Tom wasn’t the kind of boy I could take home to my parents. He was slicked haired, tatted, and quite frankly smelled of weed half the time. But he was good to me. Treated me like I mattered. Unlike my father, whose eyes would wander when I’d try to explain the significance of hydroponics to third world nations, Tom listened with intensity.
“That’s brilliant,” he would say. “You’re brilliant. And beautiful.”
We’d gotten serious last year. He’d dropped out of school and was working at an auto shop, doing pretty well for himself, actually. When I’d asked him about college, he’d replied, “What could college teach me that I can’t learn right here?”
I admired that about him. He wasn’t beholden to anyone or anything but his own dreams. Yet my parents expected me to go to college, and I needed a degree to someday get a job in my field of interest.
“Why?” Tom had asked me one day from underneath a Ford pick-up. His denim-clad legs jutted out from under the chassis, one knee bent, the clang of metal-on-metal echoing through the garage. “Why not join up with that organization you go on and on about? Go to Africa? Plant those seeds? Make a difference?”
I had explained to him, of course, that college was necessary. That I intended to get a doctorate if I could. Ten years of school. But Tom’s questions had plagued me. How many people would die of starvation in the next ten years?
At dinner that night, I had brought it up to my father. I didn’t mention Tom. My parents didn’t know about him yet.
“I could volunteer,” I had said. “For a couple of years.”
School could be postponed, I reasoned while my dad slowly consumed his steak and mashed potatoes. He’d grown up the son of a farmer. Surely, he would understand.
And he did understand. Farming, he said, was no way to live. He’d escaped from all that, gotten his degree in accounting, earned a respectable living as a tax auditor. College was the best route for me. My mind was made for science. He expected great things from me. I’d make him proud.
The conversation ended, and Dad excused himself from the table and headed to the living room to watch the news. That was it then. The decision had been made.
I broke up with Tom the next day via text. He tried to call me, but I blocked his number. It would be too hard to hear his voice. I just couldn’t bear it. He even came by the house once asking for me, but my mother sent him away. And when she asked me who he was, I said he was a mechanic with news about my car.
I never saw or spoke to Tom again, but I dreamed of him every night, imagining the hurt and disappointment in his face. Sometimes, I cried myself to sleep all while reassuring myself it was for the best.
I realized I’d been holding my breath. My chest burned as I forced myself to breathe. I listened to the voice message from Northrop Grumman.
Then I listened to it again.
I turned around and raced back to my car, my class all but forgotten. There was no question about it now. I’d have to tell my parents because I’d be leaving for Florida—tomorrow.
The night passed in relative peace and quiet. Adán wondered how many of the crew actually got much sleep after finally hearing from the Ensign’s commander and viewing the NASA vid. He almost wished he could have taken first watch again instead of Tink, so he’d have an excuse to stay awake. As it was, for the next several hours he lay on his cot counting the stitches in the tent seams.
At 6:00am ET, they all dutifully rose, showered, and breakfasted on hash browned potatoes, scrambled eggs, and peaches. At least that’s what the packages said, and the rehydrated piles of mush at least somewhat resembled the menu.
After breakfast, Tink helped Fess make a list of supplies they would need to repair the hull breach. Fess could hobble around now, and though he flinched at every step, he insisted that he was fine. Tink would work on the grid while the rest of them gathered and took inventory of needed materials, then hopefully they’d begin repairs the next day.
Meanwhile, Adán filled Scott in on his and Tink’s visit to the gorge, not that there was much to tell, but Scott wanted to know every detail—the changes in terrain, the distance of the mountains, the width and depth of the canyon. Lainie and Jonah were assigned clean up duty in the Quarters. They’d located the vac and were making multiple trips outside to dump it.
When Jonah came in complaining that Lainie had broken a seal on the vac motor, and Scott left to see what was going on, Adán decided to check on Dema in the lab.
