The Retreat (The After Trilogy Book 1) (2 page)

“Seven down,” Phobos’s voice came through their headsets.

“You’re gonna need that head start,” Romy replied calmly.

“Did you guys hear that? Romy just schmack-talked. We’re shaking in our space shoes.” Their snorting could be heard in the background.

What did the twins usually say back to these kinds of things? Romy racked her brain for an insult. She was distracted by Elara mouthing words in her direction.

“You . . . better . . . be!” Romy read Elara’s mouth, grinning in success.              

Her friend just rolled her eyes in exasperation.

Phobos snorted. “Need to work on those lip-reading skills, Ro.”

The knot worked steadily for the next three hours, falling into silence, apart from the competitive tally each pod kept. Their games helped alleviate the tedium of the task.

“What the hell are they doing?” Elara leaned forwards to look out the window.

Romy turned and peered into empty space, jerking back as the other pod whirled across the window in front of her. Romy laughed as Phobos and Deimos waved, floating upside-down inside the spiralling craft.

“Who’s driving?” Romy pushed her white-blonde hair behind one ear.

“I couldn’t see Thrym at all.”

“Poor Thrym.”

Elara cackled. “You’d think he’d know better than to turn his back on those two by now.”

The girls were first to make it back to Earth Dock. Romy dragged their bag of space junk to the weaponry chute where it would be reused as projectile missiles in the battlers. She listened to the bellowed shouts of Thrym as the boys’ pod docked. The pod entrance retracted and she saw that the twins stood in front of him looking suitably chastised—apart from the unconcealed grins on their faces. It was the eyes. How did they do it?

“They tied me up with their socks!” Thrym shook his head, gaze flat.

Romy did her best not to laugh at his exasperation. Elara didn’t hold back, and her laughter didn’t abate in the slightest under the full force of Thrym’s glare.

He whirled on the twins, holding their socks high. “These. Are now mine.”

The smirks on the twins’ faces disappeared. Romy whistled low. She didn’t blame them. You only received one pair of socks per month. Pulling down the top of his suit, Thrym shoved the twins’ socks inside before storming out of the docks.

Deimos draped his arm around his twin’s shoulders. “Pho, we might have annoyed our brother,” he pondered.

Romy swore Phobos’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears. Perhaps Thrym was overly harsh.

The light-coloured twin shook his head in stunned bewilderment. “I believe you might be right, Dei.”

“W
ater vapour was the biggest secondary contributor to the global warming effect.” The lecturer cut off as Romy slipped into the room.

She stood to attention, arm raised in salute. “My apologies for interrupting, Vice-commander Warner.”

It wasn’t unusual for someone in high command to teach these lessons. With the small population on board the eight stations, most had more than one role.

“Take your seat, Soldier Rosemary.”

Romy saluted, wincing at the use of her given name. She quickly took the closest seat, ignoring the whispers behind her.

“We were discussing the Critamal,” he said for her benefit. “Cadet Icarus, please continue.”

A boy recited in a calm voice, “NASA first became aware of the Critamal in 2050, after global warming had already damaged Earth beyond human repair. The life forms aboard the orbitos were intended to incubate until Earth became inhabitable once more, but in actuality they were forced to become soldiers—to protect Earth from the Critamal.”

Romy raised her eyebrows. The cadet was good. Usually, they fumbled through everything. It was unsettling, the influx of information when you were first removed from your cultivation tank.

These lectures were for the fresh cadets, but Romy could hear the same material fifty times—she probably had—and still want to hear it again. The current information about what was happening on Earth was limited. It arrived in a slow trickle as only a tiny portion of their force could be spared from station duties for research. And so Romy enjoyed sitting in here. It made her feel like there was at least a
bit
of progress.

Earth’s people were no more. Earth
as it had been was gone—no matter how similar the Earth of today looked from the orbito windows. The Earth humans took nature for granted, and two industrial revolutions caused the greenhouse gas levels to rise so dramatically, the damage couldn’t be reversed.

The good news? Their home would one day be inhabitable again. In approximately 850 years. For now, it was a waiting game. Or should have been, if the current conditions on Earth didn’t present the perfect habitat for the Critamal.

“Global warming is like having a jacket on that you can’t take off. Heat can get in, but can’t get out,” came another boy’s wobbled answer.

