Extraterrestrial Refugees

“What’s with all these stupid cars?” Charles snarled, glaring through the windshield from the back seat of the SUV. They were stuck in a cloud of dust created by a long line of very slow-moving vehicles.

“A bunch of crazies trying to see the aliens,” the driver replied. Oscar unbuckled, opened the door, stood up on the running board and looked ahead, using his cellphone flashlight. The vehicles stretched on down the dirt road for as far as he could see, a line of glowing red tail lights. He sat back down and closed the door.

“A lot of them are abandoned. Look at this—what kind of idiot tries to drive a little Prius out on these roads?” the driver said. He pointed at a little silver car the line of traffic was carefully and slowly meandering off road to get around. “That thing’s gotta be completely bottomed out on those rocks. So they just left it. Crazies.”

“We’ve lost all ground control and we need to get the military in there as soon as possible, and all these psycho civilians are complicating things.” Charles pounded the window with the side of his fist. “Can we get a bulldozer out here to clear the way?”

“We can work on it, although it’ll probably take some time,” Oscar said.

“Make it happen. I want to be at ground zero before sunrise.”

Oscar got on the phone again. It was all he had been doing all day. His ears hurt and his voice was getting hoarse. He hung up the phone and held it on his knee. “The bulldozer is on its way, but it won’t be here until tomorrow morning at the earliest.”

Charles roughly reached for the buckle of his seatbelt. “Outrageous. I’m going to walk then.”

“Sir, you’re in no condition to walk.” Oscar looked over at him. “May I get out and walk though, sir?”

Charles flicked his hand. “Get a move on.”

Oscar bobbed his head and slid out of the car as it continued slowly rolling. He inhaled the desert air. He could hear the humming of helicopters in the distance. He looked down at his shadow cast by the headlights shining behind him. He took a step forward. “Man, I hope there aren’t any rattlesnakes out here.” A few steps later, he stopped in his tracks and held up a finger. “I should probably bring a water bottle.”

* * *

Alarms blared throughout the entire vessel. Vance didn’t know what it meant, but it jolted him from a peaceful sleep. He, along with the other seven men in his dorm room, flew up in their beds. “What’s going on?” they groggily asked, almost simultaneously.

Vance looked at the man on the top bunk across from his. “Ned, you know more about these ships than any of us—what does this alarm mean?” It had probably been reviewed in the predeparture safety demonstration, but Vance had been too frazzled from the chaotic boarding experience to have paid much attention to that and he had never bothered to look through the safety manuals and posters located in every room of the vessel. He had put his entire trust in the people leading this exodus. They were the scientists—the smart ones—not him.

“I’m not sure, but it can’t be good.” Ned pushed his covers down to his feet and slid off the side of his bed. “We’re supposed to congregate to the dining hall in case of an emergency though.”

“Are we?” another man asked. “I don’t remember that.”

“I’m going to take Ned’s word on this one,” another man said. When they opened the door to their room, they found the hall already full of other people, making their way toward the dining hall in a sleepy panic. Parents carried their sleeping children over their shoulders. The children who were woken from their sleep cried and whined. Vance fell into line with them. There were 250,000 people aboard the vessel. It was a lot of people, but Vance liked to think after two years being stuck on the same ship with them, he would start to at least recognize each of them. That was not the case. Every day he bumped into perfect strangers.

Vance was nudged in the side by an elbow. He looked over to see the goofy face of Hoover, a friend he had made on the ship. “At least there’s no old people to slow us down, huh?” he joked. Vance chuckled, although his joke wasn’t exactly funny. It was true though—there were no elderly on board. In order to obtain a boarding pass, you had to be fifty or under. Of course there were exceptions to the rule. If you were still raising children you were given a pass. Or if you were of a certain profession, such as a doctor or a space engineer. Otherwise if you were an average fifty-year-old, it was assumed you had already gotten to live enough of a life and it was your time to say farewell. The Tetranese were brilliant and their technologies outstanding, and yet they weren’t capable of saving all twelve billion inhabitants of their planet.

Vance missed old people. There was something reassuring about their presence. In particular, he missed his parents. If it weren’t for his fiancée, Gemma, he would’ve chosen to stay behind and perish with his mother and father, like so many others had done. Or would he have ended up contributing to the chaos by changing his mind last minute, as so many others had done? They were referred to as the ‘meant-to-be-ers’ because they said if the sun was going to incinerate the planet then it had to be ‘meant to be’ and they should just accept it.

Vance looked around the packed corridor. Everywhere he went on the ship was crowded; solitude was impossible to find. Looking over the bobbing heads and listening to the shuffling feet, he wondered how many of them feared death. Vance did not. Or, at least, he believed he did not. The reasons to live simply outweighed reasons to die.

The ship jolted and the lights flickered. The crowd shrieked and gasp in surprise. A few people fell, but those around them were quick to help them to their feet. Vance turned to Hoover. “That’s never happened before,” he said. Hoover shook his head.

