J.D. Harpley is Astral Scribe, a dedicated word ingester and producer. A past laden with science fiction books led her to follow in the footsteps of those she found great and create vivid, brain-tantalizing works of her own.
Project manager at a game studio by day, she spends her weekends romping around between the trees carrying airsoft rifles, and her nights furiously typing or gaming.
Expect elements of horror, lengthy and delectable action scenes, and a heroine sporting some kind of deadly weapon–in no need of a hero to save her.
Stars speckled the black abyss beyond the viewport, clouded by the artificial light of the docking bay. Chen took a deep breath through her nose as the courier drones circled in and out of sight, running last-minute errands to prepare the colonization craft. Soon, she and the other four hundred million inhabitants of the orbiting space stations would abandon their homes to return to the one they left a little over three hundred years ago: Earth.
Chen knew she should be more excited than she felt, but there was hardly anything to be excited about. So the Earth had towering mountains covered in snow, natural rainfall, and animals she’d seen only in educational vids. Big deal. The Earth, to Chen, was still a toxic, polluted wasteland holding nothing of interest. The space stations had massive astronomy centers, talking robots, protein synthesis plants, and huge reservoirs to swim in. Xiao-ping had everything Chen wanted.
“All first-wave residents are required to fill out their departure forms by no later than 18:00 hours. For underage residents, the parent or guardian is responsible for this form.” The tone of the typically unenthusiastic PSA office clerk was ecstatic; Chen assumed it was because she was part of the first wave.
The speaker on Chen’s bracelet crackled to life again, “And don’t forget, we’re all getting together tonight at 20:00 hours for the departure ceremony in conference hall A-12.”
Chen cranked the volume down as Bao-jin went on about the tea and snacks they would have and all the details the conference owner would cover. Clops around the corner alerted her to the approaching presence, and Chen straightened, pressing down the wrinkles in her suit caused by her extended cross-legged position.
“Here you are, Miss.” The robot, clearly labeled M-23 on its chest, extended a well-oiled hand to Chen.
“Yes,” she sighed, “here I am.”
“Your mother is looking for you. She needs your help filling out the rest of your departure paperwork.” It motioned for Chen to follow, but she stepped past it.
“I know. I’ve been avoiding it.” The gray metal walls echoed with their advancing patters, but Chen wasn’t heading home. Colored lighting on the floor guided the way to her only real friend, Robert.
M-23 gripped her arm gently. “That is the wrong way, Miss.”
“Depending on where I’m going, it might not be.” She pried its fingers open and removed herself from its grasp.
“But Miss, you are in the first wave. You need to finish the paperwork to return to Earth.”
Chen’s lungs filled with an indignant rage. Didn’t she get a choice? What if she didn’t want to leave? Earth wasn’t all that great, and she wouldn’t have any friends down there. She would be forced to teach, act proper, and revive the ways of her people. No one ever asked Chen if she wanted to do that, and she didn’t.
“Well, I guess I just can’t go then, can I?” She continued on her path to the recycling center. Robert was at the recycling center, and he wouldn’t bother her with stupid things like paperwork and Earth. He loved Xiao-ping just as much, if not more, than Chen.
“But Miss Li, your mother is the cultural ambassador; she needs you at her side.”
Chen scoffed, “Right. She needs me like a hole in her head.”
“Ambassador Li has several holes in her head, each of which provides a specific function, Miss. What function would another hole in her head provide?” Stupid robots, they couldn’t even get her jokes. Robert would get her joke.
Chen turned to face her tail. “Look, M-23, I don’t need an escort. I’ll get back to our condo before 18:00 to finish the form.”
“I will let your mother know.”
“Do whatever you want,” Chen grumbled as she turned away.
When M-23 was out of sight, Chen took off at a run following the yellow light, though she hardly needed it. Chen could find her way to the recycling center from anywhere in the station by the age of five. It was her favorite place to hang out with the best company to keep.
