By the time this story takes place, the nuclear war that devastated Earth was 150 years in the past. The war lasted but a day, but the devastation it inflicted on the surface of our planet was horrendous. It brought about what some might term a miniature ice age, which happens when the surface temperature plunges below what is required for water to turn to ice. Because of its origins, this ice age, which had once only been a theory, was recognized as a nuclear winter.
Those who considered such things believed that, at its worst, a nuclear winter would only last a few years, with a much more likely duration of a few months. They theorized that while most areas could be affected, the tropical belt and southern hemisphere regions would not experience the same adverse effects. They theorized people only needed to be prepared to withstand a few months of privation before life could return to normal for most of the population.
And so the people in charge on the surface used those theories to formulate survival plans. Most bomb shelters were built with these timeframes in mind. There were few shelters for ordinary people, being too expensive to construct and maintain, except for the cities most likely to be targeted in a nuclear attack. Even those reserved for government personnel could only support people for a few weeks. Those wealthy enough to construct their own or afford a residence in a planned sheltered community only had enough supplies to continue for five years, slightly more than double the worst prediction.
As it so often did when theory met reality, the predictions made by those experts turned out to be wrong, very wrong. The nuclear winter encapsulated the entire world, including the tropics and southern hemisphere, and it lasted ten years, twice as long as anyone other than residents of the habitats were prepared for. Every nuclear weapon launched caused fires, death, and chaos. The clouds of chemicals and other toxins released by the fires rose into the sky and spread across the globe. These tainted clouds were thick and dark, and they continued to rise until they ascended above the atmosphere, unable to be cleared by wind or rain. They blanketed the entire earth and prevented the sun's rays from warming any part of the surface. And while those clouds remained, we could not know anything happening above us. Maybe not knowing was a blessing.
Once the clouds dissipated, we gained access and control over the satellite systems circling our planet above the atmosphere. It didn't take us long to realize we were the only ones left in the world. The latest images downloaded from the satellites showed no human life anywhere around the globe. None of those images we first saw showed anything we could identify as being from an artificial source. Any fires captured on the images were identified as naturally occurring once enlarged. We saw nothing no matter where we looked, and we never stopped looking until the satellites all failed, one by one.
"Hope for the Best, Plan for the Worst" was the Foundation's mantra, as it has been mine. That mantra led them to plan and build self-containing biospheres, twenty in all, scattered across the Earth. People had been living in what became known as the habitats for thirty years before the nuclear bombs destroyed the surface, and they did so in relative comfort and security. The habitats were planned for occupation by many thousands of people for hundreds of years in the future. The round-robin network, a synchronous physical network connecting all the habitats, continued to work through the nuclear winter, allowing us to plan our next steps together. Even before the war had started, we had been working on several plans we could execute, depending on how we found the conditions above. As the nuclear winter continued, we realized the chances of anyone surviving were dropping, and so did our plans change.
It took time for the reality of what that meant to penetrate. We mourned twice, the first time less than a week after the actual event, for those who had lost their lives or were suffering the effects and again once we realized that we were the last of the human race. We chose a name for the period of the war itself through the time humanity perished on the surface. We named it the Catastrophe and gave the year it occurred a new number, Year 0. And as we mourned, we realized our mission had changed. There was no longer anyone on the surface for us to help. We were the last of humanity, and given that knowledge, we chose to use the time to plan and work cooperatively in a way that would benefit all of us as a species in both our present and our far-flung future.
We worked to activate previously positioned sensors, monitoring radiation levels in both water and air. Plans began to be considered to determine when small teams, suitably protected, would be sent for other samples to evaluate when it would be safe for the people of the habitats to return to the surface. We chose to wait to surface until the elements were clean for every habitat. To act as one connected group, one people, when the time came.
But the Foundation never had just one plan. A group of physicists and others across the habitats were focused on space travel, with the express purpose of leaving this broken planet one day and starting anew. The ability to travel through space would allow us to forge a fresh new series in humanity's story. One where we could remember and ensure we did not repeat the harsh lessons of our past.
The first experiments that led us to travel quickly between distant points in space had succeeded. Those who had theorized this possibility had named it hyperspace, the ability to fold space between two coordinates and move between them. While it might not have seemed impressive to cause a rock to move five feet from its original position, that small success led to other experiments with more complex subjects ranging further from the source.
