2041 Sanctuary (Dark Descent) (4 page)

A bitter wind whistled down Ninth Avenue. Paper bags and other detritus swirled around the feet of the protestors, who shouted their fury at the untouchable dignitaries being ferried in high above. For what seemed like the hundredth time, the woman swept back her hair with one hand, placing it to one side in order to keep it from covering her face. A few strands caught in her mouth; she pulled them away as she looked around her to make sure she had the required space to work.

The camera and light operator held up five fingers, then four, three – the woman’s face changed from a look of concentration to one of serious intent as she shook her hair back and squared up to the camera’s lens – two, and finally his index finger pointed straight out to indicate she was on air.

‘This is Jessica Klein reporting live from New York City for the BBC’s Worldwide News Service,’ the woman said in a flawless English accent, her voice raised to be heard over the cacophony of noise filling the air around her. ‘In the skies above me, as I speak, the world’s leaders, greatest scientific and military minds are being flown in from this iconic city’s surrounding airports for the Global Meteor Response Council’s annual summit. As ever, this vital meeting is being held behind closed doors, with the tightest of security and the minimum of disclosure. What will be discussed in the GMRC’s imposing HQ behind me is a matter of great debate and of increasing national and international concern.

‘It has been six months since the meteorite impact and in that time the world has experienced devastating climate change, plunging the northern hemisphere into sub-zero temperatures. The all-pervasive dust cloud transformed our days into twenty-four hour long nights, resulting in catastrophic failure of ecosystems on an unprecedented scale. The GMRC has long prepared us all for these events, but the reality of them has been far more traumatic and chaotic than anyone could have imagined.

‘The initial panic and terror caused by the unexpected speed of the meteorite’s fallout, specifically the dust cloud itself, threatened to bring humanity to its knees. Swift action taken by governments around the world acting on GMRC protocols did well to prevent a global collapse of law and order. The methods utilised to accomplish this task, however, are still being questioned. As ever, the GMRC has covered up the true cost every nation has paid. The countless deaths of civilians only equalled in ignominy by the far greater number of those injured as National Guards ruthlessly quelled widespread rioting and violent disorder. The blood of the innocent, many say, is on the GMRC’s hands.

‘Since those horrific times, now referred to as the Days of Blood and Dust, civilisation has teetered on the brink of disintegration in the majority of the world’s nations. Those countries that were already fragile, where stability had already been sporadic, have disintegrated into wastelands of social anarchy and economic collapse.

‘While civil wars rage across South America, China – emboldened by its heinous missile assault on Japan and South Korea – has expanded into other neighbouring sovereign nations to harvest their natural resources and exploit their labour force. Strangely the GMRC, United Nations and the U.S., and its allies, have only instigated token sanctions against the Chinese, followed by empty threats of military action. The reasoning behind this weak resolve is to avoid a world war at a time when humanity needs to be uniting rather than tearing itself apart. While this is a sensible standpoint, it begs the question whether China will ever be punished for its crimes.

‘On the other side of the coin, the Chinese argue they were merely responding to an assault on its people in a prior engagement of hostilities that, it says, were instigated by the Koreans and Japanese. As the BBC understands it, at this time there is little evidence to support these claims; however, some inside sources at the GMRC indicate there may be some truth to China’s version of events. A special programme entitled
China’s War,
tackling this and other issues, will be aired on this channel and via our other media streams at the local time now displayed on screen.

‘In Europe and the USA food and water rationing is taking its toll and protests, like the one surrounding me now, are testament to the ill will and anger currently aimed at the politicians in their ivory towers. Unfortunately our elected officials seem to be in a position of impotence as the GMRC gathers more and more powers to itself in the name of
humanity’s best interests
. As the world’s economies crumble and stock markets plummet to record lows, plant and animal life continues to die off at alarming rates while the contingencies installed by the GMRC to ensure food stocks last until the dust cloud breaks up, in five to ten years’ time, seem disturbingly inadequate.

‘Despite the best efforts of the GMRC and the world’s leading nations to ensure the global economy continues to operate effectively, it is clear this goal was optimistic, to say the least. In the USA, the western world’s leading manufacturing powerhouse, inflation is skyrocketing, unemployment is at a one hundred year high and consumer confidence is at an all-time low.’

