An Ark named Anion

We destroyed the Earth, yet we survived.
We destroyed the second Earth, called Eon, yet we survived.
Now, we are adrift in space and someone seems to want to destroy those who are left.


1. Chapter 1


She is a ship. She is beautiful. She is the top of her range, outfitted with the best equipment, best arms, best everything! Sure, there were others built like her but none quite compared.


The year of her unveiling was a big year for a lot of people, all 148 billion of them on Eon. That’s what we called Earth mark two. We, all the humans, found a way to destroy the first Earth so we found another and for a time it was good. None were allowed the chance to forget what we had done to the first Earth although, in the end, it didn’t seem to help. We still managed to bungle up the second one. Go us! Apparently, this was no surprise to some as there had been secret plans made in case. How were we to know that those plans would cause everything to go wrong? So wrong in fact that world war broke out over night! And over what? The creation of a simple fleet of ships in case we blew each other up!? SO WE BLEW EACH OTHER UP!?! Heavens and moons, we are stupid creatures!


Anyway, there are few survivors, only about fifty thousand or so: no one is exactly sure as official records are still sealed. Moons preserve us, we have been out here four months and we still aren’t sure which way is up! And government? Who knows? It does not seem to matter if there is or isn’t. Someone seems to be steering this fleet and personally I’m happy going along with it.


But I’ve gotten sidetracked. Anion. Yes, she is a beauty. There were fourteen made, fourteen different versions of the same ship but Anion is the most beautiful of the lot. She was the first made and the first to be launched when she was full of refugees. Not all were as lucky though. Only eight of the fourteen made it off Eon in time. Half, basically. A little more than half of them made it off world. It seems unreal that five months ago I was busy celebrating the successful creation of a new technology for space flight and four months ago we had to use it for the first time. I had woken up on that last morning on Eon to a frantic message on my display unit from my mother, asking if I was alright. An ominous start to any day, if you ask me, but four months down the line I replay that message again and again and again from my hand-held whenever I can, just to hear her voice, her sweet (albeit panicked) voice, calling my name and telling me that she loves me.


There are tears in her eyes as she speaks. She sniffs. “Jenal, sweetmoon, I love you so much, and I’m so proud of you! I always will be. No matter what happens.” There’s an explosion behind her and the force shield collapses. That sound is unmistakable. And then bits of rubble fly at the display unit and so the message ends.


So I replay it. Just to see her face, see her trying to be strong for me as she tells me that she won’t be able to see me again and that for her part in what happened she was sorry. Family politics, what can you do? I had not spoken to my mother in months because of what happened and thinking back now I am uncertain why it had all gone so pear shaped anyway. Childish. That’s what my father had called it when I had finally contacted him. He still supported me; Pappa always protected me, from anything. We still spoke and he would tell me about Mother and it made me feel better about the whole situation. Even so, it feels silly now. All of it.


                Log end.

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