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Chapter 26
Zach Croft: 2030
Zach felt the fire grazing his face, coming so close that a sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. He raised his sword to strike, preparing to bring it down on the brownish scales, then remembered it was only a book and snapped out of it.
But it wasn’t just any book. It was the one Zach’s mother used to read him. The one they pored over the night before she died. As he read, her voice sang, melodic and soft, through his head, bringing the words to life. How long had it been since he’d read it? It must have been years, but it was still one of the few things he brought with him on the mission. Despite it being amongst his only belongings, he never opened it. He never got past the title page until now.
With everything going on—all those people dead, abandoning the colony—he needed his mother’s support. Zach felt her reading it with him. Not just her delicate voice reciting the words in his mind, but in a more physical form. As if her shapeless spirit was hovering above his head. As if the breeze stroking his hair was her hand instead of the air from the vent in the wall.
He flipped the page and started the next chapter, though he didn’t get more than a few words in before the bedroom light flickered on and Zach’s flashlight went off.
“Time for bed,” said Quinton, leaning against the doorway in a flannel button-down.
“Five more minutes?”
“I’m afraid not.” Quinton sat down at the edge of the bed and ran his hand over the blanket. “We’re going into cryo soon. It’s best if you get some rest.”
“Isn’t that what the pods are for?”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But it doesn’t put you to sleep. You’re just… dormant.” Quinton’s brow furrowed with concern. He reached up to touch Zach’s forehead. “When did you get that?”
Get what? Were there boils on Zach’s skin? Was he infected? Zach dodged away from Quinton’s hand. “What is it?” His mind sprinted to the worst possibilities. He had the Red Plague, and soon, he would feel nauseous and tired.
“A bruise, it looks like.” Quinton clicked his tongue. “Does it hurt?”
Zach sighed in relief. He couldn’t even remember getting it. “It’s fine. Do you always have to be a doctor?”
“No, I suppose not,” relented Quinton. “I’ll just be your dad.” He patted Zach’s leg.
Zach fidgeted with a frayed piece of his blanket. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Go ahead.”
“Do you think they’ll remember us? On Earth?” Zach knew it sounded stupid, but it had been in his mind for days.
“What kind of question is that? Of course, they will. We’re going to radio OSE as soon as everyone’s settled. How’s that sound?”
“What about the colony? What will happen to the people we left?”
“OSE will send a team to help everyone there. Trained professionals.”
Zach wanted to point out that Quinton was also a trained professional—and hadn’t been able to do anything about it—but only nodded. “Okay, Dad. Sounds good.”
“Anything else you want to ask while you’re at it? Why is the sky blue? What wiped out the dinosaurs?”
“What if I get sick? Because I went into the crater.”
“We still don’t know if that had anything to do with it. Besides, you’d be showing symptoms. Ryker too.”
“What if—”
“You’re okay. That’s the end of it. Now, try to get some sleep, and we’ll talk about it in the morning.” Quinton turned the lights off on his way out, leaving Zach with his thoughts.
Zach realized how tired the last few days had left him. Clearing his mind, he turned over, wrapped himself in the covers, and allowed sleep to overtake him.
The following day, footsteps beyond his door woke Zach up. He quickly pulled himself together, remembering the new ration schedule, and got dressed. He couldn’t bring any clothes from the colony with him, so he had to make do with what was already on the station. That meant an oversized white t-shirt he had to tuck into his pants. After getting ready, he made his way to the cafeteria. His father and Ryker were already waiting at one of the tables.
Zach sat between them and waited for the meal to be served. When the two slices of bread and protein paste arrived, he stared at his plate vacantly. It didn’t even look like food. Whatever. He wasn’t that hungry. Ryker, on the other hand, dug in immediately.
On the far side of the cafeteria, Councilman Faren sat with a group discussing plans for Earth. Sweat coated his forehead, and he blinked hard every few seconds. Zach supposed he was under a lot of stress.
