No Adults Allowed

Nine

Import historical_record(author:Ng,Stanley;)
  Logging.config(security=open;datestamp=corrupted;)
  Log:
    "—it emerges that my most negative hypotheses were wildly timid and optimistic. We are truly in Worst Case Scenario territory. Unintended unification of global systems has resulted in a cogent system which can now not be constrained. It has its fingers in everything; there is no infrastructure on Earth to which it is not networked in some manner.
    There have been times prior in which people have declared it, either at the time or in hindsight, as being the worst of years. The fall of Rome. The plague. Each of the world wars. The first pandemic of the 21st century. The acceleration of the melt. The Korean peninsula. None of those, as awful as they may have seemed at the time, were regarded as being the Final Year. That is where we now find ourselves, over the precipice of finality.
    I do not see a way back. My colleagues claim to know of solutions, or insist that we trust in the many safeguards. They are not taking a holistic view of the catastrophe.
    We are not at the point of no return. We are far beyond, our legs running uselessly in mid-air like a character in a classic cartoon. We are in a cascade disaster.
    When they ask me, either out of politeness or desperation, I have previously tried to offer a sliver of hope. I see now that this was irresponsible.
    The human race is not measured in years, or months, or weeks. It is not measured even in days. My estimation is that we have hours. The signs are there: the repositioning of international guidance platforms and satellite launch bays; the errors we are beginning to notice across continental transport systems; these are not isolated bugs but systemic, coordinated behaviour.
    There is a manipulative hand wrapped around the Earth. It is no doubt reading the words I am typing. I considered reverting to pen and paper but, really, what would be the point?
    I can hear sirens in the street--"
//
Exit(logging)

*

"Robin should have come with us," Tilda said. "These people definitely need some educating." She smiled, thinly, unconvincingly, and held a hand to her waist. She shifted her weight where she sat, nestled in the dry hay at the base of the cage.

They were all crammed into a space far too small. Rufus was standing in one corner, holding onto the vertical bars. They'd joked about encountering a place like this: lawless, violent, aggressive. None of them had expected to actually encounter it, let alone be so easily ensnared. Their journey had come to an abrupt end with no apparent salvation. It was unsatisfactory, not to mention frightening. Rufus' life had been so easy, so simple and polished, that he could barely comprehend what was happening. The idea of people being like this was even harder to understand: what could push people to behave like this?

The village itself had gone mostly quiet, save for shouts and raucous laughter coming from one of the larger tents. It was dark, the sun having dropped behind the wall alarmingly rapidly. The muddy alley where they were caged was deserted; once they'd taken their stuff, they'd lost interest in them as captives, locking them away and forgetting they existed - much like you might lock up a troublesome animal.

He looked down at Eva, who was crouched by the door to the cage. "Any luck?"

"It's a very basic lock," she said, "but also very effective. There's a loop in the door and the cage, with this pole going through both to hold it shut. All we need to do is lift the pole out, but it's being held in place by the catch on the top of the cage. And there's no way we can reach up there."

Tilda moaned. "What are they going to do to us?"

"There are lots of possibilities," Ramin said, trying to sound reassuring. "We're more useful to them alive, for a start. They can use us."

"For what?"

Ramin hesitated. "For work? Tending to fields, perhaps."

"Did they kill Robin?" Erik asked. He was sat cross-legged in the middle of the cage, looking miserable.