3.5 Revelations

Just like the previous time, Drake and Steve seemed to be among the last ones in the room. Drake took a seat next to the end of the table, which he now knew was the President’s place. The president, who had yet to arrive, would be seated on Drake’s right. Steve was seated to his left and Drake’s father was across the table from him. He greeted his father.

Drake and Steve looked around at the crowd of people, who were seated and chatting, a way of passing time until the meeting began. One among these figures was the one who’d generously given Drake his new smartwatch and, more importantly, entrusted him with a Smummr Pass.

Looking around, Steve changed his mind: “On second thought, Drake, maybe you should handle this speech…” he started, taking out and offering his data cube.

Drake turned it down. “You’ll be fine. Relax. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“The entire city can mock me for the rest of my life.”

“Well, that’s extreme, don’t you think? Highly unlikely. Nothing’s ever happened to me when I’m all open. Like last time we were at Smummr,” Drake said, pointing over his shoulder to the vacant seat behind him, “I sat in the President’s seat. He didn’t care. Nothing happened to me. Most people are simple like that. If you act confident enough, they won’t do anything.”

“Umm… Drake?”

“Yes?”

“Behind you.”

Drake turned around to see the President, standing between the entrance to the room and his chair.

You really dug your grave this time, Drake, Drake told himself. How will he react to this? Drake was nervous this time.

The room quietened. The President stood there for a moment, turned around and left the room, and then came back in again, pretending he never saw that. People in the room sweated and decided it was best to go along with it. Warren Atkinson strode confidently and gracefully to his seat.

“We’re still waiting on a few, so we’ll wait a minute before beginning the session.

Talking resumed, and everyone tried to look away and keep themselves distracted. Drake noticed that there were two empty seats.

“I don’t think those two will be participating,” Steve whispered to Drake.

“Why not?”

“Rogers, the Treasurer, was declared missing a week ago, and Smith, the Chief of Police, is dead.”

“Dead?” Drake said, surprised. He accidentally said that too loud, and lower his voice again. The guard from outside the room came in and started whispering something into the President’s ear.

“Yeah. His body was found a few days ago,” Steve said, “with a few bullets in the back of the head. The government released a statement saying he committed suicide.”

“Hmm… Hold on. That doesn’t make-” Drake was interrupted by the President.

“It looks like the last two won’t make it,” he said, after hearing something from the guard. She left the room. Drake didn’t dare continue talking and ruin his reputation with the highest authority in the world any further.

“Let us begin our Smummr,” he said, proud of the name he’d given it.

“Getting into the first topic: the military,” he looked at General Arthur. “The Defense Militia has only managed to recruit fifty-one members since its inception. This is clearly a problem. We’ve recently seen a big threat to this city; one that could only be countered by our brave Militia. If we want to defend our young and precious civilization in the future, we need proper forces to fight the threats that are Mayhems. This means we need to raise our number. During the battle against the Gorilla, we, unfortunately, lost a few soldiers, putting our numbers ready to fight at just around fifty. How will we raise that number? How will we recruit more warriors?”

The question was not how they could do it, but how they would do it.

The woman in charge of People’s Opinion and Welfare, Amy Waltz, tried to answer: “I think I can answer that. After the incident with the Gorilla Mayhem, Drake, here,” she acknowledged him by nodding her head toward him, “has become a hero. He, along with a man named Joseph Striker, has been inspiring citizens to come out of depression and fight back for our world. Due to this, people have started applying to join the Defense Militia.”

Oh, that’s nice. Joe is doing stuff. And people are finally getting over their pointless gloom.

General Arthur confirmed this. “We have had fifty-three applications to join the Militia since the Gorilla incident. We’re planning on conducting training and recruitment for each and every one of them starting in a week from now. Since our training is focused on using jetpacks, which the instructors have gotten used to by now, the process will be faster, and our numbers will be over a hundred by September.”

“Good, then,” Warren said, “We’ll double our numbers soon. Now that that issue is resolved, for now, let us come to the next one: weapons.

“Conventional weapons like guns are pretty much useless against Mayhems, as our Defense Militia has reported. We need a way to defend our citizens from any possible future Mayhem attacks and deal proper damage to Mayhems. How is weapons development doing, Tristan?”

Tristan Wells was the head of Research and Development of Technology and Weapons in the Department of Technology and Weapons. This included developing weapons that can harm Mayhems.

“Good, Mr. President. From the Defense Militia’s feedback, it seems guns lack the power they need to deal with Mayhems. Our bombs were apparently very helpful in the fight against the Gorilla Mayhem. It seems that, in order to defeat Mayhems, we need explosive power. Large blasts are, as far as we know, the only way to kill Mayhems.”