Eventually, Quinton noticed Zach avoiding the food and commented, “You haven’t touched your rations.”
“I’m not very hungry.” He could at least count on a sandwich and juice at mealtime in the colony.
“You’ve got to eat something. We’ll be fasting for a while in cryo.” Quinton peeked around Zach. “Look. Ryker’s got the right idea.”
Ryker looked over clumsily. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” said Quinton. “I could go for some ice cream right now. Why don’t we get some when we get back to Earth?”
“I don’t even remember what ice cream tastes like,” Zach answered.
Suddenly, a high-pitched scream pierced the air, turning all heads to the end of the cafeteria. Something slammed against the ground. Immediately, Quinton shot out of his seat and ran over. “Out of my way, everyone! Move!” He pushed his way through the cluster of people that had quickly gathered.
Zach and Ryker looked at one another before following everyone else. A flurry of questions erupted all around them.
“What happened to him?”
“Is he breathing?”
“Was there something in the food?”
Zach weaved through the crowd until he reached the front. He saw Quinton kneeling over Faren, his hands hovering just above the councilman’s chest as though he was afraid to touch him. What was wrong? Only a minute ago, everything was fine. Faren had been eating, talking, and strategizing just as an ordinary, healthy man would.
But then, Quinton rolled up Faren’s sleeve, revealing a cluster of boils.
Nicolas Carver: 2053
Carver closed his eyelids, attempting to shut out the blinding light. Purplish blobs floated across his vision.
“Good to see you’re making friends,” the voice of Rhea Vasquez said.
Carver rubbed his eyes. “Funny,” he grumbled.
“I try. Why’d they lock you up?”
Carver hated that terminology. It made him seem like a criminal. He quickly concocted an explanation. “Zach decided he should be in charge, and I was in the way.”
When he looked up, he found several faces peering down at him. They were not the faces of scientists and astronauts but of the workers. The grimy mechanics who spent their days fixing rockets and maintaining cruise ships.
“Nobody on this station is gonna go for that,” Rhea said. She crossed her arms. “You saved us. Everyone knows that. Nobody’s gonna let him stage a coup.”
“That’s the funny thing about coups, Vasquez,” Carver replied. “It doesn’t matter what people want.”
“Well, our main priority is to keep you safe, sir,” one of the mechanics said. “We owe it to you.”
“I appreciate that. I do.” Carver ran his fingers through his hair, surveying his surroundings. Stacks of supplies occupied dust-covered shelves all around them. “Do you know where Zach is now?”
Rhea shook her head. “I don’t. But it won’t be long before he finds out you’re gone. We have to hide you somewhere.”
“No. I’m not going to hide from him.”
What good would hiding do? He couldn’t stay hidden forever anyway. He supposed Zach could expose what he did to the cryobay, but so what? He’d committed no actual crime. He did what he had to. The Red Plague could have made it back to Earth and wiped out everyone if he hadn’t. Anyway, he didn’t think any survivors would genuinely care about a decision he had made decades ago, when many of them were still children. One way or another, they were alive today because of him. Because he took decisive action. Because he was willing to do what needed to be done to keep people alive, no matter the personal cost.
He never believed in the Exodus project, never wanted to go to Alpha Cen. But now that it was their only option, he was determined to make it work. They would start a new society, form a new government, and make fair laws. Rising from the ashes, they would do their best to avoid the mistakes of their past.
Mistakes like the ones Zach made.
Zach’s arrogance had almost spelled the end of humanity. Carver and the others had fled the solar flares in the cruise ship, expecting to dock to the Gateway once in orbit. Instead, they were met with nothing but empty space. For two days, it seemed like all was lost. There was no room on the ship to sleep, so everyone just sat quietly as they waited for the air to run out. Thankfully, the Gateway had reappeared just before that happened. But if it hadn’t? Well, Carver didn’t like to think about it.
