You’re moving to the moon? Does it come with a swimming pool?
History prepared us for the failure of computer AI to estimate mankind’s tendency to obliterate every extra inch afforded them. Earth was rapidly collapsing from the weight of climate change, and the imminent move to our final home, Ganymede (Saturn’s 7th satellite) was forced.
Yale Sevarin was a witness to the last straw.
Russia dropped a RS-28 Sarmat thermonuclear bomb atop US NAMRU-3; a Naval Medical Research Facility loaded with pathogens, viruses. Just to help you sleep at night, NAMRU-3 was a Level-3 containment facility. Think lethal airborne infections. It was the Commander’s last near a time in a combat zone.
Two-years later the International Federation of Earth, (aka Saturn One Mission) became the most important thing in the world, literally. Losing Naples to rising sea-levels, along with the priciest real estate in America, wasn’t enough to engage-funded action. Even after The Bomb the thought of it being too late was impossible to communicate to a population swooned by Energy Czars and members of a solid minority of political fanatics lived to neutralize the science-laden doomsday warnings. What turned the world’s powers into a hive of information sharing and cooperative engineering and merging space program research and tech?
The Seats of Power were held at gunpoint by folks who understood that Cowboy Moosaholic demonstrating defecating in an outhouses was meant for them. Mothers exploded in panic when Puppy Patches sang to children about the use iodine pills to interrupt absorption of radioactive iodine in their thyroid glands. The idea of purifying everything that passed the lips was discommoding for a drive-thru culture. The line may have been crossed when Daniel Tiger told kids about the inevitable slaughtering of pets and livestock to save resources for themselves and to reduce methane in our atmosphere. It was too late but it got everyone’s attention.
Commander Sevarin became synonymous with heroism. After a decade in the Air Force, applying his particular skill in managing payload and all integrated systems was the sole factor in the last plane out of Qatar to carry more troops to safety on a Hercules C-130 than engineers would ever certify as possible.
The carrier held 45,000 pounds of cargo, 64 fully prepared paratroopers at 160 pounds, 92 ground-troops of varied weight loaded with 27 pounds of protective gear for starters. There were 11,000 souls and dogs at Al Udeid’s Airbase. There were other Hercules there, but not enough room for all based on standard weights and measures. Yale tried to implement a thorough and detailed passenger arrangement, but the scene mirrored the evacuation of the Titanic. By falling into training, but having so many extra bodies; they’d done the equivalent of having a lifeboat with two rich ladies and a fur coat. By the time the last plane was being swarmed by stragglers, if you can call so many dead men and women that; they had no choice but to listen to Pilot Commander Sevarin.
He knew at worst he’d only had about ten or fifteen percent of the population to worry about. The physics would be daunting but he felt calculable. He began dumping chutes, oxygen, fuel beyond the amount needed to get to Point Z. The dedicated military personnel knew, as they watched their first mushroom cloud from a technically safe position; that they needed to go-now and they didn’t question Sevarin’s order to remove seats, water, ammo, weapons, packs, palettes, phones, vehicles, weapons, ammo, boots, and all but skivvies. The Commander kept to himself that he fully expected to throw a few men into the ocean if his calculations proved flawed.
Staff Sergeant Louis Felly was liked, as a budgeting officer he interacted with every aspect of base life. But his desk job had helped him gain a lot of weight in recent years. At 280 pounds, he was afraid to leave his office, had no weapon, and one could imagine his heart and lungs were well represented by his purple face, and sweat-soaked body. He was the last one to make it to the Hercules, when Sevarin’s precise reorganization of bodies had been completed. Felly looked like he might arrest on the tarmac. The Commander knew even one more thing would cause him to spend precious time, as much as 45 minutes to figure out a way to fit Felly. The fastest way was to remove two existing passengers, which he couldn’t stomach.
Yale descended the rear-ramp and stopped the heaving, sobbing mess of a man.
