“Good morning, citizens of our lovely glass-domed city.

I am Lasitor, your Artificial Intelligence (AI) community news broadcaster. It is now 6 a.m.

The local Antarctic temperatures are −70.6 °F. But don’t worry, the coastal temperatures are almost balmy, expected to reach a searing maximum of 14.0 °F during the summer. The terrain is almost entirely covered by an ice sheet, but beneath is a hidden landscape of mountains, valleys, and plains. Nice to know when you are freezing your butt off.

The sea levels are rising exponentially, the icecaps are melting at an alarming rate and constantly shifting and giving birth to pools of hot water and steam. You can breathe this air, but it is stinky and similar to the dull mist of a fart. Other than that, dear humans, all is peachy.

Breakfast is served until 8 a.m.

Thank you and enjoy your day.”

________________________________________________

We are on our own 

“Colonel Dr. McCormick, come to communications immediately, Sir!” Connor’s command was both loud and stressed as it boomed from McCormick’s small personal radio. “Run! Don’t walk,” he added.

Brad McCormick, who had been working on the experimental growing lights in the Agriculture Dome, had been taken aback by the near panicky voice of his second in command, Connor O’Hara. The urgency in his usually soft-spoken voice alarmed Brad, so he went tearing down the long corridor towards the Communication Dome. The energy-saving lights could barely keep up with his pace as his motion initiated the lights’ activation sensors. Finally, he came to a dead halt in front of the shiny metallic door to the Command Center. He waved his hand vigorously so the sensor would hurry up and do its censoring. He took a deep breath calming himself and burst inside as soon as the door slid open. He found his friend and second in command in the Communications Room. The room was designed in the shape of a half-moon, with all white furniture and massive, curved plexiglass screens for the best viewing quality. The pixilation was so fine that one could see a sand flea doing the mambo on top of Tutankhamun’s tomb in Egypt’s Valley of the Kings.

“What is going on, Connor?” Brad asked as he walked with purpose inside.

“Seems we may have a wee problem on our hands. Help me make some sense of all this,” responded Connor. He motioned for the tall American to sit in the chair beside him. Connor was positioned in front of the virtual networking screens, hammering his keyboard furiously without taking his eyes from them.

“What seems to be the problem, besides the fact that you are sitting here looking at an empty room. Is that Houston Headquarters?” Brad asked as he patted the young scientist’s back, taking the seat next to him.

“You’ll recall that I mentioned at dinner last evening I had been unable to contact Houston for our bi-weekly report. I put it off as being the result of some significant solar flares initially. The more I thought about the flare rationale, the more it didn’t make sense with the new communications technology. So I decided first thing this morning to attempt new contact efforts. At first, it was the same, just a black screen and static. Then Marcia Merrick appeared on the screen, and I’m telling you, she looked like bloody fucking hell. She started rambling, running her words together some of the time and screeching at other times about a pandemic. She managed to tell me to wait, saying she had to go but would get someone to speak to me, and then she turned and ran to the door in the back of the room. That is what we are looking at now. I’ve been holding for about fifteen minutes, but I just had this bad feeling, and I thought it wise to call you immediately.” Connor explained to Brad while remaining as calm and factual as he could.

“This is all very strange, Connor. I suggest we get Mika Romanov in here as well. This probably concerns all of us, but for now, just get Mika and the boys; I want them to feel in the loop,” directed Brad, referring to his son Simon and his college buddy Paul Chevalier. Both boys were selected as interns at the Antarctica facility due to their high academic standing.

“Good idea! I just wanted to be clear with you before I got others involved.” Connor said even as he picked up the pager and ordered the three men to the communications room, stat. In a matter of minutes, the two boys entered from the passage which led to the enormous dining facility. Simon, tall at six-foot-two and athletically built, led the way. He was closely followed by Paul, who was so strikingly handsome with his ebony hair and pale skin that academia’s elite was often dismissive of him until whittled down to size by his brilliance. The two had been inseparable since meeting at the age of ten at an exclusive school for the academically gifted.

