The Pole Shift

Foresaken

When the General left ,Grady opened the portmanteau. He was partly right, there was a bottle of russet whiskey but no food. Below the ginger lady was a black box, he knew it was a hologram projector. It received data from a source and recreated the image using reflector points around it. He quickly scanned for some, but suspected the device was using the environment. He didn't have an interface with it, and the box held no physical input keys. He spoke to it:

                 "Show me the boat." Nothing, it was a device of Prophet's and he didn't have access.

              The granite outcrop, that he had been excited to term 'his place' had become an observation post. No longer would he be able to sit and think, prepare his attitude to suit the needs of the survivors. The chosen ones suddenly sounded sour to him and he grimaced muttering, "we haven't been saved, we've been herded."

              What had Macka done? What was his purpose during the two years up until the Pole Shift struck? The General had confirmed that several citizens had been given the heads up, access to Prophet and drones. They were special in some way, had something that none of their 2000 brilliant minds had. In his memory he replayed the blue streak,  it had seemed organic, something from nature but the intent! It was a weapon and the fact established the existence of a third party. He shook his head, confused.

                Captain Grady spent the night sipping whiskey and looking up at the stars he knew well. When dawn broke, he thought he had a reasonable hypothesis.  There were others, not survivors, not other countries - the Chinese or Americans. Others that had been orchestrating unseen. He got up and returned to the bunkers. He spoke to the General and within in an hour he had a trimaron patrol boat loaded from storage and eased into the greasy dark sea. The littoral zone boat - Hawthorne,  currently held no weaponry and could hoist a sail if it needed to.  Grady gathered some of the non military, a medic, a female councilor , some teenagers.  A musician. He wondered if they should have banked a few celebrities in their 2000, that might have impressed but he quickly pushed the thought away with a huff. Hero worship had a way of backfiring.  By mid morning Hawtorne launched. The Captain would approach the makeshift raft and offer salvation, befriend, at least until he could figure out what the fuck was going on.

                +++

The General watched the patrol boat power away, he was fearful. Prophet would not engage with him at a deep level, it would only allow him access  to drones and peripherals. It would not talk to him, offer opinion. It was almost as if he was being given the silent treatment. He whispered:

                "Have the Masters forsaken us?" At last a voice spoke through his crystal. It was not the sexless voice of Prophet, it was a male voice full and deep that spoke just one word.

                "Yes."