by A. G. Riddle
“For you, it will pass in the blink of an eye. You will go to sleep here, and when you wake up, we’ll be at our new home. You’ll be able to play outside and explore the woods just like on the shows.” I turn to Sam. “You want to go first, big guy? Show your sister there’s nothing to worry about?”
Sam nods solemnly, hugs Emma, Allie, and me, and slips into the sleeve, shaking from the cold, and likely fear, trying and succeeding to keep his composure.
Allie goes without complaint after that.
At launch control two days later, Emma and I watch as the soldiers load Allie, Sam, and Carson into the capsule. We stand outside in the blistering cold and watch as the capsule exits the vertical tube, blasting into the sky, toward the waiting tug and the Jericho.
It’s 9 a.m., but from the darkness, you’d think it’s merely a moonlit night. On the horizon, wisps of sunlight break around the solar cells, floating outward like the aurora borealis, gold and white and eerie.
The ice crunches loudly beneath our feet as we venture back to launch control. For the sake of our children, Emma and I have opted to journey to the ship in separate capsules. If either capsule experiences a catastrophe, the children would still have one of us.
I kiss Emma before she slips into the sleeve.
“I’ll see you up there,” she whispers.
I had hoped to be the last to leave. Something about being the last man on Earth appeals to me, but Brightwell wouldn’t hear of it.
We’ve built a robotic arm into the launch bay. It’s capable of sealing the final stasis bag and loading it into the last capsule, which will launch on a pre-programmed schedule.
When Emma’s gone, I walk back outside and stare at the rolling white hills bathed in a faint yellow and white. It doesn’t even feel like Earth anymore. After today, it will never be home again. That’s going to take some getting used to.
“Sir,” Brightwell calls to me. “Are you ready?”
I’m not sure I am. I’m not sure any of us are. But I turn and nod to her and walk into the building and leave Earth forever.
Chapter 70
Emma
Once again, James is standing over me when I wake. It’s strange, but here, in Jericho’s small med bay, I’m the warmest I’ve been in a long time. We finally have the energy for proper heating.
The fugue from stasis passes quickly, and I focus on the room. The walls are made from hard plastic habitat parts, white and sterile, partially reflecting the bright LEDs shining from the ceiling. The ISS was cramped in the extreme. Jericho is only marginally better, and for good reason—James and his team wanted every spare bit of volume for transporting our population. But a med bay is a necessity.
Arthur provided a bounty of technological innovations, one of which was artificial gravity. The technology isn’t perfect. I still feel a strange sensation as I walk across the white floor, as if I’m wearing metal boots that cling to magnets in the floor. But it’s better than floating through the ISS or the Pax.
There’s a small bridge, about the size of the bedroom I shared with James in our habitat in Camp Seven. That feels like a lifetime ago now. There are a dozen cramped workstations and screens cover the far wall.
Our entire command crew is here—Grigory, Min, and Izumi. Everyone except for Brightwell and six of her soldiers. They’re in the cargo hold guarding Arthur.
The screen shows the Earth below us. If you didn’t know it was there, you might miss it—the scene is that dark. Our planet is almost entirely in the shadow of the solar cells now. The famous blue marble photo of Earth taken by the Apollo 17 crew comes to my mind. That Earth is dead now. In the dim light peeking around the solar cells, I see only gray and white clouds, shiny white land masses, glittering with the small shafts of light falling on it, and blue oceans that are slowly freezing, the white from the landmasses extending out like claws into the shallow water, turning it to ice as it marches into the depths.
James takes my hand and we stand in silence, watching our darkened home world float away as the ship moves into space. I wonder if this is what it felt like for Columbus and Magellan as they sailed into the great unknown, watching the shores of their homelands disappear on the horizon.
Suddenly, the ship clears the curtain of the solar cells. Sunlight flashes across the video feed, its brightness contrasting with the darkness where Earth lies, hiding it completely.
I see our sister ship cutting a shadow across the sun, moving in lock-step with us.
Harry’s voice comes over the speakers. “Jericho, Carthage, do you read?”
Grigory, sitting at one of the consoles, taps a button and nods to James.
“We read you, Carthage.”
“Our system checks are green across the board.”
“Same here,” James replies. “Our bridge crew is going to stay up until we hand over Arthur.”
“Enjoy the view,” Harry replies. “We’re going to do the same.”
“Call us if you need us, Carthage.”
“Copy that.”
The bridge crew breaks up then, Grigory and Min setting off to do some final physical inspections of the ship’s components. There’s a small bunk room off the bridge, just large enough for four people. I slip into one of the bottom bunks and James sits against the wall.
“What’s next?” I ask.
“We’re timing it so we’ll get a nice view of Mars.”
“You and Grigory have planned the route like a cruise through the solar system, haven’t you?”
“Guilty as charged.” He grins. “Small pleasures.”
He pulls the blanket up around me. “Let’s consider it the honeymoon we never had.”
The view of Mars is breathtaking. We’re so close—and our cameras are so good—it’s like staring down at the red planet from a plane flying across its surface.
