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Lambert headed for the exit hatch, never the first one out of the jet for security reasons, followed closely by Thompson. Along the way, he intercepted and spoke to one of the staffers: “Send Ceo Lenz our regards, and a request for me to meet him tomorrow morning.” The staffer moved off, and Lambert and Thompson stopped walking when they noted AF1’s pilot, Col. Emily Stearns, approaching them on an obvious intercept vector.

“Mister President,” Col. Stearns began without preamble when she was in proximity, “we have confirmations from the Global Aviation Administration that ground conditions are now considered severe over seventy-five percent of the U.S. mainland. Air traffic is considered difficult to impossible at this stage. We may be here for awhile.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” Lambert said. “Keep ‘er tuned up for a launch within two hours’ notice. Just in case things change for the better.”

“Certainly, Mr. President,” Stearns nodded smartly. “Mister Thompson,” she inclined her head at the Chief of Staff, before she turned and strode back towards the cockpit.

When she was out of sight, Lambert said softly, “Probably just turn out to be busy work on her part.”

Thompson said, “I could give her something else to do.”

“Didn’t you bring enough of your people with you?” Lambert fixed him with a significant but amused look. “Leave her alone.”

Thompson shrugged with his eyebrows, and followed Lambert out and into the reception area. Some of the rest of the staff were already there, as well as the ever-present security detail scattered throughout the area. Thompson surveyed the staff, especially the female members standing about the area. Many of them were wearing skirts… not a big deal on Earth, but generally considered to be a
faux pas
for a professional working on a satellite (too many catwalks, open balconies and unexpected low-gravity areas for propriety or modesty’s sake). Of course, they had all left in a hurry, and no one had had time to prepare a wardrobe. A few of the smarter staffers usually kept appropriate changes of clothing in their offices, and had had the presence of mind to bring them. Most of them had changed on the jet, and were now appropriately dressed for satellite duty. Thompson, who liked to take full advantage of the sexual opportunities that gravitated to men of his powerful position, mentally catalogued the rest of the staffers, as their now-unintentionally-risqué appearance would give him something to look forward to—and take full advantage of—later that day.

To one of those women in particular, he caught with an eye and motioned her over. The staffer walked over smartly, her skirt shifting back and forth with the cadence of her long legs. She moved close enough to Thompson for him to catch a whiff of her cologne, and said, “Yes, sir?”

“Gail, make yourself available for debriefing tonight,” Thompson said casually. “And put in a call for the President. See if Miss Vaughn is aboard.” Gail nodded and smiled knowingly, turned and started to walk away, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her. Thompson, looking past her at the other staffers, said, “Tell Meryl to join us at debriefing, too.” Gail’s expression barely shifted, but she proceeded away a bit more briskly when he finally released her shoulder.

While he had spoken to Gail, the first of the Presidential transports had arrived outside of the reception area. It was a tram car much like others in Verdant, but reserved for High House staff only and built a bit more heavily in deference to protecting the President. The secret service agents quickly checked the vehicle, and then signaled for the President and the Chief of Staff to enter. Lambert and Thompson climbed into the vehicle, and before the door closed, another of the male staffers stepped up to the vehicle. “I have the report on the present state of Verdant.” Thompson motioned him inside with them. Once he was inside, the door was closed, and the tram moved off for the Presidential Compound. Other trams pulled up to ferry the rest of the staff along with them.

As they moved through subsurface railways, heading for the open air beyond the bays, the staffer took an electronic tablet from his breast pocket, a government-issue model with a brushed nickel case. He brought his tablet up and waited for a sign that the President and Thompson were ready for his report, then began: “Just as we were arriving, Verdant CnC declared Level four conservation restrictions satellite-wide. That’s basically minor rationing of water and staples, and temporary shutdown or cutbacks in select energy use. The number of already-cancelled freight deliveries means they are going to have to shut down at least three full manufacturing plants, and sections of a few others, possibly for the duration of the crisis. U.N. reports of their stores suggest they can go without supplies from Earth for at least a month, then they’ll have to go to Level three restrictions. All senior personnel are aboard, and they are not listing a shortage of required personnel in any area.”

