Operation Thumbtack
The fluorescent lights were flickering overhead, casting long shadows across the weary face of Dr. Rahwile Turani. The windows were covered in grime, accumulated over weeks of neglect. Outside, the cityscape was a barren desert of decay, with concrete structures now crumbling. The only life seemed to be small gardens scattered throughout by scavengers, the only people keeping the city from total starvation.
Her eyes were bloodshot from sleepless nights. But now they were glued to an antiquated television perched precariously on a stack of textbooks. The newsfeed was a chaotic montage of explosions, panicked crowds, and stark narration by grim-faced reporters. Drones, both military and civilian, flew overhead like swarms of locusts. Surveillance was ever-present now.
News streamed on on the lower third. One caught her eye: "US and Indian forces converging in Center City".
A small map of the city appeared on the screen in the corner, showing two ominous red forces advancing from opposite ends, their tips poised to meet at the heart of her neighborhood. She couldn't help but let out a quiet sob. This metropolis, once thriving, had become a broken battleground. Now it was being torn apart by global powers vying for power in the coming decades.
The terraforming project, once her life's work, was part of a political game she never asked to join. The weight of her knowledge now pressed down on her, knowing that her research could rebuild or further destroy the world.
Just then she heard a bell. She turned to her computer console to find a message carefully encrypted for her eyes only.
"Your pumpkin awaits. Rendezvous near the red bird at midnight. Come alone."
Pumpkin? Was this person offering a way out? Or was this a trap? She checked her watch. The clock was ticking, and every passing second meant her possible choices were running out.
The message had no signature or any other explanation. She could spend a few hours with some scripting to trace back the source of the message, but she wouldn't have time to do that and reach the meeting point.
She grabbed her worn leather satchel and placed it over her head. It felt comforting against her hip. Hurriedly she grabbed her field notes and whatever samples she could access. She had to be hasty but without alerting any attention to her labmates, any of whom might expose this message to the authorities.
She took a deep breath of the stale recycled air of the lab for the last time before running a self-destruction program on her workstation. It would shred whatever data it contained. Anything that she didn't take with her would be gone forever. That way, whoever found this lab next would not be able to recreate her research on their terms.
Rahwile stepped into the hallway. A year ago it bustled with scientists and academics. Now they were eerily silent. A dull light illuminated dancing specks and dust and faded propaganda posters hanging off the walls.
She felt a surge of adrenaline as she moved stealthily down the hall. Every creak and groan was amplified, and she was on high alert for anyone who might spot her. Finally she reached the emergency stairwell, where she descended into the bowels of the complex. The darkness swallowed her.
She emerged out of the emergency exit for the old loading bay, which had long been abandoned due to the garage's structural risks. The city had low visibility due to the thick smoke. She tried not to breathe deeply, as there was an acrid odor of burning plastics. Rubble littered the streets, and she maneuvered to carefully avoid shards of glass everywhere.
Her footsteps were muffled, but left a mark in the ash layers on every street. She scanned the streets furtively for signs of danger. Though the road was quiet, there was the sound of explosions and gunfire echoing from somewhere distant.
She reached her destination, a small jazz club named Cardinal. She ducked inside and stepped into the old coat check room. She closed the door slowly, leaving just a crack and tried to hear for any voices.
"Dr. Rahwile I presume," came a low baritone voice with a distinctive American accent. "I am Agent Almond."
Rahwile opened the door a little more and saw his face.
"You're Chinese," she was shocked, but kept her voice to a whisper.
"I'm American," he clarified. "And I'm here to help."
"Help? With what?"
"I know this is a lot to take in," he had a look of empathy on his face. "But we don't have much time. Trust me Doctor. Your life depends on it."
Her eyes darted between his face and the shadowy hallway behind him. She grew worried.
"Why?" she said with a sharp breath. "Why would the Americans want to help me?"
Almond's expression hardened. "For your work, Doctor. It's vital. The technology you've developed, to increase crop yields and clean the atmosphere... it could be the key to do a lot of good."
"Restore the planet?" she scoffed with bitterness. "Is that what they told you? This war is all because of the kinds of technology you praise. It gave them power and will spell their demise. But all it's done so far is fuel their lust for power."
"And what of India? Will they be any different?" Almond countered. "They're not going to liberate you, Doctor. They will take your knowledge and expertise to weaponize it and gain the upper hand in the recovery."
"Weaponize? Terraforming was only supposed to be about healing. About abundance."
"Terraforming is about control. Control of the land. Of the air. Of the water. And you are the key to that control. The Americans they... we understand the stakes. We want to ensure the technology you're building is used for good, for all of mankind."
"Why should I trust you? Americans have destroyed cities. Killed civilians."
"We didn't start this war, but everyone can see it's ending. And now the choice is up to you Doctor, what you will do next. The world is changing. Old alliances are crumbling, with new powers rising out of it. The geopolitical landscape is going to be redrawn soon, and you'll have a lot of say over it. We're offering you a way out. I suggest you take it."
The army had a staging area outside of the city. When she arrived, it was a stark contrast from her crumbling home. It was hidden within the basement of an old hydroponics warehouse. They had reinforced the structure with new steel beams and columns. The rows of plants were removed and replaced by rows of cots. The only sign of what was once there were tiny vines creeping out of the ceiling.
