A History of What Comes Next

51 Death of an Angel

She’s gone. I still feel it. It’s hard to describe. It’s not… It’s not anything. Just nothing where there once was something. I never heard her, but she was there. Her little heart thumping in the background, always, like the refrigerator motor. One of a thousand sounds you don’t notice until they’re gone. It’s quiet now. Deafening silence.

I thought I was dying. I was. I was bleeding out. I can’t say that I wanted to die, but I had… accepted it. Everything went dark, and I waited. For something, anything. I never believed in the afterlife, that my soul would somehow outlive my body, but part of me expected something more. Maybe my life flashing before my eyes would have been enough. I don’t know, but I really wanted it. It wasn’t for me. I wanted there to be more for her. My child never lived. I wanted death to be… worthwhile, somehow. I remember being angry about it. I welcomed death and it disappointed me.

They sent two men down with ropes to get me. They patched me up as best they could, then drove me to the nearest city with a decent hospital. It was three hours away, enough time for Korolev to learn about what happened and call Mother. He said I’d lost a lot of blood and he needed to know my blood type. Korolev saved me. In the shape I was in, a transfusion would have killed me. Mother told him I had a rare hereditary condition and she was the only one I could get blood from. He told the hospital to wait and had her flown in. I can still see Mother’s face when I woke up in that hospital bed. I asked if Billie knew and she didn’t answer. That’s when it hit me. They had my blood. The room was covered in it. Mother had already set it up. A body from the morgue. A fire. Don’t leave a trace. I died that night, in fucking Kazakhstan. We were on a plane by morning.

Now… Now I just hurt. My insides are still throbbing. I feel pain when I sit or stand. Regular pain, I can handle. I’ve felt it before. A knife wound, a broken toe. That pain is familiar. The other pain is the one I can’t stand. I keep touching myself. I feel my stomach without thinking and I remember that she’s gone.

I lost a husband. Korolev went to my funeral, said his goodbyes to a closed casket. He buried me. I lost my work. We were so close, I could almost touch it. There are so many things we could have done with Stalin out of the way. Moscow hadn’t changed, really, but the air was filled with such promise. Hope is a powerful thing, and it’s beautiful to watch. I won’t see it. I lost that, too.

I lost Billie. I’ll never see her face again, never watch her staring at me with that… undecided look. She said she didn’t know what to make of me, but it ran both ways. I think that’s what I miss the most, the uncertainty, the eternal discovery. I miss those brief moments of understanding, glimpses of the unknown. I miss me with her, our noses getting in the way, the way our bodies interlocked, the contrast of our skin. Do we truly care for people, for their empirical selves, or do we care for how we experience them? Is this a universal question or is this also about me? Whatever it is, I want more. I want to run my finger down her spine again. I want to bury my face in her hair and hide in that warm darkness for a long minute. It felt like the safest place on Earth…. I want to know how she got that scar. She wouldn’t say.

I don’t know why but I keep thinking she’d like California. It’s warm, for starters. Billie never liked the cold. I don’t think she’d ever seen the ocean. To me, LA feels… unreal. Everything is bright and colorful. I feel… so gray.

I hurt of anger. I should be sad—I am—but mostly I’m angry. I’m mad at myself, mad at the whole world. There’s so much anger it feels like I’m drowning, and I can’t stop it. I can’t make it end. I’m here. It happened. I can’t change any of it even if I can’t bear another minute of my own existence. I’m helpless, impotent.

I’m not the only one hurting. Mother won’t say but I know she took it hard. She feels responsible. She shouldn’t. She warned me that evil was coming. I chose not to listen. This is all on me.

Back in Moscow, there were these crooked houses across from Billie’s. They were old—both were built at the turn of the eighteenth century. Whoever owned them clearly didn’t have the money or the will to fix them, and they were slowly falling apart. Their foundations were sinking, and both houses would have collapsed, should have, really, if not for the fact that they were leaning on each other in just the right way. Billie said they had been like that for decades. That is what we are, Mother and I, two broken things in a complete state of disrepair, leaning on one another. We keep each other alive. For now that will have to be enough.

52 Little Bitty Pretty One

—I can see it, Mia! How did you do this?

—How did I do what?

—Make it visible?

—I didn’t do anything, Mother. The sun has to be really low for us to see it, but it’s just… there.

—This is fascinating.

—It’s just a ball, Mother.

—What does it do?

—Beep-beep.

—I do not under—

—That’s what it does. It sends radio signals. We can listen to it at home if you want.

—What else does it do?

—Nothing else. It’s a silver ball that goes beep-beep.

