End of Days (25 page)

“I was just thinking about my own failures,” Sheppard said. “Failures that will result in the deaths of over nine billion people, the death of our entire species. Certainly makes you seem like a small fish in the killing category.”

“You’re not responsible for those deaths,” Parker said. “You did do something.”

“Something?”

“You know as well as I do that the fragmentation will result in fewer pieces impacting. That will moderate the long-term effect on the planet, and ultimately will allow life to rebound sooner.”

“That is a small blessing to the cockroaches that might be able to survive.”

“Maybe it will be more than cockroaches,” Parker said. “I was talking to some of the men in the biosphere division and they think that any life that can survive fifteen to thirty
years will be able to re-emerge into a surface climate and atmosphere that can sustain life.”

“If the dust cloud that will engulf the planet subsides to allow sunlight to penetrate to the surface, and volcanic activity dies down, and radiation levels decrease, then yes, life could start to return to the surface. Assuming there is life to return.”

“I’m betting heavy on the cockroaches. I’ve had them in my apartment and, believe me, practically
nothing
can kill them,” Parker joked.

“You are an optimist.”

“I have to be. I’m human. I mean, who knows? Maybe some of those survivalists can dig down deep enough to withstand the impacts,” Parker suggested

“The impacts, yes; the
results
of those impacts, no. I’ve done the calculations.” Sheppard shifted papers on his desk, looking for the specific page on which those numbers were written. “And I do not believe that there is any mathematical—”

Parker reached out and grabbed the piece of paper from his hand. “Daniel, there’s something your numbers can’t tell you. I mean, think about the odds of mankind even being here in the first place. Think about the even higher odds against our being able to survive as a species this long. There’s something about us humans that refuses to quit, that isn’t smart enough to know we’re not supposed to win. And somehow, maybe because of that ignorance, we survive. That’s what I’m counting on.”

“I wish I could be so confident.”

“I’m not confident. I’m just saying, don’t count us out. Do you believe in God?” Parker asked, suddenly steering the topic in an unexpected direction.

“My family always went to church,” he answered.

“That wasn’t my question. Do you believe in God?”

“The almighty, all-powerful, sitting-on-a-throne-in-Heaven God?” Sheppard asked.

“If that’s how you see him, then sure. Do you believe?”

“I am a mathematician. I deal with probability, calculations, the pure truth of numbers.”

“So you don’t believe?”

“On the contrary. Because I know the odds against evolution, the mathematical improbability of it creating us, I think I do believe that we were given a push from above. I do believe in there being a God.”

“And as he sits there on his throne and we pass before him, do you think we’ll be judged?” Parker asked. There was a new anxiety in his voice.

“Muslims believe that a man is preceded to Heaven by his deeds, good and bad, and those deeds determine his future in the afterlife,” Sheppard said.

“Good thing I’m not a Muslim,” Parker replied, the calm tone back in his voice.

“Catholics believe that as long as you die having truly repented your sins, then you are forgiven.”

“That’s reassuring, but what do
you
think?” Parker asked.

“I’m far from a theologian, so I’m not sure I can give you any sort of—”

“No,” Parker said, cutting him off. “I want to know
your
opinion. I
value
your opinion.”

Sheppard didn’t answer right away. He wasn’t sure what to say, but he knew he had to say something.

“I think that God is gentle and kind,” he finally said.

“You haven’t spent much time thumbing through the Old Testament, have you?” Parker commented.

“I think he’ll judge us not so much by what we did as by the motives behind those actions.” He paused. “If there is a Heaven, I think we’ll both get in.”

“I hope you’re right.” Parker smiled. “All this talk about God and Heaven and the Bible makes me think about Judgment Day. Maybe those religious fanatics were right and we weren’t supposed to stop that asteroid.”

“I don’t believe that for a second. We were given an opportunity. What failed was our technology and not the will of God,” Sheppard said. “It is not God’s will that we die.”

“Now you’re the one to sound overly confident,” Parker noted.

