Tamara Wilhite is a full time technical writer, amateur fiction writer, and mother of two. Her first collection of science fiction and sci-fi horror stories, "Humanity's Edge", is currently available.

Read Tamara's other stories that are published on Byzarium.

Click for Part One of May These Stone Give Shelter

Sharra stared at the six unconscious cyborgs. The sedatives Samuel had snuck into the nutrient feed had worked. With her technical expertise and biology experience, Shawn had ordered her to play nurse. He wanted answers without the cyborgs possibly interfering with test results or equipment. Being here made her skin crawl even though she knew they’d tested negative for disease.

For thirty years, the elite forces of the American military had had varying degrees of enhancement. Embedded radio frequency tags carried their medical history. Samuel had a portable scanner that was able to read off their names as they walked past each.

“Matt Endedi, first lieutenant, communications specialist.”

“That would be useful.”

“Only if we can get communications up. Endedi’s has lung damage. I have him on an oxygenated CFC regimen to clear his lungs.”

“We didn’t have any of that in our medical supplies at the last inventory.”

“It was an eighty-step process for LeAnne to synthesize it.”

“How many treatments do we have?”

“Enough for ten people.”

“Are all six on that regimen?”

“Yeah.” They walked up to the next still form. “Anthony Chavez, second lieutenant, technician.” Samuel checked an IV flow. “Same lung damage. I’m more concerned on the compromised immune system they’re all displaying. Chavez is further deteriorated in that regard, but they’re all suffering from it.”

“What’s the cause?”

“Radiation. Ozone damage to the lungs. Chemical exposure.”

“What are you doing about it?”

“Antioxidants. It should help. It can’t hurt.” Samuel walked on to the next patient. “Alexander Chescu. First lieutenant. Communications specialist. Probable lung cancer.” They had nothing to treat cancer with.

“Next one is Jerry Novachek. Technician first class.”

“Novachek. He’s suffered greater dehydration and malnutrition than the others.” Samuel checked the stomach tube going into Novachek. “I have the others on IV. Novachek is on an extra infusion of soymilk. He should be fine.”

“I thought all soy products are being rationed.”

“Soymilk is a perfect for anyone suffering malnutrition. I had Shawn set aside part of each harvest so we could build up a reserve.”

Samuel walked on to the next patient. “Nigel Addison. First lieutenant. Technical specialist. Same general chemical and UV exposure.” Samuel paused by the last one. “Nathan Cheney. Captain. This is what is left of his unit.”

“How many total had been in his unit?”

“Twenty.”

“Six out of twenty.” Samuel said it before she had. His tone matched her mood. If only 30% of the military elite had survived, how badly did that bode for average folk?

 

Captain Cheney woke up as soon as Samuel accidentally turned off the device used to issue the “sleep” command. Captain Cheney remained still, listening to the conversation. When there was no conversation, he listened to the conversations that his auditory implant had recorded while he had been regenerating.

When Samuel realized that one of his charges was “functional”, he called Sharra in. He was too busy with those still in bad shape to deal with the Captain. Darren and Sheldon were called in as security. Sharra asked for food, hoping to trigger conversation. He ate the soup instead. He was in full control. It was clear he’d been awake and alert for a long time, and that whatever exposure he’d survived had not left him with obvious weaknesses. “If you were conscious, why didn’t you react when you were spoken to?”

“If I had, would you have continued speaking as openly as you had been?”

“Probably not.”

“Weren’t you concerned you might be in danger while unconscious?”

“No. You let us in without a fight. When you pulled out medical kits and started work, why not shut down? You didn’t seem the type to kill someone after trying to help.”

The cataracted eyes focused on her were disconcerting. All five surviving cyborgs had them. Milky white eyes. Captain Cheney looked down at the empty cup. Sharra knew the optic sensors were functioning in place of his empty eyes; she saw the glint of them as his head tilted down. His natural eyes were blind, but he was not.

“Can I have more soup?”

“You haven’t had solid food for a long time. You’ll have more later.”

The Captain smiled. “A very old interrogation tactic.”

“Do you disagree with it?”

“In ancient times, you didn’t feed someone unless you were going to keep them. As long as I’m useful, I’ll be fed.”

“Information would be useful. We lost contact after the flares.”

“It wasn’t a flare. It was a collapse of the Van Allen belts.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Duration.”

“What is the difference in effect?”

