Darkness on a Pale Blue Stone (24 page)

"Shut up!" Michael snapped. "I want to hear it from you, Gresson. No more bullshit."

Gresson took a deep breath. "What are you asking, Michael?"

"Is this... the interference signal? The signal that caused the blackout? The signal that is
still
on?"

"Yes," Gresson replied.

Michael stood speechless for a moment. Finally he managed to say "You... you killed... millions of people. This thing may have brought about the end of the human race as we know it, yet you brought me here to keep it
turned on
?"

"Yes," Gresson repeated.

"Are you
insane
? What the hell is wrong with you people? Why the
hell
are you doing this?" Michael nearly screamed, his fists clenched, body shuddering, eyes flaring with fury.

"Because we had to," Gresson said somberly.

"Because you
had to
? Enough, Gresson. Tell me the truth! Is this all some kind of
game
for you and your little cult?"

"This is not a game and I am telling the truth! Listen to me, Michael..."

A sharp clang rang out from the metal cylinder, followed by a series of alarms coming from the computer panels in the room. The technicians in the room all switched their attention from the shouting match to their displays in search of the sound's source.

"What was that?" Marcus asked.

"It's what we were afraid of. Another capacitor blew," one of the technicians explained.

"And our coverage?" Marcus asked.

Another technician looking at a holographic model of the planet answered, "Everything looks alright, but it might just be a delay from the sensors. Wait a sec... Oh no."

"What?" Marcus questioned, fearing the worst.

"We just lost half the Indian Ocean."

"And it's growing. No coastlines yet, but..." another reported.

Marcus swore and ran over to Project Blackout.

"Can you fix this, Marcus?" Gresson asked.

"No. No, I can't. I looked at this stuff all night, Gresson. All the parts of Project Blackout might be there, but I have no idea what does what. It would take me days. I need Michael to tell me what..." Marcus said desperately.

"No way in hell," Michael replied, shaking his head.

"Michael, please," Gresson pleaded.

"I'm not helping you fix this genocide machine," Michael replied adamantly.

Gresson slowly pulled out his gun and held it at his side.

"Not falling for it this time, Gresson. Threaten all you want. I won't help you," Michael said.

Gresson raised his gun. He gritted his teeth and aimed it at Michael's head.

"I won't ask again, Michael."

"Go to hell."

They stood there in a stalemate for several seconds.

"Gresson, if they are really still out there and this thing turns off..." Marcus reminded him.

Gresson growled and said "I know. Go get his family..."

Fear flooded Michael's face. "Please, don't," he begged.

Gresson breathing quickened and he stared long and hard into Michael's terrified eyes. His hand began to tremble from the tight grip he was keeping on the gun. Marcus headed for the door to retrieve Michael's wife and children.

"Wait," Gresson said. Marcus looked over at him. Gresson remained, gun ready, for several more seconds before gasping, lowering the weapon, and saying, "Okay, okay. We won't hurt them, Michael. But please listen to me. The... Exterminators..." He looked around at the others in the room, apparently embarrassed by the word. "We knew they were coming. We also knew we had no chance of stopping them, unless we did this. We had to. It's an incredibly complex signal that destroys nearly all electric equipment, almost like recurring blasts of an electromagnetic pulse."

Gresson took a breath before he continued. "The Exterminators arrived here in spaceships, ships we could temporarily disable with this signal. We knew they would descend to the surface as soon as they arrived, so the signal was made as strong as possible so that when they hit it, their ships would fall. Without shields, the impact would destroy them. We hoped that would happen to all of them, and it did for some. That fireball in New York we saw? That was one of them. It was a ship that fell and exploded, just like we predicted. But as we made our way down the coast, we saw some of them, still alive. Somehow, some of them survived the fall. If even a single ship managed to survive the descent intact and this signal shuts off, there will be no stopping them. The weapons on those ships are capable of far more destruction than you can imagine."

