| |
Smith crouched over a small plot of soil with Sylvia and Abe. The young man listened to his dad intently. He periodically rubbed his hairless head. He’d been born hairless, as had many born on the Ship of Nations in recent years.
“Test results, Smith.” Sylvia stated the request firm and calm.
“Well, I’ll let Abe explain it to you.”
Smith handed a small tablet to his son, and gave him a minute to look over it.
“Make sense, son?”
Abe grinned. “Like pure O2. Sylv—captain, it’s crisp. Clean. Not as good as the ship, but it’ll take seeds. And... no. Yeah. No.”
Abe turned the tablet toward his dad and pointed to it, asked if he was reading it right.
Smith nodded.
“Pure O2.” Abe tried to catch his breath. “Lots of microorganisms. Organic material.”
“Good,” Sylvia said.
“Very good,” Smith agreed. “It means we won’t need to use as many bionanites as we thought. Especially since we lost some in the crash. This will help us spread out what we have left.”
“And,” Abe said, scratching his head, “there’re larger organisms. Small feces. Little shits, but too big to have come from anything as small as a microorganism.”
“The probes didn’t bring any soil back to suggest that,” Sylvia said.
“The probes also got through the atmosphere safely,” Smith shrugged.
Sylvia glared at him. “Stop saying shit like that. If there’s something living in the soil, how come no one saw anything when they were digging the graves?”
“Maybe they were too distracted putting someone they love in the ground,” Abe whispered and looked away, as if he had just remembered the death of his mom.
“That,” Smith said, clearing his throat as he squeezed Abe’s shoulder, “or they only live in certain sections of the ground. Or they heard the digging and moved away. Or something else.”
He pulled out a small vial, scooped some dirt into it and placed it in his shirt pocket. A cold wind blew in and clouds darkened the sky.
“The sun will set soon.” Sylvia stretched. “Get everyone together. Have a small meal. Set up watches for the night.”
“I’ll volunteer to be on watch first.” Smith patted his son’s shoulder. “Abe too.”
Abe nodded silently.
They stood and walked back to the others, shivering against the cold. The setting sun cast a soft red glow on everything, making it look like red water was rising from the soil.
“This place is off, Dad,” Abe said. “Like someone messed with the O2.”
“Everything’s screwed up in one way or another, son.”
“No. They’re not. At least not on the ship. Not like this.”
“Okay, yeah,” Smith agreed. “Much less controlled here.”
“It was supposed to be more natural here,” Abe said. “More life. Fresh, crisp, pure.”
Smith smiled. Abe talked just like Evalee did, with a love of the universe’s beauty.
“Well, it is purer on the other side of the mountains.” Smith pointed to the red peaks. “Where we were supposed to land. Besides, we found some signs of life. More than we expected.”
“Yeah.” Abe shrugged. “And a lot of signs of death.”
Smith grabbed the boy’s shoulder and squeezed. He left it there for a moment until Abe pulled away.
If Smith had died and Evalee survived, what would she say to Abe? How would she comfort him? Smith tried to play the scene out in his mind, but all he could conjure was an image of Evalee and Abe sitting silently together. Perhaps there were no words that could bring the kind of comfort they were both searching for, Smith thought.
***
The morning after his apartment building collapsed, Smith gave up on Earth and went to meet with Humans for Humanity.
When he first entered the H for H complex, he half expected a group of zealots to surround him, drug him, and pull him into a back room until he had been well and fully brainwashed.
But when he walked into the large circular building at the center of the complex, he was greeted by a lone girl seated in the middle of a round desk in the middle of a large, empty room. The floor was a checkerboard of dozens of colors and shades. On a pillar to his left, a large sign provided a key for what each color represented. The light green represented the African Muslim population of the world. Brown, those who followed the political left. Yellow, those who refused to accept the additional six states that had been added to the United States when they took over sections of Mexico in order to save the economically crippled country, though it noted that H for H did not condone their violent acts against the new states. And dozens more, representing all races, ethnicities, ideologies and anything else H for H could think of.
At the bottom of the sign an elegant inscription read, “We accept all. We are all human.”
Smith appreciated what they were trying to do, but he also felt that there were times when one had to take a stand. And wasn’t H for H taking a stand against the vast segregation of the world by sending a generation ship to the stars in an attempt to escape the pollution and corruption that had overtaken Earth? Smith sighed and walked to the desk. He didn’t like thinking too deeply on politics and religion because he always saw the flaws and contradictions.
So, like many others, Smith went to H for H not to join them, but in the hope that he would get away from the confusion that covered his planet.
The woman at the desk looked up at him and smiled.
“Good evening, Brother Smith,” she said in a calm monotone. “Are you here for information on joining us? Or applying to be on our grand ship to the stars?”
“Applying,” he said with a nod.
She smiled. “I thought so,” she said to Smith. “Brother Hughes!”
A door at the far end opened immediately and a tall, round man bumbled out with an exaggerated smile on his face.
“Brother Smith, Brother Smith!” he bellowed. “We have been hoping the esteemed farmer would come to join us in the journey to spread the true humanity across the universe.”
The man embraced Smith and pulled away.
“Just Smith, please.”
“Oh right, right. Of course.” Hughes shrugged. “Force of habit around here. Walk with me, Smith.”
Hughes walked quickly, and spoke even faster.
“So excited you came to us, Smith. We’ve been discussing the need for a biotech farmer on the Ship of Nations, as we’ve named it now. Our engineers have created a brilliant farm that will last for generations to come.”
“I’ve heard. Your personally targeted ads got me.”
Hughes nodded and paused for a sliding door to open.
“Let’s start the application process right away. You want to start with physical, spiritual, psychological or emotional? We can skip academic. We know you’re in biotech farming.”
Each test was one of endurance. They had him running and lifting for nearly three hours without a break. Subjected him to dozens of simulated situations ranging from embarrassing to terrifying. He handled each with results far above average.
At the end of those, he sat with a sister from H for H in a soft recliner for his spiritual evaluation.
“What is it you believe, that you live your life by, brother?” She paused. “Smith, I mean. Just Smith.”
He peered at her and slightly tilted his head to the side. He had expected the question, knew that H for H held a person’s belief in high regard. Some zealots, against H for H teachings, even regarded one’s strength of belief a direct link to their value as a human.
Smith knew this, but hoped the woman did not follow that extremist view. He decided to tell her the truth.
“I believe in being good to people.”
“And?”
Smith shrugged. “Trying to enjoy life. To learn while I’m here.”
The woman took a few notes. “Any set of principles you adhere to or connect with? New Judaism, perhaps? Or the morals of Latter Day Saints? Or something a little less strict, like Neo Catholicism?”
Smith shook his head. “No.”
“Why is that?”
“They all have good guidelines of how to live a good, kind life. But they each come with their own beliefs of life outside of this one. Of a loving god, or an afterlife, of a heaven and a hell. I... I just can’t believe that. But”—he took a breath—“I can’t say it’s not real, either. It’s just all so... so improbable.”
“Smith, you know one day you’ll most likely need to get off the fence?”
“Maybe,” he said quietly. “Maybe.”
An hour later, he received news that he’d been accepted to be a part of the Ship of Nations.
