Chapter 13, Escape

Rick kicked debris out of the way and used the butt of his plasma rifle to lever off the last big chunk. The body was underneath. Just a boy, wearing some tattered blue jeans, half-starved. Rick used his boot to tap at the kid’s bare foot. Then he bent over and checked for a pulse, none.

The kid was dead, alright. But there was no telltale temporal tap on his temple. Why hadn’t the bots been here? Rick stood back up and fumbled around in a pocket until he found his loose rolled joints. He put one to his lips and used the pre-ignitor on his rifle to light it. Then he stood back and pondered.

Looking around, he could see the substantial damage that had occurred because of the bridge collapse. They were only a few stories above the cloud layer here, down in what looked to be an old retail robotics store. This was the first recently-alive human Rick had encountered back on Earth. And he didn’t look that old or that dead. Were there still living, fucking, people on Earth? Had a mother been pregnant in this environment? And guessing at his age, Rick figured he must have grown up somewhere nearby, a neighbor. How had he missed a family?

Unless the kid had somehow wandered here, that seemed impossible. Everything about this chance encounter seemed impossible. Rick took a moment to check on the things he actually cared about. On his sensor and drone network, he pulled up diagnostics diagrams and checked the integrity of his propellant farm. It was fine. Thank God.

He needed his propellant to fuel the chemical rocket he had built himself over the years. Without a way into low Earth orbit, it was unlikely any rescue would come down to the planet’s surface. He was hoping that he’d hear any day now that the beacon call had been received, that there was a ship waiting for him in orbit. Maybe tomorrow.

“Kid, I would have loved to have met ya,” Rick said towards the body. Should he push it over the edge? Probably not a good idea, bots would never find it down there. Maybe he should fire a shot through the chest, make sure the kid really was dead. Fully dead.

Rick continued to think things through, small puffs of acrid smoke rising above his head. He scanned the horizon, calm clouds below the pale whitish-blue sky, the city poking its remains through the fluff. The buildings seemed especially beat down today, only their broken bones extending upwards.

Suddenly, he realized his communicator was blinking a slow red light; a message had been received! Someone must have responded to the beacon! This was the first off-planet message the beacon had picked up in all his time here. His hands shook slightly as he fumbled for the small button on the side that would transfer the message to his heads-up display.

The smile and anticipation that had been building collapsed as he read the message. The same message from Titan that had been sent throughout the solar system. The joint fell from his slack mouth.

“Fuck,” Rick scanned back over the message to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. The message was already almost six hours old, “Fuck.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Did he even have time to emergency launch? He ignored the kid and started jogging back towards his home and workshop, then he started running. Going at almost a full sprint, he pulled back up his sensor network and sent the command to start fueling his rocket. His glasses jostled on his face with each footfall, but he could see that the process had at least started. The pipes were cooling down to match the temperature of the cryogenic fluids. Once the system was at the proper temperature, the actual propellant would be loaded.

Skidding to a halt, his breath panting, he checked his plasma rifle to make sure it was still loaded. Then he started jogging back towards the body.

“This, is, fine,” he spoke word for word between breaths. He could still take an extra ten minutes or so to prepare. Without propellant, there was no point to any of this, and that system needed time. It was fine, everything was already prepared, and this was doing a favor. He would make sure the kid got picked up.

Back at the body, he wasted no time, pulled the rifle sight up to his face, and squared his shot over the kid’s heart. It was such a small body, but Rick pulled the trigger without hesitation. Tremors at the body’s extremities followed a torso almost torn in two, a mess of cooked and cauterized flesh connected to some shoulders and legs.

“That should do it,” Rick turned and started back up his jog. The jog turned into a run and finally back to a full sprint. Concrete and broken glass clung to the bottom of his boots, clinking and crackling with every footfall. He pulled back up his sensor net. He nodded to himself, acknowledging that fuel loading had started, a good sign, already almost fifteen percent loaded.