Having to yell his message made it physically painful to doom the fellow.
“I’m at max capacity! You don’t have a choice, I don’t! Others will come. I’ll radio for rescue!”
Felly looked behind him at the hangers and abandoned buildings. Even the dogs had gotten on board the other planes that were or had taken-flight. This whole base would soon be a target, like other Allied bases in the region.
Felly grabbed his ankles sobbing, with half-naked, mostly young folks laying, leaning, stacked, hyperventilating and not talking on board behind Sevarin, who was six-foot-two compared to Felly’s panting, slobbering oven-mit of a body.
“I’m sorry, sir. Wait for rescue, we have to leave as is!”
Felly screamed some of his last words. Sevarin gave him that.
“Just give my wife a message: tell my wife that our son’s only job in his life will be to kill you.”
Felly then rolled down the end of the ramp and away, the exit-ramp lifted and no one had to be thrown into the ocean on the way home.
A decade later, the moon’s Dark Side compound was completed, the other two domes-MoonLife itself- would reside. All twelve American Flags and the four Japanese remained where astronauts originally planted them, the domes were built on either side as a memorial. The flags of China, Russia, and India were retired without publicity. Life on earth was hot enough.
It took five years to ready the moon for it’s first residents once the Dark Side dome was completed. A fine first run, implementing the solution to construction materials: moondust and cyanobacteria. By combining the baccili with moondust and some water and gelatin, the bacteria is activated. Going into a feeding frenzy and replicating it bonds to the minerals and keeps going until it hits the walls of whatever mold you put it in. When it has nowhere to go, the composite stops growing and dies; hardening into a green-tinted concrete or a clear media that would become the dome. To NASA and the newly founded International Space Federation, the green-tint disappeared two-months before the first citizens arrived via the space elevators stationed around allied nations, and from the International Space Station, they would take another space elevator to the moon.
Once arriving, there was no major physical acclimation because of the atmospheric and habitability management. Earthlings would arrive on the moon in less than a week and disembark to find themselves in a Disneyland-like Utopia organized around a simulated beach, a town green with a faux wooden gazebo, moving sidewalks, trams encircled each dome with air-locked stops named after peace-loving leaders. Hydroponic gardens, simulated parks with actual seeded trees from earth, a public pool, recreation center and a mix of three story apartments, efficiency pods and more stately single-family homes in each of the two domes. The colony was called Saturn-1.
On Ganymede, now only a three-year flight due to Japan’s innovation in comburent recycled propulsion, as it was named. Having reformulated the cyanobacteria concept for Ganymede’s composition, the first and much larger Ganymede dome was finished a mere fifteen years after the Dark Side dome became actively inhabited by engineers and their families. Saturn 2 Colony was a bigger and better Disneyland. It had to be, because the planet we knew was rapidly becoming a large scale Pripyat amusement park.
Among the hundreds of specialists who created these worlds, was Pilot Commander Yale Sevarin. He had the ability to make a quick-lunch out of AI simulations. How could a computer value the agony of reminiscing about the smell of warm, freshly plucked strawberries or processing the agony of Felly’s fate? He was among the first to arrive on Saturn 1. Because of his mental steel, he was consulted as to who could not come to the moon or salvation on Ganymede. The incredibly ill or infirm, the mentally-ill, murderers, rapists, pedophiles, finally all livestock and pets (although DNA from all species of living things not human as possible were amply collected). It wasn’t a moral judgement. There was simply no way to accommodate their special needs and potential disastrous impact. There were no police or prisons off-earth. Hopefully forever.
When Yale turned 63, he was offered retirement. The world sighed as the first outpost of hope was now a functioning community and the first dome on Ganymede was ready for the residents that had made MoonLife home and homey. It was not his plan to go there.
He was exhausted from digesting problems that involved casualties, human traits, and payloads. The Federation didn’t ask him to continue in his role as the flights to build Saturn 2. They could see he was fully shell-shocked. Sevarin’s ears rang with the vibrations of every machine on the moon, even when no one else claimed to hear it. Living inside a dome was depressing enough for a pilot.