—Who knows, Mia? Perhaps that silver ball will spin its way into the collective consciousness and get people thinking about space. Regardless, there is a machine orbiting Earth and my daughter put it there. You should be proud of yourself.

—I suppose I am.

—You have lost a lot, Mia, but that does not take away from what you have accomplished. That rocket of yours will put a man in space.

—You really think so?

—I know it.

—I really wanted to see it launch.

—Close your eyes and see it now. Watch your rocket soar. Hear it growl as it plays its tug-of-war with Earth. I am there with you, all of us are. A hundred generations are watching. This is as high as we have ever gone, as close to the stars as we have ever been.

53 Great Balls of Fire

—I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ve seen plenty of launch failures, but this was epic. The rocket eked its way a few inches from the ground, and then it gave up and went down in a blaze of national humiliation.

Rockets are the last thing I want to think about, but this was national television. The American response to Sputnik. I had to watch.

—That was your doing, Mia.

—What are you talking about? I didn’t blow up their rocket. They did that all by themselves.

—But you did. The Americans were so stunned by your satellite, they rushed to launch anything of their own. They chose a rocket that was not ready. This was supposed to be a test, but they were stupid enough to add a small satellite to the payload. The press was all over it.

—I’m sure it had something to do with Korolev doubling down and sending a dog up there.

—Perhaps. That seemed cruel, if I may say so.

He barely waited a month before launching another satellite. That one did more than beep-beep. It had actual instruments. And a dog.

—Let’s not talk about dogs, Mother.

—We could not take Tsygan with us, Mia. We have discussed this a thousand times.

I don’t know why I’m still mad, but I am. That was two years ago, but I still imagine her waiting by the door. Poor thing.

—I said let’s not talk about it.

—The point I was trying to make is that this… catastrophe works to our advantage. The New York Times is calling it a “blow to US prestige.”

—Ha! That wasn’t a blow, Mother, that was twenty thousand pounds of American pride going up in flames.

—“Spectators on nearby beaches gasped in awe and dismay as the orange blaze seethed up against a clear blue sky. Within seconds of the outburst, the flame changed to brown-black smoke. This spread into a crudely shaped mass that rapidly dissipated in the morning breeze.” There is a certain elegance to the prose.

—I’ve read it. I almost feel bad for the guy in charge. He said something about it being a success.

—He did. “‘It was a real successful operation in terms of keeping things running smoothly. Toward the close and a little later, this rocket was flying. It wasn’t a long flight—but it was flying.’”

—Ouch.

—This is my personal favorite: “There was some doubt that the disaster ought to be technically described as an explosion. He substituted ‘rapid burning.’”

—It was rapid. That was the biggest ball of fire I’ve ever seen in my life! The press has some interesting names for it. Flopnik, Kaputnik, Oopsnik.

—Your rocket has given us the race we wanted.

I think Mother is exaggerating, but I’m glad if this means rocket science becomes more than a military contest.

—Do you think they’ll give von Braun his chance now that the Vanguard failed?

—They already have. The Vanguard launchpad was severely damaged and it is the only one they have. They are going to use his Jupiter-C rocket to send their satellite up. Von Braun promised the army he could launch in sixty days. They gave him ninety.

—Ninety days! That’s nuts!

—He could use some assistance.

—From me? I don’t—

—It is time, Mia.

—I’m sorry, Mother. I can’t.

I wish I could. I just… Mother wants me to move on. She wants me to have another child. I don’t know that I can do either. My insides were ripped to shreds when I fell off that platform. Mother said we’ve always been fast healers. Maybe. We did survive a lot worse, if we are to believe our journals. Lost limbs, punctured hearts. The Thirty-Three had her right leg replaced with a metal one, as I recall. She rode a horse with it.

Even if I could get pregnant, I don’t know that I want to. My daughter’s dead. I won’t… replace her. Besides, I can’t lose Mother now, trade her life for another. I can’t be responsible for her life, or my child’s, or the lives of a hundred fucking more of us. I don’t know if this is mourning, but whatever it is, I’m not done yet.

54 Milord

—They’re building rockets, Leonard.

—Who is?

—Oh, Brother. You do realize it was a launch platform you kicked the daughter off, don’t you?

—I didn’t think she’d fall off the damn thing! I just meant to knock her out.

—We have had this discussion many times, Leonard. I am not having it again. I was merely pointing out it was a launch platform you FUCKING KICKED HER OFF!

—I know what it was!

—Good. Hence, they’re building rockets.

—The daughter was working there. That doesn’t mean they—

—Oh, but it does. It most certainly does.

—The girl is dead, Charles. Her mother could be a chef for all we know.

