Brad Torgersen: Outbound

Illustrated by Mark Evans

I was eleven years old when the Earth burned.

I can still remember Papa running into the hotel room on the space station, screaming. What he said, exactly, I can’t recall. But there was fear in his eyes when he picked me up and threw me over his shoulder. He did the same with my little sister, Irenka, and then he was back out the door—both of us bouncing across his deltoids like sacks of potatoes.

Papa didn’t stop for luggage, or any of our toys.

Not even my special chair.

I remember the curved corridor being filled with adults: screaming, fighting, and yelling.

One of them got in Papa’s path, and Papa literally kicked the man out of the way.

Papa had never hurt another human being in his whole life.

Irenka, who was just four, kept calling for Mama. But Mama had been at a conference on the other side of the station, and we didn’t see her anywhere.

I kept thinking about my chair. If whatever was happening was bad enough for Papa to forget my expensive new chair, then it was really, really bad.

When we got to the hatch of the ship, there were big people with guns and they wouldn’t let Papa onboard.

Papa yelled at them. They yelled back.

I remember Papa slowly putting Irenka and me down on the deck and hugging us both very closely, his big hands stroking the backs of our heads while he spoke.

“Mirek, you’re the oldest. You have to take care of Irenka. And Irenka, I want you to be good for your brother and do what he says. Because you both have to leave this place and I can’t come with you.”

The big people with guns moved aside and other people, wearing crew jumpers, came through the hatch and tried to take Irenka and me away from Papa.

Panic gripped me.

I wouldn’t release him.

Irenka kicked. I shrieked, because I couldn’t kick.

We hung onto Papa’s shirt for dear life.

Ultimately, Papa yelled at us so loudly it made us silent, because we’d never heard Papa say such words to us before, or in such a loud voice.

He apologized and kissed us both. We let go of his collar.

“Remember me,” Papa said when the crewpeople took us away. “Remember your Papa and Mama. We will always love you!”

The ship was crammed with people. Other children, mostly.

When the heavy banging noises came through the cabin, some of the kids screamed. I knew better, though. We’d undocked from the station because I felt all the gravity go away.

This was a good thing. No gravity meant I didn’t need my chair.

The crewpeople who’d taken us away from Papa didn’t even speak to us. They hurriedly found a two-person gee couch, strapped us into it, and moved on.

Irenka was sniffling and sobbing while I held her hand and looked out the window, perhaps too dazed to really feel what had just happened to our family.

The big rings of the station rotated beautifully while our ship thrust away from it. The gee from thrusting tugged at my stomach, then shifted ninety degrees. I was being pushed sideways, the view in the window spinning just as the station began to disintegrate. I couldn’t tell what happened, other than that there was a sparkling cloud that seemed to envelop the station for an instant, and then a white flash so brilliant I had to cover my eyes.

When I could see again, the station was gone, and the gee pressing me into my seat was so strong I had a hard time breathing.

Irenka’s sobbing had quieted to a whimper and she gripped my hand so hard I thought her little tendons would snap.

Our ship was moving. Fast.

The Earth’s night side was covered with huge splotches that glowed dull red, like a giant, angry rash.

Occasionally, flashes could be seen through the massive, roiling clouds.

An adult, clad in a spacesuit and with a helmet under his arm, shuffled past our couch. I tapped him on the arm and pointed out the window.

“What’s going on?”

The man paused just long enough to lean over us and look outside.

“Orbital stuff’s been hit,” he said in American English. “Now they’re using antimatter warheads in-atmosphere. Jesus almighty…”

The man bolted aft while I kept looking out.

Somewhere down there, I knew my cousins and grandparents were in trouble. The smoky clouds were too thick for me to see the continents clearly, but I looked for Europe anyway. Poland was by the sea, and I thought that, maybe being near the sea, it wouldn’t be so bad.

Until I saw the day-side limb come up, and wherever the glowing splotches touched the ocean, the water exploded into hurricanes of white vapor.

The angry splotches also expanded visibly, like the sped-up films in school that show how mold grows in Petri dishes.

Then the ship rolled over and I could see nothing more, the additional gee shoving me back into my seat.

I looked away from the window to see Irenka slumped against me, exhausted and eyes closing.

Her little breaths became regular and gentle, and before long I also felt my eyes close, and then there were only memories of Mama and Papa, gone forever.

Irenka woke up crying, and the adults in crewpeople jumpers had to come and get her and take her to the bathroom. When they brought her back she was in night pants and nothing else. They said she’d had an accident, and her clothes wouldn’t be clean for an hour. My sister’s eyes were puffy and wide and she now looked at everything as if it might bite her.

I asked if it was okay if she sat in my lap, and after some conversation, they told me yes, as long as we both stayed buckled in together. Being unbuckled in zero gee would be dangerous. But I already knew that.

Irenka snuggled into my lap, the night pants making a gentle crackling sound. I had us both buckled up and I wrapped my arms around her.

I put my head back and closed my eyes, hoping for additional rest. I felt more tired than I’d ever felt in my life.

“I want Mama,” Irenka said in a low voice.

I opened my eyes and looked down into her small face.

“I want Mama too,” I said. “But I think Mama and Papa aren’t alive anymore.”

My sister stiffened and began to whimper again, burying her face in my chest.

I hugged her tightly, feeling the lump move into my throat. I wasn’t sure who I felt sorrier for: my little sister, myself, or my parents.

I fought back the swell of grief and tried to stay calm. I could still feel Papa’s hand on my head when he looked me in the eye and told me to take care of Irenka—because he’d known Mama and he wouldn’t be around to do it anymore. Papa had looked resigned when he’d said those words to me. Resigned, and yet full of dignity. While the other adults on the station had panicked, he’d made sure Irenka and I were safe.

Now, my sister needed me to be the strong one. And I needed me to be strong for us both.

I swallowed thickly and let my tears be silent tears while I gently stroked Irenka’s golden hair.

An hour later, an adult appeared near our seat. She was older than many of the other adults we’d seen onboard, with short hair that was going gray. She seemed motherly and smiled at my sister and me, patting our shoulders.

“Do you speak TransCom?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Good. Can you please tell me your names and ages?”

“Miroslaw Jaworski. This is my sister, Irenka. I’m eleven, she’s four.”

The kindly crewperson noted our names on her PDA.

“Do you know where your parents are?”

“Yes. You wouldn’t let Papa come onboard. He’s dead now.”