Being confined for so many years and immersed in unpleasant noises, and daily doses of ‘live or die’, MoonLife outdoors was his reward. No one but he could sleep in the parks, by the beach or treat the town green’s gazebo as his mailing address.
His homeless apparition was popular on MoonLife, much like the first children born on Saturn 1 (Heidi and Kevin were blogged and vlogged about endlessly in the effort to promote normalcy on the moon. They were more popular than any Royal Baby on earth.) Commander Sevarin was a war hero; he’d been given a commendation by the President, his arrangement of the survivors on the plane generated movies, news stories and tall tales alike.
Such was his fame that Administrators at The Control Tower installed a sealed box for fans to drop donations, love letters, banana powder, offers to live in their homes and requests for interviews. His rejection of these offerings and his refusal to be that guy anymore made further appealing. Yale hoped to live long enough to see something like woods here so he could live in a tent and enjoy the simulated weather as if he were still in Connecticut, before he joined the Air Force and was enlisted by NASA.
It was PTSD, but everyone had post-traumatic-stress-disorder in a Post Cairo world with endless angst over the Pre Cairo world. The Federation officials had no problem granting him some freedoms given how he earned his place. Saturn 1 was his oyster and he kept his security-clearance in exchange for attending regular status quorums at The Federation Control Tower. For a few hours a month he got to sleep on the simulated beach.
Besides, there were no insane people on the moon. He was just special.
Eyes closed, warmish air, the itch of silica in his thinning hair. He looked up at the rise of the Dome, able to see real stars and a crescent Earth, not man-made clouded blue skies. The wave machine generated slow, slurping, laps against the bottom of his bare feet. So glad he insisted on the addition of layered audio enhancement. It created the illusion of a vast ocean like The Atlantic or Pacific-which would surely dwarfed by the thawing waterways on Saturn 2. Yale could imagine visiting that; but he wouldn’t want to live there.
Sevarin opened his eyes feeling sociable, deciding to visit his donation box at the gazebo. Deep sleep happened. So often he lacked adequate recharge because the terrified quaking Felly would stare him down from inside, or the nightmare where the space elevator would stop forever with him in it.
He opened the donation box, its treasures tumbling through his hands like spigot-water. Food, fan mail, art- red letter? He opened it gamely.
In the middle of the paper was written in generic block letters:
‘GANYMEDE IS AN EXPENSIVE ACT OF FUTILITY FOR YOU.”
Sunday wrecked by paranoid flashes, in this case, warranted. Now he knew he was not the only lunatic on Saturn 1.
He was loathe to report the disturbing note, as it surely would trigger a psych house-call. In this case, gazebo-call. Ever since he abandoned his place on the fancier array of homes laid before the town green, the psychological component of the MoonLife team had ordered regular visits. PTSD was a known factor in violence, anti-government ideology, addiction problems, etc.
Yale didn’t aid his cause by growing his beard and hair and often going barefoot always sporting rumpled and mismatched clothing. No, they might take away his freedom to stay outdoors.
Sevarin was out of retirement with his new role: Secret Police.
His first day was spent at Tower Control, where Yale was known to appear with coffee for his former colleagues then work the terminals, reviewing data. Occasionally he’d find something they’d missed. The red letter’s author had to be caught on video. CCTV footage would end the mystery. He found instead a three-hour loop of nothing happening at the gazebo repeated the entire night. Clearly, only someone in the Tower had access to that kind of alteration.
All but one-person was busy preparing for the first Saturn 2 transport in two weeks. The trend continued as he returned to the Gazebo. On a berm intended to be a gathering place for Saturn 1, claimed a generous view left to right of the finest homes-part of the Tower Control High Priority perks. He went directly to his donation box. A basket of potatoes and another red letter. He looked at the outside this time:
“TO: COMMANDER YALE SEVARIN”. No ‘from’. The message inside:
“YOU WILL KNOW ME SOON ENOUGH”.
