Ticket Out Of Here
A disillusioned couple tries to leave post-apocalyptic New Shanghai
The sight of the tiny round holes creating lace of the radish leaves sprouting from our garden overwhelms me into silence for a full minute. The leaves already look yellower and frailer than the day before. The flea beetles have returned.
A low rumble jolts me out of paralysis. I crane my neck to see another rocket carrying four passengers to a better life on Di. I wonder how pitiful New Shanghai looks to them, an uneven grid of green and white clinging to a barren land that disdains our presence. Our ancestors were wildly optimistic about our ability to rebuild the skyscrapers and the Bund’s glittering waterfront that I’ve only seen in photos.
Soon, the rocket disappears into the hazy pink sky. It’s slipping through a temporary hole in the dome, but the visibility is too low for me to witness it. The passengers must see our town blurred by the dome’s thick, transparent wall and the even more inhospitable landscape beyond it. Maybe they’ve already turned their attention ahead to Di.
There’s no point fantasizing about my own one-way ticket. I set my jaw and trek through the rows of crops back to our shack to pick up a bottle of insecticide. We don’t know the long-term effects of the purple liquid given freely to every household - it’s a tweaked recipe from what our parents’ generation used, because one of the key ingredients ran out - but the government deems it a better alternative to starvation.
I rummage through the cabinet beside the back door, where Ruoyang and I keep most of our garden tools, for the spray bottle. The front door slams open as I’m about to head back out. Ruoyang stands there, panting from a run that tousled his floppy black hair and left his cheeks pink. He triumphantly waves two slips of paper in his gloved hand. He shouts, “Lina! I got us tickets!”
I walk over and study the slip he hands me. “Aren’t they supposed to be digital?”
Ruoyang says, “They have both versions.”
I frown. Ruoyang’s optimism was what first drew me to him two years ago, when I was convinced I’d prefer facing life alone. I’d given up on a future for myself, much less for a family. Ruoyang believes we can make it to Di, and even if we don’t, it’s still worth striving for happiness here. He darts into the bedroom, pulling me after him.
“We have to pack! Rocket leaves in an hour.”
“What -”
He hauls out two backpacks, and his urgency convinces me to spring into action and ask questions later. I throw my wallet, passport, and two changes of clothing into one of the bags. Then we’re sprinting down the main road towards the launch pad 1.5 miles away. If Ruoyang’s tickets are a scam, at least I didn’t waste too much time packing.
We run past scraggly rows of houses identical to ours. Simple pre-fab boxes, their white walls with gray detailing coated with reddish brown dust from the many storms. Their highlight is they’re highly portable and take under half a day to set up. Fences of various heights separate them; some households add layers of their own plastic and plywood and plastic on top of the standard 4-foot tall fences depending on how much they trust their neighbors to not resort to theft after lean harvests.
The woman two houses down, Anjie, is repairing her roof after the last storm. She pauses to watch us run past. Her breath fogs up the clear plastic of the mask we’re supposed to wear if we’re outside for over half an hour. Ruoyang and I hadn’t bothered grabbing ours, and my lungs already burn from the particulates.
We pass the cluster of commercial buildings - the general store, the research lab, the movie theater. They’re bigger versions of the boxes we all live in, with hand-painted signage distinguishing them. The theater boasts movie posters protected from the elements by scratched plastic frames. A pair of scientists bundled in worn lab coats turn their dust masks towards us as we run by. Then a few more rows of houses.
The final stretch is empty, the noise and exhaust from the rocket launches rendering it a no-man’s land. I’m wheezing audibly as we approach the biggest pre-fab box of them all rising from the dunes.
The man guarding the entrance manages to look burly despite the worsening harvests. He holds out a scanner, “I need your tickets and passports.”
We fumble them out of our pockets. He frowns at the slips, “Haven’t seen paper ones in a while.”
I silently berate Ruoyang’s credulousness. But after turning the papers in a few different angles and smoothing out a crease, the scanner glows green and the guard waves us through. “You better hurry. Security’s to your left.”
We throw our backpacks onto a conveyor belt. My heart thrums with impatience as it rolls steadily through the X-ray. The security agent there checks our passport a second time, then hands us our bags back.
We jog down a short echoey hallway and I’m finally up close to a rocket. Its size takes my breath away. Before I have a chance to admire it, a woman comes around the side and hands us spacesuits. “I’m Yueling, your flight control today, and I’ll help you strap in. Your pilot Kelan will take off as soon as everyone’s ready.”
I shed my jacket. It doesn’t quite fit in my backpack, and I decide to leave it on the floor, hoping I won’t need it on Di. The space suit just barely fits over the rest of my clothing. Yueling comes over and tightens some straps. Despite the suit’s bulk, I feel buoyant as I take the final few steps into the rocket.
I climb awkwardly into my seat in the middle row. Kelan says, “Welcome aboard, Ruoyang and Lina!” from the front of the cramped cabin.
Tianyu and Diyu, two middle-aged sisters a few houses down, are the back row passengers. Each passenger has a small round window on our side, and Kelan has a screen showing the space around us.
Yueling leans over me and straps me in. Ruoyang clambers in after me, the seats so close that our shoulders touch.
Kelan hums as he presses various buttons on the control panel and goes over the final checks with Yueling over his headset. Finally, he says, “Hold on tight. We’re taking off in 3…2…1!”
The rocket rumbles around us, then a force slams me into my seat. I’m thrown against the little give the straps afford.
I forget that I have a window until a brilliant light flashes from it. One of the sisters behind us cries out in alarm. Kelan shouts, “Don’t worry! That’s the fuel tank separating.”
Only then do I look down at New Shanghai. We’re well-past the top of the dome. The town is a tiny grid of green and white against vast red soil. I can see the curve of Huo’s horizon from up here.
I can’t believe my great grand-parents, along with half of Di’s population, ever believed starting a new colony on fiery red Huo would be easier than salvaging the mess they’d made of Di. It turns out all their original planet needed for recovery was for humans to halve their population, then for the remaining humans to halve their consumption.
Kelan says, “You can see Di to your right.”
I lean as close to the circle of glass as my seat belts allow. The precious blue marble floating in space takes my breath away. We’re going home.
Di == di qiu == 地球 == Earth
Huo == huo qiu == 火球 == Mars
This story was inspired by an article I read years ago (unfortunately I don’t remember the link) about how while terraforming Mars sounds exciting, ensuring that the planet we already inhabit stays habitable is much more realistic.