Half Way Home, Page 2

  The girl rose. I turned to her and away from the dying. Large drops of rain spotted the mud on her chest with dollops of pink exposed flesh. She pulled me up and tugged me, staggering, away from the vats. We held each other clumsily, four legs proving more stable than two, as we joined the others in running.

  Running and surviving.

  • 2 • Command Module

  We were too late to help the command module. By the time we splashed through the rain to assist the small structure, we found it had already helped itself. Large construction tractors stood poised over it, their buckets dripping the muddy remnants of its salvation. Through a small single door, plumes of fire extinguishing agent billowed out into the wet night. Both efforts to fight the fire created the illusion that the module was one of us: slathered in mud, its labored breath visible, all the same marks of desperate self-preservation.

  A fellow male colonist came to a stop beside me. He bent over and rested his hands on his knees and shook his head.

  “What about us?” he asked.

  The boy had the look of a worker; his body bulged with large muscles, especially for our age. I rested a hand on his back and bent down beside him. He wasn’t breathing hard, just leaning on his knees as if weighed down by the gravity of our situation.

  I watched a few colonists run past us to gather by the command module and wait for the smoke to clear. The girl—my birth neighbor—fell to her knees beside me and stared at her own palms.

  “Are you hurt?” I asked. My voice sounded raspy and foreign to my own ears as I used it for the first time outside my dreams.

  The girl shook her head. Her hair, groomed by the vat for many years, was now matted in muddy clumps and dripping with rain.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Lightning,” the boy beside me whispered. He turned his head sideways and glanced up through the rain, almost as if waiting to be struck down for the accusation. I watched a rivulet of water course down his neck, plowing a track through the mud. He turned to me and slapped his own chest. “I’m Kelvin,” he said. “A farmer.”

  I took it as a flash of credentials for his weather theory, rather than an introduction.

  “Tarsi,” the girl beside me whispered. She continued to stare into her cupped palms as she said it. The brown water gathered there splashed with the trickles from her face. “Teacher,” she added, after a pause.

  “What about you?” Kelvin asked.

  Several more colonists ran by, looking for something to do or somewhere to go. The screams and shouts had turned to panting punctuated with occasional coughs.

  “My name’s Porter,” I told him. I stood, shaking the mud off my hands before helping the girl stand.

  “This wasn’t lightning,” she said.

  She turned to us, her face growing dim as the flames from the command module were brought under control. “This was an abort sequence.” She waved an arm at the destruction on all sides, at the dozen metal buildings on fire and illuminating the darkness beyond. “Too many modules are on fire for this to be anything else.” Tarsi faced us. “The Colony AI did this,” she said.

  “And then changed its mind?” Kelvin shook his head. “Why wake us up?”

  “We need to find out,” Tarsi said.

  She set off toward the command module. I watched her bare feet throw up twin sprays of mud, her naked form blending in with all the people running through puddles, hacking and breathing hard.

  Kelvin and I glanced at each other; the streaks of grime on his face did little to conceal the worry in his furrowed brow. He coughed once into a fist, slapped me on the shoulder, then ran through the rain after Tarsi.

  I followed him. I was too confused to do otherwise, and too terrified to be alone.

  ••••

  When Kelvin and I reached the command module, we found Tarsi conferring with a couple by the door. Boy and girl, they were huddled together under the slight overhang of the entrance, their backs to the dark, mud-splashed steel.

  “What’s going on?” I heard Tarsi ask them.

  The boy shook his head and jabbed a thumb at the door. Artificial light spilled out of the module, giving me a good look at the couple. I noticed Tarsi and the other girl covering themselves with their arms, and was reminded of my own nakedness. My professional curiosity became piqued. Had a training program taught us to be ashamed? I couldn’t remember.

  Flushed with guilt for even concerning myself with such matters, I shook my head and tried to focus on the crisis around us. Tarsi patted the girl on the arm and stepped into the light; Kelvin followed. Both seemed to be holding it together better than me, making me long to have been born a teacher or a farmer.

  Entering the module, the patter of rain on mud was drowned out by the roar of it against the metal roof. Over that, I could hear the AI speaking, his voice filling the enclosed space:

  “—the primary goal. Once the launch pad has been restored, a mission-critical package will be prepared. All efforts must be prioritized for this task.”

  The voice felt like a warm fluid rising up, wrapping around and filling every crevice of my being. For so many years, its constant and soothing sound had been my company as it emanated from dozens of instructional avatars. For fifteen years, it had readied me for life—teaching and preparing me.

  But not for this.

  Nearly a dozen colonists had packed themselves into the command module; most sat on the floor with their arms wrapped around their knees. White fire retardant covered every surface like a thin layer of frost. Overhead, a swirling black mist of smoke hovered near the ceiling. There seemed to be minimal fire damage. If the AI was responsible, it would’ve initiated its own destruction last in order to oversee the process. What I was seeing lent considerable weight to Tarsi’s theory.

  I followed her and Kelvin as the two of them squeezed down a tight corridor lined with electrical cabinets, and headed toward the front of the module. Wracking my memory, I tried to recall where the power for this module came from but couldn’t. Another pang of fear roiled up through me as I wondered how many important things I was supposed to know—but hadn’t yet learned. We’d been given no orientation for our planet. Nothing at all. We should’ve had another fifteen years in the vats to learn and grow.

