The Lunar Resort

Theron Williams thumbed through a magazine so his hands would have something to do besides fidget in his lap. He still half-suspected that this was some elaborate joke, that a television host and slew of hidden cameramen would come bursting out of the office doors any moment and tell him he'd been duped, all for the mirthful enjoyment of the American public. It would have to be one hell of an expensive joke, though. Saturnalia Astronautics had released a barrage of advertisements over the last two weeks, simultaneously announcing the grand opening of The Lunar Resort and the contest that would send 500 lucky people to vacation there. All this amid the news reports of pending indictments against Saturnalia Astronautics for violating laws governing international commerce and celestial bodies.

Williams had taken the entrance quiz on the Saturnalia website just like millions of others had worldwide and somehow was one of the select few who scored high enough to win. He sat now in a waiting room inside a Los Angeles Saturnalia building waiting for his eligibility interview.

Even if it wasn't a hoax, Williams figured there had to be some sort of catch; Jack Garlan, Saturnalia's founder and CEO, was a businessman after all and he was out to make money, not give away free trips, even if it was good publicity. Most likely, Williams was about to sit through a three-hour timeshare presentation. Williams soured at the thought. Based on all he'd read and heard of Jack Garlan and Saturnalia over the years, Williams admired the man and considered him a unique entrepreneur, a man with substance unlike all the other big name corporate leaders who came and went pushing image over substance. Garlan was a guy who thought up an aerospace company in his garage with his best friend and within ten years time was competing with industry giants Boeing and Northrup-Grumman. Williams wasn't naïve, though. He remembered having such lofty perceptions shattered at a young age when he saw one of his favorite baseball players at a restaurant. Piss off, kid. I’m eating.

Jerk or no, timeshare meeting or not: Williams would sit through whatever he had to for this trip. He was still mad at himself for not spending the money to stay in the Space Bungalows: a group of low orbit space-station hotels that had been Saturnalia's first space tourism venture and were now discontinued thanks to a bogus patent lawsuit filed by NASA. Williams didn't care how hectic things were now. He wanted to go.

The doors to the office opened at precisely 17:30--his scheduled appointment time--and a middle-aged woman in a gray business suit greeted him. She introduced herself as Lydia. Her dark hair was drawn back tightly and she wore low-brimmed glasses and little make-up. She was the quintessential image of businesswoman, something of a rarity even in the sciences and technology industry.

Once seated inside the office with the door closed she began looking over a file, presumably his.

"First of all, let me congratulate you, Mr. Williams," she said without looking up from the file. "The purpose of today's meeting is to determine if you are fit for space travel. While Saturnalia has gone to great lengths to make the trip and stay at the Lunar Resort as comfortable as possible, it is still an arduous journey and some people are not suited for it. Let me also add that our conversation today is confidential and solely for the purpose of determining your eligibility, so please answer all questions as truthfully as possible. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Excellent. Let's begin then. I see you're a high school teacher. Interesting. We've found that few teachers scored high on our entry quiz. It seems that schools only hire moderately educated people who don't have the mental capacity to go further professionally in their chosen field."

She looked up at him over her glasses as if to judge his reaction. Williams smiled. Much like the on-line quiz had seemed to him, this interview was apparently intended to be more of a mentality or personality test than a knowledge based test or IQ test.

"It's a frustrating part of our education system," Williams agreed. "The low salaries offered don't exactly attract the best professionals. There are good teachers out there, though. The ones who have a passion for it and do it despite the low salaries."

"So you think raising teacher wages would attract better teachers?"

"Ideally, yes, though, I suppose it could attract people that are more interested in money than teaching. At least it would give administrators a larger pool of higher caliber professionals to choose from. Whether they'd use that to their advantage is another matter."

Lydia's face showed no indication of whether she agreed or disagreed with him, or if she was even listening at all. She forged on with another question. "I have no children, Mr. Williams. Can you tell me why 50% of my state taxes should go to public education?"

