HORTON
Horton
By Jess Donoho
PREFACE
This is not a tale of outer space fantasy or of going where no man has gone before. It is not a rally cry to climate change, or ignorant disregard of what science tells us day after day. It is simply the end result of man’s folly, culminating in a tiny spark of hope for humanity.
It is the classic retelling of civilizations that were run by greedy little men building empires within borders and boundaries. They used deceit, lies, and manipulation to gain wealth and power. They pander to corporations who are willing to destroy our entire ecosystem in the pursuit of financial excess for a few, and sustained mediocrity for the masses. And of the masses who have little, but follow in fear of losing what little they do have.
Eventually, you reach the bottom of the barrel. You exhaust everything until there is a point of no return. The only option is to leave what you have created.. then destroyed (and will likely do the same to some other planet elsewhere in the universe). We are a civilization who does not learn from our mistakes. We are destined to both greatness and moronic ineptitude.
Yes, this story starts as a science fiction, but stay focused reader, for it takes a sudden, wrenching twist and everything you thought you knew, becomes something entirely different. – Author.
THE GLORIOUS DAYLIGHT
When science determined that within 200 years, the planet would no longer support life, the politicians and corporations quickly dismissed it as “ fake news”. It would take 100 precious years for reality to hit that there was no hope for this dying planet, and for panic to set in. First, every country on the planet set aside centuries of racism, war, hatred, violence, religion, and politics and came together in a single unifying task of preserving the species. Money that had previously been spent on war, drugs, corporate greed, luxury cars and televangelists, was pooled into scientific research that would advance our knowledge of space travel, agriculture, technology, and industry. Miraculously, within a decade of the planets demise, eighteen thousand ships had been constructed to transport the entire living population of this dying planet into the furthest reaches of space. As each living plant and creature was loaded, special care was made to keep mosquitos, ticks, cockroaches venomous snakes, religious fanatics, lawyers, and politicians off the ships. Finding a habitable planet anywhere in the universe might take decades. There was no reason to make this journey intolerable. Each of these ships were cast to the Universe in its own desperate search for a habitable planet to occupy.
As the Captain of the “Glorious Daylight,” Jonas Lightweather was determined that he would be the first to find a new world, therefore ensuring his name would live on forever. Jonas Lightweather was raised from infancy to this position. He had been trained since birth to command a great ship. He had been told of his greatness all his life and he believed every word. Jonas Lightweather was a man of great knowledge and a greater ego. His crew was handpicked over the seventy years of his life and now, on the dawn of the end of the world, Jonas Lightweather would be the savior he knew himself to be.
Eighteen-thousand ships were provisioned and loaded. Final goodbyes were made. Final tears shed and on the appointed day, they lifted off as one, each in a different direction in search of a new world. A new home.
Jonas Lightweather was indeed a great captain. He carried his authority like a benevolent caregiver and kept order among the thousands of occupants of his ship. Man, and beast alike lived in relative harmony. The ship was shiny and new, and serviced the needs of all occupants in comfort and care. It was a spectacular beginning to what was to be a long, long, long journey. Jonas Lightweather would pass in his sleep at the age of 127 and would achieve his goal of becoming a legend, for a while. The first three or four centuries after his death, there were songs sung of his intelligence and bravery. Into the sixth century following his death, he was still mentioned in a history book or two. In the seventh century, a fire in the records room erased all memory of Jonas Lightweather and within a few generations following, his name was gone forever.
What was intended as a short journey into space to discover a new world became drifting in space for an eternity. As provisions were depleted, the animals were the first to be barbequed and baked into oblivion. Only sheer will saved the vegetation and converted most of the space within the ship to farms. In the wake of Jonas Lightweather, generations of disagreement, argument, and general underhanded politics had rendered the command of the Glorious Daylight from a ship of harmony to monarchy which devolved into a patriarchy then to matriarchy and then there was no place to go but to dictatorship. In the second millennium after the exodus from their planet, the inhabitants of the Glorious Daylight were living in a squalid, fetid dirge of a vessel. The electronics and computers were a patchwork of semi-conscious artificial intelligence, the engines faltered centuries prior, and the ship was now carried by its long-declining velocity in the vacuum of space. The shiny exterior was riddled with dents and dings from tons of space junk slamming against the hull, and the pristine interior had become a tattered and beat up old hag. Her batteries had little to no electrical energy left in them and could only be used for the most basic tasks on the ship. In short, the Glorious Daylight was a derelict ship on a path to nowhere.
