Even Utopia Has War

 In the beginning, it seemed as though this was perfect. The world was in dire need of help. 

The news headlines read like a sci-fi novel.

Good news! The world is no longer warming! Global Warming is officially over!

Bad news? It’s because we have entered into a period coined “Global Boiling”.

Humanity had cooked the entire planet. One that was rife with war, corruption, pollution, poaching, murder, sex trafficking… We killed everything we touched. Humans were destructive by nature and sought out conflict everywhere we went. 

Then they came. 

The Utawaya looked human. They’d blended in at first, merging with the masses, but as the world went further and further up shit creek with not a paddle in sight, they made themselves known. 

They came in peace, they said, quoting every Hollywood sci-fi movie about aliens to have ever existed. They’d spent a long time monitoring Earth, they said, learning our ways, so they might come to land and join us. 

Help us. 

And, for years, they did. 

They had technology that even the greatest human minds could never have replicated. Net zero energy sources, machines that outperformed the combustion engine, a social system that harkened more back to the days when items were traded instead of money, where everyone had worth and a contribution to a community. The Poverty gap closed, despite the filthy rich protesting. Weapons of mass destruction were banned and disarmed. Tyrants were overthrown. People liberated. Wars ended. Crime prevented. They promised that they could reverse the damage done to the planet.

It truly was the coming of The Age of Peace.

Earth was thriving, and so were the people.

Then came the culling. 

It was slow at first and started with the dredges of the barrel. The ones no one cared about. The Utawaya had technology that could read the thoughts of a person. There was no more doubt over a prisoner's guilt. Mass murderers, rapists, and pedophiles were the first to be killed. Then came extremist groups with the intent to cause mass harm or disaster. Terrorists, human traffickers, poachers. Eventually, those people ran out too. 

Earth was massively overpopulated, the Utawaya said. The numbers needed to be controlled like we used to do with deer destroying forests. 

No one was safe, really, but the Utawaya had one rule: pregnant women and women with young children were exempt. 

Everyone else? Fair game. 

Some volunteered, of course.

Just because Earth was a utopia didn’t mean people weren’t still depressed or suicidal. 

Even that wasn’t enough for the Utawaya.

They began a roster. Bi-annually people were selected at random to be volunteers, like some twisted version of The Hunger Games. 

At least Katniss had a chance. Those selected have no chance. 

If you’re a man, you die. If you’re a woman and you have no children, you die. The male population decreased dramatically in the first ten years, and so did the reproduction rate. We all prayed to forgotten Gods that eventually the culling would stop, but every six months people were selected, and within days their bodies were returned shrouded in white.

It is an honor, the Utawaya told us, to give back to the Mother in the purest form– to return your life and your body into Her waiting hands as She rebalances the scales. 

It wasn’t long until people started to rebel, and then things changed, and not for the better as we had hoped. 

Our rebellion was met with fury and an iron fist. 

The Utawaya were enraged. They’d given us so much and asked for so little, and this was how we thanked them. By showing that destruction was at the core of who we were. 

We were parasites, they said, and they would start the world anew. 

Turns out, even Utopia has War… 

* * *

I cough as yet another cloud of dust falls from the roof, clouding my vision and drying out my mouth better than an old bottle of Vodka ever could. We hide in a bunker on the outskirts of London. It isn’t very big, but we make it work, jamming the seven bodies in like a tin of sardines. 

“God bless the doomsday preppers,” I mutter under my breath. 

No one laughs.

I lean over the table that the four of us have gathered around and squint my eyes to see the map in the dim candlelight. It isn’t easy to access tech anymore. Candles work, just not as well as a torch would. 

The others talk under their breath, running over the plan once more. I hold my breath and count to ten. 

The panic is building in my chest, coiling around me like a snake. 

Mick stares down at the table, his eyes moving back and forth rapidly. I know he’s running over every possible route in his head, and every possible problem that could arise. 

Our one chance-- there can be no room for error.