"Well, I can't make an argument for a specific percentage, but I do think everyone who lives in society should contribute to public education. For one thing, most people went to public schools as children and it's a way of paying the school system back for that education. And there's also the matter of investing in the future. Whether the kids in school are yours or not, they are our future workforce and leaders and it benefits our society if they're educated and know what they're doing."

"You really think our dismal education system produces leaders?"

Williams shrugged. "If I'm not mistaken, your boss, Mr. Garlan, is a product of public education."

Lydia smiled a little, but quickly buried her nose back in the file. "Why do you want to go to the moon?" she asked after a moment.

"I don't know. I've always had a fascination with space, I guess. It's one thing to see the moon and stars from here, or through a telescope, but to see them up close...It's the ultimate adventure, I guess. Something man has dreamed of ever since we realized Earth is not alone in the cosmos."

"Do you believe there is intelligent life on other planets?"

"There has to be," Williams said. "As low as the probability is for a planet to have the right conditions for life to evolve, the Universe is too big, too old for us to be the only ones. I mean there are trillions of stars out there, each with their own system of planets..."

"What are your religious beliefs, Mr. Williams?" Lydia looked up and kept her eyes locked on him as she posed the question.

Williams did not respond immediately. He was already in enough trouble at his school because of questions like this. "I don't see what the question has to do with my eligibility for space flight."

"I don't write the questions, Mr. Williams. I'm just told to ask them. I'll remind you that this conversation is confidential, so you need not worry about anyone else finding out what you say. I'll not turn you over to the Religious Right if you don't believe in God. But you must answer the question to be eligible for this trip."

Williams nodded and measured his words carefully. "While I can't rule out the possibility of there being some sort of creator or transcendental life force, I have found no empirical evidence to lead me to believe in such a force. I do not practice or follow any sort of religion."

Williams thought he detected a sudden change in Lydia as he said this; while her expression didn't change, her features seemed to become less severe. "Okay," she said, looking back down at her file. "Only a few more questions then. Do you have any children?"

"No."

"Do you have a spouse or partner?"

"No."

"Do you suffer from claustrophobia?"

"No."

"Do you have a fear of flying or heights?"

"No."

"Do you suffer from any other phobias or mental disorders which lead you to believe you might not be fit for space travel?"

"No."

Lydia flipped through the file some more and jotted something down before looking up at him. "Alright, Mr. Williams, you pass this portion."

Williams couldn't help but grin. "That's it?"

"You still have to pass the physical examination, of course, but assuming you're physically fit, yes. We've already run your background check. If you clear with the doctors, you are to report to the Saturnalia Astronautics airfield in Mojave one week from today."

"One week?" Williams asked in shock. "But I have to teach. I can't just up and leave. And isn't that Election Day?"

"Yes. Unfortunately our schedule is dictated by the phases of the moon and so it's out of our control."

"Why not wait a month? Then at least it would be around everyone's holidays. I don't know if I can just up and leave on such short notice."

Lydia took off her glasses and leaned towards Williams. "Mr. Williams, I'd suggest you do whatever you have to to catch your ship in Mojave, even if it means quitting your job or getting fired. You will be one of only a select few humans in the history of this planet to ever go on a trip like this. I myself will be there, as will Mr. Garlan and his business partner, Mr. Desmond. You'll regret it for the rest of your life if you turn down this opportunity."

Williams breezed through his physical and was at a convenience store getting something to drink for the drive home when the chairman of his science department, Edward Crane, called.

"You better get to the school-board meeting," Crane told him. "One of your students' parents ratted you out. The board is looking to discipline you and the department."

The excitement in Williams sunk away. "Don't let them put any of this on the department, Ed. It was my doing. I'll take full responsibility for it."

"Alright, but you have to get down here to defend yourself."

"What time does the meeting start?" Williams asked, checking his watch.

"Nine. Are you still at your interview?"

"No, I just got out, but I'm up in LA and I'll have to deal with traffic."

"Alright. Get down here as fast as you can. I'll stall them if you're late."

"Thanks. I'll see you soon."