Of course, most in the room knew that if there was a method to de-mutate Mayhems back into animals, or at least kill them trying, that would be the best. A bioweapon was needed.

“We, at the Department of Technology and Weapons, with help from Doctor Lazzie’s team, are currently developing weapons that are extremely effective on Mayhems. These weapons are almost complete in development, and we’ll have them introduced by next Smummr.”

This was good news to the Defense Militia, whose death rates could be reduced and kill rates increased in the future with this mysterious new weapon.

The President cleared his throat and talked. “That’s more good news. The city thanks those in that department for their effort toward protecting humanity. Next, an issue that’s sure to come up in the future: food. So far, with our full population and small farmland, we’ve had to ration out food. We’re relying on our reserves until this season’s harvest arrives, which will last a few months afterward.

“Now, this summer has so far not been very hot. Ever since the Day of the Apocalypse, the weather has been unusually cool.”

Drake just realized this was true. He hadn’t noticed it before, but the temperature was about ten degrees Fahrenheit less than in previous years.

“Assuming this trend continues, we calculate that the coming winter will be… very cold. The cold heralds a season that, not only will put stress on our power grid to supply electricity to keep our homes warm, but also will have a difficult climate to farm in. If you see where I’m going with this, you’ll realize that we can’t rely on our farmland to supply us with food during winter. We will instead have to use our canned and processed food reserves. Now, our analysts are currently calculating whether the canned food will be enough to feed the city for over a season, since we also have to take into account the time in spring that the new crops are growing. Even if it is, the food production rate of the farms is just enough to feed, even rationed, the whole population for a season, meaning we won’t be able to save up any food for the winter after this one.”

The head of Agriculture and Food, James Wallace, confirmed the existence of this problem.

“I decided to bring up this delicate subject so that we can brainstorm possible solutions to this food problem. If any one of you finds a possible solution, do tell. We need all the ideas we can get. But I hope you all understand how sensitive this information is. We can’t let the public know lest we want panic, so I request you all to keep it a secret.”

President Atkinson looked at Drake. Drake held his hand up reassuringly. He didn’t care about politics. There was no need to worry about him leaking any information. He would have dozed off by now if his interest wasn’t piqued about Steve’s speech coming up whenever he got a chance. This meant he’d probably have to wait until the end of the meeting. Should I daydream in the meanwhile, and have Steve wake me up when it’s his turn? Drake put his head on the table. Seeing the President’s glare, he removed it and instead chose to lean back in his chair, with his face pointed up.

“Next,” Warren Atkinson said, “we have Dr. Lazzie. She will now share her team’s recent discoveries.”

“Thank you, Mr. President. My team and I have a lot of expectations piled on us from the residents of the city. We are in charge of researching Mayhems to find out what they are and how to defeat them. It is a big responsibility, and we’re glad to show that we’ve been working hard and churning out results. Now, let’s get to the point of our discoveries.

“We’ve looked at samples of Mayhem cells. They have mutated genes. The DNA is similar to the animal counterpart’s, but there are differences. Human knowledge of genetics hasn’t developed enough to understand where and what the changes are, nor how to revert them back, so I don’t think we’ll be able to change Mayhems back into animals.”

This raised a commotion in the room. People looked at each other drearily. The conclusion was clear: Mayhems were a problem that couldn’t be easily solved, at least not through converting them back into animals.

“But there is still hope,” Dr. Lazzie continued over the voices of concern. “Even if we can’t change them back, we can still research them and find effective ways of killing them. We’re working with the Department of Technology and Weapons to develop such effective weapons.

“There’s more good news. We know why animals mutate.”

The room fell silent, listening.

“We discovered a new virus. It is present only in Mayhems. We think this virus has some sort of ability to tamper with an animal’s genome and change its DNA. That’s what’s causing them to mutate.” A wave of whispers. “We’re still looking into it, but we suspect that the virus may be connected to the curtain of Mist that spread just prior to the Apocalypse.”

“That’s interesting,” the President commented, “So, probably, what happened was the blue Mist we all saw, originating from the meteorite, contained this new virus. When it touched animals, the virus infected them and mutated them.”

“That’s our theory right now. This also explains why animals convert to Mayhems when touching one: the Mayhem is passing the virus onto the animal through physical contact. This also means that the virus can’t survive long without a host, or else animals would be converting right now by touching the ground or breathing the air. We also don’t see this virus anywhere except in Mayhems.

