Chapter 1 - The Last Sun Day

“Warning,” an automated voice said.

Xander Oakes opened his eyes. A vibration from the smooth metal armband on his wrist indicated that his attention was required.

He peered through a pair of aug-glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. In the top left corner, a tiny cluster of infographics displayed atmospheric measurements from the environment around him. A thin meter at the center reported the current Air Quality Index value—278 AQI.

A smile stretched across his face.

The total pollutant level was lower than it had been in weeks, and much lower than it would be in the coming storm season. And since no aug-environment or virtual substitute could replicate the real sensations on the coast of the Pacific Northwest, he had to make the most of it.

     He shifted his focus to the immediate surroundings. A pair of bushes rustled with the movement of unseen forest animals, and overhead, little birds danced along an endless sea of tree branches. Rays of sunlight shone through cracks in the canopy, projecting hypnotic patterns of light and shadow on the dirt path ahead. He took another breath of the air.

     “Warning.” The armband on his wrist vibrated with urgency. “Prolonged exposure to harmful air pollutants. Respirator advised—”

     “Thanks, Orsa,” he said, then shook the armband with his wrist, a gesture that silenced the alert. “But I’m okay for now.”

     The air was indeed hazardous, but at twenty-eight years old, a few breaths wouldn’t hurt him. And besides, by the end of the month, he would be unable to return to the forest, and he would lose the freedom to breathe like this.

     With the alert silenced, he followed the trail as it snaked around pockets of pine trees. A half-buried rock caught his attention. “There’s one.”

He retrieved a small brush from his backpack and leaned over the rock, making quick brushstrokes from left to right until he unearthed it. When it came into view, the excitement left his face.

     “Another piece of petrified wood.” He tossed the find into the forest, where it bounced off a large boulder and then disappeared.

     Without wasting time, he continued onward, collecting air samples with his aug-glasses as he went. In fact, that was the reason for this excursion.

     His role as an Air Systems Researcher required him to supply his work, Basset Technologies, with weekly air-quality samples. The data would be compiled later to calibrate the Basset Respirator, the leading choice in wearable air filtration technology. And although the sample work seemed arbitrary at times, like busy work, he always kept a copy for his personal research.

     After some time, he approached an elevated portion of the forest, a point on the path that went above the tree canopy. From this spot, he could see for miles up and down the Cascadian coastline. It was mid-afternoon, yet the sun fought for its place in the sky. A sizable wall cloud reached over the horizon toward his location, threatening to blot out the sun at any moment. But that was expected on this day in late October, the last sun day before the storm season.

     Trekking deeper into the forest, he followed the path back down as it sloped beneath the tree canopy once more. The air suddenly became thick, vibrating with an unsettling frequency. As the trail beneath his boots began to fade, the pulsating energy grew stronger. Until it stopped.

     He froze in place. Chills ran down his back, then spread to his forearms. It was quieter than before and eerily deserted. There were no animals in the bushes, no birds in the trees, and even the wind seemed to have stopped.

     A voice came from far away. “Xander . . .”

     He snapped around and faced the other direction. “Orsa? Was that you?”

     “Negative.”

     “Then who—”

     A sudden boom of thunder cried out overhead, startling him.

     “A storm is approaching your location,” Orsa announced.

     He peered up at the sky. “Time to go.”

     As he turned to relocate the path, a flash of light caught his attention. A few paces into the forest, an outcrop of rock protruded from the ground, as if waiting for him. The invitation was impossible to ignore.

     Knowing that animals took shelter in places like this, he approached the rock formation with caution. Once he got closer, he spotted a dark pit in the ground. He crouched low and peered into it. Clammy, pungent air wafted up from the hole. This was the right place for great rock finds.

     Without hesitation, he reached in and felt around blindly. Typically, he would not dare to reach in this way, but today, a certain confidence guided him. He could feel damp leaves, a few small pebbles, and then a sharp, jagged stone.

     Jackpot!

   As he gripped the find, an electric current, much like a static shock, ran through his fingers and up his arm. But despite the odd sensation, he didn’t let go. He brought the stone out of the darkness and into the light. Under the sunlight, it illuminated with an opaque purple-and-green shimmer.

     “Whoa,” he said as he turned it over in his palm.