"Project Blackout was meant to be a safeguard, something to fix the problem with the signal Marcus mentioned, just in case. We never actually believed we would really need it. Once all the ships crashed, we thought it would be over and we could eventually shut off the signal before it burnt itself out. Now we know better. Michael, if you don't help us... It's just a chance we can't take. More than a few hours of that signal being turned off and one of those ships, even if it's badly damaged, could kill millions. Given days, and there will be no one left. I know what this thing did to so many people already. I know what
we
did. But I also know that if we had not turned it on, not a single person on the planet would have survived the Arrival. Not you, your family, Sean, Lash, Jake, Lucas...
None
of you. I admit that when we turned it on, we may not have truly realized the full, irreparable damage it could cause. But the potential, though dim, future that we still have is better than not having one at all. Please, Michael. Save us. Save us all."

Michael slumped to the ground and sat on the cold cement floor, overcome by the revelation. He stared into space, trying to make sense of it all. That signal had destroyed his life and those of his family. It had killed countless people, many whose bodies he himself had seen during his journey south on I-95. Yet somehow he was now expected to make sure it stayed on. Deep down he knew he had no choice. Either way he felt he would be responsible for more lives lost and Michael could think of no third option. He began to realize that Gresson had not lied. Their journey
had
been to stop the Exterminators. The cost of stopping them, however, meant the world would continue to suffer in the dark. His own project, once meant to be used to stop violence and to protect his fellow humans, would now ensure the opposite.
The lesser evil,
he tried to convince himself.

Michael rose and walked over to Project Blackout. Marcus ran up beside him.

"Thank you, Michael," Gresson said. "Thank you."

Michael gave no reply. He pointed out a small cluster of circuits in Project Blackout. "That's what you need."

Chapter 35

New Salvador - August 27, 2072

Fixing the signal had not been easy, but after Michael explained the process Project Blackout used to survive for long periods of time, Marcus was able to replicate it on a much larger scale inside the metal cylinder that housed the global signal emitter. After an hour of work, the deed was done. While some coverage of the Indian Ocean was now lost, the rest of the world could now be kept free of electronics indefinitely by New Salvador.

Michael approached Gresson, who had remained in the room while the signal was being modified. "What happens next? This thing can't stay on forever."

"I know. We have to find the ship that survived and ensure that it is the only one. The truth is, there is only so many of us and far too much land to cover. I appealed during our council meeting for New Salvador to begin seeking outside help. Hopefully, now that you have shown yourself useful, they will start listening."

"Why the secrets? Why are you all so afraid of telling others what's really going on?" Michael asked.

"Well, first there is a practical reason. We obliterated this world. It was for a good reason, but you especially can attest to how difficult it is to come to terms with that. Not everyone will be able to understand that the end justifies the means, like you now do."

"Nothing has been justified. You did what you had to do and so did I. It doesn't make anyone less culpable for all those deaths."

"Perhaps. Now you can see why we cannot command some kind of 'resistance' alone. Too many questions would be asked if we were the leaders. Questions you and the others asked during our journey. We can not answer them for everyone. All it takes is one zealot who thinks the signal should be turned off. If they earn enough support and take it down by force, the chance of stopping the Exterminators disappears."

"But help is needed. What choice do you... do
we
have? If you're serious about searching the globe for any remaining Exterminator ships, we'll need thousands of people scouting, if not more. And we'll need enough firepower to take on any Exterminators we find."

Adron abruptly entered the room. "Fixed?" he asked. Gresson nodded. "Well, at least that's dealt with. Gresson, it seems some more of your friends have arrived. A lot of them."

Gresson looked confused. "What are you talking about?"

"They look like they are from the military. And their leader, a General Sanders, says he knows you. I assume this is your president 'act' coming back to bite us..."

"No. This is something different," Gresson said.

"The army? That's your plan, isn't it? Get the army to track down the Exterminators. That's what you talked about to Sanders and Valdez," Michael said.

"Yes. But something's wrong. They weren't supposed to get here for another few days. I... I have a bad feeling about this."

They all returned to the surface of New Salvador and crossed the courtyard to the barricaded front entrance. Voices and shouts could be heard coming from both the gathered locals and those outside.