He wished he could burn-it and piss on it. He jammed it in a pocket in his wrinkled, not so clean trousers. This, like the potatoes would find a home in the air-lock by the Dark Side Dome later.
Liri Wilson’s morning was routine enough. Aneeka, her live-in au-pair and housekeeper made coffee. NASA had created a space-substitute and a prelim bean but it lacked earth-warmed inspiration. It was the only imported earth product aside from rare quantities of aged booze.
Her class of residence had three-stories and walls that reached the top of the dome. Just a foot of bacilli plexi between her swanky party and certain death.
The automatic blinds which retracted almost unnoticed on a schedule, featured a large dark splotch of a shadow amidst the horizontal ones created by the slats.
When Aneeka appeared with three-year-old Jeson in her arms and rubbing his eyes; Liri enjoined her.
“What do you think that is?” Aneeka was only twenty-two, having been born to some of the original workers in the Dark Side Dome. First she looked at the shadow Missus was pointing at, then up at the dome’s ceiling.
“Maybe a shirt? A moon rock?”
“How’d I miss that? How did maintenance miss that!?”
“Show Mister?” Aneeka added.
“Right I will. Anyhoo, let’s get that boy fed, we’ll go to the beach maybe?” With the kiss from a baby she moved on. Yale hadn’t noticed the peculiarity, too busy spying on Milo leaving that morning.
Nothing unusual. Milo heads Environment and Habitability. Down the line, a non-descript parade of civil servants looking bored being on the moon. He had to assume the red-letter writer knew to lay-low. Once a soldier and pilot; being homeless means anywhere is your home and you don’t really register with people.
Yale sat on the floor of the gazebo, eating a cake left in the box. No further red letters. As light dimmed, he sucked down substitute chocolate milk.
Twenty minutes later he observed the Wilson House alight with a party-full of his targets.
The blinds were up because it was virtual night. All of the familiar bosses glided down the moving sidewalk and hopped off at the front door. It was a normal party until Milo activated the opalescent privacy screen in his living room. The only way to ensure no eavesdropping, filming, recording of any kind. Nicknamed the “Cone of Silence” after a television antiquity from earth.
Interesting. Who were the high rollers playing blackout with? Suddenly, Liri reappeared with empty glasses, fixing to refill them in the kitchen. She saw the “Cone of Silence” Paused then quickly but delicately grabbed the comm handset on the kitchen wall and listened. You couldn’t block a hard wired comm, but they had no reason to worry about a wife.
She appeared spooked and spastically replaced the handset, scurrying out of site with her fresh cocktails.
When the party concluded, Yale perked-up. Spilling out of the front door, all said ta-rah, nite-nite, etc., recoupled and let the sidewalk coast them home-except for a Science Officer, Rami Mandoon-he waved his wife ahead. His head scanned ceiling to house and back.
The Lewis house lowered its blinds and Yale dragged his finger from Rami’s head to the vantage point which held Mandoon’s focus: the ceiling of the dome. A dark patch that looked like a misshapen flower broke-up the illusion of stars in the simulated night sky.
The next morning, Milo called after having made an early silent exit; skipping breakfast with the baby.
“Liri: listen to me. Don’t interrupt. Call Akeena’s parents and have them meet you at the platform for Shuttle 2. Be there before three p.m. You cannot be late. You must not take a later shuttle to the elevator. This is serious. I cannot tell you why and I have to get off comm now. Are you clear? Say NOTHING to anyone. Tell me you heard me.”
“Darling there’s a sort of greenish ice on the celing…”
“Shuttle 2, three p.m. I love you.” Comm broken.
She tried connecting over and over but his comm was shut-down.
