I, Cassandra

42 | AMADI EZENWA

I fall into step beside him. His unexpected togetherness shoots my expectations in a far more dangerous direction. I sense his paranoia and conspiracy theories have been intentional, a way to control us, to keep us distracted while he did whatever it was he was really doing. A clever, calculating, amoral man with limitless power. And now, he's revealing his true self to me. And whatever that means, it means I am now in the inner circle—whether I like it or not.

He crosses the expanse to the wall of glass. We are in the middle of six months of living in utter darkness, but in here, inside, beams of sunlight warm my skin. One of the many perks of Alpha VII, where the smart glass grants the full sensory load. Reality is what we create, and right now, it's July even though it's early January.

He sips. Swallows. I drink in the view of the sunbathed order, symmetry, and white harmony of a summery Alpha VII. A paradise. An architect's wet dream. Heaven on earth. Man become god.

'It's all over,' he says.

I cut a look at him, seeking—hoping—he is mad after all. But as in all things, I am to be disappointed.

'de Pommier and me, we don't see eye to eye,' he takes another sip, makes a small sound of appreciation. I can understand, his whiskey's amber, smoky notes are close enough for me to taste. It surrounds me, expensive, and old. Very old.

He lifts his glass to me. 'Macallan. Distilled in 1938, just before World War II. Label is handwritten. Rarest bottle of malt left in existence. And now it's being consumed, for breakfast. The very last of its kind.' He swirls the malt and slides a sidewise look up at me. 'Would you like to try it?'

Of course I do. But I want a clear head. 'Maybe later.' I turn my attention back to the view.

He nods, thoughtful, and takes another measured sip. He lets out a heavy breath and the perfume of a lost world of wealth, hope, and decadence surrounds us.

I wait. He has already dropped his breadcrumbs. The rest is sure to follow. Silence is power, and I am good at silence, especially ever since that day. The day I knew nothing was left for me.

'What do you know of The Oracle?' he asks.

'Enough. Many have died because of her.'

'She's here. Right under our noses.'

This catches me by surprise. The last I heard she was lost somewhere beyond the barrier. Presumed dead. I keep my expression neutral. Say nothing.

'I like you Amadi, so cool, calm, and collected. Just like your father.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'A little pet project of de Pommier's,' he continues after another sip of history, 'to undermine my solution.'

Genesis II. This, at least is not above my pay grade. Billions have been poured into this project, paid for by the elite who want a ticket to a new world. A one thousand year sleep while the rest of the human race dies out and the Earth regenerates. The chance for another life where the planet is theirs for the taking all over again.

I don't have to wait long for him to tell me the rest: The resurrected Delta Force Captian: Ryan Maddox. The name rings a bell. I file it for later. The Oracle's rescue from London. de Pommier's intention to terraform Mars with the Oracle's abilities, to use them for good instead of harm. To send ships out in the next two days with a select few including the Oracle. An ark of life. The Oracle's prediction that everything will burn in less than five days. Everything.

He falls silent and turns his glass round in his hand. The amber liquid sparkles, innocent, washed in sunlight six months old. The truth hits me, surreal, like a cold, metallic slap. In less than a week, all life will be obliterated. Including mine. I realise I don't mind.

Adiana.

'How?' I ask when the silence stretches too far.

He shakes his head. 'Never clarified. But she's the Oracle. And—' he drinks, grim, as if to give himself the courage to finish the sentence.

'Never been wrong,' I breathe. I turn to him. 'Why am I here?'

'I need someone to protect me.'

Not the answer I expected. I lift an eyebrow. My eyes move back to the entrance of his residence, towards the cyber soldier on guard outside and let the obvious hang in the air between us.

'Not them,' he throws back the last of the whiskey. 'Definitely not them.'

'Why not?'

'They're hers.'

Ah, there it is. The paranoia. Somehow this comforts me, that at least this much is certain. Who I understood him to be, he still is underneath the slick suit and cologne. This I can handle. The end of all things? An ark of select humans destined for Mars? The Oracle being right under my nose without my knowledge? A dead soldier brought back to life? Things to think about. Later.

'I am a strange choice, sir, to select for your protection. I am an engineer, not a soldier.'

'That's exactly why I want you.'

I bite back a wave of irritation. I don't have time for his nonsense. I will this meeting to end.

'You are going to go down into G-II. Today. As soon as this meeting is over, in fact. And you will not come out again for one thousand years.'