Panic

THE MISSION

THUD. This was Rikyn’s fourth SoloToob landing in what felt like as many weeks. And it was getting tedious.

Gone were the days when Astros could pass time with their crew between planets. Now you could barely come up with enough cash to convince a single human to launch into space. At least not without some CityState coercion. No amount of money could turn a fundamentalist Gaian – or heal raw, collective trauma – that quickly.

Rikyn groaned as the SleepDream injection started to wear off. She impulsively reached for her collar and exhaled in relief. The heart-shaped locket was still there, jostling underneath her jumpsuit as she uncoiled herself from the suspension net.

She’d been one of the few unlucky conscripts, pulled from an accounting job to prepare for a pro-colony mission that no one could promise wouldn’t end in disaster. A bean-counter was the last thing on the Party’s recruiting list, but pickings were slim and they had to prove that anyone – Even You! – could thrive off-Earth.

So here she was, seven years later, having survived an accelerated training programme that prepared her for a quick-fire audit of the next most-habitable planets. The mission? One: Confirm those planets could support human life. And two: Make sure Earth didn’t accidentally miss, yet again, the existence of a native species and ultimately obliterate not one, but two, civilisations. Mars – though they barely uttered the name anymore – couldn’t be repeated.

Nearly 30 years after the Great Flood forced all but the most radical Gaians to settle on Mars, humans learned they weren’t alone. Initial probes found friendly microbes, but nothing to suggest an entire race of technologically-advanced Martians were in the middle of a 450-year hibernation meant to avoid the harshest period of the planet’s weather cycle.

Everyone moved cautiously. Billions of Martians rose from their mountain hollows, and scientists quarantined the lot. Technicians on both sides carried out extensive checks to determine whether they could share space without risking a demographic wipeout. But their biological compounds appeared, strangely, symbiotic. It actually made more sense to intermingle than it did to stay apart, allowing them to swiftly rebuild the advanced infrastructure that was pulverised by Martian sands centuries earlier.

Anatomy admittedly made it a bit awkward (and let’s be honest: not very sexy) to mate. Turns out tails and tentacles don’t easily fall into rhythm with human limbs. But soon every family featured a joyful mix of Martian savvy and Earthling humour that was unrivalled back home.

Decades passed. Children grew, new mating groups formed, and shared technology helped Mearthians – their preferred portmanteau – develop at speed. They helped slow the rising sea waters on Earth long enough to rebuild homes for the Gaians who chose to stay behind. That even brought the fundamentalists around, resulting in new bonds with Mearthians that were destined to become emotional scars.

It happened gradually. The natural reduction of disease made Martian healthcare an archaic pursuit. Medical texts languished on bookshelves while hospitals became museums. So once the Creanton virus struck, no one was prepared. The virus – believed to have hitched a ride on one of Earth’s vacation vessels – ripped mercilessly through the planet, and within the four weeks it took to name Creanton, all 13 billion Mearthians and Martians were dead.

The only people left were nine million Gaians still clinging to Earth’s CityState, and none were spared the wrenching grief that came from losing billions of loved ones at such speed.

The most radical among them said Creanton was proof resettlement wasn’t the answer, and problems had to be dealt with back home. But Earth was becoming less habitable by the day: only two GenMod crops could thrive in the extreme weather that boiled puddles in summer and froze the city shut for eight months of the year.

The Modernity Forward Party (MFP) fought tooth and nail to convince the Council to send six humans into space to scout a new home. But Mars was off limits. No one dared suggest resettling what was now a planet-sized memorial site, strewn with decaying bodies of an entire civilisation.

Rikyn was chosen alongside conscripts half her age, who sobbed at the prospect of leaving home. After impersonal speeches and pre-emptive medals, they were pumped full of SleepDream and shoved into SoloToobs, buying the MFP time to prepare Gaians for a new life off-Earth.

THE ARRIVAL

Rikyn’s locket popped open, revealing a photo of herself embraced by two Mearthians, all grinning ear-to-ear. She’d wanted to leave Earth permanently, and spend more time with her partners of 14 years. But she couldn’t leave her parents who needed daily care and refused to pay for an off-Earth residence. They said it was a point of “Gaian principle”. They died a month before Creanton hit. Now she had no one.

The SoloToob door opened with a hiss. Chemical hibernation had its perks, but sunlight was always grating after months in a cocoon-like bed. Rikyn activated her helmet’s dimmers and stepped onto the rocky ledge to survey her surroundings.

So here she was: Saturn’s Titan moon. And it was….purple? No, hold on, that couldn’t be right. She accidentally clanked her gloved fist into her helmet as she instinctively tried to rub her eyes.

Had she gone colourblind? She removed the dimmers, but the colour barely changed. It was as if the world had been submerged in thick, oozy grape juice. The effect was unsettling.

As she turned to grab her gear, Rikyn saw it. A long strip of hazy lights that shone blue through the haze and could’ve passed for a hovercraft station back home. She gasped, stumbled forward, and nearly fell flat on her face.

All of Rikyn’s landings had been the same: exit the Toob, ride the rover, set up camp, take core samples, yell into the abyss, and realise you’re utterly alone.

