Mission: Tomorrow

by Bryan Thomas Schmidt

  His face switched to singing, dancing, rainbow-colored candy bears waving banners of toilet paper.

  Henry plopped beside Ethel, a bag of freshly popped popcorn in his hand. “What’d I miss?”

  “Nothing yet, just Calton Hooper’s intro.” Ethel popped a handful of the white fluff (now with 72% more fiber!) into her mouth. She grimaced. “Why can’t they leave it as popcorn? What’s this flavor?”

  Henry looked at the bag. “Licorice root. It was on sale.”

  The bears concluded their animated commercial. Calton Hooper’s perfect features replaced them.

  Ethel tapped the massage controls as the announcer’s voice filled the air.

  “Four months ago, from these very docks—” the camera cut to an outside shot full of space-suited figures, plastered with the blue and white Sporting Club logo, clambering over the space yachts of the rich and famous “—we launched seven crews into the black void of space. The crews were focused on one thing: Winning the Ultimate Race, brought to you tonight by Cheeritos, the world’s favorite cheez snack.”

  The show cut to another commercial.

  “I wish they hadn’t disabled the commercial skip,” Henry said through a mouthful of licorice popcorn.

  “’It would have cost us three months’ rent for the premium subscription to enable that.” Ethel had been sorely tempted, but sometimes the commercials were the best part of the show. She secretly hoped that the body spray man would be featured tonight. He was her favorite, his one-minute romances clever and sigh-worthy.

  Henry chewed another handful of popcorn while orange puffy triangles drifted over New York’s skyline. “Those things are disgusting. They did a study last month showing they caused cancer.”

  “Mm-hm.” Ethel tuned out Henry’s complaints. She’d heard them too many times over the years. She relaxed into the Cuddle-Couch(TM) and let the massager do its work.

  Calton Hooper switched to a recap of the season, cutting to scenes of the crews of the yachts as they prepared to launch from the floating station of sin, as Ethel’s friend Betty called it. Logos of all the sponsoring companies decorated the interiors of the ships. Their products filled the crews’ lives. Their commercials punctuated the reality show’s footage.

  Calton walked them through the initial days of the race, when the crews fought over limited living space. It sounded so romantic, a race to Mars’ moon Phobos and back. The prize money was nothing to sneeze at, but Ethel wasn’t sure she would have survived being part of any of the crews. Especially not the college frat boy ship. She didn’t approve of their choice of interior decorations, provided by their sponsors. Beer companies and porno sites were not appropriate for such a family-centered show as the Ultimate Race.

  “What was that?” Henry spoke through his popcorn. “You said something?”

  Ethel wisely didn’t repeat herself. Henry thought the frat boys were hilarious. “Betty posted pictures of her dogs on the beach in Fiji. We should take a trip there someday. It looked lovely.”

  Henry hmphed, his answer whenever she brought up her friend’s travel posts.

  “Maybe we should save up for a trip to New Vegas. I’d like that.”

  Calton Hooper narrated the incident of the stolen chocolate stash on board the all-female ship. The women were all middle-aged hairdressers, sponsored by every beauty product known to man. They’d dropped out and had to be towed back to New Vegas after only ten days. The show cut to a live interview of the women sitting in a casino in New Vegas. They reminisced about the show, hugging and crying. Ethel rolled her eyes. The women had done nothing but fight like wet cats.

  Calton broke into the canned interview. He tapped his earbud (D-Audible, only the best sound for your delicate ears), his expression serious. “We’ve just received word that the last two yachts have passed the Moon’s orbit safely. It’s neck-and-neck between the Butterfly Effect and Gone Fishin’ Today. Who will win tonight? We’ll keep you posted.”

  “Should have been the Beer Can.”

  “Oh, please. Those boys couldn’t do anything right. I wonder if they ever got home from Mars.”

  “I’m sure they’ll update us.” Henry stirred the unpopped kernels with his finger. They rattled in the bowl. “I kind of like the licorice flavor. I’ll pick up more tomorrow.”

  “Tasted like cough drops to me.”