She came to the section center, where gravity was lowest, and whooped as her short legs took long, uninhibited leaps. The next door opened at her approach, and she grabbed the side railing, slingshotting herself through the entry with a hard left. Her feet bounced against the right wall as she corrected herself, continuing her lengthy bounds towards the recycling center.
Gravity returned to its normal levels, slowing Chen down. No matter, she thought with a grin as she caught sight of the green logo ahead. Chen’s stomach lurched as something caught her by the back of her shirt.
“Whoa there! Where you headed in such a hurry?” The familiar man’s voice put her at ease.
She smiled up at him saying, “Robert, I was just stopping by for an evening chat.”
He eyed her, one brow pointed and the other pulled down, the look he always had when she imitated his accent. Robert hadn’t been on the Xiao-ping long, only a few years. He transferred from a neighboring station called the Queen Margaret.
“Oh, just by for a chat, are you? I think you’re avoiding some paperwork, young lady.”
Chen groaned, “Ugh, great. Not you, too.”
“Don’t worry,” he winked as the door to the recycling facility opened, “I’m on your side.”
They stepped into the very personalized, almost apartment-like station center where Robert spent most of his time. Plans and sketches were strewn about the shabby office. Chen loved it. There was so much thought, dedication, and hope in the room.
“I don’t know why I have to be in the first wave. It’s not like I’m anything special,” she humphed as she plopped down in his chair, arms crossed.
Robert raised a brow. “Being the daughter of the cultural ambassador is unimportant?”
“And completely boring. Imagine spending all your days in a classroom learning nothing but history and language. I know twelve different dialects from my home country,” she air-quoted the word. Chen found nothing about the country known as China to be home. Xiao-ping raised her and made her who she was. China would hold nothing for her.
“That’s an honor I would be happy to accept.”
Chen laughed, “Yeah, right! Try living it sometime.”
“You are a well-educated young lady—”
“But I don’t care about all that! They should have picked someone who cared!”
Robert placed his hand on Chen’s shoulder with a gentle smile, “You were chosen to harbor a wealth of knowledge for an entire race; whether you like it or not doesn’t matter. You do care, deep down, because you know how important you are.”
The words filled her with warmth. Chen always walked in her mother’s shadow, rarely receiving recognition for her hard work, her dedication. “Thanks, Robert, but you know that’s just not true. My mother will probably live forever, and I won’t be needed.”
“Hmm, sounds like someone’s wishful thinking.”
“If only.” Chen’s heart sank and she looked away.
She heard Robert moving about, and then he tapped her shoulder. When she turned, there sat an adorable plush bunny in his hands.
“For me?” She reached for it, and he recoiled with a stern gaze.
“This is something special. If you truly do not want to go to Earth, I will give it to you.”
She groped at his hands. “Of course I don’t want to go! What’s in it?”
He extended it toward her again, opening his fingers very slowly. “It will force the colonization ship to turn around and come back to port.”
“Give it!” She jumped and strained as he pulled away, but she couldn’t reach it.
Robert held one finger to his mouth and shushed her. “You have to be careful with it, and you have to learn how to work it.”
“I promise to pay attention to everything you say.”
A smile spread across his face, and he finally released it to her. Chen turned it over and over in her hands. It looked like an ordinary stuffed toy.
“How does it work?”
He took it and flipped it on its back. There was a tiny switch nestled in the fake fur. “You push this up, and then place the bunny next to a computer. Once you do that, I can turn the ship around.”
Chen thought for a moment. “Will someone notice it? Will you get in trouble?”
He grinned, “Of course not.”
“Well great, I’ll do it.”
The bunny was placed in her grasp once more.
“Want to try some of my new fruit juice recipe?” He opened a small compartment next to his desk and retrieved a jar of green liquid.
Chen, being used to seeing strange colored liquid in jars around Robert’s office, thought nothing of it and accepted happily. She was three gulps in before she realized it was awful, like rotten cabbage when the pickled vegetables had gone wrong. She managed one last swallow before placing the glass aside and smiling a grin that felt much more like a grimace.
