Hacking the Sun [Old Version]

Chapter 8.2 Blindsided

A prompt medical screening derived no serious injury, so Jessica returned home that same night. She wouldn't leave, at first. Beth's remains were somewhere; they had to be. The cleanup crew was coy, however, and offered nothing until they came upon the necklace, the six-sided star.

Under the dark sky, only the sound of her feet brought company. Hers was a slow gait of remorse, down and down the village avenues, head low in the cast shadow of evening lights. Plenty of white orbs to guide her path home, although her thoughts did not wander to Apple Mire. They retreated in the silence of solitude. No other soul stirred on the path home, a path long-winding. The gravity board had never felt so useless.

She mumbled recitations nearly every step of the way. Beyond the yards and terraces, she repeated them. Past the closed doors of cafes and restaurants, she cemented them. At the storefront where big, lightless letters spelledTacquizza, she shouted them. 

"What is the point?" 

Crickets...

The moment she entered her apartment, she took off her dirty uniform and fell on the sheets. 

Sleep was impossible.

***

"We awake to a city in mourning, as federal officials comb through what remains of..."

"Dozens of innocent lives lost in what authorities are calling..."

"What is undoubtedly the most calculated terror attack in recent memory..."

Dismal looks filled Goliath's floors the next morning. TNN, ARB, ANA, PCS – Just about every watermark signed the luminescent grid of employee terminals. The tragedy played everywhere, from television to social media. Engineers wept silently as they listened to the anchors and reporters rehash Pine Rime Hovels, an event "clouding New Sumer in tragedy."

Nearly every other listed target was unscorched. Asgard units deployed fast enough to evacuate civilians. Investigations revealed zero explosives at most locations. Already, speculation was in the air concerning the "why" and "how," but most news coverages focused on the identities of the lost. The headlines varied slightly.

What 'fake' news sites the Azarean hierarchy failed to shut down pointed fingers at different groups, while social media blamed the disaster on either lax security or conspiracy. Public opinion, however—reinforced by mainstream news reports—chose to believe the terror was prejudice-driven. They accepted that the organization known as Sub Terra was real, that xenophobia had armed a portion of Earth's population against the Azarean-controlled Union. An attack on an Eden, a city of the Union, implied hate as a motive, even if the victims were humans. So long as friction survived between native and alien cultures, terrorism had met its goal, so claimed the government and media.

David kept silent beside the memo board. He had forgotten his hat, and the exposed furrow of his brow steered dejectedly towards every workstation. His tired eyes and their dark rings watched the holo-recording, in front of which some employees had gathered. The sight stung in places he preferred docile at work.

"Stop that!" he stammered. His outburst startled everyone, so they shut off the news and returned to their tasks. The room's tension permeated as he let out a deep sigh, rubbing his head for an imaginary headache that crept closer. 

"Everyone," he began apologetically, "eyes up..." 

Curious, confused, scared, and somber eyes fell from every corner of the room. Shaking his head and crossing his arms, he failed to consider his next words. Nevertheless, something for the long day ahead felt warranted.