shaking grew so violent, he thought he was going to be knocked cold. He needed to brace himself, though deep inside he knew the impact would most certainly kill him. Still, he held out hope.
His prayers were answered. It was a small thing, a tiny gift from providence a fraction of a second before the lifepod made contact with the ground. Erupting from every angle, exploding into existence with a deafening boom, a soft cushion surrounded Harvey, forming an instant cocoon inside the cockpit and protecting him from any harm. Though muted by the airbags, he felt the impact enough to know it was hard. The lifepod bounced at least twice, skimming over rough contours striking several solid objects on the surface.
Finally, with a creak and a groan, the lifepod came to rest. As soon as it stopped, the airbags deflated. He counted his lucky stars right then. Somehow, no thanks to his own bumbling, he hadn’t destroyed every lifesaving system. And he was even more grateful of this fact when a luminous circle appeared to his left, alerting him to a piece of equipment he hated, but certainly would need—a space suit.
The suit fit loosely on his rather skinny frame. One size fits all, yeah right. However, it was airtight, and had a computer display in its helmet, linked with the mainframe in the visitor station. It located the nearest maglev train terminal five kilometers away, and calculated his air supply, estimating that, at a moderate walking pace, he would have enough O2 to make it. But not much more.
After a sudden, miniature eruption, the hatch opened, and silt from outside wafted into the lifepod. He didn’t want to get out. But there was no way he could launch the tiny spacecraft back into orbit. No way to avoid the trek to the terminal. No way to elude the sea of tombstones, so infinite, he wondered if it truly did have an end.
As soon as he set his sights on the terrain, peppered with death markers as far as the eye could travel, he wished in a way he’d died in that shuttle explosion. To be alone for another minute on this place—he didn’t want to think about it.
His desperation grew with every headstone he beheld. Crumbling and decayed, they were some of the most ancient on the entire planet. Ostentatious spires and time-whittled statues of cherubs and giant crosses. A clear path of destruction where the lifepod had hit. Several markers broken. Piles of jagged rocks of varied sizes and shapes.
He knew where he was—Zone 6. One of the oldest on the planet. Even older than Zone 12. Harvey had never traveled there in all the time he’d spent as the caretaker. The graves were so old, almost none of them had holomemorials.
The place made his skin crawl. The melancholy eyes of the statues. The bent and broken grave markers. The silent, dark, unnatural stillness that seemed to blanket the whole region in mystery. Did he mention it made his skin crawl?
And it wasn’t just Harvey who felt that way. Zone 6 had a reputation. The previous caretaker, just before departing from his yearlong shift, made special care to tell Harvey all about Zone 6. The strange noises. The spectral sightings. The overall bad feeling one got when visiting.
He felt that energy, however intangible or nonsensical the notion, and it drove his feet. One step after the next, past the pod wreckage, past the hopelessly depressed cherubs, and out of that deserted place.
“Hi, everybody! I hope you’re all doing better than I am!”
Harvey jumped at the sound of the strange voice. Then, under his boot, he felt a pressure switch. And when he saw the person, a large man wearing twenty-first century clothes, it was confirmation—the one holomemorial in a million and he’d triggered it.
“I don’t know what to say in this thing,” the man continued. His three-dimensional image hovered gently next to his gravestone. Harvey read the name: Kip Broders. “ These hologram thingies are kinda new,
His prayers were answered. It was a small thing, a tiny gift from providence a fraction of a second before the lifepod made contact with the ground. Erupting from every angle, exploding into existence with a deafening boom, a soft cushion surrounded Harvey, forming an instant cocoon inside the cockpit and protecting him from any harm. Though muted by the airbags, he felt the impact enough to know it was hard. The lifepod bounced at least twice, skimming over rough contours striking several solid objects on the surface.
Finally, with a creak and a groan, the lifepod came to rest. As soon as it stopped, the airbags deflated. He counted his lucky stars right then. Somehow, no thanks to his own bumbling, he hadn’t destroyed every lifesaving system. And he was even more grateful of this fact when a luminous circle appeared to his left, alerting him to a piece of equipment he hated, but certainly would need—a space suit.
The suit fit loosely on his rather skinny frame. One size fits all, yeah right. However, it was airtight, and had a computer display in its helmet, linked with the mainframe in the visitor station. It located the nearest maglev train terminal five kilometers away, and calculated his air supply, estimating that, at a moderate walking pace, he would have enough O2 to make it. But not much more.
After a sudden, miniature eruption, the hatch opened, and silt from outside wafted into the lifepod. He didn’t want to get out. But there was no way he could launch the tiny spacecraft back into orbit. No way to avoid the trek to the terminal. No way to elude the sea of tombstones, so infinite, he wondered if it truly did have an end.
As soon as he set his sights on the terrain, peppered with death markers as far as the eye could travel, he wished in a way he’d died in that shuttle explosion. To be alone for another minute on this place—he didn’t want to think about it.
His desperation grew with every headstone he beheld. Crumbling and decayed, they were some of the most ancient on the entire planet. Ostentatious spires and time-whittled statues of cherubs and giant crosses. A clear path of destruction where the lifepod had hit. Several markers broken. Piles of jagged rocks of varied sizes and shapes.
He knew where he was—Zone 6. One of the oldest on the planet. Even older than Zone 12. Harvey had never traveled there in all the time he’d spent as the caretaker. The graves were so old, almost none of them had holomemorials.
The place made his skin crawl. The melancholy eyes of the statues. The bent and broken grave markers. The silent, dark, unnatural stillness that seemed to blanket the whole region in mystery. Did he mention it made his skin crawl?
And it wasn’t just Harvey who felt that way. Zone 6 had a reputation. The previous caretaker, just before departing from his yearlong shift, made special care to tell Harvey all about Zone 6. The strange noises. The spectral sightings. The overall bad feeling one got when visiting.
He felt that energy, however intangible or nonsensical the notion, and it drove his feet. One step after the next, past the pod wreckage, past the hopelessly depressed cherubs, and out of that deserted place.
“Hi, everybody! I hope you’re all doing better than I am!”
Harvey jumped at the sound of the strange voice. Then, under his boot, he felt a pressure switch. And when he saw the person, a large man wearing twenty-first century clothes, it was confirmation—the one holomemorial in a million and he’d triggered it.
“I don’t know what to say in this thing,” the man continued. His three-dimensional image hovered gently next to his gravestone. Harvey read the name: Kip Broders. “ These hologram thingies are kinda new,
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