Lacuna: The Ashes of Humanity Read Free Page A

have, spread them out. Get them to major population centres. They'll be able to save fifty souls each, maybe sixty if they cram them in tight. Order the crew to fill them to standing room only. They won't be in there long."
    "Aye aye," said Lieutenant Jiang at tactical, "dispatching Broadswords. We'll pick them up when we break atmo'."
    The radar screen lit up as the ship disgorged its heavy bombers, each heading to different parts of the United States. Too few to make a difference, except to the lucky handful of souls that would be saved.
    "Captain," said Dao, "we have to enter the atmosphere topside-down. There's too much battle damage on the underside. Too many hull breaches."
    "Do it."
    The ship rolled onto its back as it plummeted through the atmosphere. Liao's stomach turned as real gravity fought with the artificial. She had never been comfortable with that feeling of one's stomach leaping up into their chest, but she kept herself under control. To throw up on the deck of the Operations room at this particular moment would be ill advised.
    "How will people know to come to us?" Liao asked the room. "How will they know we're here?"
    Her XO, Commander Kamal Iraj, spoke from another console. "They'll know. The Beijing has been in the media constantly since it was first designed. Everyone knows it. When they see the ship landing, they'll come."
    The atmosphere frothed below them as the fires closed in on the central United States, and the ship drew closer and closer. The continent teemed with life, and Iraj was right; the people would pour out to meet them, and they could take as many as they had room for.
    The Beijing was vast. It could hold enough people to begin again. No matter what happened, as long as the Pillars of the Earth were mostly full, there would be enough of humanity to recover. They would save a fraction of their species.
    But none of them would be Allison.

    Houston, Texas

    Christian Grant drove like a maniac through the dust covering Houston's Southern Freeway, watching through his windscreen as the huge spaceship, its topside glowing red, descended through the dust-shrouded atmosphere. He could barely see it through the smoke and ash that rained down all around the car, despite the best efforts of the windscreen wipers.
    "Dad?" said Olivia, his ten-year-old daughter, "The dust is getting worse. How far to go?"
    "I know, honey, I know. We're close. The ship can't be landing far away."
    The roads were remarkably absent of other vehicles, but the sudden dust storm and wave of heat had probably driven people into their homes instead. But he'd seen the ship. He knew it was landing. The only place big enough for something so massive was the old Reliant Stadium, where he'd played football until a shoulder injury forced him into coaching.
    Christian swerved to avoid a person running across the road, a towel over their face to keep the dust out. He didn't swerve for the dog.
    Olivia shrieked. "Jesus, Dad!"
    "It was just a cat," he lied. Olivia hated cats and always wanted a puppy, but they couldn't afford pets in this economy.
    "It didn't look like a cat! Is it okay?"
    He changed lanes, driving on the wrong side of the road to avoid a broken-down vehicle. "Don't think about it. We're nearly there."
    "Why don't we just go home?" Olivia's voice was pleading now. "Dad, we can just go home."
    Christian knew better. The ship's arrival meant that this was no ordinary dust storm.
    "Wait," said Olivia, "look over there!"
    He couldn't see which way she was pointing. "Where?"
    "Left! Left!"
    Christian twisted in his seat to see, risking taking his eyes off the road for an instant. A bright beam of light, white hot and so bright it revealed the horizon, shone through the smoke and dust. It held steady for a moment and then winked out.
    "What's that, Dad?"
    He stared, unable to answer, his eyes locked on the spot where the bright light had appeared. Then the car slammed into the back of another vehicle.
    Christian's