the Topside, keeping it from crushing the inhabitants of the URE. I'm unsure how long I've been running, but I push forward anyway, letting the soft rhythm lull me into a heavy stupor. My mind dissolves into a blank screen.

It isn't until I brush my arm against soft skin that my trance cracks. Slightly shaken, I catch Dean holding pace with me. We run without words—side-by-side for an immeasurable slice of time. I lose myself in the sensation of his arm scraping mine. There is no prickling heat coursing through my spine. It's more comparable to the warmth from a fire in a chilly night outside the URE.

An alert rings through our PAHLMs. Five minutes until the broadcast.

There's a screen in one corner of each of the weight rooms. We head for the closest one where nearly twenty people ignore our presence. Some are spotting, some are lifting, some are sweating, hugging jerry-rigged pulley systems concocted by the ingenuity of the iron workers. They twist and bulge as we meander through.

The upbeat, sonorous tones of the Presidential introduction ring throughout the room. Everyone pauses mid-repetition and faces the screen as it flashes the bright-red Presidential seal of one large star surrounded by ten smaller ones. The thud of one dropped weight interrupts the reverent silence.

Dean's calloused hand encircles my own. Our fingers entwine.

The shadowy, animated face with sharp black lines and a gleaming smile appears on the screen.

"Citizens," he calls out to us in his deep, soothing voice. "Good evening. Tonight is an occasion of great importance. It has been my pleasure to watch our community thrive in a dwelling constructed by the raw power of human hands. In this sanctuary, I have nurtured our fledgling Human Hope Project. It's projected course holds true—it will successfully lead our race into a bright future of vitality."

As desperate as I am to veer away with my flush of embarrassment, I focus on the cartoon man with his friendly, boxy face. The shame of my status flashes in and out of existence. Sometimes I forget it happened, sometimes it drowns me in horrific remorse.

"This December marks twenty-five years of achievement—twenty-five years of living in harmony. The Before Days were a time of sin, a time of laziness. Our lethargy left us defenseless when the Invaders came down to massacre our Earth." He leans forward on his crisp black suit, folding his hands in front of him.

Many angry grunts fill the room.

"But from our folly, we learned important lessons about survival. We traded our sins for an age of restoration. We fortified our underground stronghold in order to heal, and, Citizens, we have healed. We have healed enough to rise from the ashes on our own two feet again. But now, when we emerge from the United Regions of Earth, it will not be into the wreckage of our ancestors' planet. We will begin a new era on new terrain. Just as our fathers before us, we will become pioneers."

A murmur erupts among the people in the room.

"We have been buried by the Invaders for too long. Despite the comfort we have found within our planet, we must fix our eyes on the new horizon. We prayed for a solution. Our prayers were answered by the generosity of the galaxy."

A few hands in the room make the sign of the H on their chests.

"There are others out there who understand our calamity. They wish to help."

Dean's hand squeezes mine. I squeeze back. Here it goes.

"In one hundred days, on the twenty-fifth anniversary of our descent into the URE, we will commence the evacuation of planet Earth."

I expect the room to explode or for the URE to shake with indignation, but it is as if their reactions are sucked into the TV. The silence is a thick sauce coating the open mouths. They gape at the screen.

"Ten alien races, friends to our cause, have volunteered to escort humanity to our next home. In ten ships, our hosts will transport us in groups of two thousand to an exoplanet just over four hundred light-years away."

In place of our President's avatar, the rotating image of NOHA flashes bright.

"It will take our caravan five years to complete the journey. The adventure awaiting humanity will be one our children, our grandchildren, our grandchildren's grandchildren will recount to the generations that supersede us. When we are a thriving race again, it will be because of you, the intrepid people of the previous Earth."

Silence wafts through the air as the image of our President appears again.

"With the help of Our Lady of the Impenetrable Heap, who believes in our integrity to overcome this darkness, we will take hold of our destiny and drive into our own brave new world."

Briefly scanning the room, I catch a flicker of shock flitter over Dean. The grimace disappears as quickly as it came.

The President folds his hands together, winking at us. "Safety and equality for unity," he says through a grin. "Good night."

He disappears abruptly, leaving us with the blaring red image of the stars and hateful mantra on the screen. The viewers linger expectantly—hanging onto each second as if another message is due to arrive.

I hear one voice question timidly, "Was that supposed to be funny?" It is answered by a silent shrug.

Seconds later, a chorus of beeps fill the air as files appear in the PAHLMs of the citizens of the URE.

Our hands stay joined. No new file interrupts our peace tonight.

We wander out of the room as people drift into their downloads, fixating on their hands. Their fingers run through hair or grab at jaws. We resume laps at a tranquil jog.

"I think Simon has been prostituting."

He says nothing.

"To restart the Sink."

He remains silent.

"He put the down payment in this morning."

He exhales sharply through his nose.

"Then I tried to kill his pimp."

The pop of Dean's laughter rips the scab from my tension. I shake it off like a dog flicks water. We quicken the pace.

"It will be amazing to finally be able to run outside, to see other things, you know?" I puff as our gait increases again, finally hitting Dean's natural stride.

"Getting bored of me already?"

I clip him with my elbow. "A hundred days left."

"A hundred days."

"How are things with Connie?"

Dean doesn't respond. He shakes his head as I lose him to his trance on the track.

Desperate to bring him back to me, I scrounge for anything to say. "What do you think about your new command?"

"The VIPERs?" He bows his head, grinning. "They really scraped the bottom of the barrel for this bunch, didn't they?"

"So your twenty are nothing but a gang of miscreants, too? Good to know."

"Are you worried you'll have a hard time handling them?"

I hate how Dean can pinpoint my fears with his eyes closed. "Are you kidding? I'm a Reaper. It's going to take more than a bunch of modified, hyper-honed killing-machines to rattle me."

The night goes on as we run in circles, anxiously anticipating the morning when we would see exactly how the world would feel about its next heroic adventure.

When I return to the pod, Simon's cot is cold.

It's still cold when I rise four hours later.