The Glorious Daylight was massive. Her 72 decks, once filled with sumptuous living space, were gutted to make room for farms and water recycling. The remaining space was used for cramped quarters. It was hot, wet, steamy, and smelled of decomposing plants. The plants loved this moisture and their prodigious crop kept up with the food demands of the crew. The top level was the swampiest. Steam vents poured moisture into the air, making it miserably hot and wet. The water that fed these plants ran down through the artificial soil where it would be used for the next level down, which was a slightly drier climate hosting a different type of plants. Way, way, way down in the bottom of the ship, many floors below were arid deserts. When the last bit of water seeped down into the soil here, it was heated by the machinery in the belly of the Glorious Daylight, converted to steam, which rose back up through the ship to the top, becoming water for the tropical forest again. Over the course of centuries, the passengers on board the Glorious Daylight had adapted to this moist, wet environment.
Each floor had a crew assigned to manage and care for the farm on that specific level. For instance, Floor 22 was dedicated to what once may have resembled a potato. Its former smooth, oval shape had devolved into a lumpy, squishy vegetable that provided essential nutrient, but not in a way that tasted good. The cooks would mix this root with many other plants to make a mush that was edible. In centuries past, the passengers of the Glorious Daylight would have dined on sumptuous meals and washed it down with fine wine, but today, food was just a utility product designed to perpetuate the species until they found a new home.
Agrumph, the oldest and wisest of all farmers on the Glorious Daylight, managed floor 22 farm. He was often called upon to travel throughout the ship to advise and assist with the farms on other levels. Agrumph’s pride and joy was Prit, his young daughter, in whom he had instilled a sense of wonder and exploration. He often took her on his travels through the ship and she paid rapt attention to the adults talking about science, water, crops, and machinery. They often talked about things the Glorious Daylight used to have. While the other kids formed gangs to raid competitor farms, Prit would sit up late into the night reading entries in the ships logs from centuries before, completely mesmerized by the technology that allowed them to escape one fate, only to be subject to another. Prit read voraciously, listened intently and in the privacy of her secret places, she conducted experiments using the old methods. They rarely worked, for Prit was only a young woman and had not yet learned how to understand the knowledge she was receiving, but she tried nonetheless and sometimes succeeded, to her great surprise and happiness.
The adults onboard the Glorious Daylight thought Prit was a foolish child. Trying to learn anything but farming had been given up long ago. The keepers of the computers and machines were the lowest members of society. The kids Prit’s own age were interested in thieving and mischief. They were either stripping parts from the ship and selling them to farmers on different decks for credits, or they were joining the Young Farmers Association to advance the productivity and taste of the food. They had no interest in machinery, computers, science and the like. They found Prit peculiar and awkward. Prit did not often think of the other kids on the ship, but when she did, it hurt. She had no friends, but she really wanted one. No one understood her and she did not understand them. She was alone on this great big ship full of people.
One afternoon found Prit wandering up to the Bridge of the ship. This is where hundreds of officers used to control, manage, and operate the Glorious Daylight. The door to the Bridge was hanging from a single hinge and she had to lift on the corner and slip inside. In the cavernous interior that was once filled with glaring computers and the whirring and whizzing of electronics, there were only a handful of computers screens operating now. Their images scrolling and waving as if on their last breath. They controlled the atmosphere, the water systems, and a general direction. I say general because any movement of the Glorious Daylight might disrupt a course that was charted years before when everything operated properly. If they stayed exactly on this course, they would narrowly miss hitting one of the billions of planets throughout the millions of known solar systems. They were threading a needle so to speak. Just the slightest change of course today could mean slamming into a planet a century from now. No one could touch or operate the navigation system. A pane of thick glass covered it so that someone could not accidentally bump into it and change the course of the Glorious Daylight forever.
Behind the few operating computer screens sat men and women who were sleeping, doodling, or otherwise attempting to occupy this dull task. Once every decade or two a flashing red light would ignite, and everyone would scramble to correct the problem. Other than this occasional hiccup, it was the dullest and least regarded task on the ship. Prit walked up behind one of the screens, looking over the shoulder of a middle-aged woman who had obviously been eating much more than her allocated provision. "Ahem," said Prit. When the woman did not respond Prit cleared her throat louder, "AHEM, pardon me.”
The woman did not turn or even open her eyes; she just said, "yea, whatcha want?" Excited to get an answer at all, Prit excitedly inquired what the computer was managing.