Finally, they were ready for a human volunteer who could describe what they experienced when moving through hyperspace. Who would they be when they came out the other side? Would they come out as themselves, or would the time between, however instantaneous it seemed to observers, cause issues in their mental or emotional state? The problem with finding a volunteer was figuring out how to correlate the ethics of the Charter with the secrecy of the project; how to ask people to volunteer for something that shouldn't be openly revealed in a manner we deemed ethical? That conversation went on for decades between those involved in this project across the habitats with little resolution.
It might have gone on for much longer. Adhering to the Charter was much more important to the people of the Foundation than moving quickly. We had learned from the experiences of those on the surface that justification was not a path of power, that the ends should never justify the means, and that just because we could do something did not mean we should. We had ample proof of the fallout that resulted when decisions were made that way.
The eight years preceding the Catastrophe have provided plenty of examples for each of those philosophies. It offered numerous examples of how a few people with inordinate wealth or power chose to use it. They used it to gain and, in some cases, retain power by creating a scenario of "us against them." They demonized those who did not mindlessly follow the mob, isolating those susceptible to their lies against those they were told were "other." At first, "other" was someone not of the same race or religion or who did not follow the same societal rules you had been told were mandatory. After a while, they also isolated these same individuals from their friends, neighbors and even their families—anyone who did not agree the sky was green and the grass was blue. Technological innovations were rushed out without proper consideration of the harm they might do to humanity, and with that, the worst lies were unleashed through believable text, images and audio, virally spreading disinformation to those kept ignorant of how to analyze information. All to keep those who craved power and wealth in their positions. It was done without regard for what was best for the masses of people, even those supporting the madness; they had no interest in helping anyone but themselves, only craving power over others. And once this mob was primed, they threatened to unleash the violence they had created on those who wanted to oppose them. It was reprehensible. And would never be repeated if I had my way.
One hundred fifty years of living in the habitats had gone a long way toward creating the inclusive, egalitarian community we strive for. By the time of this story, five generations had been born and resided under the surface, and except for Kevin and myself, no one who had been through those traumatic and fraught times leading up to the nuclear war or its aftermath was alive. Most people lived and looked inwards with little expectation of ever experiencing the surface. It mattered little to most, content with the lives we led, but we always needed to have hope that humanity would one day translate our society underground to once again live on the surface.
Hope for the Best, Plan for the Worst
Alexandra Hanlon - 20625/01/03
Part of the Five Steps Across the Abyss story.
By the time this story takes place, the nuclear war that devastated Earth was 150 years in the past. The war lasted but a day, but the devastation it inflicted on the surface of our planet was horrendous. It brought about what some might term a miniature ice age, which happens when the surface temperature plunges below what is required for water to turn to ice. Because of its origins, this ice age, which had once only been a theory, was recognized as a nuclear winter.
Those who considered such things believed that, at its worst, a nuclear winter would only last a few years, with a much more likely duration of a few months. They theorized that while most areas could be affected, the tropical belt and southern hemisphere regions would not experience the same adverse effects. They theorized people only needed to be prepared to withstand a few months of privation before life could return to normal for most of the population.
And so the people in charge on the surface used those theories to formulate survival plans. Most bomb shelters were built with these timeframes in mind. There were few shelters for ordinary people, being too expensive to construct and maintain, except for the cities most likely to be targeted in a nuclear attack. Even those reserved for government personnel could only support people for a few weeks. Those wealthy enough to construct their own or afford a residence in a planned sheltered community only had enough supplies to continue for five years, slightly more than double the worst prediction.
As it so often did when theory met reality, the predictions made by those experts turned out to be wrong, very wrong. The nuclear winter encapsulated the entire world, including the tropics and southern hemisphere, and it lasted ten years, twice as long as anyone other than residents of the habitats were prepared for. Every nuclear weapon launched caused fires, death, and chaos. The clouds of chemicals and other toxins released by the fires rose into the sky and spread across the globe. These tainted clouds were thick and dark, and they continued to rise until they ascended above the atmosphere, unable to be cleared by wind or rain. They blanketed the entire earth and prevented the sun's rays from warming any part of the surface. And while those clouds remained, we could not know anything happening above us. Maybe not knowing was a blessing.
Once the clouds dissipated, we gained access and control over the satellite systems circling our planet above the atmosphere. It didn't take us long to realize we were the only ones left in the world. The latest images downloaded from the satellites showed no human life anywhere around the globe. None of those images we first saw showed anything we could identify as being from an artificial source. Any fires captured on the images were identified as naturally occurring once enlarged. We saw nothing no matter where we looked, and we never stopped looking until the satellites all failed, one by one.
