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.

Draven Michaels yelled out to the assembled lunch crowd, all 17 of the day shift, “Are they really talking about shutting us down?”

“We’re an older facility,” came Shawn’s response.

“Then we’ve already paid back the return on investment. We’re pure profit now,” said one of the greenhouse technicians.

Draven shook his head. “We’re going obsolete in all regards.”

“Can’t they redevelop this as industrial -?”

“No exhaust points for pollutants.”

“Ramp up the geothermal power generation.”

“Everyone is going nuclear. Geothermal requires drilling, environmental permits to do the drilling, and is vulnerable to seismic activity. Pebble bed fission reactors are so sturdy that only a supernova will destroy them.”

Sharra interjected, “How long is the greenhouse going to stay open?” Her first thought was of her own job.

“The tree seedlings can’t be moved while alive. They can only be shipped out after being harvested. So we have a year or two, perhaps, for the greenhouse. Everything else could be shut down immediately after the data is backed up.” Draven let the words sink in.

Debate raged in smaller groups. A relic of a passing age, Sharra realized the site would soon get even lonelier. That didn’t bother her. She’d known well in advance that one should never become a trogdylyte for the social life.

Once back in her quarters, she called up the personnel directory. Had anyone jumped ship yet?

Shawn Rist was still listed as the facilities manager. Officially, everyone reported to him. He’d be one of the last to leave.

Hydroponics was the big money maker and largest employer. A dozen botanists and biologists worked in her group, plus six semi-skilled laborers. They’d be the first to be moved out of the division as plants were harvested. Sharra built up the computational models for the hydroponics system herself, mainly because customers preferred someone be living close enough to the plants to collect real data on demand.

Samuel Cohen had studied to be a doctor before flunking out of school with a minor in programming. He generated the initial biomedical models based on Sharra’s results. He wouldn’t leave until kicked out. Draven was an electrical engineer; he’d be the first to lose his job in computing. Mu Bai Takai was the database system manager, and he’d go as soon as the data did.

No transfers recorded yet. But there would be reassignments within weeks. The contracts division wouldn’t let them stay on payroll without adding to the profit figures for very long.

When the blackout on the surface began, the lights flickered as the geothermal generators shifted gear, routing the extra load to the batteries. It had become a common occurrence. Sharra didn’t worry about it until she came into work a few hours later and saw the power still wasn’t being routed up top. “What happened?”

Erica shrugged. “Don’t know. We lost communications, too.” She called up several screens.

“I bet all those damned next-gen nanocomputers are fried.” Demi smiled. Was she hoping that would help her job security? Her old data servers would be profitable again if terabytes of data had been lost up top.

“More likely, all the power generation up top,” Assan retorted.

“That’s still job security, right?” one of the power techs asked.

“Satellites are down, too,” Erica said.

Faces grew longer. No satellites, no live broadcasts, and no downloads at the speed of light from anywhere in the world. They might be hiding from the world, but they were as eager for quality entertainment as everyone else. They were probably even more reliant on it, since rocky walls and a handful of people in residence left few other sources of distraction.

“Whatever it is, it can’t last much longer.” Nicoji waited for confirmation. “Right?”

“Another flash like that could feed back through the sensors and cause serious damage to our systems.” Everyone turned to Assan. “I’m sure you don’t want a shut down as much as I don’t want to have to make those repairs.”

Shawn Rist agreed with the suggestion. As a secondary precaution, he closed the thick old doors meant to protect them against everything from rioters to nuclear blasts. The closure turned them into an electrically secure faraday cage. There would be no more electrical interruptions. At least, none until the facility was shut down by management.

Outside radiation levels dropped for a few hours before starting to climb again. This time, the levels were dangerous. With nightfall, everything approached normal. Except for the silence.

With sunrise, the radiation levels rose again. UV levels skyrocketed. The silence of the outside world was terrifying. They were in a remote area, tied to civilization primarily by satellite link. The satellites had to be fried by now under the radioactive assault. Communications would have to wait until a repair team came out with hard cable. And Shawn would not authorize anyone opening the doors to drive out to make the repair request in person.

