Stardirect Express

Crammed together like a survival meal in a tin can, I glance at the girl rubbing against my left side. She smiles awkwardly and looks down, blinking and chewing her lip. The guy on my right nods, his gnarled hands resting peacefully in his lap. 

‘Someone meeting you?’ he asks, bending his neck to the side and nearly knocking mine. ‘That side?’ 

‘Er, yes. Yes.’ My hands, no less gnarled, are not as quiet as his. They are fidgeting. Thumbing a piece of paper that has gone furry and frayed. ‘She’ll be there,’ I say, but only to myself. 

The announcement is in a cool, clear voice, not quite human, yet lacking the usual tells of Artifice. A flashback to the heyday of A.I. constructs. When everything was beautiful and sleek, a shiny film of mercury, rotting everything beneath.

Seat-restraints snake down across my chest and there is just the merest jolt of breaking inertia as the train pulls away, gliding smoothly above its tracks (another marvel of its time) sucking me for a moment into my seat. With the shields up, it’s impossible to gauge the speed. Not that there would be anything to see in any case, even at a lower speed. Everything looks the same now, bone bleached and covered in rust-coloured dust, barely held together by Artifice. 

I pat my sleeve. It is there too. It is caked in our noses and our ears. The sheer amount of red powder in the domed cities has sparked the most outlandish rumours - radioactive fallout, spores from a genetic experiment gone wrong, ashes from the chemical Recycling pyres… Whatever it is, it’s killing us. This past year has been brutal. People dropping like plaster from the walls.

The slip of paper slides between my fingers. I do not open it. It contains only two words. They were etched into my soul the day she left. She got out, thank god. Before they clamped down, before they locked us in their poisoned bubbles. Protecting us! What a laugh. 

I imagine her fleeing, wild into the night. She promised she would wait for me. She would be waiting when I came, when I too got out. 

They say there is nothing beyond the domes now. That it’s all been scorched to the ground. That even the cockroaches have been wiped out. As they tell it, we few sickly humans are the only living things left. That out there there is just Artifice and sand. I run my finger along my neck. My collar is chafing and my throat is parched. I should’ve brought water. The ticket made it clear: No refreshments are served on the Starlink Express. You would expect better, considering the price you pay.

A ping slams against my inner ear. A change of air pressure in the coach. I try to yawn and catch the faint tang of ozone in the air. My shoulders and gut squeeze painfully into the seat now, and my head begins to spin. Nausea uncoils like a snake in my stomach and my legs are shaking, but there is no vibration from the train. My scalp itches as beads of sweat collect and run down my temples. I imagine them cutting little rivulets into the red grime. 

The girl next to me has her eyes screwed tight. She whimpers, scrunching the fabric of her stained dress into a ball. There is nothing to be afraid of. I want to tell her that, but my throat is too dry, and the serpent threatens to strike. Man on the other side is still wearing his peaceful smile. He must’ve taken something; I have heard people recommend it. He looks like he took his time getting ready. Hair neatly combed, probably his best suit. I just grabbed the one thing. I had no time, and no outfits left to choose from.

Staring at his pristine trousers (had he kept it wrapped up, it couldn’t be new?) I wish I had made just a bit more of an effort. Smartened myself up a little, at least for her. In my mind, she is still the woman I remember. Her eyes blazing fire. The wicked curve of her mouth. Time and the ravages of Artifice have not been kind to me. Will she know me, I wonder? How will she reconcile what she sees with what she remembers?

The release is like a bubble popping. My body decompresses, slacking into its natural shape even as my arms drift up. My slip of paper dances in the air like a magic trick. The girl beside me sobs and gasps. I cannot tell if she is relieved or terrified.

The cool, perfect voice speaks again. ‘Terminal velocity reached.’

Shields slide open to murmurs and the perfect emptiness of the plex dome. Stars are strewn like confetti millions of light-years away. Girl to my left is quiet now. I grab my piece of paper before it floats off. It feels more fragile than before.

A collective gasp as the shields retract completely and we are treated to the overwhelming scope of a full panoramic view. 

There it sits like a child’s lost toy in a pool of ink. Our planet amidst a sea of pinprick lights. And for a moment the thought of her is washed from my mind. 

It is not the blanched ball of dust they promised. But swirling blues and greens, a jewel so fragile in its loneliness. It’s primordial perfection untouched by human hands or minds or greed. Teeming with life uncontrollable. It glows and breathes as it spins and spins.  

My fist tightens and my paper crumbles. The smiling man’s mouth hangs slack. I realise that I too am weeping. Was she the one who was waiting? Did I have it wrong? Did we all?

The Stardirect Express slips by her on its own trajectory, and my heart shrinks within me as she does too.

I imagine a change in the cool voice when it speaks again. Is it sadness? Has it gone cooler still?

‘Esteemed passengers, this is your last view of your forgotten Paradise. Next stop is the afterlife.’