“You hate it,” he said matter-of-factly, with a flat tone.
She shook her head. “No, it’s great.” A burp fought its way up her throat and escaped with a foul flavor that made Chen cringe.
Robert laughed. “That’s okay, I knew it was terrible.”
“Then why did you offer it to me?” Chen punched his shoulder.
“I just,” he broke into tears of jubilation, “I just wanted to see the look on your face.” He could barely contain himself, and Chen raged, jabbing him repeatedly with the bottle.
“All right, all right,” he wound down to chuckles, “you need to head home and finish filling out the form. It’s almost 18:00.”
“You mean I still need to get on the landing craft?”
He shrugged. “How else would the bunny get to the ship’s computer?”
“Oh, right.”
“Run along now. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”
Chen took off with a wave, elated to be freed from her duties as the cultural ambassador’s daughter. She would stay on Xiao-ping, study astronomy, biology, and computer science like Robert. She would be able to do whatever she wanted and wouldn’t have to spend any more of her days on Qin Shi Huang, Dong Zhongshu, or the Dalai Lama.
Home was just around the corner for her when she slowed to a steady, disheartened trudge. Chen didn’t want her mother thinking she’d suddenly changed her mind about going to Earth and therefore getting suspicious.
“Aiya! Chen, why are you so late?” Shuzhen chastised her as she came tromping in.
Chen shrugged, ensuring the bunny was hidden deep in her pocket. “Mama, it’s fine. It’s not 18:00 yet, we can still finish the document.”
“But you were going to help me with dinner, and now we have to eat rations.”
Chen groaned, “They’re not rations, Mother, it’s just regular space station food.”
“Why do you hold no respect for your history? You should be eating the food of your ancestors every night, remembering every taste, considering every scent. Memorizing the texture of it in your mouth. You are the only link to what we once were, and your knowledge will be taught in the future schools of Earth.”
Chen’s eyes bulged as her eyebrows arched towards the ceiling, “Don’t be so dramatic, Mama. They have vids, they have books, and essays, and poems of all kinds. They don’t need me.”
Shuzhen stood akimbo, blocking the way to the kitchen. “Who will remember the accents of our dialects? Who will remember the color of the sky over the Forbidden City? Who will remember the size of the Terracotta Army?”
“I will.” Chen sighed in feigned defeat. It didn’t matter that she had to get on the colony ship the next morning, it would be turning right back around within minutes of their departure.
Shuzhen nodded, “And I will.” She led Chen to the computer desk. “Place your thumb on the reader and finish the last four questions, then come to the kitchen to help me with the dumplings.”
Chen did as she was told, and dinner went without an argument. Afterwards, her mother forced Chen into a culturally befitting dress for the gathering in A-12. She and her mother shook hands, said words of encouragement in Mandarin, Wu, Gan, Hakka, or Yue, and bowed respectfully. Chen found it all so superficial.
The slideshow went on for an hour, which was forty-five minutes longer than Chen thought it should have gone for. They showed the terraforming stations and their living quarters, described the risks of contamination in certain areas, which they’d be far away from, and the repopulation efforts they would go through. The Xiao-ping station was responsible for several different breeds of fish, a few thousand strains of bacteria, two of the salvageable species of primate, and of course, pandas.
It was sad how few of the species were saved after the global downfall. Chen felt the leaders should have spent more time collecting the billions of creatures and plants from Earth, rather than all the efforts they spent in making comfortable arrangements in space. Visions of toxic rain, smog-strangled air, and piles of garbage surrounding the rainforests came to her. How horrible it must have been to be left behind those three hundred years ago.
“Chen, come here,” Shuzhen called to her in Yue. Chen barely contained a gesture of displeasure as she approached the older man, Wu-Bō, who still considered himself to be Cantonese though his father, and his father’s father, were both born on Xiao-ping.