“I guess in a few months we’ll find out.”

Parker had a strange look in his eyes. “It could be three months. You never can tell about things. Anyway, that wasn’t the reason I came to see you. I want to take you for a drive.”

Sheppard had never been taken for a drive. For the past few months he hadn’t even been allowed outside of the compound. Why would Parker suggest …? Sheppard’s heart skipped a beat. He knew what this meant. He’d wondered if it would come to this.

Slowly he rose from his desk. There was no point in fighting or resisting in any way. He didn’t even know if he would if he could. He had failed. Maybe he deserved what was going to happen.

“You’ve been a good friend,” Sheppard said solemnly.

“So have you.”

“I’m not just saying that,” Sheppard said. “I know you’ve saved my life … at least twice that I know of.”

“And some that you didn’t,” Parker said.

“Thank you for keeping me alive this long. I just want you to know that I understand, and more important, I forgive you.”

“Forgive me for …” Parker suddenly understood and started to chuckle. “Daniel, I’m inviting you to go for a ride. I’m not
taking
you for a ride. I’m not going to kill you.”

Sheppard let out a big sigh and his whole body flushed. Maybe he wasn’t as ready to face death as he’d thought. He felt both relieved and embarrassed.

“Why would you ever think that there was reason for me to kill you?” Parker asked.

“I failed.”

“We
all
failed.”

“I know … it’s just that I was in charge.”

“And you led us well. Besides, if I was assigned to kill you I wouldn’t drive you any place. I would simply do something that would look like an accident.” He pointed at the empty bowl. “I would have poisoned your ice cream and made it look as though you’d died of a heart attack.”

Sheppard’s eyes widened in shock and surprise.

“But of course I didn’t. Come on, you could
really
use a ride in the country. Get away from it all … relax … get some fresh air.”

And then Parker did something he’d never done before. As he walked with Sheppard to the door, he put his arm around his friend’s shoulders, and he finished with a hearty pat on the back as the two walked out together.

Sheppard climbed into the vehicle and its large metal door swung shut, sealing him and Parker inside. He settled into his seat feeling comfortable—and safe. Sitting behind the window’s tinted bulletproof glass, he was invisible to outside eyes. And besides, it wasn’t as if they were going outside in a minivan. This vehicle was clad with a combination of armour and a special polymer designed to withstand not only bullets but even rocket-launched grenades or land mines. They might be leaving the security of the compound behind, but they weren’t leaving security behind.

Their vehicle rolled up to the main gate, one of only two entrances to the compound. Large steel doors were flanked by high concrete walls, which were in turn topped with electrified razor wire, cameras, and infrared sensors. The walls were punctuated at intervals by higher guard towers. Sheppard knew that all of this security was
necessary—it was for his safety and the safety of every other person in the project—but they still looked like prison walls. In his mind, though, there was one wall but two prisons—one on the outside and one on the inside.

Sheppard had spent so many years indoors and underground that every time he saw the surface it was like seeing it for the first time. It was almost as if he’d forgotten this was all out here. Once, he’d been so occupied with his work that he’d missed two entire seasons. When he had finally journeyed outside after four or five months of concentration, he’d been astonished to find snow on the ground.

They stopped at the checkpoint.

“Request to leave the compound,” Parker said to unseen guards through a com-link.

“Reason for permission to exit?” a voice replied.

“Beyond your level of clearance. Authorization code 787354.”

There was silence as the authorization was checked and cleared.

“One to leave?” the voice asked.

“Yes, one,” Parker replied.

Sheppard was about to say something but Parker quickly turned to him and gestured for silence. He complied, but he felt uncomfortable yet again. Why didn’t Parker want anybody to know there was somebody else in the vehicle?

The steel gates slowly glided apart and Parker drove through toward a second gate, identical to the first. The first gate closed behind them, triggering the second to open in
response. Beyond that second gate, behind a large fence, was a crowd of people. There was always a crowd outside, made up of the curious who just wanted to see, the religious who prayed for the souls of those evil-doers inside, and more ominously, those who might want to harm them. A squad of soldiers and security forces split the crowd open to allow them clear passage.

