" ... and so it continues ... "
(Inspired by the television program Earth2.)


I couldn't begin to count the number of times that I've felt that cold, damp chill settle into my soul, bringing with it the knowledge, the absolute certainty, that I'm going to die here. It passes as each danger passes, but it never really goes away. Each time the chill is colder, the knowledge clearer. I will die here.

I think we're all going to die, actually. It's kind of funny. I really think I might be able to accept my fate if I believed that everyone else would be okay, live happily ever after. I try to imagine a touching funeral with everyone gathered around my grave to share sappy memories. But that dream is as far-fetched and ridiculous as believing that Devon's going to live again. No one will say pretty words at my funeral, no poetry, or flowers. Hell, I'll be lucky if they even bother to bury me.

And I think the worst part is the way we're going to die. Slowly, pitifully, unprotestingly, pathetically. If you'd asked me before I'd heard of this rock how I wanted to die, I'd have told you that I wanted to die in my sleep at the age of 112, but now -- well, actually that's still how I want to die; my point is that that no longer appears to be an option, and if I have to die now, I don't want to curl up in my bed and wait for it. God help me, I'd rather be out there marching myself to death and just get it over with.

But the others, they all seem to want to just curl up here and call it quits. They don't even care whether they live now. They may not be willing to admit it, but it's true. Danziger says we're staying here because he won't give up hope. He doesn't seem to understand that we're really staying here because he already has given up hope. Devon is dead. Like it or not, it's a fact. Dead to the world for all intents and purposes. If her sleep pod continues to function, if the Grendlers don't steal it out from under her, if a cure is ever discovered, if whatever disease is afflicting her doesn't kill her outright before then, if -- if -- if --. It won't matter. If Devon Adair ever sees the light of day again, we won't be here to greet her. We will be dead and dust when that day comes, at this rate anyway.

And what about those kids? Their ship is going to arrive and they will land and find no one. And then they will die. That fact can't be denied. We've barely had enough food and water to keep ourselves alive. Hundreds of people? All in the same small area? With no experience living planetside? They are all going to die and it will be one of the ugliest events in human history. And some day fifty years from now, a thousand years from now, some historian is going to discover the horrible reason why they died: because the advance team that was supposed to prepare for them just gave up.

"Bess, take your stuff. We're leaving."

"What?" She just sort of blinked at me and didn't move to pick up the bags I gave her.

"We're taking Zero and the dune rail and we're leaving."

"For where?"

Where? Where the hell did she think we'd been headed all this time? "New Pacifica."

"You'll die out there by yourselves." It was Danziger. I didn't need to turn around to recognize the voice or the attitude.

"I know." I was calm. My calmness surprised myself as much as him. But carrying out a decision can sometimes be easier than making one. "And you'll die here. The difference is that when they find my bones, they won't be amongst those who were too afraid to continue on."

I can't really describe the look that John Danziger gave me. It was -- everything. Deep in his eyes, behind the hate, behind the fear, I could see --. He knew I was right.


-The End-