The Cradle Of Humanity

The President’s Own Marine band was blasting marches like it was a parade. And it was a parade in a certain sense.

Michael walked down the aisle in the hot sun. They marched together towards the podium where the President was giving her speech. Four soldiers flanked him, two on either side. Michael was on display for the whole world to see.

President Carlson was a beautiful woman at the start of her term, but the pressures of the office were not kind. 16 years is a long time to serve. She navigated emergencies that would have crushed others, but they've done nothing to quench her energy.

The people loved her, as Michael used too as well.

When Michael reached the podium, Carlson sped over and grabbed his hand in a firm grip. She pumped it three times then waved him off. His entourage swarmed over him and ushered him off to the waiting rocket.

It always looks more fun on television, Michael mused.

A squad of scientists was waiting at the vehicle itself. They were buzzing around the controls and taking readings like white-coated bumblebees building the hive for their queen mother. It looked so complicated, and Michael had no idea how any of it worked.

When the bees saw him approach, they stopped their work and stared at Michael. They were not quite looking at him, but not looking away either. Michael saw a mixture of emotions, but gratitude dominated. He was the most important person on this mission after all. Showing gratitude was the least they could do.

One of the scientists, a man with a graying beard kept close to his chin, stepped over and began to check out Michael’s suit. The scientist didn't say a word. They had already explained how the procedure would work, there was no need to talk.

It must have all checked out because the man attached the helmet with a hissing seal. The soldiers followed Michael into the shuttle and helped strap him down. The single scientist followed at a meek pace.

The straps gripped Michael in place. He couldn’t move even if he wanted to. They piped in the music and speeches from outside. Now the Secretary of Defense was speaking. The man’s voice sounded as angry and abrupt as he seemed in real life. 

Michael had met him only once before, two days ago. He wasn’t impressed, but then again, Michael knew his opinions and wants didn't matter. His assignment to this mission had been without his consent.

They piped in the sounds of people cheering from across the globe. It must be old recordings from when the missions first started 12 years ago, Michael thought.

After a new mission every 12 months, the people were bored with it all. It barely affected their lives anymore. It’s funny how commonplace critical things became when they happened over and over again.

Michael wondered if they did this for his sake or to boost the president’s ego. Sure, her approval rating was still high, but her ego was notorious. One unpopular theory (quashed by the government) was that this whole mess was her fault in the first place. A mess that was now Michael’s job to clean up.

The strapping was done, final checks in place, and the scientist stepped forward with a vial. He still avoided meeting Michael’s eyes as he found the correct port for the liquid.

Michael tested the strength of the staps by pulling on them with his arms. As he did so, a sharp pain flared in his right arm, just above the elbow. He knew the gash was only freshly healed and hastily sewn up by the medics. They rushed him through the checks to see if he’d survive the rapid space travel. He was still impressed by how he’d been able to do that to himself, though it hadn’t done any good.

Right before the scientist injected the liquid, he made the mistake of meeting Michael’s eyes for a brief second.

Pity.

The feeling was over as soon as the drugs hit Michael’s bloodstream. Unconsciousness licked at the edges of his mind.

Every year, one person is sent to the moon. This year, though he hid in terror, it was his turn to enter the rocket.

***

Surprisingly, his head didn’t hurt when he came to. Michael opened his eyes, suddenly awake. The moon spread out before him, majestic in its stark white nature. The Earth was a large blue ball in the sky.

How many times had he sat talking with his niece, Clara, about the moon? She wanted to go so bad, and Michael didn’t have the heart to convince her it was a hell every sane person on the planet prayed to avoid. 

Now he was here, and he wondered if she was looking up at the moon now. Was she wishing for her Uncle Mick-mick back? Or had her parents convinced her to be ashamed of his cowardice? 

The rocket clearly knew where it was going without any pilots. Michael noticed the steering mechanics on the dashboard looked like many of the flight simulators he enjoyed playing as a kid. The shuttle smoothly navigated and turned when he first laid eyes on the Aguila Station.