“You really don’t know, do you?”

“If I knew, would I be asking?”

“Perhaps you merely wanted corroborating witnesses.”

“Answer the question.”

“Or what?” Sharra forced her expression to remain neutral as Captain Cheney challenged her. “Would you deny treatment to my men?”

“Are they worth the medical supplies being used to save their lives?”

“You know our job descriptions.”

“Technical skills we have.”

“Then all I can provide is information? Then why give the information? Once I’m drained dry, I cease to be worth the food to keep me alive.”

The lights flickered once as power was shunted to compensate for repairs. In that moment, Captain Cheney was up and approaching her. Sharra kicked out, her foot aiming for his abdomen. He caught it easily and held her ankle in a painfully tight but confident grip. Darren had his hand on the antique knife from Mu Bai’s collection, trying to help. Sheldon was still turning to see what had happened.

“You don’t like me, do you?”

“I don’t trust you. There’s a difference.”

“Why don’t you trust me?”

Had they made a mistake, letting these trained killers in? “You’re a cyborg.”

“I underwent those surgeries so that I could better serve my country. Because of my sacrifice in the service of my country, you don’t trust me?” Captain Cheney had let go of her ankle. He leaned forward on the table, his hands gripping the sides so hard his knuckles were white. He was moving his head slightly side to side so the delicate optic sensors could give him a full view of her face.

Sharra wanted to apologize, to utter words to make him back away and make everything all right. But it was the end of the world and a souped-up soldier was in her face and it would never be all right ever again. “You’re a trained killer.”

“The purpose of an army is to kill people and break things so that other countries don’t come over here and kill us and break our things. I gave 11 years of my life to protect people like you! I went through hell to protect you people! Damn ingrates!” Captain Cheney’s fist slammed down on the table. It cracked under the strength of his blow. His hand fell effortlessly to his side. Darren and Sheldon were two paces behind her now. But they couldn’t act until after Cheney attacked her. An attack Sharra wouldn’t survive if Cheney wanted to kill her. Captain Cheney stood back up and crossed his arms cynically. “You’re so helpless; you need us to keep you alive.”

“We keep the power on. We produce the food. We keep the air fresh and circulating. We’re surviving just fine.” He was carrying the air of a feudal lord now as his disdainfully listened to her protests. Sharra wasn’t going to directly say: You need us to keep everything running. Without us, you’d starve. She couldn’t put it past him and his men to kill them and take everything over. Why risk giving them the idea in the first place?

Sharra caught up with Erica as she walked a long lap in the access tunnels. “Can I talk to you?”

“About what?” Erica was swinging her arms in a power walk.

“Your last physical.”

“What about it?” Erica slowed a little to allow for conversation.

Sharra looked around furtively. They were as private as they could be, though Cheney’s men tapped into the sensor net and listened in randomly. “You’re pregnant.”

Erica came to a dead stop. “What?”

“You’re pregnant.”

“I’m on a hormonal implant.”

“It ran out early.”

“Oh, Buddha. Oh, Christ.” She collapsed onto the floor. “You’re not going to tell anyone are you?”

“Not unless I have to.”

“You and Captain Cheney talk -”

“So?”

“You’re not – uh – involved – or -?”

“If he tried anything in that regard, he would have to kill me before I killed him.”

She whispered, “You’re overly sensitive about people with artificial implants.”

What made her think the conversation was being overheard? “A pacemaker is not equivalent to someone augmented into a killing machine.”

“They’re still human.”

“Trained killers with cutting edge technology that makes them even better at it.”

“It’s not like that. They’re a communications unit. They aren’t killers.”

“Which one of them are you sleeping with?”

“That’s none of your business!”

“They took over. They’re making us work while they `supervise’. What do you get out of it? More protein? A lighter work load? Are you pregnant by one of them?”

“Maybe I just care about him.”

“I thought you cared about Christian.”

“Christian doesn’t care about me the same way Anthony does.”

“Really? You’re six weeks along. You slept with Christian six weeks ago.”

“That was the last time.”

“And when did you start sleeping with Chavez?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Was it long enough ago that he might be the father?”

Erica sagged back on the rock wall. “Yes.”

“You were sleeping with two men knowing full well our medical supplies were iffy. You took the gamble and you lost. Or won, depending on whose perspective it is.”

“I won’t keep it.”

“Christian had a son by a previous marriage. He was a good father. She moved across the planet to keep them apart. He won’t give up on a potential child.”

