The Settlers

by Jason Gurley

  Her mother kept pulling her forward in the crowd.

  Amma, she repeated. Amma!

  Her mother looked over her shoulder. Tasneem, come! Hurry.

  Amma, why are all the bags left?

  But her mother kept tugging her along.

  RESTRICTIONS FOR ENTRY ARE AS FOLLOWS, the woman's voice blared. CHILDREN UNDER THE AGE OF FOUR ARE NOT PERMITTED. ADULTS OVER THE AGE OF FIFTY-FIVE ARE ALSO NOT PERMITTED. ALL APPLICANTS MUST PROVIDE PROOF OF IDENTITY. IF YOU DO NOT HAVE YOUR PASSCARD OR YOUR IMPRINT I.D., PLEASE STEP OUT OF LINE NOW.

  Someone behind Tasneem screamed.

  She looked back up at her mother.

  Amma, she said.

  But her mother only pulled her deeper into the crowd.

  What will happen to them, Amma?

  Tasneem rested her chin on the window sill and stared down at the throngs of muddy people below.

  They have been turned away, darling, her mother said.

  But why? There are still empty seats.

  It's true, her mother agreed. But I think they have their reasons. Maybe there isn't enough room on the space station. Maybe just this transport vessel is large, but our destination is small.

  Why weren't we turned away? Tasneem asked.

  Her mother shook her head. Be grateful that we were not, she said. The people below us, they do not have homes to return to. They will probably never go to space. They will have hard lives.

  It's not fair, Tasneem said.

  No, her mother agreed. It isn't fair. But much in life is not fair, Tasneem. You will be reminded of this from time to time. Better to accept it now, when you are young, than to discover it when you are an old woman like me.

  You aren't old, Amma! Tasneem threw her arms around her mother.

  Oh, Tasneem, her mother said. I am. You don't know it, but there was a time when a woman had to be careful having babies at my age. I was much older than most mothers.

  How old were you?

  Fifty-eight, her mother replied. But when I was born -- a long, long time ago -- it was considered risky for a woman older than forty to have a child. Thank your stars for science, Tasneem. It found a way to bring you to me.

  Would Baap have liked me, Amma?

  Her mother smiled and touched Tasneem's cheek. Your father would have cherished you. He would have loved this, too. To go to space! With you and with me! We will have to think of him always, Tasneem. We cannot forget him.

  Show me his picture again.

  Her mother looked around, and then produced a tiny paper photograph from beneath her robe. The paper was wrinkled and folded, and its color was beginning to fade from the creases.

  Don't let anyone see, she cautioned.

  I won't, Tasneem said.

  Tasneem studied the photograph for the hundredth time. Her father was young when it was taken, with expressive eyes tucked beneath kind eyebrows. His hair was windswept, as if he had just stepped off of a sailboat.

  He looks like me, she said.

  Her mother nodded.

  Tasneem turned the photograph over. The writing was worn, but still readable.

  For Anjali, my love.

  - Jae

  Tasneem kissed the photo, and then pressed it against the window.

  So you can see it one last time, she said.

  She held the photo for a long moment, then handed it back to her mother, whose eyes sparkled.

  Okay, Tasneem said. We can go now.

  In the late afternoon, the spaceport in northern Washington seemed to inhale sharply.

  All activity paused. The commotion within the crowd of refused applicants died down. Spaceport officials and staff halted what they were doing. Reporters stood quietly as cameras rolled. There were no loudspeaker countdowns, no showmanship. This was not a grand day of human achievement. This was a day of desperate actions.

  The first blast of heat rolled thick and heavy across the launch platform, then surged across the wide empty facility before it broke like an angry summer day. The crowd of applicants blinked and stepped backward, and when they returned to their homes later, the mud on their skin had been cooked away, and their skin had been browned. Still they remained, sweating in the lingering shimmery blur that engulfed them.

  Through that haze they watched mournfully as their lifeboat lifted into the sky.