Well," said the woman in a halting response. "It has something to do with the search for home. It is looking all the time, hoping to see something, anything. It keeps all the other computers working," said the woman, lazily sweeping her arm in motion to all the computers left glowing on the deck.
"And how does it do that asked Prit?”
"Well, it just watches them. That’s all I know. It knows when they are working and when they are not.”
Prit’s eyes squinted to read the screen. "And what happens when something is not working right?" asked Prit.
"How’s I to know,” muttered the woman? "I’ve been sitting here for nine years and it ain’t never done nothin.”
Thinking for a moment Prit then said, "so it’s possible that it is not working at all?” There was a long, quiet silence. The woman looked intently at the screen. She leaned forward and gently tapped it. Aside from a little static, nothing happened. She reached into the desk and pulled out a dusty keyboard. She blew the dust off the keys, plugged it into the console and typed a command. Nothing. She typed another command. Nothing. She called for Superintendent Tokus, who marched over with military correctness and listened intently while the woman described the situation.
"Enetta, why would you tap your screen?” he asked in his precise, snobbish way.
"This young’un wanted to know if it was working," she replied.
"And you typed into the console why?" he droned.
"Cause the tappin’ didn’t work,” she said. Motioning for her to move her voluminous mass from the chair, he took her place and typed in command after command. The screen never changed. When his assessment was completed, he reached forward, switched off the terminal, stood from the chair, saluted the woman, and excused her from the room. The search for a new home was officially over.
"Ahem," said Prit to the Superintendent.
"Yes,” said the man?
"What happens now, asked Prit?”
"Nothing,” said the man. “One by one our systems fail us. When that happens, it is the official determination to simply turn the terminal off.”
"But what about finding a new home?” asked Prit.
"Dear girl,” said the Superintendent, "we are home. This is the only home we will ever know.” And with that, the Superintendent spun on his heel and walked back to his office.
That night, Prit told her father about what had happened on the Bridge. Agrumph sat quietly for a moment and sipped on his hot cup of cawful. It had been ages since he had been up on the Bridge. Perhaps when he was a child himself. His memory was of many bright computer screens and people working at them. If the systems were indeed shutting down, it could be catastrophic. The next morning Agrumph sent out a messenger to the managers of each level to meet him at the Bridge at exactly 10:00 sharp.
At 9:59 seventy-two managers were moving down the halls towards the Bridge. They nodded and greeted each other as they merged in the halls. As they approached the Bridge, they were surprised to see a phalanx of guards standing in front of the door. Agrumph and Prit worked their way to the front of the line. Agrumph, as was his polite way asked the men to allow them entry. "Ya ain’t allowed," said a guard.
"By whose authority?" said Agrumph.
"By mine," said the Superintendent as he slid the hanging door aside and stepped into the hall. "This Bridge is now under supervisory control. No one is allowed admittance without authority of the Supreme Leader.”
Agrumph looked puzzled. "The Supreme Leader? Who is that?”
"The Supreme Leader is our benevolent dictator Brattorious," announced the Superintendent with pomp and respect.
"What happened to Melonious?” asked Agrumph .
"I thought it was Rexaldo," said another manager.
"Naw, it’s Woodfeld," said another.
"No,” snarked the Superintendent. "The Supreme Leader this year is Brattorious. Those others you mentioned have not been the Supreme Leaders for ages. You know how they come and go.” And indeed, they knew. Every few months there was another coup attempt and another uprising among the power grabbers and desperate. The current Supreme Leader and their cohorts ate better and had nicer quarters, but otherwise it never affected the rank and file on the ship.
A voice spoke up from the area to the back of the managers. "Agrumph, suppose you tell us what is going on?” The Supervisor started to rapidly carry on about security and top-secret information, but Agrumph gave a stern look that caused the Supervisor to shrink back into the Bridge.
Agrumph began; "it has come to my attention, through the observations of young Prit here, that few, if any, of the computer systems that control our machines, our navigation, our atmosphere and even our water are still operating. I asked you here to investigate.”
A voice from somewhere in the middle spoke up, "well I was in there just a while back and it looked good to me.”
"And when exactly was that?” asked Agrumph.
"Must have been, oh, um, thirty, no forty years back. Everything was fine.”
Another shouted out, "yea, I was there as a lid’l kid and they was all sorts of lights and noises. It were fine.”
Agrumph raised his hand to quiet the crowd. "All the same, does it not seem unusual that we would be prohibited from visiting the Bridge?”
"Yes," murmured the crowd.