“How are the people taking the news?” Lambert asked.

“A few grumbles,” the staffer replied. “No one likes even Level four restrictions. You’ll hear some howling when they go to three, but mostly from the upper-level executives.”

After a moment, Lambert nodded, and the staffer lowered his tablet. Lambert glanced at Thompson. “Along with everything else, as long as the satellites can’t get raw stocks, we’ll be losing the goods they ship down. That’s an extra hit on our economy.”

“We might want to keep that in mind, if we need leverage for anything,” Thompson agreed. “We might need to stay here for awhile. And given the conditions of things on the ground, we can expect to be involved in some serious negotiations in the near future.” He glanced over to the staffer, who was poised ready to bring his tablet back up if needed. Thompson shook his head, and the staffer lowered the tablet.

Meanwhile, Lambert was nodding. “The immigration restrictions,” he intoned. “This is going to qualify as a crisis mode. It will be impossible for the U.N. to deny us the right to negotiate higher quotas for the satellites. We’ll need them as sanctuaries for as much of the ground population as we can get up here.”

“Sir,” the staffer interjected, his hand flashing over the touchscreen of his tablet, “the U.N. has remained firm on the sovereign status of the satellites and their quotas during the past four challenges, and all of the satellites have documentation that proves they are either at, or slightly above, sustainable capacity right now.”

“
Optimal
capacity, obviously,” Lambert said to the staffer. “But optimal is a best-case scenario, Harley. They can accommodate more people if they have to.” The staffer, who knew better than to contradict the President, nodded silently.

At that moment, the tram exited the sublevel railways, and they could see the open area of the satellite through the tram’s thick transparent roof. The three of them glanced quickly upward to take it in, and only the staffer, Harley, brought his glance back down to the President after only a few seconds.

Verdant was a massive cylindrical superstructure, enclosing a collection of cylinders within cylinders, twenty in all, each one a level, known as a “floor,” housing apartments, offices, greenspaces, gardens and public areas. Most floors rotated independently at a high-enough rate to generate the equivalent of a standard Earth gravity: Notable exceptions were Floor 3, dedicated to hospital functions, which rotated at a slower pace to create an approximation of lunar gravity to aid physical recuperation; and portions of the science and research floors, which either rotated at various rates, or not at all, to provide different levels of gravity as required by the researchers. Only the outer floor, Floor 20, and the central column, Floor Zero, extended the length of the satellite—from the “north” to the “south” poles—the rest of the floors extending from each pole, or from only one of the poles, and ending in terraces that overlooked or underhung other floors in a staggered but attractive pattern. This allowed the outer floor, and certain areas of the inner floors, to enjoy an open “sky” that extended, in some places, all the way to that floor’s opposite wall, and included the added visual sight of balconies rotating at various rates, each one above slightly faster than the one below. Many of the floors had high-enough “skies” to allow the formation of hills and pastures, mainly on the south end of the satellite, encompassing wooded areas, parks, even lakes and streams. Others provided park areas in the living spaces, where the lowest ceiling of any one floor was still a respectable four meters in height.

All of the satellites had essentially been built this way, even Qing, the Chinese satellite, with minor variations between them. The satellites had been commissioned by the U.N. when concerns about the consequences of global warming, and mankind’s inability to reverse the process, originally forced the world to consider the radical idea of moving humanity off of the planet almost altogether. It was proposed that small numbers of humans, taking advantage of automation, could continue to live on the ground and provide needed raw materials to the satellites, allowing the bulk of the population to live in relative safety in multiple orbital oases… basically, removing humans from the environment they were so good at ruining, and which threatened someday to retaliate and overwhelm them.

