Natural Selection

© Michael Simon 2023

Mars exploded at 01:43 AM, Eastern Standard Time.

In Mission Control, chaos erupted when the initial readings flashed across multiple wall-mounted screens. Scientists hastily retasked deep space satellites and waited nervously until images confirmed the impossible; an immense field of rocky debris occupied the space where the fourth planet once stood.

From the bridge of Freedom, we witnessed the collision in real time; the largest since the formation of our early solar system. It was sheer luck that the station’s cameras captured the moment the massive asteroid collided with the red planet. We dutifully beamed the classified pictures to Houston. One hour later, someone leaked them to the world.

And everything went to shit.

#

I clipped the red cable and wrapped it around the black one . . . or tried to. Working inside the electrical panel in zero-G was like wrestling an octopus. Wires behaved like slippery tentacles, constantly twisting themselves into knots. To add to my misery, I needed a third hand to keep from floating away.

After ninety minutes of expletive-filled frustration, I sat back and wiped a dirty sleeve across my forehead. The spliced leads resembled a series of electrical tumors, ugly and bulky. Sheer size prevented the panel door from closing so I used a piece of cloth to tie it snug to the wall. At least the sharp edges wouldn't sever what few circuits remained operational.

I punched the intercom.  “Bypass is completed. Initialize navigation and say your best prayer.”

Jenny was at the controls in the Bridge Module. “Bout time, Ash. We thought you drifted out of an airlock or something.”

I was too tired to reply. It had been a tedious job at the end of another long day, and all I wanted to do was sleep. The light on one of the external sensors shifted from red to green. I waited, but no sparks erupted out of the panel.

“Nav is back online,” Jenny said. “Good work, Ash.”

I snapped off the intercom and floated toward the door. Passing the aft portal, I stopped to stare at the planet two hundred miles below.

All I saw was a round ball of mud.

#

It was sheer luck that saved us during those early days. The explosion of an entire planet produced billions of projectiles hurtling toward Sol and the inner planets. A galactic hailstorm with pellets the size of mountains. Fortunately, Earth’s orbit took us around the sun before a slew of massive missiles rained down, like an old western movie where the hero ducks behind the building before bullets shred him like a piñata.

Scientists ran the numbers and concluded that the asteroid had a mass greater than twice that of our moon. Debris crashing into the sun actually caused the star to wobble on its axis. Although Earth emerged unscathed, by the time we completed our rotation around Sol, the planetary bombardment had claimed another victim. Mercury was nowhere to be found.

#

It’s a fact of nature, when one male and two females live in a confined space, rules have to be followed. I never understood the details and I didn’t ask. It was enough that the rules worked.

Despite her naked body nestled against mine, the long day had exacted a toll. I needed rest. Jenny, however, tossed and turned for an hour. Finally, I rose on one elbow. “Okay, spill it. What’s on your mind?”

At a stocky five-foot-nine, Jenny was only two inches shorter and a few pounds lighter than my lean, middle-aged frame. Still, the weight of command had chiselled fine lines across her forehead and shot streaks of gray through her blonde locks.

“Sorry, Ash.” She twisted around until her eyes met mine. “Guess I'm still worked up. When guidance went offline, I thought we were done.”

A cold shiver crept up my spine. “Yeah,” I grunted. “We’d be hitting the atmosphere right about now.”

We lay quiet for a few minutes before she reached over and tapped my engineering coveralls hanging on the wall. A tiny giggle slipped out. “Mel says that with all the rips and patches on this thing, you look like Li'l Abner from Dogpatch.”

“Really?” I bristled. “Maybe Mel should rewire the next electrical panel that shorts out.”

“Relax.” She elbowed me in the ribs. “It's just a joke. What else can the two of us do while you're out there trying to prolong our existence?”

“Thanks, Dr. Freud.”

“Speaking of which,” she poked me again. “You've been rather hard on Mel lately. How about cutting her some slack?”

Faint starlight through the portal illuminated her sharp features, pointed cheeks and a thin nose. Cute rather than pretty. “I'm an engineer, Jen. I deal in facts. The particle concentration in the upper atmosphere hasn’t changed. When she gives her weekly updates, it’s like she's rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic.”