Within three days, the overall radiation levels were 48% higher. Within a week, they hit 185% above baseline. Samuel, the only person with any medical background, was forced to give his opinion of how safe it was to go outside. “Anyone outside for more than a few minutes will be royally sunburned. Tissue damage would occur within hours.”

“I’d expect crops to be damaged,” said Scott. Of course he’d be looking at what would improve his position. The genetically enhanced seedlings in his care would be worth a fortune in that event.

Mu Bai interjected, “Permanent damage to plants and people would require weeks of this level of solar output. It could be a flare, but flares don’t normally last that long.”

“If not flares, then what could it be?” Shawn retorted.

After a second week, they called a general meeting. They hadn’t seen any sign of a repair crew and the satellites had still not come back on line. They’d developed a temporary work-around by sending signals down the old fiber optic lines to data processing stations, but there was no answer from other facilities. Even automatically generated maintenance messages were sparse.

They needed to think about lasting long enough to wait for a resupply. Sharra began taking notes on the various debates swirling around her.

Necessities:

Air

Water

Food

Power- to maintain the above

Medical supplies

Shelter

The tons of rock overhead would provide shelter from a direct attack – that’s why they were there in the first place. Sharra was tempted to whisper a prayer that it would be enough to keep them safe for however long the radiation levels remained high. Their medical supplies were dicey; they could handle first aid, but not a serious emergency. Then again, neither could Samuel. For the moment, they had all of the rest of their necessities.

They thought they merely had to wait until word came from outside. There were deliveries, personnel rotations, and shipments to be filled. Eventually, word of the world would arrive with a delivery driver. If things were bad, there might be delays, but someone should arrive to check up on their status.

A critical deadline passed. Scott Panosian had regular pickups for his designer orchids every 40 days. The deadline came, and there was no truck to pick up the plants. No maintenance crew came to find out why their site was silent.

“The ozone levels outside are 8 times normal. The UV levels are 10 times normal.” Shawn put his hands on his hips. “It’s bad.”

“Is it lethal?” Rain asked.

“Not in the short term, if you have shelter or protective suits.”

“What about the long term?”

Samuel answered. “The ozone levels are high enough to cause lung damage.”

“If someone is sheltered, then they’re fine.” Sven offered. “We’re safe. And others could be –“

“But how many places are there that truly offer shelter?” Christian Steiger asked.

“Explain.”

Christian jumped in, practically enthusiastic. “There are underground communities all over the world, but many are built only to save the land above for another purpose. They have systems to purify wastewater as we do. However, they may not have a permanent source of clean water, like we have the aquifer. They may have hydroponics, but will it be enough to feed a flood of refugees? Will their purification facilities be able to handle ozone-rich air? With the hydroponics bay running full capacity, we’re self-sufficient on air and food. We’re protected indefinitely.”

“The Chilean sites had hydroponics and access to glacier water,” came from Eva. She should have known; she’d been raised in there.

“They were in the process of being mothballed.”

Claire from botany broke in. “What are we supposed to eat? Snapdragon salad? Fried orchids? Roses are an old delicacy. I think the cattail roots and watercress growing in the wastewater facility are edible; someone can look that up, but we aren’t growing food here! Other facilities have lettuce, tomatoes, peppers, yeast, algae – some even raise genetically engineer shrimp. We don’t have any of that. You can’t expect me to feed everyone from what we have in tank today.”

Cherry raised her hand. “I have crop seed stock.”

“Are they planted?” Shawn asked.

“No,” Cherry replied.

“Those seeds need to be planted as soon as –" Draven began.

Shawn interrupted. “What do we have to do to plant them, Cherry? We need food as soon as possible, and this is our safest bet.”

They had three months worth of food in storage at the start. They’d already eaten 3 weeks worth. Assuming no deliveries were coming, they had no other food. It would be 8 to 10 weeks before they had crops, except for yeast. Yeast for vegemite would be available two weeks after the aquaculture systems were up and running.

Draven ran the analysis. Scott reviewed work schedules. The answer came quickly.

It would be lean. Setting up aquaculture shortly after the first planting would produce algae suitable for vitamins, at least preventing malnutrition. They’d have tons of vegetables; they’d be short on protein. In a room full of atheists and non-practicing religious, Sharra noticed how soon her compatriots began praying for another food shipment.