“This begets the question: if a human touches a Mayhem and then an animal or other human, do they pass it on? We’ve clearly seen that this does not occur. The virus only survives on some species of hosts, and there’s also only a percentage chance of an animal converting even when they make contact with the virus, like how insects mutate less. We still don’t know why these phenomena occur, but we can, for now, assume that very intelligent or evolved animals, like humans, and animals with very little intellect, like insects, either don’t mutate or mutate less frequently. That concludes my section.”

Everyone took a minute to take the information in. It was a big reveal.

Drake nudged Steve. “Here’s a chance to start with your part. No one’s saying anything, so you won’t be interrupting.”

“I don’t know… the mood is-” Steve was interrupted by the President.

“So…this Mist we’re talking about… it doesn’t have a name yet, does it?”

The room somehow got quieter. Everyone looked down at the table, occasionally casting glances at each other in desperation. The mood was grim enough to make an outsider wonder who died. This time, Drake understood why.

Warren Atkinson continued: “Well, then, I have a wonderful proposition for a name. How about Blucteryhem? From the words ‘blue’, the color of the Mist, ‘bacteria’, and ‘Mayhem’.”

It’s not even a bacteria, though. It’s a virus. Drake wondered how a person could be so bad at naming things. The President could take lessons from the alphabet federal agencies of the past. The CIA, for example, had cool names for projects, even if they were actually dark and totally unrelated to the name.

After a minute, an unfortunate someone, who was appointed by the rest through silent communication, pointed this out to the president. Drake would have done so himself if his relationship with the greatest Authority wasn’t so bad.

The president acknowledged the problem with a grunt. “Then I shall fix the name. How is Griryhem? No, wait, it’s blue. Bliruyhem.”

The pronunciation of the new name was too difficult, so consensus deemed Blucteryhem as the official term for both the liquid in the Mist and the Mayhem virus.

“Um…” Steve started, barely loud enough for everyone to hear, “Now that that is over, a-at least I think it is, I have something I want to bring up in this meeting.”

Finally, Drake thought, Go, Steve! Do it! I want to hear this. Part of the reason he was excited was that he was proud of Steve and he was his friend. He wanted to be supportive. Drake hadn’t had many friends before the Day of the Apocalypse, but he read and saw enough of how to be one. Now that he had one, we wanted to try to be close and supportive, a good friend. The other reason was that he was genuinely curious about what he had to say. What information could be so important, that even the shy Steve had to talk about it in front of an audience of Authorities?

“Alright, go ahead,” the President said. “I was wondering what you came here for ever since I noticed you.”

The whole room had its attention toward Steve. He stood up and took out his data cube and placed it on the table. He was already red and nervous.

On the table was an electronic device called a Tabel, short for Tabelette. Tabels were similar to electronic tablets of the past. They had a computer and a screen. These devices were extremely thin and came in many sizes so that they could be fit onto any flat surface. In Drake’s time, Tabels were everywhere; they were on tables and walls and anywhere else they were needed. They were convenient as a screen to view information and less so as a computer.

Drake had one in his apartment and had had a few back in his house in Beil. Every apartment in Rencia came with one.

Tabels could interact with data cubes, which meant that as soon as Steve placed his data cube on the conference table, the Tabel on it recognized the device and wirelessly transferred the data on it and displayed it on its screen, which spanned the length and width of the table so that everyone could see.

“S-so, uh…” Steve began, “I think many people have a-at some point had a question that I had when I was… uh… I mean, when I started looking into this stuff, I had a question that I think many others have had… er, it may seem irrelevant now, but I think…” he looked at Drake for motivation.

Drake gave a thumbs up and mouthed the words ‘go on’.

Steve closed his eyes and cleared his thoughts, forgetting the people around him and focusing only on the words he needed to deliver. “The night of the Apocalypse, a meteorite fell to Earth and caused this whole catastrophe by spreading the Mist. The question is: why couldn’t we predict that this meteorite would fall?”

The room suddenly became serious.

“Ah, well I think that’s hardly relevant to our survival right now,” the president said. “Let’s focus on matters that are important to Rencia…”

“No,” Drake cut off, “let’s hear him out.” It was an order. He didn’t care about his reputation when his best friend was giving his all to deliver this speech.

President Atkinson was about to start about Drake’s disrespect; it was about time he was told that he had crossed the line. But Bill stepped in and supported Drake’s statement about listening to Steve.

“Go on, Steve,” Drake said, not taking his gaze away from the President. The President stared back intimidatingly. Drake didn’t relent.

Steve wasn’t sure about making enemies out of the President, but he eventually decided it was worth doing so. He continued what he was saying, with no objection from any other members of the room.

