Binary Cycle - (Part 1: Disruption) (4 page)

In addition to weather logs, atmospheric composition readings, human population censuses and catalogs of Taran flora and fauna, a cultural report was also included, compiled by the Signal Keeper. That was where Skyia came in. While her mother was away, it was her job to write a qualitative statement detailing any unusual observations she’d made. MiLO had told her that
anything she deemed to be of interest
should be incorporated into her write-up. 

In her last piece, she’d outlined her opinion regarding the optimal human interaction in a xenobiological ecosystem. In the two centuries since humans had been living on Taran, an alarming amount of native plant and animal species were driven to extinction. Skyia had been devastated when she first learned about that and wanted to make her views known to any who might be reading.

Lately, she wondered whether the reports were a waste of her time. Was anyone even receiving the messages that they blasted into space? The Council maintained that it was absolutely necessary. After all, if her report wasn't essential, then MiLO would live in the tower alone.

Worse than the belief that she was wasting her time, was the lingering fear about why no messages had been received from Earth. What was going on? Was there anyone left alive? What happened after the
Resurrection Ark
departed so many centuries ago? It made her feel sick to her stomach thinking that an entire world of people was no more, that they had somehow wiped themselves out or become extinct.
What happened to Earth?
She feared they might never find an answer to this question.

A chime signified the end of the calibration script, so she tucked the pad of paper neatly into her pocket and marched back toward the precipice. Arriving at the Mesa, she sat on the top of the cliff for a moment, and then laid down backward, her legs still dangling over the edge.

She closed her eyes, letting the warm sunlight fall across her face, and reminded herself that if not for the reports and Tower maintenance, she and her mother would have no business living up here, and then what would she do? Live in Alexendia, perhaps? Go to school and be surrounded by throngs of people? That was one possibility, but deep down she knew that was no life for her.

∞

Skyia awoke to the sound of insistent beeping emanating from her communication band. She must have drifted into a lazy doze, dreaming of faraway worlds. 

She shook herself awake and sat up, blinking as her eyes got used to the brightness. She swiped a finger across the communication band.

MiLO’s voice sounded urgent. “Is everything okay, Skyia? I registered a decreased heart rate and you didn’t respond to my last call.”

She ran a hand through her long hair. “I’m really sorry MiLO. I got the calibration readings, but then I think I fell asleep.”

She glanced at the time on the band’s interface. Indeed, MiLO’s most recent ping was nearly a half-hour ago.

“It is unwise to spend too much time exposed to direct sunlight,” MiLO began his usual admonitions. “Please, tell me you’re wearing Protex. I don’t want to have to apply the emergency skin regeneration ointment. Our supplies are running low and—”

“Oh MiLO, don’t worry so much, my skin’s used to it. I almost never get burned anymore. Is Willy there?” she asked, hoping to defuse him. Though he pretended not to be, MiLO was incredibly fond of the furry creature.

“Yes, your mara-mir has been keeping me company all morning,” he said, more relaxed.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll be down shortly.”

Skyia gathered her writing utensils and headed for the edge of the cliff. She hopped down backwards with precision care, finding the little notches and crevices on the side of the rock face. She began the descent, barely needing to look where to put her feet and hands since the route was ingrained in muscle memory.

A deep rumble began in the distance. The vine she was clinging to started vibrating, as if it were filled with a buzzing, electric current.

This isn’t good.

Orbital disruptions had been plaguing the planet for the last twenty years, and they had gotten worse and more frequent in the last few cycles. It was just her luck that one would occur on the climb down. 

She hesitated for a second as the planet shook, contemplating abandoning the climb and staying up top, but decided she’d rather be inside while it happened. She willed herself to climb faster, hoping to make it to the bottom before the disruption got any worse. As soon as she thought it, the rumble turned into a roar and the vibrations became violent. Skyia cried out and lost her footing. Her leg scraped the side of the cliff and pebbles tumbled down the rock wall, clinking against the Spindex ladder which jutted out several meters below. She grabbed at a vine, steadying herself. The shaking got worse, threatening to throw her off. She alternated between clinging to the rock for dear life, and carefully trying to get down to the ladder, where she’d have a better grip.