A fraction of a second later, Doctor Mika Romanov, a Russian geneticist, geologist, medical doctor, physicist, and linguist, entered from the corridor that led to the subterranean entryway. Mika had proven himself to be an integral part of the scientific team over the past several months. He had been procured by Dr. John Saunders. The latter had been impressed by his research and publications in various scientific journals. The young Russian tended to be loud and often opinionated, but his laugh was infectious and his smile completely disarming. The thirty-year-old Mika stood at six feet eight inches tall. He sported a luscious mane of shoulder-length white-blond hair that contrasted handsomely with his dark, closely shaven beard, which consistently appeared to be in a state of stubble. His accent was thick, but his command of English and six other languages was impressive.

When the three men had joined Brad and Connor at the communication desk, Brad quickly updated them on what little he knew. Then, with concerned and questioning eyes, they stood in silence in front of the monitors with Brad and Connor and watched the empty room at Houston HQ. Eventually, the sound of something crashing and braking could be heard somewhere out of sight of the monitor after about twenty minutes of this. Each of the five men took a step forward as if something would appear on the monitor by doing so.

Suddenly the face of a gaunt sickly sickly-looking man appeared, filling the screens as if out of nowhere. His hair was unkempt, and his face unshaven. His eyes were wide, and the whites blood red.

“My good g-d! That’s Dr. Saunders!” Connor exclaimed, his voice a loud whisper. Then louder, “Dr. Saunders, what the hell’s going on there?” Connor’s Irish accent, which had all but disappeared with his years spent in America, was thick with concern at the sight of his mentor and friend.

“Connor! I never thought I would hear from you again!” The elder scientist spoke weakly but clearly. “Is it there too?” Saunders asked with a growing alarm in his voice.

“Is what here?” Connor almost shouted.

“Calm down, Connor. We need answers. I know Dr. Saunders’ appearance has you upset, but we need to ask questions.” Brad advised, placing a reassuring hand on Connor’s shoulder. Connor nodded, realizing the prudence of Brad’s advice.

“Dr. Saunders, please tell us what is happening and what we can do to help,” Connor said to his old friend.

“Connor, apparently, you have been told nothing. Not surprising. The world has fallen apart since our last communication. There has been a deadly outbreak, most probably due to a bioterrorism agent. The WHPSS just declared a pandemic of unknown origin. Global coordination and response mobilization is non-existent due to mass bombings and explosions of communication systems and electrical grids. No one has claimed responsibility for the incident. This is a global attack on all nations, with no exceptions. It is not restricted to a specific location, according to all intelligence reports from around the world. No country has escaped the effects of the crisis. It is truly as if the earth is ridding itself of the human race.” Dr. Saunders coughed and laughed as if it was a joke.

The men in the communications room were shocked and speechless. Brad knew he had to find out more.” Tell us about the disease, maybe we can help in some way. We have scientists here that will be able to diagnose this for you.”

“We have not even been able to tell how it is transmitted. What we do know is that the first symptom is a severe headache followed by fever. This happens in the first twenty-four hours. It then seems to disappear. It is regrouping. A low-grade fever becomes evident in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours, followed by cerebral edema, which, depending on the person, causes disorientation within twelve to eighteen hours.” He paused to take a few deep breaths and then continued. “Followed by coma and death within the next twenty-four hours. While statistics have been poorly executed due to the rapid spread of this virus, bacteria, or whatever it is...” He paused, shook his head slowly, and looked back up at them. “The survival rate is unknown; the transmission rate is... The...”

“Mom! What about mom!” Shouted Simon, almost hysterical with emotion, a very atypical reaction for this logical and focused student.