“So I let Christian raise the baby I don’t want? I’d see the kid every day. That would be torture.”

“Terminating the pregnancy would torture Christian.”

“And what if it’s Alex’s kid?”

“Does he want kids?”

“With all the mess in the world, having children would be wrong. There aren’t the resources –“

“With the expanded hydroponics, we could support an extra fifty people. One child is barely a dent in that increased margin.”

“When can you do a DNA test?”

“It would take a month to set up and calibrate.”

Erica’s hand rested lightly on her stomach. “Set it up. Get it over with.”

The next weeks were an emotional stalemate. Samuel had already shared the results of the pregnancy test before the DNA test could be run. Christian and Anthony both demanded that she keep the child. Captain Cheney sided with the men for an unknown reason, placing Erica under “house arrest”. She was kept in her quarters under guard to prevent her from terminating the pregnancy without permission.

The “house arrest” might have been for her protection. Sharra was not the only person with reservations regarding her behavior: collaborating with their oppressors. Maybe one of the others would think of slipping her an abortifactant to punish the cyborg “father” or a toxin to punish her. Then again, if she didn’t want a baby, then the continued pregnancy was merely another act of coercion even if the conception was not.

The fact that Erica had been sleeping with two men also made the men upset. With their unbalanced gender ratio, men without were becoming jealous about the men who had someone. And men who were paired off became paranoid. Males were never built for sharing.

Christian should have known better to challenge a trained military man. The fact that Erica was proposing Anthony and she raise his child with him was too much. In the ensuing fight, Anthony, of course, won. Christian lost his life. Anthony’s so called sentence was to raise Christian’s child as his own. Anthony was sterile. All the cyborgs were. If he wanted to be a father, this was the only way. If they kept the baby.

Captain Cheney had to make a decision. The situation was too likely to recur to leave unresolved. There were twice as many men as women. With as few people as they had, they could not afford more deaths. To end a potential life might be politically devastating. With all the death they’d seen, many were finally looking forward to a child in the complex, despite its origin and rough start.

Christopher Anton Talliesen was born six months later.

Clothing was in limited quantity, and they didn’t have a way to make more. The issue had not arisen until Christopher’s birth, and the need for diapers and baby’s clothing. The short term solution had been to cut existing clothing into something suitable for the infant. Mu Bai and Terrell’s clothing had been altered and used for Christopher.

Living as they were, they could wear whatever they chose. Almost everyone had a closet filled with clothes, and the cyborgs still wore their uniforms. But long term options were now a priority. Water hyacinth had grown in the water treatment section since the facility opened. An abundant plant, it had already been turned into their source of toilet paper. With more work, it might become a source for cloth.

Captain Cheney wanted to prevent more surprises and began a system of segregation. The women moved quarters to one section of the complex and the rest was left to the men. Work was divided so there was no alone time. Only the married couples had their quarters, and that was separate from the singles.

Even married couples grew celibate and apart. Forced to live with one another, it wasn’t possible to leave and never see an ex again. The possibility of unwanted pregnancy kept them apart. When Demi admitted she was pregnant, this time there was only one suspected father. Assan and Demi were married by Cheney. Shawn gave Demi away, one of the few times he showed any social standing anymore. Sharra couldn’t help but see the barely suppressed jealousy on the faces around her. She was certain of what was going through their minds. And then there were eight.

Demi and Assan had a baby girl. Baby names were thrown about casually. Sharra thought it was funny that they completely ignored the fact that the decision was still in the hands of the parents. Still, it was better than the usual muffled complaints.

“If you don’t have a religious faith, why name a girl Faith?”

“Faith in humanity, then? Faith in the future?”

“Why not Hope? We have that.”

“Yeah. Right.”

“Charity, then.”

“When was the last time you saw an act of charity around here?”

The conversation drew to an abrupt close when a cyborg walked by.

Nicoji suggested “Name her Eve.” Assan came into earshot and all talk stopped again. A betting pool was started instead, using promises of the sweet mint that was the closest thing they had to candy.

Two weeks later, no one won the betting pool. The baby had been named Diana.

Captain Cheney called Sharra in to talk to her on a regular basis. No one spoke to Sharra about anything important except work, and people avoided her socially. After all, she would probably relay anything they said to the Captain. Sharra wondered if he had chosen to single her out intentionally. If so, she had no idea what she might have done to deserve it.