Romy’s heart gave a pang at the twelve-year-old’s uncertainty. He was so fresh, he probably still had the amniotic gel gunk from the tanks up his nose. Before you had time to get it out you were thrown into warfare training, and then rushed into battle. At that point there were only four pathways available to you: get blown to smithereens in battle and never see Earth; survive an explosion and be taken hostage by the Critamal; survive an explosion and be saved by the Orbitos as the sole survivor of your knot, minus your sanity—which was worse than death in Romy’s opinion; or, if you were lucky, you might just reach the ripe age of thirty-five, where you would re-enter the cultivation tanks, have your genetics upgraded, undergo a memory wipe, and emerge ready for another round two years later.

Like most soldiers, Romy was grateful for the memory wipe—or the “merciful wipe”. To live in this life for a thousand years was no life at all. To remember it all—every battle, every bit of space junk, and every dead comrade while Earth was dangled before you year after year after year—
that
would be more than she could bear.

In the 150 years since the orbitos were initially launched, Romy might have lived four or five times. And one day, if she was luckier than she had any reason to be, she would plant both feet on her homeland and all the debris clean-up, the repeated life cycles, and the gel gunk from the tanks would have been worth it.

Staying alive was a daily lottery.

“Correct. Can anyone name the major greenhouse gases?”

“Water vapour,” a girl answered.

Romy listed off the others in her mind, listening with half an ear to the hesitant stream of answers. What would it have been like? Earth. Having actual dirt under your feet. Clouds above you, instead of far below you. And animals. Romy longed to see a real-life animal—if there were any left.

Earth was a shiny bauble dangling just out of reach. A beautiful, untouchable swirl of greens and blues. If she could ever hate anyone, it would be her ancestors for selfishly throwing away their home.

The lecturer’s next words caught Romy’s attention. “As you know, select teams are sent to collect any materials we might be in deficit of. They also monitor Earth’s progress. What are some of their findings?”

The cadets looked blankly at each other. Romy caught the questioning glance of the lecturer.

“That the effect of global warming is more catastrophic than any of the forecasts predicted,” she offered.

Vice-commander Warner nodded for her to continue.

“One in ten species were predicted to fall extinct, but it is guesstimated three in five are no longer. While it was predicted that one-twelfth of humankind would perish, in actuality, half died from global warming related causes . . . .”

“. . . while the other half killed each other in the anarchy before The Retreat,” the vice-commander finished for her.

Romy sagged as the attention moved from her.

Who could say? Maybe the Earth humans deserved what they got? Or they never lived long enough to learn the harsh lesson that, at the end of the day, nature would always have the last laugh.

A flurry of movement startled Romy from her daydream. The lecture was over and the cadets were milling about the classroom.

She exited behind a knot of cadets, spotting Thrym standing at ease in the shining white hall. He held two sets of sneakers. The cadets scuttled past him, staring in awe. Romy had to admit he
did
look the part of “saviour of the world”. It was accompanied by a familiar twang of guilt.

Thrym was desperate for a higher ranking. He definitely drew the short straw when they were handing out knots.

Their watches beeped in unison. Neither of them bothered to check the alert, dismissing it with a wave before pivoting in the direction of the health centre. Twice-daily exercise was mandatory to maintain the space soldiers’ bone density and cardiovascular health.

It was Romy’s favourite time of the day.

“The twins just earned us extra duties. Kitchen clean-up for two months.” Thrym sighed.

Romy stared at her friend in disbelief. She had to tilt her head slightly back to meet his gaze. Each of the space soldiers were around six foot. It would have made more sense to be shorter in a space ship. But all of their genetics were designed for an eventual return to a hostile Earth, so tall they had to be.

“I don’t even want to know what they did. Why does command always punish
all
of us?” she asked.

Romy and Thrym both knew the answer. Orbito One command was aware that Deimos and Phobos really only answered to three people: their knot. Very occasionally the twins listened to the commander. Usually in the wake of having done something wrong.

“I think they hope the rest of us will get annoyed and pull them into line.”

Romy smiled. “Pull Dei and Pho into line. . . .”

Thrym’s blue eyes lit up. “I know.” The light faded slightly and she knew he was thinking about their knot status being stuck at the bottom for the next two months. They’d been there for the better part of twelve years, but he never stopped trying to better their ranking. If it were based on his efforts alone, they’d be at the top. Alas, the sucky attitude of the others counted for more.

She dropped her gaze, and they walked silently into the gym.

Elara and the twins were already pounding away on the treadmills. The health centre had a long, narrow gymnasium filled with treadmills and weights. This was also where space soldiers came to be hooked to the medi-tech if they were sick or wounded.

