Erebus

by R K MacPherson

  “Oh, not just me. There’s also a Catholic priest, a rabbi, and a Buddhist something—are they priests, too?”

  “Not sure,” Dash admitted.

  Murad held up his hands. “Two of them served as military chaplains. But that’s just on this ship? At least on the other American vessels, they have roughly the same complement of religious staff.”

  “But why?” Dash tapped the gray bulkhead. “It wasn’t faith that built this machine. It wasn’t Allah that split the atom. Why did they bring you instead of an engineer?”

  Murad nodded. “Even I grapple with that question, but the answer I was given is that humans are fragile. It isn’t enough to have food, water, and air. We’ll also need hope and faith. People need ritual, no matter where it comes from. It connects us to our past, comforts us now, and gives us something to look for in the future.”

  “I don’t disagree, but the world is about to end. How many people are going to hold on to their faith?”

  Murad sighed. “Inshallah, all of them, but only Allah knows.”

  Dash squirmed for a moment, then blurted, “I said my Shahada this morning.” He blushed.

  “Really? Alhamdulillah! Welcome, brother!” Murad embraced Dash and clapped him on the back.

  “I want to honor my family,” Dash explained. “I went through so much to get here, it just seems obvious that God watched over me.”

  Murad nodded. “Mashallah. Surely he did.”

  “So, I hoped you could do me a favor. Do you have a spare kufi?”

  The imam threw his head back and laughed. “Of course. Come with me.”

  After receiving a black kufi from Murad, Dash had placed it on his head and checked out his appearance with this phone’s camera.

  He half-expected to see an imposter staring back, but he didn’t.

  “Time to get back to work,” Dash said as he touched the kufi again.

  The remaining interviews took over an hour. Some people panicked and said something foolish. Others went into detail about who they were and how high their hopes were for the future. Some just said good-bye to their loved ones back home.

  One thing that became clearer with each interview, the sailors and airmen who made up the crew of Enterprise had the discipline, and the experience, to stay sanguine about their departure. The civilians, on the other hand, had a greater range of emotional response. Worse, Dash suspected most of them had never had to make themselves a part of a greater whole, a team.

  “Now hear this, now hear this!” The intercom blared to life. “We are t-minus sixty minutes to launch and thirty minutes to ship rotation. All personnel make your final visits to the head, er, the toilets. All departments secure your equipment prior to rotation. That is all.”

  Dash entered the berthing compartment and hurried to his bunk. Moray wasn’t there, but most of the bunks had bags on them now, strapped down with canvas belts. No one had claimed the berths beneath him, but he had a neighbor in next upper bunk over.

  The privacy curtain was closed, which he didn’t recall seeing before. Dash’s curiosity got the best of him, so he grabbed the corner and pulled it back.

  “It’s about damned time!” Yifei screamed down at him.

  Dash shrieked and jumped back, banging his head against his own berth.

  Yifei chuckled as she rolled out of the bunk, wearing the same rust-red flight suit as Dash. “I’ve been waiting for you for several hours.”

  Dash didn’t even care about his racing heart or aching head. He wrapped his arms around Yifei and squeezed her as tight as he could.

  “You’re here! You didn’t get in trouble?”

  Yifei hugged him back. “No. They put me in the unmarried women’s compartment last night and we somehow missed each other at potty training and getting our shots.”

  Warmth surged through him as he swallowed the urge to weep. This was a happy moment, one he should cherish.

  “This morning, I got assigned to the morale department, too. Then I tracked you down like the super sleuth I am.” Yifei grinned. “Bert told me which one is yours and I’ve been waiting for you.” Yifei disengaged and shrugged. “Easy.”

  “You scared the shit out of me,” Dash mock grumbled as he wiped his eyes.

  “Sorry,” Yifei said, giving him a bright smile. “You should have seen the look on your face, though!”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Dash straightened up.

  Yifei glanced at the kufi, then flashed Dash a quizzical look.

  “Um, it’s a religious thing.” Dash’s cheeks turned beet red.