  The show cut to Calton interviewing the crew of Lucky Lady, New Vegas’ entry that had sputtered out of the competition halfway through the show. A combination of not enough food, a leaky water tank, and faulty wiring had shut down their ship three days shy of Mars. The crew looked much healthier now. They were still at Mars; all three couples told Calton they wanted to stay and file for homesteads in the Martian desert.

  Ethel fidgeted despite the massaging seat. The endless stream of commercials never stopped. Scrolling texts and pictures filled the bottom of the screen, even during the interviews. Ethel wished they’d just hurry up and get to the finale. She was rooting for her favorite, the captain of the Butterfly Effect. She didn’t care for his crew of engineers and scientists, they were very competent but a little too weird for her tastes. But Captain Shan Updike could give the body spray man a run for his money.

  The show switched music tracks to a solemn funeral dirge while they paid homage to Homer’s Revenge. Two of the crew had died in a horrible explosion. Ethel closed her eyes and fantasized about the swarthy Captain Updike and Body Spray Man instead. She hadn’t liked that episode or the days of news stories afterwards. The people who signed up for the Ultimate Race knew the dangers. It was their own fault, anyway. Ethel would never trust her life to a ship built by breakfast cereal companies and office furniture retailers.

  The show dragged on through more interviews and highlights. Calton Hooper updated them every few minutes on the progress of the two remaining yachts as they approached the final finish line.

  Henry returned from a bathroom break, flopping onto his side of the Cuddle-Couch(TM). “I was talking to Harv the other day while he was out trimming his hedge. He said it takes at least a full day to get from the Moon to New Vegas. They’re lying to you when they say this is live. It’s all staged and fake. Lenny at work says they film it all on a soundstage behind the casinos.”

  Ethel pursed her lips. “Lenny has a few screws loose. He tried to convince you that the food industry is poisoning us into becoming robot drones by putting addictive colorings in everything.”

  “That was Kevin. Lenny just thinks that New Vegas is a scam and the show is fake.”

  “It’s real. Both David Lorenzo and Anita Kay had scientists on their shows talking about how it couldn’t have been faked. They said this was the future of space travel—game shows and company sponsorships. They’re talking about doing a reality show at the Ganymede mining base next year. Scientists vs. Miners. I think it sounds interesting. Calton Hooper is in negotiations to host the show, but they say he’s asking for too much money. Twenty-seven million per episode is what I heard.” Ethel secretly hoped the producers would get Body Spray Man to host it. She could watch him flex his muscles for hours.

  Calton Hooper broke into a prerecorded interview. His face was flushed with excitement. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a sighting, live and in person here at Sporting Club’s docks at New Vegas. Stay and play and make memories to last a lifetime. The winner of the Ultimate Race is about to be determined. Remember, the race isn’t won—”

  “Until it’s won,” Ethel finished the show’s slogan. She chewed her fingernail as the show built the suspense. Would it be the ship of scientists and engineers captained by the handsome Shan Updike, a long-time competitor in the sailing races on Earth’s oceans? Or would it be the ship of bearded outdoorsmen used to roughing it for weeks at a time as they pursued the best fishing spots in the most inaccessible corners of the continents? Stay tuned through these commercial breaks.

  The cameras panned over the docks while Calton recapped the last dozen transmissions from the two ships. Th
e camera shifted to a shot of darkness with the Earth glimmering at one edge of the screen. The Moon floated serenely in the far distance. Ethel straightened. The Cuddle-Couch(TM) adjusted the floating holographic projection to match her viewing angle.

  Arrows appeared, pointing out two small dots.

  Calton’s voice tightened with practiced excitement. “Ladies and gentlemen, you are witnessing history today. The first ever ultimate race to Mars and back is coming to an end. And it’s going to be a photo-finish. Butterfly Effect and Gone Fishin’ Today are closing in on New Vegas. You can see they’ve just come into view now. Both ships have to slow down and match orbits with the station. It’s up to the captains and the skill of their crews now. Too much speed and they might miss the station. Neither has enough fuel to correct such an error. It would take three days for a rescue ship to catch up with them.” He paused while the cameras switched to a shot of the waiting dock workers. “One mistake at this stage of the race could cost them more than the victory. It could cost the lives of the crew and the dedicated workers you see here. Space, ladies and gentlemen, is no place for error, as we’ve seen tonight. Those who don’t have what it takes have failed. Those who do will win. No matter which ship docks first, both of these crews—” the screen switched to the publicity photos of the two crews taken before launch “—have proven themselves worthy of this trophy. But, there can only be one winner.”