“So, let her. We're payload specialists, remember. Our job was to perform experiments?”

“I know,” I sighed. “Not your fault. It got crazy fast . . .”

She nodded in understanding. “I don't mind the occasional naysayer, just don't steal Mel's optimism. All things considered, it's one of the few bright spots we've got left.”

#

Jenny reached across the table and passed me the hydrogenised concoction that was labelled potato scallop. The mixture of carbs and protein tasted more like warm dishwater than a nutritious supplement. After two years of manufactured mush, I’d give my left nut for a steak.

“Where's Mel?” I asked.

Jenny jerked a finger aft. “Working on the IR sensor. She identified a strong depression moving across the Rockies and––”

“Let me guess,” I said, sarcasm oozing out. “She's hoping it'll act like Moses parting the Red Sea, and we'll be able to identify a land mass.”

Her lips folded into a frown. “Have you forgotten our discussion? The fact is, she's not giving up.”

“Hey.” I spread my hands on the table. “Nobody's giving up, but performing those measurements is an exercise in futility. You and I both know the crap in the atmosphere is still thick enough to block sunlight.”

Jenny sagged in her seat, and I felt a twinge of guilt. Technically, she was in charge, and part of that job involved maintaining crew morale.

She tugged an errant strand of blonde hair behind her ear and changed topics. “I see you got the CO2 scrubber back online. I was getting nervous.”

I swallowed a lumpy mouthful of scallop and made a face. “I had to cannibalize the backup oxygen sensor for parts.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

I shrugged. The job took most of the morning but the CO2 levels had stabilized. “The oxygen backup isn’t much use if rising CO2 put us into a coma.”

Jenny nodded and went back to her meal. As the sole engineer, I was the one she trusted to keep the hunk-of-junk flying.

“Hey!” I suddenly remembered. “I used the rest of that sensor unit to refit one of the escape pods.”

Jenny eyebrows peaked. “Now who's the optimist?”

In the tight confines of the Crew Module, her smile was like the sun breaking through the clouds.

#

The rock that destroyed Mars turned out to be only the first drop in a gathering storm. As Earth rotated around the sun, NASA scientists scanned the heavens and pieced together the essential facts; an immense cloud of asteroids had entered the solar system, the sheer volume enough to convince even the staunchest sceptic that the rock fragments must have been part of an enormous planet at some point in the distant past. Until some catastrophic event saw it destroyed. The resulting debris circled the sun in an elliptical orbit that sporadically crossed paths with the inner planets. The last such encounter occurred sixty-five million years ago.

#

“Okay.” I pointed a finger at my closest cynic. “Let's finish this. I'll wager a million dollars, a Ferrari, and all the chocolate left in New York that it will be the insects.”

Mel arched an eyebrow, her subtle way of commenting on my mental state. “You're daft,” she said in her clipped British accent. “The amphibians have a selective advantage—utilizing water as a protective barrier. They'll survive the long winter.”

“That's how much you two understand nature,” Jenny said. She took a sip of her vegetable broth. “First of all, insects are too low on the evolutionary ladder to ever become a dominant species. Second, amphibians can barely survive a sneeze. Look at frogs, every time there's a mercury spill, they lose half their females.”

I snickered.

Mel folded her arms across her chest. “Since I’m the only biologist on the station, I’ll tell you about natural selection . . .”

I cleared my throat, cutting through the debate. There was a question that needed answering. “How were the numbers?”

The women exchanged a look.

“A little better,” Mel attempted a smile. “Particle concentration is down over the poles.”

“Doesn’t count,” I said, irritated by her evasiveness. “What about the continents? Where people actually live.”

The astronaut from England dropped her gaze as she tightened the elastic around her ponytail. “No change,” she murmured.

Metal screeched on the floor as I pushed my chair back. “Which means­­––”

“Nothing," Jenny snapped. Unlike Mel, she could handle my caustic disposition. “The atmospheric density is decreasing." She held up a hand before I could interrupt. “Yes, plant life on the continents is struggling because the sun's heat can't get through, however, computer-based simulations predict the prevailing weather patterns will slowly drag the particulates out to sea."

“Not fast enough”" I said. “Survivors are starving by now.”

“Thank you for reminding us,” Jenny said.