  “I minored in religion, dummy. I know that. Why do you have one? Did you convert to Islam last night?”

  “No.” Dash straightened up. “This morning, actually.”

  “Oh.” Yifei studied him for a moment. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Dash’s lips became a crooked line. “Not today.”

  “Cool.”

  Dash gestured at her flight suit. “What are you doing? Or what are you supposed to be doing?”

  “I’m supposed to report to the broadcast center, for the launch at least.”

  “I’ve been taking personal statements. After that, I’m supposed to report back to something called the CDC—not the disease place, I learned. It’s the new bridge.” Dash let out a long breath. “I’m so glad to see you.”

  “Me, too.” Yifei squeezed Dash’s shoulder. “We made it, Dash. We survived!”

  Dash nodded and whispered, “Yeah, we made it.”

  Dash found his way back to the ship’s combat direction center, which functioned as the bridge. Given that Enterprise and her sister ships would never launch aircraft again, the superstructure was removed during the refit and certain ship’s functions relocated to other spaces. Onsurez and Bruce gave out orders in calm, firm voices. The bridge crew responded with crisp tones. Dash admired their strength. In their shoes, he wouldn’t be so professional.

  It wasn’t every day a ship rode a nuclear pogo stick into space, after all.

  At t-minus thirty minutes, everyone strapped themselves into their chairs, each of which had an elaborate support frame. Reports came over the intercom as each department announced their readiness. Dash sat in one of the two auxiliary seats, up against a bulkhead in the back of the compartment. He wore a new pair of IRIS glasses he’d commandeered and set them to record video.

  “Rotate the ship,” Onsurez ordered.

  “Aye, captain,” replied a young, black crewman. “Launch control, this is Enterprise. Rotate the ship.”

  Dash gasped as the ship dropped beneath him.

  Onsurez keyed her headset. “All hands, this is the captain. We are rotating into launch position. Do not leave your seats until we have reached orbit. If you forgot something, don’t worry. It’s too late now. Rotation will take approximately fifteen minutes. That is all.”

  “Elevator is looking good, captain,” Bruce announced, staring at a monitor.

  “Shock absorbers remain locked,” the helmsman said.

  The massive steel plate beneath Enterprise descended into the drydock constructed around her, raising the bow to launch position.

  Dash’s stomach and mind panicked, unused to the sensations of dropping backwards. At least the slow rate of rotation gave everyone time to adjust. His knuckles turned white as he grasped the arm rest.

  “Captain, the last of the island crew is airborne. They should be aboard Makin Island in eight minutes.” Bruce tapped something into a tablet.

  “Very good,” Onsurez replied. “Have all ships withdraw to the launch perimeter.”

  “Aye aye, ma’am.” Bruce tapped his screen again and spoke into his microphone.

  Enterprise rotated into launch position without incident, though it seemed to take forever. The great metal framework around him squealed and strained but held him in place. When the rotation stopped, everyone was flat on their backs and starting to feel the weight of their bodies press them into their seats.

  Dash’s feet hung, use
less. He kicked at the air, not unlike a child.

  “Sir?” A young, freckled woman called to him.

  “Hm? Yes?” Dash replied.

  “You need to extend your kickstand.” The woman kicked at a frame that braced her legs.

  “Oh!” Dash stretched his arm and found a metal bar on the underside of his seat. He gave it a push and it slid into place, locking with a metallic snap. The metal bar kept his legs from going beneath him, which took away what little joy that existed in the moment.

  The woman must have seen his disappointment because she laughed and said, “Trust me. These aren’t proper launch seats. You don’t want your legs unbraced during this flight. The G-forces will already be crazy uncomfortable.”

  Dash forced a smile. “Thanks!”

  “Two minutes to launch,” Bruce called out over the intercom. “All hands, stand by. Don’t forget your mouth guards.”

  Dash had forgotten it. He fumbled around his pocket and pulled out the little piece of transparent rubber. “Are these really necessary?” He called out.

  “Not if you don’t want to keep your teeth,” Bruce said with a grin.

