Moonshot

I’ve always been unlucky. I’ve always thought that luck seemed to be the birthright of those who don’t need it, and the poor saps like me are left holding the bag. I knew when that abominable lottery came around, my name would be the one announced, despite everything I did to save myself. I had tried to have myself declared incompetent, inflict some minor injury upon myself that would excuse me from this draft and each time almost succeeded. Almost, but not quite, which of course isn’t enough. Damn reflexes. 

Of course, some may not see me as unlucky at all, being chosen as the one person that gets to go to space a year is seen by many as a great honor, my parents included in that list. My mom called me for the first time in years last night. I’ve never heard her so proud. Turns out, instead of begging for her approval all these years, I should’ve just gone and gotten myself a death sentence to make her happy. Go figure. 

Maybe I’m being hyperbolic. And I won’t deny that the attention is nice, and the parade was a plus, but the thought of leaving home forever and never being able to return is overwhelming, to say the least. I wish I was braver, I know a lot of people look to me to be a beacon of hope for the future, but I don’t see myself as a hero. Just a guy who wasn’t smart enough to dodge the draft. As I drive to NASA headquarters, I think about how we got ourselves into this mess…

Two decades ago, we finally realized global warming was destroying our planet. We tried to outrun the destruction we had wrought, but it became clear that nothing was going to fix our mistakes. So, our leaders, in their infinite wisdom, devised a plan: to colonize the moon. It wasn’t a particularly novel idea, it had been talked about for years, but no one had really believed in it as an endeavor. 

Now, with extinction looming nigh, we were a lot more willing to sink money into this idea. Problem was, after a few failed missions, no one wanted to go up into space anymore. So the leaders had another stroke of genius: create a lottery where one person a year is drafted to become an astronaut fly to the moon. That person could never return to Earth and would join those who’d gone up before and bring new technology to the astronauts who were now living on the moon. 

 The moon must look like a roof covered in Frisbees by now. 

I arrived at the facility, which looks like a metal Faberge egg. I was greeted at the door by two scientists in their lab coats. One has long blonde hair that falls well beyond her shoulders, and the other is short with a push broom mustache which looks it still has crumbs in it from breakfast. I wonder how dependable a man who can’t figure out a donut will be when manning a 35-ton rocket. 

“Mr. Philipps! Welcome, welcome to our humble laboratory.” This comes from the man with the mustache. He extends a hand. It’s sticky.

“I’m Dr. Nigel Briar, and this is my associate Olga Davenport.” We exchanged pleasantries, as he leads me inside. I’m struck by the emptiness of this space. I was expecting bustling halls of scientists, maybe even lawmakers running around, doing science things, but everything is quiet. Maybe a little too much so. My stomach feels queasy. 

“Come, come, in here Mr. Philipps.” The room looks like a hospital operations room. It’s bleak and desolate and the light shines fiercely, almost blindingly so, making the room look whitewashed. In the center of the room, there is a chair. It looks like the ones they have at the dentist, except it has… are those restraints?

The tall blonde speaks for the first time, she has a slight accent, possibly Norwegian. “Please, have a seat, Mr. Philipps.” She motions to the chair. Everything in me wants to run, but I fight the instinct. When I sit, she immediately straps me down. The leather straps chafe at my wrists. 

Apologetically she mumbles, “Sorry, it’s procedure.”

“This won’t take but a minute.” Mustache man pulls out a needle dripping with green liquid. I hate needles.

“Hey, uh, doc, I really am not a fan of needles, it helps me if you can just talk me through the procedure.”

“Talk you through? Would you like that, Mr. Philipps?” There is something sinister in how he says this. 

“Yeah, that’s how I get through vaccinations with my doctor. Having a lollipop ready also helps.” This attempt at a joke is me trying to remain calm, but whether it was his Doctor Jekyll mood shift or that needle he keeps waving around, I’m finding it hard to keep cool. Olga’s giving him a dirty look that doesn’t give me any reassurance. 

“Nigel, you know it’s against protocol.” In a lower voice, she adds, “Do you really want to do that to him?”

“But no one has ever asked before! It couldn’t hurt to tell him the truth. Not now.” He’s grinning. 

“Um, I don’t want to break protocol, but like I said…”

“I’ll tell you what’s in the needle. Aluminum Phosphide. Essentially, rat poison.” As if sensing my next move, he adds, “There’s no use in yelling for help. No one will hear you, we’re completely alone here.” 

      “What? Why, why would you do that. You’re NASA, you’re supposed to be…”

      “Saving the world?”