Mel let her head fall into her hands. Her shoulders started to tremble and I felt like a jerk.

#

The military had some initial success with lasers and warheads, blowing apart dozens of the cursed rocks. But with the sheer number raining down on our planet, it was a drop in the ocean.

Freedom's Commander took his own life exactly one week after a big one hit Moscow, killing his family and two million of his closest friends. They had less than ten minutes warning. The explosion and subsequent firestorm left everything within a five-mile radius a smouldering pile of slag and ash.

Most of the other major cities followed in short order; London, Paris, New York, Beijing . . . the bombardment so intense no human settlement emerged unscathed. Some impacts were huge, some small, but everyone suffered. Survivors went to ground, gritted their teeth, and hung on.

Before global communication failed, scientists predicted the asteroid storm would last two weeks. Over millennium, gravitational forces had reined in the fragments, producing a highly concentrated yet narrow band. The bombardment would be intense but brief.

By day thirteen, Freedom was the last satellite still in orbit, having survived a score of near misses. And with the number of asteroids dwindling, a sense of relief settled among the crew.

Until the big one.

By the time Freedom detected her, she was only six hours out. A kilometer wide, the rock heralded an extinction-level event. Jenny dutifully reported the sighting to Houston. They didn't bother to broadcast a warning over the shortwave.

The impact in the Ural Mountains rivalled anything Hollywood could produce. Dust and dirt filled the atmosphere within days. In less than a week, North America was covered. Ten days after the asteroid walloped the planet, we lost contact with Earth.

#

I was asleep when Mel slipped into my cabin, and it was only her quiet sobbing that woke me. For several minutes, I watched her stare out the portal at our wounded planet, tears running down her cheeks. I knew I should sit up and hold her, but I was emotionally exhausted. Two years surviving on borrowed time had turned me into a caricature of a human being.

"We're not going to make it are we?" she asked quietly. "Mankind, I mean. Most have died already. The rest are starving." She squeezed her eyes shut. "That’s billions of people.”

I finally summoned the strength to bring her into my arms. Unlike Jenny, she was tiny, built like a gymnast. “There's always hope,” I said. "Humans have survived wars and plagues and worse."

“But nothing like this.” She sniffed. “Those rocks destroyed the dinosaurs. Now they’re doing the same to us.” Another tear rolled down her cheek.

“Let’s focus on the small things," I said, stroking her hair. “Tomorrow, you can help me recalibrate the CO2 scrubbers. After that we'll tackle the aft stabilizer.”

She turned. “Jenny told me you're making progress with the escape pods.”

“A little,” I admitted. “I'm picking up pieces as they become available. I figure we’ll be ready by the end of the decade.”

She snorted. We both knew the lifespan of Freedom was probably measured in months. The station had only survived this long because of strategically placed duct tape and bailing wire.

“Why are you working on only two?" she asked.

I leaned back in the bed, taking her with me. “When that rock penetrated the Lab Module, it caused a flash fire. The extreme heat fused the metal casing in the escape pods to the ejection shaft. Only two pods remain functional, if I can fix them.”

“Oh.”

I knew she didn't completely understand. However, it was enough for her to know I had legitimate reasons for the work I was doing. I held her until she drifted off.

#

The last two members of our team, a pair of French scientists, were working in the Lab Module when a rock punched a fist-sized hole in the wall. Once I re-pressurized the module, Jenny helped me clean up the remains. Decompression may be a quick way to go but, by God, it’s not a pretty one.

By the third week, it became apparent we had survived another encounter with the interstellar equivalent of the Mongolian Horde. The Solar System emerged two planets lighter, and with Earth's dominant species on life support.

While I fought the daily battle to keep the station flying, Mel and Jenny recalibrated and reoriented the sensors, and used them to map out electronic signals on the surface. Instead of using the multi-trillion-dollar space station to explore the universe, we tasked it to check for life on our homeworld. After two years, we had a good idea of what pockets of civilization still existed. Month by month, however, those electronic signatures gradually disappeared which, ironically, paralleled our species descent into oblivion.

#

“How's Mel doing?” I asked as Jenny floated into her seat at the table. She didn't make eye contact, and I could sense her unease.