Cheney usually asked her about the models she worked on. How long would it take for the surface to become livable again? What were the chances of another event, of the air becoming impossible to breathe again? How long did she think they could survive down here?

“Even if we survive fifty years, it won’t help the long term survival of the species if we don’t reproduce,” she said.

“We aren’t in a situation to allow that.”

“There are already two children. Why not more?”

“We don’t have the resources. If it wasn’t an incidniary issue, there would be none.”

“The haves and the have-nots. That isn’t wise.”

Cheney arched an eyebrow at her. They played verbal dances more often than Sharra would have liked. The gesture was a request for her to elaborate. “You’re saying the only men you’ll let have sex are cyborgs. Every other man is denied that … option. The fear that you are being denied what you have a right to has fueled many revolutions in history.”

“If I separate them, you think I’d have a rebellion?”

“You’re risking it.”

“Who told you this?”

“No one had to tell me. It’s obvious.”

“Obvious to someone who’s still human?”

“Obvious to someone who still lives by normal … normal rhythms.”

“And I don’t?”

“Not if you don’t understand the problem.”

“Circular logic. I read the staff profiles. Most had no interest in having children.”

“Things change.”

“They haven’t changed much.”

“Civilization as we know it ended.”

“Things haven’t changed much. Many already worked in hydroponics.”

“And were paid for it! It was as much pleasure as it was work. Now it is work.”

“For their own survival.”

“And yours. When was the last time you were picking tomatoes?”

“I’m out there. I supervise.”

“It isn’t the same and you know it.”

“When was the last time you were out picking tomatoes?”

“I was off building your precious models, remember?”

“You could go pick tomatoes again.”

“Not a problem.”

“But it is. Having anyone else build those models would take twice as long. I need answers faster than that.”

“Why don’t you tell anyone else about the models? Or, at least, the results?”

Cheney went to that deadpan expression that said he was trying to hide something. “I don’t want to give them false hope on such limited data.”

“It isn’t data. These are models. Models you trust enough to make decisions upon.”

Captain Cheney ended the meeting. Chescu, standing watch outside his door, nodded a greeting at her as she walked outside. No one else even looked at her.

With the basic necessities of food no longer rationed, the general energy level was rising. Luxuries and the desirable food stuffs were still rationed, but not protein and carbohydrates. The starvation pall was lifting.

Walking a kilometer or two a day was the expected form of exercise. There were no more mandatory exercise sessions. Samuel checked up on those whose access records indicated were not getting out and about, but it wasn’t a public reprimand.

With more energy came more conflicts. Since the disciplining of both sides strictly enforced, most people ran to burn off the adrenaline.

It was to be expected that some of those conflicts evolved into races. Someone won. Someone lost. If both sides agreed, there could be a rematch. Sometimes, the woman involved or a friend could watch and judge for themselves. It was the only open form of competition allowed.

The idea for a marathon came up. It could allow some of the rivalries to be set before the public so everyone could judge who was better, not just the two in question. As the organization for the formal event began, Captain Cheney ordered an end to it.

“Why kill the marathon?”

“It’s a waste of time.”

“Consider it a chance for everyone to blow off steam.”

“That is the only reason I allow the jogging trails to begin with.”

“I think you’re concerned that if someone beats your men, it’ll show they aren’t superior.”

“You should be concerned about what happens to morale when all of my men win far ahead of your people.”

“And will they be the better sportsmen about it?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

Sharra worked late several times a week. The cyborgs knew she worked on what their Captain wanted, if not the actual details. None of them asked if she said she needed extra time. She wanted them to get accustomed to her working late at night.

Nigel Addison was her supervision tonight. And he was getting bored. Cyborgs could access the database of movies and music when they pleased, but not while on duty. “Are you done yet?”

Sharra called up a section of code. “I’m refining aricebo values.”

Nigel looked at the code on the screen. He shrugged before walking back into the hall. The next night she worked late, Novachek was her guard. Once all five guards had become accustomed to her work patterns, she began queries into the database, confident they would no longer monitor her activities. She didn’t have up to date specifications on cybernetic technology. She didn’t need it. The technology had made strides in 20 years, but human biology hadn’t changed.

Cybernetic devices fell into several categories. The first category was medical devices. These ranged from artificial cochleae to pacemaker implants. The medical implants designs hadn’t been changed for at least a generation. As long as they were kept powered, many outlasted the recipients. Depending upon the method of keeping the devices powered, they were ten times more reliable than their batteries or metabolic charging systems.