Williams started to hang up, but Crane hollered at him to wait.

"Did you pass?" Crane asked him.

"Yeah, I'm going to the moon."

"God damn," was all Crane replied.

Williams hung up the phone and hurried to the cashier to pay for his drink. If he was like most everyone else and had a currency chip implanted in his arm he could have just walked out the door and the soda would be debited from his bank account automatically. He preferred the old fashioned way, though, and paid with his debit card. It was a hassle when he was in a hurry, but even now he was willing to spend the extra minute it cost to be chip-free.

Once in his car and on his way to the freeway, Williams began trying to figure out what the hell he was going to do. He'd blatantly disobeyed the school-board this time and with elections looming they weren't about to take anything lightly. And then there was the matter of asking for two weeks off to go to the moon. There was a time when a school would have looked upon it as an honor to have a teacher go to the moon, but anything having to do with technology, science, and especially Saturnalia was too controversial to openly support now days.

Williams slammed on his breaks as the traffic merging onto the freeway lurched to a halt. At least he'd have plenty of time to think up a good speech.

He cracked open his soda and a holographic advertisement began playing. It was an ad for one of the presidential candidates, the one who had been the cause of Williams' trouble. Williams poured the soda into a cup he always carried in the car, then smashed the can on the dashboard, crushing the nanoprocessors inside it and cutting the ad short. He'd forgotten who owned that soda company. Way to utilize your consumer power, he chastised himself.

Williams got to the school a half an hour late. He flashed his teacher identification badge to the police officers standing guard at the doors to the school auditorium and hurried inside. By the look Crane flashed him, Williams knew things weren't going well. A parent from the audience was at the microphone, waving her hands dramatically as she derided Williams' teaching, and she only became more animated when she saw Williams walking her way.

The president of the school-board leaned forward towards his own microphone and interrupted the woman. "Thank you Mrs. Tulare. I see that Mr. Williams is here now and I'd like to give him a chance to respond to these allegations before the board votes. Mr. Williams, please come forward."

Williams walked up to the microphone. Mrs. Tulare hissed at him as she passed by on the way to her seat.

"Mr. Williams," the school-board president continued, "It has been brought to our attention that you've been discussing political matters in your freshman physical science course, despite the board's instruction to the science department, and to you specifically, not to do so."

"I teach science, not politics."

"Numerous students have stated that you discussed the topics of evolution, genetic profiling, and fetal cognizance during class this last Monday."

"Yes, all scientific topics."

There was a collective gasp throughout the auditorium at hearing Williams' unabashed admission.

"While not necessarily part of the course curriculum," Williams added, "Several students asked specific questions that prompted our discussion, and my obligation as a teacher is to answer their questions knowledgeably and truthfully."

"Truthfully!?" someone scorned from the audience.

The president ignored the outburst. "Mr. Williams--evolution and creationism, genetic privacy, abortion--these are all...these are all well-publicized issues in the upcoming elections, and hence political topics."

Williams nodded. "I understand your concern and the concern of some parents, but let me assure you that I offered no personal opinions or judgments on the issues, but rather stated the scientific facts surrounding the issues. That's all."

Mrs. Tulare burst from her seat. "Science offers no facts! The lie of evolution serves only to—"

"Enough," the president cut her off. "We've heard from you, Mrs. Tulare. Mr. Williams has the floor right now."

"The theory of evolution has more empirical data supporting it than any other fact you hold to be true," Williams responded back to the crowd, knowing the argument was pointless. "If you can't see the blatant truth in evolution then you have no reason to expect to fall back to earth when you jump in the air, or for the sun to rise tomorrow morning. I find it very disheartening that we're even having this discussion some 130 years after the Scopes trial. I'm a science teacher. I'm supposed to teach science."

"Pragmatist propaganda!" someone shouted.

"Let him speak," someone else yelled back.

The school-board president banged his gavel down, but more people started talking to those around them. "We're not here to debate these topics," the president said to Williams over the noise. "The subject at hand is whether you discussed political issues in your class, and whether you did it of your own accord."

