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Chapter 12
Zach Croft: 2053
This is going to be harder than I thought.
The more Zach considered how to ask Carver to send a mission back to Mars, the harder it seemed to be. From Carver’s perspective, there was no reason to leave Earth. No reason to get the irogen sitting in Prescott. He was perfectly content overseeing MagRes and providing space cruises for the StarSet Corporation.
It gave Zach a headache piecing together how they’d reached this point. Had there ever been a time—before Carver, before Victor—when things had worked? Dysfunction ran deep in the agency. Zach knew that. For instance, the decay of the magnetosphere had first been detected more than fifty years ago, in the late 90s. OSE could have done something about it right away, could have solved the problem before it grew too severe. But that would have taken money, and a lot of it. So OSE ignored it, like everything else that required additional funding.
With the magnetosphere slowly disintegrating, the effects of solar flares—which usually wouldn’t have been much cause for concern—grew exponentially worse. Satellites began to work less and less. Entire towns would burst into flames without any warning. Cancer rates grew exponentially higher as people were exposed to ever-increasing radiation levels. Decreasing plant life due to massive wildfires caused oxygen levels to drop, and droughts were more severe than ever. Earth’s defenses against solar radiation grew weaker and weaker until the mid-2020s when the board finally decided that something had to be done. Earth was dying.
What would remedy the situation? Some OSE scientists suggested the obvious: they had to repair the magnetosphere. After all, that was their initial plan, wasn’t it? That way, the planet would bounce back from the crisis stronger and more equipped than ever.
But others in OSE, including Zach’s father, knew restoring the magnetosphere was a lost cause. It was simply decaying too fast. They foresaw that even if OSE poured every dime it had into the program, it would never be enough. Earth would die regardless of what they did, so the best option was to leave, to set up an outpost on some distant planet where humans could have a second chance, so that some minuscule number of people, however tiny, would survive.
Through countless studies, Alpha Centauri was chosen as the primary candidate for human habitation. It had water, a survivable climate, breathable air. In theory, it was a second Earth.
With both proposed projects in mind, it was left up to a vote. Countless votes, actually, over the span of a year. And every time, it was split right down the middle. Half pro-MagRes, half pro-Exodus. Eventually, a compromise was made that divided OSE’s money evenly between the two programs.
Prescott was built, with plans for a colony on Alpha Cen once enough irogen had been mined. Back on Earth, OSE commenced efforts to rebuild the magnetosphere.
Soon after, Prescott died out, and the Exodus program was deemed a failure. All the money shifted to the magnetosphere restoration under Carver’s leadership. And for a time, it was working. The magnetosphere grew stronger until the decay suddenly increased, and OSE couldn’t keep up. Using far more funding than initially intended, the agency fought against the decay, and everyone but Zach accepted that it was getting better. Another twenty years of that, and here Zach was.
Given how much Carver had pushed for the program in the first place, Zach would surely have difficulty convincinghim it wasn’t working. He only hoped that Carver would see it from his perspective, from someone who spent his life studying solar flares and the magnetosphere they sought to rebuild.
Zach navigated his way through the launch site of one of StarSet’s acclaimed space cruises. OSE did most of the construction for the company—a suitable way to generate money after the government had cut their budget so much—and they did a damn good job of it.
Even the body of the rocket seemed luxurious. Pastel hibiscus flowers surrounded a milky Pina Colada glass about mid-way up the ship, giving the craft a sort of tropical feel, despite its destination having nothing to do with warm weather or sandy beaches.
All Zach knew about the StarSet cruises was that you had to be filthy rich to get a seat on one. All-inclusive dining and drinks, viewing platforms to look out over the stars; it had everything you’d need on a cruise ship through the cosmos, except for a reasonable price tag.
Zach would have never set foot in one if Carver hadn’t been there for an inspection today, and Zach needed to talk to him as soon as possible. He summited the red-carpeted staircase and neared the airlock. When he stepped inside, his sense of belonging fizzled away. The ship looked like a five-star hotel.
The first floor of the rocket consisted of a circular bar ten feet from the entrance. The counter was solid granite, perfectly polished to where Zach could almost see his reflection. Behind it, a shelf was packed full of bronze and clear liquors, jars of lime slices, and cups of almonds. The bartender, clearly masking sleep deprivation with excessive concealer below the eyes, nodded to Zach as he passed. Why she was there when the cruise was not active, Zach didn’t know. Maybe she was new and learning the ropes before her first voyage.