We’ve waited a long time for the leaders of the Utawaya to be in one place. 

The door to the bunker bangs open. My eyes lift and lock with a familiar, startling blue pair. The balaclava hides most of her face, but I see Rave’s eyes crinkle as she smiles at me and I smile back, some of the panic fading away.  

“You started without me?” The love of my life demands as she kicks the door shut behind her. Her hands are smeared with oil and dirt when she lifts them to pull off the balaclava, revealing her shock of silver blonde hair. I shuffle to the right, clearing a space at the table for her. 

“You’re late.” That is all Mick says. Rave fills the space beside me, her arm winding around my waist as she presses a chaste kiss to my temple. We’re all stressed. 

“She’s here now,” I mutter, affixing our de facto leader with my best no-nonsense stare. Mick’s lips press into a thin line. 

“Don’t be late next time.” He grouses. Rave’s arm tightens around me. I knock my hip against hers. Silence falls over the group as she examines the map. 

“So, this is it.” She says at last “Are we sure it will work?” Silence once more. The two men at the table share a look with one another. Abel and Mick are the only two men in our group. I don’t blame them for sticking together.

Men were rarer since the cullings. 

“This is it. And it’ll work.” Mick says. He looks between us all, his gaze wary. He nods to the other person at the table. Lucille is an older woman, the oldest of us all. She sighs as the attention falls on her and smooths the front of her shirt. It’s a nervous tick, one I’d noticed very early on in our time together. 

People are what I do. 

We all have a role to play here, and Lucille is about to enact her part. 

I watch Lucille, noting the tightening of her eyes, and the slight tremble of her hands. I look back at Mick and note similar movements from him. He wipes his hands against his legs. 

Sweaty palms, shifty eyes, dilated pupils. My own eyes narrow. 

“What are you two hiding?” I demand, pointing a finger between each of them. Lucille jumps and avoids my gaze, but it’s still she who speaks. 

“There’s a reason no one has done this before.” Lucille’s voice holds the soft remnants of an Eastern European accent. We don’t hear much variety in accents anymore. Traveling to other countries isn’t possible now. 

“The device that Abel reconfigured can launch the Nuke.” She says. 

The pause is pregnant.

Lucille deliberately avoids my gaze, looking anywhere but. 

Apprehension coils in my gut.

“And?” I press, certain there’s more. Panic is rising again. 

I grip Rave’s hand under the table.

“And the Utawaya took steps that mean that entering coordinates won’t work anymore. Someone will need to take the beacon inside, unseen, and keep the device powered up. The warhead will target the link.” 

“Inside. Unseen.” I repeat robotically. 

“Like a ghost,” Rave whispers at my side and my heart drops out my ass. 

Raven is our ghost. That is her role. I feel sick. 

“It’s a suicide mission!” I protest, “This wasn’t part of the plan.”

“None of our lives are worth more than the greater good.” Lucille intones. I slam my hand down on the table. Rave runs her hand up and down my back. 

The movement is meant to be soothing, but it only serves to remind me of everything I will lose.

“Mel,” she whispers. Tears burn my eyes and I shake my head, my hand curling into a fist against the table. 

“Make the preparations. I’ll do it.” Rave murmurs. 

Her words split my heart in two and the world falls away. 

In two days, we will bomb the Utawayan summit. In two days, Rave will die. 

And I intend to die with her. 

* * *

“We don’t need to do this, Rave,” I whisper. Raven draws in a breath. 

“Yes, we do.” 

“We’re just proving everything they’ve ever said about us to be true.” I plead. 

“Maybe. Maybe we are destructive hateful creatures, but that doesn’t give them the right to do what they’ve done.” I reach up and run my fingers along Raven’s jaw, the truth settling into my bones. 

“I know, Rave. I know. I just wish there was a better way.” 

This woman is my world. My universe. I won’t let her do this alone. 

* * *

The bunker is quiet. The others look at one another. Then at Rave. Then at me. Rave fixes me with a glare that would send a lesser woman running. I meet her stare. 