  Considering his smile was one of his best features, Dash crammed the guard into his mouth. His lips bulged out around it and he couldn’t get a good seal, but it would have to do.

  This was it. His final two minutes on Earth. Dash’s mind raced through the whirlwind of memories of the past week. Less than a week ago, he’d picked up a cute Latina and had a lot of fun at a club and hotel. They’d drank tequila and danced like horny ferrets, all slither and sinew.

  Dash didn’t even know the girl’s name—hadn’t even given his own.

  Did any of that matter?

  Rasul was gunned down to keep a secret and he’d killed his murderer.

  Did that matter now?

  An abusive father had hidden him, protected, and died for him.

  Did Fasil matter?

  In a few weeks, his mother would wake up for the last time as Erebus would slam into eastern Australia.

  Would anything still matter?

  Dash didn’t have many answers, but he had a mission now. Whether or not he could survive, he had something to accomplish.

  “Thirty seconds,” Onsurez called out over the headset. “All hands, brace for impact! Stay secured until we give the all-clear! Vaya con Dios!” She slipped the guard into her mouth and bit down on it.

  One of the monitors in the CDC showed a countdown. Twenty seconds.

  Ten seconds.

  Simultaneous dragons roared on either side of the hull as the solid rocket boosters ignited.

  Five seconds.

  “This is it,” Dash mumbled to himself. “Inshallah.”

  The screen flashed IGNITION.

  Enterprise punched everyone in their backs.

  The Orion’s bomblets were only 0.15 kilotons, tiny as nuclear weapons went, yet igniting so close to the blast plate, the explosive force kicked the aircraft carrier upwards.

  Everyone on the bridge grunted in unison.

  Dash’s eyes watered as the impact knocked the air out of him. Before he could register the sensation of falling, the second blast went off and pushed the carrier higher still—and hammered the inhabitants of the ship just as hard.

  The blasts kept coming as the explosions drove the blast plate into the shock absorbers. A thin sheen of oil coated the plate before each detonation, protecting the metal from the blast itself.

  Dash’s lungs ached as he clawed at his chest, unable to draw a breath before the next nuclear bomblet hammered the ship higher into the sky. His heartbeat pounded in his chest, but he couldn’t hear it over the explosive rhythm aft.

  As the ship accelerated, the explosions did, too. The jerky punches of the early ignitions were replaced by a more regular push akin to heavy gravity rather than catching bowling balls on their bellies.

  Once the acceleration became constant, Dash’s diaphragm flexed and he could gulp down air. His panic vanished, and he straightened up in the seat, though the effort made him sweat. He didn’t remember how many Gs the launch briefing warned them about, but they couldn’t do justice to the sensation.

  The intercom had gone quiet, though Dash saw everyone else’s lips moving. He suspected they were on specific circuits during the ship’s ascent. The pulsed roar of the engine filled the ship, drowning out Dash’s thundering heartbeat.

  Pangs of guilt clutched his heart as he thought of his mother, probably just becoming aware of the nuclear launches that would be breaking news across the planet. Would she be frightened? Curious? There would be a cover story for this moment, but would it bring comfort to the population or dread?

  Dash loathed his feelings of cowardice. The Prophet Muhammad once said that paradise lay at the foot of the mother, yet Dash had left her behind without any words of warning. He hadn’t even admitted the truth about Rasul’s death to her. The sense of wonder he should have experienced never materialized. Instead, Dash closed his eyes and murmured prayers, asking Allah to forgive him.

  “Bismillah, ar-rahman, ir-rahim...”

  Twenty-Eight

  ENTERPRISE ORBITED THE Earth, one hundred meters away from Kennedy. The crew’s astronauts performed their extra-vehicular activity flights, maneuvering massive steel chains into place between the two converted super carriers. That framework would secure the two vessels together and allow them to spin the ships up and generate artificial gravity. Without it, the long voyage to Mars would wreak havoc on the population’s musculature and skeletons.

  Not to mention the indignities of bowel movements in zero-G.