He rounded the nearest stairwell and began pumping up the old stairs back to his base. His hands grabbing the old railing to help him turn the corners, leaving rust stains on his palms. Through his mind, he was trying to take mental inventory of everything he needed to grab. It was then he realized he had no idea how much food to take or other supplies. The pod that sat at the top of his rocket could only hold one, but it had reasonable life support and a condensed suit of hospitalities. Pushed to the max, it should be able to provide atmosphere and recycled water for weeks.

But how many extra calories could he really carry? He commanded his drones to start dropping rations into the pod while he started scrambling around his workshop. He threw old paperwork and notes to the side, each kicking up clouds of dust. He opened old laptops and started scanning files, “Bad fucking timing man,” he muttered to himself. He barely gave his AI girlfriend a second glance, tossing her computer brain into the trash, not even bothering to give notice; her naked body laid out in their shared bed, disconnected from her mind.

He hastily removed his dirty clothing and did his best to put on fresh clothes as the drones reported that they had loaded all his extra meals. He glanced at the time, trying to quickly verify that the math was correct. The seven objects were expected to hit Earth in only nine and a half more minutes.

“FUCK!” Rick did his best to shimmy back into his old flight suit. He briefly held his plasma rifle up to the pod door and then decided he wouldn’t have much use for it anymore, so he tossed it aside, discarding it. He threw himself into the pod and quickly grasped the shoulder and belt straps to secure himself, making sure the flight control computer was active, targeted, and timing down.

But there were two problems: the oxidizer hadn’t finished loading, and he was sitting on a bunch of his ration pods. He unstrapped himself and dangled his feet back out of the pod, then, with both arms, he heaved and pulled himself back out. Reaching back, he tossed all the food packets to the side. The pod had originally been able to hold four people comfortably, but it had been a simple shuttle craft, never intending for the crew to spend more than an hour or two inside of it during transitions. Rick had removed the extra seating and put in more life support, an especially cramped cleaning/shower unit and even a sleeping cot.

He stood outside the pod, his boots clanging on the thin metal plating that covered the catwalks at this level. Below him, he could hear the pumps chugging the remainder of the liquid oxygen aboard. There was another computer screen behind him, strapped to the silo’s wall. LOX levels were at 72%, with the projection showing he’d reach 100% in another seven minutes.

Turning around, he looked back at the pod, but felt a nagging itch that he was forgetting something. His old Navy uniform! There was probably a court-martial waiting for him back on Mars, if he could make it that far. He was paralyzed for a moment. What was the point of the uniform if he was just going to be abandoned in space? He was about to escape an exploding Earth, and then? He imagined making it into space and seeing nothing but an expanding debris cloud behind him. What would he do then? Float around in this can till he died? Freeze to death and hope he got picked up and thawed at some unknown future date?

That sounded pretty miserable, but it motivated him all the same. He took off running, taking stairs four at a time as he bounded away from the missile silo and back to his quarters. He took the corner into his room so fast that he crashed into his desk, trash and scavenged electronics tumbled to the floor as he pushed open his closet doors. He ignored the uniform and went straight for a small safe on the floor. With one hand, he fumbled with the biometrics and unlocked the box, with the other, he plunged it into the darkness of his closet and found an old, empty cloth bag. Then he upturned the safe and dumped the contents into the bag, drugs!

He stood with a smile on his face and took one last glimpse around. Too many choices, he would have to make do with what he had. He took off towards the rocket, lights left on, his meal from the morning still cooling, uneaten among his other projects. Screens left on, math problems half solved. The whole planet had felt like his private refuge all these long years, but now it was all about to end.

As he climbed the last few stairs, his forehead and hands slippery with sweat, he glanced at the fuel load out monitor, 79%, a little over five minutes to go. It would have to be enough; he could terminate fuel loading from inside the pod. He threw his drug bag into the pod, making sure it didn’t land in his flight seat. Then he stuffed himself in, taking a moment to do a final visual check of the craft while strapping himself back in again. The rocket would have just enough delta-v to reach low Earth orbit. It would have to do.