The second category was neural enhancements. What Captain Cheney had was designed to last seven to ten years between refurbishment, 20 between replacements. The big question became how long the devices would really last. Seven to 10 years was how long they were expected to last in elite soldiers seeing combat. Except for the year and a half that the cyborgs were exposed to the elements after the Disaster, they had had an easy life. Then again, the devices were also meant to be maintained. Samuel could monitor them, but repair was impossible. As was removal. Darren had almost died of appendicitis but more from Samuel’s surgery than the disease. If Samuel could not reliably perform an appendectomy, neurosurgery was out of the question.

Sharra had to make a number of guesses. She came up with an estimate of 10 to 15 years of life after implantation. The cyborgs had been among them for nearly three years. Sharra could barely believe that it had been that long. How long had they had the implants? Sharra could guess or she could ask. Would asking the question cause other questions to arise? To play on the safe side, she guessed.

After looking at Samuel’s medical records for the cyborgs, she was able to refine her guess. 5 more years. After waiting this long, she could wait that much longer.

Now came the hardest question: should she tell the others? If she did, would the cyborgs eventually find out and, if so, what would their reaction be?

In the end, she chose silence. It was her only friend these days.

Sharra was walking laps on the “women’s course” when she unexpectedly caught up with Rain. “Are you still answering to Rain Dunavan?”

“Yes.”

“What about Rain McArthur?”

“The kid will have Robe’s last name. I’ll keep mine.”

Sharra looked down at the obvious swelling. “How far along are you now?”

“Five months.”

“Is there a betting pool going yet?”

“It started the day after Robe and I said we weren’t going to know in advance.”

“The best clothing is used and wearing out …”

“You can bet with someone to work their more unpleasant shifts.”

“Like what?”

“Cleaning out the wastewater boiler and scraping off the fertilizer residue. Working the mushroom farm.”

“Is that allowed?”

“It has to be. As you said, there’s no thing left to bet with.”

“I’m surprised it’s allowed. That’s all.”

“The Captain disapproves of it, but he realized he can’t stop it.”

“Are they cutting back on your work load yet?”

“They don’t do that until the sixth month.” Rain slowed her pace. “I guess you wouldn’t know that, either.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“There aren’t that many women left to go around. And the others that are left have paired up with someone, even if it isn’t official yet. Yet you’re all alone?”

“Because I choose to be.”

“Maybe you’re playing the field. Letting those bachelors blow off that extra steam.”

“Never!”

Rain shrugged, refusing to make eye contact with her. “Playing hard to get to protect your image isn’t going to fool anyone anymore.”

“It is not true.” Was she the subject of such gossip? How? Were women wondering why she was chaste, refusing to believe it? Or were men dropping hints of something that wasn’t true in a hope to improve their social standing?

“Who knows what’s true anymore?”

“Truth stands on its own.”

“There’s one man who controls the flow of information here.” Rain turned and looked at her directly for the first time. “You spend a lot of time alone with him. Is that why there’s nobody else? Because there already is someone?”

“Nothing happens.”

“What? You just talk.”

“Yes.”

“Couple hours at a time. Couple times a week.”

“Nothing happens.”

“If you don’t want kids, he’s a good choice. And he’s in charge. Maybe you just enjoy getting out of the same mucky work the rest of us do.”

“I still work shifts in hydroponics.”

“Not in the mushroom farm. Not in wastewater.”

“I do other work.”

“Sure.” Rain laughed at her.

Sharra wanted to scream in her face. Did this explain the times Cheney called for her and then sat there, silent? Did he want to improve his standing by giving the impression that he was with a woman? With her? Was he doing all of this to tarnish her reputation? Sharra stopped walking, allowing Rain to get far ahead of her.

Sharra stepped aside into an access area. The niche was small enough for a person to enter with a toolbox in hand. It also afforded immediate privacy. The chances of someone else coming along were low, but Sharra didn’t want anyone to see her cry.

Claire had been a geneticist. Most of her work in recent years was pure plant breeding. As genetic engineering supplies ran out, she was reduced to more and more primitive methods.