Jessica paused for breath and steeled herself as the unusual sensation of nervousness rippled through her body. Her lips became dry and she fought down the urge to run her tongue over them while live on air.
This is it
, she thought to herself,
why wait? Just go for it.

‘So is there any good news on the horizon?’ she continued. ‘Perhaps; independent studies have proposed the dust cloud may break up more quickly than the GMRC has predicted. If this is the case, the impact winter may lose some of its teeth within the next twenty-four months. As ever, the GMRC has played down such reports and dismissed these findings as specious and ill-informed. Coming from the GMRC, however, such a statement smacks of double standards bordering on outright hypocrisy.’

At this point in Jessica Klein’s report her cameraman, James, looked out from behind his equipment and shook his head at her. She resisted the temptation to flick her eyes towards the movement. Jessica’s producer, Martin, located hundreds of miles away back in an office in London and connected to her via an earpiece, also chose to add his twopenn’orth.

‘Jessica,’ Martin said, ‘be careful what you say. We only have one shot at this.’

Jessica computed this dialogue on the fly and as ever showed no sign to the camera that she was receiving any remote communication.

‘Switch to Keira’s feed we have on the roof,’ Martin continued, ‘and we can take a break and discuss this one last time.’

As she heard this Jessica shifted her stance, adjusted her hand on the microphone and altered tack from what she had been about to say. ‘We’re now going to hear from Keira Jones, our latest dedicated GMRC correspondent, who is on the roof high above us. Keira, over to you.’

Jessica paused.

‘And … we’re out,’ James the cameraman said.

Jessica slumped into a more comfortable posture and pulled her hood up to warm her head. The crowd around them was chanting as loud as ever. Many held placards with slogans like
NO MORE RATION CARDS
and
DOWN WITH
WATER CREDITS
. Others displayed the usual anti-GMRC rhetoric, or the simplistic yet effective GMRC logo itself surrounded by a red circle with a line through it.

The street was well-lit due to the substantial increase in lighting introduced by many major cities to distinguish between daytime and night-time hours. The simulation effect even ran in conjunction with the cycle of the sun; the extra lights dimmed at dusk and turned off at night, leaving just the normal street lighting in place.

James took the microphone from Jessica and handed her a flask of hot tea. Sticking one of her mitts in her mouth, she gripped it with her teeth and pulled her hand out. Unscrewing the lid, the steam escaped its container and she took a satisfying sip and wetted her parched lips.

‘I thought you were going to wait,’ James said as they huddled together while the mob around them kept up its relentless verbal barrage against its caged enemy.

Jessica shrugged. ‘I thought it was the perfect time to transition into it.’

‘Hmmm.’ James sounded sceptical. ‘Are you sure you want to go through with this?’

Jessica frowned at him in answer.

He held up his hands. ‘Okay, you know what you’re doing and Martin is backing you, but if I were you I’d leave it alone.’

Jessica ignored him and took another drink of the tea, feeling its heat warm her from within. She didn’t care what he thought. He’d voiced his concerns before, she’d given them due consideration and dismissed them. She’d already had such discussions and much more in-depth with her husband, Evan, and it was his advice she valued above any other.

‘At the end of the day,’ he’d told her one evening when they sat up in bed discussing it, as they usually did when work matters were a problem, ‘the decision is up to you, but from what you’ve told me it seems like the right thing to do regardless of the consequences. It’s not like we need the money, if the worst happened.’

‘That might not be the worst that could happen,’ Jessica had said.

‘No. But even they wouldn’t be able to cover up that. It would be too obvious. You’re too high profile.’

As usual, he was right. Well, Jessica hoped he was right, anyway; otherwise her life could change dramatically and quite quickly. Pushing the thought from her mind she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She gave the flask back to James, withdrew the device, saw it was her producer and moved away for more privacy before answering it.

‘What the fuck, Jessica?’ Martin’s voice blared in her ear. ‘We agreed what we were going to do and you nearly fucked it all up. I’ve already had the editor on the phone giving me all kinds of grief after your little tirade. It was touch and go for him to keep the GMRC bastards off our backs. If we’re going to do this we’ve got to stick to the plan. We won’t get a second chance at it.’