Parker slowed the vehicle slightly but kept moving. There were angry people violently shoving and straining against the security line, trying to get to the car. Sheppard could see more than hear that they were yelling something at him. One of the protesters looked familiar—he’d seen that face many times on video screens, standing before the altar in a mammoth cathedral. The Reverend Abraham Honey had spoken then of fear, of a lake of fire, of a Heavenly Kingdom that would not welcome men, like Sheppard, who worshipped the false god of science. Sheppard felt a shiver run up his spine at the thought.

As they drove past he saw, too, ordinary men and women and children. He saw the signs that some of them held—protests for or against their project—as well as glimpses of their faces. He tried not to look. They were all going to die, and he was responsible. It was hard enough to know that without having to look them in the eye.

“Sorry about the secrecy,” Parker said as they cleared the edge of the crowd and accelerated down the now open road. “No telling who might be listening in to our radio exchanges. Or, for that matter, whether any of the guards are actually counter-agents working for Judgment Day.”

“Do you think that’s possible?”

“No telling. We’ve lost a lot of people over the past two weeks.”

“What do you mean ‘lost’?” Sheppard was suddenly feeling anxious again.

“They don’t see the point in working on or even guarding a project that’s come to an end,” Parker explained. “Could be that some of them have just decided to go and spend their last days with their families. Or maybe some of them used to believe in science but now believe that their only salvation lies in accepting that this is God’s will. So many people are flocking to churches these days that they can’t even come close to fitting them all in. It’s got to the point where you really can’t trust anybody. You know that, right?”

Sheppard felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“Other than me, of course,” Parker added. “Are you nervous?”

“A little.”

“You’re sweating. Do you want the air conditioning turned up?”

“Maybe a bit.”

Parker spun a little dial and the cab was filled with a rush of cool air.

“This is quite the vehicle,” Sheppard said.

“I like it, although it’s no Ferrari. Have you ever driven a Ferrari?”

“I never learned to drive.”

“Really?” Parker was clearly shocked. “That must have really hindered your dating life as a teenager.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t have a dating life,” Sheppard said. “I was a little preoccupied.”

“Come on, you couldn’t have been so preoccupied that there wasn’t some girl you had a crush on in high school.”

“I was eight years old when I entered high school, and eleven when I was accepted at a university.”

“Wow, that would explain the lack of dating,” Parker said. “And you never married.”

“I was married to my work.” Sheppard paused. “You never married either.”

“There have been women, but in my line of work it just never seemed right to get involved, to expose somebody else to risk.”

“Do you ever regret that?” Sheppard asked.

“I used to,” Parker admitted. “I used to wonder what it would have been like to have a couple of kids … you know, somebody to live on after I checked out of this world.” He laughed, sadly. “Now I guess that isn’t such a big deal, is it?”

“Theoretically, I’m sure I could have learned to drive,” Sheppard said, changing the subject. “I just never got around to it. There never seemed to be time. And now … it hardly seems to matter.”

“I guess not.”

“I wonder how long it’s been since I’ve been outside the compound,” Sheppard mused absently.

“Fifteen months,” Parker answered.

Of course Parker would know, because he would have been with him.

“We couldn’t risk you being outside during the last critical period.”

“And now you
can
risk it?” Sheppard asked.

“Now the risk level is much lower. Since our plan to destroy the asteroid failed, the number of attacks from Judgment Day have fallen dramatically. They may be fanatics but they are
religious
fanatics. ‘Thou shalt not kill’ has come into effect again, since they don’t necessarily see a reason to kill anymore. It’s back to letting God make that decision.”

“So the religious and strategic value of killing me has significantly diminished,” Sheppard said.

“Your whole status has changed. You’ve gone from the Devil’s right-hand man to a failed false prophet.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a promotion or a demotion.”