Hugh Howey: Half Way Home

The voice felt like a warm fluid rising up, wrapping around and filling every crevice of my being. For so many years, its constant and soothing sound had been my company as it emanated from dozens of instructional avatars. For fifteen years, it had readied me for life—teaching and preparing me.

But not for this.

Nearly a dozen colonists had packed themselves into the command module; most sat on the floor with their arms wrapped around their knees. White fire retardant covered every surface like a thin layer of frost. Overhead, a swirling black mist of smoke hovered near the ceiling. There seemed to be minimal fire damage. If the AI was responsible, it would’ve initiated its own destruction last in order to oversee the process. What I was seeing lent considerable weight to Tarsi’s theory.

I followed her and Kelvin as the two of them squeezed down a tight corridor lined with electrical cabinets, and headed toward the front of the module. Wracking my memory, I tried to recall where the power for this module came from but couldn’t. Another pang of fear roiled up through me as I wondered how many important things I was supposed to know—but hadn’t yet learned. We’d been given no orientation for our planet. Nothing at all. We should’ve had another fifteen years in the vats to learn and grow.

The module widened toward the end, opening on a handful of naked, muddy colonists crowded around a bank of monitors. Three colonists sat in chairs bolted down in front of the screens. All the blinking lights and complex machines made us look even more like lost savages—out of any element we could possibly have been designed for. Kelvin and Tarsi slid down against one of the walls and I joined them. Across from us, a few other colonists hugged their knees for warmth or modesty—perhaps both. The three of us followed suit, wrapping our arms around our shins. I could hear several sets of teeth chattering, creating a frantic backbeat for the peppering rainfall and the oddly calm conversation taking place around us.

“Understood, Colony, but as I said, there are some more… primary needs to tend to. Where are our clothes? Our food? We are—I have a lot of colonists in shock right now. Modules are still burning, and what you’re asking will take time.”

I watched the young man in the center chair, the one talking, and admired his poise. He seemed distraught yet in control. He rested his elbows on the counter in front of him, his fingers interlocked above his head as he bent over in worry or deep thought. But it was his voice—the tenor and pace of it matching the AI for calmness—that soothed me. It was as if they were on solid footing. Like together, they could make everything okay.

“I have already recalled two more tractors from mining station two,” Colony said. “It will be two days before they arrive with more supplies. Until then, there are tarps for cover and clothing. The server module, the power modules, and this one will provide adequate shelter. The planet has some caloric resources, enough to last you the duration of the task. I am setting a two-week timetable for the launch of the mission package.”

The girl seated next to the boy stiffened. “Two weeks?” she asked, turning to the center boy. He held up his hand and nodded to her, then looked around at the rest of us. His eyes widened, as if surprised at how quickly his audience had grown. I leaned away from the wall and looked back down the aisle. Another dozen or so colonists had squeezed into the module to get out of the rain, or perhaps to take stock of themselves, their fellow survivors, and the situation.

“Two weeks seems a bit quick to get something into orbit,” the boy said, looking at us rather than face the monitor. He seemed to be sizing up the group. Taking our measure. “It’ll take a few days just to clean up, organize supplies, and—”

“All of that will have to wait. The mission package comes first. The viability of this colony is still in question.”

“In question ?” someone asked. “Fifteen years, and our viability is in question ?”

The boy in the chair raised his hand, palm out, but nodded to the speaker. With his brow furrowed and his lips pursed, he wore a mask of complete empathy. I immediately fell for the guy, willing to follow him anywhere, completely trusting in his leadership. Or maybe I was still just being a scared little boy, or a young hatchling looking for something to keep me safe.

He turned to the console and lowered his voice, which brought the whispering in the back of the module to a halt as kids strained to hear. “Colony, what happened? I’ve got—I don’t know—sixty survivors out here? None of us are more than halfway through our training programs. Modules are burning—”

“Ask Colony if he tried to abort us,” one of the seated kids said.

The boy waved again, more impatiently this time. “Modules are burning to the ground, and you’re asking me to ready a rocket? We need more information than that. We need help sorting the base out—”

“Sorting ourselves out,” someone in the back said.

The boy in the seat sighed, shaking his head. “What do you mean about our viability? What is—?”

“Enough!”

Our heads spun as one and peered down the module toward the source of the outburst. A large male—bigger than Kelvin—pushed his way through the crease of shivering teens. He had short, dark hair and even darker eyes. Around his waist he’d tied some electrical wiring. A broken piece of paneling hung from it, covering his groin.

“Out of the chair,” he told the speaker, jerking his thumb.

The seated boy rose but did not step away. He stood, fully naked, exuding confidence. I should have risen as well, urging calm between the two boys, but I was just as paralyzed as the others. All of us watched the scene unfold like spectators in glass cages.

“I’m Stevens,” the smaller boy said, holding out his hand. “Mechanical foreman, third group. I’m colonist four-four-two—”

“Don’t pull rank with me,” the bigger kid said. He moved forward, standing right in front of the three of us. Caked mud fell off his enormous thighs and landed near my feet. I reached over and groped for Tarsi’s hand, interlocking it with my own. I noticed Kelvin had done the same with her other one.

“I’m Hickson,” the large colonist said. He did so quite loudly, as if he meant to address us all. “Third-shift mine security,” he continued. “Until a higher ranking officer comes forward, I’m in charge.”

“Colony is in charge,” Tarsi said.

Her voice, so close by and assertive, startled me. I felt a tinge of anger for drawing attention to ourselves, then shame for feeling that.

Hickson swung a large hand down and pointed a finger at each of us, as if we’d all spoken up. “That’s right,” he said, “Colony is in charge. And my job is to make sure we stay on point.” He turned and aimed his finger at Stevens. “It sounds to me like you want to question everything—”

“That’s enough,” Colony said. “Hickson, you know how the chain of command works. As Four-Four-Seven, you are outranked, but I do appreciate your enthusiasm. Each of you will play vital roles in the weeks ahead. As unusual as the circumstances are, no colony is settled without its unique challenges. I assure you all, your services will be most appreciated, and this colony will be highly touted in future training modules. I’m sure of it.

“Now, you are cold and confused, I understand that. The power station, the relay module, and the command module are all under control. I’m bringing the remaining construction vehicles back to camp. There should be plenty of room for everyone to rest and dry out. Tomorrow, work begins. All for the glory of the colony.”