  Calton’s face filled the screen. “They’ve battled against incredible odds for four months, and it all comes down to the next few minutes. Do they have the skill and the guts for glory?”

  The show cut to another montage of commercials.

  Ethel flopped back into the massaging cushions with a groan. “How long are they going to drag this out?”

  “The broadcast has another fifteen minutes. I need a beer. Want me to grab you something?”

  Ethel shook her head.

  Henry shuffled off to the kitchen.

  Ethel nibbled her fingernail while the commercial messages filled her screen. A chat-box (powered by Tweeble, the new face of social networking) popped up in the corner. Betty’s face grinned from the box. Ethel debated about ignoring the call, but only for a moment. Betty would make her life miserable for weeks if she didn’t connect. She tapped the armrest.

  “Ethel? You’ll never believe what happened to me today.” Betty patted her perfectly set, perfectly blond hair (brought to you by Clairvoyance, for the most natural appearance artificial hair dye can give, not tested on animals, safe for the environment). “You remember Donald, down at the megamart? Well, I was there today, just picking up a few groceries for my party tomorrow. You know how it is. You think you’ve got plenty of asparagus, then find out six people are coming, not the three who responded, so now you’ve got to pick up more. Oh, that reminds me. Are you and Henry going to make it?”

  Ethel refrained from rolling her eyes, although it was sorely tempting. “We live in Albuquerque, Betty. And you live in Florida. We appreciate you inviting us, but no, we aren’t coming in person.”

  Calton’s face appeared on the screen, but the chat-box kept him muted. Ethel shifted impatiently.

  “Bummer,” Betty said. “Anyway, back to my story. There I was, squeezing my asparagus, when Donald shows up. He’s got a cart and he bumps me with it. I made sure he would. He was so intent on the citrus that he didn’t even see me. Can you believe that?” She paused to giggle. “Well, there we were. I let out a little shriek, not a loud one, just a little oh-you-bumped-me startled one, and pretended to be hurt. He started apologizing. It was so sweet of him. Have I told you how adorable he is? Not as good-looking as that guy in the commercial you’re always posting, thanks for that by the way, now I’m addicted to his spots, but cute in his own rich-retired-dude-with-plenty-of-cash kind of way. He loves dogs, did I tell you that already?”

  Ethel tried desperately to read Calton’s lips while her friend rambled. The show cut to the shot of space again. The dots were noticeably bigger and closer. They almost looked like ships now, but they were too far away to tell which ship was which.

  “Ethel, I swear you’re ignoring me. Did you hear what I just said? Donald is coming to my party tomorrow, and he’s bringing fresh quiche. He cooks! How awesome is that?”

  Ethel bit her fingernail as the tiny ships swelled on the screen. The camera zoom was fuzzy with the distance.

  “I know you aren’t listening, Ethel, ‘cause you’re chewing your nails. What are you watching?”

  “Listen, Betty, I have to go. Call me later and tell me all about Donald, okay?”

  Fire blossomed from one of the ships. It veered towards the other ship.

  “But Ethel, I think Donald may be the one. Finally. And to think it all started over asparagus. Did I tell you he—”

  “Bye, Betty.”

  Ethel killed the chat-box. She’d apologize later to her friend, but right now the ships on the screen had her full attention. Calton’s voice came back as the call disconnected.

  “—just heard. A fire has broken out on one of the ships. We’ve lost contact with both, but that should be restored soon.”

  Commercial sponsor messages flashed urgently around the edges of the screen. Calton’s face appeared in a box to one side. The cameras stayed focused on the ships, still fuzzy with distance, as their paths converged. Which one was on fire? And who was hurt?