“Um… Okay… The world has developed so much, that I was sure humans have a way of watching out for space objects heading for Earth, especially with all that dangerous space debris from the Space Wars that can fall to Earth at any time. I’ve been looking into such technologies that look for extraterrestrial dangers to the planet and people. In my research, I learned of one such project that our country uses. It’s called the Space Object Radar Station, or SORS.” Steve tapped the Tabel, and everyone could see information and pictures of the SORS project.

“This is Classified information!” one man objected. “You have no right to go through it!”

“Ah, well I thought since it’s the Apocalypse and all, it wouldn’t matter…”

The man was about to continue, but Bill stopped him and asked Steve to continue.

“Um… Anyway, the project basically is about having some underground and hidden stations dispersed across the country in a few places. These SORS’s watch out for any objects from space that are entering our atmosphere and will be a threat to the people of the country. You can find information on how they work in the files on the Tabel now. These radar stations are unmanned and are run by large computers only. In case any threat exists, they are programmed to alert nearby authorities—those who know about the project.”

The room consisted of leaders who looked for some reason annoyed and serious, and others who wore curiosity. A few glared at the President. Drake wondered why.

“According to Drake, who was a witness, the meteorite from the Day of the Apocalypse was about ten meters in diameter.”

Did I say that? Drake thought, wondering if Steve was from England. His accent was slightly British, and he used the metric system, which Drake’s own country still hadn’t converted to, for some reason.

“And it crashed near a fully populated town. I think such an object should be easily spotted by a local SORS and notified of. Yet it wasn’t.”

This was interesting to Drake.

“We can speculate about why we didn’t foresee and plan for this meteorite, but I think a better idea would be to access the computer in the SORS nearest to Beil. But, since we, at Rencia, don’t have any satellite connection to it, I propose we go there physically to check it out.”

Steve thought after the words left his mouth, that maybe the last part, the proposition, should have been left for the city leaders to make. It wasn’t his business to make such demands and put them under pressure to execute them.

“Fascinating!” one member exclaimed. “I think we should check out this Radar Station. According to this data, it’s not too far; just a few days’ ride away. Uh, Steve, right? Do you have any plan for this… expedition?”

A few others raised their support for the idea.

Steve was surprised at his audience’s reaction. They listened to him and supported his proposition. He hadn’t anticipated this at all. He had only prepared for the worst-case scenarios of being shamed. He also thought that his duty was to just bring the issue to the ears of the higher-ups and let them take care of it, not partake in the discussion. Because of this, he hadn’t thought much about how Rencia was going to get to the nearest SORS and get data from there.

“Well… we can send the Defense Militia there. They’re anyway trained to go outside the Walls. I’ll go with them, on the… expedition to the Radar Station. Once we get there, we’ll establish a satellite connection between the computer there and Rencia’s.” This Radar Station was in an old underground bunker, so Steve doubted it was destroyed by Mayhems. What was more surprising about it was its location.

“Hold on,” the President interrupted, “Before we start planning things, we should think about our priorities. We have our city to look after. We can’t spend our time and resources and soldiers on going somewhere to find out why we weren’t alerted about the meteorite.”

“It won’t take many ‘resources’,” General Arthur said, “It’ll just be some of our Militia being unavailable for some time. Since our number will increase soon, we can split the troops in half and send some on the expedition then. We’ll still have some protecting the Walls.”

“You’re missing the point, General,” one other person said. “We only recently went through the Apocalypse, and are now recovering. We have many problems here in the city. We shouldn’t concern ourselves with such… pointless tasks. I mean, what good will finding out why we weren’t alerted do? How will it help us survive?”

“Well,” another said, “Zachary, we don’t know what we can find on that computer. We may find out more information about the meteorite. It may be helpful for Dr. Lazzie’s team. Not to mention…”

“Yes, let us go eventually. But why now? This is not a priority.”

“You want to do it next year? The year after? Roads will be more deteriorated by then. Our expedition party won’t be able to travel there. More importantly, the location allows for the team to then…”

The room erupted with debate. The discussion wasn’t as civil as Steve had expected it would be. He hadn’t expected much of it about this topic in the first place, but he had had a certain image of how meetings would take place in general with such authorities. One that didn’t match what he was seeing.

“Wow,” Steve said, “I did it. This is amazing.”

He turned to Drake to thank him for his support, glad that it had worked out, but found that Drake was sleeping, his head in his arms on the table. Oh, come on! Did you even listen to the speech?!?

After much discussion, it was decided that a group of members of the Defense Militia would, in September, go on an ‘Expedition’ outside the Walls to the nearby Radar Station to examine the mystery of its lack of alerting officials of the meteorite. More importantly, the members in the room prevented the President from naming this expedition.

MAYHEM ON EARTH: Volume 3. / End.