     It appeared to be a variation of amethyst or fluorite, presumably, both common to this area. The corner had cracked, revealing a brilliant display of purple-and-green forms within. Deciding to classify it later, he tucked the find away in his pocket.

     Beyond systems researcher and air-quality collector, he was an aficionado of rocks and gemstones of all kinds, or what Lucian MarKelly’s rock hunting group referred to as a rockhounder. Years ago, he had joined Lucian’s rockhounder group on a whim, and among their band of six members, they had amassed over three hundred and twenty unique specimens from the local area.

     Back home, Xander had a personal rock collection that spanned over four large container shelves, with almost every slot filled with a different classification—a plethora of agates, garnets, amethysts, a few gold nuggets, and geodes in every color imaginable.

     Water droplets splashed on his forehead, and as he glanced up, the last beam of sunlight vacated the sky. The last light was gone. A gray blanket of clouds stretched over the land, and the color and vibrancy of the forest disappeared. It was as though he had stepped into a black-and-white film.

     “Warning. AQI value has exceeded 280,” Orsa said. “Your respirator is strongly advised.”

     “Okay, okay,” he said. “All I wanted was a little air.”

     “Your health is a priority, Xander.”

     “I know that,” he said. “But what about yours?”

     “I am an artificial system,” Orsa said. “The air presents no danger to me.”

     “Lucky you.”

     He reached for the clunky respirator that dangled from his neck and positioned it over his mouth and nose. The mask was geometric in form, constructed from transparent orange-and-charcoal-colored parts, smothered with the obtrusive BASSET TECH logo on each side. He wiggled the respirator for a moment until it locked into place, and then he pressed a small button on the right side. There was an electric hum, followed by the flow of stale oxygenated air. The taste was metallic and harsh at first, but after a few breaths, he couldn’t tell the difference.

     As the sky became darker, he hurried along the dirt path back to his car. It was a gray electric vehicle, sleek and low to the ground. He climbed inside as rain dotted the windshield. Oxygenated air filled the interior through vents behind the dashboard, allowing him to remove his respirator.

     “Orsa,” he said into the car. “Upload today’s data to the Basset Tech network.”

     “Certainly,” Orsa chimed from the car’s dashboard. “One moment.”

     An aug-screen appeared in front of him, in the space between his aug-glasses and the dashboard of the car. The BASSET TECH logo appeared, then faded into a white rectangular screen. After a moment, the digital network opened into a database of files. Orsa located Xander’s folder and initiated the upload process. The results would take at least a few hours to finalize.

     Another boom of thunder rattled the car. The rain fell in heavier amounts now, washing over in thick layers. “Orsa, take us home, please.”

     “Destination confirmed,” Orsa chimed. “Estimated travel time is twenty-three minutes. Enjoy the ride.”

     The car started with an electric hum, then lurched backward out of the parking lot. Orsa guided them down a bumpy strip of gravel, passing a sign that read Rocky Point Campgrounds. Beyond that, the asphalt of the main road was much smoother, and the car moved down it like a bird riding a tailwind.

     After a few minutes, the forest dissipated, and his box-community hometown of Astor came into view. Tall, thick seawalls surrounded the ten-by-six-mile plot of land, shielding the community from floods, hurricanes, and other natural disasters. It looked like a giant rectangular box without a lid, nestled right into the valley.

     Then he saw it—humanity’s last hope. In the distance, beyond Astor, the enormous Volaress II airship hovered high above the bay with an unsettling stillness, casting a dark shadow over the flooded ruins of Old Seattle. The airship’s brooding presence over the land served as a perpetual reminder of the state of the world.

Directly underneath it was Fortress, a massive block of a city that floated on the water’s surface. It served as both a docking platform for Volaress II and a fortified metropolis of its own.

     He stared in awe, unable to fathom what it was like to live up there in the sky. It was a place many called home and a place many desired to live, including Xander. But tickets were next to impossible to obtain.

     Orsa navigated the car toward the valley where the box-comm of Astor was situated. By the time they approached the south entrance processing kiosk, the forty-foot cement seawalls towered overhead. Two Astor guards inside the kiosk waved at Xander as his car drove up, and then a mechanical arm swiveled out from a box on the left and scanned the iridescent barcode on the side of the car.

     An automated voice, different than Orsa’s, spoke from the dashboard. “Welcome home, Xander Oakes. Please proceed to Neighborhood P.”