With the recent luxury of time to work on side projects, she had done something no one else had managed to do. Truffle fungi had been gathered for millennia as a luxury food. For centuries people had attempted to cultivate it. Claire had been working on that as her hobby before the disaster. After the disaster, the work fell by the sidelines. The nice thing about the fungus was that it continued to grow in absence of her attention.

The desire for a broadened diet had led to Claire being allowed to pursue her hobby again. Others volunteered to help. With hectares of dark damp caves and ample fertilizer, a successful strain of truffles would not have to be rationed. It could become as free to eat as mushrooms.

Claire had finally succeeded. Dinner was served up with a bowl of simmered truffles with a touch of mint sauce. They didn’t have seconds the first night. They did have seconds the next night. Claire requested permission to pursue other projects. It would mean arranging childcare for her toddling son and others taking up her work shifts. She had no shortage of volunteers. She’d already paid for it in advance.

The ozone levels outside declined to pre-Disaster levels. Ultraviolet levels also approached normal, though it took longer. It was safe to send out mechanical explorers, though not human ones.

The rovers sent back images that were eerily familiar even while disturbingly different. Conifers were rare lonely sentinels. Fungi were everywhere. Fields of black and gray and brown covered what had once been prairie.

To the west, under drier conditions, cacti seemed to thrive. Perhaps the climate was too dry for the fungal invasion..

Ants were everywhere. They must have existed in the fungal plains, but in the desert, they were more obvious. A rover ran over a mound, mistaking it for a small hill. Waves of red fury covered the camera. The insect onslaught ate through the wiring, disabling the rover.

Civilization’s remains were the last area to be explored. Although curiosity had been eating at them for years, there was a hesitation to send wandering eyes into the former homes of people. The nature reserve above them had been a buffer until now. Now, the rovers sent back images of what they most and least wanted to see.

Suburbia had crumbled. Accelerated UV deterioration of plastics had eaten away cars. The plant death was a little less severe where houses and bridges provided shelter. Fungi covered former lawns. Algae grew in between the shingles of old roofs, giving them a grayish-green tint. A rare tree seedling grew in the protective shade of a building.

Termite mounds were the dominant construction projects. Abandoned buildings and dead forests gave them ample food. Termite mounds forty feet tall sprouted from homes and schools and apartment buildings.

A rover captured a gray blur. Armadillos had been creatures of the twilight, active at dawn and dusk. The insect explosion had become their primary food source as plants became less available. In the pre-morning gray, thirty armadillos were seen gathering at the base of a mound. They lapped up the plentiful termites. A more aggressive one began digging into the mound with claws designed to dig up tubers. Evolution at work.

There were flies. They didn’t exist in the giant swarms that had been witnessed by Captain Cheney’s men long ago. They existed as specks in the distance with one occasionally landing on a camera lens. The violent drop in animal population seemed to have reduced their numbers and kept them down.

There were more mosquitoes than expected. The higher radiation levels would have fried their eggs, despite the warmer wetter weather that had followed the brighter sunlight and warmer weather that accompanied it. The reduction in warm-bodied predators would have further cut their numbers. But large swarms of them congregated, not near water holes per se, but near fallen buildings and sewer holes. The living cloud could literally been cut with a knife. The question was why they gathered where they did.

One evening, the behavior of the mosquitoes was explained. Rats had always existed in the shadows, in darker corners of the world. With that change signaling the safety of night, the rodents swarmed out in mass. The sight was sickening to most. The mosquitoes had adapted to waiting for their prey. They swarmed onto the fleeing rodents, the only abundant warm-blooded animals.

The rodents fed on ants and termites when they could. By and far, their largest food source was roaches. It had once been said that roaches had outlasted the dinosaurs and would outlast humanity. No one was certain what they fed on now. But when a wave of rats descended upon an abandoned house’s debris, a wave of roaches scattered in a black front to the furred wave.

The rodents coming out for the night brought out a more welcome sight. A gray and black-stripped cat picked its way among the debris. Healthy clear green eyes glowed in the darkness. The creature was probably descended from housecats. The cat was observed several nights in a row. Nicknamed "Tom", the cat was a sign of hope. Tom was seen carrying four kittens and renamed "Tommie".

A later image showed that Tommie was not the ordinary housecat. Ordinary housecats were 5 to 10 kilograms in weight unless they were overfed. Tommie walked past an old wooden post in the ground that was about two meters tall. Tommie was half that height. Though descended from housecats, Tommie and her kind were getting big.