  It seemed to move in slow motion, shedding the Earth like an unnecessary skin. It was a hulking, unattractive beast, this lifeboat, its bulk standing on thin rocket spindles that glowed white as they pushed the Earth away.

  It rose into the sky like an appliance, shaky and obese, covered with blinking lights of red and blue and gold.

  And then the secondary rockets flared with a resounding crack, and the ship ripped through the clouds and was gone.

  The heat remained for a time.

  The crowd, permanently Earthbound, were slower to leave. Nobody seemed ready to admit it was over, and they had failed to make it. It was as if god himself had returned to Earth, and had carried away just a handful of people. The rest milled about, purposeless. Most had nowhere to go. Some would kill themselves that very day, joined by other strangers rejected by spaceports all around the planet.

  What reason to live could be left?

  Earth's remnants slowly began to drown.

  Tasneem and Anjali sat together, snuggled close.

  Nobody in the passenger space had spoken. They gathered together around the windows and stared quietly down at the Earth as it fell away beneath them. The booster rockets disengaged and pinwheeled towards the seas below. It seemed as though the passengers were holding their breath.

  When the blue sky dimmed, and then turned black, the atmosphere within the ship changed, too.

  There were six thousand of them aboard. They were each freshly washed, and dressed in white linen robes. They were not unlike angels summoned into the heavens. All that was left was the unwrapping of their wings.

  Tasneem looked up at her mother's pretty face.

  Amma, she said. We made it?

  Almost, her mother said.

  Almost, Tasneem repeated. But soon?

  Very soon, her mother said.

  How do you say it again?

  Gah-neh-mead.

  Ganymede.

  Very good.

  It's pretty.

  Her mother nodded. Let's close our eyes and rest now, she said.

  While Anjali slept, Tasneem remained awake and stared through the window. She could not see any stars, but she could see part of the Earth, a swirled marble hanging in a sea of blackness.

  And at a great distance, she could see tiny sparks following her into the sky.

  Ships, she thought. Ships like mine.

  On that day, one hundred ships had set out for Ganymede. In the next six weeks, those ships would return to the Earth, scoop up more passengers, and return to the space station.

  Tasneem closed her eyes.

  The first wave of settlers were away.

  David

  And then what happened?

  My doctor contacted me -- I had called him earlier. I didn't really know who to talk to -- I was panicked, I guess.

  Did he come to the Upper Ward to meet you?

  He did.

  But he was too late.

  We were all too late.

  When you arrived, David Dewbury was already dead.

  Yes.

  Did your doctor -- Doctor Emil Widla, is that correct?

  That's -- yes. Doctor Widla.

  Did he say how Mr. Dewbury had died?

  Objection. Secondhand.

  I'll rephrase. Doctor Widla expressed an opinion about Mr. Dewbury's cause of death, is that correct?

  Yes.

  And what did Dr. Widla say?

  He said -- he said that David had been given Amrita.

  Amrita. Not Soma?

  No. Not Soma.

  Did you ask him what Amrita was?

  I did.

  And what did he say?

&
nbsp; He said that Amrita was a biologically-corrupt strain of Soma.

  Did you ask what that meant?

  He told me. I don't think I asked.

  What did he say about it?

  He said that Soma enhanced your DNA, but that Amrita was like white noise. He said it scrambled your DNA.

  Scrambled your DNA.

  Yes. That's what he said.

  Ms. Kyoh, did you see Mr. Dewbury inside the residence?

  Yes.

  And what was his condition?

  Please don't make me say.

  Ms. Kyoh, please answer the question.

  I -- he -- goddammit. He looked like something inside of him had exploded. It was horrible.

  Like some sort of bomb?

  No. Not like a bomb, not like with shrapnel or anything. It was like -- it was like a dye pack had exploded inside of him.

  How do you mean?

  Just under his skin, all over his body, everything had turned an awful purple-black. Like he had rotted inside, and you could almost see through his skin.

  And how long did Dr. Widla think he had been dead?

  Objection. Speculative.