He canceled fuel loading and heard load clanks as the attached pumps and cabling disconnected from the main rocket body. The flight timer still had more than fifteen minutes for the countdown, he manually adjusted it to three seconds and hit start. An error flashed as the computer hurried to catch up, a buzzing noise filled the cabin to accompany the bangs and groans.

Two seconds later, the countdown began. 3, 2, Rick could hear the ignition system start. 1, he glanced at the screen in front of himself, his hands tensing over his armrests. Then with a final click the engines roared to life. A deep rumbling spread throughout the ship and Rick felt himself pushed back into his seat. Besides a low fuel warning, all systems were green.

Fear and doubt left his mind for a moment as the rocket began to gain altitude. This was a novel experience, a bit like a roller coaster. He hadn’t ever ridden a chemical rocket himself, but having built it, he had an excellent idea of how it should behave and what sort of ride he was in for. Still, nothing like strapping yourself to a flying bomb and hoping for the best. Really, it was just the relief of responsibility. He had made his choices, he had double checked his work, but that was all in the past now. He looked out the tiny porthole and flipped the smallish monitor in front of himself to show outside views. The camera sucked, but he could see a wobbly view of the fiery engine plume, tickling the dark cloud it left in its wake.

He looked back out the window, the whitish blue polluted sky filled the view. As the ship pushed higher and higher it tilted more and more towards the horizon. Finally the last of the visible atmosphere started to dissipate and fill with the black of space. The first stage shut off gently and for a moment gravity fell away; Rick braced for separation. A noticeable jolt and loud clunk passed through his gritted teeth and before he opened his eyes the second stage was already lit, pushing him back into his seat once again.

He twisted a dial below the monitor and switched to his diagnostics, there was that low fuel warning, still, but it looked like he had a small margin of error. Fuel losses had been spread out. Not encouraging, but Rick swallowed and kept browsing through his screens. The mysterious objects bulleting towards Earth were set to strike in only another thirty-seven seconds. He’d been pushing it close; hopefully, the altitude he had achieved would be enough to spare his life. Still, he was not looking forward to slowly dying in this can. Earth was still his home these last few decades; he lingered on the camera, showing the world passing below.

She wasn’t as vibrant as the old photographs, but the sight still made Rick pause. Long white clouds finally breaking to reveal blue ocean, and tan coastal areas, far, far below. As he watched, the second stage engines came to a gentle stop, and this time the stage separation was much more gentle. Weightlessness spread through the pod, and Rick unstrapped himself. He floated the extra foot towards the window to look outside. All around him, his poorly packed food and supplies started floating around the cramped space.

Looking down, he fooled himself momentarily into thinking he could see everything of interest, but a thought crossed his mind. Where were the impacts projected to strike? The other side of the planet?

—

Back at the body of the little boy, a fat, wide drone appeared from above, seemingly searching the area. It produced a low hum, a product of its buoyancy and propulsion devices. Its surface was covered in grey-green camouflage punctuated by a clear red cross. Once within a few feet, it scanned the entire area in a quick, green laser grid, then focused its attention on the head. A slender wire extended, bug-like, from its face and touched the side of the head. Hundreds of millions of filaments, mere molecules thick, penetrated needle-like through the skull and branched out throughout the brain, pinging, scanning, and storing data on brain structure, connections, and signal strengths.

As the information was read, it was being sent, bit by bit, to a local military substation. From that substation, the information was routed along ancient but reliable fiber-optic cables, below the clouds, through the foundations of crumbling skyscrapers, deep into the Earth’s crust, and across her continents. Finally, received in the pitch-black, under crushing pressure and frigid temperatures, deep below the waves of the Pacific Ocean, in a still-operational data center.