The servings of yeast had been increased to two bowls a day; which was much as anyone could stand. Each person was also allowed eight cups of mushroom or tomato soup. Mint tea was rationed to one serving per day, one of the few perks that “management” worked desperately to maintain. If you wanted to be able to punish someone, you had to have something you could take away.

Looking at the meal, Sharra could see the more subtle problems. They had so much hydroponic lettuce that they were composting half the crop. Considering the strong smell of baked zucchini filling the halls, she was willing to bet third portions would be available tonight. Everyone took the algae vitamins each day. Sharra suspected that they were getting too much of some vitamins from all the vegetable consumption. However, vitamins were a psychological crutch against the fear of malnutrition.

There had been yelling and screaming over the reduced portion sizes of bread. They would soon run out of flour. When the last of the spaghetti had been apportioned out, it had been drowned in tomato sauce in an attempt to make it look like a real serving.

What about protein? The tepary beans, pinto beans, soy beans, kidney beans, and peanuts in the hydroponics bay were weeks away from harvest. Pity they didn’t have lab animals to barbeque like the sites that had taken to breeding transgenic lab critters. Sharra would almost have been willing to grill a cat, but pets had never been allowed here.

Sweets cravings were as bad as the carbohydrate cravings. Did they have anything with sugar in it now? Sure, there were those experimental bacteria in the lab. But it was a maybe on safety, much less development.

Eat your vegetables. That adage had been repeated in health classes. Now they were drowning in vegetables, but they were still, slowly, starving.

Possible Assignments:

Isla de Coco – Costa Rica Territory

Isla de Guadalupe – Mexican Territory

Islas Revillagigedo – Mexican Territory

Sharra looked at the hand written list again, scrawled on the back of a post card sent by a former friend who’d transferred to a far away paradise. All of those assignment possibilities were located in warm, tropical island groups. Beaches, ocean breezes, and isolated from the mainland. Far from people and civilization and troubles, and she could have gone to any one of them. Instead of directly asking to go where she would have wanted to go, she’d asked for the highest paying job assignment first.

The company had sent her here. Then they said she could transfer – no sooner than six months without forfeiting her signing bonus. But then it would be a 30% pay cut. Sharra chose to sit on the transfer offer, reluctant to trade in her free housing and high pay for warm sunny beaches. Money made her stay put even after the six month deadline had passed. Yet she felt horrible every time she saw the list scrawled over the “wish you were here” note. She couldn’t even bear to flip it over and see the wine red sun setting into an equatorial sea, behind the beautiful and expensive resort the postcard advertised.

Why did she feel guilty that she had put off the decision? Was it because her delay in accepting the assignment of her dreams had saved her life?

Fried roses. Fried in the last of their olive oil, no less. Sharra looked over at the others around her. They were slowly sampling the delicacy. That was what Shawn had called it, a delicacy. “They served this as a dessert at the tables of royalty five hundred years ago.” Sharra had read that particular recipe. It also included sugar, which they had no more of in stock.

As she ate, Sharra heard two male voices betting on when the orchids would reach the dinner table. The bet was for one man’s real leather jacket versus the other’s almost new work boots. It dawned on her that good quality clothing, too, would soon become a treasured commodity.

Terrell’s lab was dark. A few sensor lights gave an off-red glow near rows of plants. Despite the emphasis on food production, some of the plant breeding work went on. It gave people something to do.

In the middle of the room was a large twenty-liter plastic tank. A dim red bulb highlighted the dirty water. As Sharra leaned for a closer look, she realized that the dirty water was moving.

“What do you think?”

Sharra whirled around. “Think about what?”

“Blind, albino catfish. Native to the aquifer below us. I’ve been feeding them algae and yeast from my rations since I ran out of fish food.”

“Why are you doing this? You never longed for a pet before.”

“Species conservation.”

“If they live in the aquifer, they aren’t in danger of going extinct.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. I am studying them. Population counts, measures of food consumption and waste production. Measurements of egg production and hatch rates. Life expectancy calculations.”

“Why?”