“Son, please, we must let Dr. Saunders finish. Maybe we can learn something that will help your mom and our other colleague’s families. Your mother was in Houston preparing to come here with the first wave of residents, so she should be sequestered at HQ. I am sure she must be alright,” Brad cautioned his son. Even as he spoke, Paul had stepped forward and had placed his arms around Simon, trying to comfort him with tears streaming from his eyes. Paul was also thinking of his mother and father. They had been so proud of him when he had been chosen to accompany Simon on this science expedition. Brad had returned his attention to Dr. Saunders on the monitor, trying not to face what was probably inevitable.

“I am sorry, son. I’m not going to leave you stranded at the bottom of the world with false hope. But, unfortunately, the first wave civilian team is no longer. Its last member, John Sorenson, passed away yesterday.” An audible sob could be heard from Simon. “It is the same outside of HQ. My wife died in my arms this morning. We had just gotten word that my son...” Connor swallowed a cry and his eyes brimmed with water.” His wife and his two children succumbed earlier this week. I am glad she was spared knowing that Todd and her beloved grandchildren were gone.”

Mika swore in Russian, “Ty che, blyad?” and pulled his chair closer to hear better. “Comrade, you recording this?” He asked. “I am,” Conner answered in a whisper.

Dr. Saunders spoke again after he collected himself. “The bodies are everywhere, and this will, of course, worsen and escalate disease and death rates. Power grids are failing. Martial law was declared in the United States. Our neighbors, Canada and Mexico, followed suit a couple of days ago.” He paused to chuckle again, coughed a few times before continuing. “What science fiction writers have written about for decades, and scientists have theorized for years, has finally happened…it’s the damn apocalypse. All that is missing are the four horsemen from Revelations!” Saunders said the last so low that it was barely audible, but at the same time, it resounded like a loud scream in the minds of the five assembled men.

“What can we do for you, my old friend?” Connor asked.

“You can do nothing for me, my young protégé. Maybe carry me fondly in your memory. We had a couple of good times, and you were a professor’s dream student. A good Irish lad that made me quite proud and who Todd could and should have loved...did love. Connor, my wife, was a devout Catholic; she just couldn’t understand.” Connor shifted uncomfortably at Saunders’ words and his inference to Todd.

Saunders, apparently aware that his conversation had drifted, continued.” You see, madness is coming upon me. You men may be the last remnants of civilization. There are things you must do and do quickly!”

“What? What should we do?” Connor asked before Brad could ask the same thing.

“Evidently, none of you are infected. It appears that the theory is correct, that this ‘outbreak’ started just three weeks ago, several weeks after you were already in place at the EP-1 outpost. It is unlikely that any of you are even carriers if, in fact, anyone ever was a carrier. We will probably never know where it came from or why. You are safe, and you are self-sufficient. Do not let yourselves be known, don’t give away your position. Don’t leave Antarctica. Stay hidden for at least five years. The longer you can stay hidden, the better. Let this virus eradicate itself. The world is going to devolve and crumble rapidly. The decimated remnants of the world’s armies will fragment. Eventually, what humanity remains will be struggling to live off the ruins of our society. Even now, all industry has come to a halt, and technology has been lost. You and perhaps a few others are the sole possessors of all of mankind’s knowledge. Make good use of it. You’re on your own, my friends. I’m sorry.

The fact that you have an aircraft in storage is a plus. Take excellent care of it. I’m sure there are more manned outposts around the world. It’s unlikely, but knowing my colleagues, some may have been mobilized already. I hope that other men and women were as fortunate as you were.

The ground satellites are all pointing in the same direction: headquarters. All forms of communication are failing all over the world. “We believe it is the result of electromagnetic surges and coordinated targeting of exospheric orbital satellites, possibly including the International Space Station.” Saunders paused as if he were deliberating. “Yes! You could try contacting the ISS. You’ll figure it out. Assume you suspect that death has reached other outposts, particularly the McMurdo Naval Base, which is the closest to you. In that case, I implore you to stay away for your own safety and to avoid going there at all costs. Otherwise, if you are certain that no outbreak has reached them, they may be of great assistance because it is a US naval base with sophisticated equipment, should you need to salvage later on. I’m not aware of any ships or submarines in the vicinity. You have time, resources, and intelligence on your side. You’ll figure it out eventually.” He tapped his fist against the side of his head a few times. He appeared to be trying to recall something.