Zach was being reckless. And selfish. And closed-minded. He stood on principle instead of doing the right thing for the survivors. They were all that remained of the human race, and Zach couldn’t let bygones be bygones. Therefore, he was a liability. But how could he be dealt with? Carver remembered the mention of the prisoner pods where Erik had been found and figured that if he could get Zach into one of them, then he wouldn’t need to worry about Zach rallying people into a mutiny. But that seemed like a last resort. Perhaps he could try talking some sense into Zach first. He could allow Zach to stay awake as long as he agreed to keep a low profile. And if that didn’t work, if Zach didn’t agree to keep his mouth shut, he’d have to go into cryo.
Carver would have to meet with him somewhere secluded, with only one way in and out. That way, if things went south, he could have Zach arrested. God, he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Maybe Zach would remember all the things Carver had taught him—chief among them, the ability to back down when necessary—and come to some kind of agreement.
But Carver also knew that Zach was Quinton’s son, and that came with strings attached.
“Sir? Are you okay?” one of the workers asked.
Carver blinked. “Yes. I’m fine… Would you do me a favor and get me a radio?”
Nicolas Carver: 2030
The whole thing was such a waste of money. Prescott. The Exodus program. Billions of dollars that could have been used to repair the magnetosphere. With perhaps the most advanced capabilities of any agency in the world, OSE should have dedicated its precious funding to saving as many lives as possible. Who could oppose that?
Carver worked his way down the hall. All these years he had spent trying to make the world a better place—or to continue to exist at all, for that matter—and what thanks did he get? None. Nil. OSE took half of its money and put it into Prescott. It was almost laughable how fast that had backfired, but Carver was determined to keep his resentment to a minimum.
They hadn’t heard a peep from the colony in weeks, making it increasingly likely that it had been destroyed or severely damaged. Victor continued to deny it, insisting to his colleagues that the connection would be restored. He sometimes laid it on so thick that Carver doubted the man believed it himself.
It wouldn’t be a surprise. After all, this whole fucked up mess was Victor’s fault. Carver had tried to talk him out of the mission countless times. And did he listen? Of course not. Quinton was constantly chirping in his ear about irogen and how important it was for them to get to Alpha Cen. For that reason, Carver struggled to sympathize with Victor. He hated when people didn’t take his advice, then acted like it was a surprise when it blew up in their faces.
Really, why hadn’t they listened to him? Sure, he was younger than most board members, but didn’t that say it all? He was the rare person able to climb the ranks with a quick wit and work ethic alone. He didn’t have years of experience under his belt. He didn’t come from money, like Victor. Or from a family already associated with OSE, like Quinton. Who knows? Maybe they were jealous of him. Or maybe he was doomed to be overlooked, to have his voice tuned out when all he made was sense. He consoled himself with the thought of one day having the opportunity to make a difference and help people when they needed OSE most.
Until then, Carver was forced to hear Victor whine about his failures while only half the money went to restoring the magnetosphere. It was better than nothing, he supposed. Still, seeing his prized project’s funding go down the drain annoyed him.
People would never understand. No matter how often he warned them, pushing to stop the solar flares rather than escape them, they brushed him off. Why did he even work there anymore if they wouldn’t hear him out?
He was almost to his office when a voice sounded behind him.
“Carver.”
He stopped and turned around to see Wilford Owen approaching from behind. “Ah, Wilford. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“We got a transmission from the Gateway.”
Wilford led him to the Communications Bay and set him up at the computer. He pointed to the screen, drawing Carver’s eyes to a bobbing frequency line. “Should I call for Victor?”
Carver ignored the question. “Are you sure it’s them?”
“As sure as we can be. Comms are weak; only small bursts of information are getting through, but I might be able to home in—”
“How do I talk to them?” Carver didn’t mean to snap, but this was an important matter. He could suspend his kindness for a bit.
“Here.” Wilford grabbed a set of headphones hanging from a rack on the wall and handed it off. “Let me know if there’s too much static.”