  Everyone aboard the carriers had thrilled to their first moments of floating in space. Once Bruce had announced that the ship had secured from maneuvering and people could unhook themselves, people had flung themselves into the joyous act of drifting through the air, gliding, spinning, and rolling.

  Dash joined the bridge crew for the incredible experience. His IRIS camera recorded crew members as they grappled with the alien sensation of not feeling gravity’s pull. A wave of vertigo washed over him as he looked down at what was previously up.

  Swimming underwater came close to capturing the sensation—but not the sheer exhilaration.

  To be sure, space sickness affected many, but the barf bags handled the situation well, and as they adjusted to the surreal sensations of space, people enjoyed themselves.

  Along with all the toilets, the galleys were shut down for the portions of the flight without gravity. Aircraft carriers were designed to feed thousands of people every day, but there was no way to cook and clean in kitchens where running water and pots of soup or porridge would just result in floating globes of culinary and sanitary disaster. This meant everyone got to eat Meals: Ready to Eat, served cold.

  An avid hiker, Dash had tried the military meals before. They tasted fine, if salty. Many of the evacuees loved the thermo-stabilized cuisine, scooped out of pouches. The snacks, however, proved to be the biggest hits. Raisins, M&Ms, and peanuts served more as entertainment than sustenance. Children squealed with delight as tiny little projectiles landed in their mouths, noses, and the occasional eye. Even adults got in on the action, turning most meal times into the happiest hours aboard ship.

  Well, save for Launch +1 hour…

  Upon getting the all-clear to unbuckle themselves, countless couples became scientists, determined to find out what would happen if humans tried to have sex in space. Some men found zero gravity the enemy of blood flow. Straps helped maintain contact, as did wedging bodies between things. The results weren’t likely to make it into any peer-reviewed journals, but everyone agreed the resultant bumps, bruises, and scratches were well worth it. By the end of the first week of spaceflight, nearly everyone had tried sex in zero-gravity at least once and the novelty had diminished somewhat.

  Dash had not found a partner for experimentation, however. Not that he hadn’t been asked. Several women, all quite attractive, had extended an invitation, and
two men as well. Dash couldn’t bring himself to say yes. Looking on, he wondered how so many people could go about their lives, ignoring the fact that this extraordinary opportunity came at the cost of losing everyone and everything they had ever known and loved.

  As he floated down the corridor, he came across an errant condom wrapper, hanging motionless in the void. Dash grabbed it and shook his head. Even this piece of trash probably had some use or value. After all, what they carried with them would have to last until they could manufacture replacements on Mars.

  If they survived that long.

  Yifei and Dash floated through a corridor, having finished their dinner. This marked their third day in orbit and they’d spent a long afternoon in a lecture about firefighting aboard ship. No demonstrations, of course—holding a fire hose in zero gravity would be like riding an angry bull—but lots of drills putting on safety gear and getting into position.

  “I miss vegetables,” Yifei said. “Why don’t these meals have more vegetables? Don’t soldiers need to stay healthy?”

  “Vegetables don’t keep as well,” Dash said. “Besides, veggies aren’t packed with calories. Soldiers need energy more than fiber.”

  Yifei grimaced. “Okay, I miss gravity more than I miss vegetables.”

  Dash touched the wall and spun himself. “What? Already? This is the best part about the trip so far.”

  “No showers and pooping into a bag are a steep price for being a space ballerina, Dash.” Yifei looked away and gave an exaggerated huff.

  Laughter bubbled from Dash’s lips. “Spoilsport. Don’t worry. The captain told me the construction’s going well. They’re ahead of schedule, so we probably only have a couple more days of this.”

  “Really?” Yifei stopped herself with a touch.

  Dash nodded. “That’s what she told us.”

  The corners of Yifei’s lips turned up as she stared off into the distance.

  “What?”

  Yifei’s cheeks reddened. “Nothing.”

  Dash’s eyes narrowed as he studied his friend. “Oh! You naughty little girl!”

  “What?” Yifei feigned innocence.