He smiled warmly, apparently blind to Chen’s apathy. “Hello, Miss Li. Are you excited for tomorrow?”
“Yeah, it’s going to be great. I’m ready to have more room to move around,” she lied. Chen didn’t mind the cramped living quarters and the narrow hallways when there was the vastness of space right outside her window.
Wu-Bō bowed curtly as he turned away, and Chen’s mother eyed her with a stern glare.
Shuzhen uttered in common speak, “You do not use slang around your elders. Show more respect than that.”
“I’m sorry, Mǔqīn,” a hint of acidity entered Chen’s voice as she used the proper word for mother.
She spent the remainder of the evening circulating through the crowd, shaking more hands, giving more words of encouragement in Yue, Mandarin, Hakka, and the other dialects. All the while Chen thought about the plush bunny stuffed in her backpack. She would be off and back before the morning was done tomorrow. Or at least that’s what Chen hoped.
They piled through the door at an astonishing 23:53, and they needed to be up by 06:30 the next day for departure preparation. Chen yawned as she waded through the towers of “culturally relevant” books.
“Goodnight, Mama,” she sighed, yanking the tight flats from her feet.
The other side of the room was quiet, but Chen hardly noticed the lack of response from her mother as she drifted into a comfortable and easy sleep…
Only to be woken what seemed like minutes later at 06:30. A metal clanking rang out as a robot rapped at the door, and Chen shot awake.
“It is time for you to prepare your things, Miss Li.” The robot spoke in Cantonese, Shuzhen’s preferred dialect. Chen stared as her mother walked from the restroom, picked her bag up at the door, and turned to look back.
“Are you coming or not?” Shuzhen said in a very challenging tone.
Not! Chen wanted to say. Leaving was the last thing on her mind, but she knew if she didn’t come quietly, her mother would force her to come, kicking and screaming. Chen would rather cooperate and end up coming back in moments without ever being implicated.
“Yes, Mama. I need a moment to get dressed.” She took her bag to the restroom and dug through to ensure her plush bunny was still there. A sigh of relief escaped her when she found it. She changed quickly and put her long, jet-black hair in a tight bun. Bright green eyes reflected back at her from the mirror, and she searched them, trying to find her happiness. It was in there, hidden behind the weight of an entire culture. Soon it would be set free.
“Hurry!” Shuzhen’s voice was on the other side of the door, and Chen clamped her hand around the bunny, not wanting her secret found. She gave one last glance in the mirror, faked a smile, and turned away.
The walk to the boarding station was crowded, much more so than Chen would have guessed. So this is what five thousand people looks like, she marveled as she stepped onto a bulkhead to get a better view. Every face in the crowd was known to her, either by name or position on Xiao-ping. How strange it must have been, just three hundred years ago, for someone to not know the people who grew their food or cleaned their water.
Thousands of bracelets cracked to life at the same time. “Wave one participants, we will begin boarding shortly. Obviously for wave two we will have some foresight and batch people into boarding classes!” Everyone chuckled, though they were hot, tired, and sick of standing.
“If you would please be sure to have your non-essential luggage passed off to a robot for handling and storage before you get to the entrance, this will go a lot faster. We will send them through the halls to collect your things. Thank you for your patience and cooperation.”
Shuzhen sighed, “I can’t believe this. Hundreds of years to plan and they can’t even get us into the ship in a timely manner.”
“It’s not so bad. We’ve only been here a half hour.”
“Yes, but it’s taking so long. I feel like we’ll never get to the ship,” she groaned. Chen was surprised; her mother was rarely so vocal about her displeasure.
“Why are you so upset, Mama? It’s not like we’re in a hurry.”
Shuzhen looked at her with a strange expression. “That’s easy for you to say,” she paused, and her face went blank.
Chen felt anger building in the pit of her stomach. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m sorry, Qīn'ài de. It doesn’t mean anything, I’m irritated this morning.”