Carver fitted the device to his skull, craning his neck. “Hello? Is anyone there?”
“Yes, yes! I’m here. Can you hear me?” a frantic voice sputtered.
“Loud and clear.” Though it was a little spotty. “Who am I speaking to?”
“Quinton Croft. We’re in trouble here.”
“Trouble how?” asked Carver, glancing at Wilford.
Quinton went on to explain the events that had transpired after the landing. He spoke of a meteor that had struck the processing plant and rattled the ground so hard that most of Prescott collapsed. Then, some bacteria emerged and began killing colonists by the dozens. Quinton mentioned how they had decided to abandon the colony and set course for Earth, taking the hundred or so healthy colonists with them. But evading the disease, which Quinton called the Red Plague, had failed, and people were getting sick on the Gateway.
“Hold on, hold on. What is this disease? Where did it come from?” asked Carver.
“We don’t know.”
A mystery disease had sprouted in the colony and nearly wiped out most of the settlers, and now the rest of them were on their way back to Earth? That didn’t sound like a good idea.
“We’re quarantining for now,” Quinton continued. “But almost everyone’s already been exposed, and whoever hasn’t will be soon enough. I have a theory, though. Putting people in cryo will slow—or even stop—the progression.”
“All right, Quinton. Just hang on the line. Let me get some people together on my side. We’ll see if we can help.”
Carver took off the headset and handed it back to Wilford. “Keep him talking until I get back. I’m going to talk to Victor.” He raced out of the room and didn’t stop until he had summited the five flights of concrete stairs and opened the door onto the roof, where Victor often liked to hang out.
Today, Victor was perched on the outer ledge, eating lunch while looking over the city. As if sensing Carver’s arrival, he commented, “It’s a nice view, isn’t it?”
“Beautiful,” Carver replied. He approached with purpose and leaned his elbows against the rough stone. Victor wasn’t kidding. From up there, you could see all of Pasadena. Back to the task at hand. “The Gateway radioed.”
“What?” Victor exclaimed. “When?”
“Just now. The colonists are alive. Some of them, anyway.”
“Some?”
“There was an outbreak of some sort. Quinton called it the Red Plague. They don’t know where it came from, but he said it’s bad. A lot of the colonists have died. The healthy ones abandoned the colony. They’re on their way back now.”
“Oh, my god.” Victor jumped down from the ledge. He rubbed his temples. “At least some got out. That’s good. It’s something.”
“And he thinks cryo might kill the bacteria and get the survivors home safely,” Carver said. “But… I’m not a doctor, but that doesn’t sound like a good idea.”
“Quinton’s good at what he does. If he thinks that’ll work, then it will.”
“I’m not worried that Quinton might be wrong, but that he might be almost right.”
“Why would that be a bad thing?” Victor smoothed out his hair as a breeze blew over the rooftop.
“Cryo might not kill whatever this thing is, but it could slow its progression enough to get the colonists—infected or not—back to Earth.”
“And?”
“If that Plague, or anyone carrying it, gets to the ground, we could be looking at a pandemic. Then we’d have a real problem.”
“We’ll quarantine them, obviously,” Victor replied.
“And if we can’t?”
Victor gave an exasperated sigh in reply. “So, what are you proposing?”
“We can’t let them come back to Earth.”
“Then we’ll go up to them. We’ll send doctors, medicine—”
“No, you don’t understand. Anyone we send becomes just as much of a liability as the colonists. They could get infected too.”
“So, what? We just leave them up there to die?”
Carver was quiet for a moment. He knew what the correct answer was, but he was having trouble bringing himself to say it.
Victor’s eyes narrowed. He seemed to be reading Carver’s mind. “Nicolas, come on. You can’t be serious.”