—Think, Leonard. They lived in Germany before the war. Name one thing that the Germans were good at?

—Beer? Automobiles?

—I found out the daughter was in Bleicherode in ’45. Do you know who else was in Bleicherode in ’45? Rocket scientists, hundreds of them. Care to guess where some of these people ended up after the war?

—Rus—

—Bingo. Do you realize what that means, Leonard?

—What?

—It means they are trying to leave!

—Leave where?

—It doesn’t matter!

—I don’t know, Charles. That seems a bit—

—Why else would they be working on rockets? I think they want to get off this rock and leave us behind with these… apes. We’ll never find the device if they do.

—Maybe.

—What do you mean maybe?

—I mean I don’t know! All I know is the daughter’s dead. She’s not going anywhere. Call me crazy, but I don’t think the mother’s going to build a fucking spaceship all by herself.

—Not now, she won’t. But that is how we’ll find her. She will go where the rockets are.

—She’s alone, Charles. If it were me, I’d find the smallest shithole in the middle of nowhere. I think—

—Don’t think. Just pack up your things. You’re coming with me.

—What? I thought—

—What did I just say about thinking? Don’t make me repeat myself.

—Fine. Where are we going?

—The land of the free, Brother. We are going to the land of the free.

—America? We were just there!

—We were, but they weren’t. That’s… kind of a big deal when you think about it. As I recall, the goal is to be in the same place, at the same time. Now, when we find the mother, you have to promise me you won’t kill her before she talks like you did with the daughter.

—I told you I didn’t—

—Just tell me you won’t kill her, Leonard.

—I won’t. I swear.

—Good. I would hate to have to hurt you, my brother.

—Charles?

—Yes.

—What then?

—You mean after we find the device? We call home.

—Then what?

—Then they come, if it’s not too late. Our people have a home.

—What happens to us?

—There is no us. Us was one man three thousand years before we were born and he got beat by a girl. You and I are cheap copies of something that wasn’t that great to begin with. You do what you want, Brother. I’ll buy myself a boat, drink plenty of wine, and wait to die, like we should have a long time ago.

55 Come On, Let’s Go

Mia did it. It took thirteen years, lots of eviscerated American pride, and a dead dog flying over our heads, but mankind is heading to space. Von Braun launched Explorer I as promised using the Redstone rocket he built for the army. The air force built the Atlas, the Titan, and the Thor. Those rockets have become more than weapons, much more. Eisenhower passed the National Aeronautics and Space Act in September and handed control over all nonmilitary activity in space to a new agency. Science for science’s sake. One of the first missions they approved is to orbit a manned spacecraft around Earth. Von Braun thinks he can do it first. Good for him. I know Korolev is pursuing the same goal. Whoever wins, I will get my wish. I will see a man in space before…

—You should hurry, Mia. It is almost noon.

—Noon? JPL is twenty minutes away!

—I know, but you don’t want to be late for your interview.

—Fine, Mother. I’m going. I’m going.

—You never told me what the job was, by the way.

—The ad was for a computer.

—Mathematics, really?

—They have these giant IBM machines that can do thousands of calculations per second, but no one trusts them. They want human computers to double-check everything. I’m supposed to perform trajectory computations for rocket launches by hand. It’s a far cry from the work I was doing with Korolev, but there’s a certain purity in numbers you don’t get with a clunky engine. Oh, and no degree required.

—You can have all the degrees you want, Mia.

—I gave myself two, but I think that just means women can apply. It’s peacetime, Mother. They won’t give someone like me an engineering job, even with the ridiculous résumé I gave myself. It’s okay. I like math.

She can do the work. I am more worried about a tap on the shoulder from von Braun. I can picture his face. Lili? What are you doing here? I suppose she can call in sick whenever he visits. He works in Alabama, so that should not be too often.

—Do you know what you’ll be working on?

—They didn’t tell me. I think I might work on the Ranger program. I could help send something to the moon. Wouldn’t that be great?

—Do you think you can beat the Soviets to it?

—Not a chance. They came this close to the moon in January already and they have another launch in September. They’ll get there long before the Americans, but I need to work on something and we don’t know anyone at NASA to start something new.

—Not yet, but we will. I only meant you should not waste your skills on something others are doing already.

—I like math, Mother. To be honest, I’m just happy to get out of the house. What about you? What are you going to do?

—I have my research. They just drilled a new three-hundred-meter ice core in Antarctica. There will be lots of data to look at.

—Who did? Your Danish guy?

—No, the US Army.

—You don’t even know these people, Mother. There is zero data for you to look at. What are you not telling me?