“Can’t be good.”

Vance stooped to glance out of a rare and very small window. All he saw was blackness, dotted with stars. But we’re so close, he thought to himself. They were due to arrive in just four short days. Four days and he could embrace the person he lived for. The hope and anticipation of being reunited with her is what carried him through those first dark months after losing his home, his parents—so much and so many who he loved.

“First we lose communications, and now this,” Hoover grumbled. He shook his head as they continued moseying along at a slightly faster speed. “I swear, if I’ve lived off of those nasty nutrient bars and been trapped on this ship all for nothing…” He shook his head again.

The dining hall was the single biggest room on each of the ship’s identical levels. It was adjacent to the green house which was divided by a large span of window. The grow lights glowed above rows and rows of tables of vegetables, illuminating the night. The plants’ foliage had a bright green glow to it from the lights. The greenhouse provided fresh produce—although a minimal amount—for the passengers, but its main purpose was the production of oxygen. The vessel had a sophisticated air filtration system. The dead are was pumped into the greenhouses and the fresh air was cycled through. The ship never felt stuffy in spite of being at its maximum capacity. That didn’t make Vance miss the fresh air in nature any less though.

On a regular day, the passengers ate in shifts to avoid everyone being in there all at once, and for good reason—Vance could hardly move, wedged against the wall and between Hoover and a stranger. Fortunately, they weren’t kept waiting long. One of the ship’s engineers stepped up onto one of the tables. Vance was tall and could easily see him whereas many around and in front of him stood on their toes to try to see.

The engineer gestured at the sea of people to be silent. Then he cupped his hands to amplify his voice; with the entire ship’s communication system still down after months of silence, there was no other way. “Please pass this along to anyone who can’t hear me,” the man yelled as loud as he could. A lot of people complained they couldn’t hear him. Vance wished they would hush up so he could hear better. “We don’t want to alarm you, but our main power line is failing.”

Gasps and whispers dispersed through the crowd.

“Unfortunately, it will not hold out long enough to make it to Earth. It is not something we can repair while flying, so we will be making an emergency landing on the planet Mars. We are hoping to achieve three things there. First, repair the main power line. Second, find one of the rovers the earthlings have exploring Mars and hopefully use it to communicate with Earth. Third, flag down one of the other vessels for assistance. Any questions or concerns you have you can direct to your sector leader. You may return to your dorms at this time. If there is a safety concern or emergency, the alarm will sound and you will be expected to congregate here again. Thank you.”

The engineer hopped down from the table and was consumed by the crowd.

Hoover looked at Vance. “At least we know the alarms are working.”

“For now,” Vance sighed.

* * *

The team of mechanics, technicians and engineers were making no progress with the gate. It turned out that after two years of being sealed shut, the gate did not want to budge. Gemma sat against the wall, holding her head in her hands. She almost dozed off a few times despite the bustle. “I already told you,” said one of the technicians, “if we force it we run the risk of disarming the shields!”

“I’m well aware of that, but we can’t stay in here forever,” another argued. Gemma knew exactly how he felt. Just outside was dirt. Solid ground—something none of them had seen nor set foot on for far too long. She still listened in on the pilots’ conversation, though she wasn’t paying much attention to what was being said.

Barkley let out a long sigh. He sat a few feet away from Gemma, sharing a small bench with Clarence. Gemma found the floor much more preferrable to that. “I’m about to go over there and break the door down myself.” Even the so-called ‘defense specialist’ was desperate enough to jeopardize their protection. To Gemma, it felt like the walls of the vessels were becoming more and more constrictive with every minute that passed since they had landed.

“At least they got the ramp out,” Clarence said.

Gemma’s stomach growled—again. It had been for hours. Her mouth and throat were also dry. She stood up. “I’m going to get something to eat.”

“Good idea,” Clarence said, nodding.

There was a whooshing sound like a cork being pulled from a bottle. Everyone around reached for their ears as there was a sudden change in pressure. Light flooded into the vessel around the gate’s outline. The light increased as the door gradually slid open. “We got it!” the technician exclaimed.

Clarence scrambled to his feet. “Positions. Quickly!”

The ruckus from outside grew loader the more the gate open. People cheered, yelled, clapped. The noise almost overpowered the roaring jets and whirring helicopters.

“Be alert,” Captain Rem’s voice said in Gemma’s ear. “The gate is opening!”

“Yes, we got the gate to open, and we will be emerging soon,” Gemma said. “Please keep everyone off the ramp.”

“We’re doing our best. We need more ground control,” Rem said. “And you better have your own bodyguards.”

Gemma’s eyes flicked over to Barkley. Bodyguard? He definitely couldn’t be called that. “We don’t. As we’ve made clear, we are unarmed. And we are not soldiers.”

“Speak for yourself,” Barkley mumbled.

The gate locked into its open position. The dessert air filled Gemma’s lungs. The dust tickled her nose. “Captain Rem? We’re stepping out now.”

“Proceed slowly and with caution.”