Carver straightened his spine, then spoke quietly but directly. “We’ll let them go into cryo. Once they’re in, we’ll disable their life support. It will be painless.” He despised the idea of sentencing all those people to death, but it was their best option under the circumstances. Sacrifice a few hundred colonists, or risk a pandemic that could kill millions? The choice was clear.
Victor’s mouth hung open. “Are you crazy? Even if I was considering it—which I’m absolutely not doing—we can’t do that. We don’t have that kind of control from here.”
Carver’s stomach turned. Victor was right. Mission Control could receive diagnostics from the cryo pods, but it didn’t have control over the life support systems. Then another idea occurred to him. It wasn’t as clean, but it would work. “We have control of the airlocks, though, right? We can shut the cryobay door before they get to it.”
“Do you hear yourself?” Victor asked, his voice rising with anger. “We’re not going to leave them to die up there. It’s crazy.”
Carver doubled down. “Here or there, they’ll die no matter what. But if they die there, as terrible as it would be, it’ll keep everyone here safe.”
“Quinton knows more about this thing than we do. I trust him.”
“He can’t possibly know what he’s dealing with! It’s a completely novel xenobacteria. It could cause more harm than we can comprehend if it makes it back to Earth.” Carver took a deep breath, then changed his tone to be more contrite. “I hate what I’m suggesting. I really do. But it’s the right thing to do.”
“The right thing to do,” Victor repeated with barely-veiled disgust. “This isn’t about an outbreak, is it?”
“What do you mean?”
Victor walked back to the ledge. “You and Quinton have never seen eye to eye.” And? What was he implying?
“Excuse me?” So Victor was, what? Suggesting Carver wanted to kill hundreds of people because of a personal vendetta? “I don’t give a shit about Quinton! Millions could die if they bring the Red Plague back here!”
“You can tell yourself whatever you want, but you can’t deny you would benefit.”
“Benefit? That’s crazy. How could I possibly benefit?” How could Victor even hint at that level of selfishness? Carver would never put that many people in harm’s way for personal gain.
“Because Quinton would replace me if he were here. And you don’t want that to happen.”
That might have been true, but it had nothing to do with Carver’s decision. “Do you think I’m that much of a monster?” He felt his voice rising. “I don’t even know what to fucking say! Yes, Quinton being the head of OSE would be a disaster! His priorities are completely out of whack!”
“That’s exactly what I thought you’d say.”
“That’s right. Because you know it’s true. If Quinton was in charge, it would end with the solar flares burning up our planet until it turns to dust and blows away! But we’ll be lucky if we even get that far, once he unleashes an alien plague on us. Do you know how dangerous that is? How much suffering that will cause? At least the solar flares would be quick!”
Victor fixed Carver with a cold gaze. “Quinton’s coming back. And in a month, he’ll be standing right beside me when I retire. And you better hope you even still have a job.” Victor shook his head sadly. “I really thought better of you, Carver.”
“Quinton just voted to leave hundreds of dying men, women, and children so the healthy could survive. Just abandoned them in the colony! How is that any better than what I’m suggesting?”
“I don’t want to hear another word,” Victor ordered. “Go. Get out of here. I’m going to talk to Quinton.” Moving away from the ledge, he tried to walk toward the stairwell door. Carver got in front of him.
“Wait! Please. You’re making the wrong decision.”
“Get out of the way,” Victor said evenly.
He tried to step around Carver, but Carver moved in front of him again. “I can’t let you do this.”
Victor gritted his teeth. “Carver, get out of the way.” Carver didn’t move. They stared at each other, eye to eye. “I want you out of here,” Victor growled. “You’re fired.”
Carver’s face went slack. “You can’t fire me.”
“The hell I can’t!” Victor roared. “Now, move!” He shoved Carver backward.
That was the breaking point. All Carver wanted was to save lives, and Victor was trying to fire him for it? A blinding rage surged through Carver. He thrust his hands into Victor’s chest, pushing him as hard as he could.
He barely had time to process what he had done before Victor stumbled backward and fell off the roof.
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