“Humanity is going extinct. The ozone that’s formed at sea level is lethal. Even those people who are in a shelter are going to run out of supplies at some time.”

Sharra felt a chill in her spine. “We aren’t going to die out.”

“Shawn says we could last fifty years. Maybe we will. But we’ll be an isolated little pocket of people. Not enough genetic diversity to maintain the species, much less civilization. But if I can help make sure these innocent aquifer species survive, I’ve done my duty to the world.”

Sharra made a strategic retreat. Later she wasn’t sure which part that bothered her. Was it that humanity was going extinct? That he couldn’t help humanity? He killed himself two weeks later, leaving behind a note asking Sharra to take care of his legacy.

Sharra couldn’t help but notice how many people were relieved that someone had committed suicide. “One less mouth to feed”. Others wondered in whispers who would be next.

When it was discovered that Yemen had been hoarding beef jerky, Shawn had been forced to intervene in the riot, pulling rank, and others were willing to enforce his orders. Yemen was put in solitary confinement with 8 liters of water for 2 days. Solitary confinement plus starvation. It was all they had unless they were going to resort to violence.

Everyone thought kitchen workers would cheat, since they were preparing the food, and they were closely supervised. It seemed obvious that those transporting food from storage to the kitchen might pilfer some, so detailed auditing was done after every transport. The idea that someone might have a personal stash of food hadn’t occurred to them. Nicoji had had a few boxes of chocolate bars, but she had traded it like gold for favors. She had intentionally eaten the last of it the night before all such personal food was to be combined with communal stocks. She’d dangled the last one during that round up and started a bidding war.

Jack had run out of personal food stock long before the deadline. His distribution was a little less competitive, though no less selfish. He had dinner with every woman in the complex with his supply of pemmican, garlic crackers, and berry wine. Whether any woman had shown him his desired favor was never discussed.

Solar radiation levels peaked at 292% of normal. After staying that way for almost a month, levels began a rapid decline. It didn’t matter. The air outside was unbreathable to anything with lungs. All that might survive were insects on land. Aquatic life would be mostly unaffected by the atmospheric changes. But people were not fish.

Their data also finally uncovered the source of the radiation. There had been a shift in the Earth’s magnetic field, and the Van Allen Belts had nearly collapsed. The field was reforming, but its disruption meant that the whole world was affected. The enormity of the disaster began to sink in. Unless they were in similar shelters, their families and friends had almost no chance of surviving.

Mu Bai Takai had been a quiet, reserved man. He’d attended the Tai Chi classes that he had helped to organize, and the first aid courses Samuel had said everyone needed. He came to poetry readings and debates. The social life that had been developing to help pass the time and keep everyone connected had seemed to hold Mu Bai firmly in its web.

Sharra was concerned when he was two hours late to work. Shawn wanted updated environmental models in hopes of planning a future around them. Others were late in showing up, but Mu Bai was not one of them.

Sharra called Nicoji. “You’re not going to lecture me for being late, are you? Or is Mu Bai going to -“

“Mu Bai isn’t here.”

“What?”

“He hasn’t come in.”

“Maybe he slept in for a change.”

“Since when has he done that?”

“What do you want me to do about it?”

“Go check in on him.”

“I am not going into a man’s quarters alone.” Thirty-one people, only ten of them women. Twenty-one men to ten women, all of them except Cherry and Chow and herself unattached. It gave a new definition to the haves and have-nots, at least from the mens’ perspective.

“Do you want me to ask Assan?” Sharra asked.

“Please.”

“I’ll be waiting outside Mu Bai’s quarters until Assan gets there.” Thirty minutes later, a rattled Assan came over and went in. He promptly marched out. The details didn’t take long to leak out.

Mu Bai had been near death when found. That thin razor edge of life left didn’t matter. Samuel wasn’t a surgeon. Mu Bai died within minutes of arriving in the makeshift sickbay. He’d owned an antique dagger collection. He had taken one and plunged it into his stomach. Old fashioned, but utterly effective, though messier than Terrell’s suicide by poisoning.

The weekly status meetings lasted hours. Most of it was on what shifts each person would work in hydroponics. Rationing schemes for food could keep everyone arguing for hours if Shawn allowed it.