"The classroom is supposed to be a place of learning," Williams said into the microphone loudly so he could be heard over the crowd. "It's supposed to be a place where ideas can be discussed and debated. That's how I run classroom. I don't care if this board or my department tells me otherwise; that's how I run a classroom. I'm not about to sacrifice the integrity of my classroom just to pacify a group of loudmouthed parents that are close-minded, unreasonable, and—"

Something hit Williams in the head from behind, cutting him short. He spun towards the crowd, but it was impossible to tell who had thrown whatever it was; people were hissing and booing at him, waving their arms as if he were a villain in a melodrama.

The president beat his gavel and tried yelling over the din. "Mr. Williams, that is enough. By your own admission now you have discussed topics that we explicitly told you were forbidden to teach until the board reviews the science curriculum in the spring."

A parent, the father of one of Williams students, was suddenly at Williams side, shouting. "The Religious Right will rule the country come spring!"

Instantaneously the entire crowd rose to its feet. People screamed at those around them, got in each other's faces, none of them hearing anything over their own words.

People started shoving. The school board president banged his gavel to stop them, but to no avail. It was the police bullhorn that finally silenced everyone:

"SIT DOWN AND BE SILENT OR THIS WILL BECOME A CLOSED MEETING."

Everyone slowly took their seat when they realized two dozen armed police officers had filed in from outside and taken positions around the perimeter of the auditorium. The board president was flustered and visibly sweating, but he called for a vote as soon as it was silent and the police sergeant gave him the nod. The board voted unanimously; Williams was suspended without pay until the spring and the adoption of the new curriculum.

Williams silently moved toward the door as the president went about adjourning the meeting, but was stopped by the sergeant.

"I'm not arresting you, Mr. Williams, but don't be surprised if the DA presses charges against you for trying to incite a riot once I file my report."

"Don't we have free speech in this country anymore?"

The sergeant smiled. "These are dangerous times. Your liberties only go to the point where they endanger others. Keep an eye out for your subpoena."

Williams snorted and walked out of the auditorium. Send your god damned subpoena to the moon, he thought to himself.

When Williams awoke on the morning of Tuesday, November 3 in a Mojave motel room, he felt like a little kid getting up on Christmas morning. He was going to the moon. The week since his suspension from work had been a hectic blur--preparing and submitting his absentee voter ballot, getting a flu shot and bevy of other inoculations recommended by Saturnalia, arranging for his neighbors to water his plants and feed his turtles, taking care of all the month's bills, visiting his parents, and the disconcerting chore of creating a will in case he died during the trip. The Saturnalia brochure had blithely stated that particular recommendation: "While Saturnalia's spacecraft and resorts are the safest in the astronautics industry, as with all vacation travel, it is HIGHLY RECOMMENDED that you prepare a WILL prior to leaving home in case the unexpected should occur."

It was all taken care of now, and Williams wanted to forget about his "Earthly" worries and be away, finally get to the moon and see the heavenly bodies from outside of Earth's distorting atmosphere. Still, as he flicked on the coffee maker and rummaged through his suitcase for comfortable travel attire, he couldn't help but be curious about the election. It was too momentous an occasion to not know what was happening.

He turned on the television and was shocked to see only static. Static was a thing of the past--something Williams had heard of, but never seen--from the days of low-power, low-definition broadcasts and cable television. Williams couldn't fathom how there was no reception, even in a garbage motel like this. The television had worked fine the night before. He flipped through the channels and found more of the same.

Baffled, he turned the television off and got dressed in silence. When it was 07:00 he made his way out to the parking lot where a bus was waiting to pick up him and all the other contest winners from the United States west region. There were about forty people in all, some families, some couples, and a few single individuals.

Once seated on the bus, Williams turned to the college-aged young man next to him. "Was your TV working this morning?"

The young man turned to Williams with a sense of relief on his face at hearing the question. "No. Was yours broken too?"

"Yeah. I was hoping to catch some of the election coverage."