Romy giggled at the large frown marring Elara’s face as she forced her legs to move. She struggled at the lowest speed allowed. At zero incline. You’d think after twice a day for twelve years, she'd get over her aversion to exercise, Romy thought. 

Romy pulled on her exercise sneakers. The soldiers received one set of sneakers each year for exercise. Romy’s had holes all through them, and she had another three months to go. Elara would swap with her soon—her sneakers remained pristine from minimal use.

Jumping on the treadmill, Romy bent to pick up the two bungee cords attached to the machine and pulled them up, muscles straining with the strong tension. She clicked the tensioned cords onto her belt either side of her hips, and her knees immediately bent with the extra weight.

The entire ship was locked in place with Quantum Levitation, suspending them in Earth’s orbit with semi-normal gravity levels, but the additional weight through her legs during the run helped mimic the conditions on Earth’s surface.

Romy settled in to her rhythmic thud on the moving belt beneath her. She found the high-pitched whirring of the exercise machine to be soothing.

Their genetic enhancements went a long way to reduce the adverse effects of life in space, but bone softening and muscle deterioration were major health risks. All orbito personal were susceptible to a range of cardiovascular, eye, and immune system weaknesses as well.

“Increase speed to fifteen kilometres per hour,” she said.

Despite the semi-gravity conditions on board, and their superior genetics, none of the space soldiers would live long without the nanotech. Both the nanotech in the walls of the space station, and within each soldier. This technology continually repaired the orbito walls to reduce radiation leaks, and also regenerated tissue affected by the small amount of radiation that found its way inside.

There were other perks to the nanotech. Non-life-threatening injuries such as broken bones and torn ligaments healed rapidly. And the nanotech could help delay death from more dire wounds, making it more likely you’d reach proper care in time. It wouldn’t help if a missile hit you, but it was an important part of sustaining life here.

Romy relished the burn in her muscles as the speed adjusted to her order. Not that she’d ever tell anyone, not even her knot, but Romy liked to pretend she was running on Earth. Was the ground softer than the treadmill she pounded on right now? Would tree branches and leaves be in her way? She could imagine ducking and dodging as she ran. Her heart squeezed. How incredible it would be to run in a real-life forest.

“Increase speed to eighteen kilometres per hour.”

If she was on Earth there wouldn’t be any tension cords holding her back. Romy would fly. Like the birds she read about on her nanopad.

“Romy.
Romy.
Romy!”

Romy was wrenched from her jungle run to find an amused Knot 27 waiting for her by the door. Another knot had arrived and were elbowing each other, smirks on their faces. Deimos grinned at them and their smirks disappeared. No one wanted to be on the twins’ list.

“Sorry,” she puffed. “Stop treadmill.” The machine came to a gradual halt.

Thrym handed her a small towel, and she nodded her thanks, gasping for air, her mind still down on Earth.

“Dinnertime!” Deimos and Phobos shouted in unison as they left. Though not as vocal, Elara was hot on their heels as the knot walk-jogged down the hallway. It was their knot’s compromise speed.

“Do you think they’ve forgotten we’re on kitchen duty after?” Thrym asked.

Elara pretended to think. “Do you think the other knots have forgotten that their underwear is now three sizes too small?”

Romy groaned. “How did they manage that?”

Thrym flashed his white teeth in a full grin.

The Rec was the largest room on the station. It could fit all five hundred members if needed, which only happened during rare assemblies. Any announcement from the control deck could be heard throughout Orbito One, negating the need for such a large gathering place, but the original designers had wanted a social area.

There were a lot of soldiers present tonight, many more than usual.

The still-sweating group got in the massive queue for food.

“What’s it gonna be?” asked Elara, her voice tight with excitement. “Dehydrated potatoes?”

“I wish!” Deimos said darkly. “It’s probably that buckwheat stuff.”

The knot pulled similar faces at that.

A whisper rumbled down the line. The only thing better than guessing the menu was deciding whether the rumours from the front of the line were true.

Romy heard the whisper of “chocolate cake” from three rows ahead.

“Lie!” Romy cried. “The only time they give us chocolate cake is on Retreat Remembrance Day.”

“Or when officials visit,” Phobos said.

“Hey, look,” Thrym whispered in Romy’s ear.

Romy glanced over her shoulder. Four women and three men in black fatigues had entered the Rec and were moving to the front of the line. One of the men was Commander Cronus of Orbito One. He was smiling kindly at a knot, clapping one of the space soldiers on the back.

Only the orbito commanders wore black. All others wore white fatigues when off duty.