"Hope for the Best, Plan for the Worst" was the Foundation's mantra, as it has been mine. That mantra led them to plan and build self-containing biospheres, twenty in all, scattered across the Earth. People had been living in what became known as the habitats for thirty years before the nuclear bombs destroyed the surface, and they did so in relative comfort and security. The habitats were planned for occupation by many thousands of people for hundreds of years in the future. The round-robin network, a synchronous physical network connecting all the habitats, continued to work through the nuclear winter, allowing us to plan our next steps together. Even before the war had started, we had been working on several plans we could execute, depending on how we found the conditions above. As the nuclear winter continued, we realized the chances of anyone surviving were dropping, and so did our plans change.
It took time for the reality of what that meant to penetrate. We mourned twice, the first time less than a week after the actual event, for those who had lost their lives or were suffering the effects and again once we realized that we were the last of the human race. We chose a name for the period of the war itself through the time humanity perished on the surface. We named it the Catastrophe and gave the year it occurred a new number, Year 0. And as we mourned, we realized our mission had changed. There was no longer anyone on the surface for us to help. We were the last of humanity, and given that knowledge, we chose to use the time to plan and work cooperatively in a way that would benefit all of us as a species in both our present and our far-flung future.
We worked to activate previously positioned sensors, monitoring radiation levels in both water and air. Plans began to be considered to determine when small teams, suitably protected, would be sent for other samples to evaluate when it would be safe for the people of the habitats to return to the surface. We chose to wait to surface until the elements were clean for every habitat. To act as one connected group, one people, when the time came.
But the Foundation never had just one plan. A group of physicists and others across the habitats were focused on space travel, with the express purpose of leaving this broken planet one day and starting anew. The ability to travel through space would allow us to forge a fresh new series in humanity's story. One where we could remember and ensure we did not repeat the harsh lessons of our past.
The first experiments that led us to travel quickly between distant points in space had succeeded. Those who had theorized this possibility had named it hyperspace, the ability to fold space between two coordinates and move between them. While it might not have seemed impressive to cause a rock to move five feet from its original position, that small success led to other experiments with more complex subjects ranging further from the source.
Finally, they were ready for a human volunteer who could describe what they experienced when moving through hyperspace. Who would they be when they came out the other side? Would they come out as themselves, or would the time between, however instantaneous it seemed to observers, cause issues in their mental or emotional state? The problem with finding a volunteer was figuring out how to correlate the ethics of the Charter with the secrecy of the project; how to ask people to volunteer for something that shouldn't be openly revealed in a manner we deemed ethical? That conversation went on for decades between those involved in this project across the habitats with little resolution.
It might have gone on for much longer. Adhering to the Charter was much more important to the people of the Foundation than moving quickly. We had learned from the experiences of those on the surface that justification was not a path of power, that the ends should never justify the means, and that just because we could do something did not mean we should. We had ample proof of the fallout that resulted when decisions were made that way.
The eight years preceding the Catastrophe have provided plenty of examples for each of those philosophies. It offered numerous examples of how a few people with inordinate wealth or power chose to use it. They used it to gain and, in some cases, retain power by creating a scenario of "us against them." They demonized those who did not mindlessly follow the mob, isolating those susceptible to their lies against those they were told were "other." At first, "other" was someone not of the same race or religion or who did not follow the same societal rules you had been told were mandatory. After a while, they also isolated these same individuals from their friends, neighbors and even their families—anyone who did not agree the sky was green and the grass was blue. Technological innovations were rushed out without proper consideration of the harm they might do to humanity, and with that, the worst lies were unleashed through believable text, images and audio, virally spreading disinformation to those kept ignorant of how to analyze information. All to keep those who craved power and wealth in their positions. It was done without regard for what was best for the masses of people, even those supporting the madness; they had no interest in helping anyone but themselves, only craving power over others. And once this mob was primed, they threatened to unleash the violence they had created on those who wanted to oppose them. It was reprehensible. And would never be repeated if I had my way.
One hundred fifty years of living in the habitats had gone a long way toward creating the inclusive, egalitarian community we strive for. By the time of this story, five generations had been born and resided under the surface, and except for Kevin and myself, no one who had been through those traumatic and fraught times leading up to the nuclear war or its aftermath was alive. Most people lived and looked inwards with little expectation of ever experiencing the surface. It mattered little to most, content with the lives we led, but we always needed to have hope that humanity would one day translate our society underground to once again live on the surface.