"Me too. And you know what's even weirder?" The young man leaned in closer to Williams. "I tried calling my girlfriend, but my phone was dead, and so was the land line in the room."

Williams hadn't even thought to try calling someone. While mobile phones and landlines losing service wasn't as improbable as the television not getting reception, it was still strange, and to have all of them go out at once was too much to be coincidence.

Williams kept chatting with the young man, whose name was Lance, but his attention became increasingly drawn to the view outside as the bus made its way to the Saturnalia airfield; there seemed to be no signs of life in the desert community. No pedestrians, no cars--not even at the archaic fueling stations that had been bustling with people and their gasoline powered vehicles the day before when Williams passed by in his EV. Williams couldn't tell if the others on the bus sensed that something was wrong too. There was certainly a nervous tension on the bus, but that could have just as easily been anxiety about their imminent launching into space. With no traffic to contend with, it was only a twenty-minute drive to the Saturnalia airfield. Armed guards at the gate waved them through and the bus pulled to a stop at the terminal building, which sat at the end of an airstrip that stretched beyond sight into the wavering desert landscape. The rising sun had already cut the bitter cold of the night and waves of rising heat distorted the horizon.

Williams and all the other passengers were directed out of the bus and into the terminal. There were televisions in the terminal, but they were all off. Williams tried talking to one of the Saturnalia employees ushering the crowd into a line, but the employee politely ignored Williams' inquiries and urged him along. Williams didn't like it.

The place was like any other airport terminal--bags on conveyor belts being scanned and passengers walking through their own series of security scanners--yet so much quicker than any normal airport. The Saturnalia employees had none of the lazy indifference found in normal airport employees. There were no stagnant lines, no waiting in uncomfortable chairs; in fact, Williams felt like he was being rushed through a rat maze. Less than a half hour after arriving, he and the other passengers were being ushered across the skywalk from the terminal into the Saturnalia shuttlecraft mounted atop a beige jumbo jet.

Everything was done with such casual precision Williams felt childish about his worrying, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. He found himself watching the other passengers, scrutinizing their nervous mannerisms and movements, trying to ease his own self-consciousness. When the jet started its long takeoff the engines seemed distant and the liftoff hardly registered with his senses. The other passengers around him were silent. There wasn't even any fussing from the children. At some point after taking off Williams realized a flight attendant was speaking over the intercom--had actually been speaking off and on throughout the takeoff, though he hadn't been paying attention--and was now telling everyone to keep their heads leaned back in their headrests. Williams instead turned his head to look out the window and recoiled at what he saw: fighter jets emblazoned with the Saturnalia insignia. He didn't even know Saturnalia had fighter jets.

He turned to see if anyone else had noticed, but the other passengers all stared straight ahead as they had since boarding the craft. Williams realized for the first time how cramped they were. The launch shuttle was narrow, with only two seats to either side of a thin center aisle, but long enough to accommodate some twenty rows of seats and the cockpit at the front. They were all strapped in like race car drivers, sitting completely upright with feet firmly on the floor, and the windows were small round things, more like what you'd expect to see on a submarine than a plane.

Williams looked back out the window to see if the fighters were still there, but saw instead the jumbo-jet suddenly dropping away. Before he could realize what was happening, the shuttle's engines roared to life and his head slammed back into his seat. He heard the person next to him gasp and found himself clutching the armrests. The acceleration was unbelievable...Williams recalled reading that the Saturnalia launch vehicles propelled out of Earth's atmosphere at 5 G's, the upper limit of most humans' ability to stay safely conscious. He fought to keep his eyes open and forced himself to keep breathing in and out.

The pressure slowly receded along with the engine noise and at some point Williams realized it was silent and that the only thing holding him in his chair was his seat harness. He turned to the window and saw black.