      “Well, yeah. Your entire mission is to save lives, why would you want me dead?”

      “You see, Philipps, we’re killing you, because we can’t save the world.”

      “That doesn’t make any sense.” 

      “It will in time. You see, when we realized the damage we’d done to our planet, some of the enlightened few, including many policymakers, realized it was too late for us. So, we came up with a plan that would keep the masses happy until the bitter end, and also line the pockets of a discreet enlightened few. We came up with the space mission ruse to fool the public, and lull them into a false sense of security. There never was a space mission. The rockets simply what you would call TV magic and the original team that ‘colonized’ the moon were actors. Emphasis on the word 'were'.”

      “You bastard.”

      “Now you’re understanding. Every year we say we’re closer to an answer it keeps panic at bay. Plus, you will not believe the amounts of money people are willing to pay to save their lives. I mean, I thought medicine was a real racket before I got into politics. So, our little arrangement means that nihilistic and senseless crime is avoided, and everyone is happy. Well, except for the likes of you.”

      “So, what, are you just going to kill me?” 

      “We found out after the first batch if you let them live they just can’t help themselves and they blab the whole thing… a conscience is a dangerous thing. Anyway, if we let you live, you could endanger the lives of millions.”

      “How can you be sure there’s no fix for this world? Maybe space travel is possible, we’ve done it before…”

      “Believe me, the best use of whatever time we have left Mr. Philipps is spent enjoying the end rather than trying to belabor it fruitlessly. I think you’d do well to remember that in the next few seconds.” He motioned to Olga, who was standing by for this signal. She grabbed my body as I struggled and the doctor slipped the needle in.

      Grogginess, pain, and heaviness come on too fast. “You’ll. Never. Get. Away. With. This.”

      “We already have. Don’t struggle, it’ll just make the pain worse.”

      My vision is blurry. Don’t give in, fight it. Don’t fall asleep. I just need one stroke of good luck for once in my life. Just keep your eyes…

           Light filtered in. Why does my head hurt so much? Where am I? My eyes opened and Olga is sitting in front of me. Her hands are pressed to her lips, motioning for me not to say a word. She wheels me in the chair I was strapped down to the door.

           “We must be very quiet, ja?”

           “Wait, what are you doing? I thought I was dead…”

           “I switched the poison for a mild, how do you say? Oh, sedative.”

           “Why? Doesn’t that endanger your life?”

           “Be quiet just sit still.”

           “I don’t understand. Why would you possibly help me?”

           “There. You’re untied. I saved you because I couldn’t live with myself if I let him kill you. I helped him killed the twenty before you, I truly believed it was for the greater good, but I just can’t do it again.”

           “Oh. Thank you.” Shock had set in, and I felt completely numb.

           “You can thank me by disappearing and never telling anyone what you’ve seen.”

           “I can’t do that! The world needs to know, before it’s too late.”

           “You have to. It won’t only be a death sentence for you, but for me too.” As if on cue, her deep blue eyes welled up with tears. Whether it’s fast acting Stockholm setting in or her charm, I melted.

           “OK. I understand.”

           “You must go. Now, he thinks I’m getting rid of your body and he’ll be around to check in a few minutes. Hug the wall until you reach the blue gate. That password is 7935, take this cash, and then run, just run.”

           “Thank you.”

“Remember what you’ve promised me.”

I took off running. Despite the drugs they’ve filled me up with I am ran faster than I ever had in my life. It felt more like flying, I don’t even remember my feet touching the ground.

I travel by any means necessary, five years later I’ve slept in too many disgusting to count and now I’ve created something of a life for myself. Life might be an overstatement, I can’t have friends, or stay in any place to long, my family believes I’m safely on the moon, preparing a place for them. I see the broadcasts sometimes, where they use my name, telling the world what a big difference I’m making and what a hero I am. A part of me wishes I was that man.

At this point, I don’t know if I’m a wanted man, if the authorities even know I’m alive and all of these precautions are for nothing. Honestly, I don’t care if they find me at this point. I don’t have much longer anyways.

All these years I’ve kept my promise to Olga. I saw on the news the other day that she was killed in a car crash. It seemed suspicious to me, she probably tried to save one too many people, but what can I do about it. I don’t have anything to hold me to my word, and I can tell the world freely what I know. But I haven’t.

I think about the last things she said to me, how she believed that she was sparing the world a tragic end, and offering it a peaceful one instead. I don’t know if she was right, but I can’t bring myself to take the chance she might’ve been.