  Calton frowned as he tapped his earbud. “Our team tracking the ships say they may collide. We still don’t know what happened. An explosion in the fuel lines is the most likely explanation according to the engineering teams who built these ships. Our techs are working on the communication lines.”

  “Henry? Come quick. There’s been an accident.” Ethel couldn’t help the shakiness of her voice.

  Henry walked through the projected image of the ships and advertising sponsors.

  Ethel waved him impatiently to his seat. “Something exploded on one of the yachts.”

  “Not the fishing boat?”

  Ethel shook her head. “They don’t know yet.” She stared at the holograph, her stomach twisting with dread as the two ships drifted closer.

  Calton’s words washed over her, barely registering. “We have radio contact with Butterfly. They’re leaking atmosphere. Rescue ships are on their way, but they may not arrive in time. But the crew is ready with their emergency gear. Remember, these crews have trained and drilled for emergencies. Every precaution is in place, ladies and gentlemen. We’re standing by with—”

  His voice died as the two ships rammed into each other. It happened slowly, like ballerinas in slow motion colliding. The cameras caught the puff of vapor as it froze in a cloud around the ships. Pieces of both ships spun loose, a cloud of debris expanding slowly into space.

  Ethel bit her knuckle. This couldn’t be happening, couldn’t be real. Space travel was mostly safe these days. Wasn’t it? The two crew members who died on the other ship were stupid and made poor choices. But these two ships, they were all smart people, trained for these things and very careful. How could this happen?

  Betty’s face popped up in the chat-box again. Ethel tapped ignore.

  Calton’s frown vanished, replaced by relief. “We have word that both crews are safe. They made it into the escape pod just before collision. We have contact with Captain Smith and Captain Updike. They report that all crew members are accounted for. There were injuries, though. We’ll bring you updates as we receive them. Rescue vehicles are undocking from New Vegas as we speak.”

  Henry sniffed. “It’s all a publicity stunt, you know. They don’t want to pay out the prize money. It’s rigged. Lenny says—”

  Ethel removed her knuckle from her mouth long enough to tell Henry what his friend Lenny could do with his conspiracy theories.

  Henry sat with his mouth hanging open at her words. He snapped it closed after a long moment. “It’s just a show, sweetheart.”

  Ethel shook her head, her objections vague. “It’s more than that, Hen
ry.”

  “They’ll do a season two. Ultimate Race to Venus or something.” He patted her hand.

  The holographic screen showed a close-up of Calton’s concerned face as he reassured the audience that everything was under control. Ethel wiped a tear. She’d say a prayer for the safety of those people tonight.

  And when they found out who was responsible, she vowed never to buy their products again. She had standards.

  Henry patted her hand again before leaving the room.

  Ethel tapped the chat-box icon, placing a call to Betty.

  Betty answered immediately. “Ethel? What is going on with you? You ignored me.”

  “Did you see what happened on Ultimate Race just now?”

  “You were watching?”

  Ethel shook her head. “Such a tragedy, but they say everyone survived. So, tell me about Donald squeezing your asparagus.”

  Betty dimpled when she smiled. “I never said he squeezed my asparagus. He bumped me with his cart. He is so gorgeous when he’s apologizing.”

  Ethel let her friend ramble, only half-listening. Ultimate Race shifted from Calton’s concerned look and shots of the doomed yachts to commercial messages. Henry was right. Commercial sponsorships would fund more shows. And people would travel farther and more dangerously. And Ethel would watch from her CuddleCouch(TM), safely and vicariously living their adventures. It was the way it should be.

  Jaleta Clegg loves to tell stories about all sorts of fantastical things, from rockets and aliens to ogres and unicorns to green gelatin blobs and evil collectible figurines. When she’s not spinning stories, she’s figuring out how to teach kids about science and astronomy. She enjoys playing the piano and organ for her local church, crocheting monsters and cute little Cthulhus, and cooking weird vegetables for the fun of it. She lives in Utah with a diminishing horde of children, too many pets, and a very patient husband. Find more of her work at http://www.jaletac.com.