I cannot bring myself to say it. It is not her judgment I dread, it is for her that I wish for a new life. I fear the verdict of the dead, a jury of ninety-eight of my peers. What would my sentence be if my mother were alive? What would she have done if I had fallen to near death? I thought my daughter was gone. I thought I had lost her and it nearly killed me. I will not go through that pain again.

Take them to the stars…. We have taken them this far. We have done our part. They can take themselves the rest of the way.

56 Wonderful World

—You don’t need my permission to do anything, Mia. I just want you to think it through before you come to a decision.

—Mother, I know! At some point, we’ll need to make calculations even I can’t do. I really have a knack for programming these things, Mother!

—They are making computers better and better already. I am only asking if this is the best use of your time.

—They’re also making them bigger and bigger. The air force has a new guidance computer for the Titan. Do you want to know how big it is?

—I assume it is very large.

I know nothing of computers. I really want to put an end to this conversation. I feel a hundred years old at the moment.

—It takes about three hundred square feet of floor space. The whole thing weighs twenty-one thousand pounds.

That is heavy, for anything. Mia has a point. We are in the infant stages of space exploration, but someday, when people leave Earth’s orbit, they will need to determine a ship’s position, calculate trajectories, et cetera, et cetera. They will need machines that can perform these calculations in an instant, and preferably not the size of a small apartment.

—I trust you, Mia. I was only asking.

I know I am looking for ways to justify myself, but if this “programming” proves useful to space exploration, then we are not truly abandoning our past if we make a new life for ourselves. Mia working on computers would also serve my personal interests, if I decide to pursue my research. Information is coming faster and faster, from everywhere. Telescopes are more powerful than ever. We have even observed greenhouse effects on Venus, raising the atmospheric temperature above the boiling point of water. In Russia, Mikhail Budyko proposed a physical model of Earth’s heat input and output. Groundbreaking work. He helped turn climatology from educated guesswork to quantitative science. His work will pave the way for complex, increasingly accurate models of Earth’s atmosphere, but we will not get there with the machines we have today. Computing power is the cornerstone of this war, and if Mia wants to help speed up the process, who am I to stand in her way?

I think I know how we could find out how much of Earth’s CO₂ comes from burning fossil fuel. I just need—

—Mother! You seem so… distant.

—I am sorry, Mia. I was… absorbed in somewhat self-congratulatory thought.

—No rule against being happy. Are you? Happy?

—I am… working on it. There are moments when I…

—Mother?

—There is a man standing outside.

—What do you mean, standing?

—He is staring at our house.

—Let me see…. It’s him, Mother! That’s the man who tried to kill me.

—Run, Mia. Run.

57 Will You Love Me Tomorrow

Where am I? This is our kitchen. I…

We ran out the back door. I was hit in the face with… There was another man, the same man. I believe Mia made it out.

Pain. What did he do—

—You’re a hard one to catch, Sarah.

Here he is, sitting in front of me on another kitchen chair. I have never met him but I know who he is. All my life, I have been taught to fear this man.

My hand hurts. Throbbing pain. I can’t… move. My legs are tied to the chair. My hands are roped behind my back.

—What did you do to me?

—Oh, that. I cut your little finger off while you were out. You don’t mind, do you? I thought I’d save you some pain for the first one.

Did he? He must have. I can’t feel it at all. Just pain. Blood should be gushing out but it is not. He must have cauterized it somehow. Whatever this is, he wants it to last.

—What is it you want?

—What do I want? Oh, you’re funny, Sarah. Is that even your real name? Maybe I should have said— What was it you used to call yourselves again? The Kibsu? Do you still do that?

A genuine smile. He seems… happy. So much so he can barely contain himself. Too many things running through his head. Kill me. Talk to me. Torture me.

—This is a mistake. I am not who you think I am. Now please, sir, just untie me.

—More humor. I love that. I’ll never understand why you held on to that Babylonian crap. Sounds so… melodramatic. I mean, do you say it with a deep, deep voice? WE. ARE. THE KIBSUUU!… No? Never mind. I’m sorry, that was rude. I apologize. I don’t know you. I shouldn’t make fun. If you’re the Kibsu, what does that make me?

Blood rushing to every organ. I can feel my heartbeat in my neck. Three thousand years of instinct kicking in.

—Like I said, I—

—Stop wasting my time, Sarah, or I’ll cut your whole fucking hand off.

Fear the Tracker. Always run, never fight. I’ve said the words so many times. But I can’t run. I need to get my legs free.

—We call you the Tracker.

If I can get him to lean closer, I can knee the table through his windpipe.

