crisp holographic images of forest glades and mountain meadows. To me that’s more disorienting, since it’s such a disconnect from the reality of being 300 miles high, with only a thin titanium sheath separating us from the frigid, lung-busting vacuum of space.
The dreams still visit me; I can’t shake them. By day, I’m consumed with tasks and purpose, but I’m beginning to dread the nights.
The Overseers keep us busy to spare us from dwelling on what we’re about to do. The Moon and Mars are home to large colonies, researchers travel routinely as far as Jupiter and Saturn, and robot freighters ply the asteroid belt, but we’ve never severed the umbilical to the Solar System.
We know the risks. Space is unforgiving and humans are soft and fragile. Amid the high points, there have been disasters. I watched some of them play out as a kid. The orbiting research station was destroyed by a hail of micrometeorites. The first Europa lander was lost due to an orbital miscalculation, flung into deep space. The first Mars colony unraveled due to sectarian rivalries.
I miss my family but can’t imagine going back down. Mom and Sis are sharp and clear on-screen, but they’ve started to sound far off and disembodied. They told us to expect this, the withdrawing. Josefina says she cries most nights and I feel bad for her, then I feel bad I don’t feel the same way. The station is a metal carapace and we’re shrinking into it to bond with our new tribe.
We’re shocked when we hear who’ll be kicked off the station. With some we really saw it coming. Rajesh and Dimitri are abrasive and scheming. They’ve squandered all goodwill with their colleagues. The next to depart are another handful of malcontents, confederates, and henchmen of the ringleaders. There are others about whom we’ve had our suspicions. They share a haunted look and an inability to make eye contact. They’ve lost their stomach for the mission, and they have to go because our solidarity and sense of purpose is fragile. But there seems to be no rhyme or reason to the last group. Sonja is among them, and Pierre; we’ve laughed and shared good times with both of them. However, the profilers have picked them out and there is no arguing with the decision. Some subtle pattern of behavior has marked them as a threat. Josefina and I are on the way to dinner when we see them in the air lock of the shuttle bay. I’ll never forget the looks on their faces: angry, sullen, dazed, terrified.
They try to keep things upbeat. The piped music in common areas is soothing or jaunty. They lay on parties and celebrations to vary the routine. Messages from the Overseers are very carefully crafted and positive. And down below? From our vantage point, it’s a pretty planet. But the inmates on Earth are in charge of the asylum. All the tools exist to solve the world’s problems, but the fractious top species is squabbling and dithering.
Being on the station is in one sense timeless. No change in climate or vegetation gives a hint of the passage of days and weeks. Birthdays and festival days are forgotten or ignored. On the other hand, there’s a clear sense of time rushing forward to a vanishing point. That point has nearly arrived.
One evening, Josefina and I go to the Hub and pivot away from the Earth view to the opposite port and the blackness of space. As I float, I reach out and touch her fingertips with mine. Neither of us speaks. Above our heads are three sleek and black obelisks. They float alongside the station, perfectly parallel, poised for our destiny.
Ark 1. Ark 2. Ark 3.
PART III
FUTURE
M y heart is palpitating and my skin is clammy. It’s all I can do not to bolt, but of course there’s nowhere to run. Josefina rests her hand gently on my shoulder. I take a deep breath and steady myself.
Minutes earlier we’d ziplined over from the station to Ark 1. I watched the Earth slide under my feet like I was skating on blue-white ice. As the ark approached,
The dreams still visit me; I can’t shake them. By day, I’m consumed with tasks and purpose, but I’m beginning to dread the nights.
The Overseers keep us busy to spare us from dwelling on what we’re about to do. The Moon and Mars are home to large colonies, researchers travel routinely as far as Jupiter and Saturn, and robot freighters ply the asteroid belt, but we’ve never severed the umbilical to the Solar System.
We know the risks. Space is unforgiving and humans are soft and fragile. Amid the high points, there have been disasters. I watched some of them play out as a kid. The orbiting research station was destroyed by a hail of micrometeorites. The first Europa lander was lost due to an orbital miscalculation, flung into deep space. The first Mars colony unraveled due to sectarian rivalries.
I miss my family but can’t imagine going back down. Mom and Sis are sharp and clear on-screen, but they’ve started to sound far off and disembodied. They told us to expect this, the withdrawing. Josefina says she cries most nights and I feel bad for her, then I feel bad I don’t feel the same way. The station is a metal carapace and we’re shrinking into it to bond with our new tribe.
We’re shocked when we hear who’ll be kicked off the station. With some we really saw it coming. Rajesh and Dimitri are abrasive and scheming. They’ve squandered all goodwill with their colleagues. The next to depart are another handful of malcontents, confederates, and henchmen of the ringleaders. There are others about whom we’ve had our suspicions. They share a haunted look and an inability to make eye contact. They’ve lost their stomach for the mission, and they have to go because our solidarity and sense of purpose is fragile. But there seems to be no rhyme or reason to the last group. Sonja is among them, and Pierre; we’ve laughed and shared good times with both of them. However, the profilers have picked them out and there is no arguing with the decision. Some subtle pattern of behavior has marked them as a threat. Josefina and I are on the way to dinner when we see them in the air lock of the shuttle bay. I’ll never forget the looks on their faces: angry, sullen, dazed, terrified.
They try to keep things upbeat. The piped music in common areas is soothing or jaunty. They lay on parties and celebrations to vary the routine. Messages from the Overseers are very carefully crafted and positive. And down below? From our vantage point, it’s a pretty planet. But the inmates on Earth are in charge of the asylum. All the tools exist to solve the world’s problems, but the fractious top species is squabbling and dithering.
Being on the station is in one sense timeless. No change in climate or vegetation gives a hint of the passage of days and weeks. Birthdays and festival days are forgotten or ignored. On the other hand, there’s a clear sense of time rushing forward to a vanishing point. That point has nearly arrived.
One evening, Josefina and I go to the Hub and pivot away from the Earth view to the opposite port and the blackness of space. As I float, I reach out and touch her fingertips with mine. Neither of us speaks. Above our heads are three sleek and black obelisks. They float alongside the station, perfectly parallel, poised for our destiny.
Ark 1. Ark 2. Ark 3.
PART III
FUTURE
M y heart is palpitating and my skin is clammy. It’s all I can do not to bolt, but of course there’s nowhere to run. Josefina rests her hand gently on my shoulder. I take a deep breath and steady myself.
Minutes earlier we’d ziplined over from the station to Ark 1. I watched the Earth slide under my feet like I was skating on blue-white ice. As the ark approached,
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