“No.” She protests, “No.” 

“You’ll need a driver. You’ll need someone to keep them distracted if something goes wrong.” I insist. The atmosphere grows heavy. 

“You’ll die.” Raven’s voice cracks. I smile a sad smile. 

“Where you go, I go, Little Bird,” I tell her. It doesn’t take the others long to agree. 

That hurts more than it should.

Perhaps the Utawaya are right. Maybe we are all broken and corrupt inside, ready to sacrifice one another for our own personal gain. 

Raven and I hold one another tightly as night rolls in, curled into the same cot. 

Tomorrow morning the others leave. 

The day after tomorrow, we both die. 

But so do the Utawaya.

* * *

The others left with barely a backward glance. Only Lucille had hesitated, making sure we knew what needed to be done. They’d go north, find a way into Scotland. We had no way to know how the fallout would behave in the new atmosphere the Utawaya had been creating. 

Rave and I took the old underground to get to the Summit Building. There was an old service entrance into the basement which allowed us to get in unseen, as required. 

A pair of ghosts walking willingly to their death. 

The tunnels were unguarded and we made it in without a hitch. 

Perhaps the Gods had not forgotten us after all. 

Now, we sit on the floor above that basement. We needed to ascend a floor to get a signal on the device. Many of the satellites stopped working in the wake of the war, but the Soviets still had power on theirs. 

Of course, they did.

I look at Raven, my heart in my throat. 

“Last chance to dip,” I whisper. Her eyes lift to mine and I find hers lined with the silver of tears. She reaches out and takes my hand. Far above us, the Thirteen leaders of the Utawaya clans are meeting, the sound of their conversation, playing on speakers so the assembled guests can hear, filtering down to us levels below them. 

There would be no humans above. 

Humans didn’t need to be present to discuss how they could be eradicated.

“No dipping.” Before either of us can have second thoughts, she presses the part of the screen as Lucille had directed. 

Silence falls. 

“How long did Luce say we’d have?” I ask softly. In contrast, my pulse pounds in my ears. Terror raises a cold sweat along my brow and down my back. 

Death races towards us. Even if we wanted to, we could not escape it now. 

“Fifteen minutes.” Rave breaths. 

* * *

Fifteen minutes. 

The first five are spent telling Rave how much I love her. How much I wish we’d met in a different time when we might have had a life. 

A future. 

Another two are spent holding one another. 

* * * 

Six minutes to go. 

We fall silent, holding hands. 

Mine shake. So do Raven’s. 

Above us, the alien invaders of our world discuss how they will squash the human resistance, and how they will re-make the world without the violent, abhorrent creatures known as humanity.

They don’t know that the humans still have teeth. 

We bite back. 

They plan and they scheme, and they fail to see that in their desperation to crush our violence, they succumbed to it. 

Perhaps violence and destruction are rampant in humanity. Perhaps we have a proclivity for disparity and aggression. Maybe we do destroy the things we want rather than let another have it. 

But these traits are not unique to humankind. Above us, the Utawaya fail to see how flawed and corrupt they, too have become. They, like we always have, fail to see that War is not the answer, that peace cannot be had alongside violence. 

It is as though the ruinous nature of humanity was a virus and it spread to them. 

* * * 

The ends do not justify the means. 

This is my ruling thought as the timer hits thirty seconds and the room above falls silent. The air is split with a high whistle as the warhead streaks through the atmosphere. 

This is a mistake. We never should have done this.

We had hoped that in the wake of our attack, the world could be reclaimed. We could come out on top. 

We were so blinded by revenge that we failed to see that there would be no winners.

Rave and I look only at one another as the bomb detonates. Within seconds most of London will be in Nuclear Winter, and this building, and every Utawaya within, will be gone. 

The world will keep on turning, but would our sacrifice change anything? Would the death of the thirteen leaders change anything, or would a new War begin?

War was inevitable. 

Even Utopia has War.