—Like a hunter?

—Like a dog.

—Oh, that was uncalled for. You should really stop struggling, Sarah. You’re not getting out of these ropes.

He is right. I am not going anywhere…. So this is how I die. Cut to pieces by the devil himself. It does not matter. Mia is safe. We will endure.

—Why not kill me now and get it over with?

—Kill you? What makes you think I want to kill you? Is it the finger? I would have cut your head off if I wanted to kill you. It’s not the finger, is it? It’s because of the Tracker thing? Am I the bad guy? The monster in your bedtime stories? I am. That stings. You really need new stories, Sarah. I’m not what you think I am…. We are… very much alike, you and I.

—I am nothing like you.

—Are you sure? I mean do you even know what you are? You have to know you’re not one of them. Right? Yes, you do. Do you think you’re different from me, too? Well, you’re not. This isn’t a zoo, honey. There aren’t fifty kinds of animals. There’s them, and there’s us. I don’t know why you would pretend otherwise. Frankly, I find it kind of insulting.

—You’re a killer.

—Sure I am. So are you. Do you know how we find you? Every time. It’s always the same. We look for the dead. Mass killings, unexplained deaths. Two dead guards and a nurse in Moscow. Was that you or did your daughter do that? I thought she was dead, by the way, before she ran past me. Good for her. Anyway, it doesn’t matter which of you did it. You’re a mass murderer, Sarah. You leave bodies behind like breadcrumbs. Don’t take this the wrong way. I don’t care. They’re cockroaches, all of them. But don’t pretend you and I are different.

—Why are you chasing us?

—No. No. No. That’s not how this works. I ask the questions. And every time I’m not satisfied with your answer, I take a piece of you. A souvenir, you understand?

—What do you want to know?

—So many things, I don’t even know where to start! Do you remember me?

—What?

I do not understand. He knows we have never met.

—I’ll take that as a no. I’m sorry, that was a stupid question. Of course you don’t remember me. It’s just… I thought it might be different with you. I’m born… I’m a male—you can see that, obviously. What I mean is I need… someone, to be born. I come out of a woman. One of them. It’s disgusting, but necessary. You… There’s only you.

If he wants to kill me, he can do it whenever he wants. Why waste time talking to me? He seems genuinely curious. He does not know.

—…

—Oh, forget it. I thought you might remember things, that’s all. Things from before. But you don’t. Moving on. Where did you hide the device?

—What device?

I should not talk, but this I need to know. We have always assumed they were chasing us for sport. I thought they were just evil. I am certain they are, but if there is a deeper motivation behind it, I must find out what it is. I need to know what we keep dying for.

—Really? Oh, don’t tell me you have a stupid ancient name for it. The wimbo, the kuplah, the amagonnagivittoya. Just tell me where you hid it and I will let you go. I swear. We’ll leave you alone and never bother you again if that’s what you want.

—…

—I guess not. Now you can’t say I didn’t warn you. I thought I explained the rules fairly well. What will it be? Another finger? Nah. We did that already. Maybe a toe…. I know. Let’s take off one of your ears.

He’s up. He’s looking through the kitchen drawers.

—I swear to you. I do not know what that device is.

—I guess we’ll know soon enough. Where are my manners? I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Charles. I believe… this will do just fine.

A bread knife. He’s coming closer. I can’t move! No! No!

—AAAAAAAGGGHHH!!!!

Throbbing pain. I feel the warmth on my cheek, my neck. This sick bastard is taking pleasure in this. No, we are not alike. We made a choice to be different. Our choice.

—There. It’s over. You have nice ears…. I may be naive, but I think you really have no idea what I’m talking about. I’ll be damned. The universe has some sick sense of humor if that’s true. For your sake, Sarah, I hope you’re lying to me. I really do. Because if you don’t know… All of this for nothing?

I’ll take real pleasure in watching you die, Sarah. I’ll make whirligigs with your bones. I’ll skin you alive and have your daughter wear you as a coat. You like ancient customs? I’ll give you the tub. I’ll have you stand in a vat up to your neck in water, then I’ll pour milk and honey on your face. The flies will come first, then the maggots. In a day or two, you’ll be swimming in your own shit and piss. I’ll feed you, of course. I’ll feed you over and over so you can shit some more and watch yourself rot. I’ll make it last for months.

My head is spinning but I need to be strong. Every minute he spends with me is one he is not hunting Mia. I can keep her safe if I stay strong.

—You can torture me all you want. I will live on.