  Overruled. Continue.

  Let me ask again. How long did Dr. Emil Widla think that Mr. Dewbury had been dead?

  He said David had been dead for probably fifteen minutes.

  Fifteen minutes. And his condition, did that look recent to you?

  Jesus. He looked like -- it was like he had been dead for days. It was so awful.

  And can you tell us, while you were in the residence, did you see any sign of Mr. Bogleman?

  No. It was like nobody lived there at all. It was completely empty.

  And the glass walls, were they transparent when you entered?

  No. They were opaque.

  So it was dark inside.

  Mostly, yes.

  And you're sure you didn't see Mr. Bogleman?

  I'm positive. It was just David.

  What about Mrs. Dewbury? She wasn't present?

  No. Audra wasn't there.

  But you saw her later?

  They haven't allowed me to see her.

  By they, you mean the hospital staff, correct?

  Yes. Nobody will let me see her. She must be so scared.

  And why is Mrs. Dewbury in the hospital?

  I don't know.

  You were told something, though.

  Yes.

  What was it?

  I was told that she had suffered a mental break.

  Administrator Dewbury.

  Yes.

  And do you believe that to be true?

  I don't know. I can't see her. She's a strong woman, but --

  But?

  If that had happened to my significant other, I probably would have had a mental break as well.

  Ms. Kyoh, one last question. Do you still intend to have the treatment? Do you still intend to take Soma?

  I --

  Please answer the question.

  I do. Yes, I do.

  No more questions. Thank you, Ms. Kyoh.

  The deposition is broadcast throughout the fleet -- not only on Aries, but on Ganymede and Cassiopeia, too. Within minutes of its ending, Tasneem's wrist is vibrating ceaselessly. She presses until the vibrations stop, and exhales slowly. She's standing in a surprisingly quiet room on the eighth level of the attorney's office, looking down at the concourse below. There's a small crowd, most of them journalists. There are a few blogbots hovering at the edge of the gathering.

  She'll wait a few minutes to see how many leave.

  The lawyer who interviewed her leans into the room. Tasneem, are you okay?

  Tasneem turns. Just taking a moment before I go outside. There's not a back entrance or anything, is there?

  I'm sorry, no. I'm afraid I'll need this room in about ten minutes, unfortunately.

  Tasneem says, Of course.

  The lawyer nods and ducks out of the room again.

  On the concourse she can see a few signs, but she's too high to read them. There aren't enough people gathered to make a scene, but she's dreading the gauntlet anyway. She's never been a person of interest to the media before, and she's reluctant to begin now.

  She bows her head. If only Audra was here with her now.

  And poor, sad David.

  She doesn't allow herself to cry.

  Not in this room. Not until she is home, in her quiet apartment with its quiet walls and its cool floors and pale light. There, in her safest place, she will mourn her friend.

  Blair is in the lobby, but she almost walks right by him.

  Tasneem, he says, touching her hand.

  She stops. Oh. Hey.

  Hey. You okay? That was -- that seemed difficult.

  You saw it?

  I think everybody saw it. David was pretty important to these people.

  Tasneem looks past Blair to the crowd outside. Yeah, she says.

  You alright? he asks again.

  She shifts her focus to Blair. Are you asking as a friend or as a journalist?

  Well, not as a journalist. Are we friends?

  They don't look like they're going to be very nice to me, she says, nodding towards the reporters waiting outside.

  Maybe not, Blair agrees. They don't know you like I do.

  You don't know me at all, Tasneem says.

  Well, yet.

  I don't know what that means, Tasneem says. You're bothering me.

  I can help get you through the crowd, if you like.

  She eyes Blair suspiciously. How?

  There, Blair announces. Pretty good, huh?

  That snarky bitch, Tasneem says. She lied to me.

  Blair turns around in the doorway. What?

  Nothing. The lawyer, Tasneem says. She said there wasn't another exit.

  And you believed her? You ever hear of something called a fire code? Been around for a few million years, still governs how buildings have to handle escape routes?