As this conversation ended, Yale was in Tower Control, reviewing system status for everything from environment, to transport. He’d seen the ice. Fight or flight would be the administrative response to something that clearly would have appeared in A.I. data if nothing else. He’d seen no technicians milling around Wilson’s home or anywhere out of the norm.
It failed to show anything but the routine. He would be panicked if he had a wife and child, like Milo does. He focused on him as he delivered coffees and scratched his beard exaggerating his loopy retired boredom. Lewis’s cup remained untouched on his office desk.
It occurred to him, that the Dark Side dome might yield data. Integrity loss could be overlooked because it was hidden from view, it’s the oldest structure on MoonLife. It took fewer than ten minutes to see no one was living there, maintenance was offline. True, the technicians had largely left for Saturn 2. They’d left last year, to make schedule on construction with the planned evacuation happening and needing to be ready for inhabitants in six years when they would arrive. But no one left?
As furiously as he could, Yale requisitioned an engineering drone, taking it offline first and cloaking it. They were the longest 25 minutes of his life. He hummed to look casual and laughed at nothing to avoid the appearance of actually doing something very important.
He turned the cameras on. Even with night-vision employed it was shockingly obvious that the dome was not smooth, clear plexi anymore, but a lumpy curved rock. The synechococcus bacillus hadn’t died once the forms were filled, but they had merely gone dormant. The air-lock between Dome 2 and this first one, was not only shut down but devoured by what reminded him of sparkling, dripping candle wax, blobbing over each new layer. This had not happened in the year since the construction teams had left for Saturn 2. This was why the first import of fresh Terra people was hard scheduled in two weeks. Sevarin tingled recalling The Federation treating his retirement three years previous as an honor for his life’s dedication to humanity. He thought himself a special case and was desperate to stop worrying about other people’s lives so he embraced what he now saw as a con. How could the bacilli remain dormant when we had artificial rain, a beach, pools and lakes? They only needed water and without the gelatin engineered, the reincarnated bacteria would grow into a concrete, splitting the protective domes.
Death to all here with certainty.
Yale then disguised a system query as a signal and repeat ping but what he really was doing was retrieving Milo’s comm activity, starting with this morning.
MEMO FROM ISF COMMAND, EARTH, KSC-0917 a.m.
SUBJECT: ML/SAT. 1 /M.LEWIS COMM-ALERT (RED/1A)
Capt.M.Lewis of IFS Team on Saturn 1/MoonLife comm’d spouse at 08:41. Alerted her to board Shuttle 2, destination Space Elevator Station at 1500 p.m. Capt. Lewis immediately closed comm after aforementioned conversation with spouse. Unreachable directly. Appears to have removed internal GPS tracking. No change in Operation VACATION. Tracking Capt.Lewis on CCTV. Will update as needed. Referring to Capt.Lewis as Fox1, his spouse as Fox2 going forward. Fox2 is currently at Tower Control activating Operation VACATION as previously commanded.
Additional: Comm.Pilot, (ret) Savarin (now referred to as LOGO1) is unscheduled but also inside Tower Control. Alert Watch ACTIVE. Subject is known to visit Tower Control since retirement, documented loss of faculties, living outdoors since retirement of commission. Likely a social visit. Internal GPS tracking active. Updates to follow.
MEMO FROM ISF COMMAND, EARTH, KSC-1545 p.m.
SUBJECT: FOX2, STATUS UPDATE
CCTV tracks FOX2, in the company of Jeson Lewis (age 3) and Aneeka, Bindi and Daku Smithson (DOMESTICS employed by FOX1) to Shuttle 2.
FOX2 appears to be alerted by Shirley Mews (Spouse of Director Alton Mews, 2nd In Command, Saturn 1) who is safely on Shuttle 3, departing at 1500 p.m. FOX2 leaves platform for Shuttle 2 and breaches safety fence to communicate with Mrs. Mews, who expresses visible panic and gestures indicate she has invited FOX2 on board. At this point FOX2 climbs between cars, boarding Shuttle 3.