Our next stop is the asteroid belt. We timed our launch so that Ceres would be in close proximity as we passed. On our trajectory, the distance from Mars to Ceres is roughly 130 million miles. We’re accelerating slowly, giving the ship an average speed of about a quarter of a million miles per hour. We’ll reach the dwarf planet in about twenty days.
That time is a much-needed respite for this crew. The quarters are cramped, much like the Citadel. Like then, we’re trapped. But we have hope now. The one looming threat—Arthur and the harvester—will soon pass. We’re leaving them behind. Literally.
Since Allie was born, this is really the first time James and I have had alone together. During the time we’ve been together, we’ve always been under constant threat. And his work has hung over him like a weight he could never shake off. Now we’re free of the threats, of the weight of protecting our species.
James should be happy now, but he’s not. Why? Maybe bearing that weight for so long has crushed him—psychologically—changed him forever.
We lie in bed and talk for hours, me hoping that it will raise him above the dark cloud that surrounds him.
Every morning, he plays chess with Grigory. Twice a day, he walks down to the cargo bay to check on Arthur and Brightwell and her troops. The soldiers sleep in shifts, three always awake to guard Arthur.
After a few days, we all become focused on our work. Izumi constantly checks the status of the stasis sleeves, alert for any failure. Thankfully, she finds none. Min and Grigory obsess over the ship and its operating efficiency. James checks the mechanical components over and over again. I know he’s programmed the ship to wake him periodically, but this will be his last check before the first long leg of our journey.
Daily, I pump my breastmilk, accumulating it for Carson for when we arrive at Eos and he’s taken out of stasis. In my mind’s eye, I image myself holding a bottle to his lips on a world that is warm and filled with sunlight. It’s strange and somehow comforting. It’s something I couldn’t have dreamed of a year ago, but now it feels so close, so real. Still, I miss my newborn more than words can describe.
We all gather on the bridge as the inner a
steroid belt comes into view. The dwarf planet Ceres is the largest object on the screen, and it’s clear that the harvester has returned there: the surface is gouged and pocked where the machine has gathered the raw material it needs for the solar cells.
Seeing Ceres in the distance sends a chill through me. The harvester is waiting for us. Once the grid has Arthur and his data back, will they reach out and destroy us? It would be easy—the harvester could simply carve large rocks from Ceres and shoot them like buckshot into space, shredding the Jericho. For that reason, the Carthage is far above the plane of the solar system, away from us and hopefully the reach of the harvester.
“Let’s get this over with,” James says as he marches off the bridge and down the ship’s narrow central corridor, which ends at the cargo hold. There’s an inner airlock just beyond the cargo hold. Blankets and pillows line the wall, the makeshift beds the troops have been using. Apparently, they’re all awake for this event.
Through the airlock window, I spot Brightwell and her soldiers standing in a semicircle around Arthur. He looks as impassive as ever.
James taps the wall panel and the door to the cargo hold slides open. The bay is pressurized—for now.
To Arthur, James says, “By your calculations, you’ll be in range momentarily.”
Arthur sounds almost bored as he replies. “Correct.”
“Then this is goodbye,” James says.
“I think you mean good riddance,” Arthur quips.
“Yes, we do,” Grigory mutters.
“We made a deal,” James says. “And we’re honoring it.”
Arthur simply stares at him. Finally, James motions to us and we retreat into the airlock, Brightwell and her troops marching backwards, guns trained on Arthur. The airlock door slides closed, and James and I stand and watch through the wide window in the wall.
James checks the time. “Three minutes to range.”
Arthur spins to face us, and suddenly, he cocks his head as if studying James.
James taps the panel and activates the microphones in the cargo hold.
Arthur’s voice is quiet over the speakers, the arrogance gone from his face as he speaks. “Incredible.”
“What is?” James asks quickly. I can tell he’s nervous. This is the moment of truth, when we learn our fate.
“You, James.”
“Why the sudden admiration?”
“A discovery has been made.”
“What kind of discovery?”
“About you. And your people. Your existence has been refactored.”
James squints at him. “You’re already in contact with the harvester?”
“Of course. I lied about the range.”
“Open the outer door,” Brightwell says urgently.
James holds a hand up, keeping his focus on Arthur. “What do you mean we’ve been refactored?”
“You’ll know in time. For now, I’ll give you one last gift before I leave.”
Suddenly, Arthur’s features soften. I know that expression. Is it a ruse? Some sort of joke Arthur is playing on us? The voice that issues forth from the speakers is polite and placid.
“Hello, sir.”
“Oscar?”
He nods.
“I don’t know what he told you, but we can’t let you stay on the ship.”
“I understand. I’m going to join the grid, sir.”
Horror crosses James’s face.
“Don’t worry. There’s a place for me there. I have a role to play. It’s not what you think it is.”
“What isn’t?” James asks.
“The grid. Everything is going to be okay.”
James stares at Oscar. I can almost see the wheels turning in that immense mind of his.
After a pause, Oscar says, “Thank you, sir.”
“For what?”
“For giving me life.”
James cracks a somber smile. “Take care of yourself, Oscar.”
He holds an open hand up, waving goodbye.