A winding set of stairs brought him through the library, dining area, computer room, and finally, the lounge. Only one person was in the lavender-smelling room: Carver, sitting in the corner with a book propped open on his knee, and his right hand hooked to his collar.
Zach took a minute to examine Carver. His hair was slicked back, with a few strands dangling over his forehead. Green and black oil paint stained his fingertips. “Shouldn’t you be inspecting?” Zach asked while posted at the top step, his elbow resting against the silver railing.
Carver pushed his book aside, addressing Zach with a wink. “Loosen up.” He peeked out the window and at the agency below. “We’re all looking for ways out of there.”
Zach put on a show-you-agree-without-getting-yourself-fired smile as his bullshit meter climbed into the red zone. He knew Carver loved OSE, how he’d remade it into something new, expanding the agency in the days of struggle after Prescott.
“How’ve you been doing?” Carver asked. “How’s the eye?”
Zach touched the faint purple smudge above his cheekbone. He winced. “It’s fine… Listen, I need to talk to you about something. Do you have a minute?”
“Of course.” Carver gestured for Zach to sit. “What’s on your mind?”
Zach sat in the recliner opposite Carver but kept his back straight as an arrow. Taking a breath, he started, “You’ve always been one to do the right thing.”
Carver nodded. “I like to think so.”
“And you’re reasonable when it comes to doing what must be done.”
Carver began to catch on. He deflated a bit in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes. “What’d you come here to tell me, Zach?”
This was it. Zach’s one chance. If he messed it up, bye-bye humanity. The stakes sharpened his voice. “We need to reopen the Exodus Program.”
Carver smiled while shaking his head and kept reading his book. “This again.”
“Rebuilding the magnetosphere isn’t working.” Carver’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Zach continued. “I know I’ve said it before, but the solar flares are still getting worse. People are dying. And we’re still pouring money into a failing program—”
“Once again, three-fourths of your department says it’s working.”
“How can you say that after Guatemala? An entire rainforest gone, like that!” Zach snapped his fingers.
“We have to accept that it’s going to get worse before it gets better.” Carver stood, and, for a second, Zach thought he would leave. Instead, he strode to the counter, picked up two glasses, and poured some scotch. “But the latest report says there’s been a four-percent increase in its strength in the past six months alone.”
Zach shook his head. “No way. They must have flipped the numbers. It’s dropped that much. And if it goes down another ten, the planet will burn with all of us still on it.”
“You always were an optimist,” Carver smiled sarcastically. “Let’s say, for a moment, that you’re right, and everyone else is wrong—”
“A year,” Zach said. “A year until we’re wiped out, and we’re here arguing about it.”
Carver offered him the glass of amber liquid, which he swiftly declined. “Zach, I’ve got things to do. If you’re gonna waste my time…”
“We need to reopen the Exodus program,” Zach said again firmly. “Just let me explain. I know how to do it right this time.”
Carver studied Zach with a squint. “You’re so much like your father.” The words hung in the air.
“How so?”
“I had this exact discussion with him twenty years ago. He wanted to leave. I didn’t.” Carver’s eyes were drawn to a maintenance worker climbing the spiral staircase to the living quarters. Carver waited for the man to leave, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair. Then he continued. “It’s crazy how much you take after him. It’s like you’re an extension of him. That’s what worries me, Zach. I know you have the best intentions, but the last time OSE went out on a limb listening to a Croft, Prescott happened. The agency fell into shambles. We lost funding. I can’t take the risk that Victor Keaton did.”
“And yet, my father was right. We couldn’t just magically rebuild the magnetosphere!” Zach stood and walked across the room as he tried to place his anger. “And if they’d just…” He closed and opened his fists. “And if they’d followed through and not given up at the first fucking chance, we’d have already sent thousands to Alpha Cen!”
Carver leaned back in his chair.
“Want to know how many we can save now?” Zach ranted. “A thousand. One trip. One trip before everyone else dies! So, I’m begging you to hear me out. I know you and my father didn’t see eye to eye, but just out of respect for him, give me a chance.”
“Okay.” Carver opened his hands in a welcoming gesture. “Go ahead.”
Zach calmed down, pushed back his hair, and took a breath. “I have a plan. You won’t like it, but let me get it out.”
“Enlighten me.”
“We’re going to finish what Prescott started.” Zach sensed Carver about to object, so he spoke quicker. “I, of all people, know how that sounds. But I know how we can do this right.”
“Go on.”
