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Description

Computer, open ship’s log, new entry.

Earth Relative Date, October 28th, 2223. Nine days outbound from New Tokyo Station. Inbound Musk Station. All systems are optimal, cargo heavy, fuel at 50 percent. Have started terminal deceleration. Long range telemetry shows nothing unusual.

Computer. Personal Log. New Entry.

Thinking about that Day again.

Where did I stop at? Oh yeah…

Kimber and I had made it into orbit. The three meatheads we had onboard were fine but obviously in a bit of shock. The ship was missing one of the external cargo bay doors; we had to jettison our cargo, and we were low on fuel. There was no way we could return to Earth. Besides, our home port was under several meters of volcanic ash. My only thought was delivering the meatheads and getting some repairs.

Even from orbit, the destruction below was painfully clear. They would tell us later that this ‘event’ had happened 640,000 years earlier. There was nobody there to see it then.

This time, it would be the last thing millions of people would see.

The initial eruption at the Yellowstone Caldera would trigger a series of other ‘sympathetic’ eruptions. This is what the geologists called the chain reaction as entire continents would shift violently, as oceans would boil. You could see the new volcanoes blazing like fountains of Hell.

From space, it really looked like the world was ending.

Many of these eruptions would not stop for as much as a month. Each pouring out more ash. The pyroclastic flows would come and go like waves on an ocean, except these were of super-heated gas, some of it was high in sulfuric acid, all of it destructive. If you got caught in it, at least your death was relatively quick.

Kimber and I ended up piloting the ship around for a month, scrounging oxygen and supplies, doing quick hauls in exchange. There was no end of jobs available; every colony in space was holding on by sharing what they had, sometimes bartering, but always just holding on. They needed people like us to move it all.

We got some expedient repairs, but not enough for me to risk an atmospheric re-entry. It functionally trapped us in our flying tin can, sleeping on the fold-downs, keeping our pressure suits nearby, living on protein paste. The whole time, all we had to do was look out the view ports to see that ugly black cloud swallowing up most of the planet below.

We eventually hooked up with a bunch of splices. They let us dock inside one of their bunny-hutches. We helped them secure supplies; they helped us repair the ship. The disaster had destroyed the company I had been piloting for. According to the ISC, the ship was then mine. I named her the ‘Barbarella’. Kimber stayed onboard, at least for the time being. In a weird way, things seemed to look up.

It was about this time we also found out about 10 percent of the planet was still habitable. You could see some of these locations from space. So many people had died without even a chance of survival. These little ‘safe zones’ became the last chance sanctuaries for the few who could make it to them. They also gave me a reason to make the ‘Barbarella’ ready for atmospheric operations again.

Kimber decided I was insane to want to run the shuttle again. The thing was, I was her kind of insane. While we were on the bunny-hutch, we finally found the first actual bed we had seen in weeks. Just one bed, big enough for the two of us. When life is literally just figuring out how to survive from one hour to the next, having a little intimate company can be like a miracle.

Things worked out.

Description

Computer, open ship’s log, new entry.

Earth Relative Date, October 28th, 2223. Nine days outbound from New Tokyo Station. Inbound Musk Station. All systems are optimal, cargo heavy, fuel at 50 percent. Have started terminal deceleration. Long range telemetry shows nothing unusual.

Computer. Personal Log. New Entry.

Thinking about that Day again.

Where did I stop at? Oh yeah…

Kimber and I had made it into orbit. The three meatheads we had onboard were fine but obviously in a bit of shock. The ship was missing one of the external cargo bay doors; we had to jettison our cargo, and we were low on fuel. There was no way we could return to Earth. Besides, our home port was under several meters of volcanic ash. My only thought was delivering the meatheads and getting some repairs.

Even from orbit, the destruction below was painfully clear. They would tell us later that this ‘event’ had happened 640,000 years earlier. There was nobody there to see it then.

This time, it would be the last thing millions of people would see.

The initial eruption at the Yellowstone Caldera would trigger a series of other ‘sympathetic’ eruptions. This is what the geologists called the chain reaction as entire continents would shift violently, as oceans would boil. You could see the new volcanoes blazing like fountains of Hell.

From space, it really looked like the world was ending.

Many of these eruptions would not stop for as much as a month. Each pouring out more ash. The pyroclastic flows would come and go like waves on an ocean, except these were of super-heated gas, some of it was high in sulfuric acid, all of it destructive. If you got caught in it, at least your death was relatively quick.

Kimber and I ended up piloting the ship around for a month, scrounging oxygen and supplies, doing quick hauls in exchange. There was no end of jobs available; every colony in space was holding on by sharing what they had, sometimes bartering, but always just holding on. They needed people like us to move it all.

We got some expedient repairs, but not enough for me to risk an atmospheric re-entry. It functionally trapped us in our flying tin can, sleeping on the fold-downs, keeping our pressure suits nearby, living on protein paste. The whole time, all we had to do was look out the view ports to see that ugly black cloud swallowing up most of the planet below.

We eventually hooked up with a bunch of splices. They let us dock inside one of their bunny-hutches. We helped them secure supplies; they helped us repair the ship. The disaster had destroyed the company I had been piloting for. According to the ISC, the ship was then mine. I named her the ‘Barbarella’. Kimber stayed onboard, at least for the time being. In a weird way, things seemed to look up.

It was about this time we also found out about 10 percent of the planet was still habitable. You could see some of these locations from space. So many people had died without even a chance of survival. These little ‘safe zones’ became the last chance sanctuaries for the few who could make it to them. They also gave me a reason to make the ‘Barbarella’ ready for atmospheric operations again.

Kimber decided I was insane to want to run the shuttle again. The thing was, I was her kind of insane. While we were on the bunny-hutch, we finally found the first actual bed we had seen in weeks. Just one bed, big enough for the two of us. When life is literally just figuring out how to survive from one hour to the next, having a little intimate company can be like a miracle.

Things worked out.