The existence of another civilization was always a possibility, but she didn’t expect to see it so close to Earth. And without anyone on Mars having known they had neighbours. Something didn’t feel right.

She slammed her suit’s sanitizer button – no one needed to get Earth germs today – and activated the auto-camouflage transmitter. Best not to alert anyone to her arrival until she had her bearings.

THE CONTROL ROOM

“We really could’ve attacked before the summoning. We had the weapons,” Gastraul sighed, not caring he’d interrupted the commander one too many times. “Waiting for everyone to burrow out of their bunkers just so they can watch the attack on skyscreen is such a waste of time. Can’t they see the replay?”

“GASTRAUL! Enough. I’ll send you back into the burrows if you dare utter another complaint,” Commander Shaureen said.

Gastraul turned his snout back to the control pad and tapped a few commands before reaching for his cloak. “Fine. If we’re going to wait another five weeks, I might as well enjoy the glemp dust. Who knows when we’ll see this hue again.”

He crawled down the ramp and into the lobby. It had been ages since he’d set any of his paws on Titan rock. But there’d be plenty of time to enjoy the sun on his back before the fur regrew. Once the war – well, more like one-day assault – was over, everything would be back to normal.

Stepping outside was glorious. It’s hard to explain how amazing it feels to stretch your seven limbs in the open air after 1800 years in a burrow, not to mention after a tortuous battle with Mars that was cut dreadfully short by Titan climate change.

His civilization never learned to manage its resources. At least not well enough to avoid ordering a surface-wide evacuation that allowed a total moon reset once every three centuries.

But Mars, which evolved too quickly for Titan’s liking, had to be eradicated and a war couldn’t wait. So despite the looming threat of yet another mandatory burrow, they launched an assault, taking heavy casualties and riding roughshod over Titan to gather fresh chemicals and fuel weaponry. But eight months in, down, down, down they went into the burrows for yet another 1800-year sleep.

So Titan had a score to settle, even if a few lifetimes had passed. Thankfully, their satellites had enough juice to monitor the solar system until the summoning. Turned out Mars forged ties with Earth – who knew that planet had anything but algae mucking around? – and was obliterated by their allies’ virus. He chuckled. Nothing like an own-goal by your enemy to lighten the mood.

With all the Martians and their crossbreeds dead, debts would be repaid by their allies. And with just nine million occupying an already water-logged CityState on Earth, it would take just two bombings to put the issue to rest.

His gills fluttered. Gastraul flicked the microchip and accepted the call. Turned out his lifemate had exited his burrow weeks ahead of schedule. “Dramplen! Honestly, you won’t believe how easy this next battle is going to be. No need to jump on a chargeship or grab a weapon. We’ll be drinking by the glass gardens in no time!”

THE PANIC

Rikyn slunk down the hill, past the lightstrip to what looked like bubble-domes erected in haste.

The only other thing she’d seen were piles of dirt next to impossibly large holes. Was someone else taking core samples? Were there giant ground squirrels on Titan? If she’d seen a sign declaring “Cemetery” she’d be sure people were escaping their graves. She shuddered.

“I told you, it’s going to be easy!”

Rikyn nearly yelped as a crackling voice filtered through her helmet's translator. Mearthians had uploaded hundreds of languages to Earth’s education system, but this one just flashed up as “Relic” on her screen. She froze, praying the camouflage would hold up at a 20-pace distance.

“There’s just nine million of them! And they’re all in one city. They’re practically asking to be wiped out in an afternoon!” Rikyn zoomed in on the creature: seven beefy legs held up a four-foot-long body that reminder her of a hairless anteater. Its snout swung across the ground as it sloughed black snot onto the grape juice dirt.

“Look, Earth made the same mistake we did. They just haven’t realised it’s time to throw your hands up and hibernate. Not our fault. And they made a real stupid decision joining forces with Mars. It’s time to finish the job,” Gastraul said, breathing in a fresh cloud of dust and exchanging it for a black globule that splashed onto the rock.  

“Now get over to the Command Centre and let’s grab some grub! We’ve got five weeks to get ready for the shortest armed assault in history.” He flapped his gills. Gastraul wasn’t naturally violent, but he knew no one would let this issue die. At least they were dealing with small numbers this time.

Rikyn couldn’t believe what she'd just heard. Mars made enemies on Titan and didn’t bother to mention it? Did they honestly think they’d won a battle, but failed to check for enemy hibernation pods? This was insane! For the first time in years she felt intense rage – rather than numbing grief – at the thought of Mars. How could they? Gaians were now sitting ducks.

She didn’t care if that galumph of a Titan saw her now. The purple haze kept her hidden, but the rocks crumbled as she scrambled back up the hill.

“HEY! Whose burrow did you just come out of?!” Gastraul yelled.

Rikyn didn’t even bother loading up her gear as she dove head-first into the SoloToob. She strapped herself in with shaking hands and managed to type a three-word report before slamming the PANIC button. She was knocked out within seconds, as the SoloToob charged out of Titan’s atmosphere. Its beacon rushed her message back to Earth: “Prepare for war.”