“What are we going to do with the bodies?” Attention turned to Robe McArthur. “We have two dead guys on ice. We can’t keep them frozen indefinitely.”

“Bury them,” was Aaron’s immediate response.

“No!” Scott Panosian shouted.

Shawn sighed. “Why not, Scott?”

“Hydroponics is run off of nutrient rich fluids. You can’t bury them in the hydroponics tanks without fouling up the system.”

“How about in the mushroom farm? That’s all dirt and rock.”

“Those trays are only 60 centimeters deep. How are you burying a man in that?”

“Burial outside?” Sven suggested.

“Who wants to go outside and do it?” Shawn asked. There were no volunteers. “I can require everyone to work in the hydroponics system because it is crucial to our survival. But this … we need a method that everyone can agree on.”

An oven was built two weeks later. It could quickly reduce a body to ashes within a few minutes. A week after that, Mu Bai Li and Terrell Sorenson were cremated.

Leon had gone into Terrell’s lab and done some experimenting. No one knew or cared what he was doing. When he began meeting with Jack D’Agnese and Calvin Ng from environmental, the consensus was that his work had to do with the water supply.

Leon’s true intent was realized when an odd mash was fried over a lab hotplate and wanderers smelled the cooking. Albino shrimp and catfish had been pumped from Terrell’s aquariums. The life forms were mashed and then mixed with yeast. The combined mush was then cooked and eaten by the men. They were discovered by a vegetarian, no less.

Leon, Jack, and Calvin defended their actions. Terrell’s research had shown that the aquifer species were safe for consumption, free of lead and other toxins. Surely everyone wanted to wait until they knew a safe food could be derived before the research was announced? Why get hopes up? It was safe, nutritious, and contained protein.

Species counts resumed thereafter. They had to be careful not to pull too much biomass out of the aquifer. The twenty kilos of protein a week added to the menu was that much more food to be added to the diet.

An alert sounded. Sharra looked up, fearing an atmospheric breech. Yet it wasn’t the `breech’ alert they’d practiced among their hundreds of drills. Sharra ran into the hallway with a gas mask anyway. Sven and Draven had done the same. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” answered Draven. Sven shrugged. They headed to Shawn’s office, which had become something of a nerve center. Extra sensor connections to the surface had been spliced, with the data feeds linking directly to their location via cables. Shawn had allowed them to scavenge servers for the wire.

Rain and Aaron had also made their way to the control center. Shawn sat at the central desk, wearing only shorts, his hair still wet from his interrupted shower. He was too busy staring at monitors to be self-conscious.

“What’s the alarm?”

“What’s going on?”

Shawn raised a hand to silence the questions. “Someone is trying to get in.”

Dead silence lasted until the questions rushed out. “Who?” “How?”

The double doors Shawn had closed eight months before loomed large on a screen. The camera panned. Another set of cargo doors, less durable and closer in, was all that lay between that outer set of doors and the inside of their facility. It could act as an airlock and, for the past eight months, it had served that purpose well. Now someone was trying to breach that protective barrier.

Sharra watched the images rotate between the different cameras, each view blurry but similar. There were six of them, wearing protective gear and gas masks. She saw projectile guns on the belts of two of them. Two others had welding tools focused on the steel case containing the outside control panel. It was a manual over-ride to open the outside doors. It had been disconnected, but a few repairs could link it back into the mechanisms that opened the door.

Sharra pointed at the panel. “Aside from the design engineers and someone who’s worked here in the past, who would know about that?”

“Not many.” Shawn looked at the intruders again. “If they know the layout of the facility, they could be dangerous.”

“They’re also armed.” So Sven had noticed it as well.

“Six against 30. Good odds.” Everyone stared at Aaron after his casual comment. Shawn shook his head. “Six armed people against 30 unarmed civilians. Not good odds.”

“What do we do, then?” Rain would ask the obvious.

Shawn made his decision. Eight months in charge gave him enough weight that no one argued with the risky proposition. “Let them in. Tell Samuel to get ready for quarantine and isolation.”

Click for Part Two of May These Stones Give Shelter