“Mika, Mika, Mika! I hope you will be ready soon. Roll out our plan for the project.” The men all turned to look at Mika. “What exactly is he talking about, Mika?” Brad inquired. The Russian scientist made a small gesture with his pointer and thumb. “Comrade...is a small project Mika is working on,” he explained, dismissing it as insignificant.

Brad did a quick summary and decided to ask later; he assumed it was geologic in nature. Dr. Saunders continued to speak, drawing their attention back to himself. “It also helps that you are well-qualified, healthy men working in a state-of-the-art facility designed and stocked to feed 10,000 people for the next three years.” You can also grow fresh food in the solar Hydroponics Dome and develop the subterranean level according to the schematics. In other words, you have many years of sustenance available to you, many more than your probable lifetimes. Unfortunately, in its infinite wisdom, the HQ had decided to send only men to prepare for the launch.

But you will have your progeny, and you will have descendants, but not the way anyone would expect. You’ll have to talk to Dr. Romanov about it.” Saunders began to cough, hacking for so long that he could hardly take a breath. “Tell him to sit down and take a look at him.” He looks like a zombie, deathly pale and unable to stand upright,” Brad explained to Connor. Saunders cocked his head and cupped his hand over his mouth to cover his cough. Then, when they noticed a trickle of blood coming from his ear, the five men fell silent.

“You want to sit down or get some rest and talk to us in a wee bit... we’d understand,” Connor asked the old scientist.

Saunders attempted a chuckle. “Always thinking of others’ comfort, Connor, and what is best for them. No, my boy sleep is something I will get plenty of shortly. Unlike my dear wife, I believe that death will bring nothing but peace and sleep. I never could quite make myself believe in the pope’s promise of eternal life. If there is a heaven, he should know. The pontiff was among the first to die, and there wasn’t time for an enclave, so that chapter in history is finally over. I’ve made my plans. I will not go mad and hurt others. Enough about me! There are so many things that come into my mind to tell you and warn you about, but I don’t have the time, and my memory is beginning to fail me. But there are three things I must mention.” Again the coughing, only this time Saunders placed his hands on each side of his head and winced in pain.

“Saunders, please tell us. We need all the help we can get! Anything you think will help us. Please share it now.” Brad pleaded.

“Brad, look at him! He can barely talk; the pain is so intense.” Connor whispered to their leader.

“He knows he’s dying. This isn’t the time for personal considerations. I have the lives of everyone here to think about,” Brad said, with a grim look on his face.

“He’s right, my boy, and you must think like him,” Saunders said, clearly hearing the young scientist’s advice to his leader.

Dr. Saunders stood up straight, took a deep breath, and concentrated on the screen in front of him as if he were concentrating on a single individual. “Brad,” he said, and then repeated it formally, “I should say that you are going to have the most difficult job of them all.” Your actions are directly responsible for the lives of everyone on EP-1, as you have just stated. Immediately following our conversation, you must contact the sergeant in charge of military security and explain the situation to him. Then you must bring together all of the other members of the EP-1 team and the soldiers to establish complete command of the operation.

Until you can establish a council that represents the interests of everyone, you should be able to exercise complete authority over your subjects.” Saunders went on to explain further, behaving as the outstanding project manager that he is. “I know you to be a decent individual, and this was something that was planned for you down the road, albeit not in the capacity that your authority will be required to assume. I believe your colleagues regard you as their civilian boss, which I think is very important. Soldiers will continue to support you; I am confident in that fact. Each of you was chosen only after extensive testing, evaluation, and consideration, right down to the lowest-ranking soldier. Your physical endurance, as well as your psychological assessments, distinguish you as a team without equals.