The use of such an endearing nickname soothed Chen’s frustration. If only her mother showed that much compassion when Chen complained about being a cultural leader, perhaps she wouldn’t have felt cornered into doing what she still planned to do. Though, if the disembarkation was as disorganized as the boarding, Chen thought she might want to hide and not even get on in the first place.
Their line finally moved, then stopped, and moved. For another hour it went on like that until they reached the front.
“We’re so sorry about this,” the young man said in Mandarin.
Shuzhen very politely matched his language. “It’s no problem at all,” and she broke off to fan herself.
“Place your finger here.” He held the tablet out to Chen, and she complied. The screen scanned her print, and her profile appeared.
Name: Chen Li
Ethnic Origin: Chinese
Age: 13 years, 4 months
Station: 29, Xiao-ping
Occupation: Cultural Ambassador
Next to the readout was an image of her face. Chen didn’t like the picture; the woman taking it hadn’t told her to smile and so her face was stoic, plain.
“Please, come aboard.” The young man bowed.
Shuzhen bowed. “Thank you very much.”
Chen headed towards the cool air leaking from the open passageway ahead until she was yanked back. She glared up at her mother, who glared just as sternly back.
With realization, Chen bowed lowly to the man and said, “Thank you very much.”
Shuzhen released her, and Chen hiked her backpack on her shoulders, ensuring it was secure. She hoped the bunny was okay and her escape plan would go off without a hitch.
They found their place amid the tightly cramped seats, and Chen felt a wave of panic as she realized she might not be able to get away from her mother to plant the bunny. She dug around in her bag as they took their places, and she stuffed the salvation machine into her pocket. There had to be a restroom somewhere…
“Mama, I need to go to the restroom.”
Shuzhen tutted, “You were in there before we left; you can’t possibly have to go.”
“It’s been two hours since then, and I have to go,” Chen whined.
“It will only take us an hour and a half to touch down, you can wait that long.”
“Mama, I really can’t!” She raised her voice and the people sitting around them turned their heads. Chen was embarrassing her mother, and the others did not want to stare.
Shuzhen was silent, her eyes following the gazes of her people. Without looking at Chen, her mother spoke, “M-102 is just behind us. Ask it.”
“I’m sorry, Mǔqīn,” she mumbled as she trudged away. And she was. She knew how important Earth was to her mother.
For a fleeting second, she considered not going through with her plan. Then Robert came to mind. She might never get a chance to see him again if she went to Earth. Friends were not a commodity on Xiao-ping, and Chen valued Robert above all the rest. There were only forty-two other children her age on the landing craft, and none of them had been her friends.
“Excuse me,” she said, regaining her composure.
M-102 turned to her, its plastic mouth lighting as it spoke, “Miss Li, you need to take your seat, we will be departing in moments.”
Chen’s eyes drifted downward to the black marks on M-102’s chest, clearly labeling it as ‘Lou Kim’. She tutted at the sight of the graffiti, wondering which punk had marked up the poor robot.
“I need the restroom,” she said with feigned urgency, hoping the robot would not see through her facade.
It turned its head from side to side. “There are no restrooms in this craft. Please return to your seat.”
Chen nodded, and as she turned back to her mother, she thought of a solution. She made a left through the alley of people, pretending as though the robot had given her directions. With a nervous smile, she approached the cockpit on that level. The door creaked as she pried it open.
“Hello, I’m Chen.”
The co-pilot looked back with a start. “You need to be in your seat.”
Chen shrugged, clicking the button on the bottom of the bunny’s tummy to the right behind her back, “I just wanted to see where the magic happens. Sorry!”
“She can come in for just a second.” The pilot placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Thank you.” Chen stood next to the older woman with bright silver streaks in her black hair. With one hand, she pointed to a control panel, asking, “What’s that do?” while the other hand placed the stuffed toy under the pilot’s chair.
“This is for lateral thrusters; we need those to turn the ship right-side-up for entry.” The wrinkles next to her creasing lips flicked up into a smile for Chen.