Simultaneous to this incident, The Smithson Family and Jeson Lewis choose to board Shuttle 2 when it arrives. Akeena Smithson is seen and heard to be screaming for FOX2, who cannot hear her from inside of Shuttle 3. Presumably informed by FOX2, who was directed by FOX1; the Smithsons and minor Jeson board and the doors close on all departing shuttles.
Some alarm appears to spread among those who are waiting for Shuttles 1, 4, 5 and 6, operating normally with local stops between Main Shuttle Station and Space Elevator Docking.
Subjects directed to Shuttle 2 all appear to have boarded as directed securely on 06/13/52. No evidence of a security breach on their parts. Included on Shuttle 2 are all executives and technical staff who were needed to implement OperationVACATION, but who are deemed as non-essential for activities on Saturn 2; and who’s presence on Saturn 2 may be disruptive upon completion of Operation VACATION.
At 1509 p.m. FOX1 and Comm.Pilot Sevarin (ret.) arrive at Shuttle Platform 2 after being visualized on CCTV running from Control Tower at full speed.
FOX1 is observed collapsing, possibly crying. Vocal enough to draw the attention of residents arriving at Shuttle Station for local rides. ISF COMMAND has grave concern about FOX1 and Comm.Pilot Sevarin alerting Saturn 1 remaining population.
FOX1 is observed likely ingestion of cyanide capsule behind commission pin on uniform, made standard from the start of Operation MoonLand. Appearing to have a seizure while still sitting on the ground, then fall to his right side and cease moving.
Unaware residents attempt to call for help at Tower Control, which will result in no answer as the TC is empty on relevant Floors/Offices Three and Two.
KSC has initiated 3 day simulated rainstorm ahead of schedule immediately to force residents indoors.
The tactic appears to work everywhere except for The Shuttle Station, where residents are hovering around a deceased FOX1.
CCTV also observes Comm.Pilot (ret.) Sevarin searching FOX1’s clothing and person.
Highlighted at minute-mark is a section of video running 19.2 seconds, attached with full CCTV report on the incident for review.
Comm.Pilot Sevarin (ret.) retrieves a red piece of paper, unfolds it, reads it, then walks to CCTV Unit #986S1. Subject climbs on a nearby bench and holds one side of the paper to unit’s lens. It reads (confirmed) in FOX1’s handwriting:
“TO: COMMANDER PILOT YALE SEVARIN, ‘HERO’
FROM: LOUIS FELLY, SON OF CAPTAIN FELLY, MURDERED.”
After holding this side of the paper to CCTV Unit #986S1 for approximately .09 seconds, flips the red paper over to reveal a second message, which Sevarin holds up to the same CCTV unit’s lens for remaining 10.07 seconds. It reads (same handwriting):
“MY ONLY JOB IN THIS LIFE WAS TO KILL YOU.
I TOLD THEM YOU WOULD TRY TO STOP THEM.”
At 1539 p.m., the aforementioned red note disappears from view of CCTV Unit #986S1.
Sevarin felt badly for Milo, even though he’d hatched a successful plan to follow him all the way from his childhood to the moon to finish his father’s business. Certainly Milo didn’t plan on suicide but he’d missed his ride to Saturn 2.
For the first time since he arrived at MoonLand, Sevarin felt alone because this was the first time his story was important. If he told it, the people left behind under the cannibalistic Domes would react to their imminent demise with the same panic seen on The Titanic. But all of the lifeboats were gone, our leadership having taken just two that appeared to be important, to a dirty escape. Milo was right, I would’ve hampered the IFS and NASA; looking for a solution and trying to engage the hive up until the last minute. They decided to save themselves.
Sevarin walked down the still moving sidewalk to his gazebo to shelter from the pounding, but thankfully warm simulated summer rain. Looking up at the simulated overcast daytime sky, hoping they’d let the program go and grant him sunset over his beloved beach. He’d find an umbrella by then.