Aguila Station was a sight any of the 700 million humans left on Earth would recognize. Its blocky, efficient buildings were marked with round observation ports like the eyes of a huge insect. Sticking out from the main body of the station like a mighty rod was the containment probe.

And, of course, there was the tear.

Michael tried to avoid looking directly at it, but its immense size was impossible to avoid. Where 28% of the moon had once existed was now a shining ball of energy. A “tear” into another dimension (the experts had dumbed down this explanation for the average person). A failed experiment to access unlimited energy, and a testament to American arrogance (or ingenuity depending on which party you asked).

Michael gazed into the sea-blue void and knew his mission was coming soon. He was selected to offer his conscience into the tear.

Dr. Sera Aguila had discovered when the experiment broke down that human consciousness placed into the containment probe could delay the expansion of the tear by a year. With a random lottery, 100 souls, all from the responsible United States, must be sacrificed, conscious and alive, to the scientists onboard for the survival of all humanity.

It wasn’t worth it.

Michael flexed his arms again, praying that the straps had loosened themselves. The pain in his arm was sharp again. He remembered holding the knife and digging out the tracking chip within minutes of his number being drawn publicly.

He fled, called a coward by his friends and family. All fine for them to say. They can go sacrifice themselves if they want to, then.

His bitterness came up short when he thought of Clara’s reaction. Michael never had the chance to have kids, but she was the closest thing he had. So many missed opportunities taken away. 

Michael had escaped by leaving the liveable zone. After the Earth’s moon had lost the mass, the orbit was thrown off and Earth went farther from the sun, creating storms and a brand new environment. Only 20% of Earth was liveable anymore.

For two weeks, he managed to survive in the ruins of buildings and homes, floating from place to place. Then, they found him, imprisoned him, and drugged him. Michael suspected a secondary tracker no one knew about. 

Not that the public would know any of this. No, they had the gall to pretend like every single person who went up to Aguila Station did so happily.

The shuttle docked, and the airlocks secured. Michael’s breath came in and out in gasps. He wiggled and moved as hard as he could to dislodge the buckles with no luck.

As Michael heard the doors begin to unlock, and he closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. This was his go-to, a child’s attempt to avoid an unpleasant situation.

The footsteps came closer and hands settled on him as they undid the straps.

“Good, he’s still out.”

“Well, yeah, these drugs are supposed to be strong enough to knock out an elephant.”

“Shut up. You weren’t here last year. One of them woke up before we got them locked in the chair. Bastard fought us like hell. Jimmy had 17 broken bones by the time we got the coward tied down.”

“Holy shit! Let’s get him down there quick then.”

Michael kept his body as limp as possible. The two guards used a device that hummed to move him out of the rocket. He didn’t dare to open his eyes or show any sign he was awake. If he was going to move, it had to be the exact right time.

Michaels didn’t need to look; he’d seen the TV specials on the station enough to imagine the crisp white walls of the station without even looking. Michael also knew the guards would have been around 30 years old, but they’d look like they were in their late 60s or older. It was something about proximity to the tear aging those around it at a quicker rate the experts said.

The guards talked to themselves as they guided Michael to the destination. His heart pounded so loud in his ears it was a wonder they couldn’t hear it as they talked.

Michael knew they had entered the cylinder where the containment probe was when the voices began to echo. Michael heard other distant voices and one set of feet running towards him.

“Finally!” spoke a woman, her voice warbled with age. “99 is locked in. We’re cutting it really close.”

“All right, doc. Don’t blame us; we’re not the coward that ran. Damn fool almost doomed us all.”

“Whatever, just get him over there. We’ll strap him in when the chair comes back.”

Michael’s transport stopped moving and he heard most of them move off. A single guard started undoing Michael’s strap starting with his head. Just a little more…

A bang sounded and without thinking, Michael popped his eyes open.