‘I know, I’m sorry.’ Jessica walked across to the far side of the road to get away from some of the noise. ‘I thought I might as well get it over with. The intro was perfect and as I spoke it unfolded so I could just flow into it. I didn’t think you’d mind.’

‘You mean you just didn’t think.’

Jessica bristled at his tone. ‘Look, it isn’t just your neck on the line here. And you came to me, remember? I’m the idiot who everyone will be watching, not you, so ease off, will you?’

A momentary silence ensued as Martin computed Jessica’s point of view. ‘Fine,’ he said, ‘but just stick to what we agreed, that’s all I ask. We owe it to them to get it right and get it said. They can’t get away with it any longer. Something has to be done.’

She suddenly remembered why this meant so much to him. ‘I know. We’ll find out what happened to him and the others too. It’s what we do. We find the truth and we tell the world.’

‘I hope so,’ he said with feeling, and yet Jessica could hear the defeat in his voice. Like her, he knew what they were up against.

‘It’s time,’ he told her.

‘Okay. You’re sure you can stop them from cutting the broadcast?’

‘For a while, but by then the damage will be done.’

‘Right.’ She didn’t know what else to say.

‘Good luck,’ Martin said and hung up.

Jessica put the phone back in her pocket. ‘You too,’ she murmured before walking back towards James, who still stood amidst the screaming masses. Squeezing past some protestors, she caught the eye of a woman, the rage in her face a vivid and powerful image that spurred Jessica onwards and strengthened a resolve which had begun to falter as she contemplated the words to come. Pulling her glove back on, she accepted the microphone from James.

‘You ready for this?’ he asked.

Jessica nodded despite her stomach suddenly feeling like it was barrel rolling within her. ‘You?’

‘Fucking A!’ he said, noticing the tremor in her voice and trying to induce some courage. ‘Let’s give it to the fuckers, both barrels. I wanna see Jessica Klein at her bitchin’ best. No prisoners.’

She knew what he was doing, but it worked all the same. Years of hardened debate on numerous television shows flashed back through her mind. She was Jessica Klein –
I am Jessica Klein, and yes, I take no prisoners
.

‘Let’s do this.’ She positioned herself back in front of the camera, double checked her earpiece and put on her game face.

It wasn’t long until she heard Martin’s voice. ‘Keira is cutting back to you in ten, Jessica,’ he said, as if it was just another day at the office. She was then patched into Keira’s feed and she could hear her colleague’s voice as she wound up her set.

‘—final one has landed. This has been Keira Jones reporting on—’

Jessica steadied herself, going through in her mind one last time what she was about to say. James’ hand came up as a fist which turned into five fingers, four.
This is it
, she thought,
no turning back now
. Three – two – one. She was live on air – and she froze. Her perception of time faded into a treacle-like pace, the protestors’ movements slowed and the noise around her became muffled and distorted. The microphone felt heavy in her hand and the smell of the fires set by the crowd to keep warm tasted strong and pungent, like incense on her tongue.

James popped his head up from behind the camera as her silence continued, his eyes asking a question.

‘Jessica, you’re on.’ Martin’s voice echoed in her ear. ‘Snap out of it!’

Everything came back into focus coupled with a roar of noise. She blinked a couple of times and then started to speak. ‘Thank you, Keira,’ she said woodenly. ‘It’s good to have you on the case up there.’

Jessica hesitated again before finding a stronger voice. The moment was upon her and she must deliver.

♦

Martin West, Jessica’s producer, sat back in his chair in his state-of-the-art broadcasting control suite. In the room with him his usual production crew of ten, including audio-visual technicians responsible for producing and transmitting all live output content for the BBC’s Worldwide News Service, across all media platforms. In front of him a sweeping curved screen dominated the wall, the flickering images of multiple video feeds within laid out like a living patchwork quilt. Those to the left showed footage of other channels being aired on the BBC, while those to the right spun up local, national and overseas news networks. The core area consisted of a large grid which displayed the previous, back-up, current and future feeds, the current live transmission taking centre stage. Of course, this had a slight delay on it in order to prevent any technical issues or unwanted content escaping the confines of the studio.