She played with her breakfast, trying to summon an appetite. Finally, she met my gaze. “I'm worried about her.”

“Haven’t see her in days.” I said.

“She’s depressed,” Jenny replied. “And with Freedom breaking down every five minutes, who can blame her?”

When I didn't answer, she grabbed my hand. “All right, Ash, give me your best-case scenario. How long do we have?”

“Best case?” I ran my hands through my hair. “Okay, best case involves the failure of one of the structural supports. They took a pounding during that second week. As soon as one strut gives up the ghost, the rotational thrusters will be forced to fire to prevent gyratory tilt. If the station drifts even a few degrees, because of the damaged solar panels, we'll lose our energy from the sun and, with it, our power. The altitude jets will exhaust their fuel reserves, and the station will begin to tumble. At that point, we’ll fall out of orbit and hit the atmosphere at seventeen-thousand miles-per-hour.”

Jenny shuddered. “That's the best-case scenario?”

I kept my expression neutral despite suffering nightmares about this stuff. “Only because it means the rest of my bandaid jobs hold up, and the struts are probably good for a few more months. Then again, the seals could go tomorrow, or the oxygen tanks or . . .”

“I get it.” She threw up her hands. “Spare me the details.”

I sat back, suddenly drained. “Now do you see why it's hard for me not to comment every time Mel starts talking about a three-parts-per-million difference in the particle count? Our civilization is dying, and we're cursed to watch it from the front row.”

She rubbed her eyes. “Humans hate to fail.”

“Survival instinct,” I said. “Unfortunately, the genetic coding in our DNA didn't take into account an encounter with a kilometer-wide asteroid.”

“Yes,” she glanced out the portal as sunrise illuminated the dirty edge of the planet. “That is too bad.”

#

The only reason Freedom survived at all was because Earth acted as a shield during the worst of the asteroid storm. Even so, the station sustained significant damage. I rerouted circuits to maintain essential systems, and powered down modules to conserve energy. At last count, I had sealed over a hundred hull punctures.

Most nights, I laid awake listening to the death groans of the station. The constant creaks and rattles sounded like rusted chains twisting in the wind. Despite the odds, Freedom continued to limp along, like a cancer patient in a Palliative Care Ward.

#

Weeks passed. Mel grew increasingly despondent and, at times, Jenny seemed equally distraught. Imprisoned hundreds of miles from home, we watched the death of our species in slow motion, all the while waiting for Freedom to tumble into the atmosphere. Most of my engineering board resembled a Christmas Tree with numerous red, warning lights.

I wasn't a physician, but I could read the signs. Even highly trained astronauts have a limit. The girls had reached the end of their tether, and no white knight waited in the wings. Mankind was following the path of the dodo bird, and that included the astronauts on Freedom.

Somebody needed to make a decision.

#

I had my head buried in the innards of an escape pod when Jenny appeared in the engineering module.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” I asked, wiping grease on my coveralls. “When's the last time you ventured into the bowels of the station?”

She scanned the room. “I like what you've done with the place.”

I chuckled. Rows of partially dissembled computer terminals occupied most of the floor, under wires strung like ancient clotheslines. The place would warm the heart of any mad scientist.

“You've been spending more time down here lately,” she said. “I was wondering if something was wrong.”

I stretched out my arms to encompass the room. “Now what would give you that idea?”

She picked a piece of twisted metal off the floor. “The thruster controls are offline. Is that intentional?”

“The relays burned out. I’m teasing them back to life by downloading new protocols, ones that bypass the safety cut-offs.”

“Always nice to bypass the safety’s,” she said quietly. “Anything else?”

I took the metal piece from her hand. “This is a section of one of the damaged escape pods. I'm trying to jury-rig the pieces together.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “For a pessimist, you're spending a lot of time working on an exit strategy.”

I shrugged, realizing she had a point. “Yeah, that is strange.”

#

It was an anniversary of sorts when I called the meeting; three years since we arrived on Freedom. I cleared my throat, forcing Jenney and Mel to turn away from the portal.

“It's time,” I announced.

“Time for what?” Mel asked. She had dark circles around both eyes.

“Time to leave.”

They stared at me as if I had two heads.

“I didn't realize you called a taxi,” Jenny said. “I better get packed.” She started to float back to her quarters.