—How? Do you think you’re a god or something? Oh, your daughter! You think she’s safe? I have some bad news for you, dear, she’s not. My brother has her by now. If you don’t give me what I want, trust me, she will. When we’re done cutting things off, we’ll let you see each other. I’ll remove your eyelids and have you stare at one another while we take your whole faces off.

He is lying, trying to confuse me. There were two of them but his brother was in the front yard. Mia is smart. She is fast.

—Is that why you have been hunting us? To get to that… device?

—Hunting you? You’re the one running. We’re chasing you because you’re a fucking traitor!

—I have betrayed no one. You have murdered hundreds.

—YOU LET YOUR OWN FUCKING KIND DIE! Billions of people! Don’t you dare compare yourself to me.

—My kind? What are you talking about?

—You don’t know anything, do you? How the hell do you even stay alive? We—the two of us—we came together to this place. We came to find a new home before ours ends in a fiery hell. Only you chose to fuck it up and hide the one thing we need to call home.

Is that how it happened? Is that the choice we made? I see no reason for him to lie, but I have no reason to believe him either.

—I think you take pleasure in hunting us. I think you do it for the thrill. Is there some sort of prize for killing one of us?

—You think I’m doing this for a reward? Do you know what our people will make of us when they get here? Weird versions of each other, all of us born to a lesser species. They’ll think we’re an abomination. They’ll put us down like stray dogs. That’s my reward. I get to die. I get to leave this… sty. It’s the stench. I have to be born in that smell over and over again, to have one of them as a mother and fff—I get nauseous just thinking about it—and feed off her stinking breasts. It wasn’t supposed to be like that, you know. We were supposed to mate together, not with them.

—You disgust me.

—I didn’t mean you and me me. You’re older than my mother. I meant—you know perfectly well what I meant. Aren’t you tired of being someone else? I am. I want to be me, not my father and his father. I want this to end but I need that device first so you’re going to give it to me before I cut you into a thousand pieces.

—…

—Why are you smiling? Did you hear what I just said? I’m going to slice you up like a ham. What the hell are you smiling at, you crazy witch?

58 Walk—Don’t Run

Run from the Tracker. Keep running. Don’t look back.

Over the fence. Through the alley. My legs are heavy as dumbbells, my lungs are burning. I’m getting a headache. That’s my body running out of fuel, but I need to keep going. Run. Survive at all costs. Remember the rules. That’s what Mother would want.

I wonder if she’s still alive. She’s all alone if she is. He’ll kill her for sure, but she would want me to run. No second thoughts, no regrets. I understand. If my daughter were alive, I would want her to live. Run. Never stop.

I wouldn’t want my life, and my mother’s life, to mean nothing. I wouldn’t want my daughter to be the end of us, for all the knowledge to be lost on a whim. I wouldn’t be afraid of dying, because I know I would live on through her. We are the Kibsu. I am the mother, the daughter. I am many, and so would my daughter be. I wouldn’t want her to be selfish….

I wouldn’t want her to think of the lives she’d taken. Throats slit, hearts stabbed. Bodies convulsing on the floor. I would not want her to see Didi’s face and wonder if the wrong person died that night. I wouldn’t want her to doubt. To slow down. To catch her breath.

…

I wouldn’t want my daughter to think of what she’s lost. Leaving her life behind time and time again. Never saying goodbye. Waking in a strange place, not knowing her name or what language she speaks. I wouldn’t want her to relive it. A woman she loved and will never see again. Words never spoken. Kisses never kissed. The utter vastness of an empty bed. No. I wouldn’t want her to go through that. An empty womb. Breasts aching, gorged to feed a life that isn’t. A promise broken before it was ever made. I wouldn’t want my daughter to relive that loss. I wouldn’t want her to imagine losing me, because I know what it would do to her. I wouldn’t want her to be stubborn, to draw the line and say: “Fuck no. I’m not losing any more.”

I wouldn’t want her to turn around and head back the way she came—that would be foolish—to take one step, then another. Faster. Her feet beating the ground like a war drum, waking the animal inside her.

It starts with a tingling, hair standing on end. Heightened senses. Everything becomes clearer, crisper.

I wouldn’t want her to welcome the beast. To let herself become what she fears the most. I wouldn’t do that to her. I’d be afraid she’d lose herself for good. I’d be afraid she’d like it.

I sure as hell wouldn’t want her rummaging through the shed looking for a weapon. She wouldn’t do that. I know she wouldn’t be stupid enough to think a tiki torch was a good idea.

No. I’d tell my daughter to run and to keep running, just like Mother would tell me. Think of all that came before you. Three thousand years of sacrifice on the line. Ninety-nine lives spent making sure you survive. Don’t blow it. When I die, you will be the last of us.