Next to the waste collection compartment, the lab was the smallest room on the shuttle. The narrow space ran along the port side, adjacent to the common room. It contained equipment and supplies needed for the BIO and SCI teams to evaluate samples, including a sophisticated computer system, microscope, and an assortment of tools, most of which Adán couldn’t put a name to.
As Adán approached the sensor, the lab door slid open, and he stepped inside. Dema’s hair was twisted into a loose knot at the nape of her neck, but several wavy strands of it had come free and bobbed against her shoulders. In the bright light of the lab, he could see the natural red highlights in it.
The specimen drawers were each two feet long and fifteen inches deep. Each was its own case with a handle and energy pack, should they need to be relocated. One entire wall was nothing but these cases, one of which had been pulled out and set on the counter. Dema leaned over it with an E-Tab in her hand, her eyebrows knit together in a serious expression.
“Everything all right?” Adán asked.
Dema gasped in surprise. “God, Adán! You scared me,” she said, holding a hand to her chest.
“Sorry,” he said. He couldn’t help but smile when he saw the shock on her face. “You seem a bit preoccupied.”
Adán glanced over Dema’s shoulder at the dozens of glass vials embedded in thick protective foam. Thin white wisps coiled into the air, and Adán could feel the cold on his face. “How are the zygotes?”
“Not good, actually,” said Dema, turning back to the vials. “The collision must have been very forceful because many of the specimens near the back of the drawers, the ones closest to the ship’s hull, have shattered. Fortunately, I’d say at least two thirds of the animal embryos survived.”
“And the humans?”
Dema glanced back at Adán before looking at her tablet. “They didn’t fare so well. Look here.” She entered a code onto the screen, and a holo of the incubation’s power grid appeared above it. A large section of it was red. “The electrical damage was more extensive than we thought. Human sectors A, B are offline.”
“But sectors C, D and E are okay?”
Dema hesitated before answering. “Mostly, but altogether, I’d say less than thirty percent of the embryos remain viable.”
“Thirty percent,” said Adán. “That’s not too bad, is it? I mean we started off with a thousand, right? That means we’ve still got three hundred or so human embryos left.”
“Yes, but the purpose of having so many was to create a large gene pool so that as they grew and matured into adulthood, they’d pair off.” Dema’s voice grew tense. “Remember that we started with twelve thousand embryos dispersed among all the shuttles. Our remaining embryos include an imbalanced ratio of male to female, and of ethnicities. And that’s not the only problem,” added Dema. “The BIO-specialist team are all dead, Adán. I’m a medic, not an embryologist. I have no idea how to cultivate a human embryo.”
Adán didn’t know how to respond to that. Their mission, apparently, was to save and replenish the human race. The concern Dema was raising was clear: Could they accomplish that task without those who were trained to do so?
“There’s the shuttle data base,” suggested Adán. “Supposedly it contains pretty much everything ever published. Makes Google look like finger painting. Tink accessed the shuttle diagnostics there. Surely NASA must have included a tutorial on fetus incubation, or something.”
But Dema was not reassured, and her frustration seemed to be mounting. “I don’t know how yo
u can be so cavalier about this. Every single vial contains a life,” she said, gesturing to the many closed and open drawers. “These are not just blobs of cells, Adán. Each one holds unlimited potential. Will it grow up to be the next Mozart or Monét? Will it be the man or woman who finally discovers a cure for cancer, or invents the next leap in technology? Will it experience sorrow, joy, love? When one fetus, one child, dies, it’s not just that one life snuffed out, but hundreds, thousands. Entire potential civilizations.”
Adán hadn’t thought of it that way before, but he said nothing and let Dema continue.
“Did you know that of the one hundred and thirty passengers aboard the Mayflower, only thirty-seven are known to have had descendants? But do you know how many of those descendants were alive in the United States when we launched? Thirty-five million. About one tenth of the country’s entire population. All from just a handful of survivors.”
Dema reverently waved a palm over the open drawer in front of her, as if the vials it housed were the most precious of relics. But her eyes, Adán noted, were full of pain.