  The module widened toward the end, opening on a handful of naked, muddy colonists crowded around a bank of monitors. Three colonists sat in chairs bolted down in front of the screens. All the blinking lights and complex machines made us look even more like lost savages—out of any element we could possibly have been designed for. Kelvin and Tarsi slid down against one of the walls and I joined them. Across from us, a few other colonists hugged their knees for warmth or modesty—perhaps both. The three of us followed suit, wrapping our arms around our shins. I could hear several sets of teeth chattering, creating a frantic backbeat for the peppering rainfall and the oddly calm conversation taking place around us.

  “Understood, Colony, but as I said, there are some more . . . primary needs to tend to. Where are our clothes? Our food? We are—I have a lot of colonists in shock right now. Modules are still burning, and what you’re asking will take time.”

  I watched the young man in the center chair, the one talking, and admired his poise. He seemed distraught yet in control. He rested his elbows on the counter in front of him, his fingers interlocked above his head as he bent over in worry or deep thought. But it was his voice—the tenor and pace of it matching the AI for calmness—that soothed me. It was as if they were on solid footing. Like together, they could make everything okay.

  “I have already recalled two more tractors from mining station two,” Colony said. “It will be two days before they arrive with more supplies. Until then, there are tarps for cover and clothing. The server module, the power modules, and this one will provide adequate shelter. The planet has some caloric resources, enough to last you the duration of the task. I am setting a two-week timetable for the launch of the mission package.”

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nbsp; The girl seated next to the boy stiffened. “Two weeks?” she asked, turning to the center boy. He held up his hand and nodded to her, then looked around at the rest of us. His eyes widened, as if surprised at how quickly his audience had grown. I leaned away from the wall and looked back down the aisle. Another dozen or so colonists had squeezed into the module to get out of the rain, or perhaps to take stock of themselves, their fellow survivors, and the situation.

  “Two weeks seems a bit quick to get something into orbit,” the boy said, looking at us rather than face the monitor. He seemed to be sizing up the group. Taking our measure. “It’ll take a few days just to clean up, organize supplies, and—”

  “All of that will have to wait. The mission package comes first. The viability of this colony is still in question.”

  “In question?” someone asked. “Fifteen years, and our viability is in question?”

  The boy in the chair raised his hand, palm out, but nodded to the speaker. With his brow furrowed and his lips pursed, he wore a mask of complete empathy. I immediately fell for the guy, willing to follow him anywhere, completely trusting in his leadership. Or maybe I was still just being a scared little boy, or a young hatchling looking for something to keep me safe.

  He turned to the console and lowered his voice, which brought the whispering in the back of the module to a halt as kids strained to hear. “Colony, what happened? I’ve got—I don’t know—sixty survivors out here? None of us are more than halfway through our training programs. Modules are burning—”

  “Ask Colony if he tried to abort us,” one of the seated kids said.

  The boy waved again, more impatiently this time. “Modules are burning to the ground, and you’re asking me to ready a rocket? We need more information than that. We need help sorting the base out—”

  “Sorting ourselves out,” someone in the back said.

  The boy in the seat sighed, shaking his head. “What do you mean about our viability? What is—?”

  “Enough!”

  Our heads spun as one and peered down the module toward the source of the outburst. A large male—bigger than Kelvin—pushed his way through the crease of shivering teens. He had short, dark hair and even darker eyes. Around his waist he’d tied some electrical wiring. A broken piece of paneling hung from it, covering his groin.

  “Out of the chair,” he told the speaker, jerking his thumb.

  The seated boy rose but did not step away. He stood, fully naked, exuding confidence. I should have risen as well, urging calm between the two boys, but I was just as paralyzed as the others. All of us watched the scene unfold like spectators in glass cages.

  “I’m Stevens,” the smaller boy said, holding out his hand. “Mechanical foreman, third group. I’m colonist four-four-two—”

  “Don’t pull rank with me,” the bigger kid said. He moved forward, standing right in front of the three of us. Caked mud fell off his enormous thighs and landed near my feet. I reached over and groped for Tarsi’s hand, interlocking it with my own. I noticed Kelvin had done the same with her other one.

  “I’m Hickson,” the large colonist said. He did so quite loudly, as if he meant to address us all. “Third-shift mine security,” he continued. “Until a higher ranking officer comes forward, I’m in charge.”

  “Colony is in charge,” Tarsi said.

  Her voice, so close by and assertive, startled me. I felt a tinge of anger for drawing attention to ourselves, then shame for feeling that.

  Hickson swung a large hand down and pointed a finger at each of us, as if we’d all spoken up. “That’s right,” he said, “Colony is in charge. And my job is to make sure we stay on point.” He turned and aimed his finger at Stevens. “It sounds to me like you want to question everything—”

  “That’s enough,” Colony said. “Hickson, you know how the chain of command works. As Four-Four-Seven, you are outranked, but I do appreciate your enthusiasm. Each of you will play vital roles in the weeks ahead. As unusual as the circumstances are, no colony is settled without its unique challenges. I assure you all, your services will be most appreciated, and this colony will be highly touted in future training modules. I’m sure of it.

