“I wouldn’t wanna do that on a regular basis,” Greg said as he cleared the lock at Base 5.
“It once took seven months Captain,” reported the AI gate attendant. “Welcome to your new home.”
“Yeah, new home. Old home may not…” he choked back emotion at the thought.
Walking felt good, reassuring, as his wobbly legs adjusted
to the Martian gravity. He stretched and looked skyward at the expansive black
dome over colony five. In a corner of the reception area stood the ancient
Curiosity rover. He smiled atthe crude technology, and admired its durability.
The probe became a village mascot early on, still responding to signals from
Earth mostly intended to be humorous. The term “rover” suggested behaviors to
the distant programmers. The vehicle would occasionally be found staring
longingly with it’s camera eye at the barren red surface of the planet, like a
dog waiting to be let outside, one leg lifted.
“Your team would like to meet with you before you get settled Captain,” prodded the attendant.
Greg shook himself to attention and nodded. A transport
glided to a stop at his feet, waited for him to be seated, and then proceeded
to the observatory.
The mood was grim in operations. New arrivals generally
caused an excited stir among longtime residents, but the completion of Greg’s
flight coincided with disastrous news from Earth. In fact, the fate of two
inbound crews still in transit was in jeopardy. All eyes were on spectrographic
imagery and a variety of monitors, all studying the sun.
“Hell of a day to arrive,” said an unfamiliar scientist who briefly glanced at Greg as he moved between stations.
“How bad?” asked Greg, keeping conversation to a minimum.
“For us…minimal” came the reply. “For them,” the voice trailed off, “The end. The end of the world.” The astronomer looked at Greg. There were tears in his eyes.
Greg was stunned. Scientists are data-driven, detached,
unshakeable. He tried to make sense of the various displays. Magnetic imaging,
a variety of spectral views of the sun’s photosphere. Colorful and agitated
swirls of purple and orange. Each with a bulging arch that dwarfed a hundred
Earths, malevolently hurtling a scimitar of radiation and heat toward the
helpless planet.
Colonists were no longer the orphans and risk-takers of the
early days. As the round trip shortened, crews became comprised of voyagers
with families and a desire to eventually return home. But home was now in the
direct path of an epic event that was about to cauterize the home world beyond
recognition.
On Earth, a final sunrise displayed a fantastic assortment
of reds and pinks. At about mid day in Europe, global communications were
permanently disrupted. There was no news coverage of the event. No one needed
to hear a play by play of his own extinction. As Earth rotated into the expanding
coronal outburst, sunrise ignited the atmosphere and boiled ocean water within
minutes, scouring the ground at 1000 miles per hour. The experience was
mercifully short, but horrifyingly intense. Bunkers underground were
permanently sealed shut by molten rock. Iron barrier doors liquefied and imploded
into the furnace-like caverns where government officials attempted to escape.
The Lunar colonies, hidden behind Earth for almost twelve
hours, were the last to communicate with the Martian bases. They were
incinerated as Earth’s shadow exposed them from behind its protective eclipse.
Greg watched events unfold, fully aware that the magnified
blue globe on screen was four minutes further into it’s demise than the delayed
light speed signal they watched. The only sounds issued by a dying planet, so
silent and tiny at this distance, were from the men and women around him, some
collapsing in grief at the realization that everything, everyone they had ever
known and loved was being systematically vaporized and removed from being,
forever.
Welcome to your new home indeed, thought Greg with a shudder.
December 21st, 2112. The Mayans were off by a hundred years.