Chen nodded, “That’s really cool. What about this panel?”
She was allowed to ask questions for another three minutes, and she figured that was long enough for her mother to believe she’d gone to the restroom.
When she got back, Shuzhen muttered under her breath, “What were you doing in there, reciting Lao-tzu’s prayers?”
“Would you finally be proud of me if I was?” Chen glared with defiance as she strapped herself into her chair.
Shuzhen’s head pulled back in surprise. “I am proud of you. This was hard for you, I know, and you’ve always had so much responsibility hanging over your head. I remember what it was like being a teen.” She leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling. Chen recognized the movement; it meant her mother was pushing the tears back into her eyes.
“But we have a duty, an honor, and we need to fulfill it. We will be the teachers; we will show our people how to rebuild.” Her words struck Chen as the speakers on their wrists came to life all at once.
“Brace yourselves for departure. Sixteen, fifteen, fourteen…”
Oh no. Chen felt she may have made a terrible mistake. The trip was everything to her mother. Her eyes scanned the faces of her people.
“Nine, eight, seven…”
They were all so happy, so ready to return to their land, Earth—a place they’d never set foot on, nor their parents, or their parents’ parents.
“Two, one, zero.”
The ship jostled hard, and cheering erupted from the gleeful smiles of her friends, family, neighbors. Gravity lessened until she felt her hands lifting lazily from the arm rests. Nausea took her as she relived the moment of planting the bunny, realizing she had destroyed all their happiness.
“Wait, Mama—”
“No, Chen!” The shouts dampened the sound of her mother’s fury, blending it into background noise, but it cut through her.
“We can’t go back, it’s too late,” Shuzhen said with finality.
Chen stammered, “But, Mǔqīn, I…”
“We can’t go back.” She leaned down to Chen’s ear. “There was enough fuel for only one trip—that was all we had. We left all the others behind, perhaps for hundreds of years. Until we can rebuild on Earth and send a shuttle up with fuel, they are trapped on Xiao-ping.”
Chen’s stomach dropped away. They could never get back to Earth if their journey didn’t succeed, but her best friend was trapped on the space station forever if they did go. Chen would have to live out her days in a place she couldn’t call home, friendless.
“Mama,” her vision blurred as her eyes welled with tears, “I did something.”
Shuzhen swallowed, her throat visibly constricting as she did. “What did you do?”
“Robert gave me something to give him control of the ship, so he can turn it around. I turned it on, and placed it in the cockpit.”
Chen finally thought to question why Robert had the device, and why he wanted her to place it on the ship. Had he really ever been her friend, or was he using her to carry out the deed he could not?
Shuzhen’s face became a pale stone. It was as if she was looking through Chen, through the wall, and out into space. Her voice was low and breathy. “Which cockpit?”
It was Chen’s turn to gulp back fear as she pointed, “Over there.”
“Stay right here.” Shuzhen unstrapped the harness and floated easily in the zero gravity.
Chen’s gut roiled as the terror took hold in her. Everything was ruined, and it was all her fault.
Suddenly, her bracelet came to life, “Chen.” It was Robert.
“There isn’t enough fuel for the ship to take another trip,” she exclaimed in a whisper.
“I know.” His voice was a stab to her heart.
She whimpered, “But why?”
“Chen, humans don’t belong on Earth. We destroyed it once, and we’ll do it again.”
So he had used her; she didn’t have any friends, after all.
He went on, his words piercing deeper and deeper. “Unsnap your harness and head towards the stern. The twelve lifeboats there are still functional. Any one of them will get you close enough to Xiao-ping for you to get picked up by a drone.”
Chen realized everyone around her was silent, floating lifelessly. Yanking herself free, she checked the nearest person’s pulse. They were still alive.
“Chen, what are you doing?”
“Why aren’t I asleep like the others?”