Well, fuck all that. I don’t have a daughter and Mother’s not dead yet.

Last chance to turn around. My heart wants to burst out of my chest.

The back door’s still open. Slowly. Don’t make a sound. They’re in the kitchen. I can see him, one of him. The other must be looking for me.

Mother. What the fuck did he do to her? Her face is all swelled up. She’s bleeding all over herself.

Slowly.

I feel the warmth taking hold. I feel the monster waking.

Slowly.

Her eyes are swelled shut but she can see me. He doesn’t know what she’s looking at as I raise the spike high above his head.

—Why are you smiling? Did you hear what I just said? I’m going to slice you up like a ham. What the hell are you smiling at, you crazy witch?

Let the animal loose, Mia. Let her rage.

59 At Last

—You should not have come back, Mia. I am grateful for what you did but it—

—You’re welcome, Mother. Can we do this another time? He was right on our tail a second ago.

I saw him, too. Ford Fairlane, Corinthian white. The Tracker stayed three cars behind the whole way, but I am certain he knows we spotted him.

—Are you sure it is a good idea to stop here? We could keep driving.

—We’ll be safe down here. There are soldiers everywhere. Now will you please get inside the elevator?

—How deep are we going?

Part of me is glad we stopped moving. I am still dizzy and I can barely see. I have never been to a missile silo before. Vandenberg is a development launch site, but this is what they will all look like. Three nuclear-capable ICBMs buried underground. On the surface, all we can see are the two-hundred-ton circular doors. Beneath them lies a small maze of tunnels linking the silos to the control room and whatever else is down there.

—It’s not that deep, about a hundred and fifty feet.

We have been here for less than a minute and I am claustrophobic already. Good, the control room is just across from the elevator. It is roomier than I thought. I imagined something like a submarine: narrow corridors, low ceilings. There are filing cabinets everywhere, I wonder what they keep in—Oh wait. They are part of the computer.

—This is the machine you were talking about?

—Yes. That’s the ATHENA computer. Now you unders—

—What kind of unholy abomination is making that noise?

—They’re testing the Titan I. That’s why we came here. I knew there’d be soldiers around. What you’re hearing is the elevator raising the missile above ground.

—That sound!

—It can lift half a million pounds, but it has its kinks. It won’t move sometimes. Still makes that noise, though. They’ll raise the missile to the surface to load the liquid oxygen. I’m supposed to make sure the guidance computer and the rocket are talking to each other. They’ll do a pretend countdown and abort just before sending the signal to ignite.

—Then what?

—They bring the missile down again, remove the liquid oxygen, and everyone goes home.

I do not like it here. There is only one exit. Nowhere to hide.

—What about us? He will be waiting for us.

—I’ll ask for a military escort. We’ll figure out where to go…. Do you think it’s true, what the Tracker was saying?

—Which part?

—That we came together, that our world was dying. Did you believe him?

—I am fairly certain he believed it. Whether you and I do does not seem particularly relevant.

—What if it’s true? The necklace I’m wearing, did you know it’s not from Earth?

—I suspected.

—What if we let our people die by hiding that thing?

—Let us assume for a moment that the device he mentioned does exist. Would you use it if you could? Would you bring billions like him to this world? Besides, I am not hiding anything and neither are—

—What?

—Did you hear that, Mia? It sounded like gunshots.

—Maybe the army will kill him for us.

—How far is the silo from the control room?

—It’s… at the end of that tunnel on the left.

—Take us there, Mia! We are not waiting for him here.

—He might be dead already.

—He might not be. Go.

—Fine. This way.

There is no one inside the tunnel. There were plenty of soldiers outside, but I have only seen a handful since we went underground.

—Is it always this empty?

—I don’t know, I’ve only been here twice. But these things are designed for a skeleton crew.

—How much farther?

—What did you say?

The noise is getting louder and louder. It sounds like a thousand baby goats are being burned alive.

—I SAID HOW MUCH FARTHER?

I see a door ahead of us. It is much closer than I thought, fifteen hundred feet from where we were at most. If we were above ground, the control room would be miles from the launchpad.

—In here.

This is impressive. Our ceiling is rising along this giant metal structure, no doubt bringing the missile to the surface. It must be near the top now. There. It stopped. I do not know if it is fear or the beating I just took but that noise was driving me mad.

—This is better.

—That platform is holding two hundred thousand pounds of rocket fuel above our heads, Mother. I don’t mind the noise as long as it doesn’t drop it.

A fair point, though I’m certain it would not take a feat of engineering to quiet this monster down a bit…. And now we wait. With any luck, the guards will t—

[Hello? Anyone?]