"How many are there?" Gresson asked.

"I don't know," Adron replied. "But enough to cause some serious damage."

"Alright. Don't start a war, but get as many people as you can into defensive positions on the wall. I'll go see what I can do outside," Gresson said.

Adron ran off to prepare a defense of New Salvador while Gresson made his way to the entrance. Michael was unsure if he wanted to follow Gresson outside. He could see that near Gresson's home, his family was gathered, along with Lash, Jake, and Lucas.

Gresson saw his hesitation. "Michael, go tell Lash and Jake to help watch the front gate."

Michael nodded and ran toward them. On his way over, he noticed many of the locals creating barriers from seemingly innocuous things in the courtyard. Everything from the benches to the decorative rocks was apparently designed to double as defensive protection.

"And Michael!" Gresson yelled. Michael turned around. "Get the others inside."

Michael reached his family and they exchanged embraces.

"What's going on?" Lash asked.

"Gresson needs you and Jake to help the others stand guard at the door. Everybody else should come inside with me."

"Michael, what's happening?" Alice asked, as Michael grabbed the handles of her wheelchair and pushed her toward the door.

"I'll explain everything later, I promise. For now, New Salvador must be protected at all costs. Jake, Lash: watch Gresson's back," Michael said.

Jake and Lash nodded and headed for the front gate. Adam wanted to join, but Michael grabbed his son's arm and pulled him inside the house. Sean paused outside the door. He looked over at Jake and Lash as they headed toward the gate.
It's time I actually did something,
he thought. Motivated to finally become the hero instead of the one cowering in the corner, he ran toward the gate, looking for some way to help.

Jake and Lash found the front gate surrounded by armed New Salvadorians. Sean caught up to them seconds later.

"You sure you want to be here, Sean?" Lash asked. Now that they were near the front wall, they could hear the sounds of a large congregation of marines and soldiers outside.

"Absolutely," he replied adamantly. Lash and Jake looked at each other and shrugged.

The three of them found a staircase that led to the top of New Salvador's ramparts, hoping to be of some use there or to at least be able to see what was happening. They found an empty space next to Jordan, the woman who had first greeted them on I-95 only twenty-four hours before.

"Do you know what this is about?" she asked. They could now see a crowd of military forces among the trees in front of New Salvador. The mix of soldiers and marines numbered in the hundreds, at least. General Sanders stood on top of one of the burnt out cars that laid outside the front gate. Colonel Valdez stood on the ground nearby. Gresson was walking toward them, weaving between the defunct vehicles.

"Long story short, we were held captive by the guy standing on the car," Sean said. "We escaped and met Colonel Valdez, the hispanic guy standing over there. Apparently Gresson told Valdez something, maybe to come here. But from the looks of it, this wasn't really the plan."

"Sometime you need to tell me the long version," Jordan said. "Sounds like you all had one hell of a trip."

"As long as you're willing to tell us your story," Lash said. "You know, something along the lines of who the hell you people even are?" Jordan sighed and turned back to see what was happening on the ground in front of them.

Gresson now stood several feet away from Sanders. With a disconcerting grin, Sanders exclaimed, "Mr. Gresson! How wonderful to see you again. You've come quite a ways since we last met. A shame you left so prematurely. We had so much more to discuss!"

"I do not particularly enjoy being held prisoner by my own general," Gresson coldly responded.

"
Your
general? Ha! Regardless of what anyone calls you, or how alive you might be, you are no longer the sitting United States President. Truth be told, even if you were, I don't think you of all people are entitled to give military orders. You're a traitor, Mr. Gresson. A traitor who needs to be put down. It's too bad the first time didn't take."

Gresson stood silent for a moment, trying to put the pieces together in his mind. The way Sanders had said his last sentence gave Gresson a startling realization. "The Demilitarization Act. The act you hated so very much. The assassination was retribution for it, and
you
were behind it, am I right? It was an act that promoted peace! You tried to kill your president because of
that
?"