Did the Earth Move for You, Too? "Wow, Meg, that was one of the strongest, yet. You think maybe that Dr. Graham could be right?" A small boy, about ten, looked with huge, brown, puppy-dog eyes toward his older sister. Well, half-sister, really. Her mother died when she was not much older than he was now. Meg crawled out from under the bracing required by law for every apartment and every building. "Don't talk nonsense, Jake. These quakes are just the main plate splitting, widening the Gulf of Mississippi, like it has been for the past three generations." She scooped him into her arms and gave him a fierce noogie. "Aaaaaaaauugh!" Jake said eloquently, his eyes trying their level best to escape from their sockets. "Stoppit! Put me down! Enough, already!" Meg dropped her little brother lightly to the floor. She smiled; Jake now had a strong resemblance to a scarecrow, straw hair trying to escape his head in evry direction. Meg looked more like her mother, with mousy brown hair and hazel eyes. Now those hazel eyes scanned the living room of their three bedroom apartment for damage. A few bric-a-brac not properly secured had fallen over, and the old, twenty-first century rocking chair (made of real wood) lay on its side. However, the room escaped any major damage. She would check the remaining rooms later. Meg, despite the facade she showed to Jake, was getting worried. The quakes were coming more frequently in the past year, longer in duratin and intensity. Their parents were in Frisco; Natech transferred their father over there six months ago. Jake elected to stay in Anapolis with Meg; the transfer was temporary, and he didn't want to switch schools just for a year or two. Dr. Kenneth Graham sat in the news studio; a hair/makeup technician fussed over him, painting him as though he were a canvas. "Just a little bit more, Dr. Graham, but then you should be used to this by now." The technician smiled in a sweet, syrupy way and added a bit of blush so he wouldn't look like a great, dark, blank blob for the netvid viewers of the globe. He didn't care that his findings were ridiculed by the media after his appearances; it gave them more attention. They were also true, and no amount of ridicule could change that. The technician finished her work of art, occasionally adding a highlight here and there. She wasn't satisfied until every inch of his face was covered by makeup. Dr. Graham, for his part, felt like a circus clown. He paid for the time, damn it, he shouldn't have to look like anything but himself on the camera. He barely noticed the director cueing the anchors and cameramen. Then, the familiar strum of the news program's opening theme filled the studio. Almost time to try to convince the world what was coming. . .again. The interviewer sitting across from him was the same one who interviewed him every time, and every time, he asked the same questions. He was a bland faced man, with an equally bland personality. He wasn't cheerful or somber or impartial; he simply was. Occassionally, he would ask an insightful question, but such were accidents, and, therfore, few and far between. Dr. Graham weighed the possibilty of buying time on another program, just to get away from this interviewer. But this was the most widely watched news program; switching was not an option. "Welcome, again, to Dr. Kenneth Graham, former seismologist with the UN comission on the NorthAm plate separation. Dr. Graham, for those viewers who may have missed your prior appearances, please state why you left the UN." The interviewer's voice droned like a hive of sleepy bumblebees. "Thank you, Brian. Most of the public is unawre that the Earth is continually slipping further and further on its axis. This normal tilting has little immediate effect and is virtually unnoticeable over a short period of time. It only creates a problem for astrologers. "About ten years ago, while working for the UN, I discovered this tilting was happening at a much faster rate than it should have. I double- and triple-checked my findings. I even had independent tests done. Finally, I had no choice but to go to my supervisor. "She informed me the UN was not only already aware of my findings, but had construction crews building massive escape ships with a hundred million person capacity for nearly half a century. They didn't inform the public, she said, because they didn't want a panic started. She then gave me strict orders to keep my findings to myself." The interview went on in its usual way; the interviewer asked a question and Dr. Graham answered. He didn't even have to think about it, anymore. He absently wondered why he didn't just buy ad spots to air the pretaped interviews. Then he remembered. The producers wouldn't let him buy the tapes. Meg sighed as she flipped the switch in the netvid room. She didn't know why she even bothered sitting through that drivel. Most people knew Dr. Graham had to be insane, but a growing number were coming to believe him. The riots those people started after a Graham interview were starting to wear on the Global Police Force. After the netvid replaced TV, violence was shown in all three grisly dimensions, and the public began to realize how much pain and suffering was involved. Violent crime declined steadily, until only a few petty crimes, such as thievery by the poor, remained a constant. The GPF had no idea how to handle full-scale riots. Meg checked in on her brother just before she went to bed. He was tucked in, belt securely fastened in case of a night tremor, and snoring lightly. She headed off to her own room. She dropped Jake off at school on her way to work. Her office in the hydroponics lab/flower shop was in the greenhouse itself, away from the customers, which suited Meg perfectly. She was more comfortable around plants than people; they didn't look at you funny for talking with flowers. She watered a particularly thorny rose bush rumor said was engineered for the mob. This supposedly explained why the flowers were black. Funeral homes ordered it more often than any suspected mob bosses, though. "So how are we doing today, my little