There is someone here. I did not hear him coming. It could be a soldier, or an engi—

—Mother, it’s him.

This one might be a couple of years younger, but he looks the same. Same height. Same cold eyes. Same response. Adrenaline is binding to my heart and arteries. My heartbeat is speeding up; so is my breathing. He is blocking the only doorway out of here, and I do not have a weapon. His is a baton. He must have grabbed it from one of the guards. We will not last five seconds without something to fight with.

[Oh, here you are! I’m so glad to see you both here. So which one of you ladies killed my brother?]

I see an ax next to the fire extinguisher, but it is too slow a weapon. Mia is digging through a toolbox. She grabbed herself a hammer. That is anger talking, not fear. I will take a screwdriver if there is nothing else. Box cutters. Perfect. I prefer short blades.

—Let me take care of this, Mia.

[Take care of this? I just want to know who left a tiki torch inside my brother’s skull. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.]

—That would be me.

—Don’t talk to him, Mia. I will keep him occupied. You run.

My hand is killing me but I can still hold a knife. I do not need to kill him. I only need him out of the way. If Mia makes it to the exit, there should be armed soldiers above us.

—Like hell I am, Mother. I’m not leaving you here. We’ll take him together.

[You’re not holding a grudge because I kicked you off that launchpad, are you? Fine. I don’t feel like talking either. Let’s dance.]

—Mia, stand back!

He is swinging his baton. Close the distance. Don’t parry. A baton is mechanical leverage. Basic physics. Amplification of the input force is proportional to the distance over which it is applied. Take the hit close to the grip. Slice his forearm.

He is transferring his weight. Walk back and slice again. There is a lot of blood but I am not cutting deep enough. I need to hit muscle and tendon if I am to weaken his arms. Baton again. Walk forward and slice. I cut him deep this time. His right elbow is moving back. He will swing again. He is strong, but predictable. He will not last long if we continue this routine. Baton from above. Walk forward. Slice his fore—Aaaagh. He grabbed me by the hair.

Headbu—

…

…

…

Where am I? I am on the floor, dizzy. I must not have been out long. Mia is running towards him. He raised his baton but she slid on one leg and swung her hammer into his knee.

—I’ll kill you for what you did!

His leg buckled. She’s behind him now. Crack his head open, Mia! He is walking backwards. He will slam her against the wall.

[What I did? You just killed my brother, you stupid bitch!]

They are facing each other again. GET YOUR HANDS UP!

Mia took a blow to the temple. She is barely conscious.

[Is that all you got? How about I rip your ear off so you and your mom match? Then you can be mad.]

He knocked both of us out in under a minute. Time to face facts.

I need him to come to me before he kills her.

—LEAVE HER ALONE!

[Hey! You’re back!]

You should have killed me when you had the chance.

[If you insist.]

The Tracker is limping towards me. Come at me. Keep coming.

I don’t need the knives anymore….

Only now, in the end, do I understand.

It is not our path that brought us here but my straying from it. I let selfishness and doubt distract me. I wanted what other people have and I forgot the treasure we possess. I forgot my purpose.

Hsue-Shen was right. We cannot change what we are. I tried, and the Tracker knocked at our door. I broke the rules, and my daughter paid the price. I pretended to be something I’m not, and Mia lost her child.

Now I get to set things straight. Survive at all costs.

I got the ax off the wall. It is heavy. I can see the Tracker in the corner of my eye, but I am not looking at him. I am staring at the platform hydraulics.

—MOTHER, NO!

Good. Mia knows what I am doing. I wish there were another way but there is not.

—…

—NOOOOO! PLEASE, MOTHER, STOP!

One swing of the ax. She will need to run fast. The closest blast door is a quarter mile away. Run, Mia. Always run.

The Tracker stopped dead in his tracks. He does not know what just happened. He sees the cable dancing, spitting oil like an angry snake. He does not understand. He just now realized Mia is gone. He can hear the pump struggling. The platform above us just dropped three feet on one side.

Now, he knows.

[What have you done?]

That is a good question. I have lived. I have learned. I have made mistakes. I doubted. I did what I could to honor the ones that came before me. I brought a life into this world. I tried to help. Now I die, but, as my friend said, at least I will die knowing who I am.

—I hope I have done enough. Now burn, you fucking piece of shit.

The platform is coming down hard. We will be dead before the fuel tanks rupture and blow this place to hell. There is so much I have not done, but I have no regrets, for this is not the end. Ninety-nine of us are gone, but we were born a hundred times.

My name is Sarah Freed, and we are the Kibsu.