:overworld

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An escape plan, hatched in the early 2400s: the partial terraforming of moons Titan and Enceladus, and the construction of colonies on each. Not a plan for a new home for civilization, but a prolonging of the inevitable - reserved for those with the means to purchase the privilege of survival. Forget using our terraforming advancements to save the Earth - the rest of us could burn.

It's the first of the year, 2490. I'm still planetside, along with the couple billion others that survive here still. Twenty years ago today, world leaders, their families, and the ultra-wealthy left on custom-manufactured spacecraft, bound for the moons of Saturn. It was broadcast live to every news outlet, on every television and mobile device: the Thereafter Fleet, eighty-seven monolithic spacecraft, launching worldwide, bound for safety a billion kilometers away. For most of us, a safety impossible to reach. For them, simply the inconvenience of a 90-day spaceflight and a few digits adjusted in their accounts. Their businesses - global marketplaces, social media platforms, private contracting companies, other more "shady" dealings - were fully automated just before their departure. Even in their absence, their wealth grew. Amounts of money that trivialize the concept itself, all at the expense of people choosing between meaningless debt repayment and pure survival, trapped on a dying planet.

Overworld was launched in 2472, built by a community of abandoned people as the world around them crumbled. From the decay of late-stage human society, as environmental conditions worsened irreversibly and life became less and less sustainable, a simulation platform was developed to replace surface-life on Earth and provide those of us left on the ground with somewhere to go. Fully compatible with haptic suits and Brain-Machine Interfaces (BMIs), the simulation enables those of us still here to live in peace, free from the pain of reality, two kilometers underground. Those of us who were capable went as far north as we could manage and built a main facility underground, shielded from the heat of the surface. Around the world, others coordinated to build similar structures - kind of like bunkers, but purpose-built for housing hundreds of thousands of people in each, as well as areas for Overworld access. Server structures were constructed on each major land mass, and connected through a hijacked A-CORP satellite array. I would allow myself to be impressed if the outlook wasn't still so bleak.

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I am not blinded by any pretenses. The simulation is a senescent home, and humanity's mass grave.

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This wasn’t our first solution, nor was it the preferable one - to lie here, entombed in the holes we dug. Even before the Thereafter departed, disappearing through the heavy January clouds, researchers and scientists were already developing the means of transporting people off-planet en masse. Resources were limited and swiftly dwindling, though, and corners were cut. Those most desperate for escape volunteered for trial flights in the first working concept shuttle, Hestia I - short one-ways to the moon, where rings of primitive dome colonies were already established. All seven trial flights went exceedingly well, and for a few months hope swam in the minds of those of us left on Earth. The next year, a new shuttle was announced: Hestia II, boasting a 1500-person seating capacity, over three times the capacity of its predecessor. As trials of the new shuttle continued, the worry of an early death stuck on Earth was nearly gone from my mind. I managed to secure a seat on trial launch seven of the Hestia II, and spent months preparing for my departure. Quit my job, spent time with my mother ( who had such a distrust of spacecraft she was adamant about staying planetside, even if it meant perishing there ), and traveled around the continental US on one final sightseeing trip. Not much left at that point, but there’s a certain beauty in the decay, especially if you don’t expect to ever see it again.

I watched each of the trial launches at my mom’s place. Made a short tradition, so we could spend more time together before I left. Every time we watched the Hestia II break through the clouds and leave the camera’s view, I tried to convince my mother to take my seat on flight seven - though I knew she’d never budge. Flight four was interesting, as one engine seemed to lag behind the others in its ignition, causing the shuttle to pitch sideways on launch and fly horizontally for a time before righting itself and piercing the clouds. I remember my mother looking at me after the broadcast concluded, raising an eyebrow and smiling.

“You see why I don’t trust ‘em now? Not so crazy to not want to be in one of those boats.”

Her smile fell slightly and she looked away. She looked out her window and raised a glass to her lips, sipping quietly. Lost in thought, or sorrow. I hugged her and told her I’d be back in a couple of weeks for flight five. She nodded, still clearly stuck in space.

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Flight five had a stable launch, each engine firing in perfect synchronization. Climbing slowly upwards, filled with 1500 hopeful passengers fighting the G-force of liftoff. My mother was silent as we watched, more reserved, watching the glow of the engines bloom and fade into the clouds as the shuttle passed through them. I wondered if the time was getting to her. I wondered if she was hoping I would have changed my mind after flight four’s misfire.

She got up to hug me after the shuttle was out of view, then quietly excused herself. I reminded the empty room that I’d be back to watch flight six, then let myself out the front door.

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: report incomplete