Hey yall! This is part 1 of a story I've been working on. Any and all feedback is welcome!
The Aurora 4. She’s a gorgeous piece of junk. One of five nuclear powered engines has gone rogue and started leaking its old uranium. Someone down below us on the Earth’s surface surely appreciates it. From what I’ve heard though, they have some bigger problems down there to worry about. Outside of the engine, there’s plenty of smaller issues that make my day to day life absolutely wonderful. Leaking water pipes, wall panels peeling off, all the lovely things that make home seem almost tolerable compared to good ol’ number 4. I wouldn’t change places even if you begged me though.
We’re one of 10 of the so-called “pirate ships” aptly named by those that society holds more near and dear. A degrading name really, considering our purpose of harvesting the materials from the asteroids that have begun pelting the Earth as we floated ever so close to the asteroid belt. Miraculous isn’t it? You’d think that all those wonderful scientists back home could think of a better answer to global warming than to simply move us further away from the sun. Who could’ve guessed that plan would have some undesirable side effects? As we floated further and further away from the sun, all efforts to stop our outward momentum failed. That was all before my time. Nowadays, we sit somewhere between Jupiter and Mars, the third rock now endearingly referred to as the 4th, with Mars taking up our once precious mantle. They even changed the name of that old sitcom.
That’s us, lucky number 4, both ship and planet. The ships, needing tending to, were stuffed full of societies rejects. Crooks, prostitutes, murderers, mentally stunted folks, deadbeats, me. Anybody that the government doesn’t like. We all get along great up here, and murder rates are down this month ever since they started lacing the milk with sedatives. Luckily I’ve never been a fan of milk, or whatever it is that they manufacture as a measly attempt to recreate the real deal. I only ever had it once as a kid, before our town’s last cows died off, but I remember it being delicious.
Projecting ourselves into the asteroid belt had bigger consequences than just the obvious though. Funnily enough, temperature wasn’t the issue. The scientists’ plans worked in that regard. The issues mostly arose from a combination of the belt used to alter the earth’s orbit along with the asteroids that started hitting us when we failed to stop. The asteroids struck the surface of the earth for years before we got the pirate ships up and running. This made the belt shatter and leak across the earth, causing widespread fallout about 5,000 miles North, and 4,000 miles south of the equator. The rest of the earth had bigger problems, believe it or not. The asteroids brought disease with them. Disease that was unknown to humans. Granted, if any semblance of our labs were still up and running, it probably would have been no issue to create and distribute a vaccine.
Disease ended up being the true downfall of humankind. Pestilence, the horseman that would finally claim victory over his three compatriots. “The Hunger”. That’s what they called it when the infected started eating the others. Fictional literature of the time would’ve called them zombies, but when faced with the reality of the situation the name felt inappropriate. The sophisticated call them nothing, too busy ignoring the situation as a whole. Normal folks who rarely encounter them, tucked inside their little safe camps on the north and south poles, simply call them infected. The scum who weren’t rounded up and branded as pirates, my people, we call them lost. We know what they are. They are lost souls, in search of a way to survive just like any of the rest of us. Incompetence led our fates to clash. Us vs them, that’s what I always told myself when I was watching life fade from one’s eyes. Fiction never prepares you for reality, and no movie or show or book ever told me they would beg for their life.
You see, as shitty as it is up on 4, it’s much better than it is back home. In a sense, I’m grateful for the fucked up bureaucracy that established itself at the poles. They think they sacrificed me to save themselves, but they saved me and doomed themselves. I’d rather the Aurora break into a million little pieces, leaving space to have its way with me, than spend one more miserable day back on the fourth rock from the sun. “Fourth rock to fourth ship, God has shown his mercy” is our unofficial mantra. The suits hate it. They say it’s “crude,” and “makes light of the unfortunate circumstances and adversities facing our fellow man back on planet Earth”. Deep down I know they’re grateful to be here rather than there. Even the suits know the people on earth are fucked. Grass is always greener, until the grass is dead.
That’s why it came as no surprise when the news came through. First, by word of mouth through the cafeteria during lunch, reminiscent of a schoolyard, then over the intercom as an official announcement later that night. “No further contact will be received from earth. All sit-reps will only be sent to your direct superior from now on. Earth has decided to allocate its resources to more urgent needs”. That’s the announcement. That’s all we got. No thank you, no “good work guys!”, not anything. They say that the people down there are still kicking. Many people on the Aurora still believe that. The more observant of us saw the lights go out a couple days ago.