Zach dragged a folded paper from his pocket: the photo of the crater he found in Wilford’s files. The one displaying hundreds of irogen crystals. He carefully unfolded it, wiped off some dust, and showed it to Carver.
“The last few days, I’ve been thinking of Prescott. Yesterday, I logged onto one of the old satellites and took this image,” he lied. “Look at all this. I don’t know how, but irogen has spread to the surface of Mars. It’s not just in the mines. And there’s a lot more of it. If we could just get there, all that irogen is waiting to be picked up. No drilling operation required.”
“And how do you suppose we get there?”
“The dropship. The one that just came back. We can take it up to the Gateway. If the station still has its residual fuel reserves, it should be enough to get to Mars and back.”
“Should be?”
“Yes, it should be,” Zach repeated. “We wouldn’t even need a full crew. We can go with half a dozen, tops.”
“Have you considered that Prescott is a biohazard? Have you considered what would happen if you brought the Red Plague back to Earth?”
“We won’t. Even if someone got infected, the cryo would kill it before we returned.”
“Well, I still don’t know about that. And what about the irogen itself? What if some of the Red Plague gets in the fuel? You’re going to have to store the fuel somewhere. You might not bring it back to the ground, but what about the thousand people you want to send up there? What about their lives?”
“We could quarantine the fuel while we figure out a way to kill any bacteria in it. It’ll be challenging, but—”
“If you want to help, figure out what you did wrong. Find the error in your numbers.”
“My numbers are right.”
“Your word against your entire staff.”
“My numbers are right,” Zach repeated, firmer this time. “This is our only chance. We have to try.”
“The answer’s no.” Carver got to his feet and strode over to the staircase. Before descending them, he gave one more look in Zach’s direction, then left.
Zach had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but Carver had made up his mind.
And so had Zach.
“What are you gonna do?” Ryker asked.
Zach drew in a deep breath, confirming his thoughts were his own and not whispers in the stale air of the house. Was he really about to suggest it? It was just about the most insane thing he’d ever considered. But strangely, it was also the sanest thing that had ever crossed his mind. The most logical option, considering the circumstances. With that in mind, he gulped and said, “We do it ourselves.”
“What does that mean?” Ryker retorted.
“We take your ship, go to the Gateway, and fly it to Mars. The plan stays the same, except OSE doesn’t provide the crew… we are the crew.”
Ryker melted in his chair. His mouth hung ajar for a few seconds. “Are you crazy?”
“Ryker, we need to. It’s the only way—”
“Look at me!” Ryker shot out of his chair and pointed at his face. “Me getting left on the Gateway, fine. Maybe that was a mistake. But it wouldn’t have happened if we had just stayed the fuck away from Prescott in the first place.”
“We were kids! We didn’t have a choice.”
“Exactly. And now we do.” Ryker’s hands formed fists, pressed against the table. “I don’t expect you to understand. You weren’t the one who was left behind. I was. You didn’t—” He cut himself off. “You know what, never mind.”
“Ryker…”
“No, Zach. I lost everything because of Prescott! My mom. My dad. My friends, my life! Everything. Now I finally have a chance to live a normal life, and you want me to go back there?”
“I get it. But if we don’t do this, you won’t have a normal life. Or any life. Nobody will.”
Ryker scoffed. “Don’t try to guilt trip me.” He walked out of the kitchen and collapsed onto the couch.
Zach knew that Ryker had a point. His anger was justified. Restrained even, considering. What if Zach had gotten left behind instead of Ryker? What if he had been abandoned? Survived twenty years. Somehow found a way back. Would he have wanted to turn around and run back to Prescott so soon? Of course, he wouldn’t. It would be insane.
“I think about it every day, too, you know.” Zach turned off the stove, then followed Ryker into the living room. “But this isn’t just about us. It’s about everyone. The whole human race.” Zach sat down across from Ryker. “I need a pilot. Someone who’s flown a dropship before. I’m begging you. Come with me.”
“You think you know more than a fucking space agency,” Ryker said scornfully. “They must have a reason to not go back there.”
“OSE doesn’t know anything—”
“And you do? What if you’re wrong? What if more people get hurt? It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“You have to trust me when I say this is our only option.”
Ryker faced the ceiling and shook his head, recalling some distant memory. “The last time I followed you somewhere we weren’t supposed to go, people died. I’m not making that mistake twice.”
Before Zach could give a reply, Ryker got up, grabbed his jacket, and stormed out of the house.
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