Another rover near a bridge brought further news. Bats were out and about. Most scooped up mosquitoes. A few would land on a termite mound and work on the termites. As a night species, they would have been spared the UV radiation. Their only restriction now was food and roosting sites.

The world outside wasn’t really the one they had known. No dogs, no people, no pets. The night was alive with the buzz of insects and rodents and a few other animals.

The daytime was eerily silent. The chorus of birds that should have graced the landscape was non-existent. The croaking of frogs was soon realized to be missing. With that realization, but they began looking for what else was missing.

It was not yet safe for people to go outside yet. Almost, but not quite. The confirmation of life outside drove the children to a level of frenzied curiosity.

Capt. Cheney had come to his senses about marriage and children. Sharra was now the only unattached adult female. All of the others were married. Five of the women were in pleural marriages. It makes sense. Men had to choose between nothing and sharing. Roughly half had chosen sharing.

Women had a choice of the men they wanted out of the limited selection. If a woman had any indication of changing her mind, she was allowed to have both. Three of the pleural marriages had resulted from what otherwise would have been considered adultery.

Twenty-one children ranging in age from newborn to age 8 now roamed the halls. Six attended makeshift classes. Sharra had decided to wait until the classes were more advanced before she would fill in.

When Chavez collapsed suddenly while jogging, Samuel called her in, since she had been training as their back-up doctor. “He was found out in corridor 18C,” he told her.

“How long was he there?” Sharra pried the eyelids open and flashed a light in his eyes. Pupils semi-responsive, but she knew Chavez was gone.

“We don’t know.”

“Blood work?”

“Physically, he’s normal.”

“What about his white blood cell count? Biorejection, perhaps?”

“No. No sign of it.”

“Run neurological tests.”

“That’s only an issue if we suspect embolism or stroke –“

“Can you run the neurological tests, or do I need to do it?”

Samuel looked at her, as if seeing her for the first time. “I can run them.” As he began assembling the tools for the task, he asked her, “Do you know what’s wrong?”

“Yes.”

“Then why run the tests?”

“To be certain.”

“Why don’t you do something to help him?”

“He’s beyond help.”

Samuel slowed as he assembled the neural test link. “What’s wrong?”

“The implants are failing.”

“What’s the solution?”

“Removal or replacement.”

“We don’t have either option.”

“I know.”

“How long do the others have?”

Sharra stared at Samuel. “Not long.”

She didn’t say they’d already lived longer than she thought they would.

Chavez was not the only one; he was only the first. Novachek and Addison deteriorated progressively over the next weeks. Chavez’ fanatical hard exercise had only accelerated the deterioration they were all suffering.

Addison spent his last weeks in bed. Sandra was by him much of the time, her three children spending time with their father, Yemen, while she tended to “Uncle Addison”. Novachek spent his time in his quarters.

Sharra decided to visit with Erica a week after Chavez’ funeral. Dealing with several “suddenly” ill individuals had left Erica alone with her son. Erica shrugged at Sharra’s greeting. Sharra sat down in one of the living room chairs. “How is Chris?”

“Anthony was the only father he knew.”

“How is he?”

“Grieving.”

“Where is he?”

“Chescu – Alexander, he teaches karate. I sent Chris over for private lessons.”

“Is that a good idea?”

“Alex has been like an uncle to him.”

“You’re encouraging him to bond with the man?”

“Why? Why not? He’s a family friend –“

“He doesn’t have much longer, Erica.”

Erica’s tears choked back for a moment. “What?”

“The cybernetic implants are failing. I know you want him to find a surrogate father but –“

“I suppose you’d tell him that Anthony wasn’t his father?”

“That’s your place, not mine. Were you waiting until he was older?”

“Why tell him, ever?”

“That the man he called "Dad" killed his real father in cold blood? I think it matters.”

“It was for the best.”

“What!” Sharra was out of her chair and almost in Erica’s face within a heartbeat.

“I don’t think Christian would have been a good father.”

“Yes, he would have.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Neither do you.”

“There couldn’t have been two of them in my life. I couldn’t have shared, unlike some women …”

“You made some bad decisions –“

“It wasn’t my decision for Christian to die!”

“You encouraged it. You’re justifying it now!”

“Anthony said Chris gave him his humanity back! He atoned for his actions by raising Chris!”

“Sure beats solitary confinement.”

“It isn’t like that! How dare you-” Erica stopped midsentence, her eyes focused on something behind Sharra. Sharra turned around.