“I don’t think I can do this, Adán,” she said, looking at him anxiously. “I don’t want to do this. The responsibility is too great for someone like me.”
He could see what she meant, how each tiny zygote contained more potential than any of them could ever imagine. This was the purpose of their mission then, to guard these lives with their own and to give each one the chance to exist. Dema was right. The responsibility was huge.
“Well,” said Adán, forcing a smile, “when we rendezvous with the Ensign, we’ll hand these vials over to them. We’ll just have to trust that they’ll know what to do with them.”
Dema went silent. She looked at Adán intently. “What if there is no rendezvous?” she asked with a sense of desperation. “What if we never see any other humans again?”
An unexpected voice from behind them answered. “Then I guess we’ll have to propagate the species the old-fashioned way.” Scott Dryker stood in the lab doorway, his arms folded across his chest and a satisfied smirk on his face.
Dema guided the specimen drawer back into its place in the wall and switched off the holo. “That’s not in the protocol, Scott,” she said, avoiding his stare.
“How do you know what’s not in the protocol?” he asked. “How do any of us really know? Think about it. There were twenty-four of us, a dozen men and a dozen women of mixed races.”
“We were selected at random,” said Adán,
“Random, my ass! You know as well as I do there’s nothing random about any of this. The sooner you accept that, the sooner we can get down to the real objective of this mission.” Scott smoothed his hand over Dema’s hair. She flinched at his touch.
“Don’t,” she said in a harsh whisper.
“What’s the matter, Dem?” Scott said. “You used to like when I did that.”
Dema’s eyes flickered to Adán just long enough for him to see the shame in them before she set her gaze squarely on Dryker.
“That was a long time ago, Scott,” she said sharply, shoving his hand away. “Two hundred and twenty years, to be exact.”
Dema pushed past Scott and exited the lab. Adán started after her, but Scott braced an arm in the doorway, blocking his path. Scott’s expression wasn’t playful anymore. His grin had vanished, and he looked at Adán with a pointed glare.
“I’m the Commander of this shuttle,” he said. “Alpha male. That means I get first pickings. You got that?”
Adán nodded. “Yeah,” he said, “I got that.”
Scott lowered his arm. His grin returned. “And don’t you forget it.”
After a long day of cleaning out the Quarters and preparing materials for the repair, the clocks all claimed it was once again time to sleep. Adán wondered if his internal clock would ever adjust to the lack of darkness. He felt tired, yes, but his brain told him it was still the middle of the day. He felt like a new baby, with its days and nights all mixed up.
Lainie had created an organized, if not rough, schedule for using the showers, eating meals, guard shifts, and sleeping. It helped to have markers throughout the day to create at least some semblance of time passing.
Adán finished his plate of what was supposed to be Pork Chow Mein but was really nothing more than indistinguishable clumps of protein suspended in a blob of reddish-brown jelly. It had tasted all right, though, sweet with a hint of soy sauce.
Scott, who had taken to eating alone at the farthest table from everyone else, dropped his tray into the recycle bin and stood to face the crew. “2200 hours E.T. Time to turn in.” He clapped his hands together like an overly enthusiastic schoolteacher. “Hop to it.”
No one moved. Adán imagined Tink, Dema, and the others were probably thinking the same thing he was. Now that they knew the location of the Ensign and the rest of the human race, they wanted to get underway as quickly as possible. Adán was wired, and he suspected everyone felt the same. They were anxious to get the repairs done, even if it meant working around the clock.
“What are you all doing?” demanded Scott, a displeased frown creasing his face. “You’re all to head to the shelter! Pronto!”
“Pronto?” Fess snorted.
Scott’s expression went rigid, but he did not immediately respond.
Lainie was the first to stand. Disposing of her tray, she started into her gear. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I plan on using my E-Tab to access the audio archives and listen to some Marty Robbins for a while.”
“Marty who?” retorted Jonah.
