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 surrounding environment. In the center, a thin meter reported the current Air Quality Index—278 AQI.

     A smile stretched across his face.

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

     He shifted his focus to the immediate surroundings. A pair of bushes with brittle leaves rustled in the wind, and overhead, an endless sea of decaying tree branches swayed back and forth. 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 air, ignoring the faint irritation it left behind.

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

     “Thanks, Orsa,” he said, flicking 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, the pollutant levels would be higher, and he would be unable to return to the forest. He would lose the freedom to breathe like this.

     With the alert silenced, he continued to follow the trail as it snaked around pockets of dead 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.

     He went onward, collecting air samples with his aug-glasses. That was the reason for this outing.

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

     After some time, he reached an elevated stretch of the forest, a portion of the path that rose above the tree canopy. From this spot, he could see for miles up and down the Puget Sound. 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, 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 faded away, 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. 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.

     “There’s a storm approaching your location,” Orsa announced.

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

     As he turned to find 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.

     He approached the rock formation with caution. Many animals that used to occupy this forest were now gone, but the ones that still lived here, like chipmunks and smaller snake species, took shelter in places like this. 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 some damp leaves, a few small pebbles, and a sharp, jagged stone.

     Jackpot!

     He gripped the find and brought it out of the darkness and into the light. Under the sunlight, the stone illuminated with an opaque purple-and-green shimmer.

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

     It seemed 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 called 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.

     Rain 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 an obtrusive BASSET TECH logo on each side. He wiggled the respirator until it locked into place, 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 air sample 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, slowly fading into a white rectangular screen. After a moment, the digital network opened into a file database. Orsa located Xander’s folder and started 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, past a sign reading 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.

     Soon, the forest thinned out, 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.

     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.

     Directly underneath the airship was Fortress, a huge 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.

     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. 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 school 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 over three-fourths of Astor. Every house looked like a perfectly geometric cube, built on a steel frame and concrete walls. Neighborhoods A, C, and D were first. The homes in this part of town rose at least three or four house cubes high and were meant for larger families or for people who could afford 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 throughout 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 air lock 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 door closed, the polluted air was flushed out and oxygen levels were restored. Xander grabbed his aug-glasses and respirator, then hopped out of the car. When he opened the door into the house, the smell of roasted garlic and 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, dark brown 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 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 panel opened with a ding, revealing a plate of freshly made garlic bread topped with roasted tomatoes, alongside a steaming 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 air-quality data as possible.”

     “How’s the air?” She grabbed a stack of plates, spread them out, and evenly dispensed mashed potatoes onto each. “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 inside, then acted like something had caught his hand and reeled back in pretend pain. The girls screamed playfully and 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 used to make their homes in these, and hundreds of them would wash up on the shore.”

     “Does it bite?”

     “It won’t bite,” he said, 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, reaching her small hands toward her older sister. Kassie handed her the shell, and then she 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 by the front door, and pulled out the purple-green stone for his rock collection. To his surprise, there was no container slot available, so he placed it on the office 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 and 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. Still don’t have your tickets onboard? Apply for the Volaress Draft today for a chance to get tickets 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 eighty-five percent of the Puget Sound, 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 with this.”

     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 busywork, 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, bending backwards 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 aboard Volaress II, on the condition that Xander would never seek work elsewhere. Just one Volaress ticket was more than he could afford, so without another option, Xander agreed. The offer meant the difference between life and death, especially for a Lander family like his. There was always the Volaress Draft, which they had applied for years ago, but did anyone actually get selected for that? He had never heard of it happening to anyone.

     Yet his boss could be unpredictable and cruel, the kind who praised you one day and then forgot you existed the next. This left Xander uncertain about 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 continued to cross his mind. All he wished for were tickets to save his family. Tickets to save them from a certain death.

Next Chapter:

Chapter 2 - Washed Up

Copyright © 2026 by Kevin T. Davis.

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