We're aboard the soda can, which Rupert referred to as a space elevator, for only a few hours.
"This is why it had to be the Galapagos, Ms. Anderson," Rupert explains as we strap into seats that are anchored to the wall instead of the floor. "The elevator has to be on the equator, and Volcán Wolf is the perfect place: a peak on that central line."
"How did you figure all this out?" Austin shouts into his headset over the growing roar of the craft's revving rocket engines. I adjust mine in an effort to make it slightly more comfortable.
"I did nothing of the sort. It was their kind." Rupert gestures towards a lanky silver android. It's busy folding itself into an alcove for launch. "They designed and built it."
The view is unbelievable. As Earth recedes, it fills the little windows on either side. It's so perfect, with the pale line of atmosphere curving above it.
From this height, I can't see any of the turmoil that's happening below. I can't tell where people are suffering. There's no life, no death, no joy or sorrow. Just an azure sphere, quietly floating in the vacuum.
Am I so anxious to leave it? I ask myself.
Leaving the bounds of Earth means that I can forget the ruin that my life was while I lived there. But what about everyone I've left down there? They have no way to escape that hell. Do I, safely away, care about their fates at all?
When the space elevator stops, we disembark onto the new International Space Station, built with comfort in mind. The carbon nano tubes that form the elevator's cable attach to the Station.
The last I heard, the old ISS was still orbiting, although it should have been retired years ago. But the last I heard news of the outside world was before Toronto had imploded into civil riot and strife. And it was an entirely different world now from the one I'd known.
From there, we board the Shuttle Plutus, which will be our home for the next six to eight months.
#
I sit in front of a tray stacked with food. There are greasy French fries, bacon-wrapped scallops, fried chicken.
And in the middle: a rich, dark chocolate mousse cake. My mouth waters at the sight of it. But then I look up.
The bot that we called Teacher, the Interactive Instructional Unit; I.I.U. for short, walks towards me. She lifts the dishes of food from the tray one by one.
There's nothing I can do to stop her. She takes all the food away before I manage to have a single bite. Then she smiles at me: that vapid, lifeless smile.
I wake up with a start. I roll over and look at the time. 3:23 a.m. stands out in green LED numbers on an InvisiScreen embedded in the bedroom wall.
Just when I thought I was starting to get the hang of sleep again, another nightmare disturbs me.
Careful not to wake Austin, I slip out of bed. I wrap a flowing white cardigan around myself, and then I pad down the hallway towards the main lounge. I manage to stumble only once as the zero gravity outside and the imitation of Earth's pull inside fight to bowl me over.
It's been a month since we first boarded the Shuttle Plutus. We've been flying through interplanetary space towards our destination.
When Rupert first told me that we were heading to Mars, I thought I'd gone temporarily deaf. And I still don't believe it. All I know is that we're speeding towards the Red Planet at mind-boggling speeds, but that it will still take us six months to get there.
I spot Rupert as I walk into the lounge.
"Can't sleep again?" I call to him, causing him to look up from the FlexScreen that's set on the table in front of him.
He's slouching on one of the long, sleek white leather bench seats that line the oval room. Behind the benches are curving windows, looking out into space.
It's a room that's been made, just like the rest of the shuttle, for a crowd. But there's only three of us here: Rupert, Austin, and myself. The rest of the craft is filled with cargo and automata.
"Ms. Anderson," he removes his reading glasses and looks at me. "I've suffered from insomnia for the past twenty years. And you?"
"Nightmares."
"Again?"
"Every night."
I sit on the bench beside him.
"And you still don't want to talk about them?"
How silly would he think me if I told him I have nightmares about food?
"Not really."
Rupert falls to reading again. I look out at the blackness around us.
I can still see earth: a small, blue marble in the black. From this distance, I can forget everything that happened in Toronto. I can pretend that I had never met Chris. I imagine that none of that ever existed. And it works, as long as I'm awake.
Ahead of us is another marble: a tawny one. There, where Donald had made his final home. But why? Who was my father? What was he like, and what had led to Mars? What's there, anyways? Rupert explained that it's a colony, but I still don't get it. My head overflows with questions.
"There's one thing I don't understand," I say. "How did he – how did Donald meet my mother?"
"From what I understand," Rupert replies, "she was visiting New York City with some friends. He lived in the city back then, and it was a chance encounter at a bar of some sort. But that was long before my time with him. I am hazy on details of his life before me. He was a very private man."
Rupert explains all he knows of my father's early life. He says that when iTronics rose to become a major multinational corporation, it really only had one competitor: RoboNomics. For ten years Donald strove to out-do them.
"He wanted iTronics to be the only automation company," Rupert concluded. "But he passed away before he could see that goal realized."
"I can't really picture the world without both companies. Or – I guess the way the world was before the bots disappeared."
"It may have seemed impossible, but Donald didn't believe in impossible."
I nod and turn back to the view of the endless bright, unobscured stars. It's so quiet here. We play video games, listen to music, watch old movies.
But there's something preternatural about the space between sounds. It's as if the great silence outside our craft is pressing in on us from every side. We're a bubble of air in a vast ocean of emptiness.
I suddenly remember something else. I snap my head around and look into Rupert's eyes.
"Why didn't he ever come to see me? Why didn't he want to know me?"
"That was your family's influence. He visited you a few times when your mother was still alive. But after she passed away, your grandparents refused him access to you. They knew who he was and how he lived. They did not trust him."
My gaze falls to the hands folded in my lap. I'm not sure I believe him. My grandparents were good people -- the best people I ever knew. Why would they have kept my father from me? And mother had as well. Why did she tell me that pretty lie about a high school sweetheart? Why did she keep me from Donald?
"But he did think of you. I know that for sure," Rupert adds gently.
"How do you know?"
"He curtailed his...extracurricular activities...when you came along. I hope you understand what I mean?"
"You're saying he was a philanderer?"
"Before you came along, yes. He was. But he told me once that he couldn't bear the thought of iTronics being splintered and his life's work crushed. When your mother told him about you, he thought for the first time about an iTronics without him. And so he was very careful. There couldn't be another child, he said. He wanted a sole heir so his legacy wouldn't be undermined."
"Well, it's good to know he thought about me...at least in monetary terms," I say sarcastically.
Rupert's eyes fall to his FlexScreen and he says nothing. I don't blame him. He doesn't know how to respond to the ire I feel towards my father. It surprises me as well. How can I be angry with a man I never knew?
(Continued in Chapter 68...)