The nearest guard stood with his back to Michael watching the center of the chamber. In the middle of the spacious cylinder was a young girl in her early 20s. An older man in a lab coat injected her with something and she jerked awake. Michael couldn’t see her clearly, but he could imagine the whites of her eyes as she came to and realized where she was.

Her scream on the other hand, well, even the President back home could hear it if she cared to listen.

A button was pushed somewhere, and the chair moved quickly down the rail into the containment probe. The blue glow of the tear pulsed in the distance. Farther and farther she went, screaming without end. Closer she came to that horrible, pulsing glow of wrongness until her body made contact.

Michael didn't know which was worse, the screaming or how abruptly it cut off.

The guard standing a foot away from Michael shook his graying head.  “You never get used to it. No matter how many times you’ve seen it,” he said to no one in particular.

There was no other chance to survive.

Michael stood up silently behind the guard and pulled the taser-like weapon and pressed it up against the man’s temple.

“Don’t speak, or I’ll pull the trigger.”

It was lucky the others had moved away, but there was no telling how long until they turned back to him.

The man stiffened. “Please, no. Don’t do this. You have to go in. Please…”

Michael pulled the man back with him towards one of the doors. Once he was through, he’d forced the guard to take him to the shuttle, and they’d both leave for home. One of these goons could sacrifice themselves for the good of humanity.

He could smell the sweat coming off the guard. It stank of fear. Michael knew Clara wouldn’t be proud of him for this, but what else could he do? They could discuss it later when he got back home. 

It wasn’t to be. The second guard turned around and sounded the alarm. The others all began yelling and rushing towards Michael.

The guard in his grip twisted suddenly, showing a surprising amount of strength for someone in such an old body.

Michael struggled with the man while the others got closer and closer. He knew he only had a few moments before someone knocked him out and strapped him into that machine.

The ache in his arm increased, and Michael knew the taser would soon be pointed at him. So he did the only thing he could.

He pulled the trigger.

Two dart-like electrodes shot far past the guard, missing all the oncoming scientists and lodged into some machinery. The copper wire pulsed a powerful electrical charge into the computers. Sparks flew and machinery ground all over the chamber.

The chair moving back towards its starting position ground to a halt.

All other motion stopped. The scientists and the guards stared where the shots went.

“No…” one of them whispered breathlessly as she fell to her knees.

Michael didn’t wait around. He followed the painted directions on the floor straight to the waiting shuttle. He sprinted into the rocket and looked at the controls. They seemed simple enough, and Michael’s hands fluttered over them. Everything made sense, but he couldn’t find the button to unlock it from the station.

So he settled for breaking off as he flew away.

The moon still dominated his window when he got the call.

“Do you realize what you’ve done?”

Michael didn’t reply. They could just go ahead and strap one of their own in. He didn’t owe them anything.

“You broke the containment field. The tear will grow. Within 12 hours, the whole moon will be gone. In 72 hours, it will come into contact with Earth.”

His hands raced over the console as he looked for the acceleration controls. He hit one of the buttons several times without any effect.

“We can’t just do what we did before. Even if our backup field mechanisms work to protect Earth, the orbit will be thrown off again. At our best guess, only a few million people will survive.” The voice broke.

“Even then, they’ll need thousands of minds to send to the field every few months. Do you...understand what you’ve done?”

For a second, Michael thought the signal broke, but he still heard sobbing.

“You doomed us all.”

 He put his hands down from the controls and stared at his home. Earth.

You doomed us all.

The snow and ice had overcome most of the planet already. It was noticeable up here, but Michael remembered what it used to look like. Before all the madness had started. 

You doomed us all.

His friends and family, even if they hated him, scorned him, were still down there. 

You doomed us all. 

And Clara. Michael closed his eyes and imagined her face. 

You doomed us all. 

The sobbing continued as Michael pulled down his flight suit and rummaged around the cabin in silence. There was a screwdriver. It looked sharp enough. He studied the wound on his arm. 

Time to finish the job.