Almost there.

When the ladder lay just below her, she let go with one of her hands to grab at the top rung. A violent lurch shook the mountain and she lost her grip, sending her falling. Her stomach flew up into her throat as she tumbled down the cliff. A sickening feeling of adrenaline and fear coursed through her body. She cried out and watched helplessly as the ladder rushed past her, the gray cliff a dizzying blur. She tried frantically to grab at vines and rocks but it was no use: she was falling too fast.

Skyia didn’t want to die. Not now. She was too young, and her mother was so far away. She would be devastated...

A deafening crunch and Skyia’s world was cast into darkness.

She felt no pain, heard no noise, felt no vibrations. In fact, Skyia felt nothing at all.

White spire rises high
Shadows casting shadows on
Desperate beams of light

Reggie Samielif walked up concrete stairs, tracks worn shiny smooth from generations of backdoor parties and drunken, meandering escapades. He let his left hand slide against the cool railing, feeling the nicks and dents in the tarnished metal, loose skin trailing behind bony fingers. 

On his other side stood a plaster wall. A dark scuff here, red stain there, all ancient relics of a previous time. Back when people still laughed and had fun in these halls. Before the disruptions. Before going outside meant risking your life. People were infected with the madness of fear—the dark and foreboding feeling of knowing that at any moment the planet could wrench and break apart, could open up and swallow them all into an infinite darkness.

Unless the madness gets us first,
Reggie mused
.

Brooding thoughts spun through his mind, even as bright sunlight flashed through stairwell windows, casting shadows which fell across Reggie’s lined and wrinkled face.

He shook his head wearily as he climbed. He didn’t like thinking on such things. His troubled mind was bogged down enough as it was. He lumbered up the stairs, laden with heavy packs slumped over his bony shoulders. He paused to adjust the straps and then continued his laboured ascent up the old steps.

He cleared the eleventh floor, his long bones and stiff joints protesting in their arcane language of pops and cracks. Though he’d had the requisite core strengthening treatments at thirty and then fifty years-of-age, nearly all of his rigid bones still gave him trouble.

More trouble than they’re worth
, Reggie thought.
They’re too thin
—
the damned gravity here is too weak
.

Such is life on Taran
...

Reggie turned a corner, sliding his hand along the railing, tracing the edges with his fingers. He lifted his head toward the next landing and couldn’t help but give a sad smile as he saw a familiar door. He pictured a younger, taller man, without the stoop, the limp, or the excess baggage. How many times had he taken this last set of stairs two by two? Three by three if he thought back far enough into his youth. Alas, he trudged up the last set of stairs taking them one at a time. 

As he neared the top, he was surprised to feel his body growing lighter, as if weights were sliding off his aging body. For a fleeting moment, his youthful energy returned as his feet gained purchase on the flat top of the landing.

He was home, and he was going to enjoy it while it lasted.

A clinking key, and a sigh of relief as Reggie stepped into his dark apartment. Oval lights popped on throughout the room, triggered by unseen detectors.

“Welcome home Reginald,” Otter, his apartment’s automated system, greeted him. The metallic, yet friendly voice sizzled from tiny speakers hidden throughout Reggie’s home. 

Reggie shrugged off his jacket and tossed it toward a small, toaster sized house bot. It whirred into action, extended a robotic arm, and carried the jacket down the hallway to the closet at the rear of the apartment.

“I’m detecting an elevated heart rate and high blood pressure,” Otter informed him. “Were you injured in today’s orbital disruption?”

Reggie pulled back his sleeve, revealing a thin gash caked in blood.

“Just got nicked by some falling glass. A day in the life, I guess. I’ll be fine. Could you flip on Central News while I unwind?”

“Of course, Reginald.” 

The wall screen winked into existence and the house bot wheeled back into the room and attended to Reggie’s cuts and bruises. 