"Come with me," Almond instructed.
She nodded and quietly followed behind.
"Who are they?" she asked, looking at the dirty faces of emaciated men and women laying in the cots.
"Evacuees, like you. My division has been instructed to... collect... renowned scientists and their families so they can take refuge with us."
"You want them to join your new world order."
"We are offering them a chance for freedom."
"Like the choice you're offering me?"
"You are free to leave whenever you want. But we're not the only ones looking for you."
She stopped speaking and grew immersed in grim thoughts. Her fate was sealed no matter what choice she made. All she could do was make the least bad choice. She had heard many good things about America. She remembered seeing the vast plains from the Wizard of Oz as a young child and found it fascinating.
Almond led her to a makeshift mess hall.
"Grab food. You must be hungry."
She felt a hunger inside of her and had to agree. All they had were meager rations, and even those had to be rationed. She hoped they would have real meat or fresh fruit. But when she reached the cafeteria counter, the cadet handed her a ration pack -- one of the infamous MREs.
Rahwile peeled back the plastic and had a whiff of the bland, meat-like aroma. The first bite confirmed her fears: it was a culinary abomination. She felt a desire for fresh vegetables, perhaps a juicy tomato grown in this hydroponic lab. She realized that her research could revolutionize food even for those on the front lines of disaster, like those like her taking refuge.
Almond left her to her own thoughts after she was assigned a cot. She laid back on it and felt a pain rush down her back. It was stiff. She didn't know if she would be able to get to sleep. She ruminated on the future. On her future. China was her home, yet her home was now a memory faded away. The land was consumed by the conflict and haunted by ghosts. The America that Almond spoke of, a land seeking redemption and a renewed opportunity for harmony with nature, seemed like a fantasy. Was it truly a second chance?
Yet could she actually leave her friends, her colleagues, her family? If she took this, she may never see them again. Her stomach cramped with guilt. Was she a traitor? she worried. But what good was her research if it only became a weapon?
Somewhere within all of these choices was a glimmer of hope, to continue her work and heal the planet. She didn't know how realistic it was, but she was adamant her destiny lay somewhere beyond the borders of her homeland. A new chapter was about to begin, and she had to be the one to write it. She refused to let her life's work be in vain.
Bright sunlight shined through the pristine windows of the lab, reflecting off the stainless steel workbenches and glimmering off the rows of translucent tanks. Dr. Rahwile adjusted her crisp white lab coat with a cheerful expression as she looked at the sensory data. The nutrient count was a little low. She adjusted the flow carefully.
It was a world far removed from the grime and violence of the past. Here, in Bismarck, she had been given her fresh start.
Her new government had spared no expense in ensuring she was comfortable and productive. She could access public funding for brand-new equipment, all of which was state-of-the-art. Her lab had been staffed with a team of grad students who were eager, though somewhat naïve.
This newfound freedom came at a price. It kept giving her a sense of discomfort during idle moments. She was a prized asset for American's global symbolism of ingenuity and dominance.
One afternoon she returned from lunch to see a group of her students huddled around a computer watching a news report. The anchorman spoke in a serious tone about the escalating tensions between the US and India over disputed territories in the terraformed regions of Southeast Asia. Rahwile's heart sank. The war had not truly ended, just shifted the battleground. The fight for resources had not ended, but now it was fueled by the same technology she had developed.
She turned back to the emerald green algae growing in the nutrient solution. Was her legacy to just be a pawn in the endless game of geopolitics?
The next day there was a rapping at her front door. She was startled and leapt up from her seat as she was reading the news.
She peered through the peephole and frowned. There was a young woman on her porch, her face covered in long pink hair and adorned with a few cybernetic enhancements. There was a datapad in her hand and a drone filming over her shoulder.
"Dr. Rahwile Turani?" she asked in a chipper voice. Barbs Green for Bismarck Live! We're doing a quick piece on the influx of um... international talent to our fair city. We wanted to get a sense of your inspiring story."
Rahwile first moved towards the door latch, but then hesitated. The last thing she wanted was for her past to be dug up and become fodder for local gossip. It was a chapter she had closed and wanted kept closed.
"No comment," she replied curtly.
"But doctor," Barbs persisted in a pleading voice. "Your research... your expertise... it's fascinating! The people of Bismarck deserve to learn more about who you are and where you came from."
"My work speaks for itself," Rahwile interrupted in a steely tone. "I'm just trying to contribute to science. Quietly. I do not wish to become a media spectacle."
"But the rumors need addressing! The whispers of your involvement with the Chinese government... the secret terraforming technology..."
Rahwile's patience was up.
"Good day Miss Green," she said icily.
Returning to her kitchen table, Rahwile slumped into the chair. Her hands were trembling slightly. The intrusion brought up an unwelcome reminder of her past, and it had shaken her. She had appreciated the moment of peaceful anonymity, even though it was a mere illusion. She could never have escaped the scrutiny forever, nor the constant suspicion she'd elicit.
Science was never truly free from the clutches of politics and power. Her research had gone from theory to a bargaining chip in a global game of dominance. She traded one cage for another.
A wave of weariness washed over her. This fight for control was relentless and all-consuming. Could she ever work in peace, using her knowledge exclusively for the betterment of humanity?
The question hung in the air, unanswered.