     Ahead, a thick cement gate rolled upwards, screeching and grinding as it went. The guards waved once more as his car drove through the entrance and into the bustling community of Astor.

     Following the neon-red lines on the road, Orsa steered the car down Main Street, passing markets and boutiques with curved glass windows and illuminated interiors glowing against the darkness of the sky. People crowded the sidewalks, despite the imminent storm, all wearing dark clothing and opaque respirators.

     The car cruised through the education district, then turned right onto Second Street. This area was considered the business district, comprised of government buildings, ritzy residential apartments, and Xander’s second home, Basset Technologies.

     Traveling down Second Street, they entered the neighborhood district that constituted more than three-fourths of Astor. Each house looked like a geometrically perfect cube, constructed from a steel frame and concrete walls. Neighborhoods A, C, and D were first. The homes in this part of town scaled at least three or four house cubes high and were meant for those with bigger families or for those who could afford to have more space.

     At the intersection of Neighborhood O and Second Street, they took a left turn. This part of the box-comm was aligned with symmetrical perfection, each house resembling the others in a cookie-cutter fashion. After driving through a few more neighborhoods, they entered Neighborhood P, and Xander’s house came into view.

     The single cube house boasted the same dull frame standardized for the entirety of Astor. Within the cube, there was a first floor with a garage, a kitchen, a living room, and a home office, and upstairs was a smaller floor with two bedrooms and two bathrooms. Both the front door and the garage were sealed with airlock chambers, purging the polluted air before they opened. As Orsa pulled into the driveway, the garage panel rose upward, allowing the car to park inside.

     Once the garage was closed and the oxygen levels restored, Xander grabbed his aug-glasses and respirator, then hopped out of his car. When he opened the door into the house, the smell of roasted garlic and salted tomatoes greeted him.

     “Xander?” a voice called from within the house. “Is that you?”

     He turned the corner into the kitchen to find his wife, Lyza. Her long, blonde swirls of hair hung loose around her neck, tangled with the hospital keycard still clipped by her collarbone. She had a soft, natural beauty that never sought attention, yet somehow always commanded it.

     “Hiza.” He walked up to her and kissed her on the cheek, then inspected her keycard. “How’s my favorite nurse?”

     “Hiza,” she replied. “I’m just a volunteer now.”

     “But they’re not working you to death, are they?”

     She laughed. “Does training the new staff count?”

     “It most certainly does,” he said, then embraced her. “The food smells divine.”

     “Orsa said it’ll be ready soon.”

     As if in response, a cupboard flap opened with a chime, revealing a steaming plate of freshly made garlic bread and a large platter of mashed potatoes and meatloaf. “Dinner is served,” Orsa announced from somewhere within the kitchen.

     Lyza turned back to Xander and frowned. “Another late Sunday night?”

     He nodded. “Basset wants as much data as possible.”

     “How’s the air?” She grabbed a stack of plates, spread them out, and dispersed mashed potatoes evenly onto each one. “Please tell me you wore your respirator.”

     “I did, don’t worry. And nothing noteworthy to report. The air is still getting worse.” He shrugged. “But I did make a few discoveries.”

     “What’d you find, Daddy?” It was his eldest daughter, Kassie, nine years of age. She stood beside him, sporting her new denim jacket. “I wanna see.”

     “Daddy!” a small voice shrieked from a chair at the kitchen table. It was his youngest daughter, Little Mae, only six years old. She beamed at him with bright blue eyes while she played with her yellow toy duck.

     Xander pulled out his backpack and reached in. He rummaged around for a moment, then acted like something had caught his hand and reeled back in pretend pain. The girls screamed playfully, then laughed.

     “You’re never going to believe it,” he said. “But I found this.” He held out his palm and revealed a white spiraled seashell.

     “What kind of rock is that?” Kassie asked.

     “It’s not a rock. It’s a seashell called a wentletrap. Long before ocean acidification, tiny creatures would make their homes in these, and hundreds of them would wash up on the shore.”

     “Does it bite?”

     “It won’t bite,” he said and then chuckled. “This one has been abandoned. But if you listen closely, you can still hear the ocean waves inside.”

     Kassie took the shell from his palm and held it up to her ear. Her eyes grew wide. “I can hear, I think. I can hear it!”