Brightwell moves toward the panel, but James waves her off. Staring at his oldest friend, he reaches out slowly and taps the control panel. The outer doors open and the atmosphere explodes out of the cargo hold, sucking the body out instantly.
Grigory stares daggers at James. “You didn’t use it.”
“I didn’t need to,” James says, not making eye contact.
Grigory spouts something in Russian, likely curse words, and stalks off down the hall.
I wonder what that was about. Use what? Why?
Despite Arthur’s departure, we stay on high alert as we pass the asteroid belt and Ceres, sleeping in shifts, someone always monitoring the video feeds. But the harvester doesn’t attack us or attempt any further contact.
When she’s satisfied that the threat has passed, Brightwell and her troops return to their stasis sleeves, leaving only James, Grigory, Izumi, Min and me awake. I sense among all five of us a desire to linger, to cherish these last moments in our native solar system. Once we enter the sleeves, with luck, we won’t reawaken until we’re orbiting of Eos.
The Jericho picks up speed rapidly, the solar power filling its cells. While we pass close to Mars, we make a wide path around Jupiter, careful not to allow the gas giant’s massive gravity well to interfere too much with our journey.
Still, we’re passing slowly enough for our cameras to catch a glimpse of its four largest moons: Ganymede, Callisto, Io, and Europa. They’re breathtaking, each the size of small planets.
The crew of Carthage had the same idea. We don’t catch sight of the ship, but they’re in broadcast range.
“She’s a beauty,” Harry says as I stare at Jupiter’s Great Red Spot, the giant storm just south of the equator that astronomers have watched crawling across the gas giant for hundreds of years.
“She is,” James replies.
“Any trouble with your departing passenger?”
“No,” James replies.
Grigory stares at him again; then he leaves the bridge, feet pounding the floor. Try as I might, I can’t figure out what that’s about.
James and Harry make small talk as Jupiter shrinks on the screen. When it’s the size of a marble, Harry says, “Well, the kids keep asking me when we’re going to get there, so I better step on the gas.”
“Copy that, Harry. Godspeed.”
“If this is goodbye, James, it was great knowing you. Truly. You’re one of a kind.”
“Look who’s talking, Harry. We’ll see you on the other side.”
That night, after our dinner of MREs, Izumi says, “Min and I have been talking. It’s a long way to Saturn. We’re going into stasis now.”
I wrap my arms around her. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Saving my child.”
“I’m glad I could.”
The next day, Grigory opts to go into stasis. He and James share a tense goodbye, but Grigory hugs me tight.
“I’ll see you on Eos,” he says.
I nod, and he slips into the stasis sleeve. I hope the next world will be kinder to Grigory. Like so many others, he left the one he loved on Earth.
When Grigory’s stasis sleeve is gone, James turns to me. “I’m going too.”
“We could wake just before we reach Neptune.”
He motions to the MREs. “Being awake depletes our rations. We might need them if we’re woken for a ship failure. And each time we go in and out of stasis we risk something going wrong.”
“So, this is goodbye.”
“For now. When I see you next, we’ll be at our new home.”
I shake my head. “I can’t believe it.”
“It’s surreal.”
“You did it, James.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“I do. You and the kids. You were what kept me going.”
“Don’t get all sentimental on me.”
He smiles. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I’ll see you at Eos.”
Chapter 71
James
In the med bay, I watch the robotic arm seal Emma’s stasis sleeve and move it into the alcove where the bots will store it. When she’s gone, I am alone on the ship. I insisted that I be the last person in stasis and, thankfully, the others relented.
I reach down and touch the energy weapon in my pocket, wondering if I’ll need to use it. And if so, how soon.
When I asked Grigory to make the device, I knew he had gotten the wrong impression of why. I didn’t correct his mistake because it would have simply caused more problems.
On the bridge, I check the status of the ship’s systems. All normal. Grigory’s engines are even exceeding expectations.
I set the alarms I need and retreat to the bunk room, settling into the narrow bed on a bottom bunk.
I keep the weapon beside me, just in case.
Days turn to weeks. I exercise. I read. Occasionally, I watch a show or documentary. The solitude is therapeutic for me. I feel slightly guilty about the rations I’m consuming, but given the threat, it’s a justifiable expense.
The ship is moving quickly through space by the time we pass Saturn. The planet and its moons pass like mile markers on the highway.
I slow the video feed and gaze at Saturn’s rings and its largest moon, Titan. Incredible. I wish Emma were awake to see it, but I’ll show her when we get to Eos. In fact, I’m sure the ship’s cameras will capture a lifetime of wonders on the voyage.
The video of Uranus is a vague reminder of Earth: an ice-ball world starved of sunlight. The planet is a blue orb, smooth and unmarked, as if someone painted a circle against the black background of space. That is Earth’s fate.
Neptune is similar, but it’s a deeper blue color with spots of darkness near its poles. Other dark spots dot the planet, storms raging in the atmosphere.
The Kuiper Belt comes and goes, and I can’t help but think about the three asteroids the harvester took from this belt and hurled at Earth, starting this war. In a way, it began here, and as we pass it, I’m finally convinced it might be over.