"And when was the last time you saw a guard on this ship asked Agrumph?”
"Never," muttered the crowd.
Agrumph turned back towards the guards and asked them to step aside. The guards each looked at each other, wondering what to do. "I said NOW!" roared Agrumph to the surprise of everyone. Instantly, the guards scattered and ran. Agrumph grabbed the edge of the door and twisted up and down until it broke free from the remaining hinge, and he tossed it aside. He walked straight into the room with the crowd following.
"Wait, no, stop,” pleaded the Superintendent. "You are not allowed in here.”
"I am allowed anywhere on this ship, as are any of these people,” said Agrumph.”
Eyes adjusted to the dim of the cavernous room. Only a scattering of computers screens were illuminated, leaving much of the room in a dim shadow. As the managers filed in, gasps and exclamations of surprise could be heard around the room.
"Where are the lights?” asked one.
"Where is the buzzin and whirrin, noises?” asked another.
"Mr. Superintendent," shouted Agrumph, "what is the meaning of this?”
Superintendent Tokus held his head low and muttered, "our ship is dying.”
For months following, young Prit was a particularly important person on board the Glorious Daylight. Few, if any persons on Board the ship really understood the ship. They had focused on their small role in a big machine and had no idea how it related to the rest of the machinery. Prit had only a rudimentary knowledge of the Glorious Daylight, but it was more than the rest of them, so she handed out tasks and roles to various persons. She started a group working on learning about the computers. Another learning about how the machinery worked. Another group studied the stars and navigation. It would take a miracle to save the Glorious Daylight and all her passengers. So much to do and undo. So little time. Just when everyone began working as a team. Just when it seemed like there was hope. Just at that very moment where we thought the Glorious Daylight could be saved, A janitor slipped on a freshly mopped floor, knocking over the pail of cleaning fluid he had carelessly left on top of the console, which caused the fluid to leak under the pane of glass that protected the button that shut off the automatic navigation system which resulted in a small tendril of smoke to wisp up from within the controller itself. The room fell silent. The smoke dissolved and a great sigh of relief went up from the room. A fresh puff of smoke billowed, and breath was held a second time as the smoke cleared. Behind a lone flickering screen on the far side of the room a small voice said, “um, er, I think we have a problem.”
Crews worked furiously for weeks to determine what the small change in navigation could mean to the fate of the Glorious Daylight. The computer students cobbled together a machine that could extrapolate theories. The mechanics tried to restart the engines to get the ship back on course. For the first time in generations, everyone aboard the Glorious Daylight was working together to avoid potential disaster.
The day that they knew their fate, they were speeding through an unknown system in an unknown galaxy trillions of miles from their home planet. They were heading for a star that had been a mass of flame and cinder for billions of years. The planets orbiting the star were all hostile and uninhabitable. If they were to hit one of these planets, they would never seemingly survive the crash. If they did, they would never survive the atmosphere of the planet. If they missed the planets, they would speed headlong into the star, incinerating the Glorious Daylight as it approached. Their fate was cast now. With nothing to do but wait for the end, the passengers aboard the Glorious Daylight waited for their inevitable doom.
Against all odds, and for the benefit of continuing this story, young Prit found a series of anomalies on a single nearby planet. These anomalies were habitable surfaces that seemed to move, rarely staying in the same place for more than a few hours. To land on one of these anomalies and survive the crash could mean that a few of the passengers on the Glorious Daylight might just survive. Prit summoned her mechanics and computer operators and quickly explained what needed to happen. For then next month every person on board the Glorious Daylight worked frantically to isolate a single anomaly that they could possibly crash land on. It would be a trillion to one chance, but that was the only chance they had.
The entire Bridge was packed with people on that fateful day. The Bridge windows provided a panoramic view of their destination. It was hostile in every way. Initial reports had returned that there were a million ways to die on that planet but only a few ways to survive. Adequate crash sites had been analyzed against the likely impact time. Most were in motion, but a few were stationary long enough to predict a potential crash site that would optimize the chance for survival.
As the ship crashed through the atmosphere its surface glowed bright orange and white with friction. The ship was descending at an unbelievable rate of speed, breaking sound barriers and whining as the air passed the uneven surface of the ship. It sounded as if a bomb were descending on the planet. The entire craft was shaking and rocking with the atmospheric winds. What began as a speck on the horizon became larger and larger as they approached the planet. Soon, the planet filled the entire window view. With only seconds until immanent crash, the people sobbed and held each other close, preparing for the worst.