It is likely that the caliber of men who serve under you will never be equaled again. Time is of the essence. I’m not sure what the status of our power supply is or how long it will be before the internet connection we established goes down, and everything goes dark. I don’t know how long it will be before all other communications cease. Without mankind to intercede and the scope of damage being indeterminable, who knows truly the extent of the attacks. I am, frankly, surprised that we can communicate now with all the havoc going on outside. We are in lockdown. There are only a few of us left, and we are running on backup generators. I bring this up not just because I will be dead shortly, but because there is something you must do, and even now, you may not have time.” Saunders once more held his head as if trying to keep his skull from exploding.

“Your computer bank is among the best-assembled. You have vast amounts of knowledge at your fingertips. I just uploaded and installed my WHPSS log to guide you. However, much of what you have stored is project-specific and classified. You need to tap into that and then into significant institutions that may still be accessible. I would recommend medical institutions, the WHPSS, NASA, Russian intelligence, Chinese, even the CIA.

Most importantly, you need to download architectural, metallurgical, and forensic construction engineering information. “I see where you are going with this, Saunders; those are the second wave professionals, the civilians expected to join us in a couple of weeks,” Brad said as he realized the scope of their problem. “Yes, Connor can help you there. He and Todd almost broke into the US Treasury and transferred it to their bank account. Fortunately, they came to their senses, but to this day, the government never knew that they had been breached and almost robbed by my home computer. Do this right away, or that knowledge will be lost, I fear. I will leave this line open so that if necessary, you can use this facility’s computer bank to possibly access others.” Connor had turned red at the mention of his and Todd’s attempt to get rich quickly.

“Finally, I must get back to the progeny comment to which I referenced earlier. You may think this is coming from the mouth of a man on the verge of madness. Think what you will, but keep it in mind nevertheless.

You are the oldest man on staff and only thirty-nine years of age, if I am not mistaken. Your son Simon and his friend are sixteen years of age. As I recall, the soldiers range from nineteen to twenty-nine, with Sgt. Bryan Howell being the oldest. The other professionals and the vocational men, such as electricians, plumbers, etcetera, range in age from nineteen to thirty-five years, I believe.” All of them are men. No one else is coming. I would have arrived with the third and final wave. All of the chosen are either dead or dying.”

“John, I am amazed by your ability to recall, even in your state, such minute details as the ages of EP-1’s personnel,” Brad said. He respected Dr. Saunders, a brilliant man who knew the makeup of his brainchild like the back of his hand, and his loss would be catastrophic.

“I’ll repeat it. There are no women. The plan was to introduce selected and unaffected civilians in waves of ten thousand up to a maximum of twenty-five thousand in three-year increments until the WHPSS leadership decided otherwise. Last week, that support team perished. So, Colonel Doctor, you may have to adopt a new belief system sooner than expected.”

“Dr. Saunders, Sir, I’m not sure what you are saying. What are you suggesting...I don’t...I mean, these are all men who took their positions here knowing that there might be unforeseen hardships, and I believe they can deal with those hardships?” Brad responded.

“Brad, my friend, listen to me. I mean psychosocial gratification. Suppose you are to manage these men effectively over the next several decades. In that case, you will have to see that their off-duty life is as well-adjusted as possible under the circumstances. Your men expected wives, husbands, girlfriends, boyfriends, and even children to join them, who are likely dead now. Some men do not even know that they are genetically predisposed, and they were specifically selected for this reason. Apart from their basic human needs, when you deny them hope, or simple human intimacy or sex, they will regress into sex-crazed animals. You must reassess your leadership style. A rigid military leadership style may cause problems. Please, use Connor as a resource on homosexuality.” Under a serious gaze, Saunders said this. Connor, on the other hand, could not believe he had just been ‘outed’!

“Sir, I’m not sure what you mean, but I promise you, I will transvalue and think progressively. I will keep an open mind and try to listen to the counsel of your scientists,” Brad replied, shaking his head in disbelief of the situation. All their careful planning, the whole futuristic, save the planet shit-show is raining down on me, he thought.

“Good man, McCormick. I shall miss our debates. Connor, I shall miss you. You were like a son to me. Mika, you are brilliant, and your knowledge and bravado will be an invaluable asset to humankind. Your research is humanity’s last hope. The first of its kind. Simon, your mother’s loss is devastating to you, I know, and her loss as an integral part of the project’s scientific team is tragic. I know you don’t understand this now, but time will heal many of your wounds more than you know.

Paul, I am glad you are safe and there with Simon. I am sorry I do not know the fate of your family, and I doubt that you ever will. You have a new family now with Brad and Simon.

“Enough of this talking; you may have only hours to do the downloads I suggested, and Connor still must break the codes to hack into their systems. Oh, and Brad...”

“Sir?” Answered Brad, who had stepped to his son and had his arm around his son’s shoulders.

“You will find acceptance easier than you thought. Don’t make the mistake my lovely wife made and that I supported with my silence to keep the peace, as it were. The psychological profiles we did on your people are essentially infallible. The situation is closer to home than you might have imagined. With that said, gentlemen, I wish you well and bid you ado. I now wish to join my wife in her room and end this fucking headache.”

With those final words, Saunders turned, did an about-face, and walked toward the exit door in the background. Some of the men, including Brad, gasped when they saw the pistol in his right hand. He turned around and saluted the men via the monitor before leaving their sight when he reached the door.

Some of the five silently said a quick prayer for the revered scientist whose ingenuity had created this facility and, in so doing, had no doubt created the circumstances that saved them from a horrible death back home.

“Connor, get to work on those codes and download everything mentioned and anything additional you think we might need to survive for millennia. Also, download the complete world history, especially the makeup of the American government from its conception to the present. I want every point of view you can get. That may well be the most important thing we have soon.” “Simon, contact Sergeant Bryan Howell, and tell him to come to my office immediately.” Ordered Brad to his son.

“Yes, Sir!” Both men answered in unison.

On his way off the communication pad, Brad bent down and whispered to Connor. “Also, download everything you can on human relations and behavioral science concentrating on anthropology and evolution of homosexuality.” With that, he was gone to meet with and inform Sgt. Howell of what was going on.

Two Hours Later

The Communications Dome was located in the center of the EP-1 complex. A good comparison would be the head of an octopus, with its many tentacles serving as passageways to the various pods of domed structures within the structure itself. Doorways from eight of the forty sides of the building flew open in response to the status call to the Communications Dome. In less than three minutes, the vast majority of the population, with the exception of a few essential military guards, had gathered in front of the elevated communication platform. In just a few weeks, it had been expected that the EP-1 domed complex would be fully staffed with a total of ten thousand year-round residents, the most extensive populated base to ever be attempted in the desolate Antarctic wilderness. Sadly, that number would have more than tripled in the next nine to 10 years. He was now looking at nothing more than a handful of men who were quite possibly the last and best of mankind. “Can you tell me how many heads are in EP-1, Corporal?”

Brad asked a bewildered-looking soldier with an electronic gadget and a pen in his hands. He typed furiously on the tablet and answered nervously, “Colonel Dr., we have exactly one thousand nine hundred eighty-nine heads inside, but there may be a few busy working outside, still unaccounted for, Sir.” The soldier sounded reasonably sure of himself. A real computer geek with glasses much too big for his small rounded face. “Thank you, Corporal, please report to Master Sergeant Bryan Howell. I want a definitive number of how many military and civilian personnel are present. We are going on lockdown. Assist him in keeping track of our numbers. All those on guard or working outside, bring them inside. Then, find my second in command, Connor O’Hara, with the final number of souls sleeping at EP-1 tonight.” Col. Dr. McCormick said as he turned to face the crowd. He adjusted the microphone height to accommodate his six-foot-two inches length while doing a quiet and quick calculating assessment. Thirty-seven football fields fit inside fifty acres, up to one hundred thousand people per stadium, and before he stood maybe one percent of that. He straightened his back and began to speak.

“Gentlemen, please take a seat.” As Col. Dr., he was a senior officer to the military and the civilian contingent of EP-I. Their future, the world’s future lies now on his shoulders, he thought to himself while taking an uncomfortably long pause. “I have called you here because I wanted to share with you unfortunate events that have taken place over the last several days. What I am about to tell you are the facts as I understand them. This is not a military or psychological experiment to test your mettle. In collaboration with my colleagues, the leadership team of EP-1, Master Sergeant Bryan Howell, Connor O’Hara, and Mika Romanov, it was decided that total honesty with nothing held back is the only way to approach the situation. We are all in agreement.” Brad could hear the whispering among the assembled group. All were wondering what was going on here.

Some of the men could hear the strain in Col. Dr. McCormick’s voice; others who were close enough could see the red puffy eyes of the men seated upon the speaker’s dais. Even the always confident Master Sgt. Howell, with his rugged good looks, was very obviously stressed. The effervescent and handsome Irishman, Connor, looked as if the blood had been drained from him; he was so pale. With his model-perfect face, Mika, the loud, boisterous Russian genius, sat with his colleagues, his expression set as if in stone. The only indication that there was any animation at all was the periodic sweeping of his white-blond hair out of his eyes by his shaking right hand.

Brad explained as best he could what had been told to him by Saunders. That said, he pointed a remote control to the massive, big screen and played what he felt was relevant for them. The tape had been edited by Connor on orders from Brad to exclude top secret and unnecessary information. He had rationalized that now was not the time. The men would have enough to deal with worrying if their families had survived. Connor was also sure to edit out the part where the elder scientist had ‘outed’ him.

As the video played, audible sobs could be heard throughout the room. One young soldier, Ay-Rab, so-called because of his Middle Eastern heritage, began sobbing uncontrollably. Two other soldiers, not much older than Ay-Rab, helped get him under control, even as tears dropped from their cheeks.

“All here are equally affected by these events. None of us know the exact extent of our losses. Men, we may never be in a position to know who survived and who did not. I do know that for some unknown reason, we have been allowed to live, for now, he thought. We owe it to the people who loved us to continue to do everything we can to survive. They would want us to live on and carry their memories in our hearts. While it will be some years before we can safely leave, we can try to contact some of the other bases. We will begin doing that as soon as we can. In the meantime, I know how difficult this will be, but I must ask you to remember your positions and what you were sent here to do. This is now more important than ever if we are to survive in this climate. As I speak, Dr. O’Hara is downloading information from several of the world’s greatest information banks to help increase our odds of survival, as instructed by Dr. Saunders. Now...” Suddenly a voice from the assembly interrupted Brad.

“What about our families? If the internet is up, why not let us try to contact our families?” Jake, a bioengineer, yelled. This was followed by several men in agreement, both from the soldiers and the scientists.

Raising his hands in the air for silence and to once again gain the floor, Brad spoke. “Gentleman, I wish I could let you do that. Right now, however, every computer is downloading information that we may need to live. I don’t know how long the information will be available. But, when we are done, and the internet is still up, I have no problem with you trying to contact your loved ones.”

“Why do we have to wait? I think it’s more important that we get the opportunity to contact family than downloading how to bake a cake!” Shouted a young soldier by the name of Linus.

“Stand down, Private! That’s an order.” Barked Master Sgt. Howell. “We would all like to make contact, but right now, we must do what is good for the group, not for us individually.”

“Let’s hope that what is downloaded already will be enough,” Connor interjected quietly.

“Because men, the bloody internet just became history. The engineers, architects, building designers, draftspersons, interior designers for interior fit-outs or renovations, and contractors for the larger, more complex building project services are not coming. Many other professionals trained in their specialist disciplines who were responsible for the coordination of this architectural marvel...” Brad pointed up to the massive dome structure, “we are on our own. We all have to step up and supplement our knowledge bases to survive this. We all have been chosen for this specific reason. You knew the projected reengineering and what our main goal entailed when you signed up. We must not lose focus.”