  “Now, you are cold and confused, I understand that. The power station, the relay module, and the command module are all under control. I’m bringing the remaining construction vehicles back to camp. There should be plenty of room for everyone to rest and dry out. Tomorrow, work begins. All for the glory of the colony.”

  “All for the glory of the colony,” everyone echoed back, myself included.

  And there was no question whether that response had been innate or learned.

  No question at all.

  • 3 • Mourning

  That first night, I had awful and yet comforting dreams. They were awful in their content, but comforting in their delivery. They came out of sequence. Random. And the sense of familiarity brought relief, like I had crawled back into my simulated youth. But what I saw in those fragmented visions tormented me: Colonists burning alive. Kids drowning in air, unable to breathe. Me, pounding my fists on a glass column filled with warm, life-giving fluids, but unable to get inside.

  I startled awake, returning to the real and jarred by its consistency. It made my first morning feel nearly as surreal as my birth had the day before.

  I rubbed my eyes and sat up. Four of us had ended up sleeping in the transport cab of a farming tractor. A kid named Oliver and I had volunteered to sleep on the floor while Kelvin and Tarsi stretched out on the single bench seat behind us. I stood up quietly and reached for the scrap of tarp I’d been given the night before. Wrapping it around my waist, I opened the door to the cab and stepped out into the dim light of morning.

  Standing on the grated metal of the mining tractor’s deck hurt my bare feet, so I moved out to the smooth hood in front, which was nothing more than a large metal box to shield the vehicle’s motor. The surface was still wet with rain, and the thin metal popped as it took my weight. From my new vantage spot—a good fifteen feet off the ground—I could survey most of the colony base.

  It was a depressing sight.

  Smoldering modules dotted a wide clearing. Wisps of smoke continued to rise from several, their original outlines barely visible. I traced our trampled path from the tractor back to the command module, and from there to the vat module, and gasped at the sight. The roof of the enormous unit had caved in on one side, melting inward. We had a rough estimate of the number of survivors, and subtracting that pitiful number from the original five hundred colonists equaled an unfathomable loss of life.

  The night before, listening to the AI tell us what needed to be done, I had imagined his soothing voice would be the way out of trouble. Seeing what was left of base—realizing that Tarsi had been right about the abort attempt—I staggered under the blow of a worse realization: the AI had nearly committed genocide. It had nearly wiped us all out due to some unknown calculation.

  Tilting my head back, I gazed up. I’d seen plenty of sky in my training modules, but what lie above was different. A tangle of limbs formed a near-solid canopy over our expansive clearing. Remnants of last night’s rain leaked through, but hardly any direct sunlight made it. To all sides of our base, far in the distance, trees rose up like cliff faces, their girth wider than the entire colony complex. I had to remind myself that they weren’t trees, but rather some sort of alien analogue.

  The tractor door clicked open behind me. I turned around to find Oliver stepping from the cab landing and up to the hood. He was even smaller than me, thin and wiry, and the dented metal didn’t make a sound as it absorbed his weight. Wrapped up in a scrap of tarp, he looked like a piece of insulated wire. His thin neck was topped with a small round head full of hair a coppery auburn and augmented by streaks of red mud.

  “Blessed morning,” he said, nodding at me and smiling.

  “I hope I didn’t wake you,” I said, a bit shocked to find him just as chipper as he’d been the night before.
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  He shook his head and moved to the end of the hood. He dangled his toes over the edge. Lifting his face and closing his eyes, I watched his smile broaden; his shoulders rose up as he sucked in a deep breath of air.

  The previous night, we’d found Oliver standing in the rain, his arms outstretched, his palms flat. He had been shivering—almost on the verge of hypothermia—but as happy as could be. Tarsi thought he was in shock; Kelvin had stepped on my occupational toes by diagnosing him as “horseshit crazy.” The truth had been far more inglorious than either, but more troubling.

  Oliver was the colony philosopher, one of the lowest jobs within our hierarchy. In some ways, I found him to be a kindred spirit. Our occupations were both in the soft sciences and meant to help the other fields cross from the shores of one theory to another, fording the uncertainty between. With his position near the end of the vat (and subsequently one of the lowest-ranked among us), Oliver’s profession must’ve been one of those tacked on in an attempt to fill an arbitrary and round number. Five hundred colonists had been decided upon, even if not all of us were needed.

  Oliver scanned the half-ruined base, his smile never faltering. He then sank down to a seated position, legs crossed. His unusual behavior highlighted a severe problem facing our colony, one that I would need to be aware of in myself. Our training had been interrupted. Cut short. It would be no different than Tarsi teaching the next generation for nine years before kicking them out of her classroom. My own studies had been terminated between the shift from behavioral psychology to evolutionary psychology, sometime in the late twentieth century. What miracles of mental health had I missed in my learning? Was there something more I could’ve done last night? Something I should be doing right then? Not knowing filled me with dread, as if I were missing a limb I never knew I had and therefore unable to appreciate its absence.