  Shut up, says Tasneem, but she smiles.

  Alright, Blair says. A smile. Nice.

  He steps back and holds the door for her. Tasneem pokes her head out. They've emerged in a quiet corridor between the law firm and the tower beside it. There are no reporters in sight.

  That was pretty cool, Tasneem says.

  Miss Kohhhh!

  Look out! Blair says, snatching Tasneem back from the doorway. A blogbot dives in too fast and almost collides with the door. The bot wings it, and ricochets out into the concourse, where it's clipped by a boy on a personal deck.

  The bot hits the ground with a metallic thunk, bounces a few times, and stops. The screen on its face points toward the sky.

  Miss Kohhhh, it squeals again. A few words! Where are you? What happened?

  Tasneem steps forward without thinking.

  Wait a second there, Blair says, taking her arm. What are you doing?

  Tasneem shakes her head to clear the cobwebs. Instinct, I guess.

  It's not a real person, Blair says. I mean -- well, yes, okay, it is. But that's just a floating avatar for some blogger back in his apartment.

  How do you know it's a he? Tasneem says.

  Well, Blair says. I guess because it sounded like a guy's voice? Also, I saw the screen before it hit the door. Skinny kid, red hair. Blogger.

  I hate journalists, Tasneem says, picking up her bag from the ground.

  Hold up there, Blair says. You're talking to one.

  I was specifically talking about that one, Tasneem says, pointing at the sputtering bot. And those vultures who were waiting to pounce on me.

  Okay, two things now, Blair says. One, I'm a journalist. That thing -- he points at the bot -- is most definitely not. And two, you don't know anything about wildlife. Vultures? That pounce? Where did you study, on Neptune?

  They don't have vultures on Neptune, Tasneem says. Can we go now, please?

  Alright, fine, Blair says. But if there are vultures on Neptune, I'm pretty sure they don't pounce there, eithe
r.

  Shut up, Tasneem says.

  Bound, maybe, but pounce? Not likely.

  From the concourse, Blair and Tasneem catch the fast-track to juncture three. Blair makes a move to stand beside Tasneem, but she turns and says, I'd really like a few moments to myself.

  Okay, Blair says.

  It's just that -- okay, today's been a little rough. And I really appreciate you getting me past the reporters, but I just need some quiet time.

  Okay, Blair says.

  It's nothing personal.

  I didn't think it was, Blair says.

  Tasneem studies him for a moment. I'm going to go stand over there.

  I'll be standing right here.

  She smiles. Thank you.

  The fast-track hums along. Tasneem leans on a window and exhales. From here she can see across the gap that forms the central hole in Aries's ring design. The far side of Aries is a thin ribbon, distant and small. As rapidly as the fast-track moves, it will take almost an hour to reach juncture three.

  She closes her eyes.

  She almost drifts into sleep, and then she remembers the calls that she had missed. Without opening her eyes, she presses her wrist, then squeezes twice to begin playback of the recordings logged. Unsurprisingly, there are more than twenty messages, and most of them are from reporters and strangers. One is even from Blair, telling her that he'd be waiting for her in the lobby of the attorney's building.

  The reporters want the same thing -- exclusives.

  Fat lot of good an exclusive will do you when I've just had my deposition broadcast to the entire fleet, Tasneem thinks.

  The next few messages are just the same.

  Miss Kyoh, a few questions.

  Tasneem, our viewers are interested in you.

  We'd like to get inside the relationship you had with David Dewbury and Audra Salter.

  Please call.

  Call us immediately.

  Let's meet for coffee and discuss what this means for you.

  She sighs.

  The next message is from David.

  Tasneem. It's David.

  She listens to the message again and again, and the shock doesn't seem to wear off. It can't be real, can it? How could it possibly be real?

  There's only one reason you're receiving this message. I'm sorry. I know you liked me. I liked you, too. I had a feeling the treatment might go badly, and I should have waited for a better option for myself, I know I should have -- but I couldn't.