“Wait,” I said. “When you popped into engineering last week, you asked about my work. I didn’t tell you the truth.”

Her eyebrows knitted in confusion. “You said you were tinkering with the escape pods.”

“Actually, I was working on only one.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Ash, what the hell are you talking about?” Mel asked.

I leaned back in my chair. “The idea occurred to me a few weeks ago. We've been working like dogs trying to survive, but think about it, who do we really want to save, us or our species?”

“How can we . . .” Mel started before I raised a finger.

“On the surface, people are dying because they're running out of resources. That’s crazy because we know there are enough supplies for what’s left of the population. The survivors and the caches of food are scattered randomly on the surface. You’ve been tracking radio signals, which tell us the whereabouts of each group. What those people need is someone to match them with supplies; food, fuel . . . whatever.”

Jenny frowned. “Ash, we can't communicate with them. We've tried. The survivors lack proper radio equipment.”

Mel nodded. “Or someone who knows how to use it.”

I took a deep breath. The decision had been tough. “We need someone on the surface. Someone to bring the survivors together. Humanity requires a critical mass to step back from the brink.”

“Ash, you've been tinkering with those escape pods for months,” Mel said, rubbing her hands together nervously. “You said we don't have enough parts.”

“My mistake,” I admitted. “I was trying to fix both remaining units. Over the past few weeks, I was able to combine them into one functioning pod.”

A moment of silence lingered as realization slowly sank in. I continued before they could ask the question that lingered like a bad smell in the air. “I’ve already decided who’s going. I modified the compartment.”

Jenny tensed. “You did what?”

“I ripped out the seat and console unit. It'll be tight but, if you don't mind getting up close and personal, it’ll handle both of you.”

They exchanged a look. “What about you?” Mel asked.

“Too big.” I waved my hand. “It's you two or just me. Therefore, I stay.”

Jenny’s eyes narrowed. “I don't know . . . I'll have to think on it.”

“There's no thinking involved, Commander. Mankind is dying, just like the dinosaurs. I’m giving you a chance to escape this sinking ship and change the course of history.”

I passed a hand across my forehead. It came away damp. “Don’t think this is a slam dunk. With a cobbled together nav computer, there’s a good chance I’ll drop you in the Atlantic Ocean.”

It was meant as a joke but neither of them cracked a smile.

#

Best-case computer scenarios give escape pods a twenty-percent chance of success. Soaring through the atmosphere at supersonic speeds, in a coffin-sized metal projectile, has never been tested in the real world, not when external hull temperatures exceed three-thousand degrees and air turbulence can shatter bone.

At best, it would be a hot, claustrophobic ride, with oxygen masks strapped to their faces and safety harnesses squeezing them against the hot, internal shell. If the attempt failed, there existed but a small silver lining; the end would be swift and painless.

#

“First thing I want is a steak," Mel proclaimed over packaged breakfast. “Smothered in onions.”

I smiled. “You always want onions. Whenever I mention steak, you demand onions. I'm having dreams about your damn onions.” I glanced at Jenny. “Maybe we should call ahead for reservations. I, for one, would hate to see the local restaurant booked when you arrive.”

Mel ignored me. “And I want to sleep in a real bed, with blankets.”

Jenny floated over to our table, carrying the readout from Medlab.

“What's the verdict?” I asked.

She looked grim. “Best guess is that our bones are eighty-per-cent normal. Muscle mass is comparably low.”

“Oh great.” Mel stopped daydreaming and plucked the paper out of Jenny’s hand. “We're going to be as weak as kittens on the surface, if we don't snap our spines on landing.”

I glanced at Jenny. “What do you expect after three years in Zero-G?”

“We don't have to like it, Ash,” she said.

Mel placed a thumbdrive on the table. “I've cobbled together the latest info on survivor locations, food storage sites and undamaged power plants.”

“Ash.” Jenny took my hand in hers. “I don't know how to say this but––”

“Don't worry about it,” I said, letting her hand go as I pushed toward the exit.

“Ash, wait.” Mel floated over. “I set the computer to monitor common frequencies. If we get a signal through . . .”

“Ah, sure, I'll be listening.”