The flight to the moon took only 15 hours, as compared to the three days it took the first Apollo astronauts almost a century before. The passengers were confined to their seats except for "emergency" usage of the restroom, in which case the needy passenger unlatched his or her seat harness from their seat with the assistance of a flight attendant and was tethered to an anchor point on the floor of the aisle which was moved like a conveyor belt to transport the passenger to the restroom and back again. The in-flight meals and snacks consisted of shakes that had to be drunk through straws. Monitors on the backsides of each headrest broadcasted real-time camera shots of the Earth receding behind them and the moon looming ahead.

It was a surreal experience, and while some of the passengers spoke in hushed tones, most were silent like Williams. He had the luxury of a window seat and found himself looking back and forth between the monitor images in front of him and the brilliant view of the stars outside.

The last two hours of the flight were the deceleration phase and Williams was overcome with the simple genius of the shuttle orienting itself bottom-towards-the-moon so that the force exerted on them created a false gravity. The shuttle leveled out as it went into lunar orbit, and the landing was completely unremarkable compared to their take-off; it was like landing in a hot air balloon.

Once on the desolate gray ground, a moon-roving vehicle was hitched to the front of the shuttle and they were pulled slowly into the subterranean hanger of Saturnalia's Lunar Resort.

Williams didn't know what he had expected: certainly not ukulele playing islanders like those that greeted tourists when disembarking someplace like Hawaii or Fiji, but he expected something, some sort of pomp or ceremony. As it was, the passengers were ushered out of the shuttle's docking ring into a long, sterile, cylindrical corridor, where they had to hold onto handrails to either side to keep from accidentally hurtling into the ceiling. They went through another docking ring into a pressure-sealed room, which Williams presumed was the entrance to the hotel. When the doors slid open, though, there was no lobby, no concierge desk; they were instead ushered down more corridors, these ones cramped and submarine-like. Eventually, they reached a large open room and were instructed by an overhead voice to walk very carefully and take a seat at an empty chair. Most of the seats were already taken, and Williams realized their shuttle must have been the last to arrive.

With the help of the Saturnalia ushers, everyone was soon seated, and a venerable looking man in a gray suit walked to a raised podium at the front of the room. Williams recognized him instantly.

"Hello, friends. I am Jack Garlan, and it is both with excitement and a heavy heart that I welcome you all to the moon."

Behind Garlan, a BBC news broadcast suddenly appeared on the wall. The images were of Washington DC and there were soldiers, helicopters, tanks, everywhere.

"As some few of you may have heard before taking off from Earth," Garlan continued, "a coup d'état has occurred in the United States. As the presidential election results began coming in yesterday morning from the eastern states, it became clear that the Republican candidate, Senator Wiley, would win in a landslide, and Pragmatist party leaders in alliance with top generals of all four branches of the US military seized Washington DC. Riots have broken out in cities across the nation and the new leaders have declared martial law until the civil unrest is put under control."

Garlan paused and, as if on cue, the news broadcast behind him flashed to scenes of rioting. Williams was overcome with nausea; he felt as if he somehow already knew this would happen, but still couldn't believe it.

"As you would expect, the unrest is not limited to America," Garlan continued. "American bases in the Middle East and parts of Europe have been overrun by mobs or terrorist factions, and there are reports of China and India staging mass numbers of troops at their borders. The UN has called an emergency session, and while Pragmatist spokesmen claim to still be representing the US and its constitution, they are being barred from Security Council privileges.

"There is much uncertainty as to what the turmoil in the US will trigger worldwide, and to whether the Pragmatist takeover will even gain complete control of the US. Some are projecting that World War III has begun. Others are more optimistic and hold that the UN can mediate peaceful resolutions of the brewing conflicts. The best-case scenario would be that the violence is contained to the US and its military bases and embassies."

Garlan was silent for a moment as he let everyone absorb the news. A few children, sensing the dread in the room, asked their parents what was wrong, but they were quickly hushed. Williams couldn't help but think of his students; he envisioned crazed parents killing each other in the school auditorium and playground. And then there was Williams own parents, who already lived in a rough neighborhood as it was. When Garlan started speaking again Williams could only focus on his words with a detached analytical scrutiny.