Yale wanted to live. That’s human. But this journey from Al Udeid to the moon had cracked him and soon the microbes would fill the void. He grew bored and shuffled to Milo and Liri’s home, having removed his security key from his body. The plan was to watch some movies and figure out what was going to happen when the rain stopped. It really didn’t matter if it did. But on route to his destination, he noticed in the windows of lesser residents, in ground floor apartments, and in storefronts laying inert on the floors of their sealed homes. Some were still besotted with rain, having done exactly what it was meant to do. Made sense. You can’t panic and alert family and friends on Earth if you’re dead.
He wasn’t sure it was safe indoors at this point. Thankfully the people who pitied him left some lovely food in his box, and he’d held onto a book they’d left there. He also had a comm device but it was predictably offline so he couldn’t find entertainment that way.
The next day, he awoke on the gazebo which was showing signs of reproducing and becoming uncomfortable. As were the sidewalks, which were now jammed up by the calcification gone wild. He heard a sonic boom and looked up to see see what was probably one of the Shuttles feathering down in small luminescent shreds. Two left for Ganymede and one, in a sense had come back.
Yale spend a fair bit of time wondering what the plan on earth was. We’d been telling the public for nearly thirty years “Stay here and die, come to Saturn 2 and live!” Now there was no safe place to move the population in groups. They might get a lot of people to the Space Station by elevator if they hurry, and we all know who those folks would be. And those left behind still had guns and bombs and trucks; once the infantry men and women realized they were being left to die, they might not protect those elevators very long.
MEMO FROM ISF SPACE STATION-1800 p.m.
SUBJECT: STATUS OF SATURN 2 TRANSPORT.
AUTHOR: GENERAL MICHAEL THREFALL, ISF
This is to confirm SIMULTANEOUS ENGAGEMENTS OF TARGET, AKA, SHUTTLE 2.
NOTHING INTACT, SOME DEBRIS FALLING TO LUNAR ATMOSPHERE. NO WITNESSES PRESUMED ON MOONLIFE /JUPITER 1 BASE.
SUCCESSFUL RECEPTION OF SHUTTLE 3; REQUEST INSTRUCTION AS TO HANDLING OF UNEXPECTED PX. (FOX2, SPOUSE OF FOX1, PRESUMED DECEASED BASED ON CLASSIFIED REPORT DATED 06/14/52).
FOX2 EXTREMELY DISTRAUGHT AS HER CHILD WAS ON SHUTTLE 2.
MEDICAL EXAMINATION PROVIDES INSIGHT THAT FOX2 IS HEALTHY AND PREGNANT, FIRST TRIMESTER.
WISH TO CONFIRM EXISTENCE OF PILOT COMMANDER YALE SEVARIN IF POSS.
Being last man on pseudo-earth meant he was free to commit breaking and entering; in the hopes that whatever they pumped in the domiciles to kill potential chaos had dissipated.
“EUREKA!” celebrated Yale, adorning a facemask made of his shirt. Smashing the living windows at 12 Adams Street, where Milo lived. Gas and air hissed out. He returned a few hours later, just as the scheduled rain program finally ended. Hoping to have a luxe sleep before he drowned himself at the beach, he raided the Wilson’s pantry, closets and screening room.
Mid-film he realized that Milo wasn’t included in the escape plan. He’d serve a purpose, providing he got on Shuttle 2, since that’s the one he told Liri to board and the one that probably got blown-out of the sky. When those on earth demanded to know why people on Ganymede weren’t answering hails? The IFS on Saturn 2 would have a name. God rest all of your souls, there is nothing more that we can do because of the incompetence and sedition of a man in disguise, Captain Lewis Felly Jr. Yes, the son of that guy.
It made Sevarin laugh as he stepped further into the fake surf than he ever had. The wave machine had stopped generating but the audio enhancement thankfully was inconsequential to shutting down and killing everyone on MoonLife. It made him laugh to think of poor, pathetic Felly.