However, budgetary limitations scaled back the project severely, leaving only three satellites built by the charter, the third co-funded by the remaining oil barons of the Mid-East, and a fourth by China exclusively. Most of the human population still lived on the ground, and the overriding proportion of them wished fervently that they could live on the satellites instead.

“Look at that,” Lambert said, prompting Harley to look upward again. “Look at all the open, relatively unused space in here. They made every effort to create these fancy greenspaces and luxurious high ceilings, but there’s room for plenty more living space in those unused areas! They could
double
the population here, with just some creative redesigning.”

“The ecosystem is supposed to be balanced for the existing population,” Harley pointed out, doing his best to sound factual and not contrary. “According to their engineers, a satellite this size could not carry the resources needed for double the population.”

“In an
optimal
scenario,” Lambert repeated. “But these people live in relative luxury now! They can afford to cut back on resources… food… power use… and spread the wealth a bit.”

“That’ll be a hard-sell to the U.N.,” Harley stated.

“The U.N. may feel differently, when the populations of the world are banging on their doors,” Thompson commented.

Lambert shared a glance with him, and nodded in agreement. “Harley, when we get in, have the staff work up a plausible emergency operations scenario for the satellites, based on our original specs. I want it ready in the morning to present to the U.N.”

Harley nodded, put his tablet in his suit pocket, and said no more.

~

The Presidential Compound was not much of a compound, in a traditional Earth-bound sense of mansions or collections of houses surrounded by acres of land. In fact, beyond the one building, there was not much land that was actually devoted to it as grounds. But it was situated in one of the protected parks on the southern side of Verdant, where individual access was generally limited in order to avoid damage to the flora and fauna there. Since access was controlled anyway, it made sense to put a high-security building there.

The four-story structure, equipped with apartments, work areas, independent security and communications stations, and the Presidential residence, had been leased to the U.S. Government as their secure facility on Verdant… what some people liked to call the “
High
-High House.” The building was nondescript from the outside, owing to the simple vertically-oriented carbon façade, and to the high-security windows that blended in with the design of the façade so well that outsiders could not accurately tell where walls ended and windows began. The President used the compound as a retreat, occasionally for actual relaxation, but usually to conduct business away from the rigors of the High House in Denver. It was also the unofficial United States Embassy on Verdant, and as such, had a small contingent of American citizens and a few Verdant citizens always stationed there.

Those workers were all outside the entrance to the compound, like a line of expectant servants greeting their Lord and Master, when the tram with the President pulled up to the gate. Once they’d received the official “all clear” signal from security, Lambert got out, and ran down the line greeting and shaking hands with the embassy staff, all of whom he could address by first name. Thompson followed behind him, speaking directly to a few of the embassy staffers, shaking hands with most of them. Harley followed along, addressing only a few people that he knew directly, and otherwise remaining unobtrusive. Once that was accomplished, they all headed inside the building, and the President, Thompson and Harley took the right arm of a double flight of stairs that led to the second floor, and the Presidential offices.

The interior of the building belied its simple exterior, being filled with antique furniture, rich dark woods (half of which had probably been on the endangered lists when they were harvested), expensive accents and state-of-the-art IT. A lot of trouble had been taken to rebuild some elements, like antique lamps, to function with modern lighting units and ambient sensors, but continue to look like their counterparts of past centuries. The overall effect was that of a late-twentieth-century corporate office, considered by historians to be the high-point of modern business opulence, if not efficiency.

The staffers other than Harley had not yet arrived (the first of them were only now pulling up in the second of nine trams following the President’s transport), but the workstations in the main space had been maintained by cleaning staff and looked as if they had been used just yesterday. Harley planted himself at one workstation and activated the intelligence system with a quick thumb-swipe, as Lambert and Thompson continued on to the President’s Office. Despite its regular use as an auxiliary President’s office, it was not oval in layout… only the office in the High House was designed to resemble the famous Oval Office in the original White House, back in what little was still above water in Washington, D.C. But it also looked as if it had been used as recently as that morning.