Unprompted, they reached out to embrace me.

“Thank you,” Jenny whispered. “For everything.”

I led them down to the module and helped them squeeze into the metal pod. Hitting the eject button caused a subtle vibration to pass underfoot. Through the portal, I watched the escape pod create a serpentine trail of golden sparks as it entered the atmosphere. A few moments later, all signs of their passage disappeared.

I spent the next hour staring at the stars.

#

Two days later, I had to isolate the Crew Module. The numerous temporary seals were starting to leak. Soon after, the solar panels developed an attitude, forcing me to conserve every watt.

I gave up on the daily repair schedule. Sure, I could fix an EV suit or rewire a computer, but what difference would it make? I used the last of the thruster fuel to push Freedom into a higher orbit, foolishly thinking it might prolong my existence. Most days, I stared out the portal at the wounded planet, but occasionally got the energy to fiddle with pieces of the remaining escape pod. I harboured an irrational hope I could stitch something together that would survive a descent through Earth's atmosphere. However, nightmares of the old shuttle disaster woke me in a cold sweat and cured me of optimistic thoughts.

I heard the faint tapping on day ten. It faded out a dozen times before finally holding a pattern. After two puzzling minutes, I pinpointed the source and turned up the volume on the radio . . . and listened to the collections of chirps and squawks.

It took a full minute before my mind clicked into gear. I smiled.

It had been years since I used Morse code, but with pencil in hand I painstakingly jotted down each letter. Staring at the completed message I started to laugh and didn’t stop until my gut threatened to split.

By the time I hit the sack, I still wore a broad grin. I dropped the paper on my bed, the words printed in bold letters and underlined twice.

Steak is a little bland . . . Need onions.

#

They landed safely outside Atlanta; safely if you didn't count Mel's fractured arm, heat burns and a couple of bloody noses. They hiked to a nearby military base and managed to contact several pockets of survivors using undamaged communications gear. Jenny said they found plenty of rations and medical supplies.

Temperatures ranged from zero to minus twenty. Fortunately, snow accumulation was less than expected and the main highways remained passable, if you could navigate past the frozen bodies and ruined vehicles.

Finding a usable frequency, I kept them abreast of the latest surface scans and, at Mel's insistence, the atmospheric readings. Despite the positive trend, it was still going to take years before anyone could even think about putting in a crop.

#

The wail of the siren jolted me awake. Despite staring at red flashing icons on the screen, it took my tired brain precious seconds to transition out of idle. I had fallen asleep in my chair in the Bridge Module, my Li’l Abner EV suit zipped down to my waist.

First thing I did was slap the mute button. Then, as my body woke, I stretched and passed a hand over my week-old stubble. Finally, I analyzed what the computer was telling me.

And my heart nearly stopped.

Without taking my eyes off the screen, I leaned over and opened a channel to the surface. Thirty seconds later, Jenny answered.

“Sorry to wake you,” I said.

“That’s okay.” She sounded groggy. I could picture her rubbing the sleep from her eyes, like she used to do in my bed. “What’s up?”

“Is Mel around?”

“No, I gave her a sleeping pill. Her broken arm’s been acting up.”

Too bad, I thought. Would have been nice to say good-bye. “I think one of the supports finally cracked. The station is starting to tilt.”

“What? No!” Suddenly she was awake. “Ash, you’re out of fuel! How long––”

“I’ll going to lose contact any second,” I said, biting the inside of my lip to keep my voice calm. Numbers shifted on the screen as the station continued to list. Cabin lights flickered. “Solar panels are falling out of alignment.”

“My God, Ash! Let me get Mel. We can . . . “Static washed away the rest of her words. In my mind, a door closed.

Suddenly I was alone. My hands began to shake.

The lights flickered again and went out. Recessed emergency lamps buzzed into life. I stood, zipped up my suit, and grabbed my helmet. I wondered if I could make it to engineering before Freedom hit the atmosphere.

I realized I should be happy. My plan had succeeded; mankind was going to get a second chance. But, with the station creaking around me, and alarms ringing, I didn’t feel thankful.

There was just one loose end to tie off. I bent down and tapped my final message in Morse code. They may or may not get it.

Keep your eye out for me. I’ve decided to bring the onions.

###