beauties?" she cooed. "That little quake didn't bother you a bit, did it?" In fact, all the plants were in special gyroscopic planters, so they would hold their position during a quake. As the earth moved, a series of rings and weights kept the plant nearly in position. The planters themselves were bolted to the floor. The owner bought them when he became annoyed at having to clean up after every quake, which would usually kill the more popular sellers. Meg went from plant to plant, repairing any cracks in the pots and replacing those few beyond repair. Then, she went to her little office, a glass-walled alcove hidden by a jungle of tropical plants. She took up the inventory tablet from her desk and began marking off entries, making comments where necessary. Once, she would have had to take the tablet with her on her rounds, but she soon learned all the plants and could tell when one was missing just by entering the greenhouse. A coworker once jokingly compared her to a shepherd, with a flock of green, leafy sheep after an episode involving a prickly pear that lost one of its pears. She pointed to the plant immediately after getting back from her lunch break. Eventually, it came out that Meg's boss forgot his lunch that day and had the pear as a substitute. Meg lighted her car in the playground of Jake's school. He bounded toward her car from the swings. She had a special arrangement with the school to keep the boy until she got off work, but he always seemed excited to see her. Meg could only guess that, deep down, he was afraid his entire family would leave him. She smiled at the excited little boy getting into her passenger seat. "Guess what, Jake? We got a letter from Dad and Edna today. It was delivered to my office this morning." Jake's eyes grew as round as cups. "Whoa, really? Can I see? Can I see?" He started bouncing in his seat. Meg spoke to the car first. "Home, Jeeves." She turned her attention to Jake. She smiled in his direction, eyes sparkling with amusement. This next part ought to really bowl him over, she thought. Dad and Edna usually write the old-fashioned way, on paper. "We'll put it on the netvid when we get home. How about that?" He blinked at her slowly for a few moments, speechless. "We can do that? I never thought those two geezers would ever enter the twenty-third century, much less the sixties." The two entered the netvid room, and Meg popped the mail disc into the "read" slot. The black, windowless room hummed to life, glowing as if on fire. Soon, two figures stood in the room with them. One was an older man, blonde hair turning gray, with the beginnings of a spare tire. The woman next to him was a decade younger, with slightly darker hair and glittering blue eyes. The man, Ted Farrall, began to speak. Normally, the netvid involved the viewer in thirty minute long "shows" with a preset character, much like a choose-your-own-adventure story. Speaking a keyword dictated what actions were taken by the preset character. During newscasts, the viewer was a ghostly participant in the scene, unable to affect it in any way. Alternately, you could also participate in the fully realized Multi User Shared Hallucinations. The holgraphic images were people connected to the MUSH, with whom you could participate with in real time. The room read your actions and translated them to your characters image. If you wanted, you could even have the room project your character's image onto yourself, which caused more than one parent's nervous breakdown. More recently, software that allowed mail discs to be used with the holographic capabilities of the netvid had appeared on the market. "Hi from the high seas, kids. We're on our way across the San Andreas Sea right now. We wanted you to have some warning before we got there-" "And a chance at a second honeymoon," Edna interjected. Ted looked slightly uncomfortable and blushed slightly. "Umm, yes. So we'll be taking the continental once we reach the mainland. Good news. Natech is transferring me back home. You'll have help taking care of your little brother, now, Meg." Edna continued the letter. "We know it's been hard on you kids the last six months, but we knew this was only temporary. It just seemed such a waste to move Jake back and forth over such a short period of time. We ought to be at the subterminal Tuesday afternoon. We'll see you then, kids." The figure dissolved in a flurry of holographic pixels. Meg smiled, in three days, the family would be together again. . .after six months. . . six months of doing what she felt like, when she felt like. . . She stopped smiling. Ack, she thought, she'd be under parental control again! That did it. She would just have to buy her own apartment. Jake, meanwhile, couldn't have been happier. "Oh, boy! We get to see Mom and Dad again!!" He tried his best to escape the laws of physics and run around the room at the speed of light. Failing that, he turned on his favorite netvid program, the Super Strong Purple Menace Rangers. Upon hearing the show's blaring opening theme music, Meg walked out in disgust. That night, at ten o'clock, eastern standard time, another earthquake struck and struck the entire globe simultaneously. Meg and Jake huddled in their little bracing and prayed the building didn't fall down around their ears. The world over, frightened people followed that same pattern. In the icy depths of the Atlantic, the Atlantis colony watched the water swirl menacingly around them, threatening their little bubble of air and light. The quake rumbled on and on. Meg kept the radio in the bracing turned on throughout the night, not believing the reports she heard. The two siblings watched the plaster from the ceiling decide it preferred the floor and promptly relocate itself. Supposedly earthquake proof shelving and cabinets disproved their manufacturer's claims and clattered to the floor. Their contents spilled out, tumbling wherever the floor's motions took them. Eventually, the two fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion in the bracing, radio still on and the earth trying to shake them off its back like a wet, angry