     “Gimme! Gimme!” Little Mae said as she reached her small hands at her older sister. Kassie handed her the shell, and then she too placed it against her ear. “Is the ocean stuck in there, Daddy?”

     “It’s not really the ocean,” he said. “Only an illusion.”

     “What else did you find?” Kassie asked.

     “Nothing quite as exciting. Some petrified wood and a few stones.”

     He strolled into the home office, which was a tiny room situated by the front door, and pulled out the purple-green stone for his rock collection, but to his surprise, there wasn’t a container slot available, so instead, he placed it on his aug-desk next to a framed family photo.

* * *

After dinner, and after Kassie and Little Mae were tucked in for the night, Xander went back into his room and plopped on the bed. With a wave of his armband over a sensor, a television aug-screen appeared. It unfolded from a hidden box, then stretched across the width of the bed frame. Noise boomed around him.

     “With the Volaress program approaching its twenty-one-year anniversary, officials reflect on the success of the program. Since its genesis in 2063, eleven of the twelve Volaress ships have been completed over the remaining major cities of the world. After the devastation of the Hong Kong Typhoon of 2077, Volaress XI is nearing completion, ushering in the finalization of the program and a new era for humanity. Get your tickets now, before the ships reach full capacity.”

     “In other news, climate scientists who have studied the Pacific Northwest Earthquake and Tsunami of 2074, commonly known as The Western Fracture, which decimated nearly 85% of the coast, are examining new findings in the environmental factors that led up to it. Ten years later, with the rise in global storm intensity and the Volaress program not yet complete, we can only hope . . .”

     “Turn it off,” Lyza said, appearing at the bedroom door. “I don’t want the girls to overhear.”

     “We need to stay informed—”

     “Turn it off.”

     Xander waved his arm over the sensor again, and the aug-screen zapped off. He stared blankly at the space the virtual screen had occupied while anxiety for his family’s future ignited like coals ready to produce flames. At times, he felt hopeless, like these things were out of his control. All he could do was sit and watch the world fall apart.

     “You seem distracted,” Lyza said as she approached him. “Everything okay?”

     He turned from his thoughts and looked at her. “All good, I think.”

     “You can always talk to me.”

     “I know, but I’d rather not bother you.”

     She stopped in place, dropped her chin, and stared at him with raised eyebrows.

     “Okay, fine,” he said. “That meeting with Mr. Salyzar is on Tuesday.”

     “The Floater guy?”

     Xander nodded. “He’s the new director of Volaress Innovations. Basset is pushing for a deal with him. That’s the reason for all the late nights recently.”

     “I can’t stand your boss,” she said. “He takes time away from your family while he’s certainly with his.”

     “I’m just another one of his pawns.”

     “You are not a pawn, Xander. You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished there. You’ve been there nine years now?”

     “Almost ten, actually.”

     “Exactly. Your time will come. They wouldn’t be anywhere without you . . . and your air samples.”

     “The samples are busy work, you know that.”

     “Perhaps,” she said. “But you’re better than what Mr. Basset makes you out to be—that much, I know.”

     Xander nodded softly. They shared a kiss and got into bed together. He rolled over in the linens, settling into his indention in the mattress. He found comfort here, only to be plagued by his thoughts.

     The truth was, he was burned out. He had spent the last ten years working endless days and nights for Mr. Basset without question. Ten years of relentless work. Ten years of waiting. For what?

     The tickets.

     Years ago, when he started working there, Mr. Basset had offered him and his family tickets onboard Volaress II, under the one condition that Xander would never seek work anywhere else. Without another option, he agreed. The offer meant the difference between life and death, especially for a Lander family like his. There was no other way to secure his family’s safety. Without Mr. Basset, they were stuck on the surface.

     But his boss was an unpredictable man, the kind who praised you one day and then forgot you existed the next. This made Xander uncertain where the offer stood after all these years.

     He tried not to sink into this well of emotion, but it was always there staring back at him, asking him so many questions. What if he never got the tickets? What if his efforts were in vain? What if nothing ever came of it? What if he couldn’t save his family?

     His mind circled for another moment, then released. As he slipped away into a deep, strange sleep, one last thought crossed his mind.

     All he wished for were tickets to save his family. Tickets to save them from certain death.

Next Chapter:

Chapter 2 - Washed Up

Copyright © 2025 by Kevin T. Davis.

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