"It is at this point that I must apologize, because I have deceived all of you. To a small extent I knew of this impending takeover from confidants within the Pragmatist party. What little prior knowledge I had of this event, though, merely served as confirmation to what I already knew--what I suspect all of you knew--that the United States--no, civilization the world over--is regressing, not progressing. Reason has become more and more stifled by baseless fear and outmoded religious ideals.

"To the Pragmatists, this coup seemed the only possible course upon realizing that one cannot reason, cannot even come to compromise, with a populace that has turned off its brain and operates merely on faith, a populace that imposes its will and beliefs on everyone and silences those that oppose it.

"I myself disagree with the Pragmatists' course of action. I don't have the stomach for fighting such a war. I have long struggled with the absurdity of fighting to keep a people free who don't want the burden of being free. To me it seems better for those that are free-minded and objective to bond together and create their own civilization. Just as the first settlers in the New World escaped repression in their homelands and created their own nation, I envision a new world, but this time for those who embrace the ideals embodied by the Age of Enlightenment rather than puritanical nonsense. Which brings us back to my deception...

"My friends, there is no Lunar Resort. The hotel is just a cover story for what Saturnalia has with great care secretly been constructing here beneath the surface of the moon: Prometheus."

The news broadcast on the wall blipped away to be replaced with the image of a spaceship inside a cavernous hanger. The ship was enormous, the size of an ocean cruise liner, Williams guessed. The image switched to a rotating three-dimensional drawing of the interior of the ship and Garland resumed.

"Prometheus is the largest spacecraft ever built, with accommodations for over 2,000 people, capable of traveling deep space and traversing wormholes using technology Saturnalia has developed since working on the NASA Mycotropine jump trials twenty years ago. In two hours, Prometheus, captained by Charles Hedeon of the historic Discovery II mission, will launch from the moon and take myself, 1,500 Saturnalia employees, and all of you, I hope, to the new New World."

The picture of Prometheus on the wall was replaced with a picture of a small blue planet. Garland turned to gaze up at the image.

"This is Terra Denuo, the only known Earth-like planet...and only known to a select few individuals. It was discovered during the NASA jump trials by Saturnalia sensors and not even the American government knows of its existence. The mass and atmosphere of Terra Denuo are nearly identical to that of Earth. We do not believe there are any advanced forms of intelligent life on the planet, as no forms of communication such as radio waves were detected, but we know little else about the planet, such as what forms of life do exist or how temperate the climate is. We know it's habitable, and can only assume it's as full of natural wonders as Earth once was.

"I have gathered the top scientists and engineers from the adept ranks of Saturnalia employees to go on this journey, and each of you here has been chosen because of your own special abilities and what you can contribute to creating a new, peaceful human civilization on Terra Denuo. Through the series of tests and interviews each of you underwent, it is also my hope that all of you are like me and my Saturnalia brethren in that you hold reason and human dignity above the senseless belief in religious dogma that has crippled Earth.

"We sit upon the cusp of human civilization on Earth; prosperity and technology have moved to the brink of collapse under the weight of society's conflicting tenets. With Prometheus goes the history and knowledge of human civilization. We have the benefit of knowing the miracles and mistakes humans have made over the last 3,000 years of rapid advancement, and we can create our new world without the trials and errors that ravaged Earth's environment and poisoned our people. Together we can create the greatest civilization humankind has ever known."

Garlan paused and looked upon the crowd, almost as if he expected applause, but it remained silent. Williams glanced to his right and saw Lance sitting there, looking dumbfounded. The poor kid had a girlfriend back at home. They all had someone at home. Williams stood up.

"Mr. Garlan, you're asking us to leave our home when our loved ones need us the most? Without giving us any warning or chance to prepare?"

Garlan sighed and nodded. "Yes. This is not how I wanted it to work and I apologize, but I hope you can all see that it was out of necessity that Prometheus and Terra Denuo were kept secret. If any of Earth's governments or religious bodies would have known of our plans they would have stopped at no ends to make Terra Denuo their own and then it would only be a matter of time before they ruined it just as they have Earth.