He was quiet for a long time, but finally spoke. “Because you’re my friend, and a cultural leader. I don’t want humanity to die out, we just can’t return to the Earth. These space stations can provide for us indefinitely, as long as the sun shines. Whatever creatures have emerged from the toxic era will have the paradise to themselves for eternity.”
“But, why did you make them fall asleep? How?”
“There was never going to be enough fuel to turn the ship around and come back to Xiao-ping, but I knew I could save you if the others didn’t get in the way.”
Chen’s head was spinning. How could he do it to her, to them? They would all die, she knew it. He would take remote control of the ship and burn it up in the atmosphere. Her mother, Wu-Bō, and so many others would be dead. She hated Robert.
“Chen, it’s time to get to the lifeboat.”
“You used me for your agenda,” she growled as she pushed towards the cockpit.
Robert’s voice wavered, “I didn’t want to, but I wasn’t invited to join the first wave.”
The corpse-like body of her mother bounced gently from the ceiling to the wall, and Chen pushed her down into an empty seat. She strapped the harness in place and proceeded back on course.
“I’m not going to let you do this,” she whispered as she searched the pilot’s chair for the deadly toy.
Robert sounded panicked. “Chen, there is no autopilot for this craft! You can’t fly it!”
“My attempt to save them will be better than your attempt to condemn them.” The device was in her hand, but she waited. Waited to see if he would come to his senses, save her and the others. She was mortified. She didn’t want to do it alone, but if he forced her, she would at least try.
“Chen, don’t do this. Come home,” he pleaded, but she could not abandon her mother and all her people.
She shook her head and flipped the switch. “I am going home.”
With trembling fingers she tapped in the call for the Xiao-ping operator and then unhooked the pilot from her seat.
“Shuttle, we lost all communication. What happened?” A relieved sounding man came through her speaker.
“My name is Chen Li. I need to talk to someone who knows how to fly this ship, immediately. Everyone has been poisoned, they’re asleep, and I’m the only one to fly it. Hurry.”
The man choked on his breath, “Yes, right away!”
The line was quiet as Chen guided the pilot back to her own seat and secured her in place.
“Who is this?” A familiar voice came on, and Chen knew it was one of the backup mission pilots who didn’t make the first wave.
“Chen Li, sir. I don’t have time to explain what happened right now, but you need to help me guide this ship down.” She pulled herself into the pilot seat, fingers electric with terrified excitement as they touched the controls.
“This is unbelievable,” he breathed. “Okay, are you at the console?”
“Yeah,” her voice cracked and she cleared it, then stated with more emphasis, “yes.”
“Good. First thing you need to do is the retrofire burn. On the panel labeled 4 there is a button that will say FWDT, that’s the forward thrust. Input a value of 23 in the keypad, and press that button.”
Chen followed the instructions, and the ship began to tremble. Her stomach lurched as she felt the pitch of the cabin adjust. Vibrations changed the sound of her voice as she spoke, “What’s next?”
“All right, you’ll need to turn to panel 1, and find the button labeled OMS, that’s the Orbital Maneuvering System. Press it, then flip the yellow switch next to it with the letters s-2 under it, and enter .02.”
Again, Chen followed directions, and the shuttle shook harder.
“No, that’s too much! Turn it off!”
“How?” she shrieked in horror.
“Turn off the s-2 switch! Enter .01 in the keypad and flip the switch labeled p-1, then enter .01 again and flip p-2.”
Chen’s entire arm shook as she clumsily carried out the instructions. Eventually, the shaking reduced to a shuddering.
He sighed, “Great work, Chen. Okay, we’re going to keep doing that on and off for about twenty minutes as we get the entry angle right.”
“I can’t do this!” she burst out, tears streaming down her face.
“Don’t say that. We’ll get through this together. We’re all here for you, Chen.”
Silent sobs racked her chest and she held a hand over her mouth until she could quiet.
“Thank you.”
Twenty minutes took an eternity, but by the end of it, Chen had a good grasp of the control layout. Next, they adjusted the angle of the shuttle, and dumped the remaining fuel from the p-1 and s-1 thrusters.