dog. When they woke up, the first thing they noticed was the cessation of motion. Then, the dark outside dawned on them. Meg checked her watch, which by some miracle was still working. Ten o'clock. . .but wher was the sun? She crawled out first, stretching muscles too long cramped, and surveyed the damage. Cold wind blew in from the crumbling hole that was once the north wall. The kitchen was a shambles of broken dishes and fallen cabinets. Jake crawled out next, shivering in the cool morning air, in late spring? He huddled next to his sister for warmth. Meg was barely able to hear what the news announcer was saying over the combined noise of her and Jake's teeth chattering. "We take you now to the Hague, where the United Nations is holding a press conference on last night's earth shattering events." In Belgium, Indira Singh stood amidst the rubble of what once was a majestic Baroque building. Reporters filled her line of sight, each straining to be heard over the others. Her aides took turns rushing to her side, carrying a new report of the damages. She sighed. They knew something like this had to happen, but only half the planned ships were ready. Indira stepped up to the podium precariously balanced on crumbled masonry. The crowd of reporters yelled even louder. She nervously shuffled through the sheaf of papers that made her appear to have more information than she really did. She held up a hand to command silence. Her low pitched voice carried over every radio and netvid station around the world. "Last night, following a natural chain of events, the Earth tilted on its axis to eighty-five degrees. We of the UN knew of such changes were taking place, as Dr. Kenneth Graham reported." She sighed agian. Now was the time for full disclosure, the first time since the UN beacme a governing body. "In fact, we planted Dr. Graham in the media to prevent further research into the area and thereby prevent a widespread panic. However, we had no inkling such a violent change as what happened last night was possible." Jake squirmed in his sister's arms. "Meg what about Mom and Dad? They should have been in the subway last night." Meg blinked and felt ice water replace the blood in her veins. He was right; in all the excitement, she had forgotten. "C'mon, let's see if the netvid room survived." They carefully picked their way through the cold, dark apartment. The lights were time programmed and could not be turned on. When the two reached the room, Meg breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed to be intact. She flipped on the switch and dialed the number for the news. Ghostly images of an Indian woman on dark ruins of what must have once been a grand building slowly took form and seeming substance. The woman was speaking. Indira went on with her report to the world. "We have developed and produced twenty evacuation ships, each capable of holding 100 million people, at the Martian facilities. They are now stationed on the moon's dark side and will arrive on Earth in the next forty-eight hours. Those who wish to leave will search for worlds more hospitable than this one is likely to become." She escaped the bombardment of questions her announcement brought in a sleek, black limo. She barely had the patience to wait for her cameraman. The reporters chased her to her car, but fell away from its wind forceshield. "Let's get out of here," she instructed the driver. The netvid image faded to an anchorperson sitting behind a plaster covered desk. Meg looked closer. . . It wasn't a person at all, but an android. It spoke in a strangely inflected but human voice. "Last night's devastating quake has a calculated death toll of six billion people, almost two thirds of the total population. Most deaths occured in underdeveloped countries, small towns, and islands. The UN has revealed it lost contact with the Atlantis and Lemuria colonies, so their fates are unknown. A few deaths were underground, such as at the Arizona to New York cross continental subway route, where sections of the tunnel collapsed on the trains. Of the hundred passengers on one such train, only half survived." Meg clicked off the netvid; the images faded as slowly as they had formed. She didn't want to hear any more. Jake began to look at her strangely. "Meg," he began, but never finished. Meg gave him a look that warned him not to continue. But Meg knew they had to see the rest. Hand shaking and slick with sweat, she flipped the switch back on. The scene returned to the Indian woman with infuriating slowness; she now stood at a spaceport. "Our scientists inform us the planet has a 75 percent possibility of becoming hostile to human life within the next month. We strongly urge everyone under fifty and in good health to evacuate. But we warn you, we will use force if deemed necessary. To evacuate, go to your local spaceport starting Tuesday. Shuttles will transport you to the ships." The room dissolved to an underground scene. A train rammed headfirst into a pile of boulders; moonlight filtered in from above, giving the scene an ethereal quality; paramedics hauled people away on stretchers; some of those stretchers covered by long, black bags. "This was the scene earlier today under Dallas, Texas, site of the worst subway wreck-" In the living room, the phone rang. Meg made her way through the holographic carnage to the hall, then gingerly made her way back to the living room. She answered, and spoke to the cold, impersonal voice on the other end shakily. Her hand put the phone back on its cradle automatically, with no attention to how she was feeling. Dr. Graham was talking to Jake when Meg made her way back to the netvid room. She quickly flicked the switch back to off. "Dad and Edna are in the hospital in Dallas, Jake. We'll need to catch the next flight to see them. The doctor says they're in critical condition, but they were in one of the cars that slid off the track. So, they have a better chance to live than most. But the doctor wouldn't give any details over the phone." Jake took in his sister's words quietly, letting the realization sink in slowly. "When do we leave?"