"Religion is a disease that breeds hatred, ignorance and the perpetual fear of the unknown that accompanies ignorance. It is a disease many of our loved ones are afflicted with, and as you all have found, an incurable one. You cannot reason with someone who holds reason inferior to faith, or even a sin. Terra Denuo will not be contaminated with this disease, and to that end we must cut our ties with Earth and leave our loved ones behind.

"We've done our best to take as much of Earth as we could and make the transition as easy as possible. Those of you that have families or spouses have been brought here together. We have taken the liberty of uploading any of your personal photo albums that were accessible to the public, and our computers contain the largest digital library of literature and media known to mankind. Amongst you are writers, artists, musicians, craftsmen, architects, teachers--it is you that will carry on the legacy of Earthly culture. I know there are many more on Earth that are deserving that we are leaving behind, but you were all chosen because you're the best, the most suited to create a new society."

"But what if we don't want to go?" Williams asked. "Have you no sense of responsibility for helping? I do. I have students, family."

"We all feel a sense of responsibility, Mr. Williams," Garlan said.

Williams was taken aback that Garlan knew his name.

"Tell me, though," Garlan went on, "Does your sense of responsibility outweigh the knowledge that your efforts back on Earth would be futile? All of you here have worked towards making Earth better, yet none of you are politicians or vehement activists or motivational speakers. Why? Because you realized that you can't make the masses smarter or kinder, and you have instead focused your efforts on helping and surrounding yourself with those who share your beliefs and want to help themselves and grow. That is all of you. You are surrounded by like-minded people. If you don't feel as I do, and want to go back to Earth, then we don't want you on Prometheus."

"We have a choice then?" Williams asked.

"Yes. The corridor to your left leads to Prometheus, the corridor to your right back to the lone shuttle that will return to Earth. Those of you that leave on Prometheus will be pronounced dead to authorities on Earth, reportedly killed by an explosion that will destroy this moon base after our departure. This serves two purposes: the first being to disguise our mission and explain the disappearance of 2,000 very important people, and the second being to ensure that all of your wills are honored and that your Earthly possessions are given to your loved ones, not seized by the government.

"Those of you that return to Earth are free to tell what has transpired here. Know, however, that few will believe you. The explosion on the this moon base will be real and Saturnalia officials remaining on Earth will completely deny the existence of any ship named Prometheus--no documentation exists regarding its construction, and Earth-based surveillance will not detect our departure from the moon. I've made sure of that."

Garlan paused to see if there were any more questions. Williams was stunned by the cold brutality of it all. No one else spoke up. The room was silent.

"I go now to the corridor to the left," Garlan said finally. "I hope you will all join me. Just as the Prometheus of mythology delivered upon mankind the gift of fire to survive the perils of nature, this ship will deliver us from the perils of Earth to our new world, to the new dawn of mankind."

With that said, Garlan turned and walked down the corridor to their left.

It was completely silent. The images on the wall were gone, no voice came across the intercom.

Williams looked around and saw that hundreds of faces were looking at him. He felt detached from his body. The thought of what was happening down on Earth still made him want to vomit, but he couldn't push away the insatiable curiosity to step inside Prometheus, to feel the nauseating experience of traveling through a wormhole he'd read about as a kid, to set foot on another planet. He wanted to be mad at Garlan for manipulating all of them, but Garlan was right: at least about Williams. His decision had been made as soon as Garlan said what the mission of Prometheus was. Realizing this he gave it no more thought and strode towards the corridor to the left. A murmuring of voices started up behind him and when he turned to look he saw a mass of people following behind him.

Garrett Calcaterra lives on the west coast, eking out a living as a writer and teacher. He is the author of two novels forthcoming in 2011 as well as dozens of short stories, articles, and reviews. He writes in a wide variety of genres and styles, though more often than not, he leans toward writing dark speculative fiction. When not writing, he enjoys hiking with his two dogs and quaffing good beer. You can follow his writing at http://garrettcalcaterra.blogspot.com