“You’re going to start your descent into the upper atmosphere, and we might lose you a bit.”
The dread gnawing at her insides quickly degenerated into hysteria as she cried, “You can’t leave me! I can’t do this without you!”
“Yes, you can. You’re already doing better than one of the co-pilots who applied for the mission.”
She took five deep breaths and calmed herself. “All right. What’s next? What do I need to know if we lose contact?”
“The aft thrusters need to maintain a 65% burn to keep you at a 40 degree attitude. Carefully watch the latitude pitch, and don’t allow it to leave .5 degrees from the normal. You can see you’re in the green right now.”
She made mental notes of these things and chanted them under her breath.
“Then you’re in luck, and you can turn on the autopilot for the lower atmosphere descent. By that time, we’ll have you back in contact, and I’ll help you again.” He guided her to where all the buttons were, ran through the procedure three times to ensure she had it memorized, and then the ship became more erratic.
“What’s happening?” Chen gripped her shoulder harness tightly.
The pilot’s voice was beginning to crackle, “You’re hitting the atmosphere and creating heat. The ionized gasses are surrounding the ship, and we’re going to lose contact soon, for about ten to fifteen minutes.”
“What?” she shrilled.
His voice was even more distorted, “Remember what I told you. 65% aft thrust, 40-degree attitude. You can do this Chen, we believe—”
Her only life-line cut out. She was completely alone.
The ship shuddered, and a red light began flashing on the dashboard. They were drifting out of alignment. She sniffled hard, wiping the last of her tears on the back of her hand, and got to work. Panel 2 began flashing, then 3. Her fingers flew from one place to the next, doing the job of two grown adults.
One dreadful minute turned into two, then five. Each second passed more quickly than the one which came before, and by ten paralyzingly exhilarating minutes, she had all of the beeps and flashes down to twenty second intervals.
“Just a few more minutes, Chen. You can do this,” she shouted to herself over the loud vibration coming from below.
The ship jolted hard, and then again. All three panels were flashing red, throwing her into a frenzy. She flipped every switch, pressed every correcting button, but nothing helped. As the shaking increased and her arms were smacking wildly against the keypads, she surrendered to the inevitable. She’d failed.
Her fingers gripped the edges of the armrest tightly, and she closed her eyes.
“It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay,” she chanted, her tiny voice a cruel reminder of the end closing in around her.
The shuttle bumped, and then everything was quiet. The beeping ceased, the vibrations were gone, and her eyelids shone through with a white glow. Chen didn’t think the afterlife would be so silent. When she opened her eyes, she saw a vast blue expanse beyond the tiny cockpit windows.
She sucked in a long breath as the shuttle soared through misty white clouds, painting the glass with droplets of water.
“Chen! Ca- you -ear us?” The speaker on her bracelet came to life.
She whooped with joy, tears still damp on her cheeks. “I can hear you!”
“You did it! You made it!” She heard cries of excitement in the background, clapping, and sobs.
She engaged the autopilot as they cleared the clouds, revealing an endless curve of green. The Xiao-ping station chatter faded as a rushing took over her ears. She heard her heart beat with the rhythm of the ocean waves below. The history of a hundred trillion humans, animals, plants, and single celled organisms was laid out before her, and she, Chen—the Dawn—finally understood.
They had to be gentle and kind, not only to one another, but also to the Earth and to the creatures living on it. Their paradise was fragile; it needed care and dedication. Her heart burst with the joy of responsibility to her people, and her home, as she gazed upon the sea of jade she could never have fathomed. It was so vibrant, so alive, and so much bigger than it looked from her view on Xiao-ping.
“How does it feel?” The pilot’s words cut through her trance.
She stuttered, “How does what feel?”
“Being the first human on the Earth in three hundred and twenty-nine years?”
She smiled, feeling her sarcastic wit return, “It’s all right.”