“I’ve also prepared a bottle of pinot grigio for you. It’s cooling in the icebox”.

“Thanks, Otter.” 

One didn’t need to thank AIs, but Reggie had grown up in an overly polite household, and found it difficult to ditch even the simplest traditions of his upbringing.

Old habits die hard.

After the bot finished patching Reggie up, he poured himself a glass of wine, and settled onto the velvet couch to watch the news.

“Turn this up, will you Ott?”

Screaming sirens and tortured wails filled the apartment. On the wall-screen, a young reporter stood before a ruined building, shielding her eyes against the smoke and flames which danced across the rubble. Her long brown hair whipped around wildly as she delivered her segment.

“The colony grieves today in the wake of the collapse of the TD Capitol Trust building in downtown Corpoli that left 324 people buried in the rubble. You can see the rescue attempts underway behind me as brave men and women try to clear the debris, but there is little hope for those who went down with the building."

Reggie brushed a hand through his graying hair.

“My god, Ott, can you believe this?”

“No, Reggie. I can’t.”

The reporter continued. “This tragic event occurred at 4:15 this afternoon during the orbital disruption—the second class-four event this month. Officials are now suggesting that it may not have been the disruption that took down what used to be the tallest building on Taran.

“Just two years ago, the building was certified disruption and earthquake proof, along with most buildings in downtown city centres across Taran. Until proper analysis can be performed as to what led to the collapse, we can only speculate on this terrible event, although witness accounts report flashes of light and explosions in the basement, moments before the building came down. The colonial guard is already pointing fingers at the Children of Two Suns, an extremist environmental group which has repeatedly made threats against the capitol. The colony holds its breath and prays for those who are still trapped beneath the rubble.”

The reporter turned away from the disaster, the angle sweeping across the orange and brown blur of flames and smoke. She levelled her eyes to the camera. “In other news, scientists may have made a breakthrough in understanding why Taran is experiencing an increase in orbital disruptions. In a Central News exclusive satellite interview, please welcome lead planetary researcher, Cassidy Walker. Jeremy, back over to you at News Headquarters—”

Reggie grunted and downed his glass of wine. “Turn it off, Otter,” he hissed. “We don’t need to hear any more of this.”

“As you wish, Reginald.” 

The screen winked out, casting Reggie, and the apartment into a gloomy dimness.

I am the invisible
A pale ghost unseen
I rise in tribute to you

The caregiver called to him anxiously. 

“Jonnie, come on back inside. You aren’t wearing any Protex, you’ll get burned!”

Jonathas, fifty paces away, was playfully digging up soil with a shiny white Spindex shovel. He looked up at the blue sky above, criss-crossed with wispy, white clouds tinged golden-yellow by the glow of two suns. The closer star, Beta Kentaurus, shone brilliant red and orange and dominated the eastern sky. The other star, Rigil, was further to the west, lower on the horizon. It appeared smaller, yet this sun was much brighter, giving off milky yellow rays.

“Jonathas, come back!” The caregiver had already gathered the other children into the shelter.

He ignored her and threw more of the sandy dirt into the air, mesmerized by the way the quartz crystals sparkled as they caught the light. 

A warm breeze started across the grassy field as the two suns danced overhead, locked in a binary orbit which would keep the land in continuous daylight for nearly a full cycle—eight months. Looking up, Jonathas could tell that the Day would last a long time yet.

These were the happy times. The times of the light.

The wind picked up, and the suns moved higher and higher in the sky, arching toward their blessed apex. Their combined light bathed the land in a complex, beautiful brightness. Jonathas knew he should listen to his caretaker, get back inside the shelter—he could already feel his skin tingling where it was exposed to the combined UV radiation of two suns. But he wanted to be out here, to feel their warmth. He relished the slight pain, cherished the intensity of life. He wanted to take in as much sunlight as he could get away with.

“Jonathas! Come inside, we’re waitin’ for you.” The caretaker’s tone was harsher now as she waved her arms above her head, but her voice got lost in the gathering wind.