Lainie clicked her visor into place. “I wouldn’t expect you to have heard of him.”
Tink was the next on his feet. “I’ll come with you,” he said, failing to hide a happy grin. “You can introduce me and old Marty anytime.”
“Subtle,” said Jonah with a sarcastic chuckle. Tink responded with a not-so-playful punch to Jonah’s shoulder.
Lainie and Tink headed outside. As the hatch closed behind them, Adán caught a brief glimpse of Tink reaching for Lainie’s hand, and it made him smile. Good for Tink.
Adán stood up and reached for his gear. Dema did the same. Jonah and Fess, however, remained where they sat.
Scott leaned over the table between them and dug his fists into it. “What about the two of you?”
“We’re not tired,” said Jonah.
“Did I ask you if you were tired?”
Dema held her gloves at the ready, but Adán could tell she was stalling, hesitant to leave. “Scott, c’mon. Fess’s leg hasn’t healed yet.”
Scott ignored her. “I gave an order. Your job is to follow it, comprendé?”
“Bullshit,” Fess mumbled under his breath. Scott turned on him.
“What did you say to me?”
Fess seemed to cower at first but then gathered his courage to answer. “You let us stay in here last night. What’s the big deal?”
“What is this?” Scott didn’t shout, but his composure was being strained to the limits. Adán could sense it in the tautness of his neck, the mocking tone in his voice, and the way he kept rubbing his temples.
“I get it. You’re scared, is that it? Scared that some invisible monster’s gonna eat you in your sleep.”
“With all due respect, Commander,” said Jonah, “despite what you think, what happened to us out there was real.”
Scott glared at Jonah and Fess with an amused loathing. “All right. Fine. We’ll try this a different way.” Then into his comm Scott said, “Seoung, this is Commander Dryker. Come back in here, will you?”
A minute later, Tink reappeared at the hatch, alone.
“These two delinquents are reluctant to return to the shelter,” Scott told him. “You and Fuentes here are going to assist them. Each of you grab a cot and bed roll and take them back to the shelter. Now. I’m taking first watch in the cockpit. I expect to see all of you marching across the sand in ten seconds.”
Scott gave them all a firm eye, daring the
m to defy him, then he turned for the cockpit. Adán felt a wave of relief at hearing the cockpit door shut tight behind him.
“What’s up his butt?” Tink asked.
Jonah snickered. “About a gallon of planet dust and a healthy dose of conceit, I’d say.”
“His hands were shaking,” noted Fess. “You see that?”
Adán had seen it too. “Dema, what did his bio scan show? Is he okay?”
“Technically, yes,” she replied cautiously. “But he’s not recovering as quickly as the rest of us did. He’s really weak and keeps complaining of headaches. I’m pretty sure it’s just the after-effects of the cryo and coma, but I still need to keep an eye him for a while, if he’ll let me. He’s as stubborn as a rock.”
“So, what are we going to do?” asked Adán. “Fess, Jonah?”
Jonah glared at Adán. “We’re not sleeping out there,” he said matter-of-factly. Adán knew he meant it.
“Hey,” said Tink. “If you all stayed in here tonight, that’d be fine by me.”
Fess laughed. “Yeah, remember our comms are always listening, Romeo.”
Tink’s face turned red.
“I know how you feel, Jonah,” said Adán. “But we’ll all be out there with you. Come on, guys. Lainie’s waiting for us—all of us,” he added with a smirk for Tink’s benefit.
“I’m going to run one last diagnostic on the cargo,” said Dema, “and then I’ll join you.”
“Sure,” said Adán, wishing he could think of some reason to stay behind with her, but he couldn’t. So, he quickly geared up and then grabbed Jonah’s cot while Tink picked up Fess’s.
Adán was reaching for the hatch release when suddenly a thunderous, metallic clang sounded throughout the shuttle. The sound blasted a rush of adrenalin through Adán’s veins, and his heart exploded into high gear. The crew all froze, their wide eyes fixed on each other.
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