Chescu and Chris were standing in the doorway. Sharra didn’t know how much they had overheard, but it had to have been too much. Chris stared at them in blank shock before running away into the hall. Chescu’s face was a forced placid look before more normal expression had returned. Chescu turned and looked down the hallway. After a long eternity, he turned to walk the opposite way than the one Chris had taken.

Captain Cheney was the last to go. When she was called, Sharra refused. He couldn’t force her to come now. He didn’t have lackeys to force her to do anything now.

On the third day, she relented.

“Where were you?” he asked her.

“Elsewhere.”

“Samuel said you knew this would happen.”

“Yes. I knew.”

“For how long?”

“Several years.”

His blind pupils were dilating out of sync with each other. But both milky white eyes were locked onto her face. “It would have been better to know.”

“So you could agonize about it?”

“To know the clock was running out …” his voice went quiet.

“None of us knows how long we have. Any one of us could have been on the surface and died… Would knowing have actually changed how you would have lived?”

Captain Cheney lifted his head up before letting it fall back onto the pillow. “No.”

“Then why know?”

“Knowledge is power.”

“Not always.”

“I’ve always believed it was.”

“And you always wanted power.”

“Control. Not power. Control.”

“Why?”

There was a slow deep sigh. “Does it matter now? Samuel says I have hours, maybe days.” He sighed. “I needed control. Control kept me from being powerless.”

“So you kept others powerless.”

“I kept you fed, clothed, protected.”

“We could have done that on our own.”

“Would you have held together as well as you did? Had as many children as eventually came to be?”

“Ends don’t justify means.”

“Do you know what I thought of you then?”

“No.”

“You were so annoying. Confident. Distant. Aloof. Nothing would ever touch you. Nothing ever has.”

“The experiences of the past years have touched me.”

“Really?”

“You doubt me?”

“You doubt everything.” Captain Cheney sighed again, his breathing labored. “I despised you once. Everyone else ran amok, leading to fights and murders. You never took the privileges, much less took them for granted. When the reins were tightened, others grew silent but complained in the shadows. You spoke up. You spoke up for them. People you didn’t care about. People who never cared about you.”

“It was the right thing to do.”

“That was one thing I always envied you for. You had your standards. All I had were regulations.” He smiled. “That’s why I worked so hard to isolate you. As a form of punishment, I suppose. You had friends of a sort, and I took them away because you were beyond my influence by any other means. Yet you were so driven that it didn’t faze you. In some ways, your self-imposed restrictions made you freer than the rest of us.”

Sharra said nothing.

“When I’m dead, you’ll be free of me.”

“I never liked you. But I’ve never wanted you dead.”

“Because of the implants.”

“They’re unnatural.”

“Another barrier between us. Another one I couldn’t cross.”

“You invaded our home! You took over! You ruled with an iron fist –“

“The rest of my men had wives. They were `uncles’ to their wives children. They adapted to this life as everyone else did. Everyone else here forgot what happened.”

“Or they decided it wasn’t worth bringing up.”

“Always you doubt. Always you challenge. Were you always like this?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why didn’t you marry?”

“No one here was right.”

“Others said the same thing before marrying.”

“Their desire for children or normalcy outweighed patience.”

“So now its patience? How much longer are you going to wait?”

“I don’t know.”

“The species needs as many as possible contributing to the gene pool to optimize its chances for survival.”

“I’ve contributed to the survival of the species. Whether I have children or not is irrelevant.”

“In a different life, would you have?”

“Sheer speculation.”

“In a different life, would I have been the right man?”

Sharra’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“Sometimes I think that we were opposites. At other times, I was certain we were too much alike. If it hadn’t been for the barriers, it might have worked.”

Sharra could only whisper, “I don’t know.”

She stayed by his side as unconsciousness claimed him. Over the next two days, she didn’t leave until he had died.

Ozone levels outside had reached a critical threshold within past six months. It was finally safe to go outside for days at a time without protection. After a debate that was no debate at all, Sharra ordered the doors opened. Nearly 20 adults and almost 40 children came out into the light for the first time.

She scattered Captain Cheney’s ashes outside. A stone memorial was built near the entrance of the facility. Names of those who had died were etched in by those who had survived. Shawn carved a prayer near the entry of what had crossed their minds a million times but was never voiced: May these stones give shelter so that we may live.