Welcome back to my post-post-apocalyptic novel, Ada’s Children, and thanks for reading! If you’re new to the story, please don’t be surprised that it’s paywalled. The Prologue and first three chapters are free, and you can start reading them here. The previous chapter, “Sila’s News,” is here.
The last time we were with Carol, way back in chapter 10, she was having trouble writing curriculum for a Rhetoric of the Climate Crisis class, so she diverted herself by spending a snowed-in weekend with her boyfriend, Craig. Now it’s about six weeks later, and it already feels like spring as Carol and a new friend clean up after a peace protest.
Did I know back in 2019 when I wrote the first draft that I’d be publishing this chapter in the midst of peace protests? And that they would also be largely ignored by the current administration? Obviously not! And even if I had, I definitely would have missed which party was deaf to the protesters’ pleas. But hey, prediction isn’t really the game in speculative fiction.
MARCH 2043
Carol stared out the autobot’s window at the few protesters straggling away from the state capitol. It was only March, and the trees lining University Avenue were already leafing out. The demonstrators were enjoying the sunshine in t-shirts and shorts, signs propped on their shoulders with slogans like “Keep the Arctic Sea Nuclear-Free,” “No Nukes, No War,” and the perennial “No Blood for Oil.” They seemed energized, happy even, talking in that animated way of people who feel they’ve accomplished something.
Carol wasn’t so sure. Though she’d helped organize the protest, she couldn’t really say what this or any of the other marches around the country had achieved. Some footage of the massive crowds on the news and social media, some quotes by the leaders, a few of the nascent peace movement’s slogans spread into the national consciousness. But would it prevent Cass from moving a battery of tactical nuclear weapons into the Bering Strait? Probably not. The world’s leaders continued their rush toward World War III, regardless of their citizens’ wishes.
The young activist seated next to her seemed as dejected as Carol felt. Though probably not as tired. Carol had felt fatigued all day—all week, really. It wasn’t like her. She’d put it down to how busy she’d been with the march and rally.
Megan was nearly twenty years her junior, a sometimes-college student. Other than one side of her head being shaved halfway up, Megan followed the adornment-free style that was popular among the young—no piercings, no tattoos, no hair coloring, and label-free slacks, shirt, and sneakers, all in tones of tan, black, and gray. She did wear makeup, but only to foil facial recognition by changing it daily. They’d both served on the protest’s communications committee and were among the last to leave with a car full of extra poster boards and other supplies.
“Do you think we did any good?” Carol asked her.
Megan turned to look at her, then up at the bot’s security cam, then back to Carol. “Hard to say.”
It always felt like the younger woman was judging her, right down to the implication that Carol didn’t know better than to gab about political strategy in a corporate autobot. Megan had been arrested at the anti-apartheid demonstrations in ’41 and spent a year in jail. Carol had gotten away with a couple of bruises. Why hadn’t she done more? That was the unspoken question. Carol asked it often herself, although she knew the answer: if she’d been arrested, she wouldn’t have been there for Michael and Shondra when they left, or when they crossed the border. It was entirely selfish.
And by the time she’d returned from Texas, the anti-apartheid protests had died down, the resistance moving on to the latest Cass administration outrage. A much-weakened resistance, too, a good portion of the progressive base having been declared non-citizens and deported.
This move to put tactical nuclear weapons near the new Northern Polar Route was the latest crisis. New bases had been built there in the thirties to counter Russian and Chinese positions in the Arctic, including the Chinese base in Greenland. Mainstream analysts seemed to think the generals at the DoD would be able to rein in Cass’s worst impulses—even the president must enjoy having an atmosphere to breathe. But their big worry was an accidental exchange leading to all-out nuclear war.
How far backwards everything had gone in two short years! No wonder Megan was angry at her and everyone over thirty. Carol was angry as well. It was like they were living in a time her parents and grandparents had only told her about, when schoolchildren lived in constant fear of annihilation, the government decided whom you could and could not marry, and civil rights…well, Carol hated to guess whether the Cass administration’s campaign of ethnic cleansing was worse or better than Jim Crow. That depended on what life was like in New Texas, New Mexico, and New California, but there was no way to tell. A few disturbing